A Book Speaks

                    Once, I was a mere idea. Together with other ideas, I was stuck up in an author's brain full of interesting plots, colorful settings,  and modern innovations. I wanted to see the world, and so I struggled. I knocked and punched at the author's head.

                    One night, this author was snugly tucked in bed. I could not help waking him up. I kicked, gave a forceful punch, and pressed as hard as I could. "Indeed, I must go out into the world," I said. Soon, the poor author opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and finally got up.

                    Then in the silence of the night...

                    Tick...tick...tick...tick... went his typewriter. Tik...tak...tik...tak... went the clock. At last! My fellow ideas and I were gradually taking shape! For nights and nights, he typed.

                    Not long after that, he took me in a bunch to a publisher downtown. "I have some manuscripts here," I heard him refer to me. I held my breath as the publisher and the author discussed me.

                    The next day, I found myself in the printing press. It was noisy there- with large machines and busy workers. I didn't like the noise nor the smell of ink and paper. I hated the mosquitoes. "This is all part of growing up," I amused myself. For a time I kept sliding down the printing machines. I winked my eyes as I felt the hot slugs.

                    One quiet afternoon, a young artist named Arnold went over me. I must have stirred Arnold's imagination, for he soon got his painting equipment and started illustrating me. Ho-ho! Ha-ha! I didn't realize I'd look like that in pictures.

                    What followed was a memorable day! I was especially flattered when I heard some intelligent-looking textbook board members say that I'm going to be a good material in all schools all over the country. And so the printer had to make thousands and thousands of copies of me. Well, for humans to have quintublets is almost like a miracle. But look at me now. I have thousands of twin brothers. How I enjoyed being piled up with them!

                    Then the day came when we were to be shipped to different places. Soon, I came upon a school. The teacher started giving me and my brothers to the children. I was given to Lorna. Lorna was beautifully-dressed and I imagined she'd dress me beautifully, too. But woe is me! My misfortune and sufferings started. The first time that Lorna took hold me, I felt her dirty, cruel hands. Inserting her ballpen and pencil between my pages, she slid me in her already crowded bag. I felt my pages fold, my stitches break.

                    But later, I experienced a bit of happiness in the classroom when bright children read me and my brothers fluently. But how disappointed and sad I was when Lorna read with difficulty. I cried silently when I heard the beautiful meanings of phrases distorted, misinterpreted, or misunderstood.

                    Lorna's very patient and caring teacher noticed how I looked. So, after class hours, she called Lorna and explained how important we are to pupils and how they should take care of us. Now, it's been a year since Lorna got me. And believe it or not, I have changed a lot. I am now covered neatly with plastic. My folded pages were straightened, and most importantly, I am now carried in spacious bag with my other friends, the Mathematics, Science, Filipino, and Social Studies books. And I'm happy to tell that Lorna has improved so much and she now reads me correctly and fast.