A Contemplation of Short Stories

A World For Me

I kept trying to find a world that didn't hurt. A new book, every week, everyday, a book that didn't hurt like my life hurt. All of my bottled up feelings could be released as I read about characters who I related to.

In real life, I didn't let myself feel. I wasn't happy, I wasn't sad, I just called it content because then I wasn't missing out on anything thing then.

I felt, in books, because they had an ending, a sure, and defined ending. They had an exact point that all the chapters and pages were working towards. Whether it be through one book or seven. And so I read, and I read, and I read. I traveled with characters over years and through generations in the matter of hours. I felt their pain, their joy, their confusion, everything.

I'd feel things for them. Anger, love, joy in their success, and irritation when they strayed for the path I k ew they needed to go. I'd watch and read carefully, as each figment of my imagination went through personal growth and development. Their highs and their lows, as everything in between.

How I wished that I could join them in all of their adventures. Sword fights, brawls, and even arguments that they had with each other. I'd imagine myself in the story, laughing, singing, fighting, dancing, with my favorite characters. Or, I wished that my life was exciting as theirs. That answers could come as seemingly easy as just asking. Wishing that I could see all of the things that went on around me, wishing I could fully understand them as they rushed around me in a blur, leaving me alone and stranded in my own mind, with no way out.

I tried, to come out everyone in a while. But every time I did, I couldn't find anything but pain and confusion. Nothing made any sense. And I'd get lost in my pain if I stayed. So I read, and I read like a mad man. I always had something to read, it was safer then at way.

Years, years of reading for escape and release. Years of longing for a pattern in the tornado of my life, a resemblance of normality, that could match my worlds hidden in the pages between my hands.

Years of hiding behind pages and characters. Hiding in a world of ink and paper. Hiding from others and hiding from myself. Hiding in a world for me.

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Comments welcome, ideas welcome. Whatever works for you!