Some people call them books. They think inked words on a page means nothing. Yet we must understand that small minds can't comprehend big ideas.
We call them exits. Doors leading down the rabbit hole to new worlds, new friends, new ways to cope. Our society frowns on the uneducated yet forces the well educated to hide from big headed leaders who push and shove for dominance over the crumbling planet they call earth.
But we have found ways to escape to less or even more violent existences where we feel like we belong. Between wafer thin paper sheets stained with black ink in the form of enchanting words, a portal to another living.
We throw ourselves through page after page, creating a shield around ourselves, desperately trying to rebuild the hope of a better life only to be ripped from the pages to face the bitter reality of life.
We live in the magical worlds created by the authors who shaped our very beings into the people we are today. Dragons and wizards, tragedies and romance, life and death draw us into lands untouched by reality, defying all logic whether they be war torn city's ravaged by creatures unknown or a dystopian future where the only way to survive is murder, shining palaces swarmed by rich folk celebrating a happy couple or a more tragic spin on romance. We not only read the words. We listen. We listen to the sadness, the heartache, happiness and joy, anger, despair and rage. We listen and relate to the wreckage caused by everything those words paint.
We are Robin Hood, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.
We are parzival, first to the key and fighting for the oasis.
We are Harry Potter learning to protect and move on.
We are the stories left on the shelves, neglected and unwanted.
We are the stories of life, untold but still hopeful.
We are the new generation of bookworms, geeks and nerds.
We are the people, reaching into the pages and screaming for something greater than life itself.
