survivor of the Sun

The talk

I can tell many stories today. At least my body feels like telling them, sorry, I should be politically correct, showing them. Well, either way I’m telling (showing) a story which could just be your cup of poison or a story which will make you burn me and try to forget me. The second scenario could just hurt me a bit but believe me, I want to show you, on my shining white paper, a story that can possibly make you disgusted or might make you fall in love with me and then maybe we will have kids together. Don’t worry about the gender, I’m bisexual. I do well with everyone. People hate me, people love me, people curse me, people pray for me; I don’t understand them, they are the worst. But, frankly, I don’t think I can care much about them, there is a lot of information on me. Can you believe they have opinions and each person has a different opinion. I got to know from the information I have collected by hearing various people’s voices that most people think their opinion is superior to others, they know everyone has their own opinion and yet they want others to have the same one; tchtchtchtchtch pity. Thank Ink! We don’t have any opinions. We,  books, are simple beings, we don’t ask much, all we need is someone to read us. Cat, mouse, Dog, people, we don’t care. Someone just read us and we’re full. We sleep when readers close, we rise when readers open. Readers are our Sun and food and Oxygen, as they say, is same for everyone. But still, given almost God status we still find people are the worst. I just don’t know why, but my community of books had long, long ago taken this stand and we all, the new generation, just take it blindly and follow it. But I am not like everyone. I am still looking for people who can make all this blind believers burn into ashes and who could lift the stature of the people and make each and every paper realize the importance of people in their lives. I believe I should believe in hope or I might just fall into an aquarium below my rack like few of my friends did. Who puts an aquarium below a book rack. Those fishes remind me of tearers or book bugs like people say. They never close their eyes and I am scared of them because they  never close their eyes. I’m thankful to the God of people for not giving ability of reading to the fishes, if he had we could never have slept in our life. Thank you!

Well, I have started my words suggesting that I would tell you a story (Yes, I am not going to be correct all the time. I’m only a bunch of papers) but held you out on complaining about people. Do you believe they call themselves Humans. My great grandfather say a perfect Human was dead a long time ago and he’s scared he’ll die before not seeing one again. Please pray for him, let a human be born again let him hold my great grandfather. Anyway, I highly doubt your prayers will work, people are always into politics.

Sorry, the story.

The story begins in a railway station. Which station? Seriously, you’re asking me that question? Get out. The railway station was serene and silent. It was well furnished and well maintained but there was no one in the station. It was isolated. The wind was dancing to the jazz music of humming birds and other song singing birds. It was slow and pleasant. My papers could have danced in a slow and seductive way, the papers just getting up and falling down before opening up completely, if I was not covered with a hard frame. There was only platform and there was a sound other than the breeze and the birds. First, there was a timid vibration on the tracks and slowly the breeze took over with koooooo chukchuk..chukchuk..chukchuk and when the train almost reached the platform a slow keeeeeekcch took over and finally the train relaxed and the birds and breeze continued. A Man got out of the train. I feel silly about everytime the character being a man. Wimin should get it sometimes too. Ok, for the next story I promise the character will be man and I feel like I should stop describing you everything, you must be an intelligent creature or you would not be reading me. So, a Man got out of the train. He just had a backpack on his back and nothing elese. Even it seemed to be empty. (Who gets their bag empty? Oops! Sorry.) He turned towards the train and he could see eyes glaring at him from inside of the train through the window. He could only see the eyes and everything else inside was dark. He shrugged and moved away towards the exit. He walked home and put his bag to a corner and went to his bed. He came back after a long trip of almost 1 year. Backpacking he said. He was elated and tired. He switches off him phone and puts it on the table beside the bed. He closes his eyes and slips into the trance of dreams. He saw colors floating. Violet, Green, Blue, Indigo, Orange, Yellow, Red. RED. RED. RED. VIOLENCE! VIOLENCE! VIOLENCE! He opens his eyes.