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Posted: 9 years ago

Turning Pages


Bought, used, thrown away; this, for me, was the most common way of life. Most people bought me for my prestige, to increase their own. But then came along those select few who valued me. Who bought me, read, and then kept me securely, only to read again. I prayed that I was bought by one such person, who would value me.

As I saw my fellow books being sold, I always thought about how they would end up.

Some would go to kids who didn't know their value; they would scribble, fold pages and tear some as well. They wouldn't even read it probably and leave my dear friends in some corner of the house, to be accumulated in dust.

Some, to the mature teenagers, who savored and handled the book with total care; that cleaned the books and didn't let even as much as a paper fold in the book.

Some to the adults who kept it as a priced possession, not letting anyone touch it, making it feel it's preciousness as well as not letting it feel the joy on the person's face as he read it.

I always had one question in my mind. Which ones were better off? With the kids, the books felt like waste; with the teens, they felt useful but not precious while with adults, they felt precious though they didn't experience the joy. I grimaced at the thought. None of them experienced the full joy that the ones in the library did. The books there were read and were treated like they were meant to be treated. And as I did every day, I wished that I was sold to the library.

The library, where there was no fear of someone else taking my position. I was neither the king, nor the beggar. As every other book, I was a middleman.

Just then, someone came and picked me up from my stand. She felt the pages and smelled me. After flipping a few pages, she kept me in her basket, surrounded by some other books.

As I reached her home, all my hopes crashed. It was just another house and she was just another teenager, someone who would value me but always hold her electronics above me.

I sighed. Was this how my friends felt when they found out where they were? Well, it wasn't feeling very nice.

But how wrong was I.

This girl was unlike no other. I knew this once she touched me. She opened me and inhaled my scent, a brilliant smile appearing on her face. As she began reading me, I noticed how she turned my pages. She held me like I was a priced possession and turned it softly. When it was time for her to sleep, she dusted my cover and placed it in her school bag. Time passed as I wondered how she would treat me at her school. Would she treat me like every other textbook or would she attend to me rather than ignoring me?

I was surprised yet again when she removed me as soon as she was in school. One of her friends came and snatched me away from her and she fought for me, she shouted at her friend, only because she mishandled me. As she took me back, she slowly smoothed my corners and told her friend to get out of there. Even then, I couldn't believe it. I just shrugged it off as her fetish towards new books.

My pages turned yellow, her hair turned gray, but our relationship remained the same. She cherished me, while I stood in the bookshelf, proud of my owner. Every time she picked me up, she still smelled me, but her smile never changed, even though my scent did. And as she always did, she held me close and slept with me when she was done, and then I went back to her bookshelf.

Years passed, people came into her life, and people went. Some tears of joy, and some tears of pain stained some pages but I didn't mind, as long as she loved me. And soon, she had a son and I feared that this kid would be like others, merciless and uncaring. But he had taken over his mother's genes.

Every time he opened me, he breathed out Astha'. His mother's name written on my front page was his favorite attraction. And as he read it again and again, just the way his mother did, I sighed. She had moved out a few years ago, leaving me with her son. Though her son was similar to her, I still missed her scent; I still missed how she fought for me, though her son was no less.

In the solitary moments when her son didn't read, I felt bad for the books at the library. Their precious readers picked them up, read them, and then never saw them again.

In those moments, I appreciated how lucky I was.

 

When I found the book I was searching for, there were many different covers, some were hard bound, and some were soft. Some animated, some real. I picked each of them up and smelled them. I finally came to the one soft bound book and it was love. The smell was a strange mix of old and new, while the others were simply new. The pages were soft, yet hard. The fresh white pages looked as perfect as ever. They pages felt smooth under my skin. Deciding that this was it, I placed it on top of my basket and went to the billing counter.

As I got my book after billing, I picked up and pen and signed the first page, marking it as mine.

For my books were mine, unspoiled and well read.


                                                                                                                


I guess the previous one and this ain't too bad, eh? ðŸ˜† Once again, except for the initial idea and paragraphs, the idea was Mugsy's, the execution though, was mine. Surprising, I know. ðŸ˜† I seem to be writing decent stuff lately. ðŸ˜†

Love,
Ananya

Posted: 9 years ago
Oh yeah. First comment belongs to Mugsy. *pumps fist in the air*

I'm so hard-pressed for time nowadays. I hardly have ideas. And the ones I do, they unfortunately remain locked in my brain, poor things.
I'm glad YOU are having good ideas. Meri braincells ko bhi exercise mil jaata hai. ;)

Haha, but yes. Like I said.
You seem to have changed overnight. 
And since it's for the good, I'm really happy.
You go read this and yesterday's piece again.
And uske baad read those two fanfics you showed me.
You'll find them as blase as I found them.

Isliye I kept telling you to write your own fiction.
It's like a breath of fresh air.
You, my protege, are writing pieces that are a breath of fresh air.
And I am SO proud. :*

Keep up the good work, Kid.

*pats Ananya's head and grins*

Love you.
Edited by NonComposMentis - 9 years ago
Posted: 9 years ago
I'm probably gonna grow old and die before I edit all my reserves -.-
Posted: 9 years ago
Hey. I just read this fic and I thought I should tell you that I absolutely loved it. 😆
Posted: 9 years ago
Hey
This was awesome !!
Keep writing !!
Posted: 9 years ago
Ananya...
this wS like a breath of fresh air...
it told so much about life...
a thot penned on books
something the new generation is hardly familiar with these days
beautifully penned
moi proud of u
Posted: 9 years ago
The love for books is such a beautiful thing :)
 I've written autobiographies on Books and read countless of those for English Class back in school, and this is one of the best that I have ever come across
Edited by AzureLicht - 9 years ago
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