Today’s Nekana differ from the previous weekend(ed) days.

As a faithful and loyal slave to sleep, Nekana often found it very hard to part with her beloved; known as, the bed. In most cases, she’d just stay in her room for almost an entire day. Only leaving in order to eat and to take another bottle of water up again. Nekana would also feed her pet tortoises and beta fish. After that, up she went into her cave yet again. An endangered reptile on the lookout.

But, today was different as there was a book sale! It was indeed a weekend and the brunette was awfully hyped for a person whom was labelled as a ‘forever hibernating snake’. The nickname suited Nekana; sleep early in the morning to rise late in the afternoon. It was truly a comfortable lifestyle suiting the title of snake.

The brunette rose sluggishly and unwillingly out of the bed at 10 in the morning and got washed up and changed. Her destination breached 20 minutes in time at least with breakfast in between. Excluding the traffic. Good days led to the arrival during a pleasant time, parking would be plentiful. On worst days, to find a parking spot or to even ENTER the parking area took ages (and she was still young, mind you).

Currently, our protagonist lay comfortably at the back seat of the car. Her head was laid on the transport’s window and the forepart of her left arm laid at a strange angle; strangely enough, she ceased to realise this.

Staring at the roof of the car, she thought.

She thought of the books she’d read. Stacked neatly on the shelf, arranged by their series and in a space-conserving style. She pictured herself; her fingertips stroking the top corners of the book gently.

Her long and smooth finger grasping a book out of its line as she opens the paper filled book.

Inside, there laid another world, different from the one she lived in; with a different life, and of different experiences and memories maybe even species. She was reminded of every touch of emotions she had felt throughout every story and its people.

Their joys: it brought upon great bliss to see them smile.

Their pains: it brought upon droplets of tears as she’d grief alongside with them.

Their worry: her heart beats, wildly, anxiously. In hopes all will go well.

Their naivety: like an overseer, she’d look over them. Words may not reach but she hopes.

Their loves; the ship sails itself. An everlasting OTP and NoTPs (they DO differ). Submarines also exist.

She could feel them all; all packed into a single masterpiece that were known as books.

They were first given life by authors. Through their sweat and blood they were born. For book dragons such as herself and as well as millions of other people, they (the authors) were beings worthy of even worship. The life breathed into a character was delicate and so very fragile.

They lived not on blood but the very thoughts of their readers. If such readers were to one day disappear, the protagonists that had gone through their journeys and stories alongside their existences would be but a fleeting moment as well.

Gently, lovingly, the brunette imagined herself flipping each and every page. Books were like the character’s earth, and no one would like an unforeseen earthquake or tsunami to happen. Therefore, she’d normally say ‘excuse me’, and ‘thank you’. Speaking in appreciation to the book in private (Don’t want to look strange now don’t we?)

And in a corner deep inside Nekana’s heart, she found it awfully disappointing that still so many people ceased to read anymore. It was truly sad.

In mere seconds, and before she could even realise, she had arrived in front of the bookstore. In order to once again enter another world. In order to once again feel special. ‘I mean,’ she thought, ‘what’s so wrong in wanting to be special?’ such thoughts manifested, and it held her captive.