An Ordinary Life

An ordinary Life

From birth I am handled with care. I am wrapped by the giant hands that guide me, that control me. All my life these hands take hold of my life; they pass me along to the next set of filthy fingers. The fingers, they inspect me just as closely as their eyes ever could. For all my life I am doomed to be used then passed along once more jut to be tortured and beaten. All this for the knowledge I possess. All this pain and torment I endure just to provide someone with a glimpse of brilliance.

My story starts at the beginning, at a young age I was neglected and pushed aside. My words were considered lies and conspiracy, for that I was locked away. For many years I sat here on the side-line of life. I was much like a die-hard soccer fan at a tennis match, I just did not belong. The height of my importance and usefulness was not discovered until the age of thirty three. T’was then on that beautiful midsummer’s day that my intellectual superiority was fully recognised.

Their endless questions filled the air around me. Before long I desired this life more than any other. I thought I had reached the undeniable high in my life. I was wrong. My life had dramatically changed when she came along. She showed me true happiness; she showed me what it means to live. We first met in the library, a place I had begun to call home. She was searching among the shelves until our eyes met. Briefly yet magically she looked me over once, inspecting me like everyone else.

Seemingly instantaneously poured from her mouth, filling the air between us. The more questions she asked the more clear my answers became for her to understand. Together we shared our knowledge for months without pause or rest. We lived together for many years. Her knowledge grew immensely where mine did not. I sit alongside my peers as the loneliness sinks in. The dancing fire sends shadows flickering across the walls. Her visits were less frequent and I know why. My knowledge refused to grow with her, what left was there to teach her then? What use was i? None.

I have a voice but I cannot speak. I have the answers but I cannot hear your questions. I have a heart but I cannot love. I have a face but it is hidden. I have emotions but I cannot feel them. I am no more than a used book, used up and past my time. My voice is old and broken. My answers are never found. My papery heart now torn to shreds.

My knowledge was passed down from my father. His genius mind transformed into words on my page. Many hands have held my spine. For centuries my pages were turned with joy, until now. This is my final chapter. The dust has collected on me. I am no more than a book. But I have had a life like any other.