Dearest Admirable Readers and Rowdy Library Goers,

Can you imagine being stuck in a dark, dusty corner, trapped next to your sisters and brothers until someone decides to snatch you up and rip through your insides? You humans always complain of being judged by your outer beauty, but have you ever thought of how awful it is to be actually assessed on your cover, or to literally be an open book? Not only that, but to be disrespected as much as I am? Grimy, greasy fingerprints dot my pages, dog-eared corners crumble off, and the careless turning of my pages has created tears upon my glorious passages. As I sit in my cramped home, I feel as though I’m wasting away; no one seems to be inclined to learn about the genius hidden within me, most likely repulsed by the typical negative stereotyping of books. The only request my fellow books and I have is to be granted some serenity in a community with readers who treat us like the grand classics we are.

As a book, I get regularly perused by library-goers, but I only rarely get taken on mysterious adventures. My entire life is dictated by other people’s interests, and all I’d like is some autonomy! What if I desire a stroll by glistening blue oceans, or an intimate dining at a crowded Italian restaurant like the ones detailed on my pages? My sibling the next shelf over, Bartholomew, says that my itch for adventure isn’t a common characteristic of books, but I just shrug and tell him that I don’t buy into all those stereotypes about us. I mean, do I look dull, dusty, and unappealing? I didn’t think so.

I just can’t wrap my head around how humans treat objects such as myself. I constantly have to put up with being left lying open and facedown on a table in order to hold a page, the spilling of various substances upon my contents, and the toll of readers’ emotions. A countless amount of times I’ve been thrown across the room in exasperation and indignation, or have had to put up with the splattering of tears on my precious writing. I wonder, how would you feel if I acted the same way to you? I could trash your room in a fit of rage, drool on you, and cut your hair while you’re asleep and defenseless. However, I’ll abstain from rebelling because I was printed with manners and civility… and no physical ability to carry out my malicious intentions. Despite this mild hindrance, I assume you get what I’m trying to convey.

Another concept I can’t even begin to fathom is the depth of homo sapien idiocy. You have no perception of true intelligence, like the type stored in my pages. Why don’t you make any attempt to educate yourselves? I swear, if any of you valued wit I’d be cherished and worshiped, not sitting here neglected. Imagine how much the information I hold would enlighten the masses! You should start tutoring yourselves; maybe then, my library would be visited by more courteous, genteel congregations.

As anyone can clearly establish, it’s essential to start appreciating my people at their true worth; no more obtuse behavior from you. My family is tired of being mistreated, undervalued, and worn thin from conventionalization. Books are riveting, compelling objects which can be very cleverly utilized for your own personal benefit. So, come make a stop at your local library and pick one of us up! Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something for once.

Salutations,
Barry the Book