Imagine a world without books.
I wouldn’t be able to travel to other worlds. I wouldn’t befriend the characters of a novel and go on journeys with them. I would have a hard time putting myself to sleep. Being bookless means dwelling in poverty.
But my biggest fear of becoming bookless is that I’d have to find people from real life—life outside of my books. I’d run into people who use their power to hurt and kill. People who don’t use refined language. People with greed and deceit. And I’d have to learn how to deal with them.
I already have my share of oppressors to deal with. Their buzzing drones that they leash into our skies. The havoc they wreak with their warplanes. But when I open a book, they vanish.
I might have to consult an expert who can lead me to a good bunch like the characters in my books. I wouldn’t mind then going on a quest to find them. I know they probably live far into the forest, but I’d be willing to endure the long days and nights to find them. They’d enlighten my mind with their knowledge. They’d touch my heart with their kindness and compassion. And if they like me, I’d become part of their tribe.
Until I find them, I’ll stick with my imaginary friends.