Books and stories are indeed very intoxicating. I was never an avid reader but stories and books found a way to accompany me during every stage of my life. My journey with stories began when I was barely 3 years old. My Aunt used to make up stories and she used to narrate them in such a way that I couldn’t eat with listening to a story. Stories became a staple for me, my appetite for stories is insatiable. Then when I grew up I got to read stories and imagine the characters in my little head. I made cinderella’s stepsisters look really funny and ugly.
Some stories made me laugh and made me dream about living in a utopia (Consisting of a lot of candy). But there were some which gave me nightmares. The first story that terrified me wasn’t a horror story, it was “The Little Red Riding Hood.” I was terrified of the bad wolf for a very long time. Then I grew up and learned that fiction can never be real. It relieved me for I thought that all those monsters in books can never harm me and the people I love but with those monsters went away the “happily ever afters’ “, the fairy godmothers, gingerbread houses and of course last but not the least the charming princes’.
But that did not disappoint me, in fact, I craved for fiction more and more. My realistic friends keep telling me fiction won’t do me any good, that it will deviate me. I never listened to them because I was intoxicated by these books and stories. I was drawn to fantasy and the supernatural, not because I hated the reality. Fiction and reality always went hand in hand for me.
People call me an escapist and maybe I am, I love escaping into the isolated castles of my mind. Some days I ran in the woods alone, some days I conversed with talking animals, some days I chanted spells with the witches and some days I solved impossible murders with detectives.
I rarely read but when I do I see books as passages to a different world. A world that lived in the mind of the author and that lets the readers explore.