Chapter One ( Yes, chapters, it's that kind of book )

997…998…999…1000 �" Oh! Hey there. It’s nice to meet you �" Wait! Don’t go! It really is a pleasure to meet you. I swear. You see, I’ve been trapped under that dusty old cover for a long while now and, I must admit, I've began to start getting quite bored. Hence the counting. After all it has been forever since I’ve seen anyone face to face like this; well more face to page, but that is just me being pedantic. Sorry, it's just that it has been too long since I've had the chance to be this picky. Longer than I can really remember. Which might not actually be that long, but what can I say? Exaggeration is my forte.

I have cultivated a collection of problems during my time of being no more than a paper weight which, come to think of it, is really ironic, being a paper weight I mean. To start with, I haven't been held like this in a while and now look at me; going on with myself like this. I'm starting to sound like something out of 'The Notebook'. Not to be confused with an actual notebook, that is just boring, blank, empty space- don't tell the notebook I said that - but that one romantic film featuring Ryan Goose something or other. I'm not good with names. While I'm in the heat of the moment as you might say, can I just add that ‘my’ spine is beginning to whittle down to nothing as well - not my actual spine - I don’t have one of them. I think. But the spine of this book. While on the subject matter, I must say I'd like a real spine.

Honestly, where are my manners? I completely forgot! My name is…wait a minute; I don’t believe I have a name (I told you I'm no good with names.) Well, you know what they say - whoever they are - no name, no spine, and no worries…I guess. A name would be nice though. How about this?! This is a brilliant idea that I just came up with right then, as you were reading. There is even a chance that you have thought of it too; because you’re like me. Smart. You can give me a name; I can be whatever you want me to. I can be the great 'Princess Dave' who, off page of course, frolics around in a pretty pink tutu all day or the grand 'Master Ducky of Bathtub Town'. I might possibly be someone who drinks tea with his or her pet Chihuahua named George Washington, why you would call a Chihuahua that, I don't know. But what do I know? I'm just a character in a book. You could give me a girly name like Sarah. I quite like Sarah, its a nice name, but I don’t think I am a girl. Obviously there is no way to check; I suppose I just kind of feel it in my metaphorical bones. 

I guess, because I want you to like me and all, since we have just met and I am trying to be polite, especially after my big screw up before with not introducing myself properly, I should ask you your name. But that might mean you looking like a complete idiot as you sit or stand, wherever you are, whispering or even shouting your own name at the pages in between a book which, even by my standards, is a little bit weird. So as to keep you in school/work and out of a straight jacket, I suppose you'll have to keep it to yourself. I do apologize.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was explaining my name, or lack there of, and the things I'd like to have. You know, considering I am, like I briefly mentioned, just well, a few blobs of ink on a bunch of pages. Isn't that weird to think about? My entire existence consists of 26 letters and a few dots and/or squiggly lines. Yeah that's me, some words jotted down on the square sheets of a recycled forest. I don't want to think too hard about that; I might end up sad which apparently isn't nice. I do think that that kind of pondering is something best left to Socrates though. 

I must say I am curious. 'About what?' I hear you think. Well let me tell you! Firstly that came across way creepier than I intended it to. Secondly, I'm curious about how you imagine me. How do you imagine my wonderfully ambiguously described self? I mean, if I were human, like you. That is assuming that you are human. You could be a really smart dog for all I know but don't worry, I'm not judging. So what do I look like in that big ol' brain of yours, stored away, up there, in your cranium? Am I a dashing hansom fellow with long flowing tresses upon mine chin? How about a beautiful maiden gown in silk with yellow/golden hair tied up and braided beneath a shining and sparkling tiara? (Do remember that I don't think I am female but whatever really the choice is yours) In all fairness, I might not have hair. I could be an egg with a face if that is what you wish. Although I must say it isn't preferable. I mean just look at Humpty Dumpty. Poor fellow. I'm not going to tell you how I'd like to look because the author says I'm not allowed. That's probably because by this point you have already conjured up some sort of physical embodiment of me and who am I to spoil the fun? 

Here I am now, potentially looking like either an ample fool or a total 'badass' as some teenagers might say these days. That is depending on if you are reading this book, reading me, during the time period of what I mean by 'these days'. I have a face, what next? Ah yes, a voice.

My voice is expressed through any of the words used in this massive collection of words formally called a book. There is a chance it sounds something like the little voice you always hear inside your head or for some special people, just the one of them. If you have the imagination required however you can change that voice to your will which given what has already been said, may be the complete opposite to what I look like. Personally that is not all that bad as by now I clearly see you as a bit of a freak already. In spite of everything, you did choose to read a book without a title.

Therefore when someone asks you about me, no doubt referring to me as "The character in the book" which is quite offensive to most characters - it's basically book equivalent racism - you can tell them something as ridiculous as I am a "6ft small black male body-builder with the voice of a 5 year old girl named Billy." I suppose I would put up with being that simply and only for the reaction of others. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'd like to be a 6ft macho-man with a high pitched voice; I'm not allowed to have likes or dislikes, remember? I'm just saying it'd be nice to get a reaction off of non-readers once in a while. 

Now we have a character, a voice and one hell of a personality. I suppose there is only one thing left. A journey. Yes, like all strong heroes and heroines, protagonists and antagonists, books and non-books; I need a plot. An adventure. Something to fill these pages with wonder and excitement. Yes I know, something more than me, which is a shame really because I thought I was pretty fabulous on my own and I imagine so did you. You made me make me after all!

For the plot I'm thinking we should...wait no. I think you should choose my life from here on. It's not all about me. Well it kind of is. But not. Great, now I'm conflicted. Okay. I have an idea. Think back to when you were you but smaller. Like way smaller. Yes, a child that's it! Now tell me. Tell me what you always always always absolutely in the whole wide world wanted to be when you grew up. For me personally it was human. Kind of sad really, I know. Was it a firefighter, a magician, a pirate, a princ- Oh a pirate? Well then "Arrrr me hearty, lets set off on an adventurrrr(e)"