I knew I existed, but not who I was, which felt oddly like being a book that couldn’t read itself, or like having no memory of a book I’d read, or perhaps like being a library without its books.

  It was such a strong impression that, in those first moments, I almost believed I might actually be a book.

  But the idea was preposterous, entirely unlikely, and was replaced at once with reason. After all, books don't think, let alone about reading themselves, nor do they worry about their identity. If books had worries, these would be about mites nibbling away their pages, and damp settling in and growing mildew and mold, and careless hands tearing and ripping and folding the corners, and spines bent back and broken, spilled ink and dirty-fingers leaving stains, margins littered with notes, and the hot crackling burn of flames…

  I shuddered with my very being.

  If I wasn’t a book, then why did these diseases of the page make me so anxious and uncomfortable? The fear of fire was definitely budding in me, and the mere thought of mites had sent my heart racing.

  A heart? Yes, I had a heart! It had to be, for inside me was a rhythm: a deep, thumping beat. Books don’t have heartbeats, living bodies do! And, if I had a body, that meant I could use it.

  Tentatively, I willed myself to move: any appendage or limb I might have; any eye or mouth or sensory organ; any voice or sound or breath. Alas, nothing happened, and I despaired. I was immobile and senseless.

  No matter who I was, this wasn’t good news.

  Then, I had a thought, a shy and silly idea. Those first impressions of being a book had been so strong, perhaps I should try moving again, but this time as a book.

  I braced myself for disappointment with some self-derisive humour: how ridiculous to try moving as a book! What did I think would happen, that I’d wiggle my stitches, or flex my binding? Ha!

  Half-heartedly, I willed movement into my pages, my cover, my spine.

  I moved.

  Stunned, thoughtless, I slid forwards.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But then I knew, by some intuition, that something was wrong. I wasn’t moving, I was being moved. I was being held, transported, treated as an inanimate object. It was horrifying to be so powerless, controlled by something unknown.

  What cruelty! Was this my life, doomed to being trapped in the loneliness of my mind?

  No, I wouldn't be a prisoner of myself. I was alive, and I’d find a way to truly live. Somehow, I’d find a way to regain control, to exert my will.

  I grasped for something to use, but there was only the thrum of my heart. Without other options, without knowing what would happen, I wrapped my mind around my heart. I knew then that if I tightened my thoughts, squeezed and pressed down on my heart, something would happen… My heart would-

  Just then, before I could do anything else, the movement of being carried ceased. Again I had an intuition: I’d been placed on a surface.

  Then, for the first time, I heard another mind.

  First I was struck by its powerful presence, distant but curious, studying me.

  “Oh-oh-oh,” it boomed, “How unexpected. How peculiar.”

  I tried answering, but I couldn’t project my thoughts outwards, couldn’t speak. My thoughts were confined to my mind, for every direction I projected only led back to myself.

  The other mind withdrew, pulling itself away, and I began to panic. If I didn’t do anything, that presence wouldn't know I was alive! I had to show it, had to be heard, to be felt, to be validated as a real living being.

  In desperation, I wrapped my mind around my heart and squeezed.

  At once its beating stopped. Angst washed over me. Had I just extinguished my heart?

  Then, from a depth I had not known my heart to have, there rose a wave. It came as an echo from the bottom of a well, as an unstoppable tide of emotions. With a single beat greater than any before, my heart broke free from my mind, and scattered my thoughts in all directions.

  Disoriented, confused, still I knew success: the other mind was surprised. Its attention returned to me, and it spoke again.

  “What have we here? Oh-oh-oh, perhaps there is more to you than it seems. What other surprises might you contain, I wonder?”

  Then, the other mind departed. I lost its touch. I wanted to reach again for my heart, to communicate, but… I was so tired, spread thin. Drained. Empty.

  Still I felt, through the blurriness of sleep, something being done to me, binding me, fastening me down tightly, until everything slipped away.