Beginning to read, she sat on the couch and opened the book. Page one described a girl who sat down and started reading. Her eyes skipped along from word to word. From time to time, she would pause and consider the gravity of what she had mentally ingested. The images and ideas that had only moments before described a world beyond her wildest imagination. So it continued from page to page in a flurry of literacy that had consumed her whole. Everything else in the real world was no longer a consideration. For it was that the book had changed her very being. It was the cliche of a portal enticing another dimension. No cover had ever relayed as much meaning as the words she had found in this moment. The novel was, in itself, another life. She read the book about a girl reading a book. It had not been her who was conceived of it.
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