"She liked to read,"


She liked to read. When she read, the world around her; it dissapeared.
Another world, her world, the realms of imagination.
That far away place, illustrated in children's story books or Disney films.
She drifted off, not sure where to, but she was happy there; in her place.
The girl wasn't sure whether she dreamt, imagined, or pretended. To her,
it felt real.
She's read until she could no longer keep her eyes open, often found laying on
her bed, book in hand, or on face.

When the book was taken from her body, or from her grasp, she would, how to say it;
react.

Distressed facial expression, movement, sometimes violent, as if she was having some kind of living nightmare.

When the book was in contact with her body, she looked happy, content; peaceful.


Her world. Her happy place. Her closet friends,
Baloo, Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, Dumbo, Pinnochio,
even Scooby;

They were all there. Characters from her favourite books, and films. Surrounding her.
She was safe, calm, and content.

Personal, private; Hers.


One day, her father somehow came to a terrible but final decision; Her books, her beloved films, her whole life was stolen; the day that Daddy said it was time to grow up.