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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. 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. 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. 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, and I can be whatever you want me to be. I can be Princess Dave who frolics around in a pretty pink tutu all day, or Master Ducky of Bathtub Town. You could give me a girly name like Sarah. I quite like Sarah 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 mess up before with not introducing myself properly, I should ask you your name but that might mean you looking like an idiot as you sit or stand, wherever you are, shouting your own name at the pages in between a book, so 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 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 think that kind of pondering is probably something I should leave to Socrates though. 

I must say, I am curious. About what? Well, let me tell you. I'm curious about how you imagine me. How do you imagine my wonderfuly ambigiously discripted self? I mean, obviously, If I were human, like you, 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 thine chin? How about a beautiful maiden, gown in silk, golden hair tied up and braided beneath a shining tiara (Do remeber that I don't think I am female) 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.