The First Book I Ever Stole.
“You’re stealing books, why?”
“Sometimes when life robs you, you have to rob it back.”– The Book Thief
The first book I ever stole: Goosebumps.
I don’t quite remember the exact Goosebumps story I had acquired, or HOW I had acquired it as a matter of fact, but I vividly remember how it made me feel.
I remember the cover being black, with droopy, gooey looking bright green slime on the front and a surge of excitement bubbling in my chest as I sat on the bottom bunk of my bed, in my blue and purple themed room and tried my best to read.
I was around nine, not the best or worst student and had a pretty decent grasp of the English language.
I had a penchant for the fantastical and an imagination to suit, books seemed right up my alley.
It would however be years after that random, stolen Goosebumps book before I stole another, before, in fact, I read anything other than what was prescribed reading at school.
The next book came at a time when I needed it most, when my sense of adventure and fantasy had faded and become jaded by life and all I needed was a good tale to get it fired up again.
Through the series of upcoming posts, I will explain how a few gifted, a few stolen and a few bought books, saved my life.
xx – M.