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I know you ignore me, you ignore me in bookstores and you ignore me in libraries. You even brush by my side without a second glance. Although you sometimes do pick me up for a while, then glance at my bland cover and put it back immediately. I am sorry to say, but you do that.
Not that I mean to find fault with you, for you are right in your own place. I am not attractive, cool or sexy as you guys often say. I am not even funny, or you could say my jokes are more depressing than funny.
I will be honest with you I do not even like entertaining you. Embedding sex to make it sell, naming and cloaking each and every character into either a hero or a villain and always ending a story like a fairy tale, it is not me, not me at all.
In fact, you can call me the cruel master, for I like to make you work and work and work. It pleases me more to see you toil and suffer. Actually, it is only when you are peaceful and enjoying that I start to worry. Yes, I am the mean guy.
No wonder you do not like me much. And I guess that is alright.
Why should I not educate you instead of entertaining you? Why should I not show you the cruel face of reality rather than make you live in dreams? Why should I violate your humanity?
I know my intention is your welfare only and I know I will suffer for that, especially in this age when Facebook and Twitter have reduced everyone’s attention span.
