If one were to open a book long enough, and stare into its dry pages, something fascinating would occur. Particles from the outside world would quickly fly onto the page. The particles would dance and merge with the ones already present. This would create chaos on the page, and the balance Mother Nature tries so hard to hold together falls apart. Under these conditions, the letter-moving monster is born. Containing everything possible, it is colored the purest white, much whiter than a page could ever be. The white is in a form of a circle, since it is always existent. Out of this white circle would spring thin legs with a sharp foot. The legs were angled forward, allowing ease when crawling backwards, but difficulty for forward movement. Soon eyes developed, and only able to see in black and white. Its teeth came next, strong, large and round. After an hour or so the monster would mature. Its short legs would lengthen and bulge in strength. Its back would thicken, and its round teeth became little squares. The squares themselves would actually be perfect cubes.
This occurrence always took place, but the monster only attacked a chosen few. The monster seemingly chose at random, but it knew very much what it was doing. It could only make its move when eyes squinted in confusion. It would be such a momentous occasion for the monster. Like the supposed first shot of the American Revolutionary War, everything happened because of this movement. It occurred mostly in children trying to, or learning to read. It even occurred for those who had the most difficulty, adults who the monster followed all their lives. Of course, many understood reading quickly, so even though the monster was always born, he would never mature enough to do anything. This did not matter too much to it, as there were many that were confused.
The monster feels itself becoming again. It feels its legs spring out of its white body, its eyes open, and its teeth clench in anxiety. It looks upward at the large grey figure, but more at the white circles in the middle of its head. The eyes are steady enough, and read through the book, scanning over the monster unknowingly.
Time passes, and the eyes pause. The monster readies itself for the change. The figures eyes lessen, as flaps of skin cover the top and bottom. An explosion of sound and energy enter the monster and his transformation takes place. All at once its legs fire out onto the page, its eyes focus, and its mouth opens as it lunges forward towards the letters. Approaching slowly, but as fast as its legs will carry it, it notices over the horizon the blackness of a letter. It sees the large top of it is completely flat, so it must be a capital T, F, or Z. Closing in it sees a long straight thick black line in the center of it, and immediately recognizes it as a T. The monster approaches the T, and, without hesitation, burrows its lower jaw straight under the top of the T. It quickly clenches its top set of teeth on it, and begins to pull back.
The letters always have trouble shifting at first, as they have not moved in perhaps a hundred years, but they always end up moving. The monster’s legs dig into the page, and the gigantic T budges at last. Its adhesiveness to that page disappears, and the struggled eyes of the monster relax for a moment knowing this. The movement of its six legs is rhythmic, and in a great strength. The T drags loudly, but the figure is too far away to notice. The monster’s tongue brushes up against the T as it pulls it, trying to taste what this book is like. The taste is pleasing, but the monster cannot wait to reach the other letters.
Feeling it has pulled it far enough back the monster drops the giant T at once. The T slams on the paper, and sends a cloud of particles towards the monster’s eyes. Of course accustomed to this, it closes its eyes and steps backwards. The heavy T is fixated to that part of the book now, as it is immensely heavy and will not fall until another figures eyes have looked upon it. The monster walks forward, still in a difficult way, as it legs permit no other. It walks around the T, and heads towards the other letters. During the walk it feels its weariness from the heavy T, and the struggle to walk the opposite way that its legs are placed. It anticipates being able to walk backwards, the same distance in half the time and twice the speed. It feels more and more bitter towards the figure, as the figure holds what the monster never will, reading material. There is simply no reading material small enough for the monster to read, and even if it could, it would struggle to recognize the small letters it has always known as gigantic. And to read a just a sentence in gigantic letters takes nearly a day. The monster half smiles as it sees the small o in front of it. Its broad square teeth hint through its lips, and it arrives.
Upon finishing the final letter, the monster freezes and looks up at the eyes before it. It sees the eyes shifting quickly back and fourth, trying to figure it all out. Again, it feels the eyes pass over it, but is confident they will not pause long enough on it that it will matter any. The monster sees now that its job is done, and closes its white eyes. The heavy letters weigh enough to be stable on the ground, and will only be shaken by another set of eyes looking on.
A man is sitting in his room. The lights all around are dim, except the one next to his book. His white walls are yellowed by the lampshade, as are the pages in the novel he holds in his hands. The pages feel dry between his fingers, and the dryness begins to crawl towards his eyes. He can feel his eyeballs dry, and this stuns his eye movement. He slowly collapses his eyelids over them, so as to moisten them again. Pausing with them closed, he sighs. He continues to read “Tall like a hat, he waited for the train to arrive; coin purse in hand, and merry tune in heart.” He tries to read the next sentence but cannot, for the word “Tall” has an inconsistency. Squinting his eyes he notices the “T” is much higher than the other letter, and the “a” next to it is a bit lower. Throwing his thumb on the book to check for sure, it measures true. The base of the “T” is much higher, in relative measure, than the two “l’s.” He closes the book shut and throws it across the room. Throwing his hands up to his eyes, he does not even hear the flapping of the book, or the crash as it hits the wall. He cried out loud “Damn it! I’m so much older now! Why am I cursed with this childhood weakness?!” He could have sworn right there he heard a quiet high-pitched laughter. He opened his eyes and looked around for the source, but could not see it as much as feel it. “You think its funny?” he shouted. Pausing for an answer, but by no means expecting one, he then yelled back “No! I will not let you affect me any longer! You can move all the damned letters you like! I can still read them!”
He shot up from his bed and ran for the book. Folding over to pick it up, he grabbed it and quickly ran back to his bed, jumping into a forced rested position. He began to shout out loud “Tall like a hat! That’s right! Tall! T! A! L! L! What does it mean when I can read it? It means You are a failure!” He became suddenly quiet, and thought to himself Who are you speaking to? A little voice either outside or inside said “You are speaking to yourself. You are the failure.” The man began to tear the book to shreds, using every last piece of angst in his arms. Even when the scraps were later put inside the fireplace, he did not feel any different. He felt like all he had accomplished was destroying a book, a good book at that. The man slunk back to his bed and slept the days off.
“Well?” the teacher asks. “I uh…” the girl stutters. To her, the chalkboard is a mess. Someone may as well have scribbled up there, she thinks. But it was her teacher who “scribbled” up there, so she really has no say. The things on the board in no way reflect what she spent the year studying, words. Words that appeared to be words would have a few extra letters, and whenever she pronounced them, the other kids would laugh. Then she would silently look back up and see all the letters back in the place where they were supposed to, and she would cry. This happened every time she was called on. After a few times she wished she could reach the final point of seeing clearly immediately, without all the laughter and scolding. She squints her eyes, hoping to fix the mistakes, but all the chaotic letters only become more focused. “I can’t read that” she mumbles methodically and ashamed.
The usual explosion of laughter comes out, and every eye in the classroom touches on her at least once in the few seconds that follow. The only eyes that stay are the teachers. The girl sinks into her seat. Water forms at the corners of her eyes and the scrambled board blurs. Her teacher approaches her desk quickly and half shouts “What did you say, Renee?” Renee wants to explain how the letters on the board are not words she had ever learned, but look like them. Explain that the teacher should not call on her for new words, and then refer to them as old words. That there is something wrong with what she wrote up there and not something wrong with Renee, as clearly she is able to write and read legibly and flawlessly at any given notice. But she only stutters out “I… I can’t read that.”
A smaller burst of laughter is silenced quickly by the teacher. “Why can’t you read it Renee?” the teacher tries to say politely. “The words are clearly ones we have discussed before, and you say these words every day.” Renee looks back up to the board and tries to read one out loud. “Balooln” makes its way through her lips, and the silenced laughter from before rings out more clearly and loudly than the letters before her ever could. “Looln?” the teacher asks. Renee feels a little bit of confidence and said “That’s what you wrote up there. I wanted to say balloon, but that’s not how its spelled, with the “L” at the end and all.” The teacher ran up to the green chalkboard and speaks confusedly “This ‘L’?”, pointing at the L, now in its proper place next to the other one. “But… I swear, Ms. Jaaward, it was over a few spaces.” The anger in the teacher’s eyes suddenly turns half soft. “Go to the Office right now.” she says calmly. Renee surprises herself when her body is somehow able to get out of her chair, and walk in front of the whole class and out the door. Her limbs all seem to weigh twice as much in shame, but for some reason she is able to move them.
Before heading to the Office, she falls against some lockers and then to squats with her arms over her knees. Tears come from her face, and are absorbed as much as it could in her arms, and then spill to her dress. She is so buried under her arms that she does not hear the approaching footsteps, or even the voice next to her until its owner touches her arm. “Are you ok young lady?” asks a man’s deep voice. Renee speaks through her arms and her tears “Ms. Jawaard sent me to the, the letters were out of order always when I see them, always. And I can’t do anything but read them how I see them, and they laugh, they always laugh.” The man is silent for a while, but breathing deeply. He suddenly says quickly, “Come with me young lady, I can help you.” She stands up and walks along side the tall man, who’s shoes tap like a teacher, but has an understanding in his voice that she only hears in her mother’s.
