Emily Yeates (age 13)

Ouch. My pages rip. My spine bends. My owner reaches out their hand. I realise what they are about to do.

“NOOOOOOOO!” I scream, not caring what my owner thinks of me. It’s not like they can hear me anyway. Their fingers close around the corner of my page. I’m used to it, so it doesn’t really hurt anymore. But seeing my owner, who I thought loved me, doing something like this to me, makes me cry. I love my owner but the way they dog-ear my page without caring proves to me they don’t feel the same way about me. After I’ve spent a solid couple of minutes crying over the loss of the love of my life, I wipe away my tears.

Looking down at myself, I notice I am not alone. My pages are closed around something long and flat. It is a gorgeous thing. It has a flower bouquet on its front and on its back some writing. ‘Tiffany’s Bookstore’, it says. Tiffany. Its name is Tiffany. Such a beautiful name.

“Hello”, says Tiffany. I jump. I haven’t realised she knows I’m here.

“H-hi”, I stammer, my pulse quickening. My pages start to get sweaty. I want this gorgeous girl to like me. I have to impress her.

“I’m Tiffany as I’m sure you already know; it’s written on my back after all.” Tiffany says.

“Uh, I’m Hamlet”, I reply, still stammering. This isn’t off to a good start.

“Hamlet is such a cool name. So, what are you about?” Tiffany asks. This is my chance. I can impress her with my amazing story.

“The ghost of my father, the king of Denmark, told me to avenge his murder by killing my uncle, the new king,” I say, leaving out the part where I go mad and contemplate life and death. We continue to chat for a bit; she tells me about all the other books she’s been in and how I am her favourite. As I listen to her speak, I feel my love for her grow. She has picked me out of all the other books. She wants to be mine. My Tiffany. I press my pages closer to her not wanting to ever let her go. As I lean in to kiss her, my pages are torn apart and Tiffany is yanked out of me never to been seen again.