I have been torn, I have been thrown. I have been loved and I have been hugged. Life is complicated being a book. People like to read me but it hurts when they open me up. I was born in 1998, August 20th. I am not the copy of the book I am the original version. There are at least 100 copies of me. When I first came out no one opened me, After at least 6 months someone had finally opened me and that’s how I am such a popular book.
The thing that I am going to say might confuse you a little bit. I am a book writing a short book about myself. Sort of like an autobiography. Anyhow, I forgot to mention my name, it’s really simple, Holes and my dad is Louis Sachar thankfully he hasn’t died just yet he is only 65. At the moment I am in the library. My father knows which one is the copy and which one is the real one. He has put his signature on the book and the pages are laminated so they don’t get ruined.
But humans use this snappy blade thing to cut through me. See I don’t know what a word is unless if it’s not written in me. All these words here are all in my one of these pages. Let me search snappy blade thing my word finder. All it says is L..O..A..D..I..N..G. Loading. Scissors, cool. A human is lifting me up from the shelf and putting me inside a library bag, cool.
At the little boys’ house
So far so good. He is reading quite nicely. Uh oh, the boys looking over at outside the hallway checking if the coast is clear. He tiptoes to his pencil case and gets out some scissors. He is going in for it. Pain, Pain. I is losing the word. Goodbye Luis, Goodbye world.