Bibliophobia

Ever since I can remember my childhood, I was scared of books. When I was about five, my dad brought home a large coloring book. Fear gripped me and I started shaking. I didn’t know it was the book that caused it. I opened the book and tried to draw something in it but I was unable to draw a single line. My father said nothing and the next day the book was gone. I never thought it strange that our house had no books and other than that experiment with the coloring book, I didn’t encounter a book for a year.


My father walked me to my first school. The small classroom had a book shelf and the child that I was, I wet my shorts. The teacher and my father conferred for a minute or two. They asked me to wait outside and called me back in after what seemed like hours. The books were gone. My new teacher got me a large black slate and pieces of chalk and asked me to draw and write things on it. I did that without any problem. Funnily, I was the only one in that class.


This went on for a while. One day, I got in early and was about to enter the class when I saw my teacher talking to someone else. I listened outside and realized my inexplicable fear of books. She was saying “…yes, a large metallic bound book fell on his mother when she was about to deliver. She had to be rushed to the hospital and died giving birth to him. Poor child!”