I Hate Kindles – A Short Story

I Hate Kindles – A Short Story

I hate kindles. They ruin my fun. I gaze down the carriage and I catch a glimpse of a spine. R.R. People are such lemmings. A TV Series is made based on a book and suddenly everyone’s talking about them like its new news. I read ‘Games of Thrones’ when it first came out. I’m not trying to impress anyone, but it’s satisfying to know all the secrets of that world. The spoilers. Especially to those that only know the television series.


We slow to a halt. I breathe deeply. I go from holding three fingers to two. Two more stops. Why did she do this to us?


Since my first visit, I never look at names. “I know it can be intimidating” said Dad, “but you’ll get used to it.” I didn’t. Like always, the journey is five black, five red. He can’t stand to look at her, he stopped coming. She’s just lazy. We move off again. I continue to look for spine. Why do people buy film covers? They’re expecting to read the same story but that’s rarely the case. My dad knows not to buy me film covers because he asks. Mum is a lemming too, Queen of the lemmings. Her gym stuff is designer and she buys books that have films covers. “If they’re making it into a film, it must be good.” Fake smiles are exchanged and he chimes in: “what’s the point of reading?” I hate Kindles, I hate crowds, I hate him. 


We slow again, I lose a finger. One more stop.


More games. It’s calming and distracting. Anna introduced me to the game, when Dad couldn’t do it anymore. She works in a bookshop and is much better but I’m getting there. She tells me what to read. When I turned 15 last year, she emailed Dad a list. He found all the original hard backs. I can’t read on the tube, I need to count. Blushing and biting their bottom lip. She’s reading ‘Fifty Shades’ or something similar. You’re not being subtle.


We slow. I lose all fingers. New titles. We move.


The next stop is mine. My heart beats furiously, wanting to escape the metal cage as much as I do. “I don’t like changing my plans around your daughter!” I heard her scream down the phone. She wanted to get out like everyone else. I didn’t want to make the journey either. Not this year. Not this summer. He made it quite clear that he didn’t want me there. Ever. I enjoyed the jubilee. I watched it on telly. I don’t like this.


We slow. I can’t do it. I don’t want to leave. This stupid tube carriage feels more like a home than the four walls she gave me. I look at the station name. I get off at Stratford, I buy a notepad, I take the Central back to Tottenham Court Road where I change. I begin a new journey.


Dear Diary, I hate kindles… 

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