To whoever left their copies of Sandman by Neil Gaiman in the theatre…
I cannot thank you enough.
They were sitting in a dark corner, covered in dust. I picked one up and dusted it off. “Neil Gaiman.” I thought. I’d heard that name before. I think a friend must have mentioned it to me. I shrugged and read the first few pages.
I felt a bit dirty. Kind of like I was stealing. But I had to take them home with me. And they had obviously been there for a great length of time. And a book with no one to read it? That’s just sad. So I tucked them in my bag.
I couldn’t stop. I was addicted. I was walking around with my head in the books slamming into people in the hallways. I was, “that kid,” all over again. I didn’t care. The art inspired me, the stories inspired me, suddenly the margins of my papers filled with doodles and little stories that I hadn’t seen in years. Some of my own characters came back to life, I hadn’t seen them in so long. I swore they waved at me from the pages, thanking me and greeting me like an old friend.
I found the books on a Friday. I read the first one when I went to bed. I stayed up much later then I should have. Into the wee hours of the morning, just to see what would happen next. I haven’t done that for a book in a long time.
The second book took me only an hour or two the next day. And then I realized that was all I had. That was all that I had found.
At first I felt desperate, like it was an addiction, I needed more! But no more books appeared in the dusty corner.
So instead I started writing my own. I started drawing for fun again.
And I am so happy.
I’m going to put the books back in the dusty corner.
I hope someone else enjoys them just as much.