Portrait of a Nimmo

Written by: Apricus

Hey Mr. Bibliophile, have you seen the light? You've got that little shop of yours, your private refuge behind the old wooden desk, with the register that has the drawer that squeaks and the buttons that stick. The binding of your life lies within that place; you have no sweet, no soul, just those pages. You're nothing without the writing, the words that embrace you when you're kind of alone in that dark little hole-in-the-wall store, sitting on a stack of other fictional paradises that you've already devoured twice over, so that you know those starched-white pages and the black ink that plagues them inside and out, up and down and sideways and diagonally.

Been out lately? I haven't seen you around recently. I don't come in there much anymore; I was never as avid for those thick, reflective tomes as you. Maybe there was something in there that I was missing, something that was embedded too deeply into the pages for my weak, shallow range of intellectual sight to make out. But you, you not only read, you interpret. You have a sight that reaches beyond the words, and your power to understand is brilliant and far more powerful than that of the average Nimmo, that of any Neopet. Maybe this is why I question your incessant habits; maybe I interrogate because I admire. What great patience you have, after all! My mind is steady and tranquil enough to be secluded for so long as yours often is. It needs company besides itself and a few made-up souls that grow from the chapters within each novel, in order to remain stable.

I suppose it seems, at first glance, that you have no life. But perhaps that life is just deeper than that of the average Neopian. You live only in connection with the books that you vend, for you need no relations other than them to get by. Customers come and go, but there you stay, leaving your safe haven only to restock on such necessities as food. You live in harmony with the shelves and stacks of books that extend toward the high ceiling for eternity. You long not for other elaborate materials objects, for battledome weapons with which to boast your strength and defense abilities, or for flashy paintbrushes to color your skin and bring attention to yourself. No, no, you do not ask for those. You are content with the lovely writing, and forever with it you shall stay.