Until I turned seven years old, I despised reading. In fact I would often find a book, read the first page, then throw it aside and stare at the wall, because at that time, I would rather be bored, than be reading. As I grew older I learned to enjoy reading through comics. I was seven the first time I read a comic, and at that time I wasn’t allowed to read most comics, because of my age, so I went with an easy choice that my parents would be okay with, ThSimpsonns. Since then, I have evolved into an avid reader.

As I grasped the spooked out cover of thSimpsonns Tree House of Horror, I couldn’t help but laugh at the picture of Bart getting choked out by a monster, that is partially hidden by a giant gate. “Is this comic supposed to be funny, or scary? It’s thSimpsonns, so it probably will be funny,” I said to myself. The car ride home from the comic shop was a large debate on what the comics would be like. Anticipating how the story would unfold, I was anxious to finally get home and crack open the cover, to either a funny or scary story.

I finally got home and took the comic out of the bag and sat down in my comfortable bed. I couldn’t help but say to me, “Here we go again.” I thought this knowing that I would most likely get bored of reading this and toss it aside like all the other books, because I have been excited before and the same thing has happened every time, I lose focus and try to find something else to entertain me, like stare at the wall. But this time I was pulled in by something. Was it the picture of two aliens in what looked to be in thSimpsonns house or something else on the next page?

While I read the first page, I couldn’t help but notice the prison on the next page. Wanting to know why this picture of a prison was in a comic for kids, I read the page, then the next and, without even noticing, I had gone through the whole comic book. “Now,” I thought to myself, “I realized why my parents were so adamant on getting the bigger book, with multiple comics.” I was hooked. I couldn’t help it but I was addicted. Like a fat man and a cake, I couldn’t live with it, and I couldn’t live without it.

With every turn of the page I was drawn by something new. But then I stopped. Not because I read something horrible or lost interest in the comic, I stopped and thought about my last seven years without reading. Emotionally, I was struck by something deep, (Keep in mind that I was 7 so it probably wasn’t that deep). Had I finally found the key, the key to the door of reading and imagination? Had the games I had played in my mind, been just a simple dream, and now that I’m reading, their becoming a large cinematic film? Well, kind of, it’s called imagining and because I was so stupid prior to picking up that comic, my first seven years on earth I had never imagined anything. I know, I had a hard childhood, but I digress.

When I walked home from the bus stop the next day, all I did was think about the comic. All I wanted to do was open it up and lie on my bed, drift into the story, while laughing at Homer Simpson as he hurt himself or did something else ridiculous. I couldn’t though. The 139 pages were no longer new to me, I had read every page. Unfortunately, when I tried re-reading, I was defeated. I wanted to escape reality, but I was stuck at the back door. And then out of nowhere I thought, “Why not get a new comic.” After another long car ride home from the comic shop, I ran upstairs with the new book tucked under my arm and jumped onto my bed. When I cracked open the Thanksgiving Themed Simpson comic, I couldn’t help but notice, out of the corner of my eye, the original key to my imagination, thSimpsonn’s Tree house of Horror laying on the side of my bed, and just as I turned away, Bart seemed to wink at me. As if he knew what was about to happen, I was once again hooked.