Reading Books To You の小説・ストーリー

--- Isabella woke at noon demanding lunch with her usual subtle approach - which is to say she screamed like the world was ending. I fed her in the nursery rocking chair while David hovered nearby, reading aloud from *Goodnight Moon* even though she was far too young to understand it. "In the great green room, there was a telephone—" "She can't comprehend narrative structure yet." "The books say reading to babies is good. They don't specify what we read." He turned the page. "And a red balloon, and a picture of—" "The cow jumping over the moon." "You've memorized it." "I've heard you read it forty-seven times this week."

In the current world game market, many countries have established their own complete and sound game rating systems, such as the ESRB system in the United States, the PEGI system in Europe. The full name of ESRB is Entertainment Software Rating Board, it was found by the Entertainment Software Association in 1994 in America. The committee is a non-profit industry organization. Its responsibility is to assess the content of electronic games and provide consumers (especially parents) with age-appropriate guidance on the content of computer games or online videos. ESRB's game ratings system have two kinds of manifestations, one is the rating identification, they are named like EC (early Childhoo

"Volunteers for what? Militia?" "No. For the library. Reading to kids. Or shelving books." Cale frowned. "I am not a librarian." "You like books. You like order. You like silence. It's perfect." "Children are chaotic variables. They are sticky. And loud." "They're also funny. And they need someone to read them stories." "I do not know stories." "You can read them facts. 'Did you know the speed of light is 299,792,458 meters per second?' They'll love it."

—Flashback— “Bronx, there’s a monster in my closet. Maybe it’s a witch.” I peek into his room. He’s reading a book. I bet it doesn’t have pictures. He says books with pictures are little kid books. I like books with pictures though. Maybe when I’m ten like him, I won’t like picture books anymore? That sounds boring. I’ll like picture books forever. “There’s no monster or witch in your closet.” He keeps reading. “It’s your imagination.”

I don't have a single book with me but that doesn't bother me. I can sleep when I get to the library. I step into the library and immediately feel self-conscious. I can't sleep, not with everyone bending over a book as if they are trying to stop a nuclear war. I stand by the bookshelf, hardly seeing the book and debating going back home. Another Friday night spent alone doesn't excite me. “Having trouble picking what you want?” A voice drawls behind me. I startle and gasp as I turn back. Zane.

“I’ll always stay with you, bambino. Now, go to sleep and once you’re out I’ll disconnect.” “I love you.” I sigh gently, tired, and already fading out quickly. “I love you so much more. Sleep.” Jake props up his laptop too so both his hands come into view behind his head as he gets comfy. I snuggle into the cushion and close my eyes. “Talk to me until I sleep.” I yawn again, hearing a small noise that sounds like he’s laughing under his breath. “Could you be any more adorable, baby? … I’ll read to you if you like? I have a Stephen King book with me.” He sounds happy amused; I could listen to that voice forever.

he questions. I nod my head. "Yes," I say again. "I've always loved reading." "Book," he says in a gruff voice. "Liffatin. Can you repeat that back to me?"Liffatin," I repeat. "That's a beautiful word. You know, back in my kingdom there was a little shop called a library and it harbored many, many books. Some were sad, some were happy, some were full of action and tales of courageous princes and princesses, fictional tales of fire-breathing dragons and fairies and demons. A book is where imagination takes flight."

Books are oxygen for the literate. For me, there's no other way to breathe. Breathing comes naturally to living organisms. For a nerd with a perfect attendance record and zero friends, air fills my lungs, and words fill my head. I like filling my head with facts, opinions, and fanfiction. There's nothing better than reading Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings fanfics on a Friday night.

"That the people who stay are the ones who were supposed to." He looked at the book. "Not the ones who were convenient. Not the ones who were merely suitable." He looked back at her. "The ones who were supposed to." She sat with that for a long moment. Then: "Read it to me." He looked at her. "It's a children's book." "I know," she said. "Read it to me." Something moved in his expression. "All right," he said. He opened the book. He read it in twenty minutes—the whole of it, slowly, in the kitchen with the September evening at the windows and the south garden doing its seasonal work and the house quiet around them in the way it was quiet on Friday evenings when it was simply being held by th

Alya lied down on the couch and rested her head on the pillow, smiling up at me. Stories were our thing. After a lot of effort, I got her into reading. But her only condition was that I read to her. Ever since, we picked an author and I read all of their best books to her almost every day. And Oscar Wilde's The Happy Prince was the first book I read to her. It became her favorite book and Wilde her favorite author.