Excerpt for I, Sancho by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

I, Sancho

Robert Hill

Copyright 2017 by Robert Hill

Smashwords Edition

"What giants?" I asked.

"Those that you see there," replied Don Quixote, "with the long arms nearly two leagues in length." The lanky old Spaniard was staring at me as if I had lost my mind rather than the other way around.

The aroma of coffee drifted past my nostrils, and I felt an incongruence to the moment; like I was in a dream and not really upon my donkey aside my master, the illustrious Don Quixote de La Mancha.

I wasn't myself.

Then I realized it had crept upon me like carnivorous ivy, wrapping me in its vines until I had been cocooned within its smothering leaves. There were no windmills set off in the distance before me. There was no skinny, senile man from La Mancha. I was not Sancho Panza.

I slammed the book shut, finding myself where I was when I first opened it - upon the couch, my coffee set beside me.

I took a sip, then considered for a moment, wondering - should I continue? I wondered, how on earth had I managed to become so engrossed in the storyline that after several pages I actually felt as if I was there with Don Quixote himself, a fictional character written by a long dead writer.

I glanced at the cover of the faux leather bound book. "Don Quixote" by Cervantes. It was a fiction about a man who believed he was a knight, and who saw things quite differently than the rest of his fictional brethren, including his sidekick, Sancho Panza.

But it felt so real. I felt the wind against my face, the heat on my back, and could hear that donkey I was riding upon … Sancho was riding upon. I considered again. Was I going out of my mind? Had Cervantes written so well a tale that it somehow bored its way into my brain, like a worm through an apple, all the way to my daffy core.

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