I picked up The Count of Monte Cristo from my nightstand. Reading it had been tough going, the words harder to pronounce than those in my schoolbooks, but I had gotten the hang of it about halfway through. I set aside my ice cream, thinking about Edmond Dantès and the sufferings he’d endured, as well as his revenge. I very much wished I could be like him, find a treasure, and come back with a new identity, rich and powerful enough to get even
