Little King December

Suddenly there he was: Little King December II. Groaning, he had squeezed his fat tummy through a gap between the bookcase and the wall, had nibbled on a jelly bear, and asked and answered questions. Why is he so small, no bigger than an index finger? Well, you see, in his world you are born big and get smaller and smaller, until one morning the valet cant find you in the bed at all. From the start you know everything you have to; you can read, write, program computers, lunch over business. The smaller you become, the more you forget everything, clear out some space in your mind again, can go into the garden and believe the shadows there are ghosts, give the clouds names and shout at your teddy. Childhood comes at the end of life. Read about whether this is a good or bad thing in these wonderfully poetic stories.