The silence is deafening. With each step I took, the outsoles of my shoes echoed louder and louder. The aglets clicked against the ceramic floor, a sound I never found comforting. The slight smell of dusty, grubby vanilla has engraved itself upon my memory as if it was the only scent I’ve ever known. The shelves shrouded me standing tall as if they were school bullies mocking my disorientation. I didn’t know my location. I didn’t know how I came to be here. I didn’t know the day, let alone the hour. . Weeks, months, maybe even years could have passed, and I would be none the wiser. I wandered through the cavernous hall, hoping to find a way to the place I call home. I missed the world I knew, the world that cared for me as I cared for it. I’m sure that the world will notice my absence and come looking for me. That world wouldn’t move on as if I never mattered. That world couldn’t move on as if I never mattered. Surely they miss me. Surely they need me. Surely. The books seemed to know I wasn’t in the correct location, as if the librarian was rushing their shift hoping time would rush along with them. But the books didn’t mind. They weren’t judging. They seemed understanding, they were welcoming. I explained to them I couldn’t stay, as the world would be coming to rescue me before long. The shelves laughed, almost in unison. They acted as high and mighty as they were tall, as if the books that sit upon them shared their knowledge. They laughed and hollered, the previously silent hall that was filled with distant stories and the sound of footsteps became an orchestra for the sound of mockery. I stood there ignorant of the situation. What had I said to the books that was so humorous? I pleaded with them to explain. Once the laughter faded out, the hall returned to silence. I questioned the books if they understood the meaning behind the shelves' uproar, only for the books to remain silent. I was bothered by it all, but it no longer mattered as I was sure the world I was waiting for was on its way, it must’ve recognized my absence, and is looking for me now. So I continued my walk onwards anticipating the moment the world would rescue me. That moment never came. My feet had welded themselves to the insoles of my shoe. The aglets that would click along the floor had worn down and fallen off somewhere along the journey. I leaned against one of the hundreds of shelves and slid down it using it to lower myself to the ground. In that moment of despair and anguish I began to laugh, finally understanding the joke. This world that I believe needed me never, never even missed me. It will print its replacement and it will continue to move forward. It won't stop for someone like me. I was foolish to ever think the world that is filled with anger and hatred, pain and suffering would ever hesitate to erase someone like me. “It really is a funny joke!” I said to the shelves. The books huddled closer together, freeing up space along their infinitely crowded shelves, opening up a spot for me as they welcomed me in their library.