There is a house party in the midst of a wild crescendo raging all around me. Sounds are strangely muted however; the only sensation is of the air vibrating with exaggerated bass. I stand alone in a corner, not holding anything, dressed in a plain, worn out hoodie and jeans. I watch and observe everyone I can see, and inwardly I laugh at them all. So senseless, so inebriated. I don’t understand them or their lifestyle at all, so I am content to be entertained by it.

Next thing I know, I have wandered away from the main party and haunt the empty mansion by myself. I come to a room with a door that is swollen with age, and it is hard to open at first but I get it eventually. I am greeted by a green room stacked to the ceiling with books. At the apex is a small window through which sunlight is streaming. I begin to climb the books, ravenous to reach the window. Suddenly, my whole world is upended when the books beneath me rattle and dislodge themselves, and I fall and am completly buried by them. I am at peace.