A Lost Approach

In solemn silence the globe remains spinning. Forgotten it sits in a locked room filled with ideas of past occupants. Deemed outdated it cries, and the footsteps continue down the hall. A painted sphere, drowned by the lens in space, with numbers we lose simplicity, and thus our lives flawed by confusion.

?

CRACK! The sound of a bookshelf snapping accompanied by the unison flipping of hundreds of pages. Rows of fifty chairs each stretch perpendicular to massive columns of books. Every two minutes a shuffle of paper erupts in the tall building and quickly falls to silence. Stories are immediately replaced upon completion as long, lanky figures glide along the isles. Each second is measured by a clock without arms that sit on the high north-east corner of the building. By the door stands a tall, dark, faceless figure whom watches the readers without movement. BANG! A head falls asleep one last time amid the silence of many others, the shuffle of paper erupts once more. Slowly slips the body from the chair onto a small shiny kart that begins to roll through the isle. Solemnly a pale figure enters through the front door and occupies the recently vacant seat. He opens up a book without a title and begins to stare at a blank page. The shuffle of paper erupts.