A little idea I had on the way home today.

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Time stands still in a library.

Rows upon rows of books, fingers trailing along their spines as figures roam the shelves.

Your heartbeat swells, and your body relaxes into a chair. Blood flows softly through your veins as you turn the pages.

The air conditioner whirs, and you hear the buzzing of many wings in the dawn.

Children stomp through the door, laughing, and you hear the sound of soldiers on their way to war, echoes of their childhood swirling around them.

The pages rustle, faster, faster as you sink into the world in front of you, diving headfirst into the sights and sounds that spring to life from the page.

The librarian checks books out, little machine beeping, and you hear the steady beep of a heartbeat as you sit beside a bed, clinging to a senseless hand as tears slide down your face.

You lose all sense of where you are, and you sit for a lifetime in the enveloping chair, or maybe you sit for a moment. You can't tell: you are somewhere else.

The girl beside you leans forward, eyes sparkling as she reads, but you don't notice. You are being held at gun point, where one wrong word could mean the difference between life and death.

Echoing silence fills your ears, the noises around you muffled, but you hear the wedding bells as clear as day. Daisies float around you as you lean in for a kiss, and cheering resounds all around you.

Children giggle as they rush to grab their favourite books. Fairies flutter around your head, sunbeams sparkling against their wings, and you sigh with the beauty of it all.

War, weddings, families and friends, ancient languages and newborn worlds. There are portals all around you.

The lights flicker, and you startle, gasping for breath as you break the surface. You are in the library.

The book is worn, and your fingers trace the creases in the cover as you walk to the door.

The night is falling. You have been there for an hour.

Or was it really years and years?

After all, time stands still in a library.