This morning seemed like any other. Slivers of sunlight streamed through the shades on the window warming my face like familiar fingers dancing on my cheek and brow. I was so warm and comfortable under the blanket grandma made for me last Christmas. I did not want to get out of bed. I slept so well and the overnight hours filled my head with dreams of books. I often dream of books. All kinds of books. The smells of a book store and the feel of opening a new book seemed so real. I knew that it was more like a fantasy and that when I went into the world today, there would be no books. Everything we needed to know was burned into our brains at birth.