I stepped into the room with the jagged blue walls. The stench of death, destruction, flowers, and coffee rediated about me. The walls lined like a uniformed army, impenitrable in all areas. I couldn't look anywhere without seeing shades of different colors. Reds, Blues, Greys, Whites, Absences of color, and fraying edges of it. Knights of the round table chased me as I entered. Surrounding me with spears and pikes. All stained in blood and gunk. I stood very still as to not anger them. All mounted atop valiant steeds, all dressed in Knight atire, all poised to strike at the very sign of a single breath from my bossom. I held fast, and they lost interest, striding away in the mysterious beyond, to a place I could never wander. I tripped and fell over a pile of hoe-boe's, landing in a river of defeat, that reaked with the stench of a thousand dead American soldiers. A mans head, flaoted past, eyes dead cold, staring at me, almost through me, sending shivers of fear, and of pain down my adolscent spine. Why am I in this place, where the high walls roam, and the mountains talk? Why am I surrounded by the being of neverland and the fiends of hell. Is there not a place for our youth to meander far from, where they can be free. Not a place where I can set my sights on the high place where the heavens lay, or where the shivers of time, and the shreads of life are non-existant. No there is no such place, nothing hidden within. Although much is within, nothing like that will ever darken this place. For the halls are too high and the walls to narrow. The only things lerking in this great abyss are those things seen as tangible, no feats of greatness lie in this domain. For the human mind is too dim in its triumphs to even begin to comprehend such a place. I know now, that although in this great lybrinth of knowledge there are wonders of the world, wonders of science, and wonders of sound, but there is nothing in here that can pronounce anything remotely close to what one truely needs. The walls of the libraries are boundaries for all, and they are walls too high to bound, the only way one can truely escape the grasp of the Poes, the Clancy's the Nancy's and the Speare's, is to become one with them in eternity, to lie on the same level, to go to the place where the air runs free, and the life taste great. Books are nice, an escape from the real world, but nothing is better than the escape from life itself.