There was a room, thought to be away from all else in the world, much similar in size to the room you are currently in. This room, and all that was in it, was the home to a lonely boy of no name. The boy never thought of himself as lonely though; after all, he never knew any different than the room in which he dwelled. Come to think of it, he really knew nothing of anything except from the room and all that was in it. He was never too sure as to how he came to be, or how the place he was in and all that was in it came to be; however, he knew it was and that was enough. There were no openings in this room to look out- that didn't bother the boy so much, he was confident that he knew how it would appear.

The boy would eat and he would sleep. He would do as he pleased, when he pleased. One would assume that the boy had a boring life, but if you were to ask him, he would strongly disagree. The boy was quite content in the life which he lived. He loved to read and, besides the obvious, that was all he ever did. Whoever had abandoned the room must have loved books, for every inch of the wall was covered in shelves filled to their limit in books. The boy was grateful for these books, especially the books of men who created, invented, and ruled- those were his favorite. Books of what had happened in the past were what captured the boy's interest the most; however, he wasn't certain if these books were fictional. Many things were a mystery to the boy such as if he had a family as boy in books did and where they were if he did. He also wondered where the other people in the world lived, maybe they lived as he did, but he did his best to not really care about these thing. Sometimes, reading was difficult for the boy. Many places and items were hard for him to grasp because he had not seen these things, but he was optimistic and tried his best to imagine them. He liked to fantasize of what England would be like of all places. England seemed to be a place of mystery, history, and beauty, or so the boy imagined.

The boy had counted all of the books many more times than once. It was not because he forgot how many books there were on the shelves or even because he feared one would be stolen or lost, for he knew every book by memory and knew no way of a book being misplaced, but he counted them because he was fascinated with the science of numbers. Mathematics wasn't something new for the boy. Ever since he taught himself how it worked, he worked with it. 17,000 books- that's how many books were on the book shelves and forty-nine books were how many the boy had left to read. The boy was hesitant to read any book to fast, for he wasn't too sure what he would do once all the books he was blessed with were read. He had thought about reading the books a second or maybe even a third time, but he hadn't decided yet. He did know, however, that he wanted to write books of his own one day-books much like his favorites.

The last book aligned for the boy to read was labeled "The Holy Bible". The author wasn't noted on the cover of the book as all others were, so the boy decided that the book must have been older than the other ones. The boy knew, from other books that he had read, that the "Holy Bible" was about a particular omniscient God and his people. He also knew that many people worshipped the God of this book and followed His every word. The boy decided that doing such a thing was unusual and tedious but was intrigued at how people followed through.

Each book the boy read was read in order by placement on the shelves. He wasn't too sure what the particular order of the books was. Intrigued by the mysterious order, he had attempted to discover it many times. The boy decided that the only order possible was either by difficulty to read or by importance-least to greatest. The latter, the boy suspected, was more probably because of the fact that the Bible was placed last on the shelf. The final book had been mentioned in so many other books of many different genres that the boy suspected it to be extremely important.

The day came to be when the boy was ready to begin the next book on the shelf. He had finally come to the final book; however, he began to be hesitant towards starting it. As to why he felt that way he didn't know, but the boy decided to wait a few days before beginning the final book anyways. The boy began to think that maybe it would be best not to read the final book after all, or at least for a while. He contemplated that thought and decided to wait on starting the final book.

It was a warm day in the boy's quarters with a familiar noise of a foreign substance falling on the silver roof above when the boy decided to pick up the final book. A long time had passed by before the boy decided it was time to pick the final book up. He had not once forgotten about this very important book, but had merely been putting it off for later. The boy had spent his time, usually spent by reading, by writing his own books. Most of his books were of no particular genre but of several genres combined. He had often attempted to write about men who created, invented, and ruled- as the book he so much enjoyed- but was never capable of doing so well. The boy had once even written about his own life, but his story last only a few pages, for his life had been spent all in the same manner.

The boy felt as if the moment he began to reach for the final book was monumental, almost as if the whole entire cosmos he knew was soon to be drastically different and as if he were about to discover something that no book could ever describe. His first touch of the book was different, the fabric of the cover different than any other. As he began to remove the book from its shelf, the floors began to vibrate- it was something the boy had never felt before. The boy was not scared nor frightened. He was slightly intrigued but, more so, he was calm. He found that feeling this way in such a mundane moment was odd, but felt as he did and so he continued to reach for the final book.

Every moment seemed to be going slower than usual. He had read about moments like this in books, in a slow motion. As the ground stopped shaking, the book shelf that had held the final book began to sink underneath the ground. After a few moments, the bookshelf was entirely gone and the boy stood with the final book in his hand, astonished at what had happened. The silence around the boy had been overtaken by foreign noises of all sorts. In place of where the bookshelf had been stood an inspiring image. It was like nothing the boy had ever seen, to think that this image was there. The boy was not sure what the image was supposed to be, but it appeared too real for a picture. It was dark with lights glistening about above. The bottom half was dark but with light rushing by in a fast, sequenced way. The boy had seen pictures before similar to this in his mind, as described in books, but never had he fathomed a full picture as this with the affect of noise too. It then occurred to the boy that this was not a still image, but an opening to another cosmos. Slowly, but confidently, the boy began to reach out his hand for the opening before him.

Just as the boy was about to the point for his hand to be crossed to the outside of his room wall, he began to fret. He had never know anything other than his room, books, and himself. The boy wasn't too sure if he wanted to know or experience anything new. Books always brought on new adventures for the boy, but never an endeavor even closely similar to this had the boy fathomed. He was comfortable and content in the manner in which he lived. If he entered the cosmos before him, he may love the new cosmos, but then again, he could end up regretting entering. If he stayed and lived life as he did now, he would more than likely regret not entering this new cosmos; on the other hand, he may really hate it and never be able to return to his familiar room which he was so accustomed with.

The boy felt something pushing him into the opening, a desire to know what lay beyond his familiar room, and so he decided that he would take a chance- a chance that could alter the rest of his life forever. He boldly took a step forward and began to enter the opening of the new and foreign cosmos before him.