My favourite quiet place would be the library. The sound of pages being flipped, the smell of the books' pages, the cool feel of the tables and seats against skin, and the sight of various books neatly arranged on rows everywhere in this spacious area, soothes me. In the library, I can read any book I want; there is no one to tell me that what I am doing is a waste of time.
I shift in the cosy Victorian couch, feeling its smooth texture against my skin. I sigh in bliss; I wish that I can stay here forever. I do not like the idea of going out to the noisy, polluted world; I want to be here.
Sometimes, I think that the library and everything beyond its walls are two completely different worlds. The library is safe, relaxing and, maybe, educational, whilst everything else is dull and dangerous.
I actually fear everything outside this establishment's lot.
The only other place where I find tranquillity is in my own sanctuary. The feel of my warm mattress and duvet, the smell of fading perfume, the sound of the clock ticking, and the sight of my belongings, calms me. I can also read books in my room, but they are limited, unlike the library, where it has millions of them.
I arise from my seat, the book I was reading in my hand. I scan through the different rows – sections –, looking for a new book to read, whilst I try to put the finished book back where I found it.
I take out another novel and make my way back to my seat, my footsteps echoing in this silent place. The floor is slippery, though, so I take careful steps as the cleaner had just finished mopping them.
Settling down on the couch, I crack the book open and begin to read. I'm usually a speed-reader, but I have decided to take my time, today.
I cross my legs, prompt an arm on the...