[ WP ] You 're reading a random book in a library , you realize there 's a chapter about you .

It was a gorgeous Saturday morning. The breeze was the perfect blend of gentle and cool, the trees looked as if they were dancing in the sun, and it seemed as if everyone was outside. There were children playing in the park, friends enjoying a walk in the gardens, and families walking their dogs along the sidewalk. Instead of enjoying the breeze and the greenery outside, I found myself shut in the library. 
 
 I did not choose to be the morning girl. I do not find pleasure in stacking dusty books and placing them back on the shelves in an orderly fashion. Yet, here I was pushing the creaking cart of torn books into the back room, labeling and sorting. There was not a single living person in the ancient library other than myself. The busiest days consisted of ten or maybe, if we were lucky, fifteen people checking out a book or two. Libraries were pathetic. 
 
 *The whole existence of the Internet was to wipe out these blasted things. * I slammed a book on the counter and sighed. *I could be sleeping right now. * I shook my head at the book. The binding was just barely holding the tattered pages together. There was a missing back cover and the front was water-damaged. It was a lost cause. 
 
 Before I realized it, I was flipping through the pages out of habit. The edges were torn and folded. The book did not have a title or author, it was a work of less than a hundred pages. The first page with text was a dedication. 
 
 > For Laura. 
 
 I held my breath and slammed the book shut. I was about to walk away in disbelief, at least in my head, when I flipped it open again. A couple pages had been torn out, but the following pages were filled with text. 
 
 > She didn ’ t choose to be the morning girl. In truth, she hated her life. She had no life. The library was an escape for her. Reading was her vice. Laura was— 
 
 It was horrifying. How was it possible? The book looked at least fifty years old, and no one had even checked it out before. *I ’ m losing my mind. * 
 
 > Laura was not a peculiar woman. She avoided people. In truth, she was afraid of what others would think of her. The fact was that she was so inexplicably ordinary that it was impossible to not judge her, and she was well aware. 
 
 I shakily flipped through to the last page, skimming through detailed accounts of “ Laura ’ s ” boring life. They described her graduating college, moving to another state, getting married… It even mentioned children. When I reached the final page, I forced myself to read. I held my breath. 
 
 > Laura found herself staring at the blank hospital walls. She was born in this hospital, in this town. And, now she would— 
 
 I slammed the book shut and threw it across the room. I watched it land on the floor, blinking through tears. I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the ancient library into the gorgeous sunny mid-afternoon, never looking back. 
 
 My name was Laura. 

