Breathe deep, he told himself. Just breathe deep. Someone will find you. Someone will fix this. He didnt remember any time outside the dark cavernous room that was his universe; for all he knew, he was born there. He didnt even know for certain how old he was: the face in the mirror looked perpetually young, but he knew it was a lie. Or a trick of the light. And he knew this because it was his job to know otherwise. Every day he dutifully turned one page on the Book. That was it. The Book might change as he took them off the shelves to replace other Books whose time had passed, but his job never did. Just one page. That page, he had been told (by whom?), chronicled all the events to unfold that day... every single one throughout all Creation. He didnt know for certain if this was so, but he believed. And because he believed, he dutifully turned one page. As he did, words magically appeared on the page: dense, tiny, written in an elegant yet strong script. This, he was told, is What Will Happen that day.If there is a problem, they said, we will fix it. Not you. He nodded, understanding and yet not. He'd been doing this for... millenia. He knew this was so because he could see the thousands of books he'd taken off the shelves, one at a time, thousands of books he'd put back on the shelves when their time was done. And he could likewise see all the thousands of books to come, books he was forbidden ever to open — and because he believed, they never were. But... He couldnt explain what possessed him. A sudden feeling of his own mortality, perhaps. The certain knowledge that when he got to the last book, time would end. In younger times, he'd never even considered the possibility. The library was so vast that certainly it had to contain an infinite number of books. But now, that that was not so. To be sure, there were thousands, perhaps millions left... but they led irrevocably to that Final Page in that Final Book. Did things just... stop?, he wondered. Would the Library just blink out of existence? Or would it remain here, its books depleted of their knowledge? And what would happen to him? Finally, one day, unable to stop himself, he decided to know. He walked to the farthest end of the Library, deeper and deeper into the increasing blackness... until he found it. The Final Book. Hesitantly, he leaned down and touched it, as though it might shoot fire at his eyes to blind him of its knowledge. It didnt. He gently extracted it from the shelf. It had no binding marks. No titling. It was neither heavier nor lighter than the countless others he'd carried. It was just... another book. Still fearful of what he was about to do, he sat on the floor, the book in his lap. You can always put it back, he told himself. Just leave it unopened and put it back on the shelf. No one will ever know. But he knew he couldnt do that. He flipped it over and grasped the fabric wrapped cover, then gently lifted it... He didnt even notice the first tremors, but the second wave threw him against the wall as the enormous shelves began to sway, some already sending their contents to the floor. The third wave hit like the room had been cut from its moorings and sent spinning into whatever was outside. The wooden shelves now collapsed about him, the thousands upon millions of books flying through the air, hurtling to the floor, some closed, more open, their pages suddenly replete with script, its elegance lost, as though the words could not slam together fast enough to elbow their way on the page. There was a sudden crash as an entire section of the ceiling broke loose and smashed onto the piles of broken wood. He looked up into the jagged hole and saw... nothing, even as a massive oak shelf careened behind him and knocked him — He awoke... hours later? Days, perhaps? He didnt know. The Final Book had been jerked away from him. It was now just one of millions upon millions of books in piles across the great space. Breathe deep, he told himself. Someone will find you. Someone will fix this.