text: Threatened by dust fireflies that danced around tired and caramelised bulbs, aged Mr. Silva rummaged around. A face and presence, that for long lived years had shown an adult suave charm, were now forgotten in time, replaced instead by a face and presence of decay and old age. His reflection, an intermittent fear, not knowing the face that looked at him. Sluggishly but determined, he fought against the inability to practice what he would, in times past, do with great ease. Between infinite shelves of books, pages and memories, he did what he could to organise and alphabetise all those tomes, in order to make them make sense. Someone was undoing his life’s work. He would arrange and keep the books in order, only to get this undone just around the corner. But he was never a person to back down from challenges or fights and had already thought of a plan to catch these cretins. In one of the many corridors, he felt his heart and stomach sink. It was one of the library workers. He hated her. Lately no one would let him do nothing around here. And the little he tried to do was all wrong and badly done, according to them. He tried to turn back and go unnoticed, but it was pointless. As pointless as trying to hide from your own hair. There was no escape from them. And this one worker was the worst. She was mean to him. “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch anything? If you need anything just ask for help and don’t touch anything. Understand?” “But it isn’t me.” - he said, trying to hide the large tears that were forming in his eyes. - “ There is someone around here trying to mess with the books.” She looked at him with no hope in her eyes and went away somewhere else, shaking the shelves with each step she took. “I’m going to catch these people and show all of you.” - he thought to himself, pouting, while he got back to his quest to find those miscreants. But then, a familiar smell caught his attention. He looked back and saw no one. But why would he look back? He was sitting on a big fluffy worn couch. The smell came from someone kneeling in front of him, in a praying pose, holding his hands. “Dad, can you hear me?” - said a face displaying a worried smile. “Hello little lady. Are you new here? Are they already replacing me already?” - he said with noticeable fear. “Oh, dad...Don’t you know who I am?” He didn’t spend a second thinking about that question. The scoundrels had come back. He could see them and the end of the corridor, messing with his books. “I’m sorry little lady, I didn’t even ask you for your name, but I have some pranksters to catch. They are messing up all my books.