It was a strange place – like a lighthouse and a library had a baby. The entire thing was stuffed to the brim with bookcases – so tightly packed they looked as if they would fly out and downhill any second. This of course, meant there was no room in the odd structure for any form of living, so the bookworm would grab their flashlight – as the sunlight could not enter downtown – and make their way downstairs after abandoning their bookmarks like an unfinished scrapbook – even their headstrong selves would become weary of gawking at stories and cookbooks for so long. They would dive into the narrow stairs headfirst – they were awfully tiny, but did offer a pillow to cushion their landing. This was a problem for our particular lightweight bookworm, who possessed the structure of a snowman. He would smash into the poor pillow with the force of torrential downpour, sometimes crushing the headlight he so needed to navigate the dark. This of course, would ultimately result in an ultimate headache – but that did not stop him from arming himself with bulky headphones to survive the countdown to disaster. The countdown that would result in a snowstorm of books raining on the basement door. They refused to float down like gentle snowflakes – therefor thought it fit to take the form of hail. Then the poor bookworm would be forced to pull out a gigantic snowplow to move his relentless friends back in place – despite the complete lack of daylight they would enforced upon him.
And that is why that tower was an only child.