One door in and out, it was locked. All was dark, except for under his light. His funnel of light that came down from the one tiny bulb. It was just strong enough for him to see the words, and they to see him. He wondered who found him more interesting, the people watching him behind the mirrored windows up there, or the words on the pages in front of him?

     
     People studied him. They all wanted to know how he could do it. He wondered why they couldn't?

     At least the words didn't judge; they didn't even care. Sometimes his friends, other times they punished him. He tried not to participate all the time, It was difficult. He hated to say no, but sometimes the words were to powerful, drawing him in.

   
         For a brief second, his book appeared to hover in thin air before falling to the ground.

      Quite shocked and in partial disbelief; the observing men gasped in the room above.

     "He was reading aloud and he vanished," said one amazed observer. "How could it be?"

"he was on page 32, reading about driving in a car, in the dark, and he vanished.  I wonder how?"

      "Well," said the lead observer. "It appears to me he just turned off his tale lights."