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    T h e  G R E E N Y  w o r l d  D o m i n a t i o n  T a s k  F o r c e
                                   Presents:
                             "Literal Dribblings"
                               by Seth Sometimes
                        (Otherwise knows as Seth The Man)


                                Isolation.
The world is very different now. I've been here for three months, totally
alone, no one, no two, and no three people every being near. They told
me. They told me I would feel this way, that it was natural, and not
cruel. I believed them. I believed every single word that dripped out of
their mouths. I Believed them. AS I look back, I see why I Believed
them. I see the horrid sense of it all. Isolation isn't bad. Isoalation
isn't good. Isolation isn't even anywhere in between. Isolation is.
Period, no more. The Isolation that I endure is not true lonliness. It
isn't even sadness. Oh, at first it was, at first I was lonely, sad,
and angry, but now, now, I am too lethargic to feel strongly about
anything at all, if they opened the box (that is what I have come to
call this...place..) I doubt that I would go running out. Infact I would
probably simply stare, and calmly walk away. I don't like it here, but I
remember there, and decide that I didn't like it there any more. My
isolation is my life, my life, my death.

                                The Visit.
        "Hello" I said.
        "Hullo" I answered. He looked familiar, tall, lean, and pale, but I
couldn't place a name.
        I couldn't believe I was doing this. I shouldn't be here. This
is too dangerous. Why am I here. I shouldn't be here. He won't, can't,
know me.
        The strange man just stood there. I stared at him, but didn't
open the screen door. I just kind of stood there staring at horribly
familiar man in my doorway. Emotions skittered across his face, he
looked as if he was being pulled apart from the inside.
        I couldn't remember anything. It's as if someone was
systematicaly going through my mind and erasing parts of it. Could this
be a bigger mistake than I thought? Oh god, let the pressure at my
temples be the stress, and not....something...else. I need to get out of
here. "I, I'm sorry. I must have the wrong house...uhm, thank you..."
        He says he has the wrong house. I don't believe him, something
about him is too familiar to just let him walk away. "You look bad, come
in, sit down. I'll get you some water"
        "No....no I must....go...thank you" I ran. The pain. The pain,
the pain was unbearable, I had to get away..."Ugh"
        He ran away. For no reason at all he ran, who was he? why was
his head moving like that? I watched him run. Then I finally pulled my
eyes away from him and went back to my work.

                                The Chair.
The glow form his monitor flickered across his sweating brow. This was
it. He was almost there. Six years of almost non-stop coding. This was
IT. This cost him his family, his friends, his job, and at the end, his
life, but it was worth it. Almost three thousand gigs of source, all
done by him, every character of every routine, typed in by him. Him alone.
No one knew, no one would know. Here was the absolute. Here was something
so amazing, so heart stoppingly frightening. Here was intelligence. He had
done it. Alone. He knew he didn't have long to live, but it didn't matter,
just three more key strokes and he could die in peace. All these years,
so obsessed that he lost all. He was absolutely alone now, but he liked
it that way. He didn't need to live to transfer the program. It could do
that on it's own. All he had to do was hit three more keys. Then he
could die. No one would find his body. He was nowhere. But just three
more taps and he would be revered as a martyr, a god. Two more. One. Just
one more, and all he had to do was hit the key. He sat back, and the chair
which had held his ever failing body, finally gave out. He hit the floor
and his already weakened body just..broke.

Author's Note: Please excuse any grammatical errors, spelling mistakes,
etc. I wrote each of these just straight, no pause, just like a mental
vomit onto my monitor. The first one was done after reading "Real-Time
World" by Christopher Priest, and shares the basic emotions of the
story. The Second was done after reading "One Life, Furnished in Early
Poverty" by Harlan Ellison, and carries the premise of that story to
some extent. The third was written during reading "The Gods of Mars" by
Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann, and Michale Swanwick, and has nothing
whatsoever to do with that story. All of the above stories are well
worth reading and can be found in _The 1972 Annual World's Best SF_ and
_The 1986 Annual World's Best SF_ both edited by Donald A. Wollheim.

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                                                             /---------------\
copyright (c) 1994 by Seth Sometimes of GwD Inc.             :FIGHT THE POWER:
GREENY world Domination Task Force copyright (c) 1993 by Lobo:      GwD      :
All rights reserved the guy in the green broken chair        \---------------/
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