I’ve been bitten by the writing bug again and started a new story in the catbox, but it is very frustrating trying to keep the lines together in there. So, I’m putting it in here.
This is all very much off the top, so formatting and punctuation will not be pretty.
Enjoy…or not as the case may be.
Traveling through the twisted, disjointed remnants of the old net, the noted cyberarcheologist Onaed finds a cryptic reference to an ancient site of freakish disc worshippers. Disguised through years of disuse, the paths to the site lead to strange mice tainted areas, but eventually he finds the proper doorway. Shards of deteriorated polycarbonate litter the floor, and strange metal boxes are scattered about. “Hmm, what is a Lite-on?”, he muses as he examines one of the ancient devices.
Digital dust and silence rule here now, but there are remanants of pathways yet…then he suddenly feels like he is no longer alone in this forgotten corner of the digital worlds. A faint pulse of power plays out from the shadows, and the entrance of the catbox suddenly beckons.
Dreadful, ominous, and yet he cannot resist. She waits within still…
He steps inside.
Suddenly he finds himself transported, not to a chatbox of any kind, but to an ancient type of forum.
The dates show it to be from the early 21st century, 2005 perhaps, though the years seem to shift at will, not following the
normal flow of time. Bright and cheerful, life, information, and laughter dominate, but no matter how he tries, he can only observe, not participate. One bright light catches his attention more than any other. She moves through the threads with a catlike grace. Is there any way to communicate he wonders.
It does seem she has a weakness. But what in the world is a Verbatim he thinks to himself?
Just as abrupt as his arrival, he finds himself thrust back into his own time. In the cold and dark of the ruins, he knows he has lost a chance, lost something that may not come again…not without effort.
He gathers his courage for another try. Through the doorway again, but this time he finds himself in the chatbox.
He finds he can assume personas in this place. Surely this one won’t mind if I speak through him, he says to himself.
But where is the light of the chatbox? Where is she of grace and laughter?
There will be a meeting," he says, “no matter the effort, no matter the cost.”
Onaed heads for home, disconsolate, but not giving up forever. The only tiny worry…what if she does not want to meet across time and space?
No one can predict their lives, not everyone can find the spark and capture it within them. We can only try when we see it.