Boundaries of Sanity ====================== (C) 1992 Aaron Turpen Issue #: 4 Edited by: Aaron Turpen (AKA Thanatos) Released: 01/13/92 What's In Here: =============== 1. Special Thanks Where I give the thank yous that are so deserved. 2. The Editor's Soapbox This is where I dump my opinions on all of you. 3. Feature Story #1: Lost In Paradise A comical look at Heaven and the afterlife. 4. Over the Edge of Sanity: Number Sequences Some numerical riddles to drive you insane. 5. Feature Poem #1: Man A dark look at man's origins. 6. Feature Poem #2: Survival and Propegation Views of a man's desire to be "comfortable." 7. Feature Story #2: A Witchcraft of Science An interesting soap opera of love, science, and clairvoyance. 8. Feature Poem #3: Off We Go A Dickenson-like view of death. 9. Feature Poem #4: The Nightmare Eater A twisted story of nightmares and their fear. 10.About the Literature A little explanation about the works in this issue. Special Thanks: =============== To Stephen Tanner for sending his story just in time to wake me up so I'd notice that I hadn't even started on this next issue. Heh. To all my friends, Kevin Francis, Cary Covington, Mike White, etc. who've all been supportive and made me feel like I've actually done something here. Also, special thanks to Rusty Toliver, my pen pal, for putting up with my worhtless rantings and page drivelings while he sends me thoughts and sights from his everyday life. Thanks Rusty! And hearty special thanks to Grettir the Strong and Lazarus, who's board (The Pension Grillparzer) has been a place for me to dump my insanity. And most especially for their help in getting a few of my projects going. Aren't BBSs great? The Editor's Soapbox: ===================== Well, not much has happened since the last issue. No small nuclear devices have been set off, nobody took pictures of any cops beating up anyone, no one really famous died, and Greenpeace didn't make another run on the tuna boats...So what IS there to talk about? Hmmm... Well, I could bore you with stories about my childhood, or I could tell you about my endless senseless heartbreaks over uncountable girls, or I could casually mention that it was my birthday on the 7th...Since this is my spot to say whatever I want, I will. I was born on January 7, 1973 in a Catholic hospital in Nebraska City, Nebraska and was kept in the bathroom (warmest room in the house) until we moved, six months later, to Kanab, Utah. Now I am where I am today, after many moves through many parts of the southern U.S. Anyway, I'm 19 now. Isn't that swell? Means I can legally buy cigarrettes, not that I buy them now. Oh well. At least the bishop won't bug me about going on a mission now...hehehe. If you haven't noticed yet (since you've obviousely thummed through this issue to see what's there, or at least you've seen the contents), we've added another department! I'm calling it "Over The Edge of Sanity" because the riddles and stumpers I've been shown in the last couple of weeks have really done their best to drive me insane! Or was it the people who sent them? Anyway, I've added the riddles to the magazine and, hopefully, they'll become a regular attraction here. So give em a try! The riddles will be posted in each issue and the answers will be in the next (what a novel idea!). So in next month's issue, there'll be a "Back From The Brink" area where the answers will be posted. Enjoy! ==================================================================== The Existentialist BBS -- 226-8310 (public node, 2400). Specializes in messages (carries the RIME network), and quality files. Also features an abundantly helpful SysOp and a friendly, occasional Co- SysOpess. The editor frequents this board. ==================================================================== Lost in Paradise ================ (C) 1992 Stephen Tanner I'm watching you... All right, it's a melodramatic way to start a story. But you wanted to know where I've been, so I'm sending you a message so you'll get a clue. Okay, so, one day I was walking down the street, you know? It's pretty dark, and the roads are wet from the rain, but I wasn't worried at all--who is? But then this big pickup truck came screeching around the corner...the last thing I heard was "TWO POINTS!!" When I woke up, I just lay on the soft cushioning I was on. I wished to myself that it was Friday, because I'd been looking forward to the weekend. Then I opened my eyes, and instantly wished I could be back in my own bed, even on a Monday. I was on top of a huge cloud. I mean, REALLY huge. It seemed to stretch on forever. Memories of the truck began to ooze back into my head from wherever unpleasant memories ooze from. I saw a booth off in one direction that said "Information", so I walked over. "Well, hello there, son!" said a friendly old lady, "Welcome to the afterlife!" "No way! You mean, this is heaven?" "Well, yes...it all depends." "Huh?" "Walk down that way till you get to the sign off in the distance. Then turn right. Give them this card." She handed me a green card. It said "New -- #5604UB40, subsector 86-24-Q, authorization code 936235". It also had my picture on it. Things were looking weird, but at least the picture on the green card was a lot better than the ones on my driver's license and passport. I walked on over to the sign. The clouds were poofy, a little like cotton crossed with jello. I could see cloud banks all over now, and a few other people. I got to the sign. It said "New Beings--proceed to the right." At least, that's part of what it said. It also said the same thing in German and Spanish and in a few dozen different languages. So, I turned right. There was another booth, with a sign saying "Directions". "Hello!" said the man in the booth. He had a bushy moustache, and looked sort of familiar. "Welcome to the afterlife!". I felt like I was about to go on a ride at Lagoon. "Here's a blue card. Go to room 352, then watch the welcome video." I was confused, and I wanted to ask him what was going on. But he was busy herding other people around. Some of them were Vikings, apparently on their way to Valhalla, and they kept singing "Spam spam spam spam..." I hurried away. It took me about a half hour to find room 352, but hey-- what's time when you're dead? On the way I saw a couple of people who looked almost as confused as I was, but I decided not to talk to them--it'd only confuse me more. I looked in some of the doors as I walked by. One of them was filled with dogs barking at everything, and another had a few Japanese guys in it. They were running around taking pictures of everything. I decided that I was in heaven. Or at least, I hoped so. I wished I had paid more attention to what people said about the afterlife, but it was too late now. When I finally made it to room 352, some big burly guy took my pass and grinned at me. I went in and sat on a blue plastic chair. No one else was in the room, but soon a movie flashed up on the cloud-wall, like it was being projected, so I watched it. "Welcome, human, to the afterlife! You have just passed on! Right now, your remains are being digested by worms, or cremated, or something like that. (Ooog...what a lame video!) Right now, you are going to be taken to your heaven, hell, Valhalla, whatever. The usher will give you a pass to let you in, then you just need to go talk to the person in the Directions booth. Those who wish to be put on the waiting list for reincarnation, report to room 62202. Atheists who are pissed that they still exist, report to level 75. Thank you for coming, we hope your eternity will be a happy one." The movie clicked and whirred to a stop. The usher gave me a white pass and told me to head for the Directions booth. I tried to ask him where I was going, what was going on, and when lunch was, but he told me to ask someone else. So, I trekked back to the Directions booth. The guy with the bushy moustache was still there. He gave me a sheet of paper and said "This is sheet 72-A. Go get it signed by 3 sub-seraphim and authorized by a religious leader of your choice, then come back." He wouldn't answer my questions either, so I decided to wander around and find out what a sub-seraphim was. Basically, I wandered aimlessly for about an hour, then found a nice lady who put me back on track before heading for the sign saying "Southern Baptist, conservative, heaven section 78- Z". So, eventually, I got back to the Directions booth. "Oh," said the bushy-moustached guy, "this is form 72-A. You need to have form 71-A, not 72-A". "So, give me 71-A!" I yelled, impatiently. So he did. About the same thing happened. I returned in about an hour, and the same guy took my form. "Oh--Roger Tyllerp signed your form in blue pen. You can only use green or black pen on THIS form. Here, take this--it's form 105-B. Take it to level 43, give it to section operator Uril Gyrrah. He'll put you back on track." So I went to level 43, blah blah blah. By this time I was pretty mad at everyone--I'd always thought I'd just get thrown in paradise when I died. I had been afraid of spending eternity listening to Afterglow, not of this! Eventually I got back to the guy at Directions. "Look," I said. "This is stupid! Can I finally go to heaven or something? My legs would be massively sore by now if I wasn't dead!" "Hmm...well, you will need to fill about a dozen more forms before I authorize you. And if I don't authorize you, you can't go in." "Can anyone else authorize me?" "Not without my authorization." "Is it like this for EVERYONE?" "No, just for you." He smiled. "Don't you remember me?" I thought for a while. "You look like Mr. Killjoy, my third grade teacher." "I WAS your third grade teacher! Remember what a rat you were?" "When?!" "When you put the tack on my chair, and put the gerbils in my drawer, and sabotaged the overhead projector, and..." "Oh, come on..." "And now, NOW...you can't go anywhere until I sign your card! He he he he! What a perfect chance for revenge!" "So I can't ever get in?" "Well, in another 100 years I'll be off duty. They're making me man the booth as punishment for making kids stay inside during recess." "Serves you right, you jerk!" "Hmpf! See if I ever sign you in, now!" ************************************************************* So, here I am. It's really pretty groovy up here. There are tons of places to go, and I can see all the new people that've died. And sometimes I can even get away with dropping rocks on people's cars, or doing cloud seeding right over people's houses... It's not a bad state to be in, really. Sometimes I even stop by the extraterrestrial afterlife sections, that's quite a trip. Anyway, that's your message from the other side...see you soon (heh heh). Number sequences ================ by Woody Thrower For years numerologists have enjoyed inventing and solving numeric sequences. The idea is, you are given a set of numbers, and you must figure out what the next number in the sequence will be. Usually only 4 to 6 numbers are given. An example would be: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... The answer to this would be 6. This one is obvious... A more difficult one might be: 1, 2, 4, 7, 11... In this case, the answer isn't so obvious. It is 16... The solution is to add 1 the first time, 2 the second time, 3 the third, 4 the fourth, 5 the fifth, etc... Here are some sequences for you to solve. The answers will be provided in the next issue: A) 2, 6, 12, 36, 72... B) 1, 11, 21, 1211, 111221... C) 20, 21, 19, 22, 18... D) 1, 2, 2, 4, 8... ==================================================================== The Sound Garden BBS -- 226-8310 (2400 baud). Specializes in in messages (hubs the ASI network), and quality insanity. Also features an overly enthusiastic SysOp and a friendly, occasional Co- SysOpess. The editor frequents this board. ==================================================================== Man === Anonymous Darkness surges, Devil purges Godly urges; Man emerges. Survival & Propegation ====================== (C) 1992 Cary Covington With Neil, "Keep up with the Jones'" didn't apply. Old Neil Jones was neither clever nor sly. To do so would have taken an exertion of the brain; And, well, complacent Neil didn't like pain. Security and laziness had chained his life down. (Careful, Neil: You reap as you sow.) No longer did excellence or striving for perfection take part, For nothing of any true worth did he start. He had a car, a house, a family, a job and weekend beers; Does not every animal strive for the same within their spheres? The vultures hung in patience, and Death finally let them loose. Neil's meat was the only thing of value that his life produced. But have you not heard of Final Judgement and Resurrection morn? The good news is yourself you judge. The bad news: as you are on earth, so in heaven born. Reside with angels or heathen sludge. Those who love service become God's Celestial. Neil was never one of those. Too selfish. By choice, to the sludge he went. Nothing special. You see, Neil liked others like himself. Yet, so was his Eternal Hell - to know that he'd ben running the race, Godship on the line, and jumped the vessel. Yet Neil was too lazy to do it even if he'd been worthy of that space. And so he sits; nothing special. ================================================================== Cloud 8 -- 756-5100 (14.4K USR HST) or 756-1630 (2400 MNP5, V.42) Specializes in Sound Blaster and high res. .GIF support! EXCELLENT files and a helpful SysOp. The editor frequents this board. ================================================================== A Witchcraft of Science ======================= (C) 1992 Kevin Francis The sun filtered down through the overcast sky, barely casting Jornon's shadow onto the rough dirt road. The hoofbeats of his sturdy horse plodded on in all directions, over the featureless grass plains. He looked off into the distance to the wall of Reblik city, his destination of a long journey. He heard the choked puttering of a motor cart behind him and quickly moved off to the side of the road. He recognized that if he didn't, that piece of witchcraft would have run him over. The mere idea of riding something non-living across the countryside made his skin crawl. As it passed him, he made sure to make the sign against evil. Evil was the last thing in his life that he wanted. With the fragile beauty of Junil on his mind, evil in his life would have crushed him. Their relationship was already unsteady from the miles which separated them, and yet his love for her was still as full as it ever had been. "Just a few more minutes and I'll have her in my arms," he thought. The walls of the city rose above him, making him dizzy to look up. War was not presently on anyone's mind, and hadn't been for a long while, and so the gate stood open for him to enter the city. The hustle and bustle of everyday life swarmed everywhere, and he could think of nothing but finding his love. She was in the castle, he knew, but where in the castle was she? He rode on and tethered his horse to the pole and walked in through the gates. "Winon," he cried, letting it echo throughout the halls. "Uh, no, JUNIL!" Jornon cried, correcting his quick slip. She must never know of the other. His life would be ruined without Junil, and she would never love him if she knew about Winon. "Jornon?" she replied. She ran into the hall to meet him. "Oh, Jornon, it seems like an eternity since I saw you. Knowing that I am holding you in my arms is the only thing I care for at this moment. The time away has been pure agony on my soul," she explained, hugging him with all her strength. "It has been a long time, my love. Yet, I am here now, and you have no need to fret." "Fret? Why would I be troubled? I knew that for my love you would come back, no matter what the cost, and with Bonrus to protect me, I knew that no other harm would befall me," she replied, started. "I just meant that you were fretting from my being gone all this time, what with the witchcraft running so rampant in the kingdom." "Yes, the uncivilized oafs who came up with the very ideas of such things as motor carts and picture boxes should be burned at the stake, but the king forbids it." "Why would your husband favor these cretins so?" "He says they are the future of life as we know it. I think he's a crazy old toad, but he's so worried about the future and finding out the mysteries of the gods. He thinks the way to become one of them can be found through one of his gadgets. Power hungry, he is," Junil said, looking at the floor. "The devil's work, I say," Jornon said. "Look, I'd love to keep on talking of news in the world, but I am dreadfully tired from my journey. Yntrad is a savage place, and very far away." They parted. Jornon went to his room and quickly laid down in his bed. As the sleep which he felt he so greatly deserved came to him, he quickly remembered Winon. The sleep which so recently filled his head was gone, and he quickly thought of a way to get out of the castle. He slipped out of bed and quietly jumped up into the window sill. The ledge seemed sturdy enough, and so he edged his way around the side of the building over to the steps of the kitchen. From there, he was able to make down the steps and out into the servants' quarters. He slipped into the door of Winon's room and encompassed her with his arms. The formalities which he displayed with Junil gone, he quickly let his passions and desires take over. The extacy of merely being with her was more than he could ask for in the formal relationship he had with Junil. As quietly as he had come in, Jornon left her quarters and stealthily made for his quarters. Once there, he gratefully slipped into his bed once again and fell into a quiet and wonderful sleep. Junil sat in her own bedroom, looking out the window at the countryside which lay outside the town. The thoughts of the past few days came back to her. Her mock-love for Bonrus, her true love of Jornon and her passion for Martod. She was in an extremely stressing situation with the three people loving her, not knowing of the others, but she would never let a single one of them go. Her thoughts were redirected to Bonrus as he entered the door. "Is something wrong, my dear," Bonrus asked in his husky voice. "No, nothing. Why would something be wrong?" "You just seem preoccupied with something. Would you like to talk about it?" Bonrus asked, seemingly growing impatient. "No, that's fine. I was just thinking of these people you've taken in. Scientists, you call them. I think they've come straight from the devil." "I know nothing is going to change your mind, but just remember that I will soon have much use for them. They mean more to me than gold." "Yes, my feelings and yours will always remain as they are, but Martod did forsee that the kingdom will fall because of it, and I believe in him," she retorted, looking off into the distance. "Martod. What does he know? A senile old mand, he is. I can't believe that the bishop let him come in as a priest. If anyone's in league with the devil, it's him," he said, storming out of the room. Junil didn't care. Bonrus' kingdom would fall soon, and all of her wories would be done with. At that point, Martod could take the throne and she could rule by his side in happiness. Martod looked up from his work bench. He had had an idea. Working late in his workshop had kept him from his wife, Winon, and even worse, had kept him from Junil. That didn't matter to him, now, though, his new idea would give power to him that would be unmatched by anyone else. He could now have as much energy as he wanted from something other than that uncivilized black sludge he had been pumping into his motor cart. Now, he could ride on forever, and he would never have to dig another hole in the ground to do it. Cemian saw Bonrus rushing out of Junil's bedroom, and went over to ask what was wrong. "Why, you look as if your foot has just been stepped on by a tree. What's wrong?" she asked with caring in her eyes. "Oh, it's my wife. She's just not supporting me anymore. She thinks that my scientists are just tools of the devil." "Now, that's not like you, Bonrus, thinking of how Junil feels before you think about how you feel. You know that you have to have your own desires in life in order to ever help anyone else." "I know, it's just that... that... oh, never mind," he said, storming away. "I never will understand why he takes that from her," Cemian said to herself, going back to cleaning the tapestries. Desnira looked up from her books to see Junil coming into the room. "May I help you?" she asked. "Desnira, I can't stand this tension between myself and Bonrus any more. He's turning into an uncivilized oaf with all this what-not about scientists. He thinks of them as gods or something," Junil replied, sitting in a chair on the other side of Desnira's desk. "Well, he is your husband. You should be supportive. You should, as well, be yourself, however. Are you still seeing Jornon, as I suggested?" "Yes. I could never stop seeing Jornon." "You may, then, just need to stop seeing Jornon. It may be that he is what is bothering you about your relationship with Bonrus," Desnira counseled. "Oh, how come you always know so much. I'll try, but I don't think it will work," Junil said walking out of the room. "I've got an ugly bag of a wife, no children, and I can't get anywhere on my latest project," Trinos said, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "How am I supposed to finish work on a portable sound box when my own wife doesn't love me? I would just end it all, but I can't. I just can't bring myself to do it." He looked down at the dagger on the table. He could visualized himself picking it up off the table and driving it into his chest, but he couldn't. The pain would be too great. He stood up and walked out of the laboratory. Walking aimlessly through the halls didn't help his thoughts any, so he decided to check in on Martod. Once he got into his room, he noticed that Martod was doing something big and would probably kill Trinos himself, so he left. Walking aimlessly would just have to do. The shade of the apple tree under which Fentona sat was just cool enough to clarify the thoughts in her mind. The thoughts were meant to solve problems, but they instead created them. "Why do I love Jornon instead of Trinos? I am obligated to Trinos, and yet, Jornon is constantly in my thoughts. All the while he is in my thoughts, however, I am not in his. I must remedy this," she thought, staring up into the grey sky. The prospect of getting up seemed worse and worse of an idea the more she thought about it. The wind in her face was exceptionally relaxing. She could put it off no longer, however, and so got up. Jornon awoke to the face of Fentona. "Fentona," he said, "what are you doing here?" "I'm sorry I woke you, but I needed to ask you a question. It can chew on my mind no longer," she said, determined to get an answer. "I would have woken just now anyway, so it is no bother. What, however, is this question which you would like answered?" he sleepily queried. "Do you love me?" "WHAT?" "Do you love me?" "Why, Fentona, I never recognized you thought of me this way before. I always thought of you as just a passing friend. Where did this loving business come from?" "Are you saying you don't?" she demanded. "If I were to say that I did, I would be a liar. I do not, however, hate you or anything." "You mean to say that this entire time you have been leading me on, when in fact I was nothing more than an acquaintance? I gave my SOUL to you!" she screamed, running out of the room, followed quickly by Jornon. "Fentona! FENTONA!!" he yelled after her, but she was gone. "Jornon, what was Fentona doing in your room?" Junil asked, coming around the corner. "Oh, well, you see.." he stammered. "I thought you loved me. Yet, I come to find otherwise from seeing something you considered secret instead of hearing it from your lips. You dog! I was willing to give up being queen for you," she screamed, finishing it off with a slap to Jornon's face. She left down the hall before Jornon could get a word in edgewise or even a breath. Jornon saw noone save Cemian to talk to, and since he needed someone to talk to, he did. "Cemian, why is it that women can be so misunderstood? They even accuse me of hate when they know I am a man of valor. Why else would the king have ordained me a knight?" he asked, barely expecting an answer from a servant. "I don't know, m'lord, I'm merely a maid," she replied, giving him the answer he expected. "Maybe I'll never understand," he said, more to himself than to Cemian. He decided to get his mind off of the problems at hand by looking for something else to do. Walking down the hall, he passed Martod's workshop and noticed him working as if he were greatly concerned about his work. "Martod, what are you working on?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Aah, Jornon. Just the man I wanted to see. What do you think of the 'craft of science,' as it's called?" Martod asked? "I think it's the art of witchcraft, personally. What with all those motor carts running around, leaving a long trail of smoke and debris. Of course, there's also the picture boxes making all that noise all the time. My uncle's children won't come away from the thing. They're caught in the snare of something, and that tells me it's not from God." he answered truthfully. "Yes, that's exactly what I thought. You seem to see the bad sides of the motor carts much. What would you think of them if they were noiseless and left nothing behind?" Martod queried. "Well, I'd be sure to think more of them, that's for sure." "Ok, then. Watch this," he said, turning knobs. He pushed a button, smiling at Jornon. Nothing happened. "What, I see nothing happening," Jornon cut in. "Shh. Wait," Martod quieted him. Still, nothing happen. Then Jornon hear a faint humming, which steadily grew louder. "Martod, what is that?" Jornon practically screamed. "It's music, Jornon, music. Nothing but pure power. With it, I can rule the world!" he yelled, almost drowned out by the humming. Jornon ran from the room, shaking his head. Nothing which is so uncomfortable to be around could be a good thing. He ran from it. It followed. He could not get away. He kept his pace. The humming not only got closer, it got louder. There was a flash of light. An instant was frozen in eternity. Every fact ever produced was known to every member of a small castle in Reblik. The countryside of Mantarrah was instantly visible. They knew everything of each other, and they were ashamed. The instant ended. Jornon quickly ran back into Martod's workshop. "Martod, Martod, what have you done?" he asked to a man, laying on the floor, near death. "It didn't work. I did something wrong. The science which I thought I had control over was actually out of my hands. It was something which our world never should have dealt with," he coughed, staring into space. "Maybe, however, just maybe it was a good thing. No longer will the secrets of our lives be secrets. No longer will there be the ability to lie, to cheat, to do any of these things," Martod finished, dying on his last words. "What will we do, now, our sinful castle? What will we do? We know no other way of life. The way everyone lives is now changed, and whether that is a good thing may never be known," Jornon said to himself. He stood and walked from the room to face the future. Off We Go ========= (C) 1992 Aaron Turpen I stand and stare, The scene laid bare, I see the fair Countenance he bears, His cloak as night, His hand, is white, His fingers are tight Around his tall pike Of wood and steal, The sight all deals In what we feel As fear, unreal. He becons to me His red eyes seem To grip my being As I try to dream. But he grips my hand And takes my stand. A far off land Of smoke and sand Is where we arrive My lungs heave sighs As whispers of tide Announce: I've died. Louis the Hacker ================ (C) 1992 Anderew Frederico Louie sat at his HeathKit UNIX terminal, his fingers flying at an almost inhuman rate. Inhuman because he was typing as fast as a turtle or a quicker-than-average-snail. His hair was combed straight down and his clothes wrinkled and dirty from being worn the day previous, and the day previous that, and the day previous that, etc. His homely face was covered with zits from the chronic acne that had started when he first started to program the computer. The clothes were your basic computer nerd garb. Worn out "Skids" and a T-Shirt from a 1987 Comdex sporting a ragged Apple logo on the front and an ad for 3M 360k floppy disks on the back. Despite the appearance, which was the traditional hacker look (he fancied himself following in the footsteps of the likes of Wozniak and Gates), Louis was extremely intelligent (albeit an average typist) and he put every waking our and IQ point towards the computer and his love for UNIX's mother language, C. Coding in C was his life. He breathed, ate, and drank C. When When writing down things in other classes he would always capitalize the C in his sentences. So great was Louis' love for C that everything else was forgotten or came in second. Social life, school except for the C prog- ramming class, home life, and just about everything else. When he wasn't in his C class coding C, he would sometimes skip other classes or call the lab from home -- when there weren't any classes to skip -- on his cheap 1200 baud modem, one he managed to steal from a local computer store so he could keep up with his programming at home. Yes, you could say Louis was obsessed; but Louis didn't recognize this and when confronted with the horrifying fact that he was addicted, he quickly denied it and tried unsuccessfully to master your mind by filling you with useless computer jargin. Knowing little, if any social skills, this was Louis' only defense and it seldom worked. This fact would be Louis' downfall and he knew it. He dreaded every day thinking it would be his last, thinking he would actually have to associate for more than 10 minutes with someboedy who was not computer literate, maybe even someone of the opposite sex! Heaven forbid! Programming kept him sane, but the more he programmed, the more he disassociated himself from the world. A downward spiral that would end one dreadful day. Louis finished off his program to send and receive messages on other terminals. His classmates had been working on the same thing but had been completely unsuccessful, due to sabotage from a small program that deleted everything it had access to. Since it would wipe itself out, they couldn't place who owned it the identity of the saboteur was an enigma, although Louis knew full well who it was. He wouldn't have any classmates of his outprogramming him! He finished the final compilation after a few small bugs were worked out he copied the executable to the public directory where his classmates would eventually discover it, see that it was owned by him, and praise him or even worship him. "5:00, time to leave! We're shutting the lab down now." Louis was startled by the human presence, even if it was his teacher, but quickly regained his composure. "OK," he replied, "I'll be outta here in a few seconds." The teacher left to finish off a few trifles. After a quick message was sent to his teacher about the terminal chatting program he gathered his folder and various programming books and prepared to leave. Noticing nobody was about, the teacher must have gone into his office to do his work, Louie exited the classroom. He passed a few people on his way to the teachers exit, one he used quite frequently, but they were no cause for alarm. Most of them he knew but those whom he didn't weren't any threat, since he wasn't talking to any of them. 30 feet and he reached the door. He grasped the handle and pulled. Locked. "No big deal," he thought. "I'll just take the public hall." He ran to the stairs, in a hurry to get home to call the lab and start on another project from remote, and started to ascend the first flight. Half way up, he heard them. "Cheerleaders," he thought, sourly. "Probably stupid; maybe some of them are cute and I can drool over them, knowing that I'll never have them. And when I get home I can look over my swimsuit and nude GIF files and see if any are more cute." The ascent finished he reached the ground floor where he saw scantily clad girl cheerleaders and even some from the dance team prancing and jumping and having a right jolly time showing how each of the girls how beautiful they were. The others usually got jealous and tried to best the egotistical girl. A never-ending circle that ended up in more than one running home crying. Friendships were made and shattered here. He paused for a while, letting immoral fantasies flitter through his head. Soon programming interrupted his thought process and his imagination was cut off, logic taking over. He started making his way to the main doors. But Louie wasn't to be so lucky. One of the uglier cheerleaders had caught sight of him fantasizing over the more prettier ones and she had taken an immediate fancy to him. She must talk to him before he left, before he oozed through her fingers. Louis had his hand on the door handle when he heard footsteps behind him. He paused for a moment, but deciding they weren't for him, he threw open the door, eager to get home. "Wait!" cried a distinctly female voice, behind him. He froze, the door half open and shutting quickly. There was nobody else in this hall except for him and a few cheerleaders taking trips to the ladies room. She must have meant another cheerleader, but he had froze, a crucial mistake, and the door had already closed, so he had to turn around and find the source. The footsteps pounded closer. His hand on the door he threw a glance over his neck and there was, indeed, a female, scant three feet away. "Wait," she repeated. He turned around to face her, his eyes flying everywhere except on her. "Hi," she said shyly. "Uhhh..." he stammered, looking down. Beads of perspiration instantly formed on his forehead and underarms. She laughed and covered her thin lips with a dainty hand. Moments of silence and eye movement passed before she decided he wasn't going to say anything and proceeded to strike up a conversation. "So, my name is Angie," she stared, taking her hand down. "Uhh, Louie. My name is Louie, er, Louis," he stammered, finally summoning enough courage to aim his eyes directly at hers, but only for a few moments. Their feminine secrets frightened him and he had to aim his gaze away. He was sweating horribly now and he feared a stink might arise. "Look," he spoke, gaining confidence, wiping the sweat from his fore- head on his forearm, "I've got to get going, it's been nice chatting with you, maybe I'll see you again." "Oh," she said, taken aback. "Where do you live?" she asked, eager to keep him as long as possible. "Just down the street," he said pushing the door open. Sensing his desire to leave, she shuffled closer, much closer than Louis ever wanted or preferred. He instinctively recoiled but in his haste he tripped over the door carpet. Angie reached out to help him, to lessen his fall. In doing so she touched him. Time froze for Louis. He looked down in horror at her hand on his arm, gripping it gently, tenderly, helping him. That was when it happened, the straw the broke the camel's back, the touch that broke the hacker. His eyes widened and he let out a blood curdling scream. Angi jumped back and plugged her ears against the noise. Up in the commons, even the most skillful cheerleaders paused. Finally, his breath exhausted, Louis collapsed in a heap, his eyes fluttering shut; unconscious. ==================================================================== The Pension Grillparzer -- 224-1242, 2400 baud. Specializes in messages and oddities/literature files. Running Waffle v1.64. Also has an overtly helpful SysOp and a casual, confusing atmosphere and BBS system. The editor frequents this board too. It has cookies! ==================================================================== The Nightmare Eater =================== Anonymous Cold strong and swift, He comes in the night, Needing only one thing; He feeds on your fright, The darkness surrounds you, Your screams go unheard, The fears that you feel, You know are absurd, Yet still you struggle, And fear juices flow, 'Til the moment you wake, With head on pillow. About The Literature: ===================== "Lost In Paradise" was written by Stephen Tanner, also known locally as Dexter and Trask. This story is copyrighted 1992 and the author retains all rights. "Man" was written by a local guy who wishes to remain anonymous. He claims no copyrights over the poem. "Survival and Propegation" is a poem by Cary Covington, also known as Psychlop. He's on a mission in Houston, Texas, but is due back in a few months. His poem is copyrighted 1992 and he witholds all rights therein. "The Witchcraft of Science" was written by Kevin Francis, who also appeared in the last issue with "The Myth Makers." Kevin retains all copyrights over his works. "Off We Go" was written by the editor, Aaron Turpen, and he retains all rights to the work. "Louis The Hacker" was written by Andrew Frederico, who appeared in past issues with his Star Trek: The New Generation Parody. The author holds all rights, including copyright, to the work. "The Nightmare Eater" is another poem by the anonymous local guy. This poem, like the last, has no copyrights holding it.