(I want to start a story that is open to all. Basically, I'm going to write the first entry, and probably add on every now and then if it ever picks up steam, but the rest will be up to you, the faceless mass. I will act as a sort of moderator, and I will only have a few rules: I will only post your submission if you take it seriously. I don't mean you can't be humorous, but don't mock the work as a whole, and don't negate any other entries. Just be courteous to the other authors, please. Also, nobody will have back-to-back entries, even me. If you wish to submit anonymously, all you have to do is ask such of me upon sending me your submission. If you have any questions or submissions, please email me at dylanv@mac.com.)
The low hum of the distant lawnmower is starting to grate on my nerves. I've had it with this place, I need a change, even if it's something so unsubstantial as a cup of coffee at a coffee shop I've never seen before. Why did I ever sign up for this experiment? I distinctly remember the lead research scientist's expression of dim glee as he explained the purpose of my isolation. "To examine the extent of total isolation on a perfectly sane individual raised in the Information Age, totally dependent on multiple forms of media and instant communication. The subject will be provided ample nutrition and a clean facility, and will be held for an indeterminate amount of time, or until the subjects physical or mental health is considered in jeopardy." That was 7 years, 54 days ago, give or take a few weeks. My pleas for release fall on deaf walls. I'm going to die in here, aren't I?
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