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Date Posted: 10:40:38 02/27/03 Thu
Author: Iggy!
Subject: :~( A poem.
In reply to: Iggy. 's message, "A very personal question, for Hoshiko, Mandi-Chan, and J.T.-kun ONLY" on 14:30:38 02/24/03 Mon

Three P.M.
Two girls,
Six guys.
Three Irish,
Four non-descript Caucasians
(Presumably WASPs)
And one Caribbean-American
Sit down in front of their various “Boxes-o’-Chatting-and-Communicating.”
Click.
Click.
Password.
Online.
Three-Oh-Two P.M.
A Ximian,
An Autobot (Slash Zeojin, slash assassin, slash head Administrator),
A purple queen,
Some guy named Menkin,
A rogue Jedi,
An alien hit man,
The owner of an Intergalactic Floating Orgy Ship,
And Iggy!,
Are on a message board.
“OMG!! Tank Cop’s written a new fic!”
“Evil!”
Hello, can anyone hear me?
“Shinji is a chicken wuss.”
“Ryoko deserves Tenchi, not Ayeka.”
“CN’s about to hack another good anime to pieces.”
Can I talk to one of you guys? Honestly?
“That’s all we needed. A Druish princess.”
“Monster Reborn! Not Reborn the Monster!”
Seriously guys. I need to talk to somebody.

Silence.

I… I’m scared. Of war. Of what might happen if the check doesn’t come. Of what I’ll do after college. Of losing my friends.
My family.
My life.
And the world expects us to take so much on faith. That there’ll be a place for me in society. That there is a society. That when I wake up tomorrow –
If I wake up tomorrow-
There will be a tomorrow to wake up to.
I’m nineteen.
I don’t even really know who my father is.
I’ve never had a serious relationship –
With a girl,
With a guy (And I have tried. It hurt. That’s all I’ll say.),
With my mom,
With my grandmother,
With myself, even –
In my entire life.
All I know is this.
This board.
This has become my life.
My avatar has become my personality.
I’m not even sure of who I am when I turn off the computer anymore.
And I’m afraid that if I turn this box off,
You’ll all leave me when I come back and turn it on again.
Don’t leave me.
Talk to me.
Tell me everything’s gonna be alright.
Tell me I’m just paranoid.
(It wouldn’t be the first time.)
Hell, lie to me!
Tell me this pain is all a dream,
A horrid hallucination that’ll end if I take my medicine like a good little boy.
Just, please, don’t leave me.

Silence.

“What are we, shrinks?”
“You need to up the dosage.”
“Just go someplace and cry. Come back when you’re done. You’ll feel better.”
Logout.
Click.
Click.
Three Twenty-Eight P.M.
The MP3 player softly screams the lyrics to Mr. Tambourine Man
As Daniel, once Iggy!, turns from his “Box-o’-Loneliness-and-Apathy,”
Away from the message board,
Away from nineteen years of emptiness,
And tries to remember how to cry again.

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