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Page 33.
Chapter 27
 Tedda set up shop in a weird little corner of what she came to call the Intereal. On the one hand, her rectangular room at the end of a long, dusky corridor was cozy once the fatherland got lights and furniture in there. It was dry, and there was no moisture dripping from the walls, nothing like that. On the other hand, it was just plain claustrophobic. She spent hours sitting hunched over her desk with one hand holding her forehead, and the other holding a pencil, as she scribbled out dense sheets of tiny, crabbed calculations and notes joined by serpentine lines and arrows. She would sometimes lose her concentration for no apparent reason, and sit up with a jolt, maybe with a shout. It was the loneliness, the dry silent blanket of nothingness, that permeated this deep coalmine of artificial reality. That must be it—the loneliness, the near-death presence of nothingness. She'd sit holding her hands over her mouth, and tremble. She'd wait until her wildly pounding heart calmed, and the tears dried up in the corners of her eyes. She really missed the boisterous, fun people in the Bit Cave. She missed playing board games, laughing, smelling popcorn, drinking tea, exchanging jokes by e-mail.
She continued her daily routine, otherwise, walking with Lindy to and from work. Their conversation became a tiny bit more strained, for reasons Tedda didn't fully grasp. Was Lindy somehow uneasy to be too close to her, now that this thing had happened? It was a faint, subtle change, and Tedda told herself, maybe I'm just imagining things. Or maybe she just feels bad for me.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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