This a narrator's dialogue discussing the happenings that lead me to hell: "Paradoxically stoned sober and no longer innocent, unable to achieve erection for boredom sake and drug curse, Flu, also known as Ben, sat and smoked himself to death upon a weary couch. "I am Usher*" he groaned. A long whirling cloud of thin black smoke rode upon his sigh. And so he smoked so many cigarettes that his face turned inverted and starting by his head, began to fall all body backwards into the gaping void from his head which had enveloped the couch until he simply disappeared. When he reappeared, he could not tell the time. He had no idea how long he had been out; like eating too much Gravol before bed, everything seemed as one confusing, maddening, and pulsating disjointed thing. He tried to clear his mind by putting on an old childhood favourite, the Pagemaster. However, as much time had went by since he last saw it, when he was around nine, the show did little for him. He found its drab colours and weak characters to be a distraction. Over-all, he was about read to turn it off when he saw a drowned book get pulled ashore... And it did something to him. Deep in his cock he felt the mechanical urge. There was something about being a giant in a realm of little books, pulling them open, seeing inside their pages, being so utterly in control of them... Fuckin' shit was hot. I didn't give a shit if it was A MALE OR FEMALE BOOK. I just wanted to ravage it. Tear out its papers. I wanted to break its spine under my forefinger and thumb. Feel the crack as its binding broke in two and its face split but it still gargled and pleaded. Fuck books. Flu turned off the Pagemaster. His brain blistered with sick urges. He suffered a stroke where cum bust from pockets of his brain. He fell to the floor with an orgasmic quiver and his veins shot blood and urine to his balls which swelled up seven-times and shot cum wads to his eyes and brain. He tongue stuck out like a dagger between his evil teeth, lips curled back like a cunt dog's face. His form metastasized and gained composure. Some time went - again, off to the unknown. He still couldn't remember time. But to help kill it he put on another old favourite, the Rugrats Movie. This too dip not strike his fancy. Laying half prone on the couch, he flickered in and out of cigarette sickness. Whenever he smoked, he then fell instantly ill. He felt 'green,' and the voices of a hundred adults trying to sound like toddlers and babies did him harm. Sorely weakened, he had but no choice to lay there, poisoned, watching the Rugrats Movie. He thought about how much back rent he owed his girl. He thought about how much he hated his job, how he just sat on his couch, how he felt the city owed him -- but then Tommy's mother gave birth to a new baby, a son. It was a wretchedly stupid, ham-fisted moment, but physically, and now spiritually poisoned, Flu had no choice but to lay there and wallow in his lightening bolts and arrows. But man, thought he, that baby looks fucked up. I'd like to eat it. It was no joke - if he could have, he would have really clubbed, cooked, and eaten it. More time passed and he lay prone on the couch, looking just like the baby he would like to eat. Wiping the shit from his eyes, Flu focused on the computer screen. To his horror, there was a window open: on it was Gaia. He had created a Gaia account: BRoknXMan No! THOUGHT HE. What have I done!? There was seven friends in his friends list. He had 90,000 gaia gold. He tried to sit up, off the couch - to scream! But he could not move, except for a twitching on his head, a slight shuffle of his eyes. He tongue could protrude some. His right hands retained just enough dexterity to sluggishly operate the mouse. His left hand, just enough power to jaw with his index finger: to type on the keys. Stuck in his own hell, he had no choice but to become the Gaia avatar. He headed to towns. The most users in a room all hung out in a region called Sex Slaves. Help! I'm not really a fag like you! Somebody, help! Find a way to contact my girlfriend - get my dad over! Help! I'm stuck on a couch in the West, I'm very tired, I can't move. Please send for help! But help never did come. And so another victim fell prey to the horrors of Gaia, and life online. His fusion was sick and complete: part man, soul faded into the couch - and so, part couch, as well - only truly alive on the internet. The first of the New Souls to arrive. There would be MANY more after him. A retarded ReBoot, where nobody ever won the game. HEED MY WARNING.