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There he sat before the computer, the lit screen projecting words onto his face. Typing away, writing a story, his twisted imagination coming up with brilliant and horrid ideas. The keyboard clicked with each stroke of his fingers a sound echoing through the lab, a good sound, a sound of work in progress, of insanity being put into words.

Typing, typing, typing… And no end in sight. Without any purpose or intent, other than to put the chaos within his mind onto paper, eventually, but now, only into a document, to be saved later, printed later, and maybe even read, perhaps the ideas seeping into the brains of friends, poisoning their minds, destroying their consciousness, spreading the insanity.

Insanity of one man’s mind. One crazy man’s mind, entropy to the extreme. And, through the medium, the computer, the printer, the world wide web, it will spread… And soon all will know of the insanity and all will be a part of it. Like a virus, a gangrene, spreading quickly from one mind to another.

Clicking of keys, new words being formed, words stirred into sentences, sentences never before seen. From nothingness this piece sprung into existence, a few numbers, 1s and 0s, 1010011101110100011010010101100101. And such is it recorded.

Finally, the work is complete, possible to transmit to others, to cause insanity in others, to bring all eventually over the edge. And as the final keystroke is completed, a power outage. And the unsaved work is lost, the insanity reduced to fizzling memories of the deranged typist, and lost to the world. Perhaps this is good, the insanity kept from the general public. Perhaps bad, the mind expanding potential of the dementia lost and the world kept in its little hole of ignorance. But gone it is, good or bad. And insane he is, still, typing away, in front of a blank screen, nothing projected onto his face.