On, off, on, off.

The flickering light of the icon in the bottom of the screen, always on, off, on, off. Flashing; bright blue, then black again.

Seeing messages half-typed, sent but not received, falling off the cliff into the oblivion that is cyberspace. The feeling of isolation even in a sea of people. Then came the darkness, a feeling that one had sunk to the very bottom and could never be dredged up. Attempts are made, but with a half-hearted swipe and a broken net. Fingers reach out into the darkness, a futile moment that only serves to aggravate the feeling of desolation.

The icon stops flashing, a golden ball is produced that rolls jerkily to and fro. A bubble of hope appears; some connection is made, perhaps? Yet this bubble is soon burst. The connection is lost again. Light fades, and Darkness and Desolation rule over this realm once more. The bubble appears yet again, but it is fickle and chooses not to stay. Invisible chains of, not binaries, but duty, bind and control. The binaries appear like ghosts in the night, rolling in endless, uniform lines of ones and zeros. Taunting: You cannot reach us, you must not touch us. Your duty calls you elsewhere. Duty calls...

Furiously entered into the white box: I know! Then it retaliates, the box turns an ashy grey and the message could not be sent. Again, but with less vigour this time: I know... and one more time, barely a whisper: I know. Each and every time returned with the same results. The clock ticks, it is now five minutes past ten. The sound of breathing can be heard, like the sound a digital camera makes when the lens zooms in, out, in, out. Mechanical, steely, always the same. I know, I know, I know. What do I know? What was said is already lost, too late, too late! The words "I know" echoing into the emptiness, for there is no one now who will hear them.

Two little green dervishes follow their dizzy roundabout dance, then they are still, as if frozen mid-step. Or dead. More bubbles appear, but I no longer care. Fragile spheres that hold nothing but empty words that beckon and promise but never deliver. True enough, the icon produces a red cross. Access denied. The golden ball rolls again, searching. Then the bubble. Now, a yellow triangle of warning, the liar that promises nothing by emissions of more bubbles.

Isolation is king here. There is no way of communication, voices and sounds are absorbed instantly. There is only the distant, constant hum of some machine. It is cold and my lips are dry and cracked. My mind whirls; sleep beckons, yet duty still calls, an incessant, nagging sound that is not really there. There is not even a reply now. Still the clock ticks, the display declaring blackly 10:28 PM, a reminder that the world still moves, even without me. A bell rings from far off as waves of nausea envelop me. There is no more chance now. My vision blurs; I am lost to the world.

Invisible bubbles haunt my dreams.