| MONKEY |
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 Taps |
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| by RustyNail |
Tap, tap, tap, click.
Throttling down the information super highway, mouth agape, Marvin leaned forward with excitement. Here is a world of unlimited possibility. Everything he could ever want at his fingertips. Youtube videos, Wikipedia pages, internet games and Craigslist. Here he'd make new friends and say farewell to old ones. He'd look at job postings and attach resumes. He'd set up dating profiles and fantasize about his potential mates, riding on a glimmer of hope that his precious box would one day find him true love. Smiling, he readjusted himself in his chair and cracked open a soda. A humming blue peered through his drape-covered shades, dimly lighting his stuffy bedroom as the snow melted over a busy world outside. A Sunday morning Jim Carrey movie on the television provided additional soundtrack to his tapping ambiance, though he paid it no attention. He was far too busy.
Marcus, his room mate, idly shuffled in his seat behind him. Here he could see both Jim Carrey and Marvin's monitor and the back of Marvin's head, and he alternated between them whenever something appeared to strike Marvin's fancy. Then he'd passive aggressively sigh, cough or turn the television's volume up to express his discontent. He never understood Marvin's fascination--obsession-- with the internet. At least not to the extent that Marvin pursued it. He often wondered if Marvin intended on ever leaving his room. This wondering, over time, turned to contempt as he began to view Marvin's cyber escapades as the only thing keeping him from leading a fulfilling life. A commercial break approached, and Marcus decided to speak up.
"Why are you always on the computer?" Marcus asked. Marvin took off his headphones, turned around and replied smugly, "The internet is life and seed. I am the internet. I am Neo," and turned back around. Marcus stared at the back of Marvin's head and bit his lip, and that was that. Their exchange wasn't particularly brief-- it was, in fact, the longest conversation they had that morning. Marcus knew Marvin was being purposely obtuse and weird for the sake of being weird, as was a common theme in their friendship, but the profound nerdiness of his statement set off something in Marcus' brain.
He shook with anger and cracked his knuckles. This weasel, this scumbag, this unrighteous philanderer of gluttony and laziness and obscurity, shrugging me off with weirdness, choosing text on a monitor over uproarious Jim Carrey social bonding, his punishment will fit his crime. No webpage so swift, no hyperlink so just, no button so brave will exit this nightmare's window that I will unleash upon his rotten soul.
Marcus wiped a booger on Marvin's back. He let his finger linger and explore and clean itself on the way down. Marvin didn't even turn around. Marcus stared at him and the booger and its streak. He thought about life and love, hope and human connections. The booger called to him and he began to analyze its slimy nature. With a shrieking jolt of terror, he saw the back of the shirt as a map, the snotty streak a marker of his life's journey thus far, leading up to a bulging, red YOU ARE HERE dot. Marcus was the booger.
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