(Hey what's up guys? So I'm testing my boundaries here to post a short for this prompt because I thought it would be fun. I usually write poetry, but I need to get better with shorts so here I am. I want you all to be brutally honest with your critiques, because I can only grow as a writer with honesty. So anyways, here's my piece- I didn't do the whole coming out to your parents thing because it seemed cliche, but nonetheless the theme is there. Let me know what you guys think.) The date on Dwight M. Greene’s computer screen read January 1, 2086, 12:00 AM. To the world, this meant change and progression into the future. To Dwight, this meant it had been five years to the day that he met his beloved wife. He had something special planned tonight, and he wanted to make sure everything was just right. He reviewed the script on his screen briefly, smirked, and saved it. With a deep breath, Dwight sat back in his chair, looked up at the dim ceiling, lit only by the computer screen’s glow, and smiled softly as a tear rolled down his cheek. He was going through with this, damn it, and nothing would stop him now. He inserted a needle hooked up to a miniature makeshift IV into his arm, which began to inject a clear fluid. Dwight then grabbed the thick glass visor to his right on the desk, and felt for a box. From the small box, his chubby hand revealed a bundle of capsules and a bottle of liquid. Placing the capsule on his tongue and swallowing all of the bitter syrup from the brown bottle, he flipped the power switch on the visor for the last time. A piercing white light flashed before him, and for a long time Dwight did not move, but merely drank in the familiar display of pure white oblivion. As he took another deep breath, he spoke softly beneath his breath, “Go on, to the beaches…” Soon the lights faded, and a distant thunder of waves crashing on a beach broke the silence. The whiteness around him parted like a fog, rising into the sky as they conformed into deep pinks and yellows, coloring the deep canvas of the sky above. A voice, sweet and pure, rang like a tiny bell just down the beach. Dwight turned to see a younger woman rushing to him barefooted up the beach. She was in a bright colorful bathing suit, her blonde hair braided in a long pigtail and tied at the top with a red bow that nearly reached the sand as her thin, pale figure dashed towards him, arms open, her expression of surprise and pure joy. “Jen,” Dwight whispered softly to himself as he watched her. He had seen that face and heard her voice so many times now that he sometimes thought it crazy how madly in love he still was. He nearly toppled as they met in a staggering embrace. He looked down at her smiling face; her red lips curled in a bright smile, her green eyes big with excitement and joy. Dwight hugged her closely and after what seemed forever pulled her away. “I missed you so much! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it back in time, I was just-” Jen pressed her finger against Dwight’s lip. “No, Dwight, I’m sorry I almost tackled you! I just get so lonely here alone! Please, forgive me… I understand that you’re busy, I just love the time I get with you when I can!” Dwight smirked, and then with a hearty laugh hugged her closer. Dwight had been planning this moment for months. Despite his ritual of visiting her every night via the Synthetic Love Network, a drug-enabled dating simulator that immerses the user in the very same virtual world as their ideal mate, he had felt a shocking amount of pressure and guilt related to the low amount of time he spent with Jen compared to his work. This pressure, this NEED to spend time with Jen, had left him very lonely and depressed during his 15-hour shifts at the office. His dreams were plagued by her smile, and sometimes he would give up and discuss it with her late into the night. She was, of course, receptive and sympathetic saying things like ‘Oh no, I’m just happy to have you now!’ and ‘It’s ok that your busy, it’s all for your own good in the end!’ which made Dwight feel better and forget his worry. But then, the next day, he had urges and sudden feelings of extreme need to go back to her. To feel her warm embrace, hear her soothing voice, see her charming face. And so, as the two walked down the beach, after Dwight finished his talk about work, he stopped. Jen looked at him and smiled, standing in front of him patiently waiting for him to speak. The two stared at each other for a long while, and when Dwight broke into a loud laughter, Jen followed suit. Then Dwight laid back and Jen lay with him. “Jen, I’m staying. I’ve decided to leave my other life behind and just stay here. I hate myself and the loneliness in my other life, and yet I love you so much. I can’t think of anything better for either of us than being here with you. Now that my real body isn’t an issue, and I can be here forever, will you let me stay?” Jen giggled and nodded, and after whispering and giggling about their future, the two made love on the beach, the sun setting eternally just beyond the ocean’s soft waves. Dwight had never been happier in his life, and he believed nothing would make him happier than a life with his beloved Jen. At 5:00 AM on January 1, 2086, the Los Angeles Police Department received a phone call from a number that belonged to a Dwight M. Greene. A young woman’s voice, who said her name was “Synthetic Love Assistant Gen. 2” requested assistance calmly and courteously stating that the life of Dwight Greene was in potential danger of suicide and that help may be needed. When the police arrived at the small apartment, what they were met with was a man lying half-naked upon a recliner chair in front of a blank white computer screen with copious amounts of drugs and alcohol littered around him in a dark room whose only light was the moniter. He was rushed to the hospital, but could not be revived. His funeral was two weeks later, with few attendants composing of his bewildered family. Dwight worked in the corporate sector for a factory that sold parts for the machines that ran the world these days. He was known simply as “D.” around the office, and was rarely called upon. Nobody had known about his depression, or his hate for his job, and few knew he even had the job. The truth was, nobody cared about Dwight, and yet this truth was growing into an understated reality. Five years ago he had found a way to cope with his anger and self-loathing, an escape from his life, and yet it was that escape that ended it. Later that year, Dwight’s name was brought up amongst many others in a campaign to take down these dating simulators. The argument was a failing one; it said that Dwight was said to be a product of a world that had no time to allow for such petty, penniless things as human connection.