PJM74

Meaning by Patrick McEvoy That's not what I meant. Tyron tried typing again. That's not what I meant. He typed ... and typed ... and got irritated ... and more irritated ... He knew autocorrect had its annoyances, but it really shouldn't be changing words now, should it? Partz that should be party that turned into parts. Timr that should be time that turned into start. Locatupn that should be location turned into space. And on and on and on ... And more. It seemed like strange words had started forming whenever he pressed his fingers against the various keyboards. Words that didn't seem like words, just popping up, if only so briefly. A vision ... of another language perhaps. Of a force he couldn't discern. Distant, oh so distant, but near, very near. Transcending spatial matters in a striking way. The changes to his typing just seemed so ... purposeful. That the program somehow made it so, whether through sentience or something else. Not really an AI, something

SNIPPETS by Patrick McEvoy The urgency struck Elden just as he plopped down on the couch. Beer and chips in one hand, remote in the other, he was about to stream the show his friends had been buzzing about for days. Finally, after a long day, the chance to relax. Except there was that nagging feeling arising in him. Now the said urgency proved to be a bit hard to define actually. The feeling first registered as nothing more than, say, water lapping over his feet while he looked out into the streaming ocean. As the seconds passed, the urgency became stronger and stronger, turning into a strong current, then becoming its own tidal wave. Elden hadn’t been sitting on the couch long at all before his heart began beating faster, before sweat trickled down his brow. For no reason that he could readily discern. None at all. All he knew was that his surroundings had been wiped out. His apartment no longer felt like a refuge, not even a little bit. The small knickknacks, the poster