The Waning Century Game

"Comment Ca Va?" said she, unsure of what to expect from the non Le Chat, but simply a regular chat on the net. The last time she had had a chat with previous boyfriend, it melted away like scattered bits of data.

"Bonjour!" said the other girl, most definitely not a man. This had only recently began to come to terms with her sexuality. Used to the concept of being a larger part of the Inter Webs rather than reality as we know it to be in meat space, it took many hours, days, and weeks of soul searching. It took all she had to say, "Salut! Yo, in English." The degree of pronunciation was still difficult, and her ability to read only gave her so much to work with when visiting her best friend, who was a pot head in British Columbia. She was dating a French girl that was visiting the larger British portion. But for whatever reason this girl was different.

There was a long moment of pause, but eventually they agreed to a relatively light level of encryption. It wasn't as if any dream-scanners were currently watching, and the only thing they had to worry about was their families. "SIOXEOTUUSWIRAIHSSLRAYEEDE" the French girl said. She had just been introduced to block ciphering, and briefly before had only just become familiar with Caesar Ciphers. She came from a land where it always rotated six ways down a multitude of intersections, and her friend had wanted to visit Strasbourg for research for her next book.

"ILYDBFDOWAIYUIMTODLAOUALD" her friend said. And it was true, you never know who you might be talking to on the net. In most cases however most people were normal, for the most part, based on how you would define normal. In her case, most of her desire came from female victim fantasies, having her own head severed by unseen guillotine blades, men hidden in shadows. Secret agents that come to take her away, and would just as likely shoot her in the back of the head if it made enough money. It was a fantasy that always caused embarrassment, and so only among few friends she knew were her exact age, she was very careful who she spoke with them about. She had gone through enough with her mother, about the shame of liking such things. Though for her mother she was the time to never be satisfied about anything. It didn't matter whether it was grooming, cooking, or anything else.

And yet for her, the desire for love was faint. Subtle, and now almost imperceptible. Though there was some larger desire she still had left to protect. She did not want her friend to know she cried.

That she hated the ideas of sex.

The nature of her own flesh.

Her friend had a few experiences with encrypted dating before, and breaking a block cipher was not exactly the most difficult thing you could do. Yet she had become disillusioned by the culture of diaspora, mostly being ran by programmers. Although that core desire for privacy never waned. And now that dance of all dances, the dance of a love that will never be. It was like funeral tap dance to deranged mothers, and funeral march at the tune of a confused bagpipe and piano playing Fur Elise. She always wanted a girl named Elise, though actually being named such mattered not. And over timed this fantasy became something she forgot.

She focused on her digital sexuality.

She focused exclusively on herself.

Yet now she can only thing of false promises and flower fields in digital after lives, walking through electronic meadows on the net. The skies would darken and shadow, she would explore the duality of centuries at ease of which most people could only travel through capsules.

It was the only desire she still had.

The waning century game.

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