[ WP ] In a corner of a public library there is a computer . Anything posted to the internet from that computer becomes true .

Tim shifted his bookbag higher on his shoulder and kept walking. Groups of students sat, quietly murmuring to one another at tables skirting the edge of the library. Tim and a trickle of other students wandered by like refugees looking for a home, avoiding the defensive glances of those at the occupied tables. 
 
 Sometimes there was an open spot to study down in the basement. Tim turned a corner at the rear of the library and found an unfamiliar stairwell and descended. Opening the door, Tim's progress was halted for a moment as he processed the sight in front of him. 
 
 The unfamiliar stairwell did not lead into the basement proper like all the others. This stairwell seemed to specifically serve a small antechamber. The room was tiny; perhaps fifteen feet long by ten feet wide. The walls were deep grey block, as if this room had been left unfinished. Despite this, there were shelves of books on both sides of the room, covered in dust and lit by a dingy bulb. 
 
 Most fascinating of all, however, was the object sitting at the far rear of the narrow room. 
 
 The ancient looking computer terminal sat with an empty, dust covered chair in front of it. Despite its obvious disuse, it looked somehow inviting and lonely at the same time. It was beige with deep grey trim and a keyboard that looked more like it belonged on an electronic typewriter than a computer. The monitor, a venerable cathode ray tube that was integrated into the same piece of plastic as the keyboard, was black, with a bright green cursor blinking expectantly in the upper left-hand corner. 
 
 Tim approached hesitantly and sat down, then put his bookbag down beside him. He looked at the cursor, thought for a moment, and typed his name. 
 
 TIM 
 
 The letters glowed at him, green and blocky from the face of the terminal. He rubbed his chin for a moment, then remembered that old Heinlein book, *Starship Troopers*. Why write about himself when he could write a fantastic space adventure? 
 
 Tim banged the backspace key and watched the cursor race backward, deleting his name. 
 
 The ancient looking computer terminal sat with an empty, dust covered chair in front of it. Despite its obvious disuse, it looked somehow inviting and lonely at the same time. A bright green cursor blinked expectantly in the upper left-hand corner.
