A/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING I UPLOADED THE THING AND NOW I CAN'T EDIT IT WHAT? Did I fix it or did I just delete the whole thing? Huh. I wonder if saving this changes the actual story or if I have to re-upload it. Weird. But here's a story. I hope you like.

She sat in her room, eyes pouring over endless walls of texts that cascaded down her laptop's flat screen. It was another weekend off from college with nothing to do but read stories, various articles on the internet, post comments, update blogs- the usual. She stretched her legs out slightly from where they had been previously folded butterfly style, one leg going straight on either side of the glowing, heated piece of technology. Oh, if only her computer had a human shape, then it would be perfect. The computer was already her best friend after all- it was intelligent, funny, and was always there when she needed someone to talk to.

Aside from the numerous pictures of anime characters haphazardly taped to the surrounding walls of her bedroom, she didn't see much of "real people" or "friends". Oh, she had friends. She had plenty of email buddies, instant messaging buddies, and commenters on the forums she moderated. She had tons of friends.

So very many friends, in fact, that she saw no reason to leave her house. There wasn't much out there anyway, except for stupid, illiterate morons and their pointless drivel about "real life".

In fact, she kept herself quite busy- she was going to be an amazing author one day. She had already written at least twenty fan fiction stories about Sakura Haruno, from the "Naruto" series, dating many of the other characters. They all had completely diverse plots, though, yes. Of course they did.

And no one would tell her otherwise. No one.

For you see, the less talented and intelligent bugs that frequented the same fan fiction site as she liked to pretend that they knew how to write.

They would wrongfully assume that they actually knew things about the English language, or sentence structure, or correct grammar, when they didn't. And it was positively laughable.

Some would even post self-insert fiction, where the author either intentionally or unintentionally imbedded a character with their own personality, looks, beliefs, or characteristics. Usually this is done so the poor soul can envision themselves in a love story with their favorite character in a series. Who does that?

She, on the other hand, would create well-rounded and diverse original characters. Yes, they were far superior to any of the fantasy-driven crap anyone else on the site ever has, or would come up with. Her characters just so happened to fall in love with a favorite character, through ways that were not trite and cliché' at all. Her characters did not embody herself even a bit, nor was the character overpowered in the least. Her writing was the pinnacle of perfection, and everyone would believe it eventually.

Eventually.

So far did her obsession with perfection grow, that she did push it on other users of the site. If she saw a particularly horrible story, she would indeed tell the user her thoughts on it, pushing ways to improve their writing to her standards. Of course, there were also rules- rules that had to be followed. She took it upon herself to enforce these rules, gathering ones like her into a group to mindlessly plow through hundreds of fan fiction a day, searching for broken rules and just things she generally did not like or approve of.

The rules must be followed, we must all follow the rules in this life. We all follow the rules here.

Her self-constructed favorite saying was inspired by her favorite movie- The Stepford Wives. In this movie, every woman does what a woman should and is expected to do, and they all are the embodiment of perfection. That is how she believed life should be, because where there is error, there is difference and individuality. She was firm in thought that no one ever gets rewarded for individuality in life, and the only way to prosper is through conformity and rules.

"Look at these morons," she exclaimed out loud to the dim lighting of her bedroom. There were people currently arguing her initial review on a story she had left for the author, telling them quite bluntly to improve or risk deletion of their story. How dare they? First, they had the audacity to even post the illiterate waste that they call fan fiction, then they argue her word on it?

"I know what I'm fucking talking about," she snarled to herself, voice raising in frustration. "I know how to write! Unlike you, I know how to write!" Caught up in her emotion, her voice raised to a volume just below screaming.

Unfortunately, the combative stranger could not hear her complaint. Nor did they hear the response of a crash and bellowing from below the plush carpeting of her room.

"HEY, SHUT THE HELL UP! You know the goddamn rules, don't you?"

She knew the rules. She continued furiously typing on her laptop keyboard.

That night she had finished compiling a list of new stories to be reported for (hopeful) deletion. That was the goal of her organization- to report fiction as many times as it takes for the admins of the site itself to notice and delete the reported fic. Her code of honor? To tell the offenders what is wrong with their story, but through any way desirable. The thing is, some people just wouldn't accept her wisdom and knowledge- they would fight and argue like whiny babies to justify their breach of The Rules. Not that she cared, since their story would just get deleted eventually if they did not, though she would gladly participate in the pointless debates to get some pent-up frustration out.

It was nearing 1:00 AM. After putting her favorite sweatpants on, she reclined into her bed, dreams of fanfic and being renowned in her head. Once she was satisfied with a new idea she had come up with for a story, she descended into a dream.

Within a fog of mist, I stand. My visual interpretation tells me that the area's color scheme is of grays and shades of between. No concrete colors. I am alone. I begin walking, though I don't know why, considering there is nothing that indicates where I am. There are no barriers, or boundaries. I grow increasingly anxious. I reluctantly continue walking.

There is still only fog. Where am I going? Why am I walking in this grey area?

There is nothing here.

Where are the walls? Where is the bottom? Or the top, for that matter?

Is there anyone here? I try to voice this, but all that comes out when I open my mouth is garbled sounds, like someone trying to talk underwater.

I can't see any difference in the area than where I started. It's all the same. Why is it the same? Where are the signposts telling me where to go?

Panicked, I start running. My location stays the same. It's an endless loop.

WHERE AM I GOING? I try to voice, it echoes into my own head, reverberating, before fading along with my sight. I try to scream out one last time. She awoke yelling the tail end of a word, or sentence. In her panicked post-sleep haze, she wasn't sure what she had been saying. Calming herself down with some deeply panting breaths, she gave her body a once-over check before dragging herself sluggishly out of bed and into the hallway outside of her room. Her body felt heavier than usual- her arms dangling at her side were hard to lift. It was even hard to see, too. Why were all the lights off in the house in the middle of the day?

She continued trudging towards the bathroom, knowing the layout of her home by heart anyway, and feeling far too lazy to bother turning on any lights. Slipping seamlessly through the bathroom doorway, she felt around for the sink handle and promptly yanked it on.

Suddenly, like opening a floodgate, she was blasted by what seemed like contained air pressure. It was too powerful for her body to fight, and she was thrown back pathetically like a dust molecule in a tornado. She flew for what seemed like forever inside this wind tunnel, twisting and turning to the powerful element's demands. Any attempt to fight was feeble, and her screams were lost to the ever-deafening roaring within her own ears.

From the trying effort of her cries, she was lost into an unconscious-like state as she slowly descended into silence.