Read Online Thomas World by Richard Cox - Free Book Online Page A

little life has returned to his eyes, but not much. I feel like I’m living that moment in a suspense film where something shocking is about to happen, except I’m fairly sure it’s not happening at all.
    â€œHow what works?”
    â€œThe world,” he answers. Complete monotone.
    â€œSure,” I say, “tell me how the world works.”
    â€œThe truth is in numbers.”
    â€œNumbers?”
    â€œLots and lots of numbers.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDid you know the value of pi has been computed to more than one trillion decimal places but no simple pattern has ever been found?”
    â€œNo, but—”
    â€œPi appears in nature, it’s all around us, but no one really knows why.”
    I don’t even bother to respond this time, because even though Dick is talking, he’s definitely not hearing.
    â€œIt’s almost impossible to see the pattern when you are part of the pattern, Thomas. Remember that.”
    I look up at the television. Another talking head is yapping about a House appropriations battle between Democrats and Republicans, and at the bottom of the screen a stock ticker scrolls by.
    Lots and lots of numbers.
    Dick touches his forehead with his hand, rubbing it the way a person with a headache would.
    â€œI better get back to my desk,” he says in a shaky voice. His eyes still don’t look exactly right. “I have to put together a proposal for my boss before noon, and I haven’t even started.”
    We stand up, ready to leave. I get the feeling if I asked Dick about the numbers, he wouldn’t know what I was talking about. Is that because he went into a trance or because it didn’t happen at all?
    â€œI tell you what,” he says. “I’m going to send you a link to this game you should download. If you want to see the world from a different point of view, especially religion, this is the way to do it. It’s called Ant Farm 2.0”
    â€œAnt Farm?”
    â€œYeah. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but check it out.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œWow,” Dick says, shaking his head. “A disillusioned screenwriter. And just when I thought there were no surprises left in the world.”
    No surprises? At this point everything feels like a surprise to me.
    â€œLet me know what you think about the game,” he says. “I think you’ll like it.”
    â€œOkay. Thanks.”
    I pick my way through the labyrinth of hallways and cubicles back to my desk. I feel like a rat looking for a piece of cheese. Eventually I find my way into my cube, inside its four gray walls, six feet by eight feet. I’ve got a desktop, a file cabinet, a gray desk. I have a black chair.
    Normally, I would be staring at another eight hours of mindless pointing and clicking, another futile day, like living in that supermax prison.
    But this is not a normal day.
    It’s becoming more obvious by the minute my normal days are over.

SEVEN
    I was hoping the familiarity of my cubicle and the tedious morning routine would settle me down a bit, provide something solid I could hold on to today. But even though I’m staring at my computer monitor, I’m not really seeing it. My eyes aren’t focused and everything seems quiet, like I’m the only one here.
    Monday mornings aren’t what I would call productivity’s sweet spot, but right now I don’t even know where to begin. To be honest I was already becoming disillusioned with this job before I began to hallucinate. Now there doesn’t seem to be any real point. For instance, on the monitor right now is an Excel spreadsheet, a list of terms commonly typed into the search box on my company’s web site. Part of my job is to review these terms and figure out which of them are underutilized in our online marketing. The idea is to gather information about your Internet search habits and use it to sell you stuff. It’s one facet of