We fade in on the scene of an undergraduate in her native environment. There are books piled knee high all around her, and papers scattered across the floor. The space beside her is littered with empty coffee cups and old cigarette packs and her trash can overflows with empty coke bottles. Her eyes are bleary behind smudged glasses, and it's clear by looking at the mounds of dirty clothes piled beside her bed that she hasn't done laundry in quite some time. The sweater she's wearing has holes at both elbows and her jeans have obvious stains on them. Her expression is one of dumbstruck confusion, albeit slow-witted confusion. One can guess that she hasn't slept in quite some time by her delayed reaction time, and the rings beneath her eyes.
Nifra: ...but I feel like a did a bibliography last night. How could it possibly not be here? I remember it so clearly.
The computer doesn't answer, as it is inanimate. Nifra glares at it harder.
Nifra: No, really...I typed up all the books, and put page numbers and everything. It was just before that guy knocked on the door with the purple flowers. I swear to God.
The computer beeps, as if to say, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Nifra: Wait. Purple flowers? What?
Again, the computer remains silent, showing only the outline that Nifra has written without any bibliography.
Nifra: There aren't any purple flowers in my room. And I don't know anybody who would bring me flowers.
The silence in the room is deafening. Nifra looks around from surface to surface, blinking slowly.
Nifra: ...that didn't happen, did it?
The computer beeps again, this time seeming to comment, "No, you fool."
Nifra: So I dreamed that. During my three hours of sleep.
The computer hums happily, a quiet purring that, if one strains, can be made into the words, "You are a crazy person."
Nifra: Ain't that the truth.