Sunklands

“You don’t understand, Madam Mayor,” he spoke formally to his wife of 27 years. “I was soo tempted just to walk into those green green hills and never come back. I envisioned myself doing so. Still can.”

“So (the Our Second Life continent of) Maebaleia doesn’t stand a chance. If people here found out.”

“No,” he said plainly, bluntly. “Look at the depopulation of the once vaunted Hills of Bill in the central part of our continent here. Probably no actual spiritual energy left there by now. I’ve popped around there recently.”

“What of Horns of Hatton? Possibility still, you said earlier (in the week).”

“I-I don’t think so.”

Wheeler, presently playing the role of Mayor of this here Our Second Lyfe community that now calls itself Cass City, finally gives in. “Then we’ll have to block the whole area off. Our Second Life must be quarantined from Their Real Life. The link with the actual Azores will have to go away, like a beanstalk to Heaven being chopped down.”

“Suppose,” hubby Newt said back. They were in his downtown apartment at the moment, studying the corkboard Newt brought over earlier from her office in uptown where she usually stayed. More separate but equal stuff going on there. If possible, we’ll try to clarify the living arrangements — and the corkboard — soon.

“Another idea is to allow select members of our community to visit there, experience first hand the temptation just to chuck virtual in favor of real.”

“Keep the conduit open; don’t get rid of the, er, skybox. Heaven. Make it a religion instead.”

“Right right. Tell them they can go *visit* Paradise. But they also have to come back. They can’t stay there permanently. Or else–”

“They *die*, he he.” Newt was digging all this. Like a deep, dark grave.