Online Gallery of Interactive Fiction
Interactive fiction (IF) is computer-mediated narrative, resembling a very finely-grained "Choose Your Own Adventure" story. The interactor reads a short textual description ("You are standing at the end of a road before a small brick building."), and types instructions to the computer ("enter building"). The plot can change based on what the interactor types. It is more truly interactive than hypertext.
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Slouching Towards Bedlam The rotating tin cylinder within the phonograph vibrates slightly as a brass needle scrapes against it. The sound of a throat being cleared emerges from the machine's hornshell speaker, followed by a thin, haunting voice. "March the 16th." A deep, shaky breath. "I dread to say it, but I believe I am going mad. The -- *moments* -- come more frequently now. I fear that I have found what I have sought, and I shall now pay the price for it." The scrape of a chair across flagstone. A sigh. "Chaos treads the halls of Bedlam; her work is evident everywhere..." |
Fine-Tuned: An Auto-mated
Romance
The life of a daredevil adventurer
leaves precious little time for rest. There's always wickedness to thwart,
innocence to preserve, and honour to uphold.
The Pratt Dynamo is Aloysius Pratt's latest,
most brilliant invention -- twin six-cylinder motors, an electric starter,
hydraulic steering, an on-board heater, and some stuff that has to do
with fuel and airflow that you didn't quite catch the last time Aloysius
mentioned it. The body is white with gold trim. On the luggage rack are
a tool chest and a crate.
In the front seat is Aloysius.
"Come on, Mr. Sterling... get in!" says Aloysius.
Galatea
You come around a corner, away from the noise of the opening. There is only one exhibit. She stands in the spotlight, with her back to you: a sweep of pale hair on paler skin, a column of emerald silk that ends in a pool at her feet. She might be the model in a perfume ad; the trophy wife at a formal gathering; one of the guests at this very opening, standing on an empty pedestal in some ironic act of artistic deconstruction -- You hesitate, about to turn away. Her hand balls into a fist. "They told me you were coming."
Metamorphoses
You wake to stillness. The hammering, banging, and shouting
that kept you awake half the night are gone. The air is cold, and something
smells burnt. Your master's experiments must be finished, but with what
result? Something hesitates on the edge of your consciousness, the memory
of unquiet dreams...
Then you see. You have been sent, again. The taste of ash is on your lips,
the grit in your eyes. And you blink...
Colossal Cave Adventure
You are standing at the end of a road before a small brick building. Around you is a forest. A small stream flows out of the building and down a gully.
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