user: Okay, so picture this. Technology has gotten so advanced that we can now upload our minds into a virtual world. Imagine if you will, a character who decides to take the plunge and explore this new reality. But, as they delve deeper, they start to realize the consequences of their actions and must figure out how to get back to the real world before it's too late. Intriguing, right?

assistant: Yes, that definitely sounds intriguing! It's an interesting concept that raises questions about the relationship between the virtual and real world, and the impact of technology on our lives. The idea of a character being trapped in a virtual world and struggling to find their way back to reality adds a sense of tension and urgency to the story, and could make for a compelling narrative.

user: Can you write me a short story about this character in this futuristic world?

assistant: My dad always used to tell me about the old days, when he was a kid. He would tell me about the farm he grew up on, the animals he fed, and the innocent, joyous life he led. Despite its innocuous nature and inherent simplicity, it was, and still is my favourite story of his. A subtle tip of the hat to the man he was. I suppose though that the real reason I am drawn to his story is how impossible it seems. How distant and unattainable that peacefulness truly is.

“Huuuuuhh!” I breathed a deep, choking breath. My heart pounded like a dog on a chain, sweat dripping from my ears like there was no tomorrow. I looked up, still in a trance of adrenaline as my vision begun to straighten itself out. Panting for air, I unplugged myself and went to the kitchen to make a coffee, god I needed a coffee. Going in really takes it out of you, especially as that was my third time going in for the day.
"Hey", Michelle, my wife, said as the walked into the room. The kettle clicked off.
"Yeah. Not to bad, holding up I guess", I lied, choking back the truth that I didn't know how to express. She walked over to me, gave me a gentle, tender hug. She smelt like Laura, they wore the same perfume, that soft rosy essence with a sharp edge that I’d grown to love, grown to rely on. I missed it. I craved it.
“You know”, Michelle started, “therapy is fine, its normal, it’s…everyone does it”. I could tell she knew what I was thinking.
“I’m good, really.” I tried to caress a smile to my face, my mouth wouldn’t even break a curve.
“Don’t lie to me,” she purred “I know when somethings up with you.” 
I just stood there, looking through her eyes into the void of despair I could tell she was also locking inside, as she portrayed her usual, outwardly confident self. I could tell it was consuming her to.

I picked up my coffee, sat back down on the couch and cried a little. A mans cry. The one that’s been bottled up for too long, but isn’t allowed to be seen. Laura. Out Laura. Dead. Everybody tells you grief is temporary, that it all ends, that there’s light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel. But through the grey-tinted veil of sorrow I was seeing the world through, I refused to believe that were true. And so, for the fourth time that day, I plugged myself in, and visited the farm which my Dad had grew up on. That peaceful farm, that simple farm. A farm in a world before Laura existed, well before her untimely demise. Some people scream, some people bottle it all up. But I found coping easiest when I turned to my MiniMind. Anything I wanted to be, anyone I wanted to be, always. It was easier that way. And so, I embraced the denial, and paid another visit to the animals.

Michelle stood leaning against the archway to the living room, watching her wreck of a husband drown himself in his virtual solitude. She knew he was getting worse. He was only in three times yesterday, once the day before. Now he was in for the fifth time today. And it was only two in the afternoon. She knew she should do something to help, she should not let him stay in, but maybe it was best for him? Maybe it would help? Her shoulders slumped and she let out an inaudible sigh. And she just stood there. Watching her husband drown in an oasis of opportunity, a world away. She just stood there for hours. And those hours eventually, turned to days.

She knew how dangerous that machine was, the MiniMind, it was an epidemic, really. The scientists said it was more addictive than heroin, and why wouldn’t it be? It was a portal to a world without pain, without suffering. And her husband had been in there for days now. Without eating, without sleeping. And she didn’t even have the stomach to intervene, because she knew, deep down, he was happy. And happiness was hard to come by. Much harder to maintain. She begged, silently, that he would come out by himself. That he would return to her and face the grief he was running from. To face his fear and beat it. 

But that never happened. He just stayed in. And slowly, Michelle watched as the man she loved turned into a shadow of his former self, rotting in the false existence he created. Until he was no longer a man at all. The machine got the better of him.

As it always does.