First published in the first Wikimedia Heart of Knowledge zine answering the question: What does open access to knowledge mean to you?

They’re shouting again. I can hear them through the front door as I lift my key to the lock. I miss the hole the first time; it scratches around until my hand steadies enough to slide the jagged teeth inside. Opening the door as quietly as I can, I slip inside and slide along the corridor wall, as inconspicuous as a mouse. They didn’t hear me come in, allowing the hurling of accusations to continue unhindered. I try to ignore them, but I can still hear the words. I reach the door to my bedroom and draw it closed behind me, muffling the words but not the sounds which thud against the wood.

I turn into the room, and there it is. Sitting serenely on my desk, my computer waits for me. It is dull and scratched, bought cheap second hand and belonged to my brother before me, but in my eyes, it glows like it’s fresh out of the box. I drop my school bag and make a beeline for the desk and its squeaky swivel chair. A bubble of calm begins to envelop me as the computer whirs to life and blinks reassuringly, despite the escalating noise coming from the living room. Ignoring the argument, I look through the monitor as it logs in and I see freedom on the other side. And it is with this slow and decrepit computer that I can reach that freedom, I can escape. Everything it contains, I can access. Little old me, the slider along walls, the pretender of non-existence, me. It’s funny to think, through the portal of the web, I can be who I want to be, who I am. I can access all the knowledge the world contains, but first I’ll just check if there are any new memes…