by Novo Dé
“What happened—?”
“It wasn’t until about midweek that I started to notice some differences in the kids. At first it just seemed like the kids on the left became real attentive, some actually discussing some of the classroom lectures with others on the same side, definitely seemed more in tune to communicate, even if it was just a little, while the right, continued to be these, zombified versions of themselves.
But at first what seemed like attentiveness was quickly realized to be more…anxiety, restlessness, unease.
And as the days went on, it really showed – the withdrawal – some would act out unexpectedly, some, real out of line, others begged to use their NCL again, anger yet despair in their eyes. But it was their physical manifestations that really got burnt in my memory, these now, gritting teethed, bugged eyed kids, so fidgety, nervous, tense.”
“And when it got there…what did you do?”
“The only thing I could do, before it really got out of hand.”
“Which was?”
“I gave it back to them.”
“And?”
“And. They all went back to normal, well, back to how they usually are anyways. You get any of that with your research?”
Cohen begins to shake his head ever so slightly.
“We would only turn the units off for up to an hour at a time, not weeks. Plus we only focused on adults.”
“Sounds like you got some more research to do doc.”
And Cohen zones out, mouth open, a puzzling look over his face. Frozen.
“Looks like first generation users are far more impressionable than we could’ve ever imagined. And they said they went through all the tests to make sure it was safe for children. Just between me and you doc, I don’t think they did.”
“I don’t think so either.”
“Either way, seeing those kids like that doc, it really, it really did somethin’ to me, made me think, there’s no goin’ back now.”
“But maybe we don’t have to go back Tybalt.”
“I dunno, maybe not. I just, I just don’t wanna end up like that y’know.”
“Like what?”
“Owned.”
“Owned?”
“Yeah, owned, by the NCL.”
Cohen cocks his head slightly and with a squint of his eye, tells me to continue.
“It’s all really simple doc – the things you own, can end up owning you – that’s what I saw in them. And now, in all of us. ‘The things you own, end up owning yo…”
November 21st, 2051
Everything has changed. But nothing has changed.
After the internet took over entertainment – seasons of television, the networks consolidated, movies, music, gaming, streaming of original content, low productions, high productions, all of it – there was really no need to leave your home anymore. And we all thought sitting on the couch to relax, blow off some steam, whatever, would somehow be different. But it’s really become like everything else. Now, billions of channels, literally endless content to entertain, but still, nothing to watch, nothing to do.
With a wave of a hand or the flex of a finger, and for some, a blink of an eye, navigating CHARLIES’ visual output is effortless.
But, I find nothing. Nothing upon nothing upon nothing in fact. Jesus. And it’s funny because, I really don’t care, but at the same time, I’m in this state of trepidation, longing for something to pull me into the world of the extraordinary.
‘Surely there’ll be something great to watch, just gotta find it,’ I keep telling myself, as if it’s actually important to me. But it’s not, and that moment, that moment never comes. Yet, I keep going, and going, always finding it difficult to stop, to turn it off.
Wasn’t always like this.
Fuck, when I was younger, it was the exact opposite.
So much content at my fingertips, one click after another, after another, and hours would move by like minutes. My world, my free time, sucked away by anything with the suffix ‘-tube,’ be it something educational, porn, or really anything in the middle. But time has a funny way of making something once powerful, turn stale, until it cycles through its relevance, where it then fades into the history of time, or evolves, or simply merges into something else, and then we’re all left hungering for something new again.
“C’mon CHARLIE, we gotta find somethin.’”
“Would you like me to refresh your preference algorithm?”
“Sure bud, give it a whirl,” I say with a touch of sarcasm.
“Ah yes, here we are…how about a documentary about our most recent World War? It’s entitled, “The Great Water War.” I think you’d love the—”
“Too soon man.”
“Alright. Well. I also have a documentary about the—”
“How bout we just skip the docs CHARLIE.”
“Of course. As you wish. How about some original content? I have here a new episodic show. Appears to be a law enforcement drama called ‘Type I Civistice.’
Set in the distant future, it chronicles humanities newly acquired Type I Civilization and the newly elected officials chosen to maintain and secure balance and order to the world’s ability to harness all the available energy from the sun and thus all natural forces, specifically of course from ‘…getting into the wrong hands.’ Sounds good huh?”
Sounds like the same shit we’ve always had. Just a new facelift.
Everything has changed. But nothing has changed.
“How bout we just try the news…”
CHARLIE does as instructed.
The news is already underway. The main story of course is surrounding this new religious movement. You can’t hide from that story.
It almost makes me miss the superficial content. Man, what I wouldn’t give to hear about some celebrity with an unexpected pregnancy.
But don’t hold your breath. We all are going to continue to be inundated by this story until the ratings drop. That’s all the news networks do anymore, or have always done really; they follow the content that gets them the ratings. Doesn’t matter what it is.
Turns out there was another surprise bombing in another area that no one had ever heard of or cared about.
“They’re gonna cover this shit forever. Just turn it off CHARLIE.”
“As you wish, sir, I mean, Tybalt,” CHARLIE says back as the wall display fades into nothingness, back to an empty canvas.
Visual entertainment, the news, it’s all become stale again, but don’t think for a minute that other media and content-driven entities don’t have a stranglehold on our attention, fuck, our lives. They very much do.
So you can imagine that it’s become quite rare when we humans have the opportunity and pleasure of these kind of moments, to be left in a room, with only our thoughts to keep us company, to just, simply think. Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I was alone, alone with my thoughts, in a room of complete silence; can’t remember any recent memories before the probation, before my pseudo-house-arrest.
The prefix ‘pseudo-‘ always tends to pop in my head when I think about my situation. I’m not arrested to my house in the traditional sense. Nothing’s strapped to my leg. The Digital Representation Imaging does all the work they’ll ever need.
That was part of my probation.
As long as I stay within a certain proximity of my house, I’m free to roam. Grocery store, to go shopping, the business district, the coffee shop down the street, all fair game. But I can really get everything I would ever want and/or need from CHARLIE and Siren.com. Well, except for one thing of course.
Anonymous.
But fuck, it’s time to wean myself off that shit anyway. It’s just time. Time to just be. Turn off the world and just be. Allow my thoughts to be thoughts again.
But of course my thoughts don’t agree.
My mind’s just not used to this, even after all this time after the trial. I still have a hard time solidifying the clutter upstairs, finding ground, something to hold ont
o, to ponder about. My mind, circling, running amok. Not like the fantasies, it’s just, it’s just, simply not use to this. Time alone. Time to be. It’s still all so new.
Stream of consciousness now.
The thoughts, darting around in my mind, uncontrollably. Rapid fire. Each moving on to a new world, within seconds, milliseconds, effortlessly. Each creating a new layer of chaos between my ears. Each clouding an escapable urge to find the realm of the present.
Lost now, in oblivion. The thoughts now scattered. Erratic. Frantic. Wild. I can hear yelling. Screaming. My mouth hangs open as I zone in this empty, silent house…stuck, a prisoner now to my own thoughts.
Now I just want it to stop. The circling. Just need something to hold onto. Stop this fucking mess. Stop all the pain—
And Juliet suddenly enters my mind’s eye – my mind now at a standstill like a pause in a movie – single frame.
I can see her beautiful blues.
A moment of peace lingers in.
Finally. Something to hold onto.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. I wonder what she smells like, looks like. Is she drowning in work at this very moment? Eyes glazed over as she watches some patient blabbering away? Or maybe she’s alone at a bar? One chardonnay after another. Can’t really see that one. Or maybe it’s something in the middle. Maybe she’s laughing for the first time in a long time with a man that better suits her needs?
My mind of course finding its way to the worst possible scenario. The very thing that haunts my world. That used to haunt my slumber.
My living nightmare.
I don’t even have real nightmares anymore. Just the daymares.
What I wouldn’t give to dream again, a normal dream.
Suppose I could check on her or have CHARLIE do it. But the truth is, I can’t do that. Can’t use her DRIs like that. Can’t even touch the things out of sheer principle alone. The farthest I go is looking into an approximation of when she’ll be home. But I’d be lying to myself if I said the thought never crossed my mind, to really use ‘em, oh it has, and still very much does, but it just lingers there, on the periphery, never to actually be touched.
I really just want to carry out our rituals for the evening.
Our rituals, I realize, though monotonous, are better than no rituals at all. The same could be said for our love for each other, or better yet, how much we like each other still.
So maybe I should ask CHARLIE when she’ll be home. Or maybe I should just leave it alone. Leave it all alone. Fuck, I wish it was that easy.
But my mind always seems to make its way back to her. She was always something to hold onto. Those beautiful blues. I just wish she felt the same way about me. Maybe one day she will again. I just don’t know when—
“Tybalt, sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been staring off for quite a while now. And as you know, we don’t like to keep our users idle. So I just wanted to bring it to your attention that you have new mail in your inbox.”
My eyes shut hard. Coming out of the trance, I lick my dry lips and lubricate my mouth with saliva. The lids flutter as words enter my mind.
“It’s alright CHARLIE,” I say as I dig out the ‘sleep’ in my eyes. “So. What exciting new mail do we have today?”
“It’s actually just another Ad from the NCL organization concerning their new expansion software. I’m sorry; I of course know how you feel about NCLs, but you still have selected preferences that require me to prompt you with all new mail regardless of the content. I don’t think you’ve changed it since the trial. Shall I go ahead and delete it?”
Juliet enters my mind again before I answer.
“No. No ah, I mean, maybe it’s time, I ah, take a peek, wouldn’t hurt to look, right?”
“Really. I’m surprised that you—”
“Yeah yeah, I ah, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately, actually,” I say covering. “Go ahead and pull it up.”
“Alright then. Just, give me a minute,” CHARLIE says as the sprinkling of black begins to pour out of the wall from nothing, creating a large black rectangular box.
Once the black box comes to a standstill, the blackness illuminates into color into the advertisement. Of course, it’s just your run-of-the-mill Ad. Nothing more.
A picture of a smiling couple meeting my gaze, next to the mission statement of the organization. The body outlining the benefits of the product with the side-effects in severely small print. A link that will help you understand and simply map out the financial end. Features of additional products that complement the NCL. And something I can’t quite make out.
“Scroll down.”
CHARLIE does as instructed.
Just more links below. More “features.” More opportunity to open your wallet really.
But still.
Juliet.
“Y’know, on second thought, why don’t you just go ahead and take me to their site.”
“Of course,” CHARLIE says with a somewhat surprised, yet delighted quality to his voice.
The product site is the same fucking thing you’ve seen countless times.
The NCL logo, a small black dot, rests at the upper left portion of a menu banner with a variety of options and directives that will answer all frequently asked questions. Below is a larger shifting banner with the usual graphics: Uplifting stock photos of people laughing, accompanied by quotes of how fucking wonderful the product is, mission statements, factoids, product details, link after link after link of how you can ‘start saving,’ and then the always infamous, terms and conditions.
Then there’s the powerful, soothing color schemes that direct and re-direct your eye back to the product. Below the large banner is ‘Important Safety Information.’ ‘Consult your physician before acquiring an NCL.’ ‘Do not proceed with the surgery if you have a history of brain tumors, brain hemorrhages,’ blah, blah, blah. You’ve heard it all before. It’s all more of the same.
Nestled in the body of the site is an ‘educational’ video detailing the odds and ends of what acquiring and living with an NCL would be like. At least that’s what the site says. It’s really just a commercial for the product.
“Let’s take a look at their campaign video there,” I say to CHARLIE.
The video opens to a busy business district sidewalk near sky-scrapper after sky-scrapper, littered with people all in fancy garb utilizing their respective Neurological Communication links, talking away, solidifying what I’d assume to be the ‘deal of the century.’ Think about a movie montage involving ‘Wall Street’ or ‘5th Avenue’ or ‘Time Square’ or some shit like that and you’ll get the picture. Then a very handsome debonair-looking man in a suit enters the shot saying ‘hello there’ before finding center stage.
‘Thinking about getting an NCL are we? I see that you’re a little hesitant. Well follow me, and rest assured, we’ll help keep your mind at ease,’ the man says as he walks to the opposite end of the shot.
We’re then brought to a new shot, where the camera is following the handsome man as he walks down an office corridor with open cubicle after open cubicle of attractive young ladies talking away on their respective NCLs. He’s noticeably a little more dressed down than before, no tie, the top-button of his dress shirt unbuttoned.
“I know what you’re thinking – the trouble of acquiring an NCL may outweigh the benefits. Well I can assure you that our pre-op consultants will make the process a breeze. Simply make time for a thirty to forty-five minute interview and our consultant will take care of the rest. No need to do any separate procedure scheduling, or insurance benefits communication, or anything of the like, because Betty here, is going to take care of you from here on out,” he finishes, making a ‘come-hither’ head gesture with his head as the camera stops and the man walks off screen.
We’re now at a similar shot, but instead of walking past open cubicles, the handsome man is walking past surgical operation suites, dressed down a little more now, no jacket.
“The
procedure itself, a snap as well. It’s an Out-Patient procedure, which means you get to come in and go home on the same day. No need for those long hospital stays anymore. And we’ve gone out of our way to make sure we have the greatest surgeons in the world on our team to perform the procedure, so you can get back to your life as soon as possible, safe n’ sound, ready to live a new life, with your new NCL. In fact, it’ll be over before you know it…”
The shot then shifts to the man in front of a lovely red door of a nice, eloquent, upper-middleclass home, dressed down even more now, sleeves now rolled up to the elbows.
“So why choose the NCL? Because we want to help you get back to the thing that we know...matters most….family, the little ones, or maybe it’s just…” a pause ensues to allow the man to slightly open the door before he looks back at the camera to initiate the tag line of the scene, “The love of your life,” where he then walks into the house.
The camera is now panning to the right, slowly, in the dining room of the house, where we first see the man intermittently sipping on a glass of red wine, laughing and conversing, the audio silent however, until a beautiful woman enters the shot, assumed to be his wife.
A deep male voice-over reads ‘Life has so many complications in it. Let us help you make it simple again,’ as the shot stops, dead center on the profiles of the couple, as they merrily converse away, in the most romantic of settings – Low, candle lighting. A perfectly prepared steak dinner. High end red wine. The fire place blazing with oranges and reds in the background between the couple – Just an array of classic-fucking-clichés, until we come to the end, the cherry on top, the final shot.
The final shot shifts the aforementioned shot to an angular view of the couple. We’re now looking over the right shoulder of the man, from the back, to allow a perfect, slightly off-center shot of the wife. Her left side. Probably her good side. She smiles, looks directly at the camera, and addresses the audience. She says ‘Thanks NCL,” and goes back to conversing with her husband again before the shot fades to black, where a caption then reads, ‘click the banner to get in touch with a pre-op consultant today.’