Young Writers Society

Wake up

Chloe shot up her hands to her face, checking for any ash. None. She breathed a sigh of relief and rolled herself into a cocoon with her covers, and shut her eyes, trying to catch some more sleep before her mom’s voice broke into the room in to wake her up for school. And she did fall back asleep, but not for long.

“Wake up, Herby,” came her mom’s voice. Herby was a nickname that her mom had given Chloe based on her luminous green eyes.

Chloe moaned, stretched out on her bed, savoring the pleasant feeling of half-conscious. “Hey, Mom,” she said, smiling at her mom, who was hazy in her projection, which was washed out by Chloe’s white walls.

Chloe’s room was almost entirely white. From the walls, desk, bed, pillows, television, movie player and many other miscellaneous objects. The carpet of the floor, however, was green, the color of her eyes. As for why her room was mostly white, it was because she hoped that in doing so, it would ensure that Snowey's coat (her arctic hare) would stay consistently white throughout the year. So far it hadn't been put to the test since the time of year that was formally known as summer, hadn't arrived yet. But Chloe doubted that she was a match for the laws of nature.

“Better get ready for school, Herby,” her mom said.

“I will,” Chloe said,” walking over to Snowey’s cage as her mom’s projection signed off.

Chloe adored animals. As for people. People stunk. They worked like bees at their jobs, lived like bees, considering that there was next to no distance between cities anymore, but instead of making something sweet, they made money, feeding the King that ran the giant honeycomb of America. Chloe shook her head. Her parents were part of that honeycomb, and soon she would have to be too. She was already being trained for it in school anyway.

Why are we humans so terrible? She wondered. People lived a parasitic lifestyle using each other for their own benefit. They may primarily live a commensalistic relationship, but that was still a form of living only for themselves. Rarely did they live in mutualism in which they could help each other grow and come closer together. In her opinion, animals were much nicer.

Chloe crouched down in front of Snowey's cage and checked in on her. She was stretched out in the middle, her nostrils puffing.

“Hey, you little princess, “she said, opening the cage. Snowey's ears perked up like antennas.

She smiled. “You're s-so adorable,” Chloe said, reaching in the cage and pulling Snowey out. It was time for her exercise in the backyard of her Omaha, Nebraska home. She walked over a pair of slippers, letting them wrap themselves over her feet and snatched her electronic field journal, which was also a diary full of her venting. The ravaged touch screen was evidence of it, and the streaks left behind by her tear stains.

Breakfast With Dad

Stacey reached into her drawer and pulled out some laminated yellowed pieces of paper. Paper was an exceptionally rare material now. Partly because cutting down trees had been illegal for the past dozen years. This was due to the decimation of a significant portion of the world’s forests, which were used to expand the nation’s cities, bringing them so close that each state eventually became a city. But that wasn’t the only reason why paper was so hard to find. It was said that what was contained in paper was often useless information from the past, so they were no longer protected for future use. Relics of an inferior human from a lower existence. But to Stacey and her mom, what they had found in the literature of the papers was a purpose to live beyond working to satisfy the nation. The Words of life, which were what the literature in the papers came to be known as, had shown them what it meant to be human. Shown them that love was a living action that could change lives, which in the real world always seemed to be lacking, because compassion was almost always hidden behind a desire to take or earn something from someone else.

Stacey dug out her work uniform and carefully stuffed it in her backpack, over the papers. She went straight to work as a metal sorter at Metal Mart, a specialty shop that sold metal parts for robotics after school. Normally robots would have done simple labor like that, but unfortunately, robots were prone to shop-lifting anything metallic. Something about their artificial intelligence triggered a sort of primal instinct to steal. Stacey and her mom had a theory that they may be scared of something. Of what they did not know. What they did know was that robots had wireless access to virtually any network in America, and therefore could obtain information about terroristic threats. In fact, not too long ago a robot had prevented the assassination of a Senator by taking a fatal a barrage of bullets for her. That was the world that she lived in. A world where robots were willing to die for humans, but one where humans were hesitant to do the same for their own.

But apart from the absence of intelligent, emotion motivated robots, the world described in the papers was not very different from the one that Stacey and her mom lived in. At least not emotionally. But as far as health and infrastructure went it was like an entirely different planet. For instance comparing a city from the one described in the papers to one today was like comparing a flower to a garden. But no matter the superficial differences, people were still people.

As for how the papers affected the harmony of her family… First came the insults, and then the silence. The latter was the worst that came the moment that Stacey and her mom had come to believe The Words of Life. Her dad would have nothing to do with it, and using the organic microchips attached to their spines (part of the science that made humans immune to disease) he muted Stacey and her mom every time they mentioned a thing to do with the paper’s literature. Thankfully, only spouses and biological parents had access to their respective family member’s microchips in the civilian world. Not that she was really thankful for it. It was ridiculous and very… human. Indeed, it was quite human to silence whatever was different and went against the constant flow of progression.

Stacey shouldered her backpack and headed out of her room. The house was quiet. Typical. Her mom was already out working, and her dad was too. But the silence wasn’t all bad, because in it she could reflect inwardly on the beauty behind life in her tiny home, which was vibrant because of the hard work that Stacey and her mom did around the house. Her dusting and cleaning of windows until they sparkled like crystal in the sunlight more than made up for the short comings of the aging floors and walls. In a way, the payoff of not having one of those self-cleaning, mechanical houses or robot employees, was that she got to serve alongside her family.

Sort of. Her father had never really contributed much help around the house apart from making a mess, which she would promptly clean up. Still, Stacey couldn’t help but notice her dad’s appreciation for what she and mom did around the house. He couldn’t understand how anyone could find such joy in working without pay.

Stacey jumped when she heard someone say, "Morning, Sweetie." But then she realized that it was the voice was that of her dad, not of a burglar.

She turned to the kitchen and saw her father holding a tray with two vegetable omelets, smiling at her, his dark, almost purple blue eyes glowing at her. He looked ten years younger than his actual age with that smile. She couldn't recall any time she had seen him so happy. He was such a busy man with his job as an engineer. Sounds fancy, right? Not necessarily. It was simply robot supervision and the maintenance of their software.

“Hi, Dad, what are you still doing home?”

“Thought I’d take a day off to have breakfast with you.”

Stacey laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Dad, you could have just left some food in the oven for me.”

“Stacey, Stacey, I could have taken you out to a restaurant this weekend, but instead I wanted to have the pleasure of eating with you at our own home.”

Stacey took an omelet plate from her dad and couldn’t help but be flattered. It was true that she rarely ever sat down to eat with him. But really, it was kind of his fault that it was such a rare event. After all, he was the one who messed with their nervous systems to silence both her mom and herself whenever they uttered a word about the papers. That usually meant muting them as soon as they sat down for a meal.

“Anything to drink,” her dad asked.

“Water,” Stacey said.

“Coming up,” he said.

“Thanks,” Stacey said, making her way to the dining room. She took a seat, and checked the time on the holographic entertainment wall in the living room.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“It’s a bit past seven, so I can’t really stay long.”

“I’m here right?” he said cutting his omelet, “I’ll navigate you to school.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “Alright,” she said as her dad took a seat across from her and handed her a water. “Do you mind if I give thanks for our food?”

Her dad frowned. “Stacey I’m her to talk to you, not listen to you talk to yourself.”

“Dad!” she said, getting up out of her chair and storming out of the room.

“I made the food. I get the thanks! Not some imaginary dictator!”

“Enough, Dad!”

“Is that what you learn in those papers? Disrespect your parents?”

“Bye, Dad,” Stacey said, walking out the door. She gripped her backpack’s straps, angry at herself and her dad as she stomped out to the escalator-walk. What she believed was not only a big part of who she was, but it defined who she was. She just wished her dad could understand.

Up ahead a dove was perched on a neighborhood patrol drone that was humming its way along its route. Stacey smiled as it went past. Silly creature, she thought. It was getting a free ride while here she was walking to school. Not that she complained. A lot of people walked to school these days. But she still liked to get a head start and be at school early. The kids in this neighborhood were rather strange, and she didn’t want some random guy to start flirting with her and never leave her alone. Sometimes she did greet others, but they usually just ignored her and instead indulged in their technology.

But really, she was kind of afraid she might meet a guy like the trench coat fellow from her dream. That was one creepy boy. The way he had walked over to her, his hazel, reptilian eyes piercing into her chest. But the scariest thing was the way he told that dead guy to, “Come out.” But what really got her was the way the dead guy had opened his eyes. The way he had risen out of the ice. She shuddered. That was scary.

Good Morning, Psycho

"Rest well, dad," Andrew said as he loomed over his dad who was fast asleep on the couch. He looked at the wall across from him, and smiled. The family portrait always sent a chuckle through his innards. In it, his mother had an arm around his shoulders. Her smile was eternally glazed on her face. She didn’t smile anymore. She was dead, and that was pretty cool. What wasn’t cool was seeing Matthew in his dream, how he had talked to him, and woken him up from his death. That was some pretty messed up dream. Even for him. What it meant, he had no idea. He wasn’t sad with Matthew being dead. In fact he was glad. What puzzled him was why this whole situation bothered him. It was probably nothing. He just needed to forget about the whole thing and go about his life like normal.

Andrew looked down at his father, and smiled again. What was normal was making others feel down about themselves, and elevating himself above them, and in turn, gradually build them up when it suited him. That sure showed father. He had enjoyed seeing his him suffer, all the while pretending to mourn with him. And the best part was that now that mom was gone, he got all the expensive gifts that she normally would have received.

Saluting to his sleeping father, Andrew went out to meet up with Sam, who was waiting outside in his road locker truck. One of these days I’m going to kill this punk, Andrew thought, climbing into the truck, where music boomed like an exploding mine field. Sam gave him a mock military salute and zoomed off toward school before Andrew could put on his seat belt.

Andrew fumbled with the belt. After a struggle he clicked it on. "I thought I told you to turn this junk off around the Nerd Patroller’s house!" Andrew shouted, trying to be heard over the music. Nerd Patroller was a nickname he had for his father.

His father was part of the National Police. National Police rarely ever had any work to do now and days. In fact, his father was technically working right now. It was a pretty awesome job when Andrew thought about it. A person could sleep whenever they wanted and still get paid as long as they attended their meetings, completed their weekly city errands, and occasionally nab cyber criminals and rogue robots. It just had to be boring a job. Still, it was eerie, knowing he lived with someone who was a part of a force who recycled anybody who caused trouble in the nation. See, no one was ever incarcerated anymore, so any law-breakers usually just became government science projects.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I navigate?”

"I do not… want you to navigate,” Sam said, tapping the navigation screen. “This here is my truck.”

"You know you suck at navigation," he said, not caring whether Sam could hear him over his music.

"’Gotcha!" Sam said, almost hitting a drone. “Aye! You’re flying below air-space, you tin can!”

“It’s lowering for maintenance. If you travelled slower you would have noticed its distress lights.”

“Irrelevant. It still shouldn’t be on the road.”

"One of these days you're going to become a traffic fatality statistic," Andrew said, wagging his finger. It was funny because it was just about impossible for anyone to die on these rail vehicles. There were so many hazard sensors and built in anti-collision systems that a software error was pretty much the only way someone could get killed in one. Unless, someone in the vehicle wanted them to die. Andrew was that guy. That was just about the only flaw most vehicles lacked, security cameras. The nation was confident that the drones would provide a sufficient watch on the roads. They didn’t.

Sam stuck a finger in his ear and pretended to clean it out.

"I’m glad we’re friends," Andrew said, giving Sam a thumbs up. Sam wasn’t really a friend to him. He was just someone he hung out with to get girls. Girls liked Sam, and Andrew liked girls. For him, trying out girls was as easy as changing clothes. So overall, the tradeoff was worth putting up with Sam’s insolent mannerisms. At least for now. It would be tragic if his seat’s ejection mechanism just happened to go off under a bridge. Andrew smiled, imagining what it would like it.

You’ve Got Mail

“Listen, Will, I really need to take a shower, so I’ll talk to you later,” Daniel said, annoyed that his friend William had called him this early even though he would see him at school.

“Careful, man, don't drown.”

“I won’t, but I might get eaten by a shark.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Oh dang. Hey, I actually have to send my internet buddy a message. You know who I’m talking about.”

“You're actually going to waste your time with that creep?”

“Not cool.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Sure. But yeah, I'll talk to you at school.”

“Stay in school, man,” William said.

“You stay in school,” Daniel said, hanging up.

Taking a deep breath Daniel went to his National Friends account and pulled up the girl’s page. He then opened up a document containing his letter and skimmed through it. It read:

Snowhare, I know you’re sad, and I want you to know that I really do care. And just so you know, hating yourself won't help you and despising others won't help either. Heck, you’re a pretty smart girl, right? Just get through school and go to college. I hear everything gets better from there. And don’t forget, life's a rose bush. The thorns can cut you, but the flowers are there, and are there for those who seek them. So if your hands are gentle, cautious, caring, and motivated by purpose, you'll collect them until your arms overflow with seeds of experience. I know that was cheesy, but you know me, I like to try to be poetic sometimes.

Your friend,

Daniel

DantheMan@nationalmail.gov

Daniel sent the letter, satisfied with how it read without his initial references to government. He shuddered as the phone clicked shut. Daniel had never had to help a girl like that, so he hoped that his message wouldn't make things worse. The message itself could take anywhere from thirty seconds to a few minutes to get to the recipient. Messages had to go through various security checks by robotic programs to check if they contained any terrorism type content.

Bad Reception

Chloe frowned at Daniel’s response, petting Snowey as she rested on her lap. It was nice that he always replied to her rants, but today she just wasn’t feeling it. She figured that she couldn’t be too mad at him. After all, she was just some random girl online who wouldn’t even post a picture of herself on her National Mail account, because she was too self-conscious about it. She wouldn’t even give him her real name so they could be friends on social media. Well, she actually really wanted to, but was too shy to ask him, and he hadn’t asked her either. So she was kind of in an awkward position. Still, besides Snowey, this guy was probably the closest thing she had to a best friend. And that just made her feel like that much more of a loser. Not only was she awkward in real life, but she was socially-media awkward as well. Oh well, she thought as she typed to him about her dream. She typed, because if she spoke her stutter would produce more typos than her fingers.

Internet Connection

Daniel wolfed down his breakfast, and then went over to the sink where it was automatically rinsed off, and he noticed that there were already several plates already in it. The automatic dishwasher and sorter must have needed maintenance again. Oh well, his mom would probably just hand wash them later. For now he would just relax and enjoy the peace and quiet at home. He checked his phone and saw that Snowhare had replied with:

Thanks for your message. I’m sorry if you are in rush, but I just wanted to tell you about a dream that I had last night. There were a lot of eagles, and then something started killing them. Feathers fell and fell, and then one of the things that killed them fell on me. There was fire everywhere, and in it I saw a man. This man was huge, and he was holding some stars in his hand, and then he was gone. All that was left after that was ash and snow. I think it was a sign. Do you know what I’m saying? I think something is coming.

Daniel, You’re a great person. I’m sorry if this message was strange. I just thought I could tell you it and you wouldn’t think it was weird.

Your pal,

Snowhare

Snowhare@nationalmail.gov

“No way,” Daniel said as he reread the message. There was simply no way that this girl had dreamed almost the exact dream as him. He began typing:

Daniel: Was there a field of flowers in your dream?

Within seconds she replied with:

Chloe: Red, white and blue ones.

Daniel: I had almost the exact same dream!

Chloe: Did you just make that up?

Daniel: No.

Chloe: Daniel, if you and I did have the same dream what could it mean?

Daniel: I don’t know. Probably nothing. At least I hope so. You know there have been strange things going on in America lately.

Chloe: Like the M.A.G.I.C. projects and things like that?

Daniel: Yes. How they said they wished everyone could do what they do? Scary.

Chloe: Yeah. I don’t know how I feel about their abilities to change inanimate objects into animals, and move things with their mind. They claim we all have the same abilities embedded in our brains. But I don’t know. I don’t like the way they talk.

Daniel: Yes! It’s like they are getting angrier every year as more and more people are born without abilities like that.

Chloe: I felt the same way about them.

Daniel: Snowhare, can I ask you a question?

Chloe: Go ahead.

Daniel: Can I talk to you live sometime today? I kind of want to see who I’m talking to.

For a while she didn’t say anything, but then replied with:

Chloe: Maybe later. I’m sorry. I’m just not comfortable with showing myself publicly.

Daniel: Fair enough. Just wanted to ask. Besides, thought it would be nice to get to know you better by seeing and hearing from you.

Chloe: Listen, I need to get ready for school and you probably do too. I’m sorry again if this was strange to you. I just don’t know what I believe anymore. I love you.

Daniel put his phone away, hearing Snowhare’s last phrase repeating in his head. I love you. As random as it was it didn’t freak him out as much as it would have if he hadn’t known that she had practically experienced the same dream that he did. And truly, what could it mean? Was it some sort of prediction? A warning? Was Snowhare the girl he had seen in the dream? And the guy in the dream, could he have been someone from his school? Could the guy have been Andrew?