Screenless – Part 1

“Ailani, wake up! You’re going to be late!” My mother’s shouts rang through my sleep-addled brain.

“Screen – you know I hate Mondays. Set an alarm for ten minutes.”

“Ailani, wake up right now,” my mom shouted again, her hands shaking me through my covers, and pulling them away from my face.

“I already set an alarm for 10 minutes.” I groaned, shielding my eyes from the sunlight streaming through the room.

“Your screen must be broken. School started twenty minutes ago.” 

I skyrocketed up, the blankets falling to the side. What did she mean ‘my screen must be broken’?

“Set an alarm for ten minutes.”

“Screen, set an alarm for ten minutes!” 

I screamed the words in my head, only to be met with silence. I gripped the edge of the covers, panic setting in as I looked around the room. Clothes were scattered across the floor and the door felt further and further away from me. Without my screen I wouldn’t be able to go to school, or send messages, or order food. I gasped for breath, my heart hammering through my mind instead of the screen I had been used to for the last 15 years. 

“Ailani, relax.” My mom rubbed my shoulder. She silently instructed her screen to play a soft melody of a summer breeze. “That should help calm you. Are you okay?” 

I nodded, focusing on the music and soft hand circling my back. 

“I think your sister has an extra screen you can borrow, while you get yours fixed,” she said, before she left the room, the music still playing softly. 

Of course! Kira! As I scrambled off the bed, my foot caught in the tangled chaos of my bed sheets and my body slammed against the floor. I looked up from the ground in a daze. Was my bed always so high up? I looked across the room. There were piles of clothes everywhere. A pile in a corner with a bath towel. Another on a bean bag chair. There was even a pile of folded clothes and shopping bags under a rack of empty hangers. Was my room always this messy? The brightness of sun beams reflecting off the cream wall paint burned my eyes. 

My heart started to race again as I struggled to stand. My knees felt weak and my mind felt fuzzy. I willed myself to focus on the soft melody, forcing myself to take deep breaths. Just focus–one breath in, one breath out. Okay, I just needed to get a new screen, then everything will be good. But first, I needed my brat of a little sister to lend me her old one.

“Kira!” I screamed, storming out of my room and narrowly missing walking into a wall as I turned a corner. Walking without a screen may as well have been like walking in a dark room. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Kira sway to music played by her screen and that only she could hear. The smell of floral hair oil wafted through the hot air of her hair straightener. She pouted, batted her lashes, swayed her hips, all while twirling strands of her hair between her fingers and watching her reflection in the mirror. She looked absolutely ridiculous. 

“Let me borrow your old screen,” I demanded.

She froze mid-pose, looking at me in the mirror before she turned towards me.

“Why?” She asked, her naggy voice ringing through my ears. “What did you do to yours?”

“I didn’t do anything. It’s broken” 

She narrowed her deep brown eyes, and for the first time, I noticed that they were glassy, vacant even, in a way that was so similar to the bubblegum lip gloss she always wore. 

“It’s always your fault, Miss ‘if-it’s-not-broken-then-why-get-an-upgrade.’ Look where that mindset got you.” She turned back to the mirror, putting on an orange hijab that perfectly matched her outfit. “Too bad for you, I traded it in for beauty store credits a couple months ago.” 

The bathroom countertop was overflowing with serums and makeup palettes and still, there wasn’t enough makeup in the world to sate her vanity. “Why would you do that? I can’t believe the screen gave you a sense of fashion but no common sense,” I seethed.

“Fashion never dies. Not that you would know,” she said smugly as she placed in the last pin to her hijab. “Even a screen couldn’t save your awful sense of style. Good luck dressing yourself.” 

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response, running back to my room and its piles of clothes. Which ones were even clean? Hoping my instincts could guide me without my screen, I grabbed the first items that caught my eye – a simple long-sleeved black top, loose denim jeans, and a soft green and white print hijab. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turned to leave. I didn’t see any difference from how I usually dressed. Either my screen’s usefulness eroded with all the software updates I had skipped, or my instincts were better than expected. “See?” I said to myself. I did have a sense of fashion without a screen to dictate it. I smiled smugly, a small chuckle slipping, at the thought that Kira could never.

When I entered the kitchen, Kira was laughing at nothing in sight, watching something on her screen that only she could see. She paused when she saw me, stood, and eyed me warily from head to toe.

“How did you choose your clothes?” Her eyes weren’t narrowed in their usual look of disapproval or disdain. Rather, they were wide, curious even. 

“I don’t know,” I stuttered, shifting from one foot to the other. “Does it smell weird?”

My words snapped her out of her thoughts and ignoring my question, she grabbed her water bottle and headed towards the door. “Mom told me that she already let school know that you’ll be absent today and need to get your screen fixed. She’s working late but will have the screen order us takeout for dinner.”

“Are you the older sister or am I?” I muttered as I slipped on green and white shoes.

“Our height difference should answer that,” she quipped. She didn’t have to go that low with her joke. “My screen says you should wear the black and white shoes instead.”

“I don’t think what your screen says really matters,” I said, twisting my feet into my shoes. I exited the front door and gasped. If the house had felt bright, outside felt like I was looking directly at the sun. The brightness, the colors, all felt much more vivid and potent without my screen.  My eyes started to water and I clutched my head as a dull throb pulsed through my temples. 

Completely unaware as usual, Kira called out a “see ya later” and proceeded to walk the other way towards school. She had probably already started blaring music on her screen as I saw her bob her head side to side.

I started to walk in the opposite direction. Columns of stainless glass buildings terraced the street like a standing grid. The sun reflected off glass panes and I swallowed the anxiety bubbling up my chest. A slender car zipped past me, honking its horn at another that cut in front. People hustled past me, talking into their screens and not paying attention to those around them. Had we always looked so odd with our screens? 

Even though I didn’t have a screen to distract me, my steps felt clumsy through the crowds. In sidestepping a woman, I jostled against a tall man in a suit. He drew his gaze away from the sky where he was watching something on his screen, looking at me in irritation.“Is your screen broken or are you, kid? Tell it to watch where you’re going.” My cheeks heated and before I could apologize, he had walked away. Gusts of wind slapped the back of my neck and I turned to see a bullet train across the bridge. An idea formed in my screenless brain. If I took the train, I could go to the repair shop and get my screen fixed. I squirmed and pushed through the crowds, ignoring the murmurs of frustration as I bumped into people, and decided to take a short-cut through the city park building. I raced through a hologram tour guide at the exhibit outside the building. They were explaining the history of trees and extinct forest animals to a small group of people. “Sorry,” I called behind my shoulder at them, as their presenter pixelated and buffered back together again.  

I raced out the other side of the building, across the block, and into the station. People filed in orderly lines at the train faregates. Each faregate screen scanned the person’s eyes to accept payment before opening the gate. I ground myself to a halt. Without my screen, I couldn’t make a payment, much less get on a train. How could I forget about that? “Jeez, is there anything that our screens aren’t used for?” I thought. In a panic, I looked around and spotted a distracted mother and her three kids pushing up against her. I ran up behind her children, pushing them forward even more, hopefully the Screen would think I was part of her family and charge her for me.

The mother shouted in annoyance at her kids, as the faregate screen let us through. I slipped past her and ran for the train that was calling for final boarding. I sat down and tried to catch my breath. I rested my head back as the train doors closed and shot off. The bland synchronized grey buildings flashing by. My eyelids grew heavy and I figured closing my eyes for a while wouldn’t – 

“Hey kid!” a man yelled over a speaker. I jolted awake. How much time had passed? I couldn’t even ask my screen. “You gotta get off my train.”

“Where am I?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. I looked out the window. Grassy meadows rolled beyond the city, skyscrapers visible in the distance.

“This is the train yard. The train screen must have missed that your screen never got off. The train is out of service for the day, kid. I suggest you get your screen to call a ride for you.”

“Sorry,” I yelled, jumping up from my seat. I ran out of the train. The city seemed like a straight walk back, but an extremely long one. I began walking through the deserted grasslands. Small flowers brushed against my pants, the soft hum of pesky bugs filled the air. I swatted one after another, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other. I spotted an old shack across the field in the opposite direction, and my feet began to throb at the prospect of resting for a while. I still had so much longer to go, and it was not like I was going to get my screen fixed today. I might as well take a little rest there.

The cabin smelled of death and age. Brown cracks lined the walls and ceiling. To my relief, there was a fireplace and some furniture. A small chair sat on top of a round knitted rug and a cobwebbed bookshelf lined the wall. I grabbed a book, my fingers sliding down the spine. Flecks of dust spread across my fingertips as I flipped through the pages. I snapped the book shut, my eyes catching on the title: The Holy Quran. I had never seen a book in my life. They had all become digitized before I started school. I put the book back on the shelf, reaching for a black banded book. I opened it to a random page.

Year 3

On the news today, a mosque stated that their attendance was so low that they would be operating at minimal hours and moving Friday service through Screen technology. I believe the end is here.

Continue with Part 2 →