Led Life

Authors Note: This was meant to be the intro to a longer story, but I just never got around to finishing it. Maybe one day I'l return to the idea of this and retro-fit it.

Berkley was sitting in an “office cubicle”. It’s said in the records that offices aren’t really complete without cubicles – these little pods of privacy paradoxically separated only by thin, flimsy dividers. He had an office chair – another essential part of office life. And a proto-computer on which to work. No records remain to describe what this work was, but from historical data we know it involved spreadsheets and filling them in with data points, so that was what he was doing. He had a sheet in front of him with information, and he would go to the place where the information was needed to be entered and entered it. Once the sheet was complete, a new one would arrive just in time, coming out of what was known as a printer. Berkley was content. He yawned.

      ‘Actually, Computer, this is pretty boring.’

      You’re not content, Berkley? But this has every known element of office life. It should be incredibly fulfilling. Eight hours a day, your ancestors-

      ‘-If my ancestors spent eight hours a day doing this, then they were idiots. Close program.’

      Very well. All at once, the room seemed to change. Instead of being full of historically accurate cubicles that took exceedingly long for our technicians to model for your enjoyment, the room became an empty white space. Not so white it hurt your eyes, but white enough to feel empty. A place for potential to be fulfilled. Berkley was sitting on a cube in the centre of this empty space, that may very well have stretched on forever. Please note: this space does not stretch on forever, and any attempt to walk forward forever would result in banging your face against the wall. If you are intent on walking, I could instead load up a treadmill program for your-

      ‘No thank you, Computer, load “vacation home” please.’

      Very well. All at once, the room seemed to change. Instead of the vast white space, there were wooden panelled walls, a ceiling coloured eggshell, and a thick, purpl-

      ‘Computer, skip the introduction.’

      But how will you know what’s in the room?

      ‘With my eyes?’

      Human eyes are on record as being quite unreliable. In addit-

      ‘My eyes are fine.’

      Would you like me to load “eye tester” just to be safe?

      ‘No.’

      Very well. Berkley strolled over to the bed. Yes, there was a bed, for “what is the point of vacation if not to sleep through it”. Husain Burts said that. Did you know that, Berkley?

      ‘Yes’

      I see. I will update my information on this quote, and avoid using it in the future. He lifted the covers, and lied down on the mattress, pulling the sheets over him. He leaned over to the bedside lamp – yes, there was a bedside lamp, which was on, until Berkley turned it off, casting the room into the darkness of night. Yes, it was night. For while there is pleasure to sleep through the day, sleep is best enjoyed at night.

      ‘Computer, lower the temperature and give me a blanket.’

      Those orders seem contradictory.

      ‘Just do it.’

      Very well. The AC – yes, there was an AC system – had been made quite poorly, and was stuck on despite it being night-time. To compensate, a blanket had been left under the bed, which Berkley pulled out and loosely threw over himself. Comforted by the warmth against the cold, he soon fell asleep. As per protocol, Computer will now enter sleep mode. Should you need me to leave sleep mode-

      ‘Goodnight, Computer.’

      I see. Goodnight.

 

‘Computer, breakfast.’

      Exiting sleep mode. Good morning, Berkley.

Here's my Notes and Drafts

I need to write something sci-fi. AND NOT HORROR.

 

Ok, so we have immortality, which has taken away the need for humans to reproduce. This has also taken away the need to actually communicate with others, so long as your sanity is kept.

Thanks to physically interactable holograms and other advanced technologies, people live in their houses and don’t leave. They can change their room to be whatever they desire, but there is simply no reason to leave.

One day, someone is woken up by a power failure to their mystical room. What do they do? I shouldn’t go straight in with the cutting power, as I want to, because it would be best to actually explain the situation before the inciting event for once. Isn’t that a novel concept – explaining myself.

Why am I doing an almost Hobbit-y storytelling voice? I know why – because of a lack of autonomy. The rooms are designed with narration, and the narrator is an actual character in the story. Why not. This’ll be fun.

 

 

Led Life

Berkley was sitting in an “office cubicle”. Offices aren’t really complete without cubicles – small gridded up attempts at privacy, each member taking great comfort in this allotted space divided as they are by thin, flimsy dividers. He had an office chair – another essential part of office life. And a proto-computer on which to work. No records remain to describe what this work was, but from historical data we know it involved spreadsheets and filling them in with data points, so that was what he was doing. He had a sheet in front of him with information, and he would go to the place where the information was needed to be entered and entered it. Once the sheet was complete, a new one would arrive just on time, coming out of what was known as a printer. Berkley was content. He yawned.

      ‘Actually, Computer, this is pretty boring.’

      You’re not content, Berkley? But this has every known element of office life. It should be incredibly fulfilling. Eight hours a day, your ancestors-

      ‘-If my ancestors spent eight hours a day doing this, then they were idiots. Close program.’

      Very well. All at once, the room seemed to change. Instead of being full of historically accurate cubicles that took exceedingly long for our technicians to model for your enjoyment, the room became an empty white space. Not so white it hurt your eyes, but white enough to feel empty. A place for potential to be filled. Berkley was sitting on a cube in the centre of this empty space, that may very well have stretched on forever. Please note: this space does not stretch on forever, and any attempt to walk forward forever would result in banging your face against the wall. If you are intent on walking, I could instead load up a treadmill program for your-

      ‘No thank you, Computer, load “vacation home” please.’

      Very well. All at once, the room seemed to change. Instead of the white space, there were wooden panelled walls, a ceiling coloured eggshell, and a thick, purpl-

      ‘Computer, skip the introduction.’

      But how will you know what’s in the room?

      ‘With my eyes.’

      Human eyes are on record as being quite unreliable. In addit-

      ‘My eyes are fine.’

      Would you like me to load “eye tester” just to be safe?

      ‘No.’

      Very well. Berkley strolled over to the bed. Yes, there was a bed, for quote what is the point of vacation if not to sleep through it close quote. Husain Burts said that. Did you know that, Berkley?

      ‘Yes’

      I see. I will update my information on this quote, and avoid using it in the future. He lifted the covers, and lied down on the mattress, pulling the sheets over him. He leaned over to the bedside lamp – yes, there was a bedside lamp, which was on, but then off as Berkley cast the room into darkness. Yes, it was night. For while there is pleasure to sleep through the day, sleep is best enjoyed at night.

      ‘Computer, lower the temperature and give me a blanket.’

      Those orders seem contradictory.

      ‘Just do it.’

      Very well. The AC – yes, there was an AC system – had been made quite poorly, and was stuck on despite it being night-time. To compensate, a blanket had been left under the bed, which Berkley pulled out and loosely threw over himself. Comforted by the warmth against the cold, he soon fell asleep. As per protocol, Computer will now enter sleep mode. Should you need me to leave sleep mode-

      ‘Goodnight, Computer.’

      I see. Goodnight.

 

‘Computer, breakfast.’

      Exiting sleep mode. Good morning, Berkley.

 

 

At the end, once the powers cut, I could have Berkley start narrating his own actions, because he’s just so unsure of how life should operate without them.