2024 May 16th
Curt glanced up from his phone and out to the trees through the kitchen window. The news was out. The post had been seen. His future was in the hands of the worldwide web.
The trees outside, early morning green and wild in the frenzy of springtime growth, were the same as last year, albeit taller and thicker. Curt noticed that the branches of the plum tree he’d planted a few years back were beyond the echelons of the shed roof. Nice. And, scanning the rest of his view from his place at the kitchen table – the budding creeper on the trellis, the tomato seedlings in the window box, the grape vine beyond… He was edified that the nature within his small, terraced yard was, in general, doing well.
Somewhere else, in a place distinctly less tangible, vines of loudly typed words were growing too. Spreading news, pervasive, evading anonymity, like invisible seeds flying through a metaverse.
People say that jumping out of an aeroplane is tricky because it goes against your basic instincts. To fly into an invisible entity means you have to ignore all lessons learned from a young age. Curt was feeling this now. As he stood at the kettle, trepidation held him suspended as if he was in the fall – inbetween air and earth. Late last night, he had jumped from safety. But the moments between sky and land are few, and there’s always the string to pull. Curt’s jump had been sans parachute, and had lasted nine hours so far, and his adrenalin was running low. Soon though, he’d hit the ground and the leap would end
He was alone in the house today. Planned to make the most of it with long periods of silent staring and plentiful smoking. Maggie wouldn’t be back until at least five, so ample hours without her constant harping stretched ahead as a deserted shoreline. Of course, in theory, and when asked, Curt loved her relentless pursuit of knowledge, but this was equalled by his strong reaction to it in the light of day, upfront and in his face. Plus, last night had been especially brutal. He looked back to his dark phone, on the table and a few inches away. The news within it would shut her up tonight. Briefly, he added sardonically. But, yes, she’d certainly be happy to hear the news when she returned. Ha! Curt chuckled to himself as he unwrapped his tobacco pouch. She would likely already know by then, such was the speedy spread of information these days. Extravagantly, he marvelled again at the change; the technological age still astonished him. Where before he’d known nothing and had had no way of beginning to know, hidden under a blanket of silence as he’d been all his life, nowadays he could find out exactly what he wanted to know at the flick of his forefinger. And so could everyone. They were all doing it at that very minute, and, quite possibly, they were even reading his news. At that, he felt the fear of it all, so he licked the paper of his roll-up, smoothed it closed, scraped back his chair and stood. He’d have a few more coffees to go with his long period of silent smoking into space before it all began. For begin it would. He couldn’t escape it. That was the glory and the horror of the truth.
J March 