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Miphone

I click the smooth, little switch and the display lights up, a bright, eerie hue. It is my lighthouse, my guide back to safe harbour. I can scroll, browse and search. I can listen to the lyrics of others that can give me comfort anytime I want. Sometimes sultry, sometimes a sad ballad, sometimes just loud, white noise, to block out the other loud, white noise.

The glow from the screen in the darkness makes me feel safe, it often lights my path. I hold it like its part of me; like an arm, only more fragile and sleek. I use it like a weapon. I can update, upload, see an uptick in my portfolio. I am upwardly mobile. I am the future.

I click the smooth, little switch and the display goes black. I am alone. I am forced to look up. I see many others with heads down and faces lit-up. I look for expression. I try to engage the man to my left and the woman to my right. They nod politely, though they don't really listen to my words. They go back to texting, back to sexting, back to the next thing. They are plugged in. They aren't connecting. We are the future. We definitely aren't present.

Story by:

Curt Sharp

submitted at 4:46am

25 October 2011