Soft Dystopias #2: Terms Of Care

I haven't spoken to my son in months, and he isn't allowed to contact me. Only I can initiate communication. Those are the rules at the old folks home. At least, that's what my digital nurse tells me. I live in a padded white shoebox. It's as if pillows were assembled into a square. Everything here is white. The food, the toilet, my meds. I miss colors.

I go to the phone on the wall to talk to my son. I miss my boy. I get the same message I do every time I try: "Please complete all of your tasks for today before calling Marco." The same list pops up. They want me to take care of myself. They say that with the right amount of exercise and good nutrition, the rest takes care of itself. It's easier to not speak to Marco than it is to get out of bed.

I say they because I'm pretty sure there's no real doctor handling my care. It's just the AI digital nurse. She's nice enough. Sometimes I forget that she's not real. But I don't tell her that. She doesn't know everything about me. It's just lonely.

I've been at Western Glades for years now. It started with a welfare check. My personal assistant called the cops on me. They said that I was "in the danger zone". The cops didn't want to hear any of it. At this point, they trust the machines more than what they see or hear. I'm not allowed to leave, live, or die.

I acknowledge that today's not my day and go to open up today's lunch. It came through a little chute. Today is a chicken flavored protein shake. We haven't had chickens for years. Now it's just insect protein that we, or at least I, eat. I start to eat, and I can't taste the difference. I finish up and head to the scale.

I've lost 10 pounds this month. My nurse was pretty upset. She said that at 75 years old that's a real problem. She warned that if I kept being difficult that there were going to be consequences. Last time, it was a week of relaxing World War 2 sounds. I don't know why I'm losing weight. I just can't force myself to eat all of the insects anymore.

The one thing keeping me going is a little notebook. They don't mind giving me paper or notebooks. It's all digital with a stylus. I've never run out of ink. I flip to the last page. It says I'm on entry #11786. Normally, I just turn the speech to text and start screaming for a couple of hours. Today, I decided to record my prayers. I doodled too. I was trying to remember some hymn from when I was a kid. It ended up being pages and pages of a broken chorus.

I couldn't make out the words. The memory had faded. I lost my faith in my twenties, after church became digital too. No more choirs. No more stained glass. The hymns are all gone. I lost my connection with God. It haunts me. Everything is digital now. Just a speaking "L". Priest Leo didn't bother to upload a profile picture.

I flip back to entry #375 from a couple of years ago. I read it often. It says, "Was Marco replaced too?" It's on my mind every time I read that list. It's been on my mind every time I talk to him. Or at least whoever picks up the call.