Realplay
I
She is calm.
It is a strange feeling, though not wholly unfamiliar. The calm washes over her, a warm ocean tide that flows and ebbs gently against her body. She can smell the salt air. That is unfamiliar. She has never been to the ocean that she is in. She has never tasted sand.
She feels herself start to melt down into the ground. She does not mind. It is the heat of the sun, Nothing more. It is the warmth of the ocean. Nothing more. It is the troubles of the day fading way. Nothing more.
Troubles like getting a date for the dance. Forced laughter. Polite laughter.
She considers opening her eyes to find where it is coming from but she can feel the coarse sand between her fingers. This is her first ocean and she can’t bring herself to look yet. There is too much newness that she hasn’t had the chance to explore. Too many sounds at the edges of her hearing. Too many new sensations on her skin.
She will get to them all eventually, when the smell stops being so distracting.
It does not smell clean. This could not be confused for that. She knows air that is purified and perfect. She knows water that is purified and perfect. She prefers them to the impurities and imperfections of her day-to-day, but she has never before smelled an unclean ocean. It is more interesting than an unclean cityscape.
Her route to school — stairs, sidewalk, transit — only occasionally catches her attention enough to pull her out of her feed and when it does it inevitably ends up in her feed. Her route from school — sidewalk, alley, park, sidewalk, elevator — usually keeps her attention more often and almost never ends up in her feed.
Her feed has a handful of notifications. None of them are urgent enough to draw her attention. She will get to them eventually, when the city stops being so distracting. The clouds must have covered the sun. She can’t be cold yet because it is still so warm. She doesn’t mind. She is home and the surf will wash away the momentary chill.
She takes the time to clean up, eat, and restyle. Debates are being had on her feed about how late to show up and where to meet. She does homework in between. Maybe as much as she would have done on any other day.
She has an idea for an app. She hasn’t quite figured out how to make it work yet. She imagines that a few sustained hours would make for a good start. She doesn’t have for that today. She doesn’t mind. It is a good idea but relaxing is also a good idea. It would wait.
It is late enough that the sun has started to fade from the sky. The feed had warned her that she’d need a coat. She was prepared but there was still a chill. She feels it in her fingers. It is a strange feeling.
Something catches her eye. Graffiti on a street sign that is new enough that she hasn’t seen it before. There is a notification ping on her feed. She glances down to her handheld display. It lights up and unlocks. She doesn’t have a chance to read it before the car hits her.
The pain overwhelms her senses. Her eyes instinctively close and will not open again. She hears the chaos of the accident. It is eerie how much the noise makes her miss silence. She wants a moment to listen in on her thoughts. There’s something she should be doing, but it keeps flittering away.
She is calm.
II
He is calm.
It is a strange feeling, though not altogether unpleasant. It is an emptiness after a long time of being so full. The moon in the sky is full. He has never seen it rest so perfectly between waxing and waning.
He feels himself drawn to its light as it surrounds him. He does not mind. It is the light of the moon. Nothing more. It is the cool of the night. Nothing more. It is the troubles of the day fading away. Nothing more.
Troubles like getting a date for the dance. Forced laughter. Polite laughter.
He does not turn his gaze away from the starry sky. He feels it pulling at him, trying to draw him closer. He thinks he can tell which crater he would land in, if he were to let go of the earth. He is not ready to fall yet. He is afraid the light would not be so comforting from inside of it.
There are sights on the edge of his vision. There is the moon. He will get there eventually, when he lets go of his fear.
He knows there are other things that scare him. This is not those. Flying. Unfulfilled expectations. Overdose. He still flies when he has to, but he goes out of his way not to. He has never wanted the wings of a bird nor the earth far beneath him.
His route to work — stairs, driveway, freeway, parking lot, elevator — goes too fast as it is and he rarely has time to prepare himself for the day. His route from work — elevator, parking lot, freeway, driveway, stairs — always takes too long and he rarely has the time to wipe the day from his mind.
He doesn’t bother to change when he gets home. He has had a long day and doesn’t have the energy for any other other than letting the couch envelop him. He dry swallows the last few pills of his prescription and puts one of his usual streamers up on the living room display. They’re playing some horror game. It is not scary. He does not pay close attention because he’s idly distracted by nothing in particular on his feed.
There are things that he should be doing. His scrip needs to be refilled if he’s going to be functional tomorrow but he hasn’t felt like working up the motivation yet. He should probably call his mother but he hasn’t felt like working up the motivation yet. His fridge probably has something he could cook but he hasn’t felt like working up the motivation yet.
The streamer has moved to a much brighter and fluffier game. He doesn’t recognize it. He shuts it off and continues doing nothing on his feed. He doesn’t pay attention to the time, so it is his hunger that prompts him to realize that he has missed dinner.
It is late enough that the sun is starting to fade from the sky. He is still wearing his suit. He is walking though he hasn’t decided where he will eat. He is chilly but the air still feels thick on his skin. He keeps an idle eye on the feed while he walks but he is hungrier than he is bored.
He does not realize the car that has pulled up next to him. It is quiet until it is loud but he does not recognize the song. Now he recognizes the car.
He is already telling a joke before he gets in. He fumbles the punchline, but he thinks she laughs anyway. He asks where they’re headed, but she does not seem to hear him over the music. He is still hungry. The car picks up speed and he taps her on the shoulder to get her attention.
It feels like his finger is what causes the car to turn. That feeling stays with him even as the shift in momentum lifts him out of his seat. He thinks he should grab onto something, but his fingers move slower than his thoughts. The window shatters and his body is flung through the air. He feels the wet spray of rain on face. It is not raining. He wants to run his hands through his hair.
He does not move his head, but still his vision shifts — car hood, sidewalk, lamppost. He is still mid-flight. He is looking at the moon. He has never seen it so full. He aims himself toward it.
He is calm.
III
She is calm.
It is a strange feeling, though she can’t quite place why. There is nothing new in calmness, an old friend that finds her whenever she needs it. Warmth that starts in her stomach and radiates outward. She stays silent as the comfort quiets her thoughts. There has never been so much silence.
She feels herself filling the silence with herself. She does not mind. It is the beating of her heart. Nothing more. It is the breathing of her body. Nothing more. It is the troubles of the day fading away. Nothing more.
Troubles like getting a date for the dance. Forced laughter. Polite laughter.
She looks around to catch the cause but already knows that none will be found. She is as alone in her apartment as she was when she fell asleep. That was what she wanted so she shouldn’t be searching for sounds that won’t be there. She inhales, exhales, inhales, then sets about her day.
She works her way through her feed and enough of it is work that she sets aside the social. It is a convenient excuse to ignore the gentle nudging of people checking up on her. She is fine.
Most of her morning involves cleaning up for a client across the country. As was often the case, it was a simple situation made complex by a client who couldn’t keep their mouth shut. They paid for the privilege of not having to think before they spoke. She couldn’t appreciate the mindset, but appreciation wasn’t what her pay check was for.
By lunchtime she has moved on to what she could call less urgent matters. Her notifications disagree, every one insisting on her full attention. She knows better and triages accordingly. Some are simple enough that she answers them immediately. Others aren’t worth her time and instead to be dealt with her team. Two of her bosses have made conflicting requests and she isn’t in the mood to pick a side. She requests a meeting for clarification, knowing neither wants to meet the other. If nothing else, it was off her agenda for the day.
She spends a bit of time on family and friends. She does not have much to say but doesn’t want to seem distant. She idly wonders whether she can get away from the rest of her agenda with a run. She can’t but she tells herself that she’ll end her day with one and throws it on the schedule. That is enough to propel her through an afternoon of calls that could have been messages and memos she suspects will go unread.
Her running route — stairs. sidewalk, soil, sand — is familiar enough that she could follow it in her sleep. The beach does not mark its end, just a moment to run alongside the surf. She wants to wash the salt off of her skin with saltwater. If only she could bring her music with her. It is a romantic enough thought that she considers it.
She does not.
She begins to make her way back — sand, soil, sidewalk — but has barely left the beach when the sound of tires screeching cuts through her audio. In one fluid motion, she pauses her music, pauses her footfalls, and pauses her thoughts in place.
Then everything happens.
By the time she sees the girl standing in the street, it is too late. The car keeps moving though the sign says stop. It was going too fast to keep from making contact. She thinks the girl is flung from street to sand. She can’t tell because another car collided while trying to turn away. She sees metal bodies mangle and bloodies bodies bleed. All before another car oncoming contributes to the crash.
There has not been a noise since it started. She thinks that wasn’t very long ago. Long enough that surely something would have made a sound by now. She sees people screaming but nothing makes it to her ears.
She knows that something else has happened. She knows that there is something outside of the horror in front of her. She does not look away because she is scared that she will see something worse.
She stops gasping for air. She would scream if her lungs weren’t so empty. She wants to move. She wants to run away. She wishes that she wanted to run towards the accident to help but she does not. She wishes she could close her eyes by she does not. She wishes she could forget. She wishes she could forget. She wishes she could forget. She wishes she could forget. She wishes she could forg-.
IV
See, everyone’s okay.
Even now their memories should be coming back. They’ll feel more and more like themselves as the seconds pass. Look, already some of them are realizing that they’re just regular teenagers with regular teenage problems, like whose got the fleekest outfits. Am I right? What your friends and classmates just went through looked like a few minutes to us out here, but we were only following along in our feeds. Realplay isn’t like your old school simulations where you just look through the eyes of a character. This wasn’t just a detailed image. With realplay we were able to take a few teenagers and give them the experience of being inside people whose lives were forever changed when someone tragically got behind the wheel while high.
Not everyone died there on the scene. Some of your classmates were given the experiences of people who survived their injuries. Some only long enough to make it the hospital, but some would live to remember this day for years to come. That’s the tragedy of an accident like this. The victims aren’t just those who die. Ask your classmates who were inside Marisa what it felt like to watch her son be flung from her arms. Or those who were inside Darcie about the horror he felt as he saw his legs crushed after being flung from that car.
DriveSober and your school brought us here to give you this presentation not because want to tell you how to be teenagers. Believe it or not, I was your age once. I know what it’s like to want to be your own person. You’re going to make your own decisions. We just don’t want you to make it for someone else too. When you get behind the wheel under the influence, even just a little bit, you can hurt so many other people. You don’t want to be responsible for cause pain and suffering like you saw today. Like the memories your classmates experienced.
Now that may have been the latest in realplay technology, but Make. No. Mistake. What your classmates experienced today was no game. We’re going to give them a bit of time to get reacquainted with their minds, then they’ll tell you that today’s realplay experience was more real than play. Just like they’ll never look at their old VR setups the same way, they’ll also never look the same at the idea of driving high.
And uh okay it’s looking like some of your classmates need uh a few more minutes, and since this is sneak peak into realplay and I bet you’re all a bunch of smart cookies, so you probably have all kinds of questions. About realplay and how it works and how we recover memories, so while we’re waiting for uh everyone to settle down, let’s just open it up to you and get our Q&A on.