Short story | satire
The Great Detox
A glimpse of something precious
Everyone said it was the future, and who was I to argue with the consensus? We all signed up eagerly, waiting in line like obedient cattle, faces aglow with the blue light of our screens. The first injection hurt less than anticipated. They called it the “Great Detox,” a cleanse for the soul in a world addicted to information overload. By the time the needle pricked my arm, I had already forgotten what life felt like without the constant buzz of connectivity.
It started with a blackout. That’s what they called it, a gentle euphemism for the sudden plunge into darkness. I was at the office, the screen in front of me flickering before it ultimately died. The silence that followed was unnerving. You never realize how loud a computer can be until it’s gone.
Paul, my coworker, was the first to speak. “Did yours go out too?” His voice had an edge of panic to it.
I nodded, staring at the blank monitor. Around us, the office buzzed with murmurs and gasps as others noticed the same. We gathered in the break room, a group of digital addicts suddenly bereft of their drug. Conversations started awkwardly, a rusty gear turning after years of neglect.
It wasn’t until the second day that the actual effects kicked in. Without the constant distraction of screens, we began to see each other. I mean, see. I noticed something new in Paul’s eyes, a depth his manic typing always overshadowed. We spoke of things that mattered, or at least seemed to. Politics, philosophy, the nature of happiness – all topics we’d have previously relegated to late-night, inebriated rants.
Our office became a microcosm of society’s struggle. Arguments flared up over the stupidest things: whose turn it was to refill the coffee pot, the correct way to load the dishwasher. Tensions that had simmered under the surface for years exploded into the open. Yet, amidst the chaos, something else emerged – a sense of camaraderie, of shared experience. For the first time in ages, we were living in the moment.
Paul and I started taking our lunch breaks together, sitting in the park outside the office. I found out he had a passion for birdwatching, of all things. He’d point out different species to me, explaining their habits and calls. I laughed at the absurdity of it at first but soon found myself looking forward to these moments of peace, away from the office drama.
The true detox, though, happened internally. One night, unable to sleep, I wandered the empty streets of our city. The quiet was unnerving at first, but then it became soothing. I found a bench and sat there, listening to the distant hum of life. Without the constant barrage of notifications and updates, my mind began to wander to places it hadn’t in years. I thought about dreams I’d forgotten, passions I’d abandoned.
It was there, on that bench, that the revelation hit me. We weren’t detoxing from technology; we were detoxing from distraction. The real addiction wasn’t the screens but the avoidance of ourselves. In the silence, I found a clarity that had long eluded me.
The blackout lasted a week. We all hesitated when the lights came back on, and the screens flickered to life. A newfound awareness tempered the rush to reconnect. In the break room, Paul suggested we keep our lunch breaks tech-free. Others nodded in agreement.
Life returned to normal, but not quite. We subtly shifted, collectively understanding that we’d glimpsed something precious. I watched Paul from my desk, a half-smile on my lips as he settled into his chair, his eyes meeting mine with a knowing look.
The Great Detox, they called it. I called it the best mistake we ever made.
Ani Eldritch 2024
