Artificial Memory Bank
Some days I’d wish for the fire alarm to go off, just a drill but still an extra half hour away from my desk. It went off today though this time there’ll be no returning to my desk at all. The scene seems to always be the same when that first shrill note screams, no one cares to acknowledge it because they don’t really believe there’s any danger. The ear-piercing noise continues and slowly everyone comes to a stop, we all look around the room to see what everyone else is doing none of us eager to be the first to move. We all wait for the ringing to stop, it doesn’t, it must be a drill we tell ourselves. I watch as people casually scoop up their coats and bags making their way to the stairs.
The smell came through the air-con as I stood, smoke, I freeze seeing the realisation makes its way from person to person as the building shook ready to collapse. What do I do? I glance frantically for my smartphone. Why? Because it contains my life. If I’d had the time in amounts the suffocating heat I may have mused that it contained my very soul, all of us, can’t bare to be without them. Memories, our communication and even sometimes a weapon.
Was I really risking my life? I ponder from the back of an ambulance while the office goes up in flames. Is this artificial memory bank clutched in my hand really that important? Aren’t its contents all online somewhere? No, what about the private memories the memories just for me? What would I risk to keep them safe? Second degree burns and smoke inhalation apparently.