Microfiction #9: First you turned off the notification sounds
First you turned off the notification sounds. Then the apps. Then your phone altogether, why not? You lost touch with most people, but one friend showed up at your doorstep. You made them tea and laughed for hours at the birds showering in the sprinklers. After they left you turned off the sprinklers. Lawn schmawn.
The yard rewilded. Bees returned. You turned off the internet, the electricity. The refrigerator felt superfluous when you could live off honey and quails’ eggs. The bank reclaimed the house. New people moved in. By then you were deep in the brambles, sharing dens with deer.
You befriended the new owners’ child and fed them blackberries and dandelion tea. Your old friend sometimes brought you gifts of books, but eventually you turned off your words, too. Language only got in the way.
It was beautiful there, in that place without names. The child grew and went away. Flowers bloomed and withered. When your body turned off, the earth took you in, and you sank into it, knowing that you belonged.
I’m Jenny. I research and write about people and technology.