May 5, 2034 (4:52pm)
Contagion wasn’t spreading, it just was, everywhere, instantaneously.
Friday had been on track. A slowing stream of work emails, an infrequent pinging of Slack messages in the background, eyes once glazed to screens wandered about to ask co-workers their weekend plans. In between casual conversations and last minute file saves, people grabbed their phones to get a head-start on weekend plans.
Minutes from coasting into the weekend, the apps stopped working. People tried to refresh. Screens yanked down and bounced up to the whims of a circular loading icon. Nothing happened. They refreshed again. And again. And again. Each time, the last post’s timestamp stretched farther and farther into the past. Yelling over to nearby coworkers, fear turned to reality as everyone corroborated nothing New was happening.
Murmurs amplified in already quiet workplaces; the same happened in schools, hospitals, churches, temples, and Chipotles around the world. Conformity spread like wildfire. Nobody dared to add to the New. The sequential dominoes of light speed posts was cosmically interrupted. No new domino ready to stand and fall again: server rooms in boiling deserts whirred quieter.
Loudening murmurs turned to gentle anarchy. An electrical discharge—unable to ground itself digitally—manifested physically. Small skirmishes to desk-side seizures, the world foamed.
WHO scientists, a rag-tag group of spectacled coated do-gooders, readied their presentation coats to announce this new psychological contagion, but, they to, were affected.
Airplanes effortlessly glided above the frothing. Inside the climate-controlled cabins, it was business-as-usual: drinks delivered seat-by-seat, meals tightly maneuvered in cramped trays, and attentions guiltlessly absorbed by small screens.
Life insurers panicked. Mourners clicked on Old videos of their departed loved ones unable to collect benefits. Insurers had promised their policyholders continually renewed remembrance and the New was required for that.
Natural disaster alert systems stood silent as wildfires and tsunamis decimated communities. The Old was unaware of the wind changes and tectonic shifts that pushed nature mercilessly. Psychosis was broadly paralyzing, but the pain was vivid. IT admins cried as satellite imagery confirmed what they expected.
Stock markets oscillated tightly with algorithms—unaffected by outside noise—flickering prices.
TV networks cut live broadcasts in favour of manicured pre-recorded content.
Everything New was analogue. Forests of trees meta-destroyed to supply the notes people passed to each other. Billions of gallons of water consumed to quench parched bitter mouths post-gabble. Armchair synthetic fibres stretched thin as people twitched restlessly.
People missed out on things that never were, never could, never would be. 4:53pm never happened. Neither did 4:54pm. Minutes ticked.
Anxious idleness loomed until 5:51pm, when a concoction of hormones whirled people to open their phones all at once.
They looked down: black screens turned to blue.
5:52pm.
They refreshed their apps. New was here again.
A global internet shutdown would be fun.
A fun way to imagine a temporary kind of apocalypse. A true disaster it would be... :)