Dreams

This piece was written for teachers, students and peers to encourage creative thinking. It should be read as a short story and is entirely fictional. Content from my own previously written short stories was used to construct this piece as well as spontaneous ideas.

I walked up the carefully laid path of created wood to the metallic front door. The gardens of synthetic greenery surrounding the Bonny residence gleamed with artificial perfection. The front lawn of evergreen grass, as in every other lawn in this street, grew 60mm high. The house I now approached was a perfect hazy blue cube, identical to the other hazy pink and hazy green houses of Bluebell St. I pressed in the small brassy doorbell and a dreamy rendition of the chimes of ‘Big Ben’ drifted out from concealed speakers somewhere above my head. This action was unnecessary but I enjoyed carrying it out nonetheless, knowing for a moment what it may have been to exist in the pre-Codon times of the twentieth century.
As I waited to be greeted, I looked up into the clear blue summer sky. The horizon was perfectly free of clouds, just as the weatherman had programmed.
Still no answer. I turned to the Codon scanner and swiped my wrist across it. It read my life band instantly. Its glowing dark blue colour reflected my mood and state of health. The tiny chip embedded within its circuitry contained every fact about me- my name, birth date, current and previous occupations, address, spouse’s name and general information, medical records, bank details and any criminal or mental health records. It was a criminal offence to knowingly damage or attempt to remove one’s life band. The smooth metallic silver of the links proclaimed me as a High-Level Citizen.
“Welcome, Laura Tay,” floated over the tiny display screen next to the scanner. Beth had long ago programmed the House to recognise me as an authorised visitor. The front door slid open and I crossed the threshold into the residence where Bethany Bonny, my closest friend for years, lived.
Beth’s house was a mid-twenty-first century abode, its open plan living and smooth, curving architectural design complemented by vibrant splashes of colour. I had suggested she move to a more modern place, maybe a ‘Plex in the city, but she refused, saying, “You know how I am, I love these old buildings. They have atmosphere.”
I entered the living-space. Beth’s paintings were hung above and around the holovision. Looking at them, I reminisced about the days when she and I were still in school, making hasty sketches below our desks while boring old Mr Fletcher showed a diagram of a redundant twentieth century transport vehicle, the omnibus, called ‘bus’ by most, on the holoboard.
As I turned from the paintings, the House asked, “Refreshments, Laura?”
“No, thank you.”
I went into the kitchen, smiling faintly at the holo-displays of Beth and myself on the wall. In the kitchen the House asked whether I wished to be served a light lunch.
Again, I declined.
“House, where is Beth?” I peered out to the back lawn, searching for her.
The House was silent. An involuntary shiver ran through me. This House, as all others, was programmed to obey requests from any authorised person. It went against its programming o be silent.
“Which room is she in? Respond.”
It seemed as though the House had paused to concoct a suitable reply.
“Beth…is not home. She is grocery shopping, with Marjorie Baker.”
I knew this was blatantly untrue. I had seen Ms Baker gardening on my drive down Bluebell St. Was there a fault in the House’s wiring? I looked at the House function screen. Scrolling through the systems in use and the dormant ones, I saw nothing unusual. I pressed Check and the result was Normal. I turned, puzzled, toward the curving, created wood staircase. As my foot touched the first step the House spoke.
“Please, do not go up. A cleaning service is being conducted. If you would like to wait, I can play a holofilm for you.”
This, too, did not seem plausible.
“If I disturb the cleaning Bot and cause damage, I will reimburse the house accounts. I’m going up.

Beth was asleep on her bed in the master suite. She lay atop the covers, dressed but without shoes and socks. Suppressing a laugh of relief, I reached out for her arm to shake her awake, and my heart stopped beating. Impossible. I raised her wrist before my disbelieving eyes.
Her life band was a dirty greenish brown.
Beth was very ill, possibly dying.
Horror rose and blocked my throat.
Though I suspected I knew the cause of Beth’s state, I appealed to the House.
“House, call the Life Services! Quickly!”
The House was emitting a sinister silence.
I was crying, and as tears ran down my face I glared at the sensors embedded at frequent intervals along the walls. “Call the Life Services now!”
The House said, with a hint of smugness that appalled me, “Life Services cannot resuscitate her.”
I ran to the window and threw my fists against the Plastiglass. The opaque pane bent outward a fraction, and then bounced back to its original position in the wall.
A scream of frustration escaped my lips as I ran down the stairs. As I cut through the kitchen the House said pleasantly, “Would you care for refreshments?”
The videophone was apparently disconnected, as was the Net service. The Codon scanner at the front door refused to read my life band and open the door. It did not escape me that all these features were entwined with the House’s controls.
As I leant against the door, banging it and crying, the House said, “It’s lunchtime, Laura. Wake up. It’s lunchtime, Laura…”

“…it’s lunchtime, Laura! Wake up!” Amie peered at me, puzzled. Then she laughed. “My god, what’s up with you? I thought you were in a coma or something. You just slept through all of English! Lucky Ms Kimpton didn’t see you.”
I blinked a few times, the memory of banging against a heavy door receding. “I dunno…I must have been dreaming…”