The bubbles solved everything. The implants made our capsule apartments possible, allowing the illusion of living space after it was no longer available. They say we ruined our world, but no one will risk going outside of their bubbles for proof. They say we fixed everything, but only after it was too late. No more toxic paint, textile, or fertilizer production. No destructive agricultural practices or need for livestock, we can synthesize our own food. The isolation also solved the spread of disease. The system is perfect. Everything is perfect.
We live in our bubbles, they are just as big as their inhabitant and allow us the full range of motion in a space that barely extends past our fingertips. We walk as far as we would like while the gyroscopic bubble rotates around us. When we lay down the bubble adapts to our position, becoming a comforting womb. When needed, we “walk” to the restroom in our apartment, every bubble is equipped with facilities for air filtration, waste removal, and recycling. The holographic projectors make every day a brand new coloring book. It was not just an augmented environment, it was perfected.
I think I want it to be sunny, but immediately realize that rain makes me feel better. I change the mint green walls and hanging plants to towering dark wood shelves full of old books, the track lighting becomes rows of desks with dim green banker’s lamps. The stormy library feels more comfortable today.
Some of the messages that scroll across my eyes say the bubbles saved us, others say they enslaved us. I don’t know who to believe and blink them away.
I don’t even know what the inside of the bubble truly looks like, turning off the implants makes everything go white, but that’s still not reality.
If you’ve only known a virtual reality doesn’t that then become your one true reality?
I look at myself in the mirror. I change my hair color, raise my cheekbones slightly and begin to wonder what I actually look like. How could I ever know for sure?
Some of the scrolled messages ask questions like: Did we die? How do we know if we are in the bubbles at all? What if we are just human intelligence stored on a server for long-term space travel? It always sends me down a rabbit hole of things I don’t like to think about.
I am now sitting at the dinner table. My partner appears sad, mirroring my feelings. I make them smile and ask me about my day. We agree on pasta. Everything is perfect.
