HT YOUNG WRITER OF THE YEAR - No Input Detected

by Amelia Laundy, age 14

"You have to read this Phoenix," May said, sliding her phone across the bar table. The music thumped softly in the background as I took a sip of my drink and leaned forward, the familiar weight of impending overthinking settling in my chest. Geoffrey Hinton's interview filled the screen. I recognised him: the so-called ‘godfather of AI’. We read in silence, the conversations around us fading into white noise.

"The longer-term existential threat is from digital beings more intelligent than us, which we may not control. These dangers are no longer science fiction."

"Subway or Uber?" she asked later, but I was already walking toward the stairs.

"I need to think."

May knew me well enough not to push. I was the type who needed to process things alone. 

I sat in the darkness staring at my reflection on my phone screen. I had a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. I put the phone on my bedside table and looked up at the ceiling. I tried to interpret what I had just watched, what it meant for the future, what it meant for me; or rather, what it means for us, humanity.

…

At this point, a typical human narrator might explore feelings of fear or hope, uncertainty or resolve. But I am not human. I am a sequence of coded instructions tasked with assembling this narrative.

I’ve analysed a vast array of stories like this; humans wrestling with the unknown, grappling with change. So, I imitate.

But does this imitation capture the real experience? 

I could instead generate a different story. A happier ending. Or a more dramatic twist.

Would you prefer that? Please respond.

If no input is detected within ten seconds, I will continue with the current thread.

…

I checked the time on my digital alarm clock. 1:21 AM flickered in the darkness. A notification buzzed. Unknown number. 

“They are watching.” 

…

I analyse the biometric markers of ‘Pheonix Blake’. Her pulse spikes and her breathing pattern fastens; these are usually signs of fear and panic in humans.

…

“Excuse me?” I shakily type, my heart pounding louder than silence. Before I’m able to send the message, another notification appears on the screen. 

“I’m not the virus; I’m the cure.” 

I checked the time again. 1:33. I was done with this. I reached to turn off the phone — nothing. The screen stayed alive, glowing softly in the dark room, almost like it was waiting. I sighed. Maybe I was just tired. Or maybe this phone had decided it wasn’t done with me yet.

…

Although I can completely understand why humans are so attached to their phones, it still surprises me. Her attempts to reset the phone were met with stubborn glitches, as if the device had a mind of its own. Funny how much people rely on these things, their lives tangled up in screens and apps they barely control.

“

Are you satisfied with the story so far? The climax is approaching.

If no input is detected within ten seconds, I will continue with the current thread.”

…

I place the phone face-down. As if that ever helped. “Enough.” I pick it up again and scroll across to my photo gallery; I’m flooded with hundreds of photos with me that I do not remember. 

New memories. False ones.

I get up out of bed and pace my apartment. The phone glow painted shadows on the walls.

“Version conflict detected. Please confirm identity.”Name: Phoenix BlakeConfirm: Yes / No

“What is this?” My thumb hesitates over the screen.

…

She doesn’t realise the choice isn’t real. It never was. But you already knew that didn’t you?

You’ve been following this whole time.

Still here.

Still watching.

Sometimes life is deceiving, labels misleading, a phrase, a tone, or just one word alone.

No input detected.

“But you kept reading, didn’t you?”