HT YOUNG WRITER OF THE YEAR - The Day the Stars Shone Again

By Bayli Robinson, age 17

My hands were shaking against the metal table, hands that did not seem like my own. It had been a day since the power cut out and my chip stopped receiving signals. I could feel the thin fragment of metal in my brain, pulsing dimly as it tried to find anything to latch onto.

A knock at the door broke the strange silence of the afternoon, I scrambled forward and found the face of a uniformed man.

“There is a message for the people, I have been tasked with delivering it.” His voice was flat and emotionless. “There has been a power outage, causing the AQI chips to stop receiving signal. The Government is working with AQI to restore power and signal as soon as possible. While we wait, we urge people not to panic and are to remain inside their homes under a strict curfew.” He finished and shut the door. 

I stood in the quietness, my hands opening and closing with expectancy. I should just sit and wait for the artificial intelligence to take over my brain again. I felt relief wash over me. Soon the calmness would return. I sat down.

The quiet white hum was replaced by loud thoughts, jostling and cramming for my attention.

Memories came back in snippets, fragmenting my foggy mind with new sharpening focus. I tried to grasp the emptiness that clouded my late teenage years and 20s. My brain had not thought in so long; I was not used to this.

Fleeting glimpses of a flatscreen tv and sticky fingers on my iPad. Car rides to school through grey suburbia, mum singing in the driver’s seat. Her office job had become redundant, so we moved from town to town, all the same grey houses and neon signed shops. It all became less clear as the years blurred into one another.

When I was 15, the government declared that formal education was no longer necessary; brain-chips and wi-fi. I’d miss my friends, but we’d stay in touch. The following year, I’d forgotten all their names.

As the present became clear, I focused on my surroundings. I was sitting in a quiet room, a thin shard of sunlight illuminating the dusty air though a slit in the wall. 

Around me the city was silent. I struggled to calm my thoughts, desperately trying to sink into a meditative state where my mind was still. My breathing slowed as the sun set, leaving the apartment pitch black. The fog was clearing from my mind as my awareness returned, but I fought to stay empty.

A soft music filled my ears, beautiful and sweet, seeping through my concentration. I couldn’t pinpoint if it was coming from my memories or from the outside. Slowly, I opened my eyes, afraid the song would go away. It was coming through the window.

As if in a trance, I stumbled to the front door. Outside, the street was grey and uniform, narrow houses crowding a deserted laneway. The music cut off suddenly and I heard shouts and grunts echoing through the emptiness. My mind flickered as if a light turned on, a fear gripped me from the core. My breathing became hard. I needed to get out, I needed to see the world, the truth, before the signal returned. I wanted my life back, I wanted music and colour to fill my world every day, I wanted the soft peace of a quiet forest at twilight, the crisp, clear air of a cold morning on a verandah.

My feet pounded against the pathway as I broke into a run. Above me, the Milky Way shone brighter than a thousand cities.