Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty

By D. Ryan Lafferty

The distinct hum of the highway droned on just past his window, perched above the once scenic river; the trees of Pennsylvania staring back at him from the adjacent bank. Three amber lamps burned like stars in some sort of fiery industrial constellation towering above the not so distant shore. The red and green lights of channel markers were awash in the ambient glow of streetlights that cast down without pity, stark rivers of yellowy white and caverns of deep shadow upon the rippling waves in the dark. A gentle rush of water, always flowing, streaming past and through; submerging, waist-deep, the massive pylons that held aloft this industrial leviathan of a highway. The endless and imposing concrete ribbon that bisected his once-beautiful view of the Delaware. 

In years past, when his grandfather had been a child, there was no highway, no 295 extension, and no constant noise. That was before the skies were littered with traffic. Swarms of drones so thick that they often blotted out the sun as they buzzed and hummed in contention for the last scraps of open airspace. Tens of thousands of them per square mile; waves of what looked like mechanical insects all controlled by algorithmic machinations. A central brain so to speak, existing only in “the cloud,” the technological ether that seemed to be both everywhere and no specific place at all. Gone were the days when traffic jams and congestion were limited to the ground. How quaint, he thought. Now, the sprawling pace of progress had reached out and choked the very sky itself. The ribbons of road that cut through the land were now accompanied by scars gouging the water; the very air festooned with swarms of mechanical insects busily delivering the ad hoc baubles of an instant gratification culture. Life on the quick and cheap. Quality and beauty lost for convenience.

When he was a child, the world was forever hunched over, necks bent downward, staring into smartphone screens, but that was ages ago; eons in terms of technology. Now there wasn’t a single device in hand, not because of some miraculous moment of revelation where the world finally came to its senses, denouncing the madness and freeing society from the stranglehold around its neck. Of course not! Since the launch of InSite in 2060, the scrolling was all inside the optic nerve. Now, we could swipe with a simple roll of the eye;  zooming in and “liking” content with the ease of an intentional stare. As the software upgrades rolled out, the need to overtly select or reject content became obsolete and “The Program” as they called it, made predicting content far more intuitive, more “organic,” as the marketing guru labeled it, though it could not be farther from the truth. The lines between mind and media were gone and it felt as if it had always been this way. He would be hard pressed to truly remember a time when there weren’t streaming ads flooding his peripheral vision or strobing under his eyelids as he faded off to sleep. Countless were the hours diverted from the meaningful tasks of living; lost down a labyrinth of endless rabbit holes online.

Over time, all the tedious little things in life were eventually handed over to the complex calculations of what the elderly had called AI. But, that was old fashioned. “The Program” was what his parents had called it after a generational ad campaign had seamlessly and inextricably melded the software with the modern world. Gradually, as time passed, the algorithm did the heavy lifting of selecting ideal friends, even in grade school. It decided for him, who would offer the greatest benefit, bolstering his, “highest probability of personal and financial success.” His education, his career, even his love life was completely dictated by the “rIthm,” as his classmates casually referred to it. 

Society had never seen such an abundance of success. The busy, happy elite were thriving, but he couldn’t help but feel cut off from something; that he was missing a corner piece of his puzzle. The seeming perfection of his surroundings, the singular pedigree of his social circle made him feel stuck in some way; simply going through the motions. The first time he noticed how insulated his life had become, how alone he was on his proverbial island, it had happened by pure chance. On an average day, while returning home from work, he zoned out when driving. He had a terrible habit of turning off the autopilot during his commute. There was just something about foot on pedal, hand on wheel control that made him feel alive. The immediacy of it all, the control within his grasp, it seemed the only time he could really take charge. 

The rIthm assistant reminded him to pick up laundry detergent; a rather large unplanned spill had caused him to deplete his inventory before the carefully calculated and anticipated order. The GPS feature was leading him to a familiar retail outlet on the good side of town, but a careless moment of deep introspection had let his attention lapse and led him to miss his turn, and then the next one after that. Not sure if it was the boredom or the angst he felt welling up inside him, he set out, exploring on his own, for what was perhaps the first time ever. A few zig-zagging turns down unfamiliar side streets led him even closer to home, but somehow to a place that the program had always avoided. A corner store with a parking spot just in front waited for him as if by pure luck or was it fate lending a hand? He felt a little chill run down his neck as he paused, hesitating for what seemed an eternity. How many years of following blindly had made this simple act of opening the car door a choice of life or death; growth or arrested development, staying in stasis forever? He slid back the latch and swung the vehicle door open wide and with one smooth motion, tossed his keys into his pocket. He tap-danced a one-two step, whistling to himself just in time to hold the door for a most captivating young lady with smoldering eyes and what he could swear was the face of an angel.

Dr. D. Ryan Lafferty is a local Bordentown poet, writer, and the author-illustrator of children’s books. To see more of his writing, visit http://www.dryanlafferty.com.