Author : John Wallace
The subtle, pulsing “bing” alert of an unread MindMessage — MM for short — punctuated the Jazz-Trance track she was listening to through her MindTunes channel stream. She switched to the chatView window on her interface, minimizing the music to the back of her mind.
“What u doin’ babe?” The message blinked until she read it and minimized their chat log.
She patted the soil above the seeds and wiped dirt on her dress. She sent him an eyeView link to show him the neatly packed dirt in the beige ceramic pot with the hairline crack that she’d picked up at an estate sale in her mother’s neighborhood.
“What do u think, hun?” she MMed, proudly carrying the pot into the house where she set it on an appliance.
“Looks dirty. Feelin’ dirty?” he asked lazily. He lay on their bed, dreamily sleepWatching tele-streams.
“Dirty look,” she replied.
“Come 2 bed. I wanna (.)(.) u,” he MMed.
She sighed and rolled her eyes to the right, inadvertently logging off the MindLink server. She blinked rapidly and looked left, accessing the login screen, and entered her saccade passpattern. After IntelLaunching chatView, she MMed: “I’m doin’ stuff, dude. 1 sec.”
She uploaded the seeds’ grow-codes to the appliance and sent it the thought+controls “water” & “light.” The appliance wet the illuminated soil with H2O+.
He MMed a flirticon with a suggestive eyeView link.
She giggled. “Can’t. I’m makin’ ur dinner.”
“Iamakin’ pasta.” She put dried linguine into a steam drawer in the appliance. “Wanna help? U can watch the plant grow.”
“hahaha. I’m fine thanks. Watch me grow?”
“Ur 2 pure :p”
He opened his eyeView and sat up. “Eat please? :^D~ So hungry!” He rose from the bed and stretched.
“In a sec.”
She sent another eyeView link when the noodles were done and held up the bowl to show off her accomplishment. “Voyez ceci!” she exclaimed.
“È ‘presto’, actually,” he replied after searching the translation. “Quando servite il linguine,” he added immodestly as he silently entered the room behind her.
“Dirt looks good,” he MMed and then softly touched her neck. Startled, she hit him with her elbow and nearly dropped the noodles.
“It’s real basil 4 pesto, sneaky,” she MMed, leaning back against him.
“Yum. Xcited,” he MMed. “I’ve never had basil b4.”
Her reply was lost when the MindLink server crashed abruptly for the third time that week. They blinked and looked left repeatedly, trying to log on. They squinted as their eyes adjusted to the unfiltered light of the everyday world.
“Stupid MindLink,” he spoke. “We’re switching servers. I’m sick of these dropouts.”
She nodded, pulling his arms around her. They watched the motionless soil intently.
“How long’s it take?” he asked, pointing at the pot.
“Dunno,” she replied. “Forever. It’s been like five minutes.”
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
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