The Future of Social Media: A Tale of Freedom, Frustration, and Friendship

📢 Breaking News Alert! 📢

Marjorie: "You know, Owen, the ironic thing is that if people had access to their social media, they’d realize that the Sensitive Data Act is the biggest threat to American freedom since the Fake News Bill of 2042. An absolute infringement and desecration of our rights."

Owen: "Owen, you want to talk about threats, you want to talk about infringement; how about the fact that a third-party foreign body can access all my usable banking info every time I post vacation videos? That’s atrocious. Not to mention the declining mental health of our youth that have undivided access to inappropriate content, along with a staggering increase of cyberbullying."

Owen: "Doesn’t the responsibility fall on the parents at some point?"

Marjorie: "Parents can’t control everything, Senator."

Marjorie: "I’d like to reanalyze if I may; you say people deserve access to social platforms for news, while that is the least reliable place to acquire it from. Talk about fake news. I believe the dissension of our country began with information technology. So I'm glad apps like Mybook and Minutegram are gone; they were the best things to ever happen."

Owen: "Of course, you're glad they're gone. Now you can make your 'own brand of social platform.' All just a ploy to line your pockets right, Marjorie?"

Marjorie: "Oh, here we go, just another loosely tied double standard that…"

Blake: Changes the channel.

🎬 Commercial Break! 🎬

Narrator: "Have you been struggling to find your muse? Writer's block got you down? The elevator is full, but it won’t go up?"

Man: "I want to paint, but I can't find the right colors."

Woman: "Ten words down, only four thousand more to go."

Narrator: "Introducing, Creativitor. A once-daily pill that works with the natural receptors in your brain to give you that extra boost of creativity, getting you unstuck and the gears moving."

Narrator: "Creativitor may cause a lack of creativity along with nausea, diarrhea, dizziness while standing, dizziness while sitting, and tingling in hands, feet, or tongue. Call your doctor immediately If you experience a stiff neck. This can be a rare and fatal sign that your brain is dying."

Man & Woman: "Thanks, Creativitor."

Blake sits there numb, resigned to the fact that this is the rest of his night.

🗳️ Election Season is Here! 🗳️

Narrator: "With midterm elections approaching, there is a lot left unanswered."

Narrator: "When will Mybook come back? When will the price of eggs come down? How will we deal with the increasing crime rate?"

Talkbot: "Who better to settle these discrepancies than A.I.?"

Talkbot: "The Talkbot symbol constructed itself on screen. A large eye with a shutter lens for a pupil."

Talkbot: "No longer will we be subjected to the plight of human emotion, stifled by an antiquated system. From now on, logic will pave the way. A vote for Talkbot is a vote for the future."

Talkbot: "I am, we are Talkbot, and we approve this message."

Blake switches the TV off in frustration, letting out a sigh of contempt.

📱 Social Media Shutdown! 📱

Blake: Reaches for his phone, a formality at this point. He's met with the same message he's seen 80 times already.

My book: "Dear User, In accordance with the Sensitive Data Act, Mybook is temporarily shut down; we are diligently working with lawmakers to get the app running again. We thank you for your patience. Regards, Xeon Buford III, Ceo of Mybook. For more information about the Sensitive Data Act, follow the link below."

Blake was ready to toss his phone across the room and sink into the couch in a depressed stupor, but just then the screen lit up. A FaceTime call from his buddy, Jerome.

Jerome: "Ayo, what's good, dude?"

Blake: "Shit, hang on."

Jerome: "You should have come to see the movie tonight, dude; we switched it up and saw Halloween XX: Michael Myers in Space. It's been eight decades, and they still can’t kill this fucker."

Blake: Half-hearted chuckle.

Jerome: "Anyway, just calling to see if you're coming to the protest tomorrow?"

Blake: "Yeah man, I'll be there."

Jerome: "Alright, coolio, bro, I'll see you there at noon. Peace out, man!"

Blake: "Peace."

Blake throws his phone on the charging stand and gets ready for another sleepless night.

📢 Protest Day! 📢

Blake: The protest was more of the same: a succession of small, repetitive tasks that did nothing. He couldn’t help but think that shouting, “Take back what you took! Bring back Mybook!” While stomping around in a mini circle in front of the state building with primitive, yet easy-to-read picket signs would change the mind of the entire congress. But at least he was outside.

Jerome: "There he is again."

Blake: "The old man with the newspaper."

Jerome: "I didn't know they even printed those anymore."

Blake: "They definitely don’t, which is what makes it weirder; he's gotta be reading the same couple of newspapers on rotation. Fucking odd, man. And every day, like this. I really don’t get it."

Blake: "To each his own, I guess."

📅 Months Later... 📅

Blake: Despite the heated arguments and frivolous debates, Congress hadn’t budged. Social media and all its applicable sites were down for the past couple of months and into the foreseeable future.

Blake: He just had to take it on the chin. “The rest of America was in the same boat,” he thought. “We’ll get through this together.” It wasn't all bad, he had to admit. His rituals and routines got a massive overhaul.

Blake: He started cooking more, whipping up his grandma's famous Bolognese in his speed fryer he got for Christmas years ago. Instead of dinners in front of the TV, he opted for dining on the balcony, admiring the stars that lit up the sky on a cool summer night. He dusted off his cycle and took it through Seymour Park before ending his trek at Cafe Social and reading until evening. No, not bad. Not bad at all.

📢 Protest Continues! 📢

Jerome: "We're really moving the needle on this; I think we're close, dude."

Blake: On lap about four hundred, he got a beep on his wrist, an alert from his Apricot watch. He snagged a water bottle from his buddy and sat down right next to the old newspaper man.

Blake: "You don’t see those every day."

Old Man: "No sir, you don’t."

Blake: "Especially not one dating back this far."

Old Man: "Quite honestly, I bring this paper here simply for nostalgia."

Blake: "A small token of my youth that brings back good memories. I know it sounds crazy, but if nostalgia was a drug, I'd probably overdose on it."

Blake: "Have you ever tried Nostalgator?"

Old Man: "Now what on earth is that?"

Blake: "Never mind."

Blake: "What do you think of all this?"

Old Man: "Don't rightly know, son. I can tell you I do remember when social media first came out, believe it or not. I hopped on it myself."

Old Man: "Not sure when it turned so codependent, to be truthful. News every day; instantly, even if it wasn't true, maybe people thought it provided answers to what's next, when in fact we had no idea. Just wrought with anxiety, if you ask me. That's why I'll stick with Old Faithful."

Old Man: "I'm Hudson, by the way."

Blake: "Blake, nice to meet you."

Hudson: "And what is it you do, Blake?"

Blake: "I'm a UX writer. I write for websites and stuff like that."

Hudson: "Ah, a fellow writer, retired now, but I did write for the paper, oddly enough. Probably explains my attachment to the thing. What got you started into that? I'm curious."

Blake: "I always loved writing. I loved the story and watching your ideas come to life. I'm a daydreamer. I suppose I love escaping into a whole new world that I created. I wish I could go back to fiction writing, but I guess I've just been distracted."

Hudson: "We've all been distracted, I'm afraid."

Hudson: "I'll tell ya what Blake I'm always here, come by and bring me some of your ideas We’ll flush em’ out, it'll be fun; it'll help get me back into the spirit too, How about it?"

Blake: "I think that would be great. Same time tomorrow?"

Hudson: "Same time and place, friend."

Blake: "What do you think is going to happen with all this?"

Hudson: "Quite frankly, son, I haven't the slightest clue."

Blake: Admitting to himself he didn't have the slightest clue either, and that was just fine.