I sat on my memory foam bed, slouching so far that my chin brushed the dip in my collar bone. The pressure sensitive mattress seemed to pull me farther and farther down as the room got darker with the falling sun. As the last rays of light struggled to climb over my window sill, I swiped across my phone screen until I reached the small sun scale that determines the phone’s brightness. I slid the bar all the way to the top, an amount that would most likely cause problems for my vision in the future. Another icon sat at the very top of the screen displayed a tiny battery, slightly filled with a slim, red bar. Shifting my gaze to the number beside the symbol, I read the dreaded “10%” that no one in this day and age wants to see in their lifetime. 

My entire life my bar had always been at least half way full with a bright green bar. The green bar became a safety feature if I was ever feeling anxious or depressed. The green bar told me I had time and it provided me safety and security. Nowadays no one ever leaves their charger. If you were to ever unplug your phone, you know it is at full battery. Even then, everyone still carried their charger with them out of fear. I thought I had been so careful.

The slim red bar haunted me as I searched frantically about the bed. Tossing quilted blankets and feathered pillows aside in search of the life source. When fear overcame laziness, I tore the covers aside and set foot on the cold hardwood floor that felt like knives in my bare feet. Stumbling into the kitchen, still adjusting to the movement, I asked my mother for a spare charger. She struggles to peel her eyes away from the blue light screen, the prominent hunch in her spine making it difficult to even raise her head. By the shadows below her eyes and the visible strain of her movements, I could tell that she had not left her position in days. 

When our eyes finally met, an emotion flickered across her face, almost a hint of surprise. Like I was not supposed to be out of bed; not just at this hour, but ever. 

“Dear, you know we are only permitted one charger each. If you lost yours then I am very sorry to hear that.” Her gravely and monotone voice sent a shiver down my spine. It cracked and crumbled, seeing as it had not been used in who knows how long. 

One charger. One life. That is what they provided us with. Who? I could not say. Possibly the government as a cruel way of population control? Or maybe some mystical higher up, whom no one has ever seen or spoken to? One charger is all we got. If you misplaced it, or forget, even if it is stolen, you might as well say your goodbyes. In a world where your percentage dictates your life or death, I recommend never leaving your life source. 

Families are assigned here. I was told that long ago, babies were born and they got to stay with their mothers. That just seems impractical though. I feel like you would form too many attachments.

 It is just me and my mother in our three room living quarters. I would have to leave my designated area in hopes of finding a kind enough soul. I made my way through the gray rooms of the living quarters. No designs to be found. Everything was covered in simple shades of gray. The furniture sat flush against the wall, empty picture frames hanging at a perfect 90 degree angle. For the first time in a long while I looked around the rooms and it was as if I was seeing it all for the first time. 

All color seems to have been drained from the building as I stumbled into the hall and began knocking on doors. The rapid pounding on the steel doors matched the beat of  my racing heart. I glanced down at my screen: 7%. I do not even bother with the elevator, it would only slow me down. I turned to the stairs and made my steep descent down into the lobby. My nonexistent muscles ached and sent sharp pains up my torso. My body had become frail and weak just as everyone else’s had. No one ever moves anymore. No exercise, no social interaction, no fun. When I reached the lobby, it appeared to be a wasteland. The floors had acquired a layer of dust. Actually, every square inch of the place was sleeping in a blanket of dirt and grime. 

The once elegant, crimson red, floor length curtains had become a dark brown color that had been eaten away at the bottom by some sort of moth or other creature. No one sat at the front desk anymore. Some deceased animal lay at the base of the chair along with some chewed up wires that were once connected to a phone or computer. A cool breeze hit my back and I turned to see the shattered glass doors, wide open as if welcoming nature and its destruction.

A loud, screeching alarm made my heart skip a beat as I jumped. I scanned the room frantically until my eyes landed on a huddled mass in the shadowy corner of the room. The light of the phone illuminated the face of an old woman. Her wiry hair fell in her eyes and the scarf she wore around the rest was falling out of place. She hosted a hunch similar to my mother’s that was covered in a worn shawl. When I looked closer I saw the thin white cord attached to the phone and to the wall. I slowly made my way towards her, not knowing how she would react to me with my matted hair, dirty clothes, heavy breathing and frantic expression. Then I realized she was in no better state than me. 

“Excuse me,” she did not even look at me, “Excuse me ma’am, I was wondering if I could borrow your charger for a moment?” She raised her eyes to meet mine and produced the same confused expression as my mother. When she realized what I said, her expression turned into a contorted mess of emotion; mainly fear. 

“You wretched little witch!” She screamed at me, her voice broke multiple times in the process, “Get your own! You think your life means more than mine? You think yourself better than me!? Get out! I hope your battery dies and you go along with it!” I turned and ran as fast as I could out of the building. The shattered glass from the doors dug into my bare feet and I carried it with me down the block. The city streets had been overcome by Mother Nature. Her grass and flowers had covered any trace of pavement that once was. Her dirt was soft and cool under my toes. She mixed with the warm blood reminding me of her strength. Her trees had pushed through the asphalt, the roots took hold of lamp posts and cars. Nature’s birds sang and flew overhead. Pollution seemed nonexistent since no one had left their homes in years. No car emissions, no overworked factories and no littering. The city had become a jungle inhabited by creatures big and small. And no one knew about it. 

I tried to take a deep breath of fresh air when my throat began to close. The air became thick and difficult to consume. I could feel dizziness overcome me. I glanced down at my screen that had cracked when I dropped it at the old woman’s screams. 

2%.

My eyelids grew heavy as fatigue slowed my body. My legs felt weighed down, my phone became ten times as heavy. I gathered any strength that my body had left and trudged through the city maze. My vision went in and out. 

I don’t remember when but at some point I read the words “Central Park”. I could tell I had landed in the heart of the overgrown jungle. Sunlight warmed my skin through the vibrant green leaves. My knees gave out and I landed on my back in the soft green moss. The light was so bright in my eyes. I closed them and just listened for a while. The breeze picked up leaves that had fallen to the ground just like I had. The wind picked them up and put them in a woven picnic basket. 

Wind was kind to me. Wind walked over to me and said, “Hello! Would you like to join me?” A strange invitation indeed, but I obliged. 

And so we sat, just Wind and I, with our woven picnic basket of leaves. Wind told me stories of the things he had seen around the world. How in some far off places, people walked about the streets, they talked to one another, and they spent time together. He told me of the real jungles where the wildlife thrived. He told me about the music and cultures of this unknown world that I had never seen. Wind told me that he could take me there. Wind said that he could take me away from this place. This city where life is meaningless. 

“Wind?” I asked, “Could you take me to heaven?” 

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