Float

To Float was to be happy––like winning a twinkling grin from your boyfriend on a miserable day, like kicking off your heels or unhooking your bra and sitting and digging into a tub of ice cream after work––Floating was, well, living. So that's what I did at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, so sick of stressing and dreaming and thinking that I sat up in bed and pressed the tablet on my tongue and Floated. Physically. Mentally. It pulls you away from reality, a gentle, placating hand that you take every time.

Up I went. Into the abyss. Into a comforting, unending darkness.

“Welcome,” that same smoothly metallic voice announced, and I stepped into water that tickled my ankles and curtained about like silk. I walked forward. The air about me was light, and soon I felt light. If I leapt, I would find myself slow-dancing in space.

“Where would you like to Float today, Delilah?”

“To Oliver, please.”

“Finding… Oliver.”

A white mist engulfed me, gently tugging me up into oblivion until I slipped through into the other side and found myself hovering a few feet beneath Oliver.

“Hi Ollie,” I said with a smile.

“Hey,” he said, and turned his body until his head was hanging upside down beside mine. His curls grazed my forehead, and so I swept my arms until I was also floating upside down, hair in my eyes, lips fixed to a silly grin.

“You’re on the system pretty late. I’m surprised.”

I tapped his leg with my foot and sent us drifting apart. “I’m surprised too,” I called, and we let ourselves sink until our feet met the shallow sheet of water below us. If floating was swimming beneath the ocean, then we were waltzing reflectively on its surface.

“So,” said Oliver, taking my hand. “I was thinking the Bahamas?”

At once, the abyss of blackness morphed into a beautiful island. We donned swimsuits, our feet dipped in a bright blue water; I felt the heat of the sun and the prickling breeze against my face, and I could smell sunscreen and sand with a ferocious wave of nostalgia that almost made my heart sink. I brushed the thought aside with a smile.

“How about France?” I asked. “You always said you’d take me there. Or maybe Japan? Greece? Italy?”

As I spoke of each country, the darkness sputtered in and out with each image until it finally clung to Italy, and Oliver laughed and swayed with me as soft, enticing music played for us.

“Wherever is fine by me. But pick soon; I want to give you something.”

I chuckled. “Okay, Italy will do.”

“Good.” Oliver told the metallic voice that that would be our destination, and instantly we were seated on the outside of a lively restaurant. A waiter came about, and I was almost surprised. But he had the movement of every other AI in every other simulation, and I felt a slight pang that I did my best to shove away.

“Well, Lilah? Is it perfect?”

“Of course,” I lied.

Ollie grinned and dug in his front pocket, then revealed a small box that he slid across the table. I caught it and tried to smile.

“Thank you,” I said, softly. Carefully I flipped the case open, and within it was a heart-shaped locket. I unlatched the heart and found a dainty picture of Ollie and I secured inside. I was laughing, but I felt my eyes prickling up. And then I was crying.

“Lilah? Are you okay?”

Before I knew it, water was staining the locket, my cheeks were red, eyes puffy. A faint whisper: “You’re not real.”

“What?”

I shook my head and pressed the locket against my chest, sobbing helplessly. “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not him!”

“What are you saying? Of course I’m––”

“No, no, no,” I said, and I shot up, swept my hand across the air, the gorgeous scene before us dissipating into the black nothingness I was always so used to.

“Where would you like to Float––”

“Take me home,” I screamed, ignoring the innocent, ignorant pleads of my dead boyfriend. “Take me home. Take me––”

Down I came. Into reality. Into a horrible, unending darkness.

I jolted awake, still screaming, panting, crying. I cast the sheets off of me and paused, my heart escaping my chest. There I felt it, still cupped in my hand, its chain indented into my palm: The locket.

“Good morning, Delilah,” said the metallic voice, and the blinds opened as if 2046 still thrived with life and love and happiness––as if there was anything left out there. I forced my eyes away from cracked holo-boards and upturned hover cars, from the dead and barren world I floated above everyday. But I found myself staring at the bottle of Float tablets on my dresser.

I was on my last one.