How to Save the World

It was always the same. The guards would knock on doors until everyone gathered around screens that had been commissioned inside the main square.

Since she could remember, this was how word was spread amongst people. There was language; mostly English with random slang tossed in. It had been developed over the years as the magic of the written word had been lost.

Books had faded into disuse after the age of screens happened. Commas and periods were no longer considered marks of punctuation, but had become the means to create tiny pictures shared between screens. People sucked at communicating now, and she was sure it was because of the downfall of the written word.

She had never really fit in with her peers; she loathed screens. The things one could do on a screen fell so completely short of exciting and real that she knew there had to be something more; something better. This had spurred her into searching the abandoned, run down buildings that had once been where people went to learn.

She was currently waiting for a break in the traffic of people so she could sneak off to her favourite place, and ponder her conundrum alone; without the preposterous screens watching her every move and prompting her every thought. She was positive that she was close to figuring it all out; positive that if she just kept trying, she would figure out the secret that human ancestors had forgotten.

She had heard stories of young people who had seemed to make sense of the old characters one could sometimes find, and how those young people had been taken and never seen again. Rumours about what happened to them flew around the outdated realm of the virtual world few frequented, or even remembered.

She discovered it when she discovered the abandoned, antiquated computer of old at her favourite place. She found that it still required wiring to perform; technology neither seen nor used since anyone could remember. The computer was in multiple pieces, as far as she could tell, each with cords that connected to a bigger unit, and one screen that connected to all. With some experimentation and practise, she discovered she could access the old fashioned version of the internet; the Background.

While fiddling with the tech, she discovered a book that had been hidden, and protected, when the ancients had attempted to recycle something that had become useless in a technologically advanced culture.

It was black and leather bound with some pages filled in, and it was clear someone had used a tool of sorts to mark them. Similar, but not the same as pushing the little buttons on the computer to create a pattern on the screen. Inside it, she found a slip of paper that had more of the ancient characters on it, and she had been trying to decipher them since.

She’d been warned that the Screenmakers watched everything everyone did, and she must take precautions to protect them all.

The Screenmakers kept young people who understood the written word for their own purposes, and killed those no longer useful. Her contact from the Background warned that she would become the next rumour if she wasn’t careful.

She finally noticed a break in the traffic of people and escaped quickly; as she entered her space, a chill shuddered through her. Something wasn’t right.

She stopped, listened and watched very carefully, until she heard a sound… She ran to the computer and watched as characters flowed across the screen. She got lost in it, like a code she felt a link to, it entranced her.

Her pupils expanded and she echoed the humming she had heard. Breaking free from her trance she gasped in astonishment: “I know what it means.”

She grabbed the black book and letter and sat down to read. By the time she had finished, she was crying.

“OK, let's do this. I am so tired of this ridiculous, sedentary life!”

She messaged her contact and made a plan to offer the information to the revolution.

The leader of the revolution was also the offspring of the last person who could write. He was handsome and kind, and pretty close to her age; she took note of how freely they could communicate. It was a new sensation for her.

She was welcomed into the village built outside the walls of the city. The hut she was given was sturdy, if a little small, but she came to realise that one didn’t spend much time there. Instead, this community was built on communicating and reading!

Reading! This is where the books had gone. The Tutors of old, had scrounged and saved as many as they could before the Screenmakers had completely eradicated them from existence, and had created a beautiful hut specifically for their housing.

Her presence had been requested by the leader a number of times since she arrived, and during one of these meetings he had finally told her the truth about the written word, and all the rumours.

The Tutors believed in the timeless power of handwriting, and had continued to educate those they saved, and hid outside the walls of the city. The goal was to save and protect the magic of the written word. The Revolutionaries were built upon what they had begun, and she was certain that this was what she was meant for too.

The two continued to meet and attempt to decipher the book and letter; she had shown him that she could read the patterns the characters made, and he showed her how the patterns differed and what that could mean.

All of their time was spent on planning a revolution, breaking the Screenmakers hold on the world, and on deciphering the message the ancients had left in a small, leather book.

They were certain that discovering the forgotten magic of the written word was key to solving the riddle.

It was the morning of the Revolution and they planned to use the cover of night to infiltrate the city. She just couldn’t focus on the plan.

Something about the black book and letter kept flitting through her consciousness, making it hard for her to focus on what was being discussed.

He noticed how distracted she was as he called the meeting to end; everyone was thankful to have some time with each other, without the pull of responsibility.

He caught up with her where she stood looking at the book and letter on a table. As he walked toward her, she let out a rush of breath and her hands flew to her mouth. She turned toward him slowly; eyes wide and face pale, she dropped her hands to the book and letter, and said “It’s a key. The letter. It’s a…. Key for the book. There’s a hidden message!”

Without knowing why, he reached into his coat for a device that his great grandfather had given him as the youngest of the Tutors. He handed it to her, and stared as she turned back to the book. She flipped the pages; “Ok. I can do this…” she said as she took a deep breath.

She began to write; the tool, a pen, glinting as she moved. Her eyes began to glow and her hair shifted in a breeze that only she could feel.

The letter slowly melded into the book and the words she continued to write glowed, as ink flowed. She felt luminous and calm. She felt fierce and strong, and so in control of her own destiny.

As she wrote the last word on the blank page, she surrendered to the moment and all that it held. She turned back to him with a dazzling grin.

“That was Amazing! Is that what happiness feels like?” she spoke, and her words sounded cold and empty to her ears.

Nothing compared to how the physical act of putting pen to paper, gliding the ink over the clean page, could make one feel.

“I’ve never seen anything like that! What just happened?” He exclaimed back.

Together they turned back to the message they had been working so hard on, and with a quick glance at each other, read the sentences out loud together:

“Congratulations, you who discovered the truth.

Blessings to you and thank you.

Come to the centre of the city, to claim your prize.

You’ll recognise the door if you remember what you’ve learned, and the how.

Walk counterclockwise in the centre of the city to find it.“

She handed the pen she still clasped back to him, saying “Here, it's yours.”

“You should keep it!” he said and pushed it back towards her.

“No.” she replied, and before he could argue said, “we did this together. You keep the tool, and I’ll keep the skill. That way it will always be safe, and we will always have to be together.”

The Revolution occurred as planned and the two began their counterclockwise search in the chaos that ensued.

They came upon a short, strangely shaped, stone hut. It was positioned behind the building that had housed the Screenmakers; they recognized it because it clearly resembled the black book they carried with them. They searched for an actual door and discovered the heirloom pen was also a key. Together they turned it in the lock and pushed the door open.

Standing in the soft light inside was a man in a robe with a tall hat on; she thought he looked like the figure she had seen once, on a piece of paper torn from a book and left behind long ago.

“Welcome young ones!” he said in an ominous voice, then “please, come inside. You are welcome, oh so welcome, for I have been waiting so long for someone to break the monotony of my days!”

He ushered them in and sat them at a round table, laden with good food and drink. “Let us begin then, as I am sure you have many questions!” And they did.

The three sat for quite some time and they asked all they could think of. The Magician answered freely and completely.

He explained how the art of putting pen to paper, was a most valuable skill, and had been lost to the unjustified belief that technology would bring the world closer together.

He made it abundantly clear that the world would be forever grateful to these two for bringing the magic of the written word back; they were heroes who would be celebrated even more for their ability to read and write than for leading the revolution.

Once it had been quiet for a time, the magician asked:

“Wouldn’t you like to know what your prize is? Screw it! I am too excited to wait! You’ve won yourselves $20,000!”

They looked at each other for a moment; money had never been something they, or anyone they knew ever had. Now they had a lot.

She spoke for them both, “We don’t need money, we need our people and city to be… better, and safe.”

The magician sat back in his chair with a thump and a hand to his forehead. “You surprise me, in the best possible way.” And continued to explain that the prize was actually a whole lot more.

They were being given the responsibility, and funds, to rebuild a more realistic city that takes care of everyone equally, and values the magic of the written word. A city like the community they had built outside the former city walls. The magician and the ones who had hidden the little black book, wanted them to help in educating everyone in what had once been lost.

The magic of the written word was saved, and her people too; this really was what happiness felt like.