The first thing that we did was to cut the phone lines. It was an unplanned act, an explosion from the tension of our malcontent. Two of us climbed the lines with cooking mittens and hedge clippers, and chopped them all to pieces. Later this would cause problems, as Verizon and T-Mobile had difficulties cancelling through post. But we would all agree that it was worth it to see the lines clipped and chopped and sliced and mangled, brought to the ground. They fell easily. That was when we realized the power that we had.
Next we went after the computers. They, after all, were the source of the problem. That one was the first group effort, as we wrapped our hands in our old sheets and pummeled the plastic and glass and aluminum. This too was unplanned, ill-advised, unrehearsed. Yet when it was over, we were free. We were free from their cold screens, their soft fans, their bombardment of information and entertainment and empty words. The phones were the easiest. We dropped them and squished them like cockroaches. They resisted, of course, but we had strength where they had only apathy and they crumbled beneath us.
That was the first day. It was a war. It was a revolution. It was over quickly.
The next day, we figured out the logistics. We licked stacks of envelopes to our internet providers, our newspapermen, our lawyers. One of us bombarded the government with postcards, asking to take us off of the map, out of the census. That was another bad idea, questions came, but we avoided them. We were still realizing our strength.
We made our world in just two days, and then we rested.
And then life went on. We had our bowling alley. We had our grocery. We dug a pit around the town, broke the pavement, but we left the little airport intact. We still needed food, then. We wrote letters, caught up on sleep, pooled our resources, made friends. We made a mythology for ourselves: we were the Awakened, who had won a great Battle. We cried. The sun was our dearest friend but the moon tormented us, reminded us of what we had lost. We spit at it, but then the rain started and it was gone.
We’re so heavy. We find it hard to move. We find it hard to think some days. We find it hard to breathe this air, we miss the duality we used to have, being here and there. We’re free now, but we’re free in a smaller space than ever we were trapped in. We have no room to avoid each other anymore. Except in sleep.