2120: The Blue Light

​I visited the future of our timeline. To be honest, there aren't many futures for our timeline in which humans are alive; most are so grim, it's better not to mention them.

The timeline I visited was 100 years ahead of now and seemed to be a successful society. I used my time contraption from my 70s adventure to get there, but the trip depleted its store of Astatine, which is highly radioactive, only lives for a few hours, and is not found on Earth. I would need more before I could Travel again.

Earth in 2120 reminded me of an Apple/Jetsons future; everything was sleek, rounded, white, reflecting blue light from a million screens and holograms. As I wandered the streets, I looked up at cars flying above me, weaving in and out of tall buildings on stilts, with screens like billboards populating their stalks. I noticed the people around me were all looking down, at phones, at holographic displays, at watches, through smart glasses. No one seemed disturbed that I wasn't from their timeline.

I found a hotel to stay at. They wouldn't take cash or card (and seemed pretty taken aback when I offered). Instead, they said the room cost 50 ads. I agreed, and wondered what that meant until I reached the room.

The wall across from the bed lit up when I walked in and began blasting an ad for energy drinks. It was loud and bright; I thought commercials from 2020 were disruptive, but this took things to a whole new level. I looked away, and the commercial paused. When my eyes moved back to the wall, it began again.

I would have to watch 50 ads like this to stay for the night. I settled in; how hard could it be?

By the next morning, I felt drained; I'd watched ad after inane ad the entire evening and barely had a chance to rest before checkout. I left dazed, in a fog of sleepiness and confusion.

I wandered the streets again. Today I noticed that some people weren't looking at screens; in fact, they seemed to be holographic. They walked and talked like anyone else, but made helpful product recommendations.

The more I traveled, the more I learned that ads were the primary currency. Wealth existed, but it was hard to understand exactly how. From what I could tell, homelessness wasn't a problem. There seemed to be no police presence, and from asking learned that addictions and illnesses had all but been eradicated.

I found a car and spaceship dealership. I knew I could find Astatine with a little space travel, and was excited to check out vehicles of the future.

The salesperson was androgynous, sharp, witty. I knew I liked them before we spoke; the way they stood, the precision with which they walked, the softness behind the eyes when they looked my way - they were the first person I felt a connection to in 2120.

When we finally spoke, I barely heard the words. Their name was Slay. I gathered they were non-binary, which seemed to be completely normal in this timeline. A spaceship would cost 100,000 ads - no problem. How long would that take? A year? No problem. I couldn't look away from their eyes, and couldn't imagine wanting to walk away anytime soon.

I walked out with a signed contract, 100,000 deep in ad debt, and a date with Slay.

I checked in earlier at the hotel so I'd have time to watch the ads and sleep. The front desk informed me that if I needed, I could put the ads on credit instead of watching them that night. They'd just pile onto my current ad debt.

I tried to keep up with the ads. I found after watching one, my brain felt frenetic, jangly like a charm bracelet, bouncy like a racquetball court. By 5 ads, I felt like mental slosh, beginning to relax into the jarring sounds and lights. By 10 ads, I felt like I might forget to blink. My eyes were dry and crusty, and it felt like more effort to close them than to leave them open, vacantly staring through the ads.

By 25 ads, I felt half insane. I felt like writing my own jingles. By 40, I felt fully insane; laughing and crying sporadically. By ad 50, I felt utterly depleted, exhausted, barely alive. 

The daylight was harsh when I left the hotel. I felt a hollow blankness inside, a creeping feeling that something was missing in my chemistry. I realized I hadn't gotten enough sunlight, hadn't absorbed enough vitamin D, since I arrived. I decided to ask Slay to join me on a walk for our date.

It was Slay's day off, and they sounded surprised and slightly amused when I proposed starting with a walk. We met at the city's main park, much like Central Park (or perhaps it was a future version- national governments and states had been done away with and cities renamed, and I hadn't had time to research). We walked along paths, talking, exchanging experiences; turns out time travel wasn't an upsetting or outlandish topic for this timeline, as they'd had some success with it themselves. ​

​Hearing about Slay's experiences helped me understand this timeline better. Slay had been watching ads their entire life; they pitched in on working off family ad debt before they could speak. It seemed very common for people to grow up on ads, and consider them part of everyday life. 

​Slay seemed confused by my relief to be in sunlight. According to them, humans had evolved beyond the need for sunlight and had figured out how to supplement vitamin D through the Blue Light emitted from screens and holograms. I realized that Slay had been squinting the entire time, and didn't seem too comfortable in sunlight. I suggested we find somewhere indoors to eat.

The restaurant we visited was a sushi bar, with trains of sushi moving through the air. We agreed to ad debt in exchange for food, and I felt my debt deepen but my heart lighten as the day stretched on.

By the end of the day, I was an additional 112 ads in debt, but I didn't care; Slay was lovely, soft-spoken and thoughtful, an effortless conversationalist and a kind-hearted person. I knew I was already falling for them, and I wasn't afraid. I had time.

​Slay and I moved in together after a month of seeing each other. Unfortunately, we weren't able to share ad debt or gain extra points for watching ads together, so we spent a lot of time alone working our way through ads. If we each spent an hour a day on ads, we could keep up with the additional expenses of everyday life. If we watched 2 hours a day, we could cover daily expenses and a little chunk of ad debt. If we watched 3 hours, we made more headway.

It was an ongoing equation - Slay's lifelong ad debt made me dizzy, but they insisted it wasn't an unusually large amount. My own ad debt made me nervous, but I knew I could knock it out in a year if I stuck with it. After that year, I'd be the proud owner of a long-range spaceship, and Slay and I could leave Earth to find Astatine, and then we would travel through space, time, and alternate universes. I would no longer be alone on my adventures. With Slay, I felt content, a perfect peace I'd never known. I knew I could go anywhere, any time, with them, and be happy. Nothing mattered as long as they were there. I felt bolder, braver with them, like the best version of myself, the version I always wished I could be.

​The weeks went by, and I felt my mood dip as the season grew colder. Hours of ads every day left me feeling drained, depleted. I could feel my serotonin winking out of existence, and wondered if I was really getting any vitamin D from the Blue Light.

​I began to notice that some people on the streets seemed sedated, blank, almost like walking shells of people. They existed on the outskirts of the hustling society, barely visible through the holograms and lights and sounds. I asked Slay about them.

"Oh, those are people who couldn't keep up with their ads," Slay explained. "Although we've managed to cure most illnesses of the last century, there's one we haven't cracked yet. People will get overloaded by ad debt and seem to have a nervous breakdown of sorts, where they withdraw and are no longer themselves. They walk, and even talk, but it.... It isn't them."

"What causes it?" I asked.

"No one knows," said Slay. "There are some theories that overexposure to Blue Light can cause it, but there's no evidence or proof. In fact, the government says the Blue Light is good for us."

"And is the government funded by Blue Light?" I asked.

"Of course. Everything is," said Slay. "It basically saved society." I sensed a defensive edge in their voice and let it go.

Months passed. I stopped noticing the fatigue, the run-down mornings, the empty feeling when the ads stopped. Blue Light wove through the fabric of everything in this world, and soon I didn't notice it at all.

​Slay and I enjoyed living together. While they were at work, I would watch ads and wander the city. I found a ukulele and wrote love songs for Slay, wrote homesick songs about 2020, wrote about the adventures I'd been on and the way they impacted my heart. Slay loved to hear the songs; live music wasn't a common pastime in 2120.​

---

​One day, after months of a deepening routine, I got a notification that I was 10 ads away from paying off my debt. The ship would be mine, and it would be time to move forward. I was buzzing with excitement all day.

When Slay got home, I burst out, "I only have 7 more ads before the ship is mine and we can leave!" I expected Slay to be as excited as I was, but they were subdued. 

"Good for you," they mumbled. My heart dropped. 

"Wait, don't you want to come with me?" I asked.

"I owe so many ads," Slay started.

"But we can leave that behind. We can travel through space and time, through this universe and infinite alternate universes. We can be free."

Slay didn't have an argument, but they were distant and detached the rest of the evening.

The next day we sat down to talk. Slay explained they were confused by how they felt at the prospect of leaving. They didn't have a strong attachment to this society - no family to speak of, no purpose in the job they held - but still felt terrified of leaving. I listened, and I tried to understand. It felt like something was missing.

"Are you worried about leaving the Blue Light?" I asked. 

"What?" asked Slay. "Why would I miss it? It's not like I'm dependent on it..."

But I knew that they were. As soon as they spoke the words, I knew they were true.

"I want you to leave with me," I said. "I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. But I also want you to be happy."

"Then don't leave," said Slay. "Stay here with me."

"You know that I can't," I said. "Even if I wanted to, I travel. That's what I do. That's what gives my life meaning and purpose: to explore."

"Then.... I guess I can come with you," said Slay. I cried and hugged them. I asked if we could leave in a week. Slay said ok.

​The week passed with little sign of an upcoming departure. Slay kept watching their ads. I no longer had debt beyond daily expenses, so I had more time to observe, and I became concerned. Slay was weak and cranky when they woke up; after a few ads, their mood lifted. Slay came home from work feeling drained and frustrated, but after some ads, Slay was docile, compliant, content. I wondered if Slay was addicted to Blue Light, and what that meant for our travels.

​The day to depart came. I packed up the few belongings I'd acquired. Slay's room hadn't changed. When they came home from work, I asked how long it would take to pack.

"I can't go," Slay said. "I belong here."

I cried. I told them I would support them while they detoxed off Blue Light, that life would be so much better, so much more fulfilling, out there, without the Blue Light. 

"I'm sorry," said Slay. "I can't be who you want." Their eyes were vacant, their tone flat. 

"I'm worried about you," I said. "Sometimes it feels like you're not really there. I'm worried the Blue Light is getting to you."

"You're just not used to this world. If you'd stay longer, give it a chance, you'd understand," Slay said, getting angry. "I don't know why you insist I come to your level without meeting me on mine."

I felt stung, and sad. I felt like the last year had been for naught. I had really done my best to adapt to this world, but the only thing that kept me going was the promise of leaving.

I knew that convincing Slay to leave wouldn't work. They needed to want it too, but all they wanted was to stay comfortable. They would resent me forever if I pulled them away, and I would never be content if I stayed.

It was a brief and heartbreaking departure. We kissed. I cried. Slay blinked blankly. I told them I would love them always, and they said, "Thanks for the memories."

My heart broke as the ship broke the atmosphere. I headed toward a new adventure, alone once again.
My heart broke as the ship broke the atmosphere. I headed toward a new adventure, alone once again.