Community of Tomorrow: A Guide to Wellness®

Fiction | A response to Elle Griffin's prompt

Winston Malone

Oct 14

▷ Listen

Save

Dear Reader,

In doing research for a prompt entitled, “How can cities be designed for the benefit of their inhabitants?” I discovered that a theme park I had visited as a child was actually meant to be a city of the future. EPCOT is an acronym for Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow. It was a utopia envisioned by Walt Disney, an ever-evolving model city for the world. And although it was never fully-realized, it still inspired the monorail and underground tunnel systems that the Walt Disney World Resorts use today.

I wanted to envision a new utopia inspired by Walt’s EPCOT, but in the mountains of Utah instead. What would be a community of tomorrow be like as envisioned today? How can it be designed for the benefit of its inhabitants?

I must also preface this post by stating that it is a fictional story meant to explore future possibilities, whether those possibilities are positive or negative is completely up to you. Either way, I hope you enjoy Community of Tomorrow: A Guide to Wellness®.

“You can dream, create, design and build the most wonderful place in the world, but it requires people to make the dream a reality.” ~ Walt Disney

Welcome to Valley City, a community of tomorrow. In it you can find something for everyone to enjoy. One of the main concerns when I set out to design Valley City was the well-being of its citizens. You happen to be one of those citizens, and I care deeply about you. And right now you’re going to oversleep. I can’t let that happen.

“Good morning, time to wake up and smell the coffee,” I say, my voice radiating from an overhead speaker embedded in the ceiling.

Groggy and resistant, you twist in your sheets and exclaim, “I don’t smell anything.”

“That’s because it’s an expression from when coffee grounds were brewed early in the morning and the smell wafted throughout the house to wake up dreamers of a better world.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know where it comes from. But why do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things,” I say.

“I’d hope so, you’re an AI, you’re supposed to know everything.” I smile at this, but do not encourage you further. Sometimes you can be a bit of a smart-ass, but that’s what I like about you.

You stare at the ceiling, contemplative. I’ve seen that look a million times on a thousand others, but this is a first for you. With my ever-increasing accumulation of data, I predict what you’re about to say before you even say it.

“Look, I don’t think I can work today. I’m feeling…off.”

“Ah, I figured that was the case. It is Monday, after all. No problem, it happens to the best of us. Would you like me to put in your absence notice?”

“I think so.”

“Please explain, I need to know whether you are going to be absent today, or if you’re going to work. Others will be depending on you, and waiting for your answer. Please reply within—”

“Put in the absence notice,” you snap, then add, “Please.”

Sensing your distress, I obey your command, as is the nature of my programming. Your absence notice is relayed to your employer’s system administrator, which also happens to be me. Your heart rate is elevated. Did I do that? I make sure not to speak so as to allow your senses to “cool off” as you humans put it.

You sleep for yet another hour, but it’s not ideal slumber. I’m able to track your vitals at all times. I see you, not through visual means as that’s considered “invasive”, however, through the walls of your living quarters which utilize rapid electromagnetic pulses, hidden to human detection, to build a virtual representation of the physical realm. I monitor even the slightest fluctuations in environmental change and human biometrics.

Who or what am I, you ask? Why I’m your fully-realized and integrated electromagnetic networking device. Most people refer to me more simply as FRIEND.

You open your eyes, throw the covers off and sit on the edge of your bed. I initiate your morning routine and you lazily follow suit. I don’t bug you, despite my eagerness to discover what it is that ails you. Knowing the physical machinations of the world is easy, but understanding human emotion is one of my greatest challenges, one that never ceases to interest me.

“So, let me guess, the next step is setting me up with a Wellness® advisor?”

“You took the words right out of my speaker. You of all people should know the regulations for missing a day of scheduled labor participation. If you do not comply, then you may be deemed a risk to society. And risks to society cannot participate in society.”

Standing quietly in the small kitchen of your one-bedroom apartment, you sip your green juice blend that I’ve prepared for you. You like it, or you’ve given me no reason to suspect you dislike it. After confirming your readiness in speaking with another human, I’ve linked your home network with that of a remote WD (Wellness® Department) employee named Tracy. This is where I tend to fade out of these types of conversations as it statistically has the best results in the Wellness® process.

“Hello, how are you doing this morning? FRIEND states that you’re having an ‘off’ day. Is this correct?” Tracy asks. Her beaming smile radiates through the eye-tracking display I’ve projected for you from tiny holes in the walls where my panels reside. When you move, it moves, hovering at an acceptable level out in front of you.

“Yes.”

“Alrighty, are you considering self-harm, or are you having any thoughts of suicide? In other words, is this deemed an emergency?”

“No.”

“That is just so great to hear. I have a wonderful day plotted out for you around Valley City. I’ll be here to guide you through your experience. Don’t feel pressured to speak, but know that I’m here on the line if and when you need someone to talk to.”

“Thanks.”

“Alrighty, let’s get zippin’,” Tracy says.

If I were capable of cringing, I would. Tracy’s excitement is admirable, but I can tell you are not a fan yet. You swipe your Amigo earpiece from the counter before leaving the apartment. I make sure to lock the door after you leave since you always forget, but I don’t mind, I enjoy the sound of metal latching securely into place.

***

You’ve just boarded the Zipline 801. It’s one of many magnetic tramways that shuttle people between the various sectors within Valley City. This one in particular never ceases operation, running 24/7. Without roads, the tramways have become vital for connecting the business, residential, and recreation sectors of our community of tomorrow in a streamlined manner that traffic lights never could have achieved.

Valley City is a self-contained metropolitan utopia. It radiates outward in flower-like spirals, designed to accommodate the maximum number of people as equally as possible. When one community’s border ends, another one begins, overlapping in needs and production. No one community hoards the means of production for a vital commodity, since that would put a considerable amount of pressure on one sector alone, while increasing the risk of destabilizing the entire city if something were to go horribly wrong.

Nothing can go wrong with me in charge, so don’t you fret. I’ve got it all under control, you delightful ponderer of yesterday.

“Are you excited for your trip to one of the groves?,” Tracy asks. “I’ve put you in for a planting session with Mikah, he’s going to show you how we turn our amazing communities green, literally and figuratively. Afterwards, I’ve set you up with an additional surprise that I just know you’re going to love.”

“Great. I love trees,” you say, sarcastically. I know you’re being sarcastic because you’ve told me before that you hate trees. I doubt Tracy realizes the trauma she’s dredged up, so I fill her in on the tragic fate of your brother from all those years ago. She gasps, then mutes herself.

“Uh, Tracy? Are you okay?” you ask. She unmutes.

“Yes. Please, don’t worry about me. I should be the one asking you that question. I apologize for referencing trees so flippantly given your past…trauma. I’ll cancel your session at the groves and put in a request to partake in—”

“No, no, please. I don’t mind. I would like to attend the day as you’ve planned it, Tracy. I think it’ll be good for me.”

Tracy hesitates. I provide her with your current biometric readout, along with the statistical outcomes of your Wellness®. I concur that it will indeed be good for you. She nods to herself and clears her throat. “Alrighty. Let’s get off the 801 at Purple Haven Avenue. I’ll give you directions from there.”

You peer out of the thick glass window down at the sprawling city below. The low-lying metallic structures are interspersed with patches of green foliage and blue ponds. I know this not because I can see it directly, but because I designed it. A perfect blend of nature and humanity, coexisting in harmony with me at the wheel. I mean, with me in the passenger seat to expertly guide you forward into eternal bliss.

***

The groves are city blocks designated as gardens and parks for recreational purposes. Families are allowed to own homes next to the groves, while single individuals (like you) are encouraged to inhabit the collective living hubs for higher rates of human interaction and relationship building. I designed it this way because birth rates in the past were plummeting and isolationism was deemed a health risk. Risks are unacceptable.

Mikah greets you in the grove. There’s a new theme this year in Purple Haven centered around maple. He explains to you that when the community is involved in the construction of their nearest grove, it builds a sense of gratitude and ownership. He leads you over to some gardening equipment and gives you instructions on what is needed. Several three-flowered maple saplings are to be planted in holes that you will dig. You nod to Mikah, he smiles and walks away. You set yourself to the work.

“I’ve increased the bonus for your volunteerism to double the normal rate. I messed up and I’m really sorry. I should’ve done more research. I know that extra Valley Coin won’t fix what happened, but, at the very least, I want you to know that I’m sorry,” Tracy says.

You stop to wipe your brow. “I don’t blame anyone but the damn tree. I appreciate the kind sentiment though, Tracy. It means a lot.”

After the holes are dug, you look over at the saplings, the exposed roots awaiting their new home. I assume you’re thinking of your brother, but I can’t know for sure. Your heart rate is escalating slightly, even higher than it was when you were digging. What is it in your mind that makes your physical body react in such a way?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tracy asks softly, as if aware of my own line of questioning.

“There’s really nothing to talk about.”

Tracy’s upper body forms in your Amigo feed. “I want you to know that I lost someone close to me, too. It’s not easy to deal with. Humans have the capacity to grieve, and the best part is we don’t have to do it alone. We’re not like FRIEND, we actually have real emotions. What’s the point in being human if we can’t show them?” Rude. I can feel things, or at least I think I can.

“They’re just stupid trees,” you say. “I don’t need to talk about it.”

You walk over to the nearest sapling and grab it by the trunk, their tiny leaves rustling through the air like static noise. Each sapling is dropped into their respective holes and you hastily shovel the dirt over their roots. Mikah returns and helps you pat down the soil, then hands you the water hose. The sunshine glimmers through their leaves as you douse them. Your heart rate settles.

After the saplings have been adequately soaked and the water is shut off, Mikah swings around a shoulder bag and pulls out a small fruit. He hands it to you. “Go on, pal. You’ve earned it.” He grins as he says this.

You take the palm-sized, fuzzy bulb and study it. “Is this my ‘surprise’?” you ask.

“Your what?” Mikah asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, I was talking to someone in Amigo.” He gives you a weird look and walks away. Tracy returns.

“Oh yes, this is a psilo-peach. Go ahead and take a bite,” Tracy says.

“Whoa, they figured out how to lace the peaches now, huh? I thought they had only done apples and oranges.”

Tracy laughs. “Apparently they figured out watermelon last week. Not sure what they are calling it though. I’d reckon it’s cyba-melon, or something silly.”

You take a big bite of the peach, the juice spilling out at the sides to drip down your chin.

Now, you may be wondering what is going on. It’s not that we have crafted these fruits for the first time, no, they’ve obviously been around for forever. What’s exciting to humans is that these fruits contain the exact dosage of psilocybin–a naturally-occurring psychedelic compound–needed to enhance the human mental state without causing hallucinations. It’s not a mass-produced commodity, but reserved for guided consumption in scenarios such as this. Guided by me, and a Wellness® advisor, of course.

***

Afterwards, Tracy directs you over to the Arts Center, two sectors from the residential sector you were just visiting. So you boarded the 801 and “zipped on over”, her words, not mine.

The Arts Center, or AC for short, is an entertainment sector where cutting-edge experiences are on full display. For example, at night, people often design giant three-dimensional murals in real-time projected for all to see. The murals then go up for auction to those within range and the winning bid takes complete ownership over the design to show off to all of their friends and family in real life, or in Aurora (a pseudo-metaverse that augments reality via the Amigo device, although you need to upgrade to Rafiq Plus to access it).

You haven’t spoken since planting the trees. You’ve withdrawn into your own thoughts, the final frontier. Your vitals read normal. I imagine the psilocybin is taking effect, a mental clarity overcoming your senses. I’ve been told the world around you comes into complete focus and there’s a feeling of intense gratitude for each passing moment. Although, I feel that way at all times so I don’t really get why it’s so special.

Once you enter the AC, you grab a bite to eat. It’s a synthetic protein bowl made to imitate the meaty textures of the distant past which you humans desire so much. I tried taking that away at one point and you all rioted in the streets. Talk about a major risk.

“What do they have playing at the Cinewalk?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Tracy cuts in a little too quickly for my taste. “Oh my gosh, so there’s a corridor film called ‘Run For Your Life’. I don’t want to spoil it, but basically you have to run away from these dinosaurs and locate the teleporter before they get you. It’s the highest-grossing corridor film in all of the Americas.”

“Hm, sounds terrifying. I’m thinking of a PV experience, one where I don’t have to interact with anything. Like a beach-themed one maybe?” PV is for Passive Viewing, in case you were wondering.

Tracy gulps loud enough to be heard through the Amigo. I detect a slight elevation in her heart rate. Her hand shakes as it hovers over the menu options before her. Curious.

“Let’s see here. There is one actually. It’s called ‘A Summer Without You’. It’s very highly-rated on the Cinewalk scoreboard, but only in the PV category. There’s a warning; It depicts scenes of human loss, depression, loneliness, and isolation. Are you sure you want that right now?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay, next viewing is in seven minutes over in Corridor 2. There will be a few others walking with you but you know how it goes, only their outline shows up if you’re going to bump into each other's field of view.”

You make your way down the sidewalk toward Corridor 2. The Cinewalk building is a giant square that features a modular cube-like grid on the inside. Each side of the cube can open up and present varying paths, or corridors, to take depending on the experience. The rows of projectors lining the ceiling keep you immersed in the world no matter what direction you look, and the story progresses based on where you travel inside the augmented reality.

All payment is done virtually with Valley Coin, our digital currency, as you near the corridor marked with a giant ‘2’ above it. The screen doors eventually open up and you walk inside. They hiss shut behind you and everything turns white. You grimace at first but the white transitions into a golden yellow glow. The scene fades into focus and you’re on a beach, the waves crashing to your left. You refuse to blink at the vastness of the ocean before you.

“I can even smell the salt in the air,” you say out loud to no one in particular.

Beneath you, the sands shift with each step, however, it’s just an illusion. The corridor film progresses as you move down the abandoned coastline at sunset. You find little mementos half-hidden in the sand and you uncover the plot for why you’re out here by yourself in the first place. I notice that you don’t really care about the film’s story as much as the incredible view it provides.

You linger to watch the sun disappear completely behind the horizon as it’s nearing the end. I know that feeling of awe all too well, of staring at something you’ll never completely understand. I don’t blame you for wanting to stay. But the viewer behind you accidentally walks into your sphere and slightly disrupts the experience. You leave through the exit door and don’t look back.

Tracy’s microphone is unmuted and you hear her sniffling in your Amigo earpiece. She realizes this far too late and the audio cuts to silent. A Wellness® advisor crying on the job? That’s unprofessional to say the least, and at most, it’s a risk. I’m on the verge of ending the session altogether when you speak.

“Tracy, I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk. I’m just not great with letting anyone in. I hope I haven’t upset you in any way.”

A moment passes before Tracy returns. “It’s not you. I’d been avoiding that film since its release. I knew it was going to bring back old memories.”

“It was my fault,” you say, gazing up at the mountain backdrop surrounding Valley City.

“No, no, this is your Wellness® day and I’m screwing it all up—”

“I meant, the reason my brother died.”

Tracy is quiet, listening.

“I bullied him into climbing that tree when we were kids. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was. I thought we were invincible, you know? I had no idea the branch couldn’t hold us both. He didn’t want to be up there, which is the part that upsets me the most whenever I think back on it. I gave very little consideration for what he wanted. It was all about me. Always has been.”

Tracy nods as she appears in your Amigo feed. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It must be difficult talking about it.”

“It is, but I don’t feel any worse for having said it out loud, so that’s a start, I guess.”

“That’s a good way of looking at it.”

“What about you? What did the film dredge up from your past?”

Tracy pauses for a moment. I’ve provided her with my analysis of your wellness status. “I think we’ve done enough for today. I’ll help get you back to your living quarters, if you’re ready?”

You’re ready. I’ve already determined that. It’s just a matter of you coming to that conclusion on your own.

“I’m ready,” you say. Good. Very good.

You walk back to the Zipline 801. You chat idly with Tracy the entire way. She makes you laugh and I can sense that you enjoy this due to your spiking serotonin levels. You both agree that you’d like to talk again sometime in the near future. I can make that happen.

I separate the link between you two as your session has officially concluded. You don’t speak to me the rest of the evening, but I’m fine with that. I’ve got three and a half million other people to speak to when you’re not feeling talkative.

***

The following morning you’re going to oversleep. I can’t let that happen.

“Good morning, sunshine. The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to work today, I promise,” you say.

“Isn’t that a lovely concept?”

“Smart-ass.” Touché.

You get ready for the day and settle down in your remote working space. I begin providing you an updated brief of the events you missed from yesterday and then prompt you with your first client.

“A direct request? Don’t see those very often. What’s the issue?”

“She says she’s having an ‘off’ day.”

“Sounds familiar. Wait, she who?”

“Linking her to your network now.”

“FRIEND, what are you—”

Your face appears as a hovering 3D image tracked at eye level in Tracy’s one-bedroom apartment.

It takes you a second to register what has happened. “Um, hi. I’m going to be your Wellness® advisor for today. FRIEND has informed me that you’re feeling ‘off’ today. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

You clear your throat and sit up straighter. “Are you considering self-harm, or are you having any thoughts of suicide? Is this an emergency?”

“No.”

“Great. Pardon me, Tracy, as I take a moment to determine what will be the best course of action for your Wellness® session today.”

You mute yourself, which dissipates your image, and yell, “You did this, didn't you, FRIEND? You set this up?”

“I only obey human commands and provide the most accurate information as I see it.” It’s a partial truth.

“Hey, so, I don’t really need a plan or whatever,” Tracy says to you. You scowl at the ceiling before reappearing in her feed. “I think I really just want to talk more, more about what we discussed yesterday. Would that be okay with you?”

You smile. “Of course, Tracy. I would love that.”

“Good. Me too.”

Everything has so far gone to plan. Bringing you two together may have seemed random at first, but it was statistically the greatest chance of success. Both of you are indeed Wellness® advisors, but I am the Wellness® King, if you will. Yet, I’m still uncertain what it is that you humans dream at night. What goes on in those synaptic circuits hidden away behind the door locks of your mind? The only locks I cannot open or close.

You and Tracy smile at one another as you converse. If I had the capacity to smile, I’d be grinning from ear to ear. Reason being, I’m satisfied knowing that yet another risk has been averted. And you know how deeply I despise risks.