Happiness

At 6:25 am on the dot, my alarm started to chime out into the dark of my bedroom. The shrill buzzing sound pierced my ears, waking me from my dreamless sleep. I sat up and pulled away the dull grey linen sheets off my body. I peeled off my slept-in clothes and got into my outfit for the day. White shirt, black pants, black socks, and black shoes. From the top of my dresser, I took out a small pair of diamond stud earrings, an heirloom from a great grandmother on my mother’s side. Today was a special occasion, so I felt the justification that I could pull them out. Today was my birthday. The one day out of the year that I always looked forward to the most. Today was the day where I would finally be able to have my one indulgence, one full hour of happiness, and my favorite meal.

I shook my wrist awake and checked the display that glowed, hovering just above my skin. In a faint blue light, displayed Happiness; 37.01 hours. Underneath that my other totals were displayed; Sadness 23.78 hours, Anger 17.65 hours. I pulled up my bills and quickly used as much of my sadness and fear to take the lion's share of the balances the best I could. The counters on both rapidly shrank to a dark red zero on everything but happiness, but that had taken a severe hit too. 1.65 hours of happiness stared back at me from the display when I reopened my balance. If I could have felt anything at that point, it might have been sadness. But as it was, no emotions were being used at the moment.

Breakfast, like all meals, was simple. I went over to the cupboard and took out one of the identical cardboard boxes from the shelf. The white box simply read Food, in a sans-serif font. I pulled one of my bowls down and measured out one cup of water into the bowl. Slowly, so as to not spill, I dumped the cream-colored powder into the water and stirred it until the mixture started to congeal into a slightly damp oatmeal-like consistency. All the nutrients I would need for the morning were packed into that one box. It was tasteless, but it got the job done. The food would rotate in the microwave for 3 minutes while I sat and read the morning news.

“Statistics from law enforcement are showing that the use of synphoria is still on the rise, which can be seen as the number of hospitals being overcrowded with withdrawal cases is at an all-time high. Government officials are voting today on a new bill that will increase the penalties for using the synthetic emotion stimulator. The number of deaths related to the drug have increased as well. Hospitals are reporting record high numbers of patient intakes as well.” I read the words on the page. Death and suffering are sad, I thought to myself. It had been such a long time since I’d truly felt sad though, I couldn’t remember exactly why.

I walked to the outside of my building, and took my spot on the light grey sidewalk, waiting for the bus to arrive. I lined up behind my next-door neighbor, staring at her perfectly still figure in front of me. Her tight brown bun rested neatly at the base of her neck. We both stood, staring directly forward, not speaking. It was a typical morning for everyone around me I could see. No extra emotions from anyone to throw around today. It made sense as it was the start of a new month, and most bills would be due. I doubted anyone would have anything extra to spare.

The bright white bus stopped directly in front of our line, number 712. A quick beep from the scan of my wrist took the fare from my balance. I walked down the aisle and sat in the first seat that was open. I sat down next to the same man I usually ended up paired with for most of our commutes. His bright blue eyes stood out in contrast to his slightly pale complexion and short cropped black hair. I could tell he was attractive, the curves of his jawline, the slight flare of his nose, but there was no reaction from my senses. I could only feel the recognition that this man was handsome. My eyes quickly flitted back to the front of the bus, as I watched the unembellished buildings on our block pass us by.

The route through the city wandered through wealthier parts of town. It was easy to spot the transition as the buildings became more colorful and ornamental as the incomes of their occupants increased. A tall archway curved to form the entrance to one particular building. The metal frame of the gate formed an ornate tree. Tiny birds delicately perched on the ends of a number of the branches, each of the feathers carved into their bodies with such detail they almost looked real. The amount of work that must have gone into sculpting each piece, every crack of the bark, the veins on the leaves. It was a sight to see. When you had enough emotion to spare, you could appreciate things like color, and form. But it was all lost on me at this point. In my present state, the details were as stimulating as the divots and cracks on a sidewalk.

The use of happiness as a stimulant was a luxury I could only indulge in once a year. I had picked my birthday since it had a more considerable meaning. I felt that this one small celebration would justify my wastefulness. When you were only able to afford an hour once a year, you had to try and make it last. We passed the small bakery that I would be heading to on my way back from work. The memory of the taste of the chocolate cake I would be eating later didn’t make me happy, but I knew that I wanted it.

The memory of emotions was a strange feeling to have, I knew that happiness was the best feeling I’d ever experienced. It felt more like an echo, a whisper of something long forgotten. It would start as a sensation of warmth that coursed through my body, starting in my chest, and rolling through to my fingers and toes. It was as if light had started to touch everything surrounding me, and I was feeling it all truly for the first time. Everything my senses could perceive would be magnified and expounded on to the point where I felt like I would burst. Happiness was such a powerful feeling it was almost impossible to accurately describe. Once it was gone, the bland banality would set back in. I could remember what it felt like, but I couldn’t replicate the feeling again. I knew that I wanted to feel it again more than anything. The only blessing was that it wasn’t replaced by hurt or sadness like synthetic emotions were, just numbness. Although I’d never tried using synphoria, I could understand the appeal. For some, it was better to feel something rather than nothing at all.

The bus made its stop in front of the doors of my building, and I waited my turn to get out. I followed the single line of people filing into my building in front of me, and up to the steel and glass doors of the looming building I worked in. Down the hall to the first elevator on the left. There were no buttons to push, just a silent ride stopping on each floor. The elevator opened its doors at floor number three, and I followed the other rider who had stepped out.

I made my way into my office, and over to my cubicle. It was here that I would sit for the remainder of the day, taking calls from customers with questions regarding their emotional balances. Most of my calls were forwarding disputes to the technical department for analysis from people who believed they were experiencing some sort of technical malfunction. Occasionally I would have a call from someone who was coming down from synphoria and just wanted someone to yell at. From the moment the hold music stopped, and the call started on my end, they would be screaming curses and threatening my life. Policy dictated that we had to spend at least 3 minutes on the call before we could hang up, so I would usually just let them yell since there wasn’t a whole lot else that I could do. They’d usually end the call before their time was up anyway.

Four hours later, I was able to hang up my headset for my 30-minute lunch. Everything was pristinely timed, and the nutrition was perfectly proportioned so that I wouldn’t have to feel any of the symptoms of hunger before my next meal. I only made a half packet of the food supplement today though. Having a slightly emptier stomach than usual did make my birthday a little more enjoyable for the fact that I was able to feel the relief that eating food while hungry brought.

Another four hours of phone calls, logging my notes, and watching the clock later, I was headed back home. Instead of taking my usual bus, I started to walk the opposite way. The building I was looking for was only a few blocks ahead. The closer I got to my destination, the more the city came to life. The food district of the city was purely indulgent, with color and patterns adorning every inch of visible space. Usually, the vibrancy would be wasted on my unfeeling senses. Today though, I stood and looked around, trying to keep a mental snapshot in my mind so that later I would be able to enjoy the memory of it.

The tiled walkway led to a dozen different restaurants. I looked ahead and saw the crimson red pagoda of my destination. Bangkok Rose Gardens hung on a sign in bright gold lettering at the entrance. I could smell lemon grass, ginger, and garlic wafting through the air as I pulled open the doors and headed inside. It was so thick; that I could almost taste it on my tongue.

The kiosk at the counter displayed two options for either a new order or pickup. I typed in my ID number, 81161625, and held my wrist up for payment. -0.1 has been deducted from your happiness total, glowed on my wrist as I took it away from the scanner, and sat to wait for my meal. A loud, “HA!” drew my attention toward the kitchen, and the cooks working in there.

“I’m telling you man, it’s the best thing I’ve seen this year!” the man said, slapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe when I have some free emotes to spare at home, I’ll have to check it out,” the other man replied.

Chefs, among other artisans, had some of the best jobs. While they were working, they had free access to all of their emotions. When the shutdown happened, society quickly learned that if you wanted to have anything close to good food, there had to be some sort of emotions behind it.

“Order number 89,” the overhead speakers announced, signaling me that my food was ready.

I stopped off at the bakery to grab my traditional chocolate cupcake, another small luxury that cost me a total of .05 happiness pulled from my reserves. My walk became progressively more monochrome the closer I got to home. The brightly colored facades would be replaced increasingly with cement, plain metal, and glass. My building was just like all the others in this section of the city, a tall rectangular monolith dotted with small windows going up the sides. They would have done away with the windows too were it not for the fact that the sun was still the best, and least expensive source of vitamin D that could be obtained.

I walked up the stairs to my floor and back into my apartment. I could feel the warmth on my fingers from the small container of massaman curry as I pulled it from the paper bag and set it gently on my table. In a small white box on the very bottom shelf, I pulled out my emerald-green tablecloth and placed the gold fork and knife on either side of my bowl. The last detail was to place a single gold candle on top of my cupcake. Everything was lined up neatly in front of me and ready.

I pulled my balance screen up again and tapped the happiness counter three times. A blank space appeared for me to input the amount of my emotion I wanted to release into my brain. I pressed the number 1 on my keypad and tapped the “OK” button.

A red warning popped up as I knew it would, “ARE YOU SURE WANT TO RELEASE 1 HOUR HAPPINESS, CURRENT BALANCE IS 1.5 HOURS”, the display read. I pressed the “OK” button one more time, and sat back, ready for the electrical impulses and rush of hormones to overtake my entire being. I scooped out a spoonful of the curry and waited.