Virtual Reality 2056

I don’t often remember my dreams, but yesterday was different. Arriving home just before midnight after working a late shift, everything in the house was quiet, my wife and son already in bed. Raiding the fridge, I helped myself to a large portion of mac and cheese which I zapped in the microwave, gobbling it down like a hungry turkey. I slumped into an armchair to unwind by listening to some music. Tired and sated, I fell into a deep sleep and began to dream.

I found myself at the back of a brightly lit room in which a couple of dozen people were milling around. A thin man standing at the front caught my eye. He looked haggard and spent. True he had cheekbones to die for and a mop of golden curls that would have graced any cherub, but the rest of him was a mess. His skin was the colour putty, his eyes were like two piss-holes in the snow and his hands shook so much that he was steadying himself by holding onto the back of a nearby chair. He was wearing an unusual grey one-piece suit and I suddenly realised that almost everyone else was wearing a similar style outfit. The room we were in was strange too, rather like a bad sci-fi set, but laid out in the traditional format for a meeting, with a table at the front and curious looking white plastic chairs set in rows.

“Would you please take your seats,” said a woman with close cropped red hair in a blue one-piece suit, moving to the front of the room. She spoke quietly to the man I’d first noticed, and he seated himself in the front row.  I sat down too and found that the chair seemed to shape itself around me in the most comfortable way I’ve ever experienced. The woman waited until the scraping of chairs had stopped and private conversations died down, before she continued.

“Good evening, friends. Welcome to this month’s meeting of the People’s Institute. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Dr Eve Strong. I’m a senior lecturer in social history at Eldon Gray University where I specialise in the period 2000 to 2045. Tonight, our subject is Virtual Reality.”

“I’m delighted that we have Joe with us this evening to share his personal experiences,” she said, motioning to the man in the front row. “But before that, I’m going to give you a very brief history of VR. I’ll try to keep it short, but if you’ve read my latest book ‘Virtually Everything’ you’ll know that brevity is not one of my strongest qualities.” A few people chuckled, pleased to be in on the joke.

“Virtual reality today, in 2056, has come a long way from the clumsy visors and pre-programmed devices of the first few decades of the twenty-first century. Then they were just personalised film screens, barely interactive and engaging little more than a person’s vision and imagination. Technological advances helped to improve the visual effects and interaction, but the real breakthrough came from the work of Dr Hans Olsen, who in 2038 discovered how to incorporate olfactory elements into the experience and pioneered tactile stimuli too. As a result, VR took off and the Virtuscope was developed; a machine or perhaps I should say an experience which enabled you to submerge yourself and all your senses in a virtual reality of your own making.” She paused before continuing.

“Like everything new from ball-point pens to computers, the cost of a Virtuscope was extortionate at first, but in time, as always happens, prices dropped, and they became affordable to any working person. At the same time, the range of realities on offer extended to the point where you could have any experience you wanted. A few moral crusaders opposed them, but the benefits of VR were too easily sold. Since the early 2000’s there was a major problem with obesity and it was discovered that if you ate virtually, the stomach and the brain felt satisfied and hunger feelings went away, so people used VR to lose weight. It became essential in hospitals too, where it helped patients with severe pain to experience positive and happy sensations by blocking out the pain receptors in the brain. In hospices, cancer wards and burns units, VR was a wonderful development. But it caused problems too, as Joe here is about to tell us.”

There was a gentle ripple of applause as with an effort Joe got to his feet and turned towards us, his eyes darting around like those of a trapped animal, his hands shaking.

 “Hello. My name is Joe and I am a virtual reality addict. Today I choose to believe that the world outside my Virtuscope device is reality, not the one inside it, though I’m still struggling to work out what is real and what is not. So, I’m hoping that you guys sitting here are all real.”

There was a ripple of laughter, a collective outburst of relief from the tension of watching Joe struggling to speak to us. I was captivated but didn’t laugh, there was something about him that was so familiar. He continued.

“I’ve been told that talking about my addiction will be good for me, but right now all it seems to do is remind me how enjoyable virtual reality is. Or should I say “was”, to show that it’s a thing of my past. But even though I say that, I know VR is there any time I want it and fighting my addiction is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Thank God I’m not doing it alone.”

“We’re right with you Joe,” a voice near the front shouted, and several others responded with grunts of support.

“Thanks guys,” Joe said. “As Dr Strong mentioned, machines were very expensive at first and I certainly couldn’t afford one. I began using the local Virturoom in the next block, where for a few credits I could while away a couple of hours in a world which was a lot less stressful and a great deal more fun than my everyday life.” He licked his lips and continued to speak but his voice had dried up. Dr Strong stepped in and passed him a glass of water which he drank in a single gulp. Someone laughed but was shushed.

“Sorry about that,” he said, before continuing. “If my habit had stayed that way, maybe everything would have been alright, because time slots were controlled and the VR experiences on public machines were limited, mainly consisting of games and adventures of interest only to teenage boys and escapist geeks like me. But as Dr Strong explained, prices fell, so I was able to buy my own machine.”

He reached over and topped up his glass of water, but this time only took a sip.

“To be honest with you, I’ve always found ways to block out emotional pain and the tedium of life. Call me old fashioned but over the years, alcohol, dope, pills, gambling, sex, porn and shopping all worked fine for me. I could manage those things without too many consequences - in fact I held down my job for twenty years whilst doing most of that stuff. But the Virtuscope was completely different, because I could do all of those things if I wanted to, plus a lot more besides, without any of the side effects and with 100 times more pleasure. Those old substances and processes soon seemed shallow and one-dimensional compared with virtual experiences of adventure, sex and travel – including going back in time. With VR I’ve had trips to most places in the world without leaving the comforts of my own home. In the old days we could fly from New York to London in about 7 hours –now it’s more like 12 hours as non-polluting planes do the Atlantic route. But with VR you can be there even quicker and without any of the hassle. One minute, you’re at home in New York, the next you can be in Sydney, Paris, Moscow or wherever the fancy takes you. I’ve stayed at the best hotels on the planet, sampled their facilities and enjoyed the best food from around the world too. Not to mention the choice of any sexual partners, with licence to do anything - and I mean anything. No guilt, lies or repercussions, just total and unsullied pleasure, because in the VR world there are no moral consequences. You shape the world to fit with your own needs and desires. Anything you do is okay, because it’s your world, created around your morality. Imagine that – there’s no one on this planet who hasn’t at one time fantasised about getting revenge on someone, having sex with an unattainable person or doing things that are normally impossible. Well, with VR everything is possible.”

“Does that sound like paradise? Take it from me, it is for a while, but eventually everything starts to turn sour. Like any addiction, people get hurt. Not in VR, but in real life.  For example, my kids. The reality here is that I don’t – can’t see them any longer. My long-suffering wife put up with all the mean spirited and miserable crap I threw at her when I didn’t like the real world, or when she dared to suggest that my VR time wasn’t good for the family. Finally, she reached breaking point and left, taking the children with her. Then there were my employers and fellow workers who put up with my moods, tiredness and inadequately explained absences or early departures from work, not to mention a growing incompetence and inability to do the job. Finally, there were my friends who I haven’t seen or bothered to contact for months or maybe years on end, discarded like so much trash. I may never have robbed innocent strangers, but I sure hurt plenty of people who knew me. Ultimately, I hurt myself most of all.”

“They say you must hit rock bottom before you stop. Last Wednesday I came out of a VR session and found myself in a dark room. Nobody else was in the flat and there was a bad smell which turned out to be coming from me. I’d had a 36-hour session and my eyeballs ached. I felt cold and tired which no amount of VR sleep could replace. What was the point? I was even exhausted by pleasure. The only thing that going back for yet another session would do, was to help me feel normal for just a while longer. But it was all false. I was empty inside, hollowed-out, as if only a shell of the real me remained. This couldn’t go on. I had to end it all.

I wandered out onto the small balcony and looked down to the ground, fourteen floors below me. I’ve always found it hard to walk across high bridges because I’m aware that every moment is filled with the possibility that I could jump. Maybe that was because I had a sense of my destiny and jumping was always going to be my final taste of reality. I moved closer to the rail and climbed over, ready to leap into the void. As I did so, I took one last look up at the clear night sky and saw the moon and a myriad of stars. I thought of the beautiful Van Gogh painting of A Starry Night, a tenth birthday present that I had always kept on my bedroom wall. I remembered a quotation from somewhere about the heavens declaring God’s glory and looking up again, I cried out to this God for help. Suddenly, I experienced a powerful sensation of being loved, followed by an intense longing to live. Trembling, I came back over the railing to safety and staggered into my living room. Still shaking, I located my phone and was able to contact the VR helpline, where I spoke to John who has helped me through my first few days of recovery. I’ve begun the long journey of finding out who the real me is and I’m taking my first tentative steps to reclaim that person. I’m grateful that I’m alive and at this moment in time, I’ve had 5 days in reality and today at least, I plan to stay here.” He paused briefly before continuing. “That’s all I’ve got to say but thanks for listening.”

At that point I woke up. Initially I was disorientated, but quickly realised that I’d been dreaming and was back in my home in 2024, sitting in complete darkness, the automatic timer having turned out the lights. Switching off the music I headed upstairs to bed, but still unsettled by the dream, I called into the bedroom in which our nine-year-old son Joe lay sleeping. Snuggled up, Joe looked small and vulnerable. I knelt beside the bed and gently stroked the golden curls of his hair. Suddenly, in that moment, I knew who the man in my dream was and what I had to do. A Van Gogh picture might be an odd present for my son’s forthcoming 10^th birthday, but you’re never too young to be introduced to great art and anyway, if I was right, one day it might help to save his life.