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Curse of the Poisoned Apple

Monday. A student’s worst nightmare. I walk through the halls to my classroom; very aware of my rumpled uniform against my skin. I pass four green crates lying carelessly on the pale pink tiles and don't give them a second glance. Those crates are meant to contain the entire high school’s cell phones- how does the faculty not notice that the crates were empty?

As class began I proceed to do my daily cell phone rounds; I peek at some kids and sure enough their iPhones are already in their laps. Some shopping, some texting, most are updating their status. Pinpricks of anger burn behind my eyes and silently I pray that I should never get used to this.

What are these kids afraid of? Are they afraid for their brains of soft brown goo to harden? Are they afraid to think? Are they afraid of noticing their surroundings? Are they afraid to daydream and doodle and pass notes?

No, they are not afraid. They are addicted. And their addiction tells them that one quiet moment to themselves is impossible to withstand. They must keep occupied NOW. I close my eyes, letting the teacher’s voice help me drift toward the future… An army is marching across a touch-sensitive battlefield. The soldiers are clad in crisp white uniforms with large Apple symbols on their chests. They carry flags with the Apple symbol emblazoned across the white material. They will take over the world and only a few people will mind.

I smirk, then whip out my iPhone to share my reverie.




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