My apology for not replying to messages

Dear friend, I am sorry for not getting back to you on time. I am sorry for not getting back to anyone on time. Communication is the very life force of humanity. It is only through an exchange of ‘Sup..’s, does society move forward. When the thoughts of the mind stand clearly expressed and returned back to one with hearty LOLs, do we feel that we are human. I am sorry for impeding the pace of existence. I am sorry for not replying to your messages.

I know I have hurt you, by not allowing your messages to turn blue, by not getting back to you. Sometimes I think of why I am such a callous human being and I come up empty. Only when I go through our extensive chat history do I realise what a chore I am to communicate with. When you stare into the abyss, the least the abyss can do is say ‘nothing much’.

It is not that I don’t care about talking to people. Not that at all, in fact I use the normal tactic of using the vocal chords to strike notes into air and expel them through my mouth, twisting them through teeth and tongue to escape my body. Talking. I am more of a fan of talking, but I have not realised how set in my old fashioned ways I had become, not until you pointed it out to me. Actions speak louder than words and emoticons make action unnecessary. Only yesterday when you practically exploded in a rage did I realise the full depth of my depravity. But please, dear friend, please allow me to explain.

I have begun to resent my phone. Increasingly I keep it away from my body, and I feel it knows this somehow. It started off simply, with me forgetting my phone at home only to find it in my bag. I used to laugh off moments like these, attributing them to my own failing memory in my old age. I am in my late twenties after all, and my memory and joints are not what they used to be at their height, one year ago. But things started getting more and more odd, when I would purposefully leave the phone in the living room and then find it in my pocket later. It was almost as if the phone had found a way to bypass my consciousness, to sidestep logic and reason and the decisions I made with my will. It exists in a dark synchronicity with my thoughts itself, tying its existence to something primeval, to the very stuff of thought.

It’s not that I am stressed out by an endless torrent of text messages, although that is easy to happen. A foolish person would say that the more we talk to each other, the less things of value we really have to say. That every chime and vibration caused gut wrenching anxiety, because it required the ceasing of what I was doing in the present and reading and replying to the message before I got back to what I was doing. But that was never the end of it. After one reply, would come the reply to that, which also must be replied to. From one person, then two then three then five, all five ignoring the presence of other people and then my present became only about those were not present in it.

Of course the more things that lie unread, the worse it gets. I would take out my phone and the little red bubble would tell me five…ten…a hundred. It was too much to take! I tried to think of a solution, any solution! But nothing seemed to fit. Nothing other than the obvious.

I had to destroy my phone. It was the only remaining option! What else made sense!? That I received messages and then did not reply to them? How could I confess my inability to engage in nine conversations at once while my life was taking place apart from them.

The decision to end my phone was not an easy one, but it was the only one. The difficulty in the plan lay in that I had to constrain it completely to my mind. I could make no notes or take screenshots of drawings like I was accustomed to. This sounds crazy, but I felt like it knew. Its black eyes watching me as I paced around the room. Increasingly, I began to find my phone in more and more unusual places. In my bathroom, in my chest pocket. One morning I opened my eyes and I found it balanced on the edge of my nose, staring grimly at me. Its lifeless black screen an infinite byzantine well. I needed to make haste, it knew what I was thinking.

The final plan I made was terrible in its simplicity. It was too easy to work, people never consider the completely obvious. I went for a drive, I placed my phone on the passenger seat. The screen glowed, the red bubble swelling with the notifications One Fifty…Two Hundred Unread Messages…Five Thousand Unread Emails. My whole body shook from the effort it took to not look at it. To not just pick it up to see who or what it was!

I did not touch it, I continued to drive. The phone knew what was coming. It blinked and chimed and winked, desperately. Begging-pleading for attention! Aching to be touched and read or even silenced! But I would do nothing, I did nothing. I let all of it happen.

Twenty hours we drove, well out of city, out of civilisation itself on the edge of the endless desert outside. It was quiet outside. The phone chimed faster and faster and louder with different, new sounds. Things I had never heard before! A weaker man might have been convinced to check it. What is this new sound? Could it be an app notification? Does someone need to talk to me? Is everything happening? Is ANYTHING happening!? Is everyone dead!?

I sat quietly in the car, and let it happen. The phone sang its last throes. One percent battery life, I had never let it go so low. Who was so cruel and empty? I wasn’t. I had become this person. That’s when I heard it, an unmistakable sound. A scream. Of longing and agony, of suffering. A last cry, an appeal to humanity. A death knell. But I was unmoved. The screaming grew louder and louder, the phone shook, it’s every fibre moving! A black ooze began to spew from it -a hissing, bubbling, gurgling, ooze overtaking the phone and flowing outward into everything -and then there was silence.

My phone was dead. I had let my phone die. I looked at the charred and soiled seat next to me. My hands finally stopped shaking. I wiped my tear strained cheeks and got out.

One last thing to do. I set my car ablaze, a fiery roar to finally put an end to the creature inside. I was free. Free at last.

Anyway, that is why I haven’t been replying to your messages friend. My phone is like, totally fucked.

8 thoughts on “My apology for not replying to messages

  1. Read the apology in an already agonized state of mind. Hoping to stumble upon something funny, on the contrary ,the agony in the article made me laugh! thank you

    Like

  2. This is beautiful. It was only yesterday that i came to know of your existence. Became a fan. Brilliant stuff. Words have been and will always continue to be the strongest mode to connect. You are a genius.

    Like

  3. You making me like you so much each day !!!! Comedy is just one part of you ! There is so much more !!! Feel strong connection ! much love 😍

    Like

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