Unfortunately, through the screen, it’s not possible to hear the different voices that populate the multiple spaces full of characters that our eyes scroll every day. The multitude of tabs the average young human being opens every day on his computer are always silent, when he reads them. Of course, there’s a voice in his head. It’s his own, a voice that quickly browses among the perfectly shaped letters, that often jumps from a paragraph to another, bored by what it finds, but still focused on reaching the end, on finding the meaning of the topic, on discovering what the title promised, before clicking on it. Imagine a different voice, still feminine, but different, on this article. Because this time, it’s not the writer who makes herself reading inside your mind, but a character. A quite recent creation, one of the many that prevailed on the others, or, maybe, just overtook the queue, and was so lucky to precede other things, now over there, at the end, that will be, sooner or later, first too. The voice inside of your mind is Felicia and, if you wish to give a shape to this voice, imagine it as a girl in her late 20s, with a brunette fringe that rarely stays at its place, green eyes and very fair skin. My story is quite peculiar. It might seem predictable, but it’s not. Not every character created by writers are lucky enough to say they are different. I don’t know any of them, but I heard that some of them look too much alike, that they don’t have an interesting life and that, worst nightmare of every character, they bore the reader. Personally, I hope I don’t belong to them. I’m not sure, now, but I know my creator believes very much in me, and if she has this much faith in me, I’ll try everything not to disappoint her. I was saying that I have a peculiar story. In my world, calendars mark the year 2194. I live in a not too big apartment, on one of the highest floors of that Parisian glass skyscraper that you could notice from whatever corner of the city you were in.
It’s a good thing, to live on the highest floor. These skyscrapers, called Centres, have a hierarchical structure even in their physical part. Who has a humble profession, lives near the ground level, who has a more important profession, lives near the clouds. What makes a profession more or less important? Well, the System’s goal is to create a survival plan for our species and our planet. I don’t want to act tragic, but it is really falling into pieces, and the only one left is the one that includes the few surviving cities, including mine. So, according to the System, if someone’s job is more helpful to reach the existential goal of all of us, this someone has the right to live on the best floors of the skyscraper. Practically speaking, it doesn’t change much, considering how few hours everyone spends at home. I spend the majority of my time in my lab. I’m a chemical engineer of the Centre in Paris, and I take care of the development of serums. I can’t say anything more about my job; I signed a confidentiality agreement when I finished my brief recruiting class and became an apprentice. I surely don’t want to take a risk, revealing secrets that the System wants to be such. Sometimes, when I’m not absorbed in my work and I have a little time to thing about something else, I wonder about how fun, but also weird, is the moment my creator got the idea for my story. She was watching the news and, although she can’t clearly remember what was the news that caused this thought, everything started with “How would the world be, without certain people?” Many of us, during our lives, take hasty choices, too often stupid. But, how would our world be without those choices? In no time, the idea grow and took a different path from the one my creator expected, but my colleagues and I are sure that it will thrill you, at least as much as it thrills us. Even because, it’s our life! If it’s not thrilling, what life is that?