Jaime tapped her pencil rhythmlessly against the edge of the worn-out wooden table as her eyebrows knotted together in deep concentration. Buzzzzz, a sudden vibration from Jaime’s wimbledrone sent her pencil flying as her heart skipped a beat. It had been a week now since her school started the new wimbledrone experiment but she still received a massive shock each time the wimbledrone made its presence known.
“Now what?” Jaime snapped as she picked up the robotic thing-of-a-bob by its disc-shaped body. “It’s time to meditate,” read the wimbledrone, also less affectionately known as WD. Jamie sighed as she did her best not to throw the WD in the direction of the rubbish bin. After all, she did put herself in this position with her spat with the headmaster on the ethics of disciplining students who arrived “on time”, at least, according to her internationally-synchronized watch. Jaime reluctantly obliged and sat down in a lotus position. Apparently, the WD had the ability to read and track every movement she made, and upload the collected information onto a larger database the school had access to. Jamie had her suspicions that the WD was invented as a device to monitor and track the movements of inmates, which added further development to the GPS controlling system with an instruction-issuing center. This would largely reduce the manpower needed to watch over the activities of inmates. Who knows, Jaime wondered, she could be a 100% right and everyone around her would still dismiss her ideas.
“Activity completed 5%,” beeped the WD. Jaime opened her right eye in slight annoyance and skepticism. If the machine wanted her to meditate, shouldn’t it facilitate the session by keeping quiet? Jaime closed her eyes again and went back to concentrating on her breathing. She had never really meditated before, and her thoughts wandered astray to the time her father screamed at her. She was twelve, and it was the first time he lost his temper at her. She could not even remember what her father was so upset about, but she remembered the look on his face when he said she deserved to be abandoned by her mother. He would later go back to being indifferent and never brought up that topic again, but it was etched in her memory.
Jaime never really understood why the other children maintained a distance. She could not be that intimidating, although she was quite the stubborn one who would maintain her stance even when faced with higher authority. Once she overheard some teachers speaking about how intelligent she was, but was “a shame” that she did not have a mother to teach her the ways of society. That stuck with her, for reasons unbeknown to her. Knowledge of the earth, of science and math came naturally to her, but she could never navigate the complexities of the human river. She would see people who obviously cared about each other leave words dangling in the air, forsaken in the name of being “cool”. She would see divisions among people, either intentional or unintentional, leaving someone hurt in the process. She would see “love”, the way some people threw the word around, and the way others would respond with a sharp intake of breath, as if taken aback to hear the gift meant for them.
“Activity completed 100%,” the sound of WD brought Jaime back to reality. She blinked a few times to readjust to the light, and was surprised to feel wetness on her face. “Oh WD,” Jaime sighed once again at the inanimate object as she narrated her favorite passage from Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman. “You’re color blind, Jean Louise, you always have been, you always will be. The only differences you see between one human and another are differences in looks and intelligence and character and the like. You’ve never been prodded to look at people as a race, and now that race is the burning issue of the day, you’re still unable to think racially. You see only people.”
*All similarities to real life are unintended