I ran down the barren hallway of white clean tiles stacked neatly, with no problems or dents, no sign of use or that anyone had ever entered this pristine building, even though it was where I had live the entirety of my miserable life. this was the place of my nightmares, and the only home I’ve known for the last fifteen years of my life. I didn’t know what I would face to see when I reached the outside world, but I knew it had to be better than the torture I had faced here. Soon, I was passing through the doors of the white building, and the sunlight hit my face again for the first time since I couldn't remember. I kept running though, and I heard the alarm start to ring just as I got out of eyesight. By the time the guards came out of the doors, I was long gone. I was finally free, and though I had nothing, I was on my way. I was finally, finally free.
Technology, the typing sounds of keyboards the night before a test is due that only seems to increase your panic that you won't finish it in time, the heartbreaking cracking sound that means that you broke your phone, your connection to the world. The glowing, floating sensation you get when the ringtone sounds that you had assigned specifically for your crush. This is what technology is really about. The feelings, the high-tech futuristic feel of an iPhone's smooth metal backing in your hand, the pride that you feel when your Instagram reaches a hundred followers. Not the popularity contest to have the best gizmos and techie toys. Not the millions of dollars the companies make each year. Not the hours and days and weeks and months that go into each new iPhone or ipod model that comes out. The feelings are what makes it popular, and keeps it popular. They connect you to the world, and anchor you in reality while giving you the sense that in the future, anything will be possible. That's what technology is about.
The swelling waltz played as the hesitant first coupled took to the floor, slightly clumsy and nervous, they had only learned about a week ago. Mandatory school balls were simply a part of life here, and the fact that the new 1st years had to take to the floor first only made it more awkward. the school, Nora thought, should really focus more on algebra and less on manners. Nevertheless, she and her assigned partner, Jon, took to the floor when it was their turn, and began to waltz around the room to the 1-2-3-1-2-3 of the melody. They seemed to be one of the better couples, due to their long extra practices, but they were still a bit shaky. They needed a good grade, though, so even though Jon stepped on her foot, she ignored it and tried not to draw attention. When you made a mistake at their school, that was what you did. You hid it and hoped like hell none of the professors would notice.
The things i remember when I look back on my life are the little things from my childhood, the things so small and unsubstantial that no one would ever think to notice them, let alone reflect on them when they were on their deathbed. The sound of a fan in my childhood bedroom, the heat and humidity of the summers spent with my dad in the south. The sounds of my old, long lost friend's laughs, back when we were young and laughter came so much more easily, naturally, as if we didn't have a care in the world, though we claimed we did. The boys we would soon forget took up our time and energy, and schoolwork seemed such a burden that we could never even imagine a time when there would be struggles more important in life then your Algebra 1 grade for the term or who you would go to the winter semi-formal with. Those things no one would remember as soon as they left home into the world. No one but me. I remember all of it. I miss it and long for those simple days when right and wrong were crystal clear. I wish it could have stayed that way forever, but all that remains of that time are my fading memories.