Voices

[email protected] stood outside SunGrinds morning beverage shop, surreptitiously holding a leaflet that had been distributed through the offline community. (The elders had access to something from the Reagan era called a copy machine, which allowed them to mass produce handwritten messages on pieces of paper.) As she studied their latest missive, [email protected] wished that she could do handwriting--it looked so official and elegant on the page.

The leaflet warned that the ingredients in the beverages the stores were selling were poison; the thick whipped cream and mocha sauces that made each beverage so sweet were actually coating consumers' vocal chords with a thin film. Even if anyone were allowed to talk--which had gone out of fashion during the Trump administration--they couldn't. The leaflet had also spoken of an earlier time, when one could order a singular beverage called "Coffee", which, in addition to being tasty, produced a feeling of energy. [email protected] was dying to try the simple coffee, which was drunk either black or with something called Half and Half.

[email protected] entered SunGrinds and got into the long line. There were four beverages on the menu to choose from: Mocha Coffeado with Whipped Cream and Hazelnut Syrup, Chocolate Mocha Choca with Whipped Cream and Butterscotch, Vanilla Cremarama with Whipped Cream and Gelato Shot, and Triple Toffee Coffee with Triple Whipped Cream.

Finally, she reached the front.

The SunGrinds attendant looked at [email protected] and greeted her with an iPhone in her flattened palm. This was [email protected]'s cue to activate her beverage choice on her own iPhone. [email protected] had been quietly practicing this moment in a corner of her room for months. Her lips trembled. She thought she recognized a few people from the offline community, which gave her courage.

"Coffee." Her voice sounded hoarse, alien, certainly not as good as she would have liked. An electric current ran through SunGrind's morning commuters, who jittered and stared, with open-mouthed shock. [email protected] was infused with a strange surge of energy.

"Coffee with the Half and Half!" yelled [email protected], as the Sungrinds attendant covered her ears with her hands. Her iPhone dropped to the floor and shattered. The crowd twitched and jumped as if electrocuted. [email protected] was jubilant. She had saved the best for last. A din was rising through the commuters, jaws wobbling awkwardly like fish gasping on a shore.

"MY NAME IS ELENA! ELENA!" Her voice soared above all of the others, the unleashed voices of the crowd, who were croaking, strangling, struggling to exist.