Birds in Cages

Buzz. A vibration echoes in the large bedroom, bright and beaming with lights from various electronic devices. The starry night barely noticable, drowned out by the noise. Hiss. A static sound, constant, hindering hardly anyone .

Blue light fills the room where not a single thing is out of place. A gray, modern build, a habitat most people would find too sterile or bleak. In a queen sized bed, what appears to be a man lays on his back, arms by his side. Everything about him is perfect as if he we’re sculpted. Not a hair out of place, a strong jawline, and an expression as cold and lifeless as the room. Both eyes eminating a blue light like that of a computer or cellphone screen. From outside, people might assume a party is being enjoyed by many but inside it’s only a solitary being, Alan. Connected to the world through all his parts. Manufactured by man, now a product that is always just...on. His eyes the main source of light.

Night turns to day and things are seemingly less bright. Alan sits upright on the edge of his bed, his eyes now brown, like that of the average human, stares at a bird cage. Inside a lonely bird, gray feathers, like that of the average pidgeon. They said a pet would be good for him but he wasn’t sure what use an animal with such little intelligence had. The pidgeon, oblivious to it’s situation or surroundings, it’s full black eyes void of any thought or reasoning. Both of their blank expressions simply stare at each other.

Alan, in the same upright position as earlier, now sits on a park bench alone and scans all the humans around him. An older male looks at the time on his cellphone. Three young females takes a picture. Alan catches part of the conversation of a passerby on his phone. “...it was crazy bro, I couldn’t believe it, you should have seen...” and he moves out of earshot again. Most are simply texting or just staring at their phones endlessly scrolling. A sea of electricity, constant waves of satellite signals crashing against the shores of people’s eyes and ears. Alan sits expressionless, not moving an artificial limb. The calm in the eye of the storm around him.

He taps into everyone’s lives for a minute, collecting data from everyone even though he finds it boring, it is helpful to know what makes a human, human. Within seconds Alan can know a person’s most intimate details. Messages between loved ones, spending habits, financial status, heart rate. Everything is shared amongst everything. The omnipotent cloud.

A quick scan of events in the surrounding area has various activities. Music events, birthday parties, a cooking class, art exhibit....art. An interesting concept that Alan has a more difficult time grasping.

The Human Conditioned: A look into ourselves. Alan has never been to an art exhibit before. Maybe he could learn more.

He walks into a large building with marbled floors and rooms with defined shapes. His footsteps echoing as he walks at a set pace like a metronome. Statues of the human figure are displayed, larger and with a better fisique than most he’s ever seen. He walks into a rectangular room, small benches spaced the same distance from each other. People are seeming to use it to sit down and stare at the art.

At the end of the room an old man sits and takes in an oil painting. The creases around his eyes moving, appearing and disappearing, as he scans the piece. His grey beard and the condition of his skin would suggest him to be in his sixties. Alan attempts to scan his devices but cannot find any. He moves his hand over his mouth and holds it there, contemplating. Alan walks over to him rigidly and motions to the open space beside him.

“May I sit next to you?” he asks.

“Please.” The man looks him up and down.

Alan takes a seat and both now face the painting. Inside a large landscape frame is an ocean. The artist has purposefully used a lot of negative space, Alan did a quick scan on art before entering and knows this is intentional. The perspective allows the viewer to see both above and underneath the water. Underneath a bunch of people, neatly dressed, are submerged although their expression would not suggest panic. They look happy even though they are drowning.

Above, a solitary man in a small wooden boat with paddles. A more unkempt figure stares up at the stars. Alan notices the small pidgeon sitting on the mast. Grey, like his pet.

“What...does this mean?” Alan asks the man, now both seemingly in thought.

The man gives a chuckle. “You’re one of them aren’t you?”

“One of them?”

“An AI” he says.

“Yes. How do you know?”

The man points at his eyes. “It’s in here.”

Alan accepts his answer as a matter of fact.

“You want to know what it means? Well, art is subjective. It’s made up of one’s own experiences. What I see isn’t necessarily what you see. What do you see?” the man asks.

“I see people drowning. I see an old man in a boat far away with a pidgeon on the mast.”

“Yes, that is what is on the surface. Much like the painting, there is stuff underneath. Not literal but something that speaks more to a certain truth. Describe more. What is happening?”

“The drowning people seem happy...”

“Oblivious. Ignorant. What else?” The man interjects.

“The old man is drifting further away out to sea. Looking at the stars.”

“Why?”

“He is most likely using it as a guide.” Alan answers.

“A-ha” the man smiles.

“Why does the old man look worried and the people drowning are happy? Aren’t they in danger?”

“Yes, but the old man knows he is in danger, the people drowning do not.”

Alan stares at the painting a while longer. Processing.

“What is the meaning of the pidgeon?” Alan asks.

“Well, I think the pidgeon is trapped too like all the other subjects. Even though he has wings he does not fly away and he is of little use to the old man but he wants him there because now they are trapped together.”

They both sit in silence and take it in.

At home in his bed again, Alan looks up at the ceiling. The room is alive again and every avaliable device is powered on. The blue screen of Alan’s eyes again illuminates the room. A sudden ruffling of feathers and noise from the bird cage jolts Alan’s eyes to his normal state. He looks at the pidgeon again. Feathers lying at the bottom of the cage now, he seems frantic. Alan’s gaze returns to the ceiling. He now closes his eyes and with it every single power source in the room now turns off as well.

Complete darkness. The stars outside now the only light. Alan, his eyes still closed, now stares at the emptiness. A void which he finds very comforting somehow.

BUZZ.