12 posts tagged with "Alienation"

K. stood in the Comprehensive Student Services Hall, clutching the crumpled receipt in his hand like a useless map. The air hung thick with a peculiar mixture of disinfectant and old paper. He needed to return a skirt—a pale lavender pleated skirt he had never intended to buy, yet which had somehow materialized in his shopping bag. It should have been a simple task, like erasing a misplaced punctuation mark, but he quickly discovered that what he was trying to erase might be an entire, incomprehensible text.

The people of this city believe in an unquestionable truth: nine o'clock at night is the boundary dividing states of being. To cross it, entering slumber, is akin to activating an invisible machine, infusing life with order, efficiency, and an indescribable 'correctness'. On street propaganda posters, citizens with serene sleeping faces are bathed in soft moonlight, set against a background of gears and wheat sheaves symbolizing abundance and health. The caption is concise and powerful: "Early Bedtime: The Cheat Code to Perfection."

K, or let's call him Old Wang for now – names, after all, had long been worn down to vague designations in this endless hustle – rode his creaking electric scooter, navigating the maze-like veins of the city. Today, the system had assigned him a special order, marked "Urgent" and "Medicine." The remarks section pleaded, "Life-saving medicine, please be quick, only an old person at home." The address pointed to an old residential complex on the city's edge, a place like a forgotten fold hidden beneath the glossy surface of the metropolis.

Old Li was used to giving his son a big red envelope on New Year's Eve for good luck. In previous years, they were always bulky, tangible ones, wrapped in brand-new red paper, heavy and filled with human touch. This year was different. His son was far overseas, so he could only send an electronic red envelope.

He opened his phone, found his son on WeChat, hesitated for a moment, tapped on the red envelope, and typed in the auspicious number "888". At the moment he confirmed sending it, he felt like something was missing. He missed the texture of the red paper, the ritual of handing it over, and the joy his son would have when receiving the envelope.

Old Wang, a retired teacher in his fifties, had recently become obsessed with grabbing red envelopes. Not the kind of small change in WeChat groups, but a newly popular "immersive red envelope rain" in the city.

This red envelope rain requires wearing special AR glasses in a designated area to experience. When you put on the glasses, you see gold ingots and red envelopes flying all over the sky. Reach out and you can "grab" money, which is directly deposited into your electronic account. For this, Old Wang specially bought a new pair of AR glasses and also enrolled in a "digital life" training class for the elderly.

Old Wang had been working at the gas station for ten years. Every morning, he put on the blue uniform that could never be completely clean, stood beside the cold gas pump, and began his mechanical day. “Hello, welcome! What kind of fuel do you need?” “Okay, fueling, please wait a moment,” “Fueling complete, please drive safely!” He had to repeat these words hundreds of times a day, like a programmed machine.

Recently, the company introduced a new “incentive system.” Each attendant wore a small loudspeaker on their chest, which would automatically play a pre-recorded pep talk whenever a customer drove into the station: "Add oil! Let's be full of energy today!", "Add oil! Life is like a gas tank, full of power!", "Add oil! Speed up for your dreams!"

"My luck has been terrible lately, I can't even grab a prize from a claw machine," Xiao Ai muttered to herself, carefully examining her newly done nails in the mirror. The tips glittered like tiny, unreal jewels. She had just been promoted at work, and being the “rolling king” of her department, this was a small treat for herself.

Old Wang stared at himself carefully in the mirror. The face in the mirror was yellow, as if it had just been pulled out of a dye vat, but not a pure yellow, rather a strange color mixed with specks of orange, like the flesh of a low-quality tangerine. He reached out and touched his cheek, feeling that his skin seemed rougher than before, with a sandy texture, like sandpaper.

Today was the third day of Old Wang's "color change."

"Dear passengers, welcome aboard this smart train provided by Voyah Chasing Light. The final destination of this train is: Hometown.”

The sweet female voice in the broadcast was like honey, making people feel warm inside. Li Ming took off his headphones, rubbed his tired eyes. Outside the train window, the scenery was receding rapidly, as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button. He glanced at his phone, the signal was full, but there were no new messages.

Old Wang was forcibly dragged into the "APT speed course."

He had worked at this Shanghai hot pot restaurant for nearly five years, evolving from a clueless newbie who only knew how to swish lamb into a "veteran" waiter. Life was pretty good; he just greeted guests and eavesdropped on gossip. But ever since the restaurant started this "international transformation," everything changed.