Matchstick City

I remember the first night I saw it, resting on the lab counter. “A device that simulates real-world autopilot.” That’s how they described it. They said it freed you from thought, from worry, from responsibility.

Weeks passed. Friends slipped into it, now living “contently” with glazed over eyes. They moved with a perfection that was both impressive and inhuman. I wanted to puke every time I came face-to-face with one of them. Eventually, people who took issue with this device began to rally together. Lila started the secret rebellion and kept it alive with fire in her voice. Every word she spoke was a match struck against the darkness.

“They’re trying to smother our flame,” she said, “and it’s essential that we don’t give in to it.”

I wanted to believe her words. I ran through abandoned streets, putting up posters opposing the government, assisting in sabotaging the production factories, and whispering truths to anyone who would listen. But the city was hungry. The device was hunger made flesh, licking at everyone I loved.

Every day, the light inside me dimmed just a bit more. I often woke up sweating, a slight tremor in my limbs, as shadows crawled along my consciousness. I could hear the hum of the city in my veins, feel its pulse in my ribs, and I hated myself for wanting the ease it promised. Resist the temptation—that’s all I needed to do. Resist the temptation—because until then, I hadn’t lost. Those thoughts were enough to revitalize my spirits. For a few weeks.

All members of the rebellion were motivated people, most of them previously respected members of society with good morals. However, there was only one person I really grew close to: Jonah. Apparently, he used to be one of the city’s chief firefighters and volunteered at a local animal shelter on his off-duty days. Jonah was what you’d call a stand-up guy. He had an unbreakable will.

One night, we were sitting on the couch in one of the safehouses, discussing the importance of being present in the moment.

“Practically no one stops to think about the consequences of letting go of your personal autonomy,” I complained. “Don’t they understand that the whole value to life is your ability to choose what you do with it?”

He smiled, though it felt empty. “You’re right, Rafael. What gives us our uniqueness is the infinite branches of choices we are able to make.”

I stilled. There wasn’t anything wrong with what he said, but his tone was off—too neutral. Jonah didn’t sound like himself. Quickly, I realized what he’d done.

“You—” I practically jumped off the couch, attempting to get away from the husk of a dear friend I once knew. “I thought—you, at the very least, were someone I could trust not to fall into this… this trap!”

His lips twitched, but there was no real humor in the expression. His eyes were dull.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. Textbook response.

A flurry of inexplicable emotions welled up inside of me as tears streaked down my face. I doubled over, heaving from how much it hurt. Almost immediately, I vomited onto the floor.

Just a week later, the rebellion’s last safehouse burned down. Lila’s scream became part of the roaring fire, swallowed by sirens and deafening wind. I was alone. The quiet in my mind was deafening, the need for rest unbearable. I pressed the device to my wrist. The hum seeped into me, unspooling my resistance and dissolving every jagged thought. I felt my fear melt into warmth, my grief into calm.

Outside, millions moved like a single, synchronized flame. Until recently, I gawked at them, struggling to comprehend how they could have given in so easily. But now, I understand it—so very clearly. Because for the first time in years, I could let myself breathe again.