I’ve always been the odd one out in my family. Maybe it’s the dirty blonde hair, the fact that I’m shorter than most kids my age, or my unwavering loyalty to the white-shirt-and-black-jorts combo. But what really sets me apart from… them. I actually use my brain.

  I’ve got two siblings—my sister’s sixteen, and my little brother’s six. Our parents? Technically unemployed. But in this society, that doesn’t mean what it used to. People survive by gambling online or throwing money at whatever the newest “investment opportunity” is. No real jobs. No real effort. Just screens and scrolling.

  Even the homeless are glued to their phones. I’m not joking—people sleeping in alleys with nothing but a blanket and an iPhone 94X Ultra in their hands. It’s insane. Everyone’s a drone. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m the only one who sees it.

  MORNING

  I woke up like always. Brushed my teeth. Took a shower. Slid on the jorts and shirt. Slipped my infinite portable charger into my pocket—mandatory these days, even though I hate carrying it.

  Downstairs, my brother was on the couch, eyes locked on some fast-paced game. My sister brushed her hair while watching a makeup tutorial. Dad hadn’t slept, too busy tracking stocks. Mom? On a three-hour video call gossiping with her friends.

  I texted “Good morning” in the family group chat.

  Nothing. No replies. Not that I expected any.

  So I stepped outside and started heading toward TFR100’s place. It was 6:50 AM. I texted him I was coming over. We had this little program going—me teaching him actual English, hoping it might give him some kind of boost.

  Also, if you’re wondering why I didn’t eat—no one cooks anymore. Food’s just something people order, like socks or toothpaste. Everyone expects a company to feed them now.

  As I walked down the empty sidewalk, I noticed the sun rising through the buildings. Daylight savings had kicked in. Probably the only person who noticed.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The streets were lifeless. The only humans you’d spot were in coffee shops or drive-thrus. The world outside was fading, replaced by glowing screens and food delivery apps.

  I kept walking until something caught my eye. Just a rock. But it had a dent—a perfect circle—and a strange hole punched through the middle. I paused, squinted, then stepped over it and kept going.

  AT TFR’S HOUSE

  I reached his door and knocked, knowing full well it would take about eighteen minutes for him to answer. TFR has this thing—he drags his feet across the floor like he’s a zombie in slow motion before opening the door.

  20 minutes later…

  He finally cracked it open.

  I texted, “Hello” and “You ready?”

  He responded, “i gotta show u something” with a grinning cat emoji.

  Great. That emoji again.

  He waved me inside and led me downstairs to the basement. We stopped in front of… something.

  It looked like a slab. Leather-bound. Had two covers—one on the front, one on the back. But what really got me was the writing on the front:

  “The Adventures of Shawn and Tucker”

  Below that, it said, Written by: … but the author line was blank.

  TFR flipped it over to show me the back—blank too. It had a spine like it was holding something together. I realized it wasn’t just a slab.

  It was a book.

  I’d never seen one in real life before. The pages inside were real paper—textured, faded, ancient.

  I stared at it.

  Texted him, “I’ve never seen a slab like this, TFR100.”

  He replied, “neither have i” and a shrug emoji.

  Then, just like that, he put it back down like it didn’t mean anything.

  We went upstairs to continue his English lesson. He was making progress. Slowly, but it was something.

  2:30 PM

  I finished teaching him for the day. My stomach growled—I was hungry. Time to head home.

  2:33 PM

  I turned back.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That book—or whatever it was. Something about it… pulled at me. Like it had a heartbeat I could feel.

  My life had been nothing but recycled loops, surrounded by silence and stupidity. That slab was the first spark of something new. Something different. Something smart.

  I ignored the incoming text from my mom.

  I barged into TFR’s house again.

  I texted him: “Come on. We’re going back to that thing you showed me.”

  He replied: “Bro wth you just barged into my house” (“Wth” is an acronym for “What the hell.”)

  I didn’t respond. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him back downstairs.

  There it was. Sitting right where we left it.

  I picked it up, staring at it like it held all the answers I’d ever wanted.

  TFR texted, “what’s wrong with u this thing is a piece of junk”

  I replied: “No. It’s a piece of knowledge.”

  And then, slowly, I opened the front cover.