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Little Sakura, emaciated, her eyes bright but sunken, stood beneath the cherry blossom tree. It was the only tree on the long block, its fragrant pink blossoms just beginning to open in the gray bowels of the city. Sakura looked up at the tree, and seeing a low-lying branch, grabbed it with her frail hand and inhaled its scent. It was sweet and real, but marred at least a little by the tinny smell of the smog that hung like a shadow in the air and coated the blossoms. Sakura gently blew, just like her grandmother had showed her, and the fine silver dust gathered and flew like a fairy away from the blossoms. She smelled them again. This time the fragrance was stronger, and it brought some life back to the young girl, returning the breath that the city had stolen. With her vigor returned, she resumed her calling. “Haiku for sale!” she said, “One Yen. Haiku.” She watched people go by, their faces bent downward toward their screens, their feet shuffling along broken walkways. Their thumbs flitted across the bright lights, sending and receiving messages, ten per minute or more, and all of high importance. So many important things to do in the city, and to do them all at once. Yet, Sakura noticed, nobody seems to finish anything. No one looks up and no one pauses, and no one stops to smell the cherry blossoms. And no one stopped to buy haiku. They simply shuffled past her, hip to hip, their fingers clicking, doing all of their important things.Perhaps, Sakura thought, they could not see her. She left her sanctuary beneath the cherry blossom tree and moved to the center of the sidewalk where she could clearly be seen. Immediately, she was brushed by, jostled, and pushed out of the way by the tide of people. Sakura was swept almost to the corner before she managed to wade back to the safety of the tree. “Haiku!” she called. “Haiku, one Yen.” She waved rolled papers in the air, trying to get the attention of a generous benefactor. Only one of them noticed her at all, after he ran into her without looking. “Move!” he growled, roughly pushing past her. Sakura realized that all of the people in the city had plugs in their ear. At first, she thought this was to keep out the city dust that coated everything. As she pondered further, she thought perhaps the small white plugs were used to keep out the sounds of the city. The honking and the whirs and the drumming rang in the city all day and every night, a cacophony of sound that had no melody. Perhaps, she wondered, all the people had grown weary of the noise and plugged their ears to keep it out. She soon understood this was only part of the answer. The devices were as much about putting sound into their ears. Sakura realized that the devices that captured so much of their visual attention also dealt in the world of sound, piping layers of sound directly into their ears. The people were hearing, but not listening, she thought. They were looking, but not seeing. “Haiku?” she asked a passerby. The person, head down, ears plugged, ignored her. “Haiku, one Yen,” she said to another. The person simply walked by. Sakura's stomach twitched with hunger. Haiku are beautiful, but one cannot eat a poem. One Yen would buy some bread or an apple. In desperation, Sakura plucked a cherry blossom from the low branch and popped it in her mouth to suck on. The sweet nectar cooled her tongue but did little to alleviate her hunger. Sakura wondered why such devices held fascination for so many people. She seemed perplexed that people would spend so much money for things so magnificent but would not spend even a single Yen for a haiku. They would spend their money on flashing lights and noise to drown out the flashing lights and noise that surrounded them. How much would they pay for silence and darkness?Perhaps, Sakura thought, the devices made them happy. But the people that passed her on the street did not seem content. Rather, they seemed empty, devoid of satisfaction, devoid of anger. At that moment, little Sakura understood that it was not the people who owned the devices. It was the devices that owned the people. The devices--the technology--were all encompassing. They were now the eyes and ears and minds of the people, and the people were fed from the teat of information, which raced by them faster and faster until the people did not notice that they no longer knew where they were going or why. They had everything--all knowledge was at their fingertips. They knew everything but understood nothing. All of the people, throngs of people, passing by in waves with their heads bowed and their thumbs twitching passed Sakura and the little cherry tree that grew in a hole in the sidewalk. “Haiku,” Sakura sang. No one heard. Sakura picked another cherry blossom and sucked on it. The taste of the city, metallic and rancid, spoiled its sweetness. Even the nectar was spoiled now, she thought. Like a hummingbird, Sakura flitted in and out of the crowd, trying to sell her haiku to whomever would offer even a crust of bread or a bit of fish. There were no takers. Sakura returned to the sanctuary of the cherry blossom tree, sat on the curb, and began to cry. Through her tears she watched the passersby, the people of the city. Gradually, their eyes bulged red and turned to light. Their skin turned gray and smooth and hard like metal. Their hair turned gray like the city sky. Their necks, still bowed to the will of the screens, became rigid and fixed, as if held in place by iron. Their hands became permanently attached to their devices; and their thumbs became styluses. Their ears drowned out all sounds except that of the technology that enslaved them. Sakura saw what they were now becoming. “Haiku,” Sakura said between sobs. “Won’t anyone buy a haiku?”

Becoming

jscottlewis

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Becoming

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jscottlewis

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