Cellular Respiration: A Short Story

Cellular Respiration

By Alexis Mizell

Searching, scrolling, and typing are seemly my favorite past times. A memory of a period in my existence where these weren’t at the fore front is quite hazy for me. Maybe it’s all the photos of Europe I’ve collected from my summer abroad, the millions of Pinterest meal prepping ideas I’ve pinned, or the hundreds of downloads I’ve scanned over for college class assignments, that relinquishes any knowledge I have of who I actually am without a digital world. This uncertainty extends to my confusion on when exactly the procurement of such hobbies took over all that I embody, but I, in a natural way, enjoy it nonetheless.

The excitement of a new day and new thoughts, actions, words to read, and buttons to press takes the cake over all feelings I may have in a single moment. The multiple sounds of a ding here and a salsa ringtone there act as a soundtrack in the background of my day to day, with a constant serenade that feeds my positive outlook. Most people don’t understand how such a mundane activity could propel my demeanor in the ways that it does, but at the smallest form it’s a rush; a fluidity that runs through every fiber of my being and makes me whole. Julie had a birthday today, Marvin is now single, Grandma FaceTimed for the first time, and the “World’s Funniest Cat” video was just uploaded to YouTube- so naturally I watched it 10 times.

Even in such activity that you would think require only self-reflection, like a persistent cold or questioning why the car won’t start, could easily be concluded with a quick look at how other people are handling the same issues in their lives. And, if that doesn’t work there is always Google or Web MD. Plus, there is never, ever a lack of information to share with the world. Without this social media platform, who would get to see or hear each wonderful thing uploaded from my safe haven of code I call the IPhone 6 plus?

Ding! “New notification”.

Those cloud like words hover, suspended over me like some devout being. In a swarm of emotion I open the notification with a sense of pride and dignity that likens itself to a position of high employment in a prestigious company that has just laid its entire fate in my hands.

Then, as quick as the process happened comes a familiar sound. A sound I feel chained to. A sound I can never seem to escape from no matter the time, day, or place. A sound that often makes me laugh, has the potential to make me cry, and has struck fear in me numerous times over the course of a year, making me feel like an object rather than a being.

A not-so strange voice booms loud from a not-so far off distance and proves over again that I am never as in control of my purpose as I believe, commanding-

 “Siri, read new message from mom.”