“How can I help you today?”

The words on the screen stared at me and I stared right back.

No way. It had only been one year, hadn’t it?

One year.

One year since I took a step, a step that ultimately was for the better for me, a step towards adventure dressed as uncertainty. Mr Negasi had more than fulfilled his promises to humankind for a new world, a better world. As a vast majority of mankind relocated to Dev, we moved with skepticism. Could we really live in a futuristic world? Would we retain autonomy? I stared at the screen.

“How can I help you today?

It was a simple question, one which I had never given much thought until this moment in Dev, as a well off artist on earth, inspiration for my paintings never came with any difficulty, colleagues had told me I was given paintbrushes for fingers and that my mind was an ever flowing well of creativity, moving to Dev presented itself as a perfect opportunity, a chance to prove that my skills transcended borders. I called it fate.

The transition to life in Dev was seamless, it was a perfect world in every sense of the word as far as we understood, we needed to do nothing, every task was taken care of by machines and technological aid before we asked and with them the need for human hands faded. I do not exclude myself from this, somewhere within the last year I had transitioned from using my canvas to relying on a screen. The scent of paint no longer lingered on my clothes and I wondered if having a stylus for fingers would be considered a compliment.

“How can I help you today?”

I closed my eyes and opened them, the screen was still there. Six simple words, yet powerful enough to act as the cue to seek that which resided within me from a soulless source. Mustering up every bit of focus I had, I tried to fix my gaze on the canvas before me instead, how long had it been since I had drawn inspiration from my own mind? How long had it been since I had stared at actual paper? Closing my eyes again, I searched within for ideas to paint, but my mind was a dried up forgotten well, and with shaking hands I picked up a pen.

I cannot say why I wrote this experience, I do not know who will read this, we were told we could write letters to our families on earth in a bid to convince them to move to Dev, I have none left there, but I wanted to write something anyway, to feel like I had used my hands to create something, even if it were just a letter.

Written by Imah.

Written by Becky Ejimah