The Thumb
It was possessed; the feed had it.
STFU: I wrote this story as a LinkedIn post to create some intrigue around the (then) impending launch of 'whoop!'.
It's now one of the many shorts I have written to provide clues for one of The Weekly Whoop riddles while doubling as part of the storyline of whoop!'s proposed ARG (Alternate Reality Game). Weka J. Hapa was halfway through drifting into sleep when the phone smacked the smell out of his nose. On the other hand, its clock struck the dead of the day.
Messrs. De Quervain and Dupuytren had conspired with Hapa's desperate need for rest, thwarting it again.
His now-open eyes cried for sleep, threatening to give Atacama a run for its money. But Hapa's thumb switched the screen back on anyway.
It was possessed; the feed had it.
Why else would it twitch to scroll through the phantoms of the feed on those rare occasions when Hapa didn't have the phone in his hand?
It was possessed; the feed had it.
Hapa had work to do, relationships to tend to, and responsibilities to be responsible for. But the feed would have none of it.
It would command the thumb through the wakeful nights. And the thumb would comply, riding the feed into the red-eyed dawns.
It was possessed; the feed had it.
There was a time when Hapa's shoulder angel would exorcise the thumb. It would strike a bargain with the shoulder devil and take the thumb to something marginally better than the feed. It would find solace in the feeling that the thumb was only after Hapa's downtime. But very soon, it was downtime all the time.
And that was a long time ago.
The angel had since signed off. Even the devil had stopped buying the thumb's previously handy 'it's for research and such' excuses. And yet, Hapa's thumb couldn't stop.
It was possessed; the feed had it.
Hapa's family had exhorted him to get off of different social media. Friends had urged him to stop the mindless scroll. Colleagues had given him thoughts for his pennies and boss ultimatums. His girlfriend had gifted him the dumb phone, hoping to have the thumb caress her instead of the feed.
But they all grabbed the elephant in the room like the blind men of yore. And the elephant slipped through their thumbs because the feed would have none of it.
It made an ex of Hapa's girlfriend, strangers of his friends and family, spectators of his colleagues, asshole of his boss, and a solitary reaper out of him. But for all that, the thumb didn't lift a finger.
It was possessed; the feed had it.
Of course, Hapa had tried recourse. He did try to try all that his tribe had asked of him or suggested to him: the apps to lobotomize the phone, ITAA, the therapist, and the you-name-its. He even fiddled with the dumb phone for some time. But the feed would have none of it.
One by one, all these measures exchanged the walk-on parts in the war for lead roles in a cage while Hapa watched them, helpless, sleepless, and inattentive.
And so, even though Hapa did his best to take the thumb clean off (after all, it was possessed; the feed had it), he couldn't.
It was possessed; the feed had it.
So, that October day, as Hapa sleepwalked into another anxiety-ridden day of missed calls, angry messages, unrealized potential, and take-your-picks, he knew he had to do something.
He needed to whoop the feed.