The visitors are hovering above the surface of the Ocean of Content, bodies buoyed by every wave that passes by them – waves of word and image and sound. The water is warm, almost welcoming, but beneath it there is a weight, a depth they cannot comprehend.
The water here is thick and dense with trending topics and data streams. Every aquatic ripple in time carries into it fragments of opinions, snippets from headlines and whispers from strangers. They start swimming and trying to move, and every stroke is like molasses.
Currents shift on a whim, dragging them towards sparkling whirlpools of content that vow to make things clearer but earn them nothing but noise.
They see other swimmers in proximity, faces lit up with the glow of portable screens. Some are laughing; others scroll and scroll, eyes looking down. Some shout; a wave swamps their cries. Sometimes someone sinks below: the ocean’s silent swallow takes another.
They kick against a churn of water, fight to keep their head above it. They reach for a scrap of driftwood — a blog post, a recipe, a lyric from a song — and it dissolves in their hand, only to be replaced by another and another. They seem irresistible, but none provide the foundation. Their heart is pounding, and the gravity of everything is beginning to drag them down.
Under the waves, it is suffocating. Tendrils of obscure hashtags and passé trends snare his arms and legs, dragging them down. The water becomes colder, denser, viscous.
They glimpse glimmers of light down below: glimmering streams of long-vanished viral fads and ancient controversies — all incredible and horrible at once.
They thrash chaotically against the tug and struggle to concentrate, to orient themselves toward any surface, but the noise drowns them out.