A queue serpentined its way out from the office nestled on the lower floor of the InnoSphere Central Hub. My disdain for this place was heightened by the tedium of waiting, but also by the persistent intrusion of the portmanteau into my consciousness. Who was the unknown genius behind the linguistic fusion that birthed "InnoSphere"? What whimsical fancy, what cerebral acrobatics, thought that a mash-up of 'innovation' and 'sphere' was okay? It is funny how we accept these atrocities: brunch, staycation. I shivered and moved forward a step as the woman ahead shuffled closer with a large box clasped tightly to her side.

Only when I managed to glimpse the grander purpose behind it's existence could I begrudgingly accept the necessity of InnoSphere. It was designed to monitor and control stuff, for want of a better word. We had reached critical output as a species, without much consideration for what would happen when the resources ran out or caused our inevitable destruction. Take the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, discovered in the last century. This sprawling horror, this marine purgatory, stretched across the vast expanse of the North Pacific Gyre. It was an ever-shifting, ever-growing island built of our collective disregard for the environment—plastic-laden waters that spoke to us for years of the silent catastrophe brewing under the surface, a testament to the necessity of the InnoSphere in managing the fallout of our ideas of progress and blatant desire to consume at all costs.

Innosphere's motto was 'pause for thought.' That, I could live with. My mother used to say it all the time. Did I need those shoes made out of calf leather? Did I need that doll made in a sweatshop in Bangladesh? Did I need that rissole dripping with the blood of cows? My sister and I used to mimic her behind her back, especially as young adults. Do we need this cocaine, laced with the blood of young Mexicans? Do we need this chocolate cake, considering the chocolate babies killed in its making? Do we need this wine, squeezed from the balls of caged grapes? We'd snort and guffaw.

My face reddened a little as I thought of this younger self, so cruel and arrogant. Now we were all experiencing a collective guilt. What were we thinking? We blamed the boomers for the housing crisis and the building environmental catastrophe in the same breath as ordering plastic horns from China for Halloween or drinking coffee and tossing the lid into the billions that went into the landfill annually. There was a whole new career for psychologists right there, specialising in eco grief and people's acknowledgement they were part of the Great World Fuck.

At last, I'm nearly next, observing the interaction of the IS staff with the applicant ahead. His eyes twinkle as they switch from his inner screen to her. I didn't wear Inno lenses as I preferred the world a little less noisy. I had always found the zombie-like stare of people connected to the Innonet through their eyes a little creepy, like they were part of a horde of soulless automatons. I wasn't the only one disconnecting — it was part of a bigger tug toward the real, the authentic. However, if you worked for a place like InnoSphere, you didn't have a choice.

'What's your product?' he asks. He twiddles an imaginary pen. Old habits die hard. We hadn't made pens for decades.

'It's an inflatable surround for projector screens.' She seems excited. She'd likely been at the drawing board for some time, hoping she could make enough credit to move somewhere nice. Everyone in the queue, including me, was hoping for the same thing. But you couldn't just design, manufacture, and sell anything you wanted these days. It had to go via the InnoSphere for approval.

'What's it made from?' he asks. I imagine the flow chart in his head, asking the right questions before he allows or disallows. 'Kelp, I suppose. Everyone's using kelp. Kelp handbags, kelp burgers, kelp Christmas decorations.' His sigh hovered in the air, a tired and wingless thing.

'Well, yes.' I can hear her hesitation. There was no point lying, but her whole future probably relied on this product being in the stores by Christmas.

'Anything wrong with a wall?' he asked. I didn't think the flow chart allowed for sarcasm, but I could forgive him that. I mean, an inflatable projector surround? What on earth was it's function?. 'You know, you could project your film onto an object you already have? Or I don't know, maybe just go to the theatre or something? You people. You never embrace the motto. Pause for thought. What's so hard to understand?'

'I thought...' she flusters, but he cuts her off. Everyone in the room falls silent, listening to the drama unfold and hoping it wasn't their turn next.

'No, you didn't. Didn't think. You know why we are here, right? Because the people before us filled the world with so much useless crap that we could barely breathe. Two of my children died from cancers caused by the world we inherited. You think this product is going to be useful? Why not invent something that will actually save us? Now that would be an awesome thing to have in the stores by Christmas.' With that, he blinked three times, and the InnoLenses fell onto the desk, where he crushed them with his fist. 'Fuck you people,' he hissed, as the manager ushered him from the room, whereby he was promptly replaced by another IS desk worker. The line must be processed. It was the busiest time of the year.

'Next,' the replacement smiled. The line moved forward as the poor woman left crying, her seaweed gimmick crumpling in her arms like the discarded blow up dolls swirling in the gyre.

I shuffle forward, not so much placing my innovation on the counter but unveiling it with a flourish - a hovering orb which projected a self-sustaining miniature ecosystem with lush greenery. I've been working on this presentation for months. I'm proud of it. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing - far prettier than the banned fairy lights once upon a time in wintry windows.

The IS desk worker raises an eyebrow. 'Another game?' she asks. "Purpose?"

"Not a game. You're just seeing the result of the orb. Verde is a self-contained, mobile ecosystem designed to purify the air around the user," I explain. "It literally filters out pollutants, captures CO2, and releases oxygen. As it purifies the air around us, it adds to the broader ecosystem. We've done studies. The community of individuals who tried it enhanced their natural environment enormously. One even spotted a pair of doves return, and there's been increased insect life too. And if you get enough orbs floating in an area, sometimes whole forests spring up. We're working on a self-seeding edition too."

The hologram transitions to demonstrate different landscapes. It shows an urban environment where plants flourish on balconies in the immediate zone of a Verde installation, a hospital room where patients take deep, satisfying breaths of clean air. Each time, Verde adapts to its surroundings, creating a microcosm of nature that spreads out in little happy pockets of clean air.

"And how does it sustain itself?" the IS desk worker inquires. She is trying not to be too excited. I can only imagine the crap that's come past her desk this week. I watched a woman leave with an Elf on the Shelf made out of mycelium, its unhappy little brown hat drooping dolefully. Those things were so last decades ago Christmas, it didn't matter they were made from. What did a toy elf matter when the planet was dying?

"Verde uses ambient light and kinetic energy from its hovering motion to generate power. It's fully self-sustaining and requires very little maintenance. It's fully biodegradable."

He nods, intrigued by the innovation. "But why a floating orb?"

"The levitating design serves multiple purposes," I elaborate. "First, it maximizes the exposure of the filtration system to the surrounding air. Second, it's cute—it's on-trend aesthetically and seamlessly fits into modern living spaces. Third, it encourages people to engage with nature in unexpected ways, encouraging a connection with the environment. You must understand how clean air can make people happier than—" I search for something that would be of use here—"an elf made of mushroom waste."

The IS desk worker smiles. 'Blending tech and nature. Nice. It's pocket-sized, too. Gamified? It'll sell better for Christmas, then.'

'Of course.' I remind myself to tweak it a little to catch the attention spans of teenagers.

I was going to be rich.

This story was written in response to the Inkwell prompt, 'Pause for Thought'. The images are my own, made in Midjourney.

With Love,

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