my name is jolean

anna park

The city no longer resembled life. Monotone. It had been reduced to numbers and codes

long before Jolean was born. Efficiency was the fueling cycle. Buildings stood in identical

smooth, gray rows designed to make everyone blend in. Despite the sunshine of vitality, the

street had a quiet, muted tone. People moved lifelessly as the high-pitch humming of drones

filled the air, quietly tracking facial expressions, and emotional changes. Silence was not

required by law, but it was expected. Silence meant control. Control meant safety. That was the

logic of the All of Life Engine, the artificial intelligence created to protect humanity from its

own past mistakes.

Every morning followed the uniform routine. 7 am sharp. Jolean stood in line outside her

housing unit to receive a small white Stability Pill. It’s been 11 days since she pretended to

swallow it. Cameras watched her closely as she gulped a cup of water with the small white pill.

She hid the bitter pill under her tongue, then later slipped it into the lining of her boot. The All of

Life Engine trusted patterns and routines. Jolean, now a 20-year-old AI art analyst, learned how

to disappear inside them.

She had not planned to stop taking the pill, yet the decision came after a dream: her first

real dream. In it, colors exploded and vivid portrayals of mythical animals flew across the sky

that had a mixture of colors she didn’t quite know the name of. It was different from any artwork

or scenery she had explored before. Ethereal. Sublime. She didn’t quite know the meaning of

these words, but it felt just right. It was overwhelming, and she felt alive. She woke up shaking,

sweating, her heart racing in a way she had never felt before. That morning, she chose not to

swallow the pill.

By the third day, Jolean started to experience changes. She felt joy, anger, and sadness. A

vast ray of emotions that has been banned as a potential threat to current humanity. By the fifth

day, she learned self-expression: what it means to prefer iced coffee instead of hot, to watch

romance films instead of crime shows. By the seventh day, she learned to hide emotions when

needed and express them only in her apartment unit. And yet, her curiosity continued to grow.

She hated the patterns. The uniformity of her coworkers' mood and critiques. When she

questioned her friend Lila, “Don’t you want to experience emotions...one day?...happiness?

Sadness? Anger?” All that came back was confusion. Those were words from the dictionary,

solely used to describe concrete faces in the art pieces.

“No...” Lila responds. “I like it this way. What is the point of emotions if it will

ultimately create chaos in humanity?” She explained calmly. The short exchange of dialogues

frustrated Jolean even more, yet, she pressed her feelings down. The fear of being sent to

Cognitive Rehabilitation Center where she could lose her memories was gut-wrenching.

Now, just after curfew, Jolean stood outside the Human Art Preservation Center, a

building that had been shut down decades ago. The All of Life Engine had labeled “human” art

as dangerous, claiming it encouraged strong emotions and unpredictable behavior. It was locked

and forgotten.

Jolean’s access card trembled in her hand as she unlocked the door. As an AI art analyst,

she had permission to study old cultural artifacts. She had memorized the security schedule and

the gaps between surveillance checks. When the door opened, she stepped into the darkness.

The air felt different. The thick, moist, and heavy atmosphere made it hard for her to

breathe. Her footsteps echoed across the marble floor, her stomach twisting as she walked to the

main hall of the museum.

She dropped her bag and pulled out the pigments she had collected in secret. Crushed

minerals. Forbidden dyes. Colors that the system had erased from daily life. It was her effort to

mimic the pigments from the dream. Her hands shook as she dipped it into deep blue paint. She

pressed her palm against the giant canvas that stood in front of her.

The first mark hit her like a shock.

Her heart pounded harder as she crafted art out of the ordinary. It was the opposite of

perfection, shapes uneven and messy. She dragged her hand without thinking, without stopping.

Blue. Red. Too much red. Different hues of color started to resemble a face. Fear mixed with joy.

Paint dripped, thick and heavy, down what resembled eyes. A tear of happiness. Or was it fear?

A hysterical laugh burst out of Jolean. The sound echoed loudly through the empty hall.

Too loud that it even startled her.

Then she heard it.

A low mechanical hum. Drones.

The system had detected her. Her heart rate was too high and her movements too wild.

The siren pierced through her ears as the room flickered with red warning lights. The hum grew

louder as the drones moved closer.

Jolean stepped back and stared at what she had created. It was nothing like the art

approved by society. It was imperfect, evocative, emotional, and human.

She pressed her paint covered hand against the canvas. An intricate handprint that no

machine could copy.

Footstep echoed from the entrance, followed by an emotionless voice ordering her to stop

and retrieve.

Jolean closed her eyes, shaking.

For one terrible, beautiful moment, she felt free and completely alive.

Tears followed, dripping down her face.

She opened her eyes, the painting paralleling both her emotions and state. The face was

hers, but not the dull version the system had designed. Although it resembled her, it was anything

but dull.

Relief hits her, as if she now has the power to escape the walls the system once forced her

to stay within. The power to be herself, the power to feel.