Blocked

I conducted a test, to see what it would feel like.  I blocked my sister, and sure enough, as soon as I'd added the block I was no longer aware of her at all.  After five minutes I unblocked her.
    "Did you feel it?"
    "What?"
    "I tried to poke you."
    "Nope, didn't feel a thing."
    "That's crazy!"
    Sure enough, it was.  People had gradually become more and more intolerant of one another, and the technology had arrived just in time, otherwise I'm sure people would have constantly broken out in fights and riots or enacted passionate hate crimes without any consideration for the consequences.  I mean, this stuff was going on, but there was a sense that it was escalating, that the boundaries between right and wrong were starting to fall.
    Fortunately, the blocking tool was an effective way of ignoring people whose attitudes you disliked, and if they tried to cause you any physical harm then the sensor would give them a rather nasty jolt to the brain.  This is why my sister only attempted to give me a little prod, rather than anything more substantial.
    "What did I look like?"
    "I couldn't see you."
    "At all?"
    "Well, there was sort of a wavy area, like heat rising off of a desert road."
    "Cool!"
    You see, the blocked person can still see you, but, often, once someone realises they're being blocked they'll often block you back, it's just easier that way.
    To begin with it was very rare that you'd feel like blocking someone, I mean, people say stupid things without thinking, or being aware of, the consequences.  Perhaps they're just ignorant, and need to be told why what they're saying is wrong.  Of course, after a while, it's just easier to block some people, as you realise that talking to them is getting nowhere.
    So, you block a couple at first, just those people who really grate, but then the temptation is there to block others, sometimes you just don't want to hear the other side of it, I mean, it's not worth it when you know you're in the right.  Sometimes my friends will surprise me, we'll have known one another for ages, and then suddenly - because of something in the news - they'll come out with some ridiculous opinion, and, well, it's difficult to start a debate with some friends, so best to just block them.
    Similarly, I've removed some news providers from my social feed and added them to the 'restricted' list on my computer, there are certain attitudes I just don't need to see.  It's kind of the same with people, someone's attitude can just ruin your whole day, whether it's a grumpy person having a huff on the bus or some nutter going off on one about the government or something.
    I mean, I don't want to restrict or censor other people, but I'm not going to hang around with those I disagree with, it's not worth my time.  I guess that's why, eventually, most people have come round to the blocking tool as a good idea, it allows us to adapt the world to suit our needs.
    Over time I've started to become more aware of those wavy heat trails though, the blurred space that indicates the presence of a blocked person.  I guess as I've blocked more people - or used keywords to auto-block - then more space has been taken up by the artificial absence of people.
    I went home for Christmas, the key fit the lock, the door opened, my family were sat around the TV in the front room, though nothing was on.  I smiled, raised my arms and beamed; "Hey, happy Christmas!"
    But nobody turned around, they all stayed still, staring at the television.
    "Hey everyone!" I repeated, thinking, for a moment, that perhaps they were all napping, despite their eyes being open.
    I even moved in front of the television, standing right in their line of sight, before I finally realised that they must have blocked me.  My own family?!  Maybe they'd blocked me by mistake, I've heard about that, where you look through your list and find a couple of people who you didn't think you'd have blocked being filtered.  They're all expecting me to arrive today, so I guess by the evening they might realise the mistake?
    The day drags on, I grow bored, impatient.  There's very little I can do to get my family's attention, I feel like a disgruntled poltergeist, but they treat my random opening and closing of doors with a detached manner, as if it were some inconvenient natural phenomena.
    Eventually I realise that, at least to offer some distraction, perhaps I can't see what's on the television because it's content I've blocked.  I decide, for speed, to clear all my media filters and see what they're watching.
    Once the progress bar has finished unblocking the content the television springs to life, it's a news report of some sort, showing a protest somewhere, people holding banners emblazoned with big bold words demanding No More Cuts, Save Our Hospitals, Say No To Privatisation, Stop Banker's Bonuses, and such like.
    It cuts back to the studio, but it's not one I recognise, not like the BBC or something, it's more like a warehouse, and the people hosting don't seem like the usual television presenters, they're not as well groomed, their suits a little tattier, their diction less rehearsed.  They're talking about the government, talking about future protests and petitions that the viewers can sign, about some kind of bill that's about to go through government that they want to stop, I have no clue what half of what they're saying means.  But one of the presenters make a very passionate speech and I'm distracted by a sound, it's my Dad and he's clapping.
    I keep waiting, I wait all through Christmas Day, but my family don't acknowledge me.  I, quite brazenly, swipe some food, they can't have not noticed.
    On Boxing Day they all wake up early, I've been sleeping on the sofa in the front room because I can't find out where mum keeps the foldaway bed I usually kip on.  I follow them as they all pile into the car, fortunately there's space next to my sister, so I buckle up and we set off down the road.
    I can see my mum, as we drive out of town heading towards the city, looking into the rear view mirror, her eyes registering the space I occupy.  She must know I'm here, they all must.
    We have to stop in Camberwell, the Walworth road is blocked, police cars and barriers line the streets, but people are walking through.  My family get out of the car, it's not parked, it's abandoned, and they follow the crowd.  I try to keep up, finding myself jostled by the mass of people, at first I apologise, but as the buffeting continues I cuss, but nobody seems to care.
    The gathering grows more organised, until the throng becomes a march, a sense of unity starts to form as we continue up into the heart of the City, across the river and towards Westminster.  The very same banners and placards from the Christmas Eve news report waft and wave over my head, and people chant, punching their fists into the air, my family have joined them, they are part of this protest, they are part of the people.
    I follow them into Parliament Square, where the crowd seems to settle, the chants become a murmur of anticipation and then, like a tangible sigh, the crowd heaves forward, going beyond the iron gates, past the security boxes, past unmanned booths where guards should sit, into the building, into the halls of Parliament, into the corridors of power, into the offices and chambers, into our democracy, and it feels like the last day of school, as people whoop and clap and cheer.
    And I see a man cowering under a desk in an office, his tie loose, his suit damp with sweat, and he looks at me and whispers for help.