Dystopian:

A small droplet of drool forms in the corner of Timmy’s mouth as it hung ajar in vacant idleness. The tickle of moisture on the otherwise dry skin causes him to instinctively wipe it away with the back of his hand. The quilted glow of the multiple digital windows that crowd his computer screen reflect in his glasses despite Timmy’s head pointing into his lap towards his phone. He hardly notices the stiff strain caused from the ninety-degree angle he has created with his neck anymore.

Clouds of smoke erupt from a line of musket fire in a window containing a muted video, specs of black text peppered between a sea of ignored blue and purple hyperlinks in another, the required podcast his social studies 9 course had linked him to is discussing Britain’s victory at the Plains of Abraham plays unseen behind it all. Timmy’s journey of now forgotten windows are scattered elsewhere on the screen.

The information passively washes over Timmy while he busily defends his settlement in the latest popular freemium mobile game. His friend’s parents had just allowed him to purchase ten diamond coins for the game, a feat that had taken Timmy a week to collect. Timmy’s friend had used his newfound game wealth to hire extra units to attack Timmy’s base. Attack was imminent. The Plains of Abraham could wait. I bet if I attack his army before they get here, I can weaken them. Then he won’t be able to take my base. Timmy’s on-screen army moves away from the settlement to attack his frenemy.

The musket fire video ends and threatens to automatically start another about flintlock technology and how to load a musket unless Timmy makes another selection. Subject specific icons line the bottom of the video selections window. Timmy remains unphased by the countdown to auto-play. A string of advertisement plays prior to the next video due to his inactivity. The subject icons will remain once the video starts. Timmy still has time to select something else.

A pause in the battle raging on his phone causes Timmy to glance up. He notices to video icon options and holds down the key to open another window. He selects the history, science, and math icons. Three new video windows spring into existence to simultaneously show Timmy the historic development of firearms, the chemical compounds of gunpowder, and the mathematical equations necessary to determine projectile velocity and the effect of Coriolis force. God, this is boring. At least I’ll look busy.

Briefly forgetting the purpose of so many seemingly disconnected videos, Timmy switches the view on his screen to the current assignment with a single key stroke. He scans the assignment screen. His eyes only register every third word; subconsciously he has deemed the rest unnecessary for his aims. Refocused with purpose, he puts his phone down and ensures his data entry window is ready before returning to the muted videos.

Timmy takes note of a similarity between one of the videos and the podcast. He quickly selects the microphone icon on his report and dictates a few sentences that appear verbatim on the screen as he speaks. The software pauses momentarily and add the necessary punctuation and missing words are added. A portion of his text automatically highlights and prompts Timmy with a series of stylistic suggestions. Timmy ignores them and instead pauses the relevant video. He presses his finger to the screen until the video window blinks in subtle recognition. Timmy drags the frozen video frame and inserts it strategically into the short body of text. Wanting to convey the gravity and retrospective stupidity of Montcalm’s historic military mistake, Timmy adds “????????” to the end of the computer-generated version of his spoken word. Almost done.

Timmy returns to the wall of videos only to realize one of them has frozen. Frustratingly tapping the screen in a futile attempt to restart the broken video, Timmy raises his arm without breaking eye contact with the screen.

“Yes, Timmy? What can I do for you?” Mr. Francis asks calmly.

“One of my videos stopped and I can’t get it working. I’ve tried clicking on it, but it just won’t.”

“Alrighty, let’s take a look,” Mr. Francis replies, twisting his face in puzzled inquiry.

Mr. Francis presses and holds his finger on the frozen video until a series of menu options appear. He traces his finger through the options and selections to “Facilitator Access.” He taps the screen. A new window appears asking for “Facilitator Login and Password.” Mr. Francis enters his personal information on the digital keyboard and ignores the default selected terms of service box. He has never actually read what he agrees to each time he enters his code. The service code window appears. Scanning through lines of code with his eyes, Mr. Francis finds the issue, selects it, and replaces the selected value. Mr. Frances taps the “Accept” icon at the bottom of the newest window and it promptly disappears. The stalled video begins to play.

“Thanks. I’m almost done my assignment.”

“Not a problem, Timmy. Sometimes I wonder if these things freeze on purpose to give me something to do, don’t you? It’s ridiculous! Ah well. Don’t forget to include all the key words you think the grading software might need to register. I certainly wouldn’t want it to miss something you meant to include!”

“Will do, Mr. Francis,” Timmy replies audibly.

Meanwhile Timmy’s phone army had been defeated and his base captured. His pre-emptive strike had failed and left him vulnerable. “Aw crap! I thought for sure that was going to work!”

Utopian

Frank’s eyes methodically and purposefully move between the windows of information displayed on his computer screen. The computer had curated a buffet of information based on his Social Studies 9 question: “How did the British take control of New France.” The pinhole-sized camera above the screen tracks his eye movement. The software predicts which window Frank might find most interested based on where his gaze lingers longest. His eyes continuously return to the thumbnail image of British soldiers aiming muskets in line formation. The remaining windows automatically minimize, and the soldiers on screen come to life.

Frank’s eyes do not stray long from the screen for the duration of the video. The eye tracking software on his computer continues to passively monitors the subtle cues of Frank’s interest.

The video ends and a new selection is offered. The grey playback button slowly fills with red to signify automatic playback. In anticipation of Frank’s possible interests, based on other student selections, subject specific icons line the bottom of the temporary auto-play screen. He selects the science icon, and the new video window replaces the old. The answers to Frank’s additional questions and interests are at his fingertips.

Frank taps the microphone icon on his screen to begin dictating his analysis of the videos. Using the “Academic Tone” preset, his spoken words appear verbatim on the screen but quickly adjusts Frank’s colloquial speech into academic writing.

Satisfied with the tone of his written work, he pauses the associated video by pressing his finger to the screen until the video window blinks in subtle recognition. Frank drags the selected frame and inserts it strategically into his augmented text. Almost done.

Just to be safe before submitting to the auto-marker, Frank switches the view on his screen to the current assignment with a single key stroke. As his eyes scan through the assignment page for hints about the auto-marker’s algorithmic rubric. Unable to find what he is looking for, Frank selects the “?” icon and posits his question directly to the assignment: “What is the auto-marker looking for?” The program pauses in contemplation to Frank’s inquiry. A moment later several lines of the assignment page are highlighted to draw Frank’s attention. He surveys the supplied options. Unsatisfied with his answer, he raises his hand for assistance.

“Hold on, Frank. I’m just helping Timmy over here. His screen froze. It’ll only take a minute,” Mr. Francis asks calmly.

“No problem, Mr. Francis! I just want to know if I have enough for the auto-marker to register my work.”

“Sure thing, Frank. I’ll be right there,” Mr. Francis replied without looking up from his work on Timmy’s learning console.