@tinypaleokitchen's Reflections #1: A Mixed Media Collaboration Contest
@thatdamiguyI walk into the room and face five men in suits with expressionless faces. Suddenly, it feels like I haven’t practiced enough.
The moment has come: I have to impress these tycoons, beat the other two contestants, and win a million dollars.
After picking up the remote, I glance back at the projector screen displaying the first slide of my presentation.
“Tell us your name and talk about your project in five minutes, specifically telling us why you believe in ten years your product or solution would still be relevant. Congratulations on making it to the final,” the man seated in the middle says.
I adjust my tie and shirt. My heartbeat accelerates as I glance back at the screen again.
“I’m Edward Ogoja.
“The GPSchain would remain relevant in ten years, and even a hundred years because users would get rewarded for waking up and getting out of bed. They would earn redeemable tokens for doing things they already do, or let me just say things they have been doing since birth.
“Here’s a flowchart of what the network would look like.”
I quickly explain how actions and changes in location would be stored on the GPSChain. I switch to the next slide which is a photo of the GPSChain chip and talk about it for about a minute.
My eyes fall on the digital display hanging on the wall behind them, counting down, and it’s at 00:59. I reach into my pocket for a prototype of the chip and walk over to them. Dropping it on the table, their eyes widen. The man on the extreme right extends his hand and picks it up and looks at it closely.
“Edward, this is amazing.”
They all stand and start clapping. The sounds increase. I look back and it seems I’m on a stage: thousands of people are behind, standing and clapping.
I’ve won. I’ve won!
Someone taps my shoulder and I look front. The man who looked at the chip is holding a paper—a check. It’s a check for a million dollars. He gives it to me and walks away immediately. Then everything around me disappears. I turn around.
“Is anybody here?” Hundreds of empty seats. My voice echoes.
“Edward.” Whoever called my name is behind.
I turn. It’s one of the contestants.
He stares at me for several seconds, his chest heaving, fuming with anger. Then—he pushes me off the stage.
Damn!
I open my eyes.
My legs are on the table.
The time is 09:49.
