It's January 4. A Monday. The first business day of the new year, since Friday was New Year's Day. And that new year is 2072. The 10 year anniversary of Albert Kibry's civilization-altering invention is only a few months away. But you won't be a part of human civilization when that happens. You'll be living life in the water like you've always wanted.
"Here for a New Year's resolution?" asks the older lady next to you. Is she 80? Is she 90? You don't know. She's a lot older than you though, even if you wouldn't dare to mention her age anyway.
You pause the holographic display from your smartwatch and make eye contact to answer her question: "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'm supposed to turn 30 this year, and, well, I told myself I wouldn't put this off any longer. It's time to stop second-guessing myself and do something I've dreamed about since I was 3."
"To be an animal, I suppose?" her time-trodden voice specifies, as her face tilts gently toward the left.
"To be free," you clarify, "to wash myself away in what's left of nature so I can just BE."
A decades-old wisdom flickers in her eyes. There's longing for freedom somewhere deep behind her own wrinkled face, as resolute as your more youthful visage. She recounts, "When I was your age, a pretty face like yours would have her choice of men, ... or even women in some countries. Could have started a family already. But I guess there's not much for a family or a lovely young woman to look forward to these days, in this overcrowded, over-polluted human world of ours."
You smile at her. "I guess you wanted to ring in the new year with a change of pace yourself?" you ask sociably. She laughs.
"When I was your age, people my age had retired years ago," she said. "Pensions, savings, retirement checks. Granted, most people weren't exactly swimming in gold during the golden years, but a sweet old lady could generally go home and live out her final years in peace, I think. Now with the famines, and the shortages, and all the unrest, I'm not sure a human can ever see any peace at all."
"So you're going to, um, retire, from your humanity, I guess?"
"There's still enough rich people out getting pampered and looking to pamper a pet while 87 year olds like me drag our aching joints out of bed to work every morning. I'll let someone else worried about the accounts and the medical bills for once."
Just then a nurse opens a door and pokes his head into the waiting room and calls out "Jennifer McOsborn?" The old lady looks at you again and points out, "Finally, that's my cue. Enjoy living your dream, dearie." You wave to her until the door closes. You think about how she called you young and pretty. You were never all that happy with your body, but as you glance down at your boobs and your smooth waist, you like to think maybe other people see you the way Jennifer did. Maybe you could have found a nice hunky man to share your life with ... or even a fellow female. But then what? Bring another human in the world? Populate the overflowing cities and drain the dregs of the world's resources even faster? Nah. You've fantasized about being a fish for years, and it's time to meet your destiny.
You tap your watch, and the holographic application document shimmers into view above it once again. You see you'd forgotten to fill out the "sex" and "age" fields for some reason. That's okay. All you have to do is think "female" and "29" and the data spontaneously appears in the holo-projection. The "desired animal type" field is already done, though, probably the first piece of information you'd supplied when you sat down. "Fish" it says. But of course, that only led to a new question: "Type of fish?" to be visible among the ghostly wisps of text. But you've pondered this question many times before, and your smartwatch doesn't have to scan your brainwaves very hard to register that you want to be a ...