Fiction Story: We Used to Call It Monday
"Alright, class," said Ms. Ortega, tapping the digital chalkboard. "Today we’re going to talk about something ancient. Something from the Time Before. It was called... the workweek."
A few students looked up from their tablets, puzzled.
"The what-week?" asked Mila, adjusting the neural-lightband over her temple.
"Workweek," Ms. Ortega repeated with a smile. "In the early 2000s—and for many decades before that—adults organized their lives into a cycle of seven days. Five of those days were for work. Two were for rest."
The class groaned in confusion.
"They had to work every day?" said Javi. "Like, they couldn’t just stop when they were tired?"
"Exactly," Ms. Ortega said. "And the worst of all was a day called Monday."
The classroom screen lit up with a meme from the past: a bleary-eyed cat holding a coffee mug. Text below it read: 'I hate Mondays.'
Laughter bubbled through the room.
"This was real?" asked another student. "They actually dreaded a specific day of the week?"
"Yes," said Ms. Ortega. "Because Monday marked the beginning of the workweek. It was the day people returned to offices, factories, call centers—after just two days of rest."
"Only two days off?" gasped Mila. "That’s criminal!"
"It was normal," Ms. Ortega said gently. "People set alarms, commuted for hours, spent the day in meetings or repetitive tasks. Then they’d come home exhausted."
"But why didn’t the AIs do all that?" asked Javi.
"They hadn’t yet evolved enough," Ms. Ortega replied. "Back then, technology wasn’t smart enough to do everything. Humans were still the engines of the economy."
Mila looked curious. "Didn’t people complain?"
Ms. Ortega smiled. "Constantly. But work was more than labor. It was also how people felt useful, connected, and—often—how they survived."
A silence settled over the class.
Then Mila raised her hand. "So... what happened to Mondays?"
Ms. Ortega paused. "They disappeared. Along with the rigid structure of the old world. Once AI and robotics could manage all essential services, humans were freed from compulsory labor. The calendar lost its grip on us."
"But what do people do now?" asked Javi.
"What you’re doing," Ms. Ortega said. "Learning, creating, helping others, exploring new ideas. People choose their rhythm. Some still call Monday ‘the beginning,’ but it’s more symbolic than scheduled."
Javi grinned. "So we’re basically time travelers?"
"In a way," Ms. Ortega said. "You live in a world shaped by a question people dared to ask: What if work didn’t own our lives?"
On the wall, the screen faded into an old photograph: a crowded subway car, people in suits staring blankly at their phones.
"They look sad," Mila whispered.
"Some were," Ms. Ortega said. "Some weren’t. But now we remember, so we don’t repeat."
Outside, the sun rose without a schedule. And inside, a generation raised without Mondays looked toward a future built on freedom—and curiosity.