skonen_blades

The voting age was lowered to five years old.

Politicians started literally dressing like clowns.

Along with lowered taxes, they promised:
Later bedtimes.
A cookie in every jar.
No child going without a story.
A massive elementary school restructuring campaign.
Ball pits and slides, fire poles and pillowed halls.
Colours so neon that the 80s felt drab.
Mandatory art classes twice a day.
A bigger say in the curriculum of their school.
(Which is why ‘dragon’ is a language elective now.)

Debates raged:
Harsher punishments for bullies versus stronger emotional outreach for them.
More autonomy for children versus extra support for quality guidance and stewardship
‘Listen to my no’ versus reasons for doing difficult tasks
Math vs forget math

Politicians would talk to the adults
Take a pause
And then talk to the children

Children felt like they mattered
Some of them for the very first time

Overnight, childcare support bloomed
Daycares popped up like mushrooms in offices, neighborhoods, and companies
With the names of politicians across the front awning.
The low-quality ones quickly spelling doom for that name.

Children were brought to deeper troughs of education
So they could make better decisions about the issues

Toy companies became some of the biggest lobbiers
Hugs and ginger ale were classified as medical supplies

Politicians put on puppet shows to explain the issues.
Adults pretended
(condescendingly)
to watch the performances with their kids for fun.
(but actually)
Some of those adults were understanding the issues for the first time

And the kids
Pumped so full of care for the earth and animals
Voted in droves
for the greener candidates
for robotics and space travel
for atmospheric renewal and waste treatment

Of course the politicians lied
Of course they did
But no one hates like a child
The raw purity of a double cross
(No takebacks)
Was the loss of a vote

The only problem was that
The memory of a child
The distractability of a child
Was still no different than most adults

The world was improved
A little
Made sillier
A lot

Made snugglier
Made more colourful
Made safer
Made weirder

Of course it was too little too late
And we died out anyway
But it took longer
And it was way more fun



tags

The badlands are full of unregulated children. They cry in the night while I patrol the walls of The City. My parents were tested for a full year before they could procreate. I have no allergies, no deformities, no glasses, and no congenital jack-in-the-box surprises waiting for me in old age. I’m thankful for eugenics. I’ve heard horror stories of the times before.

Here on the wall, though, I am haunted by the cries. It’s the middle of the night. Wild families in the badlands kill each other for resources, colicky babies cry out for food that might not ever comes. Short lives out there. Such short lives.

If they present themselves at the gate and submit to testing, they can be accepted and re-educated if they meet the gene reqs. Usually, they fail those tests and can’t meet the requirements genealogically. When we turn them back to the cursed grounds outside, they are shunned by their former tribes as a traitor. It usually only takes a few pathetic days for their bodies to be spotted on the plains before it’s taken and butchered and cooked.

They make villages sometimes but usually they’re not prepared for the weather. I think they’re getting dumber out there, not smarter.

We don’t raid or attack. We have everything we need inside these walls. All we do is hoard and protect.

Homo secundus. Second-wave humans. The next rung on the ladder. We have no racial purity here. Everyone is mixed to give us all a leg up on herd immunity. Mix and mix and mix is our motto. Each one of us is a fifty-flavour milkshake, an orchard of family trees so tangled that we have to leave it up to the central computer to tell us who’s safe to mate with productively.

I’ve been courting Renee. We have our samples on file and we’ve submitted our application for children to the central fertility angel facility. Our fingers are crossed. We’ve been practicing a lot during our long nights together. I’m sure once our controls are removed that we’ll be fruitful.

Until then, though, I patrol the walls during my conscripted security shifts and listen to all the babies in the wild. The thousands of the dirty, unwanted babies in the dark, dying by the hundreds every day. Sometimes I see fertility as a curse. Those poor kids never had a chance.

Our children will be loved. Our children will be perfect.


tags