Tomorrow's Children

Rob Tester III By Rob Tester III, 25th Oct 2010 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/1_krzwrl/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

This ultra-deep short story was built off of the idea of "What if the government started to actually control the minds of children through microscopic microchips?". In order to control and undermine the regular idea to think in progressive manners. How would that be? How would that happen? In this short story, I describe a world in almost the extremist of total governmental control. I hope that the reader takes a deep look into this one (But also enjoys it as well). Comments are open.

Tomorrow's Children

Tomorrow’s Children

The newborn babies screamed. The syringes glistened. The substance was clear. The nurses had their facemasks on. The gentlemen of a high rank in the military, stood, watching outside of the military hospital ward. The newborns that were already injected fell slowly back to sleep not knowing that their minds would never be fully what it should’ve been. If ever their little minds became filled with ideas, they would be expelled from their thought process. The order was “Do not cry, fall back to sleep” and that is what they did.
And so, the experiment was working. It took hold. It took away everything and replaced it with something else. The gentlemen of a high military rank stood and watched from behind the glass as the babies were injected. No one knew wiser for these were babies made from stem-cells and for that, no one would care. After all, it was all top secret.
The babies fell back to sleep without the slightest idea of what the future would hold for them. Everyone else knew that day that the affect would be of power. The corruption in power would be intense; the children would be future leaders. But it wasn’t for good.

* * *

I awoke that day, another day in this strange place. My name is Subject K. Short for Subject Kyle. I’m part of the twenty-six others who are being taught through a special program that the government personally oversees. I think I’m a teenager, yet I’m treated like a child. What is a child anyway? Am I a child? Are they a child? Are you a child? Are we a child? What would make up a child if it hasn’t had a childhood?
Funny thing is that I can’t think. I can’t think through logic I can only ask questions and those questions have answers, others don’t. I’ve been allowed to ask: “How does the sun work?” or “How does the political world work?”. But I haven’t been able to ask: “How are babies made?” and “How does human attraction work?”. How girls love boys and boys love girls.
It isn’t that I’m not able to ask these questions; it is that I’m not allowed to ask them. I’m known to ask the questions that no one else asked. Is that bad or good? In my world, it is a bad thing which is why I stopped asking them out in the open.

* * *

My world is different from your world. I don’t know much of your world although I do have assumptions of it. I have assumptions of the taste of pizza, the scent of flowers, and the sight of something other then white. Allow me to explain my world. There are both thirteen boys and thirteen girls. We go from A-Z and it goes from this: Subject Alison, Brian, Connie, Daniel, Ethan, Fabiola, Gregory, Hal, Ila, Jane, Kyle, Lori, Michele, Nicoleen, Ophelia, Peter, Quincy, Ross, Sean, Taylor, Ultima, Vincent, Warren, Xena, Yolanda, and Zachery. We don’t see the girls, they don’t see us. We’re taught to think only of our own gender, even though that there are two existing genders.
We’re taught to think inside the world of the corridor that we live on in this building that I’ve grown up in. Never are we to think of the outside world and its funny how no one has answered that question whereas at times I think I could’ve answered it for myself. I sometimes get the feeling that the textbooks don’t always tell us everything. I have a feeling that sometimes, I can’t always look to God to be my “savior”. Sometimes I feel like people are hiding something from me, and all the others just seem to not notice the patterns that I have noticed since I was very small. It just seemed odd as to how the smiles and how literally everything was alright. Maybe a little too alright.
How the food came on a tray from a conveyor belt as we line up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. How the meat tasted which was greasy and never sat too well in our digestive systems. Although our minds told us that it was good for us. So were the milk and the fruit and vegetables. The food was rather addicting, a combined effort of what would be chicken, or meat, or fish. We knew all too well to not eat the bones that were in the fish and not to eat the greasy-red parts of the chicken. The meat was okay though. Breakfast was always a surprise though, oatmeal one day, eggs and sausage the next. None of it tasted great but we ate it anyway because we were told to.
Classes started at seven o’ clock in the morning and ended at five in the afternoon. We had two hours in each class, we went from Mathematics, Political Science, Chemistry, English, Religion, and Psychology. Sometimes we had Physical Education, nothing but running and lifting and we had to perform well or else the people with the white coats would push me even harder. Anyone could say that we were in shape but everyone else would say they we were in shape but through the most inhumanely of ways. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to do it, truthfully we didn’t, but something forced us to do what we did in the gymnasium.

* * *

No one knew of my love for the books other then the textbooks that they gave us. And thinking of other things then what I was being taught could be judged as a crime. But since I was young, I read newspaper articles that I used to sneak into my room. Those were my only connection to the world and from other then of what I know now, the newspapers told me very little but they told me everything. I never knew the smell of sulfur or smoke or carbon monoxide or gasoline but I smelt it when I began asking questions.

* * *

Music and lyrics isn’t something that I know too well, if there was any music, I know very little of the meaning let alone the actual definition. I’ve heard of people making music about issues on their rights and such. It is all bologna when I found out exactly how much of a lie everything is. They don’t know of limitations, I do. To look down a plastic straw and see only the bottom of something; gets rid of what should be seen. Like a horse who has those leather things over his eyes, which this is made to help them with their own fear. But our limitations would be something to prevent us, not protect us. I didn’t know that my brain was monitored, all these little thoughts I’ve been thinking about for quite some time was all documented. I was a dead-man before I knew it.

* * *

Over time, I learned of my age, I am nineteen years old and it is the year of 2017. I was born in the year of 1997. From the documents that I snuck from certain hard-to-reach places, I learned that I was born from stem-cells. I have no parents. I am nothing but “Subject Kyle”. I learned that I was injected, at birth, with a type of substance known as “Cerebralum Logos”.
What I read in the dark of my room at night was that the injection was to take hold in my brain. From one central computer, a form of rules and regulations was put into my head to prevent me from these thoughts yet this substance was still in the testing phases. Perhaps the injection failed on me? So perhaps the questioning part ruled out and into my actual open mind whilst my commands and actions seemed to be computerized.
The night that I read this, I felt a surge in my spine, I felt as if my head was being electrocuted and everything blacked out. I guess this is what it is like to die. But what is death? I don’t think I’ve ever known up until now.

* * *

A colonel stood at attention in front of his commanding officer. The General was writing the report on the failure of Subject Kyle.
“How is it that it came to this?” the General asked him.
“The doctors say that the brain cells in Subject Kyle created immunity to the injection at a very young age. Perhaps at age two, the youngest we’ve ever seen.”
“Is he still alive?”
“No sir, we deactivated the subject as soon as he found the information”
“Is this so?”
“I ordered to send a shock to his head to deactivate all sensors in his head and body. He is now deceased”
“Is there any other sign of resistance in any other of the Subjects?”
“No sir. All Subjects have been monitored while Subject Kyle has been learning of this. He has not told anyone of this”
“Fair enough” said the General as he then picked up a red stamp and stamped the word “Deceased” onto the picture of Subject Kyle.
He got up and turned around to his safe. He pressed his thumb to the thumb pad, it unlocked and he put the manila file in there with a whole slew of other manila folders of other deceased subjects, at least a hundred of them. He then sat back down and looked at his colonel.
“You haven’t seen anything”
“No sir, I have not”
“Outstanding. Dismissed”
“Yes sir, thank you sir” who then saluted him and turned on his heels and walked out. The door slowly closed behind him, leaving the General in his study.


Tags

Children, Communism, Corruption, Corruption Of Goverment, Facism, Future Of Children, Mystery, Short Story, Suspense

Meet the author

author avatar Rob Tester III
I'm a writer and poet, college sophomore. Just call me Rob. If you want to be friends with me, I'm on Facebook at this url: http://www.facebook.com/Stevie.Trix

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Comments

author avatar Denise O
4th Nov 2010 (#)

The scary thing about this is, it could actually come true, in one form or another.
Gives ya chills, I tell ya.
Thank you for sharing.:)

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