Futuristic Lovers

What will the future look like? We have all sorts of expectations, a cure for cancer, travelling by hover board and leaving behind the pencil and paper generation. These all seem like great, and maybe possibly realistic suggestions, but what if the world isn't to be quite how we expect, what if it’s a very different world from the one we now live in. Aj is fourteen, she lives in her present, she lives in our future.
Aj has to suffer the mess that the generation before her have left behind.


1. picking up the pieces

The bell rang loudly in my ears, its loud ringing sound droned on, but I was out of that hell hole before it finished. Where was I heading? The hospital first, to visit my Mama who was dieing of terminal cancer, a disease left behind by the people of the 21st century.
They tried to find a cure to cancer, the old generation, or so they claim. Well, if they did, it really did not work did it? Cancer affects 20% more people nowadays, and it’s their entire fault my Ma is going to die.
The hospital gift shop is where I stopped first. I wanted to buy her something sweet, like a bouquet of flowers, or chocolate, but I knew I couldn’t afford anything. We ha to pay back their debt, the old generation. The whole country was left in such a state, trillions of pounds in debt, and instead of fixing their problems, they dumped them on us. Us lovely civilians, who had done nothing wrong in the world, who hadn’t stolen a penny nor hurt a fly. That’s right; we had to pay back every penny of our ancestor’s debt, every last penny I say. Well, we’ve done our bit, and paid back the banks, government and council, but that doesn’t come to say the problems solved, oh no. You see, there used to be a benefits system, where people who didn’t work were just given money, for free, but now you’ve got to make your way up the world, lump it or lose it. Ma can’t help it; I don’t think it’s fair. She’s ill, of course she can’t work, she refined to a hospital bed, imprisoned in a white wash building that absolutely REEKS of antiseptics. The government don’t agree. ‘Everyone should work,’ they said.  Everyone, you ask? Yes, everyone. You see, if you don’t try at school, and you just don’t seem to grasp how the idea of how today’s society works, you get kicked out. You’re taken away. Banished to Newgate. Unfair, right? The government don’t think so. I blame the old generation, of course I do, its all their fault.
Outside the small, crowded gift shop, I checked my bank balance at an ATM cash point. 
Oh gosh, that had to last me until next Friday, almost two weeks away! I simply could not ask Jorge for any more money, he’ll take out a court order if I do again, I’m sure of it!
I made my way to the private room on the third floor that held the young lady who’d aged quickly. That lady who lay, sometimes wide awake, staring at the ceiling, giving up. That lady who lay, with her eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. Today however, she was having one of her good times. Mama chatted to me as if everything was okay,  everything was okay in her eyes. I never bothered telling her about the money, the house, Elis. She in’t nee to know, the stress, she would die if I told her.
The tube ride home only took fifty four seconds today, I counted in my head. Ariving home, I noticed more bills stacked up, wedged behind our front door, Ma’s and I. I ignored them, who cares if the tax man hunts for our flesh and bones, who cares if we live on the streets? I certainly don’t.
The slow cooker beeped, telling me my dinner was cooked, I rushed to eat it, before heading out to work. Fourteen year olds working was almost unheard of in the old generation, but not now. We had to work, for our parents who couldn’t. We had to work to make up for those who wouldn’t. And it was all their fault, the old generation. If only they’d just put it in their pockets, and not in the pint glass, the empty cigarette box, if only they hadn’t thrown it away with the chocolate wrapper, lost it in their designer jacket pockets. All unnecessary items, that they seemed to have an obsession with, I got told it was a way of living, do you believe it!
I work in a small café by the beach, it’s awfully cold and I come home smelling of fish which is never a good thing. Today I only had to work a four hour shift, including an hour of acting waitress. In my half hour break I sat and studied the European language, in the old generation two hundred and thirty different languages were spoken in Europe and for some kids it wasn’t forced to have to study a language at all! The European language used to be one of the many hundreds of languages spoken in Europe, it belonged to our country, England. We had power and fortune and one point, migrants would come here to live, they liked our idea of the benefits system, that’s why the government got strict, that’s why we live in such a bad situation, some say in another hundred years we might be soaring somewhat close to the reputation of a third world country, it all their fault, the old generation.
Work was hard, I don’t know how many times I resisted the temptation to dose off into a nasty dream, but Im home now, cuddled up in bed with a cuppa and blanket. The electricity has run out, you now, with the rationing of oil and such. It will be gone soon, the oil, ten years they say, ten short years. If I’m honest, I’m sure we could survive without it, we seemed to have survived a lot less, but it’s the oil from Scotland that keeps us going, they may well have become a separate country, back in 2014, but everyone knows how the government theive from them, they blackmail that poor country, who are struggling as much as we.
I could hear the sirens, I could here children, screaming. They only sounded perhaps eleven or twelve, but it was way past ten, way past curfew. You see, this was another one of their problems, the old generation. Kids gratified  kids drank, smoked and took drugs. It was completely irrational, inappropriate behaviour, but they couldn’t stop them, so curfews were introduced.
Youngsters under ten cant leave the house after half seven, under fifteens like me, we can’t be seen out after ten and anyone older has till midnight. Of course, you can apply for a outdoor permission slip from the government, which can be used if your flights are at say, four AM.
It’s all their fault, the old generation.
I woke with a startle. The phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. Stumbling, I grabbed it off the hook and addressed the caller. Before I knew it, I was at her bedside, my Ma’s.
A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought to myself, its all their fault…the old generation.

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