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Description

The desks were configured into a neat semi-circle, clear plastic tops, and cold plastic seats. Arranged in a uniform row on the ceiling were fluorescent lights, and they gleamed on the metal supporting the "learning stations". Eyes lacking any trace of life bore into twenty children seated in the room. Ten males, ten females. Not even sunlight and a yellow canary whistling zippety-doo-da would bring warmth to the desolate atmosphere. One nearly expected a tumbleweed to skirt past the children's feet. But where would it come from? Blocking the only escape was a solid metal door; no windows, no other way out.

A woman who no longer believed in love paced the chill tile, and though small, the room echoed with clip-click of her heels. Bony fingers brushed over a small boy's desk, tapping lightly.

"You," she breathed. It was a soft, and dangerous sound. He looked up with terror framed in already watery eyes. A solitary tear tumbled down his white chubby cheek, leaving no mark or trail. To his right was a fellow peer, a small girl, who turned her pale blue eyes on to him, and she trembled in empathic fear. In the brief silence she heard the boy’s heart beat, and the low clicking noise that echoed from evenly dispersed mouse-hole shaped crevices at the base of the four walls. Normally a sob would be choked out, or a pleading cry, but there was none to be had by this little boy. He had made mistakes on his work one too many times, and now he would pay.

Black and ominous, the tendrils slipped out, birthed from their mechanical womb, and electricity buzzing and humming in the faceless heads. All that adorned the obsidian snakes were an array of white dots at the suction-cup shaped end. They reminded one of the stars, frozen, distant, and untouchable. Extreme irony ruled this world, and one by one, ten long, smooth and slick snakes of a new breed, slid across the floor and wound up the metal of the boy's chair. Tremors raked his body as the snakes connected with his bare and pure skin, a small mouth opened in a silent scream and was quickly replaced by the writhing mass of tendrils.

Nineteen children watched on in horror, though not for the first time. Tomorrow, perhaps the day after, another five year old boy would take his place. As the snakes dispersed, leaving nothing in their wake the teacher whispered, "Back to work."

Nine boys, ten girls. Simultaneously, noiseless activity proceeded, and the children of the future scribbled out their times tables. Three times one is three, three times two is six, and three times three is nine. There is no room for error in the future. You must all be perfect. Ten times ten is one hundred.

Description

The desks were configured into a neat semi-circle, clear plastic tops, and cold plastic seats. Arranged in a uniform row on the ceiling were fluorescent lights, and they gleamed on the metal supporting the "learning stations". Eyes lacking any trace of life bore into twenty children seated in the room. Ten males, ten females. Not even sunlight and a yellow canary whistling zippety-doo-da would bring warmth to the desolate atmosphere. One nearly expected a tumbleweed to skirt past the children's feet. But where would it come from? Blocking the only escape was a solid metal door; no windows, no other way out.

A woman who no longer believed in love paced the chill tile, and though small, the room echoed with clip-click of her heels. Bony fingers brushed over a small boy's desk, tapping lightly.

"You," she breathed. It was a soft, and dangerous sound. He looked up with terror framed in already watery eyes. A solitary tear tumbled down his white chubby cheek, leaving no mark or trail. To his right was a fellow peer, a small girl, who turned her pale blue eyes on to him, and she trembled in empathic fear. In the brief silence she heard the boy’s heart beat, and the low clicking noise that echoed from evenly dispersed mouse-hole shaped crevices at the base of the four walls. Normally a sob would be choked out, or a pleading cry, but there was none to be had by this little boy. He had made mistakes on his work one too many times, and now he would pay.

Black and ominous, the tendrils slipped out, birthed from their mechanical womb, and electricity buzzing and humming in the faceless heads. All that adorned the obsidian snakes were an array of white dots at the suction-cup shaped end. They reminded one of the stars, frozen, distant, and untouchable. Extreme irony ruled this world, and one by one, ten long, smooth and slick snakes of a new breed, slid across the floor and wound up the metal of the boy's chair. Tremors raked his body as the snakes connected with his bare and pure skin, a small mouth opened in a silent scream and was quickly replaced by the writhing mass of tendrils.

Nineteen children watched on in horror, though not for the first time. Tomorrow, perhaps the day after, another five year old boy would take his place. As the snakes dispersed, leaving nothing in their wake the teacher whispered, "Back to work."

Nine boys, ten girls. Simultaneously, noiseless activity proceeded, and the children of the future scribbled out their times tables. Three times one is three, three times two is six, and three times three is nine. There is no room for error in the future. You must all be perfect. Ten times ten is one hundred.