Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
I look over at the alarm clock, and no doubt, it’s 6:00 on the dot. Ugh, morning. I always dreaded the mornings: the beginning of a new day; the reminder of what could have been, but never will be. If only…..
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
OK! OK! I’m up already! Reluctantly I get out of bed and begin the morning routine. Getting into the shower, getting into my uniform, eating breakfast. Same old, same old. It was Friday, meaning I only had two breakfast tubes left: oatmeal and a ham omelet. I took the oatmeal, leaving the worst for later. Somehow the idea of a blended ham and egg smoothie grossed me out. At least the oatmeal had a fruity flavor added, so the mixture was somewhat bearable. As the slime was creeping down my throat, I was daydreaming about a normal breakfast, the kind of breakfast that they eat. A real omelet. Real eggs and ham. Oh, that would be the life.
Snapping back to reality, I put on my navy blue jumpsuit with the government seal sewn in the upper right-hand corner. It was a generic suit, nothing special, just one of a 100,000. 100,000. That’s how many of us there were left. I wonder what will happen when all of us are extinct, when only they are left. How would the bottom of the social class be determined then? But never mind that, this issue does not pertain to me. As long as I’m alive, this won’t be an issue.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
6:45.Time to go. I had to be there at exactly 7:00, any late person got the worst job available. So far I have been late only once, and I have no desire to repeat that experience. Luck was on my side that day, the worst job available was cleaning manure, so it wasn’t so bad. Today the latecomers were not as lucky. Today, the slaughter house was up for grabs, and I thank my lucky stars that I am not one of the unfortunate ones who this job is bestowed upon. Today, I get pick- up liter from the streets near my old elementary school.
As I pick up the soda cans and gum wrappers from the side walk, I hear laughter and jeering coming from the school’s play ground. I look over to see what is going on; just settle my curiosity, even though I already suspected what was going on. It was a fight or rather, a beating up. A scrawny kid, one of us, trying to hold his own against a boy twice his size. A teacher was standing only a couple feet away, clearly seeing what was going on, but chose to do nothing, as always. The poor kid never stood a chance. With one punch, the bully knocked the little boy out, but of course that wasn’t enough. The bully continued kicking and punching the little boy, until the nearby teacher finally chose to stroll by and put an end to it. These situations always made me feel worthless, like a nobody. I couldn’t even put a stop to a school yard fight. But of course how could I help someone when I myself am helpless? Even as a kid, one of them holds more power than me. But what can be done?
I am a part of the “weak” generation. The generation before gene enhancement was invented, before your genes were handpicked by your parents. Those were the superiors, the super-beings. They were the ones with the higher intellect, greater athletic abilities, and more artistic capabilities. They occupied all the real professions. The super-beings all became doctors, lawyers, teachers, anything that is “worthwhile”. And whatever they deem as unworthy, they throw it to us, the normal people. Once upon a time, people strove to be normal. Just wanting to fit in, to be normal. Nowadays, being called normal is offensive. No one wants to be just normal, and anyone who is, is looked down upon. Anyone without superior intellect is viewed as child, incapable of doing anything with minor complexity, being unable to take care of ourselves. That is why we are given such strict schedules, so the authorities can take care of us. The pre-set-up meals – because we are not capable of feeding ourselves properly; the daily roll call and job assignment – because we are not capable of finding “fitting” jobs on our own. Everything is planned out for us, controlled by the super-beings. They say that this is for our own good, for our protection, but I know better.
Even as little kids we were discriminated against. The kids with hand selected superior genes went to one classroom, and the normal kids went to the other. The class of normal kids never got to learn anything. All we did was draw pictures, color, and play with toys. I can still recall the disgusted looks teachers gave us when someone colored outside of the lines. Of course, all the teachers were super-beings, so we were used to the repugnance radiating from them. As we were coloring, the other class learned mathematics, reading, science, everything that I wanted. The only way I learned these things was by sneaking into the school after hours and learning the material on my own. One time I got caught by the janitor. He took one look at me, winked, and walked out. I was frozen with fear. I thought for sure that I was busted. But he never came back. Even though I had no chance at a normal future, I still learned. And even though I was punished several times for slipping up and letting on that I can read, or do any kind of math, I sucked it up. Because that’s what life is for people like me. We are here to be the underdogs, to clean up after the super-beings, to be their punching bags.