Anthropology, Social discord, and Psychology. Just a few of the subjects that totally fascinate me.
'In a year of change we were going into a strange new World. After the Virus came the far left, overtaking Democracy. To be old was a disgrace. To be heard was against the Law.
The world was for the young.
God Help Us.'
— Carly Darwin
'Mummy did you really hug like that?'
'I don't believe you.'
Simon gently placed the newspaper back in its plastic cover, and put it in the drawer.
Simon was ten years old and just becoming curious about the Old World.
He shuffled on his chair, and looked uncomfortable.
'They said there were things called Fireworks too.' He sniffed.
Carly carried on cleaning. Rubbing the duster over and over the already disinfected table, she stopped and looked at him.
'Well, what did they look like?'
Carly sighed and placed the cloth back down onto the table.
Grabbing a chair she sat and faced him, but her eyes were elsewhere, reliving the past.
'Oh, they were beautiful, son. Purples and greens, banging and exploding. The sky was always lit up. I loved Bonfire night, then when we moved here to America, July the 4th, Independence day.'
Simon gave her a look as though he still didn't believe her.
'Okay, so why did they stop then?'
She sighed. 'Because the new generation believed them to be dangerous. 'Hurt animals and upset the neighbours,' they said. They sorta died out then. Sadly,' she added.
Before Simon could say anything, she went on, 'Fireworks were used for hundreds of years, but when this generation came along they believed they knew it all. Us elders didn't have a say in the matter. ' She pulled a face.
'Then, of course, came the Virus.'
'Virus, mum?' Simon looked confused.
'That's why we could no longer hug each other.'
'But... when did it go away?'
Carly stood up and carried on cleaning the table. With her back to him she replied,' 'It was over long long ago, Simon.'
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
'Hold on!' Carly rushed over to retrieve the disinfectant spray. Reaching across to open the door, she stepped back, grabbed her mask then said, 'Okay, you can step up now!'
'Only me Mrs, er...' The postman always forgot her name. In fact he forgot her face too. He had never seen it.
Whenever anyone came to the door, full face coverings were the law.
'Thanks Postie.' She smiled, then tutted at her own stupidity. She would never learn. How could he see a smile?
Did anyone smile now?
Taking the parcel, she placed it on the side table, sprayed it, and stood back. Before closing the door she peeped out.
Cars flew by, the new airborne kind and she gasped. Oh how she would love to travel in that!
But of course she couldn't. It was only permitted for the under 30s, and she was old. Nearly 45.
'Oh, how to be young again!'
'Can I go upstairs to play mum?' Simon looked anxious, hoping to get away and play with his computer.
'Yeah, go on son. But be back down for your tea, and don't forget to disinfect the window and door before you come down.'
'Okay.' And he scooted up the stairs.
Carly walked over to the drawer and took out the old newspaper that she had carefully placed inside the plastic bag.
It was ancient. Well, nearly. The date said 2019. She had forgotten about it when she moved. Just thrust it into the bags and into the spare room.
Gently she opened it, scared that it would tear.
Her eyes grew wide with wonder when she read the words and looked at the pictures.
People hugging, others laying on a beach. There, Fireworks! Oh my! So pretty. And then she saw it.
A boy and a girl, kissing.
She started to cry.
Ever since the New World Order, run by ex college and University kids, who took over back in 2022, the world had changed.
They used to call it Political Correctness. But now it was the law. Especially if you were over 30. Straight to jail, do not pass go.
No more hugging. It spread germs, they said. Scrub your house and yourself. But that was over, wasn't it?
No fireworks, dangerous. No cultural exchange. Only wear the clothes, hairstyles, everything, from the country you were born into.
Your music had to be the same.
Too many rules to remember. But you had too. It was dangerous to forget.
'Oh how I used to love listening to Italian music when I was a child!' Carly sighed, and went into the kitchen. Sitting down she drank a cup of tea, her ration for the day.
She was only allowed a certain amount of sugar. It was bad for the over 30s, they said.
Yes of course they did, the little... Stop! Don't think it!
Tears formed in her eyes, remembering how her husband used to hold her. Of course he had been arrested for 'Spreading viruses and germs, which would hurt the younger generation.' He was still in prison, three years on.
'Why did we let it happen? Why on earth didn't we kick their backsides, tell them to grow up and respect each other?'
But now it was far too late.
After the virus, the world seemed to cling to the new rules. Governments changed, and some new laws were applied, as though hanging onto the fear.
Mustn't do this, mustn't do that.
Racism was wiped out for a while, but slid back, insidious. Of course white people got the blame, but it wasn't them. It was everybody. But mainly young.
Ironic. The ones who kept fighting it, doing it.
'Hah! It was never the old, but you couldn't say it!' Carly laughed out loud, then sobbed.
'This won't help anyone. ' she snapped at herself.
Pulling herself together she put on her coat, mask, gloves and hat.
Then she called out that she was going to the shops, and opened the front door.
'Must keep my head down. Don't look at anyone, definitely not the French guy who lives next door.'
It was far too dangerous. Being foreign and young, one wrong look would throw her straight into jail for being 'subversive, racist and youngist.'
And so she walked on. As she did every day. Hoping, praying that somehow it would change.
She sighed, pulled her hat down, thrust her hands into her pockets, and walked.
A' Where the hell did that come from? Story!' Nell Rose
This is possibly the beginning of a new book. It just sort of flowed out, and yes boy was I surprised! lol!
Tell me what you think? And thanks.
© 2020 Nell Rose