The Fredösphere

Jill was late for work.  As always, she blamed her parents.

"Mom, did you make sure Joey is wearing his boots?  It looks like rain."

"Mm-hm."

Mom was looking out the window of the van when she answered.  Jill risked a quick glance to the back seat.  Miracles of miracles, Joey's boots were on his feet.  Jill faced forward.

"Aw, shit!"

Jill awkwardly slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding a collision.  Someone Jill's height really had no business driving a van, but she didn't trust mom to do it anymore, and dad was long past being good for anything.  And Joey?  Joey wasn't talking yet, which at eighteen months was pretty bad, even for an unaccelerated. 

It all came down to Jill.  Only she could cook, pay the bills, find a handyman (a rare commodity these days!) when something broke, and hold down a job.  That she was late for.  Thanks to her parents.  Stupid, selfish, reckless, stupid, parents.

She pulled into the parking lot of the day care center.  It was a big institution, and its intimidating scale was disguised by a series of cutesy facades, one for each homeroom.  The intent had been that each child would recognize, and identify with, "his" or "her" facade, with its unique color and decor.  That the facades were cartoonish representations of homes (and yes, one of them was a gingerbread house) seemed a kind of mocking irony in light of the new reality.  Jill felt the incongruity afresh each time she lead her demented parents to their homeroom.

Of course, the seedy, grimy appearance of the facades added yet another layer of ironic meaning, one even a genius like Jill could hardly begin to sort out.

This was the new reality:  a few normal people, mostly dumb toddlers like Joey; a huge number of accelerated adults at various stages of mental decline, like Jill's parents; and a bunch of accelerated kids with vast intellectual powers, like Jill.

Jill and her cohort ruled the world.  A world that was falling apart.

Labels: FictionOpeners