Written by x3naurus

You’re telling us, alright!
Image Courtesy of http://www.amountainmomma.com

“My dear child, you are quite impulsive! Let us check these results! Ah, here we are. Teacher’s notes. Ohohohoo! ‘Speaks constantly. Can’t sit still. Makes my hair fall out.’ Not very good, my child! You know what this means?”

“Yes, sir.”

The child looks frantically around the ghost-white room for a split second, when he simply gives in to the psychiatrist’s sundering stare. “Come with me, young one.”

This young boy follows close. He finally snaps out of the sundering submission, whilst his hand is tightly grasped by the psychiatrist, and looks – again – frantically among the hallway. Somehow, the psychiatrist notices this, and stops, twisting his head toward the child.

“What are you doing, child? Looking about the room as if it was so different as which you have come in!”

“But sir! I… I don’t know why!”

“That is why you need help, dear child. It is why we have created this system… just for you! Now… eyes forward. Head straight. Body… not-doing-whatever-it-is-THAT-is… and keep moving.” The psychiatrist darts his head back to the hallway, and turns his eyes into little slits, as his chin is ever-so-slightly raised, in victory. They continue the journey to a gray door. “In here, now. Don’t be shy, after all of this!” The boy opens his mouth, yet no words escape. He merely ends up with grumbles as he opens this frigid door of bright wonders. The bright wonders end up… conveyor belts.

The psychiatrist fills with joy. “Yes! Ah, the sweet smell of Industrialization, is it not?” This child frantically looks about the room, once more, and this time, with good reason. Children, many of ages, shapes, and sizes sit upon the conveyor belt as it takes them through dark corner to dark corner. The higher the conveyor belt is, the more unhappy and grey the children are – as if turning into the door they had entered!

“What is this, sir? Some sort of chamber?” the boy asks.

“No, no, no, my child. This is merely here to help you be a smart young child! No more bad grades, now. No more bad comments of the teachers in the school, now. Oh, and no more looking frantically about the room!”

The child becomes so paranoid, trying to escape, but with minor avail. He sat among a child in front of him, and soon, behind him, went through dark corner to dark corner. Each one had a new capsule for him to (forcibly) consume. Eventually, he had reached the top, where he exited and met his parents once again.

“Mother. Father. Hello.” His parents widened their eyes with immediate joy.

“My boy! Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect attitude! We’ll take him!” Papers were signed, thanks were exchanged, and checks were cashed. The family exited the facility, looking straight ahead, head tilted ever-so-slightly upward.

“We’re so proud of you honey!”

“Thank you, mother,” with a perfect smile. Just next to the family was a group of guardsmen in yellow suits carrying a child in a net. He was yelling that all he had done was “get bad grades.” Quite a silly child, looking so frantically about the school, as if it was different, as when he had come here the past 6 years.




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