iT wAS tHE kIDS (A Short Story)


Bad cop

It was the kids.

Its easy to say it was the years of terrible TV and multimedia and hearing and watching adults do terrible things to each other that caused it.

Or that the cocktail of melodrama and terror of every erroneous era mixed with consistently curiously freer children, children who are year by year older than they ever were before in time, because as the years drew on and as education got weirder, and technology replaced face time and distorted time,they were left to terrible whims, with no pavlovian directors to beat out the bad seed of terrible habits that were to become behavior,personality and the unprojected oblivion.

No.

IT WAS THE KIDS.

Not even in this current time of big data analytics were all these insane factors being put together, because if they were, then someone could have had an inkling of the future to come.

I like the word inkling, its like a portmanteau, a mesh word contrived by putting together thinking, ink and offspring…the offspring part obviously conjured like “a duckling”.

As it were, were there any inkling, then the analysts would have had a young thought and put it to ink,  and at least tried to warn the world what his study and research meant to humanity.

No, that last paragraph was not some twisted double entendre, no. I wish I had had the inkling, and bore it to full birth, and given my life savings to the emanation of that one message,akin to a global alert of a terrible computer virus;

“THE KIDS ARE CORRUPTED AND WILL DESTROY THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT”.

Its interesting how quickly the world and the technological systems respond to global alerts of computer viruses. It takes minutes for different teams working for their own profit to coalesce beyond their selfish boundaries and share information necessary to vanquish the discovered threat, usually with instantaneous successful results.

Mostly the entity that figured out the loophole has a few short moments of glory by having discovered the error, but in minutes this  fix is normally replicated across all security protocol.

It is as though the greater good supersedes all selfish interest, and in that one moment money, power, fame and profit do not matter, all that matters is the need to stop the threat.

Why this had not happened in the pockets off humanity that first experienced the bad code no one knows.

Well actually everyone knows. Isolated incidents. poor parenting, pointing fingers at specific “bad parents” or alternately bad kids. Child soldiers.Terrorism and al Qaeda. Neo fascism. Violent videogames. Black Panthers. Gangsta rap. wannabe ninjas.  young Yakuza. the underworld. the Italian mob.

The excuses were literally limitless.And in as much as the data was being mapped, the human research  scientists would never dare to extrapolate it into its murky dark fate.

The Columbine Massacre, the massacre in Finland, kids in Kenya burning down their schools, the Soweto uprising, Tiananmen Square,The immigrant uprisings in Europe. The gang wars of Mexico, Cuba,brazil. The hoodlums of east London.The Arab spring. The killing of Saddam,the killing of quaddafi( however you spell it, its the same guy).  All with increasing frequency through the passage of time. It had to lead to something.

The kids had been left to their own devices for far too long. They had their own language now, with each successive era of teenagers letting go of the concept but leaving something to those beneath them to work from,code deeper.With younger and younger kids becoming smarter and smarter, more aware and accustomed to things previous eras only experienced in their mid twenties.

The children were now so much more separate from the adults that it was implausible that what they were, could turn into the adults they were to become, pupae to butterfly.

More like pupae to ghastly vampire moths.


Kill People , Burn Shit, Fick School…

I herded four or five of the kids I cant remember their names or faces, just that they seemed confused and not in sync with their colleagues.

They were crying and visibly bleeding from deep jagged emotional wounds. They would never heal.

The school principal was long dead, his strangely deformed and mutilated body at the parade grounds, the school assembly point, his head atop the flagpole, as on a spit.

Yet strangely, there was a quiet, like that in an insane asylum; only the scarred ones screamed in their own lost mania, the administrations of their medics performed in quietude and silence. It was as though they knew where every adult was, where everyone was. Like they had discovered a human homing system that one did not have to implant or activate.These kids nowadays. I didn’t have any electronic devices. But I sensed their approach and knew we had to run.

My fellow teachers ran amok, screaming weeping confused, lost,bleeding.

The death of hope.

The abjection of despair.

The clenched grip of regret.

The woeful wail of immeasurable loss.

The annihilation of joy.

Annihilation, by the way, came from Nihilism, that school of thought that was executed in another erroneous era.

Nihil, which means nothing.

Annihilation did not fit this scenario. Time to invent a new word.

The kids  were doing terrible things to all the adults in the school.

Unspeakables.

Horrors that made Auschwitz seem forgivable.

I refuse to describe them, what I saw. I refuse to name the children.

They didn’t have a leader.  No central command. yet it was as though the specific will of all the kids was so unified that it synchronized in time and space.

And so we ran.

I guided the crying kids towards the gate, and started running.

The dirt road was hard  yet scraggly. I knew we were being chased, didn’t understand how they knew how we went.

The worst thing about this situation was that I could not, though every instinct in me told me to, take off at top speed. I had to run at the children’s pace, which for me was far to slow, and I felt their presence slowly creep upon us.

I kept pace with the kids,and little Timmy was still weeping.

I stopped to help him blow his nose, as we came to a clearing.

If we went straight across, we would come to the  fence of our competitor school, Junior Academy.

At least there we could call the authorities and report on the day Testament School went crazy, a day that would forever be marked in history as another freak event like columbine.

We clawed under the barbed wire fence, with me having more trouble than the rest.

I looked back across the clearing and watched them come.

We ran again.

This time towards Junior Academy’s administration block,where I would find Steve Maina,my old college buddy.We had drawn apart, strange how people with similar careers and interests could still be drawn apart over time in such close proximity.

Find him I did. Can i say disembodied? His head at the top of the flagpole,the bloodstained banner flapping wildly in protest of its desecration,calling out to the forefathers.

The death of hope.

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