Tutor Arian Lorn watched his student’s faces change. Tightness grew in his stomach as innocent eyes narrowed eyes and gasps of surprise and revulsion escaped from covered mouths.
Unfortunately, these reactions were all expected. His duty as a tutor required he watch particular students, those portraying a sensitive nature, who may react too strongly.
Only a few moments to go, he reassured himself, relieved his finger had never left its perch directly above the ‘cancel play’ button.
He could not expect his students, these gentle, still innocent faces before him, to react in any other way, even feeling a twinge of pride they had shown such constraint. After many years of showing it to students even he had not hardened to the scenes. Those before him were barely eleven. Far too young, he still believed, to be exposed to vision of this behaviour. He would not have shown it at all, if he had a choice.
Moments passed too slowly until mercifully he could cut the vision. The all too familiar quiet of distressed children followed.
Finally, a brave voice spoke. The child did not first activate a request to speak. Arian allowed the minor infringement on this occasion, due to the circumstances.
“Tutor Lorn,” the boy started. It was young Nathan, the son of a desert dweller, who shared his father’s name, thin tanned face, endless deep, dark eyes and strong temperament. He was often the first to react or ask questions.
“Speak Nathan,” Arian responded, selecting the boy on his console. Immediately the boy’s face enlarged on his wall monitor. Arian knew his action allowed the other students the same vision.
“Did they actually…,” Nathan’s voice faded as the words fell from his mouth. “…live like this?”
“Yes Nathan,” Arian answered. “They did.”
“So they were family?” Nathan shot back, his voice now hopeful.
Arian knew the question was coming and still hated the response he had to give.
“No, Nathan, they were not family, and neither were they chosen for companionship.” As he answered, Arian deselected Nathan on his teaching console, shrinking the boy’s image to the same size as the other nineteen faces on the screen. He could still see the shock in the boy’s eyes.
“Children,” Arian continued, pressing ‘select all’ to allow the children to speak without requesting. “I need to hear how you all feel about this vision. Please allow each other to share freely.”
At first there was nothing, but Arian knew he had to be patient.
“It’s disgusting,” spat one girl.
“It’s not natural,” sobbed another, who ironically lived barely 2,000 meters from where this particular vision had been taken.
The questions came and Arian was ready to answer. He owed them that. The following years would bring more vision, some even had sound attached, but they were for much older children, thankfully.
After the class ended, Arian still felt he’d failed them. They should never have to see this, he thought, but knew that without these reminders, mankind may one day drift back to the horrors that put them where they are now. One hundred years of fear had turned them into a scattered group of terrified and isolated people, linked only by computer from their underground dwellings.
Disengaging the vision chip, Arian sighed. Even the title repulsed him.
‘Inner City Life - Part 1
Crowds Celebrating New Year - New York, 2023.
Warning – Vision shows non-family touching.’
© Rod Loader
- Story length
- short story