|
> Tuesday, 30th November 2038 <
“Talk about what?” Liv questions aloud, still presented an unthreatening demeanour, and yet opting to remain hesitant toward getting comfortable in the gentleman’s presence. “An opportunity that I wanted to offer you” Ian answers, his socially uncomfortable presence proving to be somewhat reassuring in the eyes of the woman across from him, though not enough to let his guard down, “I know most people have sorta moved on from everything with your sister, but I’ve got no other ideas.” Pressing the tips of his fingers together whilst keeping his palms separated, Ian takes toward the ground as his posture straightens itself out, almost as if his intent were to appear more approachable than he normally would be. “I’ve spent the last couple of years putting together one project after another that all fell through. The one time everything went according to plan... the film was a flop” he confesses, eyes taking toward the girl’s direction, “I’m throwing things at the wall here.” “I don’t understand what you think I’m gonna be able to help you with, but I’m pretty sure you’re barking up the wrong tree” Liv remarks, offering her admission of inability to change the fortunes of the near-stranger across from her, “my sister’s life is more compelling than anything I can offer you.” “I know. You’re right” Ian responds, confessing to the young woman that her claims- although self-depriving- are true nonetheless, “but that’s why I’ve been staying in semi-frequent contact with her.” Narrowing her eyelids, Liv’s first thoughts prove to be inquiring about the claim that’s been made, but the opportunity to speak never presents itself, instead filled with added emphasis from the director. “She’s got nothing else to lose. She’s stuck in that prison for almost twenty more years at least. In fact, she’s lucky she was too young for the judge to hand her the death sentence” Ian explains, speaking to the inmate’s sister as if he were offering a sales pitch, his cadence having shifted to a presentation, “people are fascinated by morbidity. Sophie may not be in their collective minds now, but perhaps a chance to look at where the people in the story are now would prove intriguing?” “Why are you telling this to me then? You’re the one in contact with her, if you needed someone to convince her- you’re the best person for it apparently” Liv replies, shrugging as she stares off into the distance, “who would even want to watch a film about a woman stuck in a cage like that?” “No one would... That’s why the story isn’t about Sophie” Ian retorts honestly, shaking his head as he changes the direction of the young girl’s mind, “Sophie will have a part in it- yes. However, this film would be about Sophie’s family.” Intensifying, Liv’s squint toward the man carries forward as silence proceeds beyond his pause, allowing the remark to settle within the mind of the teenager. “Think about it... When people hear about these terrible stories about terrible things done by terrible people, how often do they think about what they leave their families with the burden of?” Ian proposes, raising the question for interpretation now that the initial offer has been provided, “unless their upbringing had something to do with why they did what they did, no one bats an eye. And when it comes to what happens after the travesty, it’s almost like the family never even mattered.” “So what?” Liv questions aloud, dipping her hands into the pockets at either side of her coat as she shrugs her shoulders, “it’s been seven years and we’ve all moved on from that. My dad got married, he had a new kid, we went on with life. Why bring all of that back up for no good reason?” “Because you’ll have to one way or another” Ian replies, shaking his head as if scoffing at the inquiry, considering it somewhat humorous. “Whether you like it or not, the history of your family will always be right there in your mind” he points out, pulling his hands away from each other momentarily to point at the girl’s head, “maybe people recognise you for it in the future, maybe Sophie gets released on good behaviour in twenty years, it’ll come back around eventually.” “Why does that time have to be now?” Liv rebukes, hesitant to offer the man that stands before her any inclination that his proposition is a compelling one, “and if we’re gonna have to dig up those skeletons, why would we want to do it in front of a camera?” “You don’t necessarily have to” Ian responds, reassuring the young woman that it’s not as cut and dry as a done deal otherwise would be, “but it’d be better to do it in front of the camera than it would be to have constant news articles popping up and bringing Sophie’s name back into the headlines.” “Oh, so this isn’t so much an offer as much as it is a threat?” Liv questions back, only to watch a vehement dismissal of such a conclusion find its way from the needy film maker. “A threat? No! No, of course not!” Ian quickly refuses, shaking his head whilst taking notice of the displeased visage that the girl across from him wears, “that would be like if I told you to take part in this film at the trouble of exposing the fact that you’ve been lying about your autistic-progress.” As the corners of her lips arch upwards, the muscles in Liv’s cheeks tighten as she rolls her eyes, nodding to herself whilst staring toward the heavens. “Yep, there it is” the teenager replies, the obviously unpleasant reaction she takes to the quip being one that prompts Ian into pre-damage control. “All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best if you convinced your mom and dad to say a few things and let me follow them around with a camera for a little while” the man explains, waving his hands toward the girl in a dismissive manner, trying to dissuade her from thinking of his claims as the threat they conceal themselves to be, “it’ll take one, maybe two weeks tops. You’ll all be well-compensated... and your secret will be safe and sound.” “It doesn’t sound like it’ll ever be safe and sound while you’re around, dude” Liv corrects, leaning her head toward one side with a more well-defined look of disgust. “After I’m done filming this thing, you won’t ever have to hear from me again” Ian assures, hands falling back to his sides as the conversation appears to be nearing its end, “I don’t really want to be in the business of filming documentaries anyway. My passion is film making... proper film making.” “I don’t give a fuck about what your passion is” Liv responds, her anger made clear and obvious, though her vigour and increasing eagerness to assault the man whilst no witnesses are around to see is concealed excellently. “You should! As a matter of fact, it’s something that should be appreciated!” Ian retorts, turning his body ninety degrees whilst stretching his hand out toward the distant treeline, moving aside to grant the young woman a sight for herself. “Take this scene for example! The irony of why I chose this place and the symbolism of what it represents!” the man doubles down, trying to carry his claims with the weight of a scholar to the practice. “This is where your sister brought Caden that night after they filmed her in the bunker. This is where the truth finally came out about what happened” Ian proceeds, wearing a prideful grin, “and now, this is where it all comes full-circle. More truths come out... This time with her sister.” With a slight flare to her nostrils, Liv stares forward with a mostly blank expression, the way it rests making it appear more disdainful than anything else from the eye of the man at her line of sight. “Why choose now to do all of this?” the teenager inquires, brushing off the poetic turn that the filmmaker had ushered her toward the scenery of in favour of searching for something more concrete, “if you’ve been struggling to find a new project, why wait seven years to dig all of this up?” Looking back to the girl with a meagre letdown in his demeanour, Ian passes a glance toward the distance whilst searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t given much thought to. “Why not, I guess?” the filmmaker replies, repositioning himself opposite the girl once more, “I’m not sure why I held off on it for so long, but I know why I couldn’t just wait forever.” “You’ve already waited forever... It’s been seven years and we’ve all completely moved on” Liv argues back, refusing the man his open-endedness before finding surprise in his hesitancy to buy into such a fact. “No... I waited a very long time, but I did not wait forever” Ian responds, again using his hands to speak as if giving a presentation, “forever isn’t possible- it’s a concept of time. Everything that happens inside of forever eventually- through some way or manner- dies in forever.” Squinting with a slight confusion, Liv watches the man pull his hands away and position them at his either side. “Think of it like this... You have a duty to staple two pieces of paper together, alright? You can wait to do that duty forever as long as you ensure just a few things” Ian explains, breaking it down in simple terms, “you can wait forever as long as you, the stapler, the staples, and the pieces of paper are still around. Once one of those goes, it dies and it’s forever is over.” “That just sounds like another way of saying that you can just finish that task as long as you’re still alive” Liv retorts, unimpressed with the concept she’s presented with, “by that theory, I’ll live forever because forever ends when I die.” “Exactly the point! That’s why I call it the ‘Tree of Life Theory’, it’s what I use to keep my films orderly” Ian reassures, his smile only continuing to grow the more he’s afforded the chance to speak, “everything’s alive when the tree is alive. But when that tree finally dies, all the life that it supports dies too. No matter what the purpose was or what others had to gain from it being alive, the tree of life dying marks the point in which all of that hope- whatever it was- dies too.” Though her face remains directed toward the film maker, Liv’s eyes wander into the distance as her anger begins to dissipate, instead turning into an overall sense of dissatisfaction that the man easily notices. “Alright, listen. I get that you probably don’t care to hear any of that, but my point is that it doesn’t matter how long I’ve waited. We can get this doc done and your family will never have to see me again” Ian explains, “I’m just saying that you should really, really think about it.” Bowing her head, Liv stares at the footprints in the snow that the filmmaker had left upon his arrival prior to her own, letting the man finish his point before attempting to leave. “I’ll let you have all of tomorrow to get your mind right. We can meet at that park with the statue of the dude on that horse a few blocks away from your school Thursday night, alright?” Ian proclaims, offering the young woman as much distance as he can offer to her comfort, “give it some real thought, Olivia.” “Who told you about my autism?” the girl calls out immediately upon the man’s conclusion, turning around to watch his head face back toward her, stopping from retreating any further than he already has, “tell me the answer- honestly- and I might give it some consideration.” With a pause, the man’s hands remain in his pockets as he stares off into the cold, winter evening with a moral dilemma on his mind. “You know I’m not supposed to mention-” Ian attempts to reply, trying to offer himself an exemption from the request that the girl will not allow him. “If you’re not supposed to mention names, then let me. If I say the correct name, just turn around and leave without saying anything” Liv responds, providing the filmmaker the next best thing to outright silence before continuing, “was it Coleen? Coleen Wolf? Did she put you up to this?” Glued to the teenage girl as he remains motionless, Ian stares into her determined face and takes a mental note of the well-hidden, but still partially-noticeable visage of frustration. Having remained slightly apart since his remarks were interrupted, the man’s lips remain pulled from each other as his eyes finally break from the young woman, turning away with the rest of his head. Uttering not even one syllable, Ian turns the way he’d initially set out to depart toward with his hands in his pockets, resuming his walk toward the vehicle he’d parked along the side of the road. Seething on her own, Liv’s face turns back toward the treeline that the discourse’s second participant had once stood against the backdrop of, her irritation only increasing from what it had been moments prior as angry eyes are taken toward the snow-covered branches. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > Wednesday, 1st December 2038 < In a wooden chair that had usually been left to sit in the sun all day on the side lot that he’s mere days away from converting into an extension of the shop, Andrew sits in silence with nothing more than the snipping sound of his pruning shears being taken to the branches of one of many potted azalea plants at the front of his store. Though they can play music, the various speakers set up around the building and propped up in high corners and shelves sit without power, purposefully shut off. Though the day is an unusually cold one even as the first day of the year’s final month, the store’s heater is purposefully left off, allowing anything not under the plants that provide warmth and artificial sunlight to the shop’s various flora to remain rather chilly and frigid. Wearing only a red, long sleeve shirt with his business’ branding on the left side of his chest, Andrew bares the bitter elements without much issue, taking little notice of the freezing temperatures that he sits in. Losing track of time and yet remaining aware of the winter’s bite, Andrew takes pleasure in seeing his breath fog the air that sits around him, paying more mind for his attendance to the plants than the conditions he’s seated in. With countless reasons to believe his life to be cluttered with circumstances otherwise, the store’s owner allows his mind to fall into a state of pleasantry as he continues to whittle away at his duties, still intent on readying his store for the holiday season. *knock knock knock knock knock* Beckoned for just a short few feet away, Andrew’s eyes take toward the shop’s front door and the five, consecutive knocks that appear to call out for his answer. Not needing more than a couple of seconds to fail at noticing the face that presses close to his door’s glass exterior, the man returns his sights toward the plant sitting before him. “We’re closed!” the busy gentleman calls back as he guides the shears back toward the yet-to-bloom azalea. *knock knock knock knock knock* Disturbed for a second time, Andrew rolls his eyes and presses his lips together before his hands can bring the blades of his clippers down once more. “I’m not serving anybody until the store opens back up in the middle of the month!” the owner quips back, not even bothering to turn his head around toward the unimportant civilian this second time around, “no amount of knocking at my door is going to change that.” “I’m not here to buy a plant, man” the visitor calls back, realising he can just as easily call out for the store’s owner through the thin glass as he can repeatedly tap at the building’s door. “If you’re from the I.R.S, I already paid my taxes and you’re not seeing another dime until April” Andrew chirps back, unamused at the stranger’s presence and left with little reason to act otherwise, “if you’re anyone else that’s here for anything else, you can just as politely leave.” Displeased, the citizen on the outside of the shop frowns at the seated father of two before lifting his hand away from his side. *knock knock knock knock knock* Frustratedly lowering his shears back toward his lap, Andrew rolls his eyes once more, this time pulling his head back and staring toward the side of his shop with an unpleasant expression. “Sir, I’m a licensed gun owner and my pistol is in a safe around the front counter just a couple dozen feet away-” the building’s lone occupant calls back, again with an unwelcoming, yet steady and calm tone carried toward the visitor’s ear, “- driving me crazy with your knocks does neither of us good.” “I’m not here for your money or to buy your plants, alright? I’m just a concerned parent trying to talk man-to-man” the civilian proclaims, allowing a pause to linger as the store’s owner goes unresponsive for a moment. Staring forward with a curious gaze, Andrew thinks quietly to himself for a moment before gently discarding the shears onto the storefront’s display window just beside the potted plant, patting himself on the knees as he stands up and walks for the door. Turning the door’s lock, Andrew parts the entrance’s doors and steps out to join the supposed parent in the frosty embrace of the midwestern December air. “Listen sir, I’ve kept away from the public eye for a while, so I’ll forgive you for not realising this” the long sleeve shirt-wearing shop operator remarks, joining the civilian at street level, “I don’t want to talk about what happened with my oldest. She did what she did, and my family is fractured because of it, and that’s-” Vehemently shaking his head without speaking at first, the stranger refuses the father any further words through his vocal interjection, finally clearing the air on his purpose for approaching him. “No, no, no- I’m not here about all of that” the visitor explains, wanting to dismiss any such notion prior to pleading his case, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that and all, but- and don’t take this the wrong way- I don’t care about any of that.” With a faint squint in his eye, Andrew’s attitude shifts just slightly as the conclusion he’d brought himself to is completely dismissed, replaced with something he’s totally unsure of. “Well, what is it that brings you here then?” the wondrous father questions aloud, tucking his hands into his pockets to brace against the cold weather, not necessarily minding the frost, but also not too keen on tackling it head on. “Forgive me, I’m not really in the loop on how your family tree works and I’d rather not make any assumptions-” the stranger opens, pre-empting himself in the event of misunderstanding, “-but I believe I’m actually referring to your oldest’s sister. I’ve been told her name is ‘Olivia’?” Only deepening, Andrew’s squint accompanies the deeper look of loss that he wears unprevented. “I’m sorry, are you one of her teachers or something?” the girl’s father inquires, still unaware of who it is that he’s speaking to. “No, I’m actually the parent of one of her classmates” the visitor replies, extending his hand to introduce himself as politely as he can manage, “my name’s Tyler, I’m Coleen’s father.” Reciprocating the gesture, Andrew shakes the stranger’s hand whilst shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure who Coleen is” the man explains, his apology a simple masquerade used with the hopes of finding answers to his questions, “I’ll take you at your word about them being classmates, though. Is there something I can help you with?” “Well, I’m not sure. I’m hoping that you can be of help, but I don’t really know what you can do on your end” Tyler explains, visibly stricken with difficulty on how to approach the topic he visits over, “my ex wife told me that your daughter assaulted mine a few weeks back. I don’t know if she’s done anything about it, but she’s not the kind of woman to really stick her neck out for our kid. I figured I should just come down and try to at least do something since Susana probably hasn’t.” “Are you and your wife separated or something? You sound like you can’t stand her” Andrew responds, his words carried in a tone as cold as the winter is, though the end of the conversation he provides at least comes across approachable. “Well, she’s my ex wife for a reason. I’d really rather she not have anything to do with Coleen, but unfortunately the court isn’t very favourable toward the fathers in these kinds of things” Tyler explains, making an effort to recorrect course. “Anyway, I came by to see if there was anything we could do to keep our kids from going at each other’s throats” he continues, putting his best foot forward, “I don’t know if your daughter’s got a mean streak or something, but I know Coleen takes after her mother in many very poor ways. With how less-than-stellar Susana treats her, I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple failed to fall far from the tree.” “Are you insinuating that your daughter is bullying mine?” Andrew wonders aloud, crossing his arms as he continues trying to figure out the motivation behind the man standing before him. “I’m sure she’s not friendly toward your kid to say the least. From what I’ve heard, your kid’s got some mental deficiencies. I’m not judging, but those are the kids that tend to get picked on the most” Tyler clarifies, “if my Coleen were the ‘bullying type’, I’m sure your daughter wouldn’t be all too safe.” “It sounds like you have a pretty easy solution on your hands then” Andrew responds, keeping his arms crossed as he begins leaning against the building’s forward-facing facade, “tell your daughter to leave my kid alone and the problem should settle itself.” Gritting his teeth before lowering his head out of the awkward nature that his line of reply presents, Tyler appears hesitant to buy into such a solution outright. “The only problem about that is the fact that my daughter came back home sporting a bruise she claims your daughter gave her” Tyler corrects, trying to remain as apparently non confrontational as he can appear, “even if it was justified, your daughter hitting back at least shows that both sides are willing to play dirty with each other if the situation calls for it.” “Sir, my daughter is developmentally challenged. She’s a well-functioning and developmentally challenged young lady, but she is- nonetheless- developmentally challenged” Andrew explains, holding the posture of someone not fully sold on the conversation, “if you’d like, I can show you and your ex wife a variety of notes that doctors and behavioural specialists have taken on my daughter that boil your kid’s claims down to being outright impossible.” Holding his hands outward toward the store’s owner in a show of civility, Tyler bows his head once more and lets a pause overtake both parents. “Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar or anything. I’m not here to threaten you or play up to this macho image of whatever manly-man the sixties depicted. I’m just here to reason with you” the visitor explains, “my daughter probably pushed your kid to the point of acting on her impulses. I wouldn’t blame her.” “Sir, I don’t know if you understand what developmentally ch-” Andrew attempts to interrupt, only for Tyler’s composure to make room for a hint that his patience isn’t one to go tested without results. “Sir, my daughter is rather difficult to get along with. She’s testy and rude on many occasions, and I’m sure she’s incredibly difficult for a lot of people to like. I understand that” the stranger explains, defending his offspring with respect, “but one thing she has never been... is a liar.” Straight-faced and remaining composed, Andrew takes his turn at bowing his head whilst taking a moment to process his fellow-parent’s stance, trying to see the circumstance from the stranger’s point of view. “Look, my daughter’s a great student. She keeps her grades high and is rivalling some of the Asian kids for a shot at being valedictorian” Tyler explains, “all I’m saying is that I don’t want this thing escalating to the point where the school kicks one of them out.” “Why is that?” Andrew wonders aloud, looking up from the ground at the man’s face, not taking any insult from the quip, but wanting to hear the gentleman finish the thought through. “Because I think we both realise what way the school will swing if it comes down to that” Tyler answers honestly, seeing no point in beating around the bush anymore, “if they’re left with a choice between a developmentally-challenged young lady and a possible Harvard attendee? Who do you think they’ll choose?” | Laying on her side and facing the drywall, Elaine tries to fall asleep without luck, finding difficulty in entering a sound slumber in spite of her eyes having been closed for nearly the last hour. “Are you still awake?” the woman inquires, finally parting her eyelids whilst keeping a relatively low voice, staring at the shadows of tree branches that splash along her side of the bedroom. “Unfortunately, yeah” Andrew responds in a low voice, his back laid out flat against the mattress as he stares toward the ceiling with wide eyes, the left side of his head directed toward the side of the room with the tree-facing window. “Why can’t you sleep?” Elaine wonders aloud, her voice lowering to the point of a whisper as she continues staring forward, waiting a quiet moment for her husband to answer the inquiry. “My mind’s just too preoccupied to shut down” Andrew responds, looking toward the heavens for another few seconds before turning his face toward the woman beside him, her hair pulled back into the ponytail that sits at his line of sight, “why can’t you sleep?” Holding her stare at the shadow-cascaded wall, Elaine thinks to herself amidst a silent second before replying, offering the best she can manage. “I’m really not sure” the woman whispers, conceding defeat to fate’s refusal to let her eyes close and be done with the day as she turns onto her opposite side, looking straight into the eyes of her beloved. “I don’t even have a guess as to why. I’m not sick, or hungry, or too energised” she persists, allowing her train of thought to run in search of a valid conclusion, only to come up empty with little more to offer than the gentle sway of her head, “I’m just not falling asleep.” Pressing his lips together, Andrew lets one of his free hands rest atop the coupled ones that his wife holds together at the edge of her pillow, gently rubbing the back of her hand. “Honestly, other than having sex, I don’t really have any idea on how to help either of us” the man confesses, a reason to find any other solution to the problem at hand having never shown itself to inspire the search for an alternative. “As flattered as I am, I’m not horny... That feels like it’d be a problem” Elaine confesses, watching her husband’s accepting grin reply to her at first. “Well, it wouldn’t be a problem for me” Andrew jokes, amusing himself whilst his wife’s hands slip away from the reach of his own, playfully swatting at his chest as the pair let out light giggles. “Alright, you perv” the woman replies, slipping out from beneath the covers with a smirk, “you go to work on yourself while I use the bathroom.” Humoured, Andrew folds his arms behind his head and allows them to act like a headrest as he returns to staring at the ceiling, aware that midnight is almost upon him without much sleep to be had. Wandering toward one end of the corridor she now enters, Elaine’s ear takes to the entirely opposite direction for one moment, the sound of a voice emanating from the other end and catching her ear through the absolute silence that surrounds the walkway. Without reason not to, Elaine changes course and begins following her curiosities toward the sound of her stepdaughter’s voice, its volume increasing with each new step that she takes. Keeping her footsteps light and slow so as not to disturb her son along the journey or give herself away to the teenager that spends the late hours of the night awake, the woman focuses on the small strip of light that spills out from the bedroom door, which is cracked the slightest bit open. Eventually reaching her intended destination, the home’s matriarch places her eye against the doorway’s sliver, looking into the pleasant and well-organised room whilst listening into the words that are uttered by its single inhabitant. Unable to see the outline of her stepdaughter, Elaine’s only source of discovery is the standing camera that she’s barely able to catch a decent angle of, spotting out the red light that signals its continued filming. “We’re heading out, honey!” Andrew calls out from the downstairs once morning arrives, joining his daughter in stepping through the front door before closing it behind themselves. Upon the rather loud closure of the home’s entrance, Elaine steps out from around the corner at the top of the stairs, peering down at ground level with her hands anxiously tapping away upon her hips, almost as if the woman who operates them were nervous about the venture she prepares to embark upon. Nevertheless, the temporary abandonment of the home by anyone other than herself and her young son allows the mother an opening to seek out real answers to even greater questions than the ones she was left with the night prior. Uninvited, Elaine walks into her stepdaughter’s room and begins a quick search for the item that she’d caught a look at the night prior, reserving her assumptions about its origins and intentions. Paying respect to the order that Liv has left her belongings in, the stepmother makes a great deal of effort in not making a mess out of her stepdaughter’s belongings, keeping them tidy wherever a glimpse at the camera is not found. Rummaging through the teenage girl’s desk drawers, nightstands, dressers and closet, Elaine’s wandering eyes eventually lead her under the young woman’s bed, a simple flip of the comforter’s bottom earning her a look at a once-hidden cardboard box. As if surprised to find the item in question, Elaine’s awe arises not from having found the camera in question, but from the realisation of the purpose that it had once served. With a quick flip of the box’s lid, the woman takes a look at the older model of camera and the various tapes that fill the cardboard container’s empty spaces, familiar enough to close the lid and read the name that’s dawned upon the white label atop it in permanent, black marker. In the same moment as Elaine’s revelation takes place, a buzzing overcomes the kitchen one level below, the drawer that it originates from prompting the entire countertop to vibrate. Its screen reading the generic caller identification of “Missouri”, the watch that had been hidden away and discarded like a bad memory awaits the answer to a call that will not receive one, destined to tremble repeatedly before falling silent, reaching the same machine that it had been met with the day prior. == Generation Alpha ==
0 Comments
> Tuesday, 30th November 2038 <
Pulling her head back whilst standing at the kitchen sink, Liv downs the pill that resides in the palm of her hand before taking back half of a cup of water. “You almost ready, Liv?” Andrew wonders aloud, stepping out of the bathroom on the floor above before calling to his daughter below. “Yeah!” the teenager shouts back, returning the glass to one of the cupboards above, “I’m ready!” Pulling her hair back into a messy ponytail, the teenager reaches for the knapsack she’d thrown into one of the kitchen’s unoccupied seats before making for the front door, venturing toward the way in which she’s meant to leave with the intention of waiting for her father. Struck with the bitter chill of the midwestern winter, Liv steps out onto the top-most step of her home’s face in a large, puffy coat before descending the stairs toward her father’s car, climbing into the back seat and settling her bag into the open space beside her. Having initially entered a mostly-empty building filled with only the school’s staff, Liv takes a seat in the building’s cafeteria and reads the pages of her textbook, using the time at her disposal to familiarise herself with the day’s science lesson. Shared by only three or four other students, the massive wing of the building presents a secluded and peaceful tranquillity for the studying soul to take solace in, losing track of time until her ear can catch the sound of the opening bell. Holding the hardcover science textbook closely against her chest, Liv’s eyes focus on the patterned floor that she walks whilst music blares into her right ear, spilling out from the wireless earbud and flooding her head. Of no more importance than its use of marking the final day in the month of November, this Tuesday appears to the girl just like any other, the second day in a stretch of five that she’s meant to drudge through in order to reach the weekend. “Liv, you’re here” the homeroom teacher murmurs beneath her breath after a quick glance at the small group of students that occupy the chairs across from her. Seated near the opposite side of the room whilst passing momentary glances toward her acquaintance, Derby taps her foot along the ground anxiously whilst the teacher carries down the line, not taking long to point her out. “Deborah, you’re here” the older woman remarks, taking the tip of her pen to the paper that sits atop her clipboard, marking the student as noted. For a few further seconds, the teacher wraps up taking attendance before deeming her efforts to be sufficient enough, stepping away from the podium at the front of the classroom with her job done. Freed to socialise amongst themselves before the bell rings again to begin the first classes of the day, seven of the eight students in attendance shift from their designated seats and toward their acquaintances elsewhere, with two students specifically exiting the room all together. “Psst, Liv?” Derby whispers, rounding the front of the room to approach the girl, whose head pulls up from the open science textbook. “We didn’t have science homework last night” Liv quickly replies, attempting to reassure her friend that a quick copy-job of her own work is not necessary. Shaking her head without offering a verbal reply, Derby refuses her pal’s assertion before making for the empty seat just ahead, lowering herself in it whilst continuing to maintain a hushed and reserved demeanour. Her resting face holding steady and patient, Liv discourages her expression from taking on a manner that can match the uncertainty and intrigue that she conceals within, unsure what her friend’s quiet presentation could imply, though very captivated. Still without speaking a word other than the fellow student’s name, Derby reaches into her back pocket as she sits down and slides free her card wallet from inside. With the push of her thumb against a small, almost unnoticeable button hidden away within a nook near the top corner of the device, the rebellious ally sends a set of cards shooting upward from their containment within the accessory in ascending order. “I started driving home after I dropped you off last night, but I got hungry along the way and stopped for a taco” Derby explains, picking out a plain, white card with a number written along the face of it. “This guy stopped me and asked if I knew who you or your dad were. I don’t know who he is, what he wants or how you know him- but he wanted me to give you this” the woman confesses, handing the special needs teenager the contact slip. Looking at it with bafflement, Liv looks at the number before flipping the sturdy piece of solid paper over, finding a complete lack of anything on the rear side of the card aside from the same white, rough material the rest of the piece is made from. “Did he say anything about who he was or what he wanted?” Liv inquires, looking back to the face of the card whilst asking the question, not recognising the phone number that’s scrawled out. “He only told me to give you that card and have you call him” Derby responds, shaking her head with a slight pout in her lips, “I was caught by surprise. By the time he turned around and walked off, I was too caught up in figuring out what it all was before I could think to ask him anything.” Continuing to stare intently at the card, Liv searches through her mind for anything that could resemble the contact information on its front to no avail. “Obviously, I just thought you should know” Derby reassures, gesturing her equal confusion with the wave of her hand toward the card, “if it’s anything you need me for, just let me know.” Looking up to her unruly companion, Liv gives off a half smile and appreciative nod before staring back to the card, continuing to mask her bewilderment whilst trying and failing to think toward who would wish to capture her attention so vehemently. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “Remodelling or relocating?” Andrew’s defence attorney inquires, stepping past the small business-owning client, who holds the shop’s door open for him to enter through. “The former” the father of two responds, stepping away from the entrance and allowing it to slowly close itself, “the shop’s a lot busier than it was when I bought it, but the building will still suffice for the time being. I figured all that graffiti being plastered on it gave me a good excuse to get some renovations going.” “How much longer do you plan on operating out of this place then?” Mr. Webster inquires, passing a look around the plant-filled shop as he wanders further inward, “wouldn’t it be a massive financial undertaking to renovate a building you won’t use for much longer?” “Well the business has turned a bigger profit annually for the last eight years. There’s more demand, and- especially during the spring- a lot more foot traffic” Andrew responds, crossing his arms whilst following his attorney at the man’s own pace, “the building can handle the patrons for now, but I’m hoping that an entrance to a terrace on the side lot will help alleviate a lot of that congestion. I figure it’ll probably net me at least another few years out of this place.” “And the money’s worth spending to expand this place instead of going out and renting somewhere bigger?” Henry Webster replies, reaching the centrally-located abundance of fauna that lines the building’s centre-most column before turning back toward his client. “By then, I hope that I’ll actually be able to own the property outright” Andrew responds, presenting his future plans whilst staring toward the empty dirt lot on the building’s street-facing side. “I figure I can break this thing into two condos or a small apartment unit. Offer the side with the terrace at a higher price than the one with an alley-facing entry” the business’ operator continues, “it shouldn’t cost too much more. Besides, leaving this place behind as one or the other- a condo or an apartment- would pretty much just turn it into a passive income generator. Not the worst problem to have.” “I suppose not” Webster responds, offering an approving nod toward the future-oriented family man before tucking his hands into his pockets, “and neither would collecting damages for your troubles over the last few weeks, right?” Confused, Andrew squints his eyes toward the defence attorney, whose right eyebrow lifts higher than the left one, leaving the small business owner to draw his own conclusions. “What do you mean?” the father finally concedes, begging the question he assumes his hired legal assistance is eager to answer. “Well, the word that I’m getting is that the scumbag who’d had you arrested on false pretences has skipped town altogether” Webster responds, shrugging his shoulders before taking his eyes toward the empty plot of dirt off to the building’s side, staring at emptiness as he presents his case. “Your building was damaged with graffiti as a direct result of the now provably-false claim, and you were forced to temporarily shut down and miss a great deal of business, I would assume?” the defence attorney continues, presenting his case to a now more-privy store owner, “and on top of missing valuable business and being forced to pay your defence attorney, this piece of dogshit falsely put you at the forefront of a race war! Think of how that could’ve sullied your reputation!” Bowing his head with a grin, Andrew feels the back of his attorney’s hand gently smack him on the chest, physically presenting the amusement of the legal aid in providing a new course of action. “If the guy hadn’t come forward with dashcam footage, think of how badly your business would’ve been affected by his claims!” Webster proclaims, speaking with the tone of someone gleeful to make such a case, feigning the awe that is built into his words, “that smells like a cause to sue for damages, no?” Reaching for the itch on the back of his head whilst holding back a light chuckle, Andrew ventures toward the shop’s counter whilst gently swaying his head from one side to the other. “I’m sure it reeks of defamation suits at the least...” the satisfied shop owner responds, picking up a damp rag from just nearby the cash register, taking it to the hardwood finish upon finishing his reply, “...but I’m fine with leaving him in my rear view mirror.” With a look of surprise, the defence attorney removes both hands from his pockets after a few seconds of silence, approaching the store’s owner. “The rat bastard nearly ruined your entire life had it not been for some outright luck” Webster retorts, watching a grin arise over the father’s face, “now you hear that he’s run off and tried to make himself disappear, and you’re just fine with that? You’re just fine with letting him go off and maybe try and kidnap someone else’s kid?” “I don’t think he’s gonna go after someone else’s kid” Andrew responds, continuing to shake his head in refusal as he exchanges the damp cloth out in favour of a dry one. “How can you know that for sure?” Webster replies, challenging the father to consider how little the human waste of air had cared to make his initial attempt in broad daylight, “how can you stand there and tell me you don’t think he’ll try and do the same to someone else?” “Because I’m pretty sure he’s learned his lesson, Henry” Andrew reassures, nodding to the defence attorney before taking the unsullied rag to the faux hardwood finish. “Now you’re having a laugh at this” Webster responds, hands held at his sides as his head leans toward his left shoulder whilst nodding, “I’m sure you’re not stupid enough to think people like that learn lessons. One man being braver than others to step in and get involved won’t teach him anything.” “You’d be surprised at how persuasive I am when I’m angry” Andrew replies, amused at the conversation that he partakes in, “you should’ve seen his face before those market workers spilled out into the parking lot.” “I’m sure you’re not someone to get on the bad side of, Andrew. With that said, I don’t think your anger is enough to completely rehabilitate a vicious piece of trash like that young man” Webster doubles down, stopping as the second soul in the discourse looks up from his duties, swinging the dry rag over his shoulder and letting it sit there. “I’m telling you now that- as far as I’m concerned- he’s not an issue anymore” Andrew replies, pressing the palms of both hands firmly into the countertop, “whatever he does from now on... only god knows. But, as far as my family and I are concerned, everything about him is best left behind us now.” “Andrew, you-” the defence attorney interjects, attempting to persuade the family-loving gentleman before him without success, thwarted by the interruption of the father’s voice. “Henry, I’m sure you’d love me to go along with you and file this suit. I’m sure you’d be over the moon to have some big, blockbuster defamation case to win and make headlines over” Andrew explains, shaking his head with refusal, “but if I’ve learned anything from the legal system, it’s to get things done quick.” “Yeah, I know what you mean” Henry concedes, frowning as he nods toward the man he accepts is incapable of being swayed. “I’m sure you do. I don’t need to worry about that scumbag anymore than I already have, and I’m not going to spend tens of thousands of dollars for a payout that I don’t need and- quite frankly- I don’t want” Andrew concludes, tapping his palm against the counter twice before walking around the way he’d initially journeyed, “thanks for the offer, but no thank you.” | Overhearing the tone of various teachers speaking to their classes in the rooms that she passes along her journey, Liv wanders through her high school’s halls alone, keeping an eye out for the trio of troublemakers that pose her concern whilst her mind pays its attention to more pressing matters. Minding her own business whilst keeping her eyes and ears away from conversations they’re not meant to join into, the curious student strolls her way toward private corners of the spacious building. Though aware of a few spaces where privacy would be a near guarantee, the travelling junior aims for something more assuring, disobeying the typical routes and most-frequented pockets of the school that she’s more familiar with in favour of the seclusion that other sides tempt to provide. For almost three minutes, the girl’s legs continue to carry her forward without certainty over where their efforts will lead her, the only hope being that her following actions are witnessed by no one. Just as her stomach begins to dance as if her intestines were trying to not themselves, the natural sensation of uneasiness with venturing beyond her comfort zone leads Liv into an oddly well-lit stretch of hallway adorned with doors on either side, all closed shut and seemingly ignored for the most part. Squinting her eyes, the wandering learner takes her attention to a set of double doors at the corridor’s end, painted the same shade of semi-light blue as every other entrance along the way. Refusing to hesitate in moving forward, Liv advances upon the very end of the hallway, stretching her hand out for the latch-like entrance that awaits her, pushing the switch inward with her thumb to free the passage for entry. Immediately struck with lights of equally bright luminosity as the ones that had flushed the gangway behind her, the student shields her face as the spacious, dark room becomes freed for her to look into, the obstruction of nothingness a factor no more. Briefly pacing around the room, Liv tries to familiarise herself with the way in which the room has been set up, a variety of objects- all shaped in different ways- covered in tarps and stored away for long enough to at least gather a hefty layer of dust. After a few seconds, the knots in the student’s stomach begin to metaphorically unwind themselves, easing herself into a strange sense of comfort that’s at least operable enough to follow through with her original intentions. Retrieving the blank-faced card from within her pocket, Liv presents her commands to the smart watch on her wrist and speaks the number aloud, beginning to feel the knots in her stomach wind themselves up once more as she holds off on following through with her order. Glancing back down at the identical number on her watch’s screen to what’s written on the card she was handed earlier in the day, the student lets the brief pause inflict its will upon her as great discomfort. “Place call” she soon doubles down, fighting past the urges to backtrack her way into writing off the card as something of little to no importance, needing to know who- or what- yearns for her acknowledgement so badly. For a few seconds, all that Liv’s nerves are left with are the sounds of ringing, her attempt at reaching the other line left in the hands of the soul that searches out for her dial. “We’re sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is unavailable” the answering machine recites after a few further moments, refusing the teenager any answers for the questions that lay eager on her mind. Rolling her eyes and dropping her hands in frustration, Liv stares toward the ceiling before violently shaking her wrist through the air, ending the call upon her gesture and returning her to the silence that the odd room’s seclusion provides her with. “Who the fuck would you be?” she mutters to herself, asking the question aloud that receives as little of a valid option as is given when the inquiry is kept in her head. Frustrated and even more anxious than she was mere seconds ago, Liv’s feet begin to carry themselves toward the way in which she’d entered, wanting to remove herself from this wing of the building as quickly as she’d discovered it before her attention is stolen by the mysterious stranger once more. “One new message” the young woman’s wrist watch proclaims, re-earning the girl’s full focus as her attempted departure is thwarted. As if the time she’d spent years waiting for a replying call as opposed to a few seconds, Liv lifts the device to her lips and hastily demands that it read the return comment aloud. “There’s a field four and a half miles away from your home address. That’s where the specific address that’s attached to this message will lead you” the written text reads, provided with a strangely-robotic human tone of voice, the words spoken to the best of the watch’s abilities, “meet me there tonight and come alone. I don’t wanna have to out you as a liar because you don’t show up when asked.” | “Is anyone home!?” Andrew calls out as he steps through the front door, two paper bags filled with groceries under each arm. “Yeah, but I’m just about to head out with Derby!” Liv calls out from the second level of the home, dressing herself in the comfort of her own bedroom whilst her father carries himself toward the kitchen. “Your mother’s van isn’t in the driveway, so I figured either you’d be here or you’d all be off somewhere getting dinner or something!” Andrew retorts, shouting louder than he’s used to when in the confines of his own home, forced to do so in order for his words to meet his daughter’s ears. “Mom and Galen left two hours ago!” Liv shouts back, using the lamp on her nightstand to ensure she doesn’t put on her pants backward, unable to count on the sunlight that dipped below a few, short hours ago. Keeping his thoughts to himself for the moment, the only man to call the building home waits for his daughter to finish assessing her wardrobe to prevent from yelling any further than he already had, preferring to wait the next two minutes out by putting away the newly-purchased produce. “Did she tell you where she was going?” Andrew wonders aloud, finally overhearing the footsteps that his daughter carries herself down the main staircase with. “No, but they were dressed like they were going out for dinner” Liv replies, leaning her head toward one side as she fits an earring through the hole in her lobe, “why, did you have some fancy dinner planned for her?” “No, I made a quick trip out for milk that turned into more than I’d bargained for” the father replies, stuffing a head of romaine lettuce atop a pair of pickle jars on the refrigerator’s middle-most shelf, “when you reach my age, you’ll quickly find out how impossible it is to leave the mart with only what you went there for. You’ll walk in looking for bread and leave with eighteen other things.” “It sounds like there are worse problems to have” Liv replies, her joke amusing the man that puts away the various goods with surprising efficiency. “There sure are, kid” Andrew retorts, finally emptying the first paper bag before discarding it into the corner of the room, leaning back as he remains knelt upon one knee as his eyes find his offspring, “where are you and Derby headed off to?” “I’m not sure. We’re meeting up with two other girls from our class at their place. They’re doing a hangout at the firepit in their backyard and Derby invited me” Liv responds, lying through her teeth, but doing so incredibly convincingly. “This girl, Derby, does she know about you not being- uh- as hampered by your condition as before?” Andrew wonders aloud, pressing his forearm against the fridge as he looks toward his daughter with curiosity. “No, but she’s always been pretty dependable. She’s pretty much the only person that’s not called me a retard” Liv responds, finally fitting her earring into place, “she’s a little misunderstood, but so is everyone. I trust her more than anyone else I go to school with.” Left with little choice but to nod with hopeful acceptance, Andrew pays his daughter the benefit of the doubt and juts his head toward the door. “You’ll have to introduce me to her one day” Andrew replies, gesturing for the home’s exit with a gradually-building trust in his daughter to make good use of the faith he’s leaving at her hand, “now go on and enjoy yourself, kid.” Smiling toward her father, Liv leans toward the ground and kisses the man on the cheek before turning away, walking for the front door as a buzzing overcomes her father’s wrist. Waiting until his offspring has fully stepped through the door, Andrew lifts his wrist toward his mouth and parts his lips. “Answer call” the man mutters aloud, letting dominant hand rejoin the other in attending to the bagged groceries he’s yet to put away. “This is an automated message to inform you of an incoming call request” a robotic tone of voice begins after three brief seconds. Not having read the caller’s identification when it’d popped onto his device’s screen, the unexpected, machine-like tone taken on the other end of the line draws the recipient’s full attention. “Should you agree to accept this call, you will not be charged at any rate for your participation- regardless of the conversation’s duration” the voice proceeds, capturing Andrew’s unrivalled sights as he stares into the small screen, only met with a blue screen and a set of white numbers ticking upward. “Participation in this call is strictly voluntary, and you are not mandated to accept being connected to the caller’s line. If you choose to disregard this phone call, no action will be taken against you” the robot continues, its continued speech only pleasing Andrew less as it hesitates to get on with its reason for calling. “You are receiving a requested call from an inmate at Potosi Correctional Center in unincorporated Washington County, Missouri” the robot finally reveals, the proclamation being one that instantly heightens Andrew’s instincts, carrying his eyes to the device’s screen as the automated voice on the other end of the line attempts to continue, “the inmate in question-” Before being afforded the opportunity to continue any further, the robotic tone’s voice falls silent as the father punches the air with great force, the shaking gesture prompting the call to end right then and there. With wide eyes, Andrew stares at the distance of the room, drawing his own conclusions as to the phone call’s origins before acting on his impulses alone, struggling for a brief moment to rip the watch free from his wrist before discarding it into a random kitchen drawer. As if his life were threatened just through being within the vicinity of the device, Andrew walks away from the kitchen with his hands pressing against either side of his head. Breathing heavily, the man paces toward the entrance to the kitchen before spinning around and walking the opposite way, stepping in circles as he tries to wipe his memory of the near-encounter with his past as best as he can allow himself to. | “Thank you” Liv remarks, passing her driver an appreciative greeting before departing his backseat, closing the door politely before watching the vehicle she’d arrived in gradually make its way back onto the main road. Cloudy and impossible to ignore, the teenage girl’s breath fogs the air that stands before her as she turns toward the wide, open field her destination was set to, staring out at a set of trees before taking notice of one figure in the near distance. Pressing her lips together as the same knots in her stomach from earlier in the day return, Liv lets a heavy, expansive cloud of breath leave through her nose as she steps forward, her boots crunching down on the soft layer of snow that shields the dirt field from the bitter chill of the elements. With hands carried at her sides, the girl approaches her meeting’s request-maker with caution, aware of the dangers that may be posed as she keeps her guard raised. Though it nears closer with each passing step, the figure of the single man in a large, empty field appears no more discernible from any other. Aside from the buzzcut that her apparent host wears and the burgundy-coloured trench coat that he dawns, the man that had gone through greater lengths to receive her attention than necessary finally becomes the focus of Liv’s eyes, her increasingly-loud footsteps prompting the man to turn around with his hands raised in a show of good faith. “Don’t worry, I’m unarmed” the nerdy-looking citizen calmly remarks, trying his best to present a friendly smile upon his face, which wears a bulky pair of round corner-shaped box-like eyeglasses. Finally given the chance to look the man in the eyes, Liv finds herself surprised at whom she sees standing before her, his inability to stand out from the plethora of faces she’s come to know in life striking her as odd. “Do I know you?” the girl wonders aloud, squinting investigatively at the man that calls her to the middle of nowhere for what seems like little more than a chat. “You certainly do, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t remember who I was” the man replies in a somewhat strangely welcoming manner, his tone of voice much friendlier and warm than the scenery he’d chosen to meet in, “you weren’t little-little when I was around, but you were young enough that my face probably doesn’t ring bells.” Pulling her head back with as little clarity as she’d entered the conversation, Liv tucks her hands into her pockets and shrugs forward, leaning her chin forward as if to gesture that she’s waiting for context. “Uh, I’m Ian. I worked with your sister on her documentary before she got arrested” the man confesses, reintroducing himself to a girl much more capable of remembering him now than she was then, “does that help any?” Looking to the ground for a moment as she searches through her mind for anything worthy of being remembered, only one snippet of importance prevails above all else. “Weren’t you the guy that hired the cop to follow my sister?” Liv questions aloud, standing upright once more as the man across from her nods approvingly. “Yes, that- uh... that was me” Ian replies, obviously not taking much pride in the fact of the matter, “it’s a- uh... kind of a shame what happened to him.” Lowering his head to give himself a better angle to scratch the itch on the back of his neck, Ian turns the conversation around to more fruitful avenues, eyeing something of greater importance. “Anyway, yeah. I sort of figured something was sketchy about your sister’s story and wanted him to do some digging. It’s not like I hoped she was a blood-thirsty killer or anything, I just wanted a deep angle for the documentary” he confesses, dismissing any wrong-doing of his own in spirit. “Anyway, I got a lot more out of that documentary than I was planning to. Your father doesn’t like me very much, so I had to go about other ways of getting in contact with you” Ian explains, pleading his case to the girl that stands before him, her height the same as the subject of his film years prior was, “it’s been a few years and the calls just keep coming in for more.” “More?” Liv repeats, a slight narrowing of her eyes preceding her gentle shake of the head, “more what?” Spreading wider than the feigned and slightly unnerving grin he’d met her the first time around, Ian’s smile answers the young woman without words at first, the vocal reply taking a moment to accompany the shift in his demeanour. “That’s why I wanted to meet with you in person” he replies, shrugging his loose and limp shoulders amidst a pause, “that’s the only real way to talk about this.” == Generation Alpha == > Tuesday, 23rd November 2038 <
With his eyes open and stoic, Andrew’s lips press against the knuckles on his hands, palms pressed together and elbows spaced apart from each other, resting on the kitchen’s island. Without uttering a word, the man’s face keeps itself steady and unwavering, the muscles within it eased and unexpressive. Distant and having become partially uncertain of what’s being said around him, the father of two’s mind feels empty and weightless, as if not bothered by a thought, nor concern. Though the air outside is cold at the touch of the Missouri winter, the temperature of the room can only feel even colder to the skin of the family’s patriarch, whose distant eyes hold firm upon the young woman that sits across the table from him. His own not leaving the eyes of his daughter, Andrew stares without much in the way of an expression before he’s pulled back into the conversation, brought free from the chilling seclusion he’d built himself into at the touch of his wife’s warm hand. “Andrew?” Elaine whispers, looking at the countertop as her husband’s face turns toward her own, snapping back into reality before quickly attempting to clear his throat. “Why, um...” the man begins to ask, falling short of getting the question off before looking down once more, hands forcing themselves apart to rub at the sides of his head, “...why keep this as a secret from us?” With hands that desperately wish to shake despite her refusal to let them, Liv parts her lips slightly whilst looking at her father, his eyes squinting as he leans forward, arms pressed against the table to support himself. “I- I didn’t, uh-” the teenager stammers, equally as hard-pressed to get her words off without the fear of anxiety-induced interruptions. Unlike her father, Liv’s attempt at responding is interrupted by intentional silence, her unsuredness over what to reply with proving too great to come up with an answer on the spot. “What, did you want us to make you feel special or something? What was-?” Andrew questions, looking around the room as he speaks, struggling to find sense in the young woman’s reasoning, “was it that you- was- just why? Why keep this from us?” “I don’t know!” Liv quickly blurts out, finding herself on the verge of tears at the struggle that her father finds in presenting solutions, offering her one response after another- all refused. “You guys had just had the baby, and you wanted to expand the plant shop, and everything was just so confusing with the court dates and the lawsuits, and it all just-!” she hurriedly persists, eventually surrendering to her lack of a valid retort by placing her head in her hands, “-it was all too much!” Hurrying out of her chair and toward her step daughter’s side of the table, Elaine rests her hand on the girl’s shoulder and leans close to her, pulling her in for a reassuring hug whilst her husband processes the information across the table. “Honey, I’m not- fuck!- I’m not mad at you or stuff like that, I’m just trying to understand why!” Andrew remarks, trying to dissuade his daughter from thinking otherwise, “this is fantastic, don’t get me wrong- I just don’t know how to make sense of it!” “Neither do I!” Liv exclaims back, running her hand over her tied-back hair whilst failing to hold back her tears, “I just didn’t want to spring such a change on you guys once Galen was born, and then everything started changing, and I needed you to keep getting the pills, and I just didn’t know how to cope!” Confused at the emotional welling of her step daughter, Elaine tries to offer comfort through her embrace, though her eyes take back toward her husband with the shake of her head. “What do you mean everything changed? What’s with the pills? I don’t understand what that means, honey” Andrew continues, leaving his chair and slowly approaching the side of the young woman that his wife doesn’t already occupy, “I’m over the moon, but I’m just trying to make this make sense!” Hyperventilating, Liv gently pulls a few inches away from Elaine and tries to clear her thoughts, closing off the world from her line of sight for a moment as she presses her palms against her eyes. Resting his hand against the countertop for support, Andrew pauses for a moment to allow his daughter a chance to process her thoughts, looking toward his equally-confused wife for clarity that she can’t offer anymore than he can. “The pills make time go a little slower. They- they help me figure it all out, before anything bad happens” Liv stammers, rubbing at the tears that surround her eyes, desperately wishing to fall down her soft, youthful skin. “I get mad sometimes and they help me take a second to breathe and keep the bad ideas in my head” she furthers, drawing the slight amount of concern that her parents take further outward the longer she speaks, “I don’t want to risk doing bad things again.” “Bad th- what bad things?” Andrew inquires, resting his hand on his daughter’s shoulder whilst watching her stare off into the distance, struggling to find the words to respond with as the gravity of her confession settles its weight upon her. “What bad things?” the man asks again, doubling down on the inquiry before leaning into his offspring, using his free hand to guide her face toward his own, “what bad things are you talking about, Liv? What’s wrong here?” Stricken with pains in her stomach worse than the ones felt when starved, Liv leans back in her seat and tries to regain her composure, staring into her father’s eyes with a guilt-ridden face. “I attacked one of my classmates” the girl replies, sinking her top row of teeth into the soft bit of her bottom lip, “I followed her into the bathroom, I hit her and I left when she fell on the ground.” Pulling his head back, Andrew shakes his face from one side to the other briefly, letting the admission sit with him for a moment before squinting. “Why?” he asks in a breath-like tone, failing to understand the motivations that would drive his child to do such a thing. “Because she’s a bully! She picks on me all the time!” Liv proclaims, offering the best reason she can provide, “it was that one week where you had a problem getting me my meds! I just didn’t-” Pausing again, the secret-spilling young woman presses her hand against her head and centres her mind once more, trying to regain her composure. “When I went without the meds, everything felt like it was moving quicker. The pills helped slow things down and gave me another second or two to just think” she confesses, fingers tightening into fists to relieve the tension. “Why would you need things to slow down?” Andrew retorts, kneeling to the ground after the third time his daughter’s face distances itself toward the corner of the room, “why not tell us this sooner?” “Because the other med the doctors wanted you to try didn’t give me that extra second!” Liv hurriedly quips, defending her stance before falling silent at the sight of her father’s palm, his presentation of it signalling for the young girl to pause. “Listen, listen... I’m just going to forget the bit about you attacking that girl for a second, alright?” Andrew questions aloud, trying to redirect the conversation to his original question, only to be met with his daughter’s reluctance. “No, that attack is why I need the meds. When I get angry, the meds give me a second to stop and not do the thing I want to do” Liv quickly interjects, refusing her father his intended recourse, “I worried that- if I told you- you’d think I was just-” Again falling short of finishing her sentence, the teenager closes her eyes and leans her head against the back of her chair, the pause greatly intriguing Andrew, whose become too invested in hearing her reasoning to leave it unattended. “I worried you’d think I was just like S-” Liv responds, her hush-like voice thwarted from capping off its point by the refusal her father shows her. “Don’t say her name” Andrew interrupts, squeezing his eyelids shut and bowing his head as he winces, presenting an excruciating visage as if the pain were physical. Staring at her father, the tear-wearing daughter goes quiet for a moment as she looks into the man’s face, struggling to read anything more than the disdain she knows he already has for her older sister. “Am I?” she asks, watching the man look back up at her amidst the change in pace their conversation had taken, her stepmother standing by and watching the discourse continue, “am I her?” With widened eyes and a horror-afflicted face, Andrew quickly thinks to shake his head in refusal, rummaging through his brain in an effort of finding matching words to utter. “Never in a million years will I ever let you end up like that girl” the man refuses, vehement in his declaration as he takes his daughter by the hands, coupling them within his own, “that will never, never be you.” = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > Monday, 29th November 2038 < Though her bruise is clearly beginning to fade as her face heals from the assault she’d sustained, the rapscallion ways that had partially been responsible for Derby’s earning of the battlescars prove to remain intact. “Liv!” the student calls out, wearing an all black sweatshirt with a pop punk band’s wordmark written across the front of it in gold lettering, hurrying around the corner with glee at the first sight of her friend. “Do you have the homework from last night!?” the girl calls out as she races down the hallway, closing the distance between herself and her friend. Without uttering a word, Liv pulls away from her locker and hands her teenage acquaintance a blue-coloured folder, its glossy exterior immediately meeting the fingertips of the student whose effort is purposefully poor. Nodding to herself, Derby lowers herself to the ground and opens the small notebook that she’d hurried from her own locker with, quickly taking the tip of her pencil toward the white pages. “You didn’t do your homework?” Liv asks, her tone slightly automated in an effort of keeping up her ruse, a question that’s immediately laughed at by the girl that stations herself on the floor beside her. “I’ll get arrested in four years for getting drunk in a public park and pissing on a cop car, what makes you think I’d do my homework?” Derby jokes, continuing to jot down the answers that her friend had taken the time to figure out, purposefully getting a handful of them wrong along the way. “Why won’t you go to college?” Liv questions aloud, the inquiry one that her pal takes as much humour in as the one that it had followed. “Who says I wouldn’t go to college? Hell, that’d probably be why I got drunk and pissed on a cop car” Derby responds, moving her graphite tip across the paper with great speed, “besides, I’d flunk out after my first semester. Maybe my second semester tops.” Displeased with that conclusion, Liv finds no real alternative proposition to offer, instead allowing herself to fall silent and patiently wait for the student to finish her obvious thievery of work. “The questions of the day are on the board- you can get started on them after you pass in your homework” the masculine teacher speaks aloud as he departs from the front of the room, making back for his desk. Stepping out of her chair, Liv carries her paper in both hands before taking a momentary glance at the girl that sits beside her, noticing that- whilst she’d copied down her homework almost five minutes ago- her friend refuses to leave her desk. “Aren’t you going to hand in your homework?” Liv whispers, catching the girl’s attention away from the assortment of school materials that she stacks atop her still-closed notebook. With a raised eyebrow, Derby considers her friend’s question for a moment before shrugging, a brief shake of her head and outward-extended bottom lip dismissing the proposition as unimportant to her in the moment. Reading the visual language shared, Liv turns away from her pal and approaches the front of the room, skating past a handful of students that travel in the opposite direction in an effort of returning to her desk on her way toward the front of the aisle. Keeping her eyes toward the ground, the instruction-following student holds the loose sheet of paper close to her chest before being forced to brace, shielding herself as she topples over and into the ground. “Oh, shit!” three or four students exclaim, raising their obscenities whilst the other students keep to themselves, having seen the special needs student descend toward the ground from their various sides of the room. “Oh, shoot! I’m so sorry!” a familiar and eye-roll inducing voice blurts out, immediately firing out of her chair and rushing to the assistance of the girl that her foot had sent flying into the tiled floor, “are you alright!?” Gritting her teeth and concealing her face as best as she can, Liv soon presses her lips together and bows her head, lifting her right arm from the ground as a tingling pain shoots from her elbow and toward her wrist. “Are you alright, Olivia?” Mr. Calhoun asks, immediately stepping out of his seat to watch the girl responsible for the event kneel toward the ground in the name of offering assistance. “She’s fine! Probably just a little bruised!’ Coleen hurriedly exclaims, reaching her hand out for the fallen student to take for support with a less-than-apologetic expression worn. “I was sliding into my desk quicker than usual and my foot went further out than I was hoping for!” the blonde bully continues, offering a reasonable explanation whilst her outstretched palm remains unmet by either set of five fingers that her target wields, “it was an honest mistake.” Letting out a deep breath, Liv refuses the help of her adversary and pushes herself off the ground instead, reclaiming her loose sheet of paper and turning away. Extending her hand toward the maths teacher’s desk, the assaulted student drops off her assignment and turns away, taking a brief look toward the man whose class her fall had interrupted on the way. Though Liv had been the one affected by the unassuming altercation, Mr. Calhoun’s eyes settle upon the girl who stands at the front of her desk, a slight judgement carried behind her visage. Somewhat surprised by the focus that she receives in spite of her attempted admission of fault, Coleen’s personable visage falls into a slightly-noticeable face of bewilderment, genuinely shocked that the teacher doesn’t seem to think highly of her apologetic facade. Returning to her desk, Liv turns toward her seat and carries a similar glance in the direction of her academically-inferior acquaintance before returning to the comfort of her seat. Keeping her thoughts held internally, Derby stares daggers toward Coleen’s end of the rows of desks, the palms of her hands pressing into the surface of her own hardwood tabletop with enough force to define the tendons that stretch along the back of her hands. Gestured to leave the classroom at the sound of the school bell, the students disperse through the pair of doors at either end of the classroom, spilling out into the hallway to continue about their day. Pressing her belongings closely into her chest, Liv begins following the jacket-wearing student that occupies the seat ahead of her until she makes it to the front of the room, her inner elbow taken into the possession of her friend. “No, no, no... We’re going through the other door” Derby remarks, a slight hint of malicious intent carried through the tone of her voice as she walks alongside her special needs acquaintance, guiding her in the opposite direction that she’d originally ventured. Through the door that the underperforming student had set her sights upon, the pair of friends- though at the behest of the one whose arm holds the other closeby- make their way around a few sets of corridors with a destination in mind. “Coleen!” Derby calls out, catching the merest glimpse of the young woman’s blonde strands of hair between the heads of her two close friends, the sight proving more than enough for her to belt out the girl’s name. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, the trio of students spin around and attend to the calling out of their presence, watching with varied smirks as the pair of foes draw closer. “If you’re thinking about trying your hand at shoving me back now that there’s not a teacher around to send you off, I’d take a look in the mirror at the bruise we left you” Coleen remarks, speaking on behalf of her group with a grin, “at least what we left you last time is starting to heal.” “You think that’s gonna stop me?” Derby questions, letting go of Liv’s arm as she gets closer to the blonde bully’s face, the subject of her aggravations remaining closely at the sides of her reinforcement-offering friends. “If you had any brains, it would” Coleen responds, not backing down from the confrontational front that her adversary presents to her. “I’m not afraid of a couple bruises, Barbie. I’ll take fifty punches from your dumb little soldiers over here just to break one of your teeth” Derby retorts, standing her ground whilst maintaining the close proximity between herself and her disliked fellow student, “I’ve already told you once and now I’ll say it again- if you’ve got a problem with Liv, you’ve got a problem with me.” “Oh, I’ve got a problem with Liv alright” Coleen replies, her teeth presenting themselves through her parted, glossy lips, “as a matter of fact, Liv knows I have a problem with her.” Having refocused her sights upon the special needs student, the bully’s line of sight is reclaimed by the unrelenting student that stands before her, having not moved an inch since getting in the teenager’s face. “Then I guarantee that the warehouse won’t be the only time you put your hands on me” Derby retaliates, inching closer to her adversary’s face in spite of the combined efforts of Leila and Elva to shove the rebellious teenager away, “I hope the next time we fight, you go into it thinking I’m as easy of a fight as what you got then.” “Considering how stupid you are, I think you’re a lot easier to fight than you think you are” Coleen rebukes, a conclusion that only sparks a smile on her confrontational foe’s visage. “You better leave Liv alone, got it?” Derby dares, shoving Elva’s hand away as she steps back, allowing for the distance that the blonde girl’s pals set to re-establish. “Don’t worry- I don’t think she’ll be bothering me any time soon...” Coleen responds, stepping back with her henchwomen following suit, eyes taking toward the direction of her reluctant and purposefully self-guarded teenager as she does so, “...will you, Liv?” Unsure of what to make of the question, Liv stands by with a curious glint in her eyes as the threesome of girls turn away and resume their stroll toward their initial destination. Remaining quiet, the subject of the now-concluded conversation keeps to herself as Derby ventures back toward her, dismissing the inquiry that had been raised by their shared-adversary in the name of keeping to her friend’s side. | “Two prescriptions this time, sir?” a man in a long, white coat wonders aloud, approaching the blue countertop with a set of paper bags in hand, lengthy plastic-coated sheets of paper stapled onto both of them. “Yes, two prescriptions” Andrew responds, watching the pharmacist tap his fingers along a nearby screen before reaching for a small, soft-topped device that’s plugged into it. Leaning forward, the father presses his right index finger against the handheld device and keeps it steady for a few seconds, waiting for the cheerful ring on the pharmacist's machine to inevitably reach for his ears. “Alright, Mr. Carrion... you are all set!” the man politely quips, passing the man a half-smile alongside the set of bags that now reach the family man’s possession, carried through the doors of the supermarket the medical bay is built into and out to his vehicle. With the closing of his door, Andrew quarters himself off from the public, and by extension- the noise of traffic that lines the street just beyond the asphalt-paved curb that separates the parking lot from the main road. Drowning out the world beyond his vehicle’s shell, the father of two holds the bags against his chest and stares forward with a blank expression, eying a local restaurant, a line of trees and a few cars parked various spaces apart from one another- all unimportant. Sitting with himself and the quietude that surrounds him for a few seconds, the father eventually sets the pair of prescriptions on the passenger’s seat beside him, starting his car and driving off at more peace of mind than he was prior to entering. After roughly ten minutes, Andrew powers the engine down and leaves his vehicle parked in the alley behind his storefront, departing the vehicle empty-handed before entering the building. “My apologies for leaving you waiting- your appointment just completely slipped my mind” the man apologises, opening the front door to allow a pair of contracted men into his shop. “Well a few minutes never hurt anyone I suppose” the first man replies, his face bearing the stubble of a five o’clock shadow, his heavy set colleague’s clean-shaven face following him inward. “And you want the terrace built here?” the larger fellow replies, standing a few feet further out from his partner and the man presenting him with the open space. “Yeah, I laid stones at either end. That’s how long I want it to be” Andrew replies, pointing in the direction of the side lot’s either side, “and I want it to stretch from the side door to the chain link fence.” “And you want us to lay that terrace down?” the semi-bearded coworker responds, finding the task to be one that doesn’t fully make sense to him. “Yeah. That won’t be a problem, will it?” Andrew responds, immediately watching the contractor shake his head in refusal. “No, it’s just that you said you dug up the whole area and got it flatted for us to lay the concrete down on” the bearded worker replies, turning half of his body toward the store owner’s direction, “I just would’ve figured you’d be the kind to finish the job on your own. Laying concrete isn’t exactly rocket science, that’s all.” With a chuckle, Andrew crosses his arms and shrugs whilst looking back to the evened-out side lot, its dirt surface smoothened and cleared of any obstruction. “I just figured this way would be much easier” the father of two replies, assured in his stance. “Well, alright then” the bearded labourer replies, passing a glance toward his colleague for insistence, “we can get a crew out here on Friday to have the concrete poured. It shouldn’t take more than half a day or so.” “Sounds perfect” Andrew replies, releasing his arms from each other’s company before extending his dominant hand, shaking that of the labourer he’s put to work. | “I hate when it gets dark out early” Derby murmurs, leaning closer toward her windshield whilst glancing out at the sky above, watching it begin to darken as the day winds to a close. “The sun goes down earlier in the winter” Liv replies, automated in her reply as if reciting lines she’d memorised long ago, “it starts to stay in the sky longer when the summer comes aro-” “Yeah, Liv- I... I know about the winter solstice” Derby replies, passing the girl a half-hearted smile and nod before allowing her to finish, letting free a chuckle as she looks to her passenger seat-occupying friend, “I’m not a complete dumbass.” Looking back to her undeniably loyal acquaintance, Liv pauses for a moment before staring away, eyes locking onto the empty parking spaces in front of the one he friend’s vehicle takes up. “I know you’re not a dumbass” the special needs girl replies, her reassuring remark accepted half-willingly by the driver, who takes her eyes to the dashboard and stares blankly. “You’re someone that’s smart and chooses to make people think she’s dumb” Liv continues, speaking in the same insistent patterns of speech that her former condition had forced her words to abide by, “you’re not dumb. I don’t know why you want people to think you are and I know you’re not.” Having regained the line of sight that her increasingly less-bruised friend wields, Liv looks into the girl’s eyes and puts on a more friendly smile. “I know you’re not dumb” the innocent-appearing teenager reassures, nodding toward the driver before turning away and setting her hand upon the door’s handle. “Goodnight” the special needs teenager concludes, trying to depart on that note whilst the opportunity affords itself. Lifting the corners of her mouth upward as best as she can, Derby- visibly pleased to be afforded the kind remarks that her friend pays her- nods before thinking better of leaving off on such a silent note. “Hey, Liv?” the driver inquires, her left hand resting on the inward slope that her door’s interior provides like an arm rest, watching her acquaintance turn back once she’d already stepping out of the car. “What did Coleen mean when she said you wouldn’t bother her again?” Derby inquires, the question being one that’s sat on her mind since earlier in the day, though the opportunity to search for clarity on the topic hadn’t shown itself until now, “did something happen between you two that I don’t know about?” Looking toward her newly-freed seat for a moment, Liv considers the question and leans her head toward one side, finding satisfaction in the answer she can afford. “She followed me into the bathroom two weeks ago and pushed me” the exiting passenger replies, immediately spotting a well-concealed look of displeasure in the driver’s face, “so I got up and punched her in the mouth.” The dissatisfaction instantly passing by in favour of a widened-eye look of surprise, Derby’s bottom lip falls away from her upper one for a moment, her shock failing to prevent her from also feeling a sense of pride in her friend’s confession. “Really?” the troublemaker inquires, sitting slightly further upright than when she’d initially put the car in park. “It was after I found out that they attacked you that night you wanted my help. She deserved it” Liv responds, nodding to her pal before attempting to leave once more, only to be called back for by the driver’s voice. “Weren’t you worried that you’d get in trouble?” Derby questions back, watching her friend’s face dip back into the vehicle at her inquiry’s behest. “That wouldn’t make sense, would it?” Liv replies, doing the calculations in her head before begging the question that not even she, herself, would be capable of answering with anything other than reassurance, “who’d believe that a retard like me would set her straight?” The brazen, self-awareness not only brings awe upon Derby, but impresses her outright, the homebound teenager closes the vehicle’s door and finally makes for her front door, leaving her acquaintance speechless. “Way to go, Liv” Derby mutters beneath her breath after a few seconds, bobbing her head up and down with a smile before taking her car to the open road once more, travelling the way in which she’d entered the street on her way toward home. As Liv dips through her front door and vanishes into the Carrion household’s interior, the opportunity presents itself for the street to fill with a pair of headlights, the vibrant shade of pale white cascading itself along the residential street. Pulling out from the opposite side of the street as the car that leaves the string of houses behind, the vehicle’s patient driver takes after Derby’s taillights, following them around the nearest corner and onward, setting out to follow the rebellious teenager toward wherever her intended destination may be. == Generation Alpha == > Thursday, 18th November 2038 <
Pressing her back into the side of the bathroom stall, Coleen lifts her chin toward the ceiling whilst pressing her eyelids shut. Slowly and evenly-spaced, the teenage girl’s breaths steady as she tries to lull herself into a much calmer headspace. Hanging by each of her sides, the blonde student fights off the tension that prompts the tendons in her hands to tighten and the muscles in her stomach to burn. “Fucking asshole” the girl murmurs beneath her breath, shaking her head whilst balling her hands into fists, gently punching at the stall’s side as she maintains enough composure to keep from exploding into a ball of rage. For a few further seconds, the young woman goes still as she pulls in her largest breath of the day, filling her lungs with air for as long as they’ll allow themselves to expand before letting it free, thrusting a gust of air through her clenched teeth. Within moments, the visibly frustrated young woman’s fingers spin the cycle-like lock that had kept any other student from entering the same stall, allowing her to push the door outward and re-enter the larger bathroom. Though she comes to a stop, the hanging accessories of the bracelet on her right forearm continue to jingle as Coleen pauses, immediately finding a familiar face awaiting her with arms crossed to match, the visage neither drawing pleasure or discouragement. “Go hill hike, retard” the bully dismissively groans, paying the special needs student little care other than the roll of her eyes, advancing for the trio of sinks that line the front of the room. Biting into the corner of her bottom lip, Liv watches her blonde tormentor set her focus upon the centre-most mirror and lean close, fixing loose strands of hair whilst making an effort to mind her own business, refusing to acknowledge the student she’d spent years to this point bullying. “Don’t hit Derby again” Liv remarks, taking advantage of the silence that fills the room and the lack of a third presence to speak, her words instantly catching the ear they’re meant for. With a strange gaze, Coleen turns her face toward her adversary, aware that she stands in front of the exit she’d need to pass through in order to leave, but thinking very little of it. “Excuse me?” the nested-up blonde teen replies, staring at her foe with a squint. “You heard exactly what I said- I’m not going to bother repeating myself” Liv retorts, uncrossing her arms whilst stepping forward, closing the distance between herself and an increasingly-surprised Coleen. “Derby’s covered in bruises and I know exactly which three people are responsible for them” the bizarrely-coherent young woman states with awe-inspiring confidence, “if she ever winds up with just one bruise again, I will make your life a living hell.” Aware of the threat that’s been posed, Coleen’s prior aggravations resume their initial hold upon her, taking the form of her hands as they lift into the air and shove her adversary back. Feeling her body jolt with the momentum that had been sent toward her direction, Liv smirks at the weak efforts that befall her before swinging her fist at the bully’s face, immediately knocking her to the ground with unmatched ease. Hitting the floor bottom-first, Coleen immediately shakes off the initial pain of the strike by placing her hands against the ground, pushing herself backward until her retreat-like crawl is thwarted by the concrete wall. “What the fuck!?” the bully exclaims whilst trying to create separation between herself and the girl she’d believed to be special needs, though that assumption now feels impossible to make, “get away from me you fucking psycho!” Nostrils flaring, Liv looks down at the young woman as she takes two steps forward, growing closer to the frightened bully, though staying distant enough to allow the attacked woman a chance to look up at her. “I’ve given you one warning and it’s the only one that you’re going to get” the assailant explains, holding her hands upward in a show of surrender, “all I wanted to make sure of was that you got the warning... Leave my friend alone.” As quickly as they’d gone up in a display of surrender, Liv’s hands return to her sides as her body spins around, redirecting itself toward the door it now quickly steps through. As if having entered a strange dimension she’s yet to fully comprehend her presence in, Coleen looks around the room whilst grimacing in pain, finally feeling the effects of the strike as the awe wears off, leaving her to make sense of the attack she’d just sustained, and who it’d come from. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > Tuesday, 23rd November 2038 < Wiping sweat from his brow whilst occupying the top-most step of a ladder, Andrew passes a glance at the familiar vehicle that comes to a rolling stop just outside the entrance to his shop. “What the hell is all of this!?” Mr. Webster calls out, carrying a folder of papers in one of his two outstretched hands. “The result of a population divided beyond common sense” the father of two replies, gesturing toward the variety of lude comments spray-painted along the building’s exterior. “No, I mean this!” the defence attorney replies, waving his hand at the ladder his client stands atop, knowing the sight of a bucket and sponge in the store owner’s hand to indicate, “you couldn’t hire someone to clean this mess up for you!?” Shaking his head with a disheartened frown, Andrew scoffs at the claim before dipping his sponge back into the soapy bucket, preparing to take it to a set of red letters that spell ‘racist’- one of the more pleasant terms that adorn his building. “If there’s any example I want to set for my family, it’s that I can handle things that need to be done myself” Andrew responds, splattering sud-filled waters along the building’s exterior before applying pressure to it. “I was going to close the store for renovations anyway. Cleaning the graffiti at least gives me a reason to do so for a prolonged period of time” the father admits, “since this whole ‘racist’ label thing won’t be going away anytime soon, that might not be a worry anymore.” “Why not?” Mr. Webster questions aloud, stepping away from being close to the building as droplets of water fall toward the ground furiously, threatening to catch his expensive suit in the process. “What people are going to want to shop at a plant store owned by the local racist, Mr. Webster?” Andrew inquires, leaning one forearm against the top of the ladder as he wipes with the other, “this whole case will just end up with me going out of business.” “Well, not if there isn’t a case!” Mr. Webster proclaims, watching the store’s owner look toward him before pointing to the folder in his out-stretched hand, “that’s what I was coming to talk to you about!” Confused, Andrew squints at the man before glancing at the plain note-carrier in his lawyer’s hand, unsure of what’s being gotten at. “What do you mean?” the besmirched store owner replies, discarding his sponge back into the water-filled bucket. “Someone came forward with dashcam footage of what happened! They were parked in the lot next to that burger place that was next door to the supermarket!” the defence attorney proclaims with glee. “What!?” Andrew calls out, his eyes widening as he begins descending the rungs of the ladder that lead to the asphalt walkway around the side of his store. “Apparently, they came forward the same day you got released from the slammer. I don’t know what’s been going on since then, but the cops must’ve been taking their sweet time at putting the pieces between his report and your report together!” Mr. Webster cheers, extending the folder of printed pictures toward the surprised father, who finds different screenshots of the altercation in its entirety- ironically in black and white. With his lips slightly parted from each other, Andrew stares in awe at the visual proof that solidifies his claim, yet to present an over-the-moon attitude the way in which his attorney had anticipated. “You’re in the clear! His lawyer just dropped all charges and we’ve already got this thing being sent to the news!” Mr. Webster proceeds, seemingly more pleased with this outcome than his client is, “this is fantastic for you, what’s with the look of shock and awe!?” In a slightly-stunned silence, the father appears to be at a loss for words as he squints toward the ground, returning the various photographs to the man who’d handed them to him. “I’m, uh... I’m not sure” Andrew confesses, using the pause to shift his reflection into his best attempt at happiness, trying to work his way toward the reaction his attorney wishes for him to give whilst dismissing anything less as his brain processing the news. “This is fantastic news!” Andrew doubles down, finally beginning to wander his way toward the chipper and overjoyed mannerisms his acquaintance originally expected to see. “Yeah, there you go! You’re in the clear!” Mr. Webster reassures, seemingly convinced by the explanation that’s paid toward him, writing off the initial rejoinder as being caused by the suddenness of it all. | “What’s this?” Coleen whispers to herself whilst pulling into her home’s driveway, staring at the back of a black SUV that occupies the spot her vehicle is usually meant to take. With the press of a button, the blonde girl turns off her car and steps out of the driver’s seat, a sugar-filled coffee carried in her hand as she approaches the front door to her home, attempting to enter just as she’d intended. “You’re insane!” a masculine voice calls out from the kitchen, unaware of the ear that his voice catches in the far off sides of the home, his temper flaring just the same as the woman he speaks with. “I’m insane!?” a more feminine voice retorts, speaking as if she were intent on making her offence well-noticed, “I haven’t gotten a single child support payment from you for the last seven months! You haven’t shown your face around here for nine months!” Keeping her presence under wraps, Coleen calmly walks toward the entrance to one corridor before remaining put, keeping her distance from the conversation whilst ensuring what’s said is within hearing range. “Child supp-!?” the male voice proclaims, stopping himself halfway through the remark with a gasp, almost amusing himself, “look around you, Susana! You live in a multi-million dollar home that you purchased with my money!” Scoffing at the notion, Coleen’s mother rolls her eyes and smirks at the man’s comments, taking them as a personal insult more than anything else. “You got knocked up with my kid three months in, I married you because of it, and then you immediately turned around to divorce me!” the man doubles down, speaking over the various silence-filler and snide comments his former wife makes to discourage him, “why would I give child support to a woman whose entire livelihood is already paid for by me!?” “The court told you how much you owed me every month! You know what happens when you don’t pay up!” Susana responds, watching her ex-husband’s head bow toward the ground amidst her pause. “Of course I know what happens when I don’t pay up, Susana. I haven’t seen my child in almost a year because you’ve weaponised her against me” the man rebukes, his tone having dropped to something more resembling sorrow. “Weaponised” Susana laughs, poking fun at the claim the father of her child makes, “give me a break, Tyler.” Though their daughter cannot see it, her father’s eyes widen as his discontent only further deepens its hold over him. “You’ve forced me to lawyer up, pay for your lawyers, and make a case to the court that I’d like to be involved in my daughter’s life” Tyler explains, his hands pressed together and voice lowered to the calmest tone it can carry, “and still, you’ve refused me visitation.” “If you won’t pay up, you clearly don’t value seeing your daughter that much” Susana responds, a comment that only further infuriates the man who her comments were meant for. “I-” Tyler attempts to reply, immediately falling silent before throwing his hands into the air, his back turning toward the home’s primary occupant as he shakes his head and walks off, “I’m getting nowhere with you.” “Yeah, and you’re getting nowhere closer to seeing your daughter without opening up your wallet” Susana doubles down, following after the man as he walks away, refusing to let him escape her onslaught of insults on his way toward the front door. Keeping his composure intact whilst venturing toward the front door, Tyler weathers the comments his ex-wife makes whilst coupling his hands around his mouth, trying to forcefully prevent himself from speaking. “I hope you’re not expecting to win in court, Tyler!” Susana continues to bark, following the man through the front door and out toward his car, “just pay up and you’ll see your daughter! Good luck convincing the judge that you’re fit to be a parent when you can’t even follow up on your commitment to pay for her!” Without so much as a peep, the father to the woman’s only daughter climbs into the driver’s seat of his black SUV and quickly pulls out of the driveway, spilling out onto the street that he quickly uses to escape the situation. Able to hear the sound of burning rubber scraping against the asphalt through her open window, Coleen watches Tyler’s car speed off in the opposite direction as her. Having hurried to her car and pulled out onto a second street, the subject of the parent’s argument watches her father’s bulky automobile disappear around the distant corner whilst her mother flips it off, returning for the front door to their home whilst muttering insults beneath her breath. | From the start of one line to the end of it, Liv’s eyes traipse across the pages of the textbook that lays across the surface of her desk, taking in the information that the words come together to form. Feeling the weight of her eyelids grow, the teenager pulls her face away from the pages that take her focus and presses the base of her hands against them, trying to wipe the exhaustion that wishes to overwhelm her in the name of keeping a sturdier focus on her studies. *knock, knock, knock* Picking her head up at the sound of the gentle pattern of knuckle-taps, Liv’s face turns with the rest of her body in the spinning chair, centring themselves upon the door to her room, which remains closed for the moment being. “Come in” the girl mutters in a distant and automated tone, watching her door gently creep open and allow her a glimpse of the familiar face on its other end. “Hi, I’m sorry to be a bother” Elaine remarks, stepping halfway through the entrance before stopping, not wanting to intrude any further than she already has, “are you busy right now?” Looking forward with a blank stare for a moment, Liv lets her bottom lip hang slightly apart from her upper one before replying. “Yes” the girl answers after a pause, hands draped over the sides of her chair as she lets the reply linger. “Oh, alright- uh-” Elaine stammers, looking toward the ground with a slight disappointment, the emotion being one that she feels a responsibility to discourage herself from taking. “Just let me know when you’re free to talk for a minute or two, alright?” the woman follows up, bowing out of the conversation she’d started as quickly as it had been opened, not wanting to impede upon her step daughter’s duties to schoolwork. “You look sad” Liv quips, inspecting the woman’s posture for the emotion that’s easy to read, watching her step mother’s face quickly try to dismiss the down-trodden visage it’d worn in favour of an empty smile. “Oh, no honey. No, I-” Elaine tries to reply, falling short of anything more than empty emphasis that succeeds a friendly refusal, her lack of more to add prompting her to try departing with a smile once more, “no, honey. I’m not.” “It’s okay if you are” Liv replies, taking advantage of the social progress almost no one in the world knows of to point out the indicators that give her stepmother’s displeasure away. “I miss when you drove me to school. I miss how you and dad were before Sophie went away” she doubles down, watching the blank guise upon the grown woman’s face begin to melt away beneath the memory of pleasurable recollection, “I miss when we were friends.” Though her heart takes great warmth in the young woman’s remarks, the last quip that her step daughter makes brings a slight dissatisfaction over the woman at the door. “Honey, we are friends” Elaine reassures, hiding her hope that the girl doesn’t feel that such a comment were untrue, “I know a lot has happened ever since then, but that doesn’t mean that we aren’t friends.” Taking the woman’s comments to heart, Liv looks off into a corner of the room for a moment as she feigns processing, her efforts not spent on making sense of her stepmother’s comments, but of the ones she wishes to utter herself. “Then I haven’t been a very good friend” she concludes, yet to look back in the direction of the woman in her doorway, the comment spoken aloud with distance. “It’s not that you haven’t been a good friend, dear. With your baby brother, with work, with each other- your father and I have just had a lot to do” Elaine responds, entering the rest of the way into the room. “We spent a lot more time together before everything happened with your sister. A part of growing up is that you have less time to spend with friends, that’s all” the girl’s former driver reassures, seeing her own way to the foot of the girl’s bed, which she takes a seat upon. “That’s not a very good excuse” Liv responds, confessing such a statement in the same moment that her mother settles into the space at the end of her bed. “I’m sorry?” Elaine immediately questions, lowering her chin just slightly as she looks into the side of the girl’s face, the young woman’s eyes not budging from their place along a random spot of the floor. “You’re my stepmother. We live in the same house. We have time for each other, but we don’t use it” Liv responds, taking very little time to process that reply compared to her others. “I shut you and dad out after Sophie went away. I just wanted to be left alone. Both of you have just let me have my space since then” the girl carries on, speaking freely whilst her stepmother listens on, “the two of you have had all the time in the world to spend with me. I just haven’t let you.” With slightly-wider eyes than the ones she’d entered the room with, Elaine sits with the young girl’s comments for a moment before looking toward the ground herself, unsure of how to respond. “Well, honey... I-” she stammers, finding it difficult to come by responses that don’t contain parts that she discourages herself to bring up. “It’s because I’m ‘special’, isn’t it?” Liv inquires, correctly using air quotes around the stand-out word that she looks toward the grown woman whilst saying. Initially looking at her stepdaughter with parted lips, Elaine’s eyes glue themselves to the younger woman as she stares in silence for a moment, mouth soon closing and head slowly beginning to nod apologetically, the best answer she can think to offer in that moment. Slightly disheartened, Liv looks away from her mother’s face and toward the ground at first, her face eventually making its way toward the corner of the room once more. Thinking quietly to herself, the act-upholding teenager sits with the conclusion for a moment and lets it settle in, not yet knowing how to feel about the result of the conversation. | ‘We are closed until the start of December’ a white sign reads with black lettering, the collection of eight words presented toward the street-facing side of the small business’ storefront. Wiping his dirt-covered hands clean, Andrew steps away from the pair of doors and wanders into the back of it, retreating to the break room that he soon passes through in favour of exiting all together, stepping beyond the employee entrance and into an alleyway that connects to a small, side yard. Opening the trunk of his sedan, the father of two and devoted husband retrieves a shovel from atop a large tarp, various other gardening tools a space off to its side. With ease, Andrew closes the trunk and turns in favour of the building’s side alley, the door to a gate already propped open with a cinderblock and allowing him unobstructed passage. Having originally occupied the space earlier in the day by starting the process of wiping his store’s exterior clean of the graffiti that had been scattered amongst it, Andrew ventures toward the side lot for a very different reason now that the sun has fallen beneath the horizon. “You have a nice store, sir” a young voice calls out from behind the fence that had been installed around the right side of the premises in lieu of the damage that had been done to the building. Looking up with surprise and widened eyes, Andrew’s face takes toward the direction of the feminine tone, spotting a blonde girl out with relative ease. For a moment, the man stands in silence as the visitor’s claim goes without a reply, left for interpretation without something in return for it. “Thank you” he finally responds, inspecting the girl’s posture without certainty over who she is, only able to read very little from her pocket-tucked hands and bright pink, puffy coat. “Can I help you?” Andrew wonders aloud, her unthreatening posture affording him the opportunity to convince himself that her unannounced appearance may not conceal malicious intent. “Not really” the blonde girl replies, having yet to look at the store’s owner, and instead keeping her gaze focused on the assortment of plant life that lines the building’s central column inside. “Why are you here then?” Andrew responds, having yet to move from the spot that he’d stopped in upon the voice’s arrival, hesitant to react in any way other than hesitant after the week he’d been assaulted with. “My mom and dad hate each other and I’m just a pawn in their game” the visiting teenager responds, her face separated by the chain link by little more than an inch’s length, “I’ve been driving around all day and passed by this place three times.” “Well, I’m sorry to hear about your folks, but that still doesn’t answer why you’re here now” Andrew retorts, gently letting the head of his shovel rest against the softer-than-usual dirt, the cold climate that falls over the middle of Missouri slightly warmer than it usually is. “Your store was the only one with lights on when I came around the third time” the girl responds, turning to look in the father’s direction with a defeated grin, “the plants are nice to look at.” Lifting his chin, Andrew looks into the teen girl’s face with as much confusion as he’d first encountered her with, unsure of what makes her stand out to him aside from the surprise that her presence presents. “Do I know you, little girl?” the man inquires with reservation, only to watch the stranger’s head bow toward the ground upon first reaction. “I go to school with your daughter...” the girl replies, looking the man in his eyes as she pauses, holding back a slight irritation, “...the retarded one.” As if the word had launched a physical strike at him instead of an emotional one, Andrew lets the shovel’s handle fall from his hand as he steps forward, “what did you just say about my-?” he angrily questions, approaching the fence with a full head of steam before his progression is halted. “She cornered me in the bathroom last week. She punched me in the face and told me to stay away from her friends” Coleen quips, her claims forcing the father to fall quiet for a moment. “I haven’t gone back to school since! I’ve got enough shit going on in my own family, I don’t need to deal with whatever’s wrong with yours!” the girl doubles down, stepping away from the barrier that the shop’s owner presses into, “so tell your daughter to keep her psycho hands off me!” Calling out for the teenager’s return, Andrew ventures toward the second entrance that the gate holds, its door having been padlocked shut to prevent the public entry. Fitting his hand into his pocket, the shop’s operator reclaims the key and frees the door for himself to travel through, stepping out onto the sidewalk just as Coleen’s foot takes to her vehicle’s pedal, driving off into the night without another word. “Don’t talk about my daughter like that ever!” Andrew howls, chasing after the vehicle until the moment that it burns rubber away from his reach, leaving him running into the centre of the empty road to watch the driver take off. Seething, the man kicks the ground in frustration and grunts as he punches the air, his aggravation having boiled over the edge and prevented from being acted upon by the girl’s departure. With his hands on his hips, Andrew stares at the ground whilst the sound of a catchy jingle plays from the device on his wrist, buzzing with vibration as a call to the owner’s attention. “Answer call” the man grumbles aloud, conceding defeat to being left in the dust by the teenager’s vehicle as he stomps back to the store’s side lot. “Hello?” the man inquires, speaking to the woman on the other end of his smart watch whilst returning toward his ground-penetrating shovel. “Andrew? It’s Elaine” the woman replies, her voice catching the ear of the man who angrily grasps the wooden handle of his tool. “Hey, honey. Listen, I’m still at the shop. I should’ve told you sooner that I was staying late, it just slipped my-” he attempts to explain, only to find himself thwarted by his wife’s interjection. “Honey, listen...” Elaine remarks, her interruption both uncommon and attention-earning, stopping the remarks that her husband attempts to make whilst capturing his ear. “What’s up?” he asks with genuine curiosity, standing along the grass that he removes his shovel from, holding it in the middle of the air as he waits for the woman to continue. “Well, I just got done talking to Liv a few minutes ago. We had a- well, interesting conversation” Elaine informs, the comment being one that prompts her husband to furrow his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” Andrew replies, picking up the tool and hoisting it over his shoulder as he journeys through the alleyway-facing side of the gate, “what were you talking about?” Retreating to his car, the father extends his foot to a sensor just below the vehicle’s bumper, its presence proving enough to trigger the trunk to open its door automatically. “Actually, that’s why I was calling you” Elaine replies, unable to watch her husband return his shovel to the automobile’s rear compartment and close its shell, “she said there’s something she wants to tell both of us together.” == Generation Alpha == > Thursday, 18th November 2038 <
“Your lawyer will be in touch and keep you up to date with your court date” a woman in uniform remarks from behind a secretary’s desk, “it’s imperative that you show up to that court date so you aren’t held in contempt.” Taking claim of a plastic bag with his cell phone, keys, and wallet within them, Andrew scowls at the woman whose hair is tied into a neat bun, his visible displeasure forcefully juxtaposed to her purposefully-ingenuine smile. “Take care” she utters, continuing to grin from one ear to another at the man whose departure sparks their brief, yet ire-drawing conversation. “Yeah, fuck you” Andrew responds, opening the plastic bag whilst his wife gently pulls at his arm, guiding her husband away from any further remarks that may be seen in poor taste. “Lobbing insults at the officers won’t make your day any better” Elaine quips, gently wrapping her arm around the one that stands at the man’s side. “It may not change my day, but it’ll give me a few seconds of pleasure” Andrew retorts, half of his heart not even truly buying into such a claim. “Does that make it worth it anymore than it already is?” Elaine inquires, continuing to step for the police station’s front doors alongside the man who she’d sworn to stand by through thick and thin. “I just got arrested for beating some punk for trying to snatch a kid from his mother, and now I’m being labelled a racist ‘cause the scumbag happens to be black” Andrew rebukes, paying no mind to slow their progression toward the building’s exit in spite of the litany of people that stand on the opposite side of it. “It’s not an enviable position, honey. However, it’s-” Elaine attempts to reply, only to find her voice overwhelmed by the flurry of voices that call out once the glass doors part. “Mr. Carrion!” the voices of various reporters cry out, thrusting their microphones into the faces of a father who’d already been the subject of intense public scrutiny many years ago. Asking their own questions toward the father, the reporters take their time in pulling away from the swarm they’d attacked the patriarch in the form of as he advances through, not relenting in his attempted retreat from the station whilst stepping ahead of his wife to protect her. “Everybody back up and keep your distance!” a man in a long coat exclaims with a briefcase in tow, gently resting his palm against Elaine’s lower back whilst walking alongside the father of two. “Who are you!?” one reporter calls out, taking interest in the unexpected third party that plays catch up to his clients. “I’m defence attorney Henry Webster” the lawyer responds, taking a slight step forward to lead the married couple through the sea of invasive story-finders. “My client has nothing to say to any of you at this time” Henry proclaims, voicing aloud the results that those with the microphones and cameras are bound to receive, “we will not accept any attempt at receiving answers to questions whilst this legal process is carried out. Any attempts to interrogate my client will be seen as harassment and will result in a lawsuit directed toward you and your employers.” Dispersing the crowd quicker than the father’s stubborn advancement had, Mr. Webster eventually returns the pair to semi-comfort, opening the backdoors to an SUV for them to climb aboard. Following them, the defence attorney shuts the door upon their entry and signals for the driver to step upon the pedal, carrying the vehicle and themselves away from the swath of investigative journalists and back toward the direction of relative sanctuary. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = “Coleen” Mrs. Danielson calls out from the relative comfort of her old and very-aged desk chair, picking out one of the only two figures to raise their hand in an effort of answering the question. “Shakespeare?” the teenager wonders aloud, taking her best shot at the question, though her answer makes it seem as though she hadn’t understood what was asked. “No, I know who wrote it... I’m asking for what the play was called” Mrs. Danielson reiterates, watching a look of unsureness replace the expression of uncertainty that the girl’s face had originally worn. For a few seconds, Mrs. Danielson looks around the room for a potential hand to lift, hoping to call upon a face now that the only other hand beside Coleen’s had followed suit in lowering out of not knowing the answer. “The Life and Death of King John, anyone?” Mrs. Danielson questions, conceding to the lack of a proper answer that her class fails to offer, accepting their short-coming before taking displeasure in their collective failure to even feign the slightest familiarity with the subject matter. “Oh, come on! We went over this a week and a half ago!” the teacher persists, holding out hope for something other than a blank and lost stare to meet her, “the test is in three days... you should know this!” Paying no mind to the conversation that’s happening near the front of the room, Liv’s eyes lock onto the same sight that steals every last ounce of her attention, frozen upon the empty seat that sits beside her without an occupant. “What about the main character?” Mrs. Danielson wonders aloud, leaning back in her seat with the textbook open across her lap, eyes held toward the small number of students that share the classroom with her, “who is the main character of King John?” Waiting for a moment, the dissatisfied teacher watches her small in-person class keep their faces toward the surfaces of their desks, hesitant to answer. In the back of the room, only one hand begins to rise from the bottom of the screen the student hides within, taking more of an active role from the comfort of their own home than the students in actual attendance. “Yes, Bryan!” Mrs. Danielson calls out, picking on the unconfident blonde teenager with a buzzcut. “Is it King John?” Bryan replies, the tone of his voice making it clear that he’s not fully confident in the answer that he offers. Still displeased with the participation amongst her class, Mrs. Danielson frowns in the online student’s direction and sinks further into her chair. “What have I been teaching you all school year about what we do when we answer questions?” the teacher inquires, looking out to the small group of students that sit within the unnecessary number of empty desks. “That we shouldn’t answer in the form of a question!” Coleen exclaims, refusing to even offer the lift of her hand in the name of making good upon her earlier misinterpretation of the inquiry. “Yes! Thank you! At least someone pays attention in class” Mrs. Danielson responds, extending her hands back toward the rows of screen in the back of the room, “now, Bryan... Please answer the question I asked instead of asking your own!” Allowing the events that surround her to continue without interruption, Liv remains fixated on the empty seat that sits along her right side, staring at it with a blank expression without even trying to hide how little she’s paying attention to the lesson that she’s meant to participate in. “Yes, Bryan... It is King John!” Mrs. Danielson responds, accepting the answer her online student had offered with an obvious tone of discontent, pulling in a breath as she pauses before watching a hand rise. “Yes, Liv?” the teacher inquires, spotting the special needs student out from the crowd that sits before her. “May I use the restroom, please?” the teen inquires, her question only further fueling the displeasure of her educator’s guise. “Yep” Mrs. Danielson concedes, burying her eyes into the text that’s scrawled upon the pages that sit in her lap as the student steps out of her seat, walking down her stretch of desks and around the front of the room whilst Coleen and her friends watch on. Empty handed and with little reason to maintain the ruse, Liv walks throughout the empty stretches of hallway that separate her from various sections of the building. At first travelling back toward her lockers, the curious student turns away upon realising the area is empty, freeing her to journey toward other avenues. With a glance into the window that separates the front office from the front of the building, the specialty-feigning teenager finds the lack of anything worthwhile there as well. Glancing into whatever rooms are free to be looked into ranging from classrooms to the cafeteria to the courtyard at the front of the building, Liv begins to find herself running low on options. In search of one person in particular, the consistent failure to find whom she yearns to see leaves her more depleted and disheartened with each passing step, its result leading her to making for the closest bathroom in an effort of looking to her phone for answers. Hanging her head, Liv reaches into her pocket and retrieves her mobile device whilst thrusting her shoulder into the first door she finds, offering her what she first assumes to be privacy, but soon realises provides her with an answer. “Oh!” the teenager girl mutters as she looks up from the ground, entering the room and immediately finding the reflection of a familiar face in the centre-most mirror along the sinks. Briefly glancing in the direction of the bathroom’s entrance, Derby notices the presence of her friend and rolls her eyes with displeasure, concealing her anger toward the young woman whom she struggles to convince herself to be mad at. “Hey, Liv” the rebellious student murmurs whilst looking back at the mirrored image of her own face, a bruised left eye, busted lip and broken nose worn like battlescars from her altercation of the prior night. “What happened!?” Liv questions with a gasp, yet to resume feigning her autistic mannerisms in lieu of her friend’s wounded appearance, though it’s a slip-up that’s not easily noticed. Puckering her lips as she stares into the ceramic bowl that her sink’s inner-construction slopes into, Derby gives her best effort at concealing her rage for the friend’s failure to appear the night prior by answering with short and simple sentences. “You didn’t show up last night” the assaulted student replies, gently rubbing at various colours that surround her eye, the swelling prompting her to wince at even the lightest graze. “So, since I couldn’t really just wait around and hope for the best, I just decided to try and do what I needed to without you” Derby confesses, pressing her side into the sink as she stares at the sorrowful young woman across from her, “as you can see, it obviously didn’t go very well for me.” Though she wants to raise a question immediately, Liv recalls the act that she nearly fails to resume in time, staring blankly into the distant wall that stands behind the wounded student before bobbing her head again. “My dad got arrested last night” the special needs teenager responds, still trying to offer her best explanation for leaving the woman to the assault that had befallen her, “Elaine told me not to leave the house.” Though she’d still made an effort to be reasonable and wary of her friend's unusual condition, the subdued aggravation that the troubled teen had held toward her acquaintance goes out the window with the clarification. “Shit, Liv. I... I’m sorry, I didn’t know” Derby explains, genuinely disappointed to hear the news, though she struggles to make that clear in light of the pain and fatigue that she’s forced to succumb to, “is... Is he alright?” Though she nods at first to the reply, Liv looks into the distance to offer herself a moment of clarity, answering the question after a brief pause. “I don’t know what he did, but mom left to pick him up from the police station after she dropped me off” the autistic student responds, pausing yet again as Derby attempts to speak, not knowing that her pal had intended to continue speaking. “It’s not a good excuse, though. I told you that I’d be there and I wasn’t” Liv doubles down, watching a more warm and appreciative expression come over her acquaintance’s wounded face, “I’m sorry, Derby.” Bowing her head for a brief moment, the injured student tries her best to hide a smile before looking back up and nodding. “It’s alright, Liv” Derby answers, genuinely dismissing any of the lingering anger in light of the apology she hadn’t even realised her friend was capable of offering from a place of sincerity, pleased to at least know the young woman across from her can comprehend honouring one’s word. “What happened last night?” Liv follows up, asking the question that she’d initially wanted to raise prior to explaining her absence, “who attacked you? Why did they attack you?” Freeing a long and extended sigh, Derby rolls her eyes and winces at the pain in her side whilst looking into the mirror she’d initially faced when her presence in the room became shared. “Coleen and those pests usually go to this warehouse downtown- an old building that’s been empty for, like, fifteen years- and drink booze they snatch from their parents’ liquor cabinets” the troubled teen admits, “I set up my phone the other night to film them.” “Coleen and her friends did this to you!?” Liv immediately interjects, the haste in her reply surprising her injured friend, who looks back to her with a momentary shock at first. “Uh... yeah?” Derby replies, almost speaking as if that much should’ve been expected from the start, “who else would’ve beat me up like this?” With wide eyes and a steadily-held distant expression, Liv looks into her friend’s face as she processes the claims internally, her lips moving at a quiver-like pace as she pulls her focus away from the wounded teenager. “They found my phone and knew I was coming. They got the jump on me, tossed my phone in the fire, and they left me there to get out myself” Derby doubles down, finishing her thought without interruption this second time around, “now I’m here.” Struggling to funnel through her thoughts, Liv’s mind pushes beyond the claims that her friend makes and instead toward the visage of all three perpetrators of the attack her absence is partially responsible for. Though the feeling of anger courses through the muscles in her arms when picturing Leila and Elva, the sensation of outright rage sinks into her conscience like a vessel dips below the surface of the sea when the image of Coleen presents itself upon her mind. “Anyway, I’ll see you in class a little later, Liv. I still need the office to process my tardy slip and then I’ll be in” Derby concludes, patting her friend on the shoulder whilst accepting the silence that she’s bound to be met with, walking past and venturing through the room’s exit. Seething where she was left standing, Liv looks at the black face of the white-painted, concrete walls that surround the room, a brief nibble taken into her bottom lip as she’s left with her thoughts. | “I’m not changing my story!” Andrew howls, slamming his balled hand against the countertop of his kitchen’s island, vehemently refusing the suggestion that his attorney pleads for him to consider. “Mr. Carrion, the parking lot doesn’t have security cameras and no one is coming forward to claim that the man you attacked was anything more than a passerby” Mr. Webster responds, occupying one of the stools on the distant side of the island. “I saw the look in that little girl’s eye when that van pulled out of that fucking spot” Andrew retorts, defending his claim with absolute resilience, “that dirty fucking bastard tried to snatch the kid away from her mom. I don’t care if there wasn’t a camera to catch it... I know what happened.” “I’m not claiming that you don’t, and I’m not calling you a liar. The point of all this is that- unless the woman comes forward to corroborate your claim- it’s a ‘he said-he said’ argument” Mr. Webster responds, wearing a look that doesn’t urge confidence, “and with how biassed the courts have become against people like you whenever the term ‘hate crime’ gets thrown around, you better bet that your odds of walking out with a ‘not guilty’ verdict are slim-to-none.” “Mr. Webster, there are tire tracks burned into the asphalt from the van pulling out” Andrew argues back, a conclusion that the defence attorney takes little care in. “Tasking the prosecutors with arguing that those tracks could’ve been from any other vehicle would be like challenging them to take a walk in the park...” Mr. Webster responds, patting the countertop to display the level of ease he speaks to, “...unless they’re hypoallergenic, they’ll have no trouble whatsoever.” “What if the woman came forward to argue in Andrew’s favour?” Elaine inquires, butting into the conversation with more topical optimism to offer. “Well we wouldn’t be arguing it as ‘he said-he said’ now, would we?” the defence attorney rebukes, darting his eyes back toward the direction of the subject to his visit, “but unless your husband has found a way to get in contact with this woman, I’d suggest you start hitting the press circuit and asking her to come forward if you want her to show up.” Their conversation coming to a pause at the sound of the home’s front door closing, the three inhabitants of the kitchen look past the arch that separates the home’s foyer from them to find a familiar face. “Hey, Liv! Uh-” Elaine speaks up, wanting to offer words in lieu of her husband’s less-than-affable mood and the unfamiliarity of the defence attorney. “I have homework” Liv quickly interrupts, not paying much mind toward entertaining her step mother’s greeting before wandering off for the second level of the home. Though she’d already been disappointed by the strife in which her only child’s father is embroiled in, the dismissive manner in which her step daughter reacts to her only further deepens the discontent that overcomes her. “Mr. Carrion, I’m not suggesting that you take the stand, admit to being a racist and apologise for your actions. All I’m suggesting is that- in whatever you say- you act as if you’re open-minded to the idea that you may have have some prejudicial undertones to the way you handled the situation” the attorney suggests, “you can argue that the woman and her kid existed, but as long as you admit you may have misread the situation, a jury might be more willing to believe they existed.” “How the hell would that be any different from arguing that he tried to snatch her kid!?” Andrew calls out in a rage, feeling as though the solution presented isn’t much different from the preferable option at his disposal. “Because- unless the judge lets us select the jurors- it’ll look better to an all-black panel” Mr. Webster replies, “they’ll be unlikely to go along with the lady being involved if he attacked her, but they’ll likely go for it if she’s not used to make their own look bad.” “I don’t give a fuck about how black people are made out to look. What I care about is having kept a girl from ending up like Sophie- but in an even worse position- and being painted out as the villain!” Andrew exclaims, his voice reverberating throughout the home. “Well, if this plan isn’t one that you’re willing to go for, I’d suggest you start putting out flyers to look for this white lady and her kid” Mr. Webster concedes, throwing his hands up in defeat, “it looks like your only option.” Slapping the island’s surface, Andrew presses his hands against his hips and turns away from his wife and the man he’d paid to attend to his legal matters, staring through the window that resides just over the sink. Sitting with his own anger, the father of two tries to clear his mind of the intrusive thoughts that fill his head, their presence undesired and unpleasant. Whilst Elaine rounds the kitchen’s centre-most obstacle to comfort the man she’d married, an unseen spectator remains seated upon the home’s main staircase listening in, her head pressing against the drywall that acts almost like an amplifier. With a sombre expression, Liv sits with her thoughts and allows them to stew before disappointedly collecting her knapsack and following through with her venture toward the bedroom that awaits her presence. “We’re going to figure something out, honey” Elaine whispers, resting her hands against Andrew’s shoulder and arm whilst trying to offer him comfort. Attempting to double down on her reassurance, the household’s matriarch overhears the creaking of floorboards just over her head, the pair of feet that journeys across the hallway one level above being dismissed by the girl’s father. | “I didn’t expect to come back to this camera so soon” Liv confesses, sitting in the chair to her desk at the centre of the room once more, this time looking into the lens that is positioned across the surface of her desk, the legs that had allowed it to stand freely having been tucked away in the corner. “I kinda sorta expected to go radio silent for a while and only start filming once I felt the next stage of my slip beginning, but I’m pretty sure that next stage is already here” she doubles down, continuing to eye her reflection in the slightly-rounded lens. Swallowing a wad of spit that builds up in her mouth, Liv’s eyes take to the corner of her desk, spotting a blue mug with white print dawning upon the outside of it, the text reading her name in playful, rounded letters. “I took my meds this morning, so I can’t even claim that this is something I can write off as being no big deal” the girl explains, ridding herself of any opportunity to dismiss the events as the cause of some other motivation. “Everything was going fine until I found Derby in the bathroom. Her face was bruised, and even though I had nothing to do with attacking her- it was still partially my fault” Liv admits, conceding to that point in the name of something more. “I felt so bad about having stood her up, but all of that changed when she mentioned what happened last night...” she continues, pausing for a moment as her face begins to hold a sorrowful and slightly-bitter expression, “...and who did it.” Falling silent, Liv reflects upon the recollection she had from earlier in the day quietly, retaining as much memory from the altercation that had ensued as she can, knowing it to be vital for anything she does from this point onward. Pulling in a deep breath, the girl opens the eyes she’d yet to realise had closed, parting her lips to come clean with the action she’d taken and had left her conscience to bear the weight of. “I did a bad thing today.” Vividly remembering the frustration that had been worn on the girl’s face, Liv recalls focusing on the visage of Coleen as she’d ventured around a corner in search of the closest bathroom. With a frown and irritated eyes, the teenage bully had failed to take notice of the special needs student she’d mistreated so frequently that it had almost become second nature to that point, instead preferring to follow her aggravation to a more secluded area, wishing to simmer in private. Though she’d partially gone unnoticed thanks to hiding over half of her body behind the door of her full-sized locker, Liv’s lack of detection allowed her eyes to follow Coleen’s figure around the nearest corner and through the door that had awaited her. With slightly-parted lips and an intense stare, the facade-supporting teenager had used the brief moment of thought that had come upon her to glance in either direction of the corridor that she occupies, taking notice of how empty it is. Realising how devoid of attention she is, Liv’s focus sets its full attention upon the bathroom door her tormentor had dipped through, yet to move a muscle away from the open panel of her storage compartment. “Aside from that one instance I told you- the camera, I suppose- about the other night, there’d never been a better opportunity to get Coleen alone than this one” the girl utters, confessing to the motivation that urged her to take action, “something inside of me refused to let it go.” Able to remember the slightly-cold sensation of the metal door she’d proceeded to close after a moment of thought, Liv follows through with recalling the weight of every step she’d taken from her locker to the bathroom door, each sensation that had accompanied her along the journey proving to be just as memorable as every other. Pushing her forearm into the wooden door, the supposedly-autistic student would follow her adversary into the bathroom and vanish behind the closing door. “If anyone ever finds this tape and watches it, I want to make it clear that I don’t think there’s anything worse than feeling like you have to live a life of lies because of how convinced you’ve made some of the people in your life” Liv admits, struggling to word her thoughts correctly, but making sure to pay extra effort to them, “even if it’s just out of self-preservation, I’m not sure there’s anyone that understands the feeling of not being able to tell people the truth about yourself.” Sucking on her bottom lip, Liv shakes her head whilst looking at her own reflection in a mirror that’s propped up along a shelf near the top of her desk. “I know there’s a purpose to it, and I know that I don’t pretend to still be autistic for whatever benefits come with it, but I still feel dirty about having to hide this part of my life” the girl confesses, unable to look away from her own sorrowful expression, “I just need you to understand why the urge to give up this secret is so strong.” == Generation Alpha == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
September 2025
Categories |
RSS Feed