The International Writers Magazine:Class Futures
future according to class 7B
tutor cast his eyes over the class before him. In turn, they gazed
back up at him, waiting for the teaching to start and for their
heads to be filled with knowledge. Two boys at the back started
whispering only to have their chatter cut short by Mr Blacks
class will deal with the future," he said slowly, patrolling the
front of the room like a guard dog. He cast another glance towards the
front row. All eyes were on him; just the way it should be.
"Please sir," piped up a small girl in the middle row. "How
are we supposed to know what the future will be like?"
"Yeah, wheres your time machine sir?!" jeered one of
the whisperers. Mr Black didnt look phased at all. In fact, he
merely stared at the back row, sizing up the pupil who dared mock him.
"Im glad you asked Stevens," his voice was icy. It was
hard to find any emotion on his pale face at all; not even his eyes
flickered with anything other a burning desire to make them understand.
"We wont be looking at what the future WILL hold. Nobody
knows that, not even with our technology today. I want to know what
"No girls!" laughed Stevens, as he high-fived the boys around
him, who seemed to agree.
"Well, well have one without boys then," a bold red
headed girl declared from the front row. Her friends all nodded, lips
pursed in disgust.
"No," Mr Black retorted calmly, "you dont seem
to be getting the point of the exercise. In 40 years or so, youll
be the same age I am now (no tittering in the back Tompkins). What will
your world look like?"
The small girl in the middle row raised her hand and was acknowledged.
"More houses to deal with all the people, sir," she stammered.
He nodded, but declined to comment, pointing a bony finger at a boy
sat by the window.
"Id like to say world peace, sir. That aint gonna happen
though is it?"
Mr Black looked amused at this idealisation.
"Transportation by them pads that look like those Star Trek thingies!"
cried a boy at the back. Sneers rose from the boys around him. It wasnt
done to admit to liking old fashioned shows like that. Not put off,
the boy continued, "No, its true! My Dad said all they need
to do is work out how to put you all back together in the right places
youd end up all
well like wrong, wouldnt you?"
"Like your brain you mean!" more high-fives ensued from Stevens
and the back row.
Mr Black glared at him. "Nobody seems to be thinking outside the
medias representation of your future. Do you really think well
all be living in bubbles on one of Jupiters moons?" He noted
that several hands fell into laps after his last comment.
"Sir," a pretty dark haired girl raised her hand, "do
you think this idea for genetics will get
Mr Black almost smiled. "Worse? Surely its a good thing if
diseases can be cured? This sort of thing has been happening for years."
"Maybe, for them ones born to help their brothers and sisters.
I mean that was amazing when it first happened
but what about them
that choose their babies because they want blonde hair?" She looked
determinedly at her tutor.
"Firstly, your grammar is appalling. How can you structure a good
argument sounding like you were raised by 21st century yobbos? Secondly,
does it not amaze you what science can do these days?"
"No sir, it doesnt," she grimaced, "its all
wrong, choosing your baby so that it dont
flaws that it should have. Were not meant to be perfect, not like
robots." Mr Black stared at her hard. Deep in the back of his mind
the word "trouble-maker" flashed. Watch her closely,
shes got ideas of her own the scripting continued. He shook
his head in an amused sort of way.
"I want a world where hover-boards are given to them without a
license!" piped up Stevens again. "Them flash gits cant
even do any of the good tricks!" The class disrupted into mad cackling
as the boys discussed the latest tricks theyd read about and the
girls fawned over the boys who *could* pull off those tricks. Mr Black
could see he wasnt going to get any further with them. Besides,
he was too interested in the dark haired girl. It was dangerous, a girl
of her age having ideas. Theyd learnt that centuries ago. He made
a mental note to video-page her parents.
"Alright," he silenced the class with one shout. "For
next lesson, I want a 2,000 word essay on what your future will be like.
Dont moan at me, Stevens, Wordpad 3000 will have that done in
5minutes, theres no excuse."
He smiled inwardly as they all stood up in silence, unplugging the memory
sticks from the backs of their necks, taking his words with them wherever
they went. Once upon a time, filling their heads with knowledge was
just a metaphor; how things had changed. He arranged the discs on his
desk and selected the correct one for his next lesson. Raising his hand
to a button on his left temple, he adjusted his focus slightly. Class
8C would be a handful and need extra attention.
He turned and watched the last little body glide up the corridor. Mr
Black loved working at the school, how much easier than the government
work hed first been programmed for. Filling their minds with what
was decreed. The dark haired girl and her rebellious nature flickered
back into his mind he was supposed to look for future rebellion
to crush it early. Sighing, he turned to the board and took out his
marker, writing the date for the next class April 17th 2159.
© Louise Powell December 2005
Louise is a Creative Arts student at the University of Portsmouth
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