Yay! I wrote again. It's been forever, and hopefully won't be so long, again.

Here is another out-of-order installment to my nameless, futuristic tale.



Andrew—First Trip to The Center

The autopod was quiet. That wasn’t usual, especially when all three of them were in the autopod together, which rarely happened. What was unusual was the almost suffocating atmosphere of anticipation. Andrew was certain that each of them was experiencing a distinctly different feeling of anticipation.

It didn’t take much guesswork to know that his mother (Veronika) has visions of great and glorious recognition dancing through her mind. Recognition for herself, of course. She could only hope that all of her meticulous grooming had prepared her genius son to finally elevate her to the status where she so rightfully belonged.

Andrew regarded her silently; her eyes gleaming sharply, a faint hint of a smile on her lips. She actually looked quite beautiful, just then, lost in her own thoughts, however self-serving they might be.

Andrew turned his gaze to his father (Hank), who was in the back seat with him, and who was sitting unnaturally straight. Andrew wasn’t sure of his dad’s exact feelings, only that they were definitely not the same as his mother’s. His dad had never uttered a negative word about The Center and had always been insistent that Andrew keep up with his studies. His insistence was, again, much different than Andrew’s mother’s, but intense all the same.

His father noticed Andrew looking at him. He relaxed his posture, smiled, and said, “Make sure you don’t throw up on anyone.”

His mother clicked her tongue irritably and pressed a button to make the autopod speed up.

Andrew had once thrown up on the shoes of one of his mother’s “important” acquaintances (weren’t they all?). His mother had warned him that he had to display his most perfect behavior, and he was nervous. He was also three years old. His parents were still together at the time, and it has always been one of his dad’s favorite things to bring up.

Andrew rolled his eyes as his dad reached over and tousled his hair, but he felt comforted and smiled.

“Arriving at destination, Center for Brethren Advancement, in ninety seconds,” The autopod’s androgynous robot voice informed them.

Andrew’s stomach dropped. His dad’s smile faded. His mother looked at him, again clicked her tongue, and shot Hank a glare of annoyance as she hastily attempted to coif her son’s hair. He winced as a few strands were pulled out.

The autopod slowed and silently stopped. All three of them turned towards the door on Andrew’s side as it glided open.

“Center for Brethren Advancement. Have a lovely day.”

They were here.