AN: For my English final, I had to pick a project that embodied what I thought the world would be like in a hundred years, so naturally, I picked the writing project and wrote a short story starring my favorite fictional characters.
This story is in a world similar to that in my ongoing fanfiction, Hack001. Things are definitely different, however, since it had to have certain aspects from my rubric. I wish I had more time (or words. I had a maximum word count that cut this short) to flesh this out. I originally planned for a prince-and-pauper thing. Oh well, maybe another time.
Onward with the story, then.
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There were many things that Alfred Kirkland hated. It just so happened that his entire life was one of those things.
Out of all the embryos at the factory, it just so happened that the famous Arthur Kirkland chose his to be his heir. Arthur Kirkland was arguable the most important man in the world. From his garage, he built up a massive technology company which soon climbed to the top. From it's point on top, the Kirkland Company was able to gain a monopoly on the international technology industry. With a world that depended on its electronics, Arthur Kirkland ruled the world.
Most would think that Alfred Kirkland, the heir to Kirkland Company, would never know unhappiness. Although Alfred had every luxury he could ever dream of, saying he was unhappy was an understatement.
Alfred never asked to inherit control over the world. He never wanted the power, the responsibility. The thought of having the lives of billions of people in his hands scared him. All he wanted was a normal, stable job that made a decent salary. He convinced himself that he could live without most of the extravagances in his life. No one else is the world had them, anyway.
With his ideal lifestyle in mind, Alfred packed his bag and planned his escape.
Which would explain why he was currently scaling the side of Kirkland Tower, three hundred feet in the air. Now was one of those times where Alfred truly hoped that his father's inventions worked.
"Please, please work," Alfred begged as he peeled one gloved hand from the wall. His other hand held steady, the suction glove doing its job, as he re-gripped the wall with his loose hand. Steadily, grip by grip, Alfred made his way down. Peel, slap, green light, repeat. It would be tedious but it would get him out of the horrid place he called home. Seriously, why was it so much to ask for a breath of air without a wall of security escorts?
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Every person in the world wore what was called a wristband. It replaced several twenty-first century inventions, including the credit card, identification cards, online banking, the cell phone, music devices, GPS systems, and so on. Everything had been compacted into a standard wristband with a holographic screen. Everyone was required to wear one. Wristbands were the most common of the Kirkland Company's products, which meant that only Kirkland Company stores could do anything that dealt with maintenance on them.
So that's why Matthew Williams was waiting at Kirkland Tower, just three hundred feet away from our dear Alfred.
Matthew paced the gardens around Kirkland Tower, impatiently waiting for time to pass. He was beyond furious when the clerk told him that it would take up to six hours to fix the holographic projector on his wristband. It wasn't wise to waste a Saturday morning on repairs when he could be at work.
Matthew honestly didn't understand the system. He never chose to go to school. It was a government mandate, yet he had to pay for tuition. His parents were laborers with nothing but debts to their name. Matthew rarely ever saw his parents. He pitied them for being chosen to raise an embryo when they could barely afford to feed themselves. He knew that his existence was nothing but a burden. He did what he could to make up for it, which meant paying for his own tuition and sharing his food stamps.
It was frustrating to have to wait around and do nothing, wasting time. Matthew decided to sit in the gardens and try to admire the garden.
What a waste of resources, the boy thought, keeping all these plants to themselves.
Oxygen-releasing plants were sacred. Pure oxygen itself was sacred. The air was heavily polluted and full of toxins, none that any human could inhale safely. The big cities were encased in an insulated plexiglass shell, which was pumped with a clean nitrogen-oxygen mixture that mimicked that of the old world. The air was produced in treatment centers with real plants or in laboratories where it was detoxicated. The property tax in cities was very high, however, so only Bourgeoisie Citizens could afford to live there. Most Proletariat Citizens lived in outskirts around the city, where each individual unit had to pay for air to be pumped into the home.
No one could go outside without an insulated hazmat suit. The ozone layer had deteriorated decades ago, so gamma radiation would fry anyone who went out unprotected. It was a huge scam, in all honesty. While property tax cost big money at once, the cost of paying for individual oxygen tanks and hazmat suits cost much more in the long run. Unfortunately, that was how the Bourgeoisie stayed rich, by tricking the poor.
Matthew, a child raised Proletariat, was disgusted with the city, particularly with Kirkland City. It was common knowledge that Kirkland City was the most boastful, overdone city in the world, considering that Arthur Kirkland himself lived there. However, such knowledge disgusted Matthew even more. Sure, Kirkland shaped the world into what it was. Perhaps the world really did rely on his company and his technology. Did that mean that he could splurge while the rest of the world suffered?
Lost in his thoughts of hatred for the Bourgeoisie, Matthew did not expect a person to fall from the sky and land at his feet.
"Holy- Are you okay?" Matthew jumped from his seat and immediately went to the boy, flipping him over. He groaned, rubbing his head with a gloved hand before attempting to sit up. Matthew tried not to laugh when he fell back down is a dizzy mess.
"I'm fine," the boy mumbled, "I think."
After a moment, Matthew helped the boy sit up and brush off.
"Thanks, man. The name's Alfred," he stuck out his hand for the other to shake it, but only stared at it in confusion. Alfred awkwardly pulled it back to his side.
"Care to explain how you fell from the sky?"
"Oh, yeah! Well, you see, I live here and it's boring, so I'm just trying to get a breath of fresh for once."
Matthew scoffed at the saying. This kid took his air for granted.
"What are you doing in the gardens, then?"
"Waiting for my wristband to be fixed. I can't do anything without it."
"Well then you're in luck! You can show me around the city, then! I've never been out without an escort, so to be honest, I don't know where to go."
Matthew thought about it. It wasn't like he was doing anything, anyway. "Alright, fine, come on, then."
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Matthew failed to tell Alfred that he wasn't too familiar with city. He took him around the downtown shopping area and to the park. Matthew wasn't a big fan of the astro turf grounds, but Alfred was intrigued. They sat in a grove of faux trees for a bit, watching the busses and an occasional electric car go by.
Matthew listened while Alfred complained about his life. He commented on various billboards and how silly his father was for approving those designs. Matthew was beginning to catch on to his societal position.
"Alfred, you do realize how much power you have in this world, correct?"
"Not much. At least, not yet. I know my father pretty much controls the world, though, and I know that I'll be at the same position one day," Alfred groaned.
"You have the power to change everything," Matthew began. "This is the city, but you should see the outskirts of town. What you see here is only how the very few rich live. The poor suffer. Weren't you aware of any of this?"
Alfred shook his head. He told Matthew that he only knew very briefly of the world's problems. He knew of pollution and the growing stratification between the Bourgeoisie and Proletariat classes. He knew that most Bourgeoisie wouldn't be caught dead with a Proletariat. Moving between classes was next to impossible. But besides that, Alfred knew that there was controversy over the fact that the American government, and most governments for that matter, took orders from his father. It only made sense, considering everyone needed Kirkland technology to survive. Alfred didn't know why it was such a big problem. It kept the world at peace, for the most part. Of course, there was that spat with Japan a few years back, since they held the last technology company besides Kirkland, but that was resolved quickly and relatively peacefully. Alfred didn't see what people were upset about.
Matthew just laughed and called him ignorant. Alfred pouted, crossing his arms indignantly.
Matthew explained to him that the majority of the world lived in shacks pumped with expensive air. They couldn't go outside without risking their health. The police outside the city were ruthless. The world was overpopulated, so any crime could be used as an excuse for execution. There was absolutely no tolerance. The rich prospered at the expense of the poor. Matthew reminded him that he was in a position where he could change that.
Alfred took a moment to let that sink in. He was about to say something when he was harshly grabbed by his forearm.
"Alfred Jonas Kirkland, what in the world do you think you're doing out here?"
The jig was up.
"Jeez, Francis, let me down, would you? Hey wait, don't hurt Matthew, he's the victim here!" Alfred tried to twist out of his bodyguard's grip.
"Alfred, what are you doing in the open, without any protection, and with a Proletariat, to top it off?"
"He's not so bad, he was just showing me around the city. I threatened him! Yeah, that's it, he did it because I threatened him."
Francis rolled his eyes at the child's weak attempts at heroism. "Fine, let the boy go. Alfred, your father's not going to be happy about this."
"Wait, sir!" Matthew ran past the other guards and tapped Francis on the arm. "Alfred just had a bit of cabin fever. Don't be too hard on him, please."
"Thanks, Mattie, but I can handle myself, I'm not afraid of Francis- Ow!" Alfred made a face when Francis tugged his ear.
"Alfred, please remember what I told you," Matthew begged as the guards began to pull him away again.
"Of course, Matthew," Alfred managed to squeak as Francis pushed him into their car.
"Alright, kid, go back home. No one's going to press charges, but you best be on your way," the guards warned. Matthew nodded and began his trek back to Kirkland Tower to retrieve his wristband.
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A few weeks later, Matthew opened his front door to find a package of oxygen tanks. Confused, he inspected the tanks carefully. A small card topped off the package, a message scrawled hastily on the paper.
"Vote Alfred Kirkland," Matthew read aloud, "for president of the United States. A vote for Kirkland is a vote for change." Matthew smiled. Maybe things would get better.