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Generation

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generation
dʒɛnəˈreɪʃ(ə)n/
noun
all of the people born and living at about the same time, regarded collectively.

The straight guy on the opposite side of the lecture hall winked at me. He was so straight it was unbelievable: black hair, green eyes, archly curving nose, slightly tipped and furred ears, tusks protruding out of his mouth and tilted up and out. Just like the guy next to him, except he'd at least gone to the effort of carving those tusks to points and shaving his head. In fact, he was kinda hot, at least by 1943 standards. You could always tell a '43er by the upward-pointing tusks, though it looked like these two morons were February babies, which wasn't really my thing.

I was born in '44 and so had a natural, inevitable and tedious attraction to guys from the same year. Everybody felt that same pull and most people just gave in to it, knowing that they'd at least share the same pop culture references and appendages. Or, in our case, resistances. So boring.

"Consider this," the professor said. Oh, yeah. I forgot I was in class. "If we ever manage to depart Locque, as a species, and venture out into the cosmos, what then? Would the generation clock keep ticking according to the moon's trajectory, and our position around the sun, or would we find ourselves subject to other, as yet unknown, criteria?"

I eyed the clock and scribbled into my notebook, sketching out a scene at my favourite diner, complete with extravagant wheels out the front and a rotating neon sign above. Then I slid it over the desk to Rachel, who was sat next to me chewing gum and twirling her fingers through her tentacle dreads. She looked disdainfully at me then picked up her own pen and added to the sketch before sliding it back.

She'd added a huge spaceship floating above the diner, which was firing a laser beam. Scribbles all over the cars I assumed were meant to indicate they were exploding. There wasn't much of my drawing left. I stuck my tongue out, then quickly retracted it when I saw the professor glancing in my direction. He literally had eyes in the back of his head. A lot of 360-sights had become teachers, or police officers. Sports worked well for them.

The afternoon drifted by at a tediously leisurely pace until, finally, the bell rang the end of the day and we all tipped out onto the streets. It was Friday, it was warm and there was no way in hell I was going home. My folks would either not give a shit or give me hassle, so - staying out, it was. I ducked into the restroom before leaving school, switching out my uniform for something a little more enticing and tidying up my face. I emerged looking about five years older.

As I headed out I could see the wings already dotting the sky overhead, flocking together and wheeling about in douchey arcs. Just because they happened to be able to fly they thought they ruled the planet. Of course, the wings basically did rule the planet, but that was still no excuse for being asshats.

The air smelled good, tasted good. My tongue shivered and I let out an involuntary hiss.

It was going to be a good night.

Thanks for reading! Please do vote or leave a comment to let me know what you thought. Chapter notes can be found on my blog: https://simonkjones.com/tag/a-day-of-faces/

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