The Future's Tale of Teenage Love

The Heathen Woman

The room I walked into was whitewashed. There was a desk in the room that had silver legs, metal, but the kind it was not something I could tell from the available information. The top was smooth and brown, with grain that was to give the impression of wood. The drawers were metal too, black and shiny, but the handles were the same silver metal as the legs, but they were speckled with brown, crusty dots. They were tarnished.

The chairs were metal too. They had silver legs, with a plastic seat and back. The plastic was not shiny or reflective, but the kind of plastic I had seen in school chairs before I had been sent here.

The woman who sat in a similar plastic chair was the head of the campus. Her long, red hair came sweeping down her shoulders and back framing her face. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, and had a warmth to them. I wondered how a woman with such a warm glow to her ended up working such a heartless job. Her suit was black, her shirt white to match the walls. Her clothes seemed to contrast the nature of her face. Her figure was decent, but not perfect. The sky high heels were made of velvet and were shown off nicely from below the desk. I could tell from the angle of the feet that she crossed her legs. Her lips were pouty, thick, and a rosy pink color. She kept those natural, while the rest of her face was accepted with makeup.

I was finally of age.

This day was famed to be both the most important day of any prodigy's life, but also the most degrading and humiliating. Today would be the day the father of my children would be chosen for me. I had limited opportunity to offer my opinion on the subject except for a questionnaire discussing the type of man to which I would be most attracted.

The woman told me her name was Dr. Karina Edwards, and she was going to help me find an ideal mate that would benefit both myself and the government. Her mouth moved, along with her hands, describing to me in detail the process in which the mate would be selected. She reminded me that although I was supposed to be attracted to my mate, our meetings were supposed to reap gifted children, hopefully blending the genetic abilities of both of the enabled teenagers breeded.

Her eyes scanned my file. Math prodigy. IQ of 183. Specialty in statistics and probability. Low emotional quotient. Problems with connecting with her peers. Orphan. Deaf.

She smiled sympathetically at me. She seemed to be debating something within her head. She probably couldn't decide whether to feel sorry for me because of the fact I lost my parents or because I could not hear her voice.

I have been deaf since I was born, so I do not remember a time when I could hear. But my parents taught me how to speak and read lips. I had learned a little ASL over the years from various textbooks, but I would not consider myself fluent, at least not until I have had a chance to test my abilities.

My parent's, however, were about the only people with whom I truly connected. My mother was a breathtakingly gorgeous woman, with an emotional quotient I was often jealous of. She would cry over a movie where a fictional character passed on. This I never understood. She always got rapped up in the romantic affairs of the faces on the television. Her mouth moved a little funny, too. My father always told me it was because of an accent, which is apparently is a twang to a person's voice based on where they live. My father's lips never had that problem. He would always tease me by saying that was why my mother was much better at kissing than he was. I do not really understand why he thought I would be embarrassed by that fact. It was about my mother's reproductive tendencies, not mine.

I swallowed uncomfortably, partly due to the memories of my parents, but mostly because of the topic of discussion. I am pretty uncomfortable with contact, especially kinds that many others call romantic. I love working with other like minds, but I have never had any interest in actually touching them. Well, I guess that is not completely true. I have once, but I never actually acted on my supposed feelings. Feelings are at least what my mother called them. I just called it my reproductive system assuring the human race would move forward. Not that the human race ever did with that particular boy.

Her hands pulled out the questionnaire I had filled out previously, paging through it. 16 years old. Hopes to be placed with someone the same age. Hopes for an academically enclined prodigy, rather than musically or athletically. Open to a range of different astetic features, but wants her mate to be between 100-150 pounds. Hopes for a mate who will treat her like an equal. Requests a 3 month trial period before copulation.

The doctor asked me why I requested this period of time. It was in my favor to produce heirs as fast as possible so I could move out of the facility and begin my own life of research and discovery. Create a few children with a high chance of being enabled, then move on with your life, forgetting this whole experience is the advice she gave me. I told her the chances of us actually conceiving would be greatly increased by the trial period because of my difficulty with human contact. If I had a chance to become familiar with my mate before trying to reproduce, then I may be more willing to attempt to conceive more often, statistically increasing the chances of an enabled baby dramatically.

She agreed to my terms on two conditions. I would donate my math and scientific knowledge to the Department of Andvanced Reproduction to try to recover the IVF techniques lost during the fall of the United States. She hoped to reach the point where this breeding ground was not needed anymore. The other condition was that I give birth to a forth child, one more than the minimum number to satisfy the government's requirement of the enabled. I reluctantly agreed to both terms.

She smiled. She handed me three files, potential mates she had slected for me based on my wishes. The folders were manila, smooth, with 3 creases near the fold. Each file was about an inch thick, stacked with white papers. I opened the first.

Blake. His hair was dirty blonde, his eyes brown, his skin tanned. Specialty in literature and history. I saw why Dr. Edwards had selected him. She hoped my specialty in math would blend nicely with his specialty of literature and history. Those specialties were based on the nurturing of the child after birth, but the genetics would not hurt. My mate and I had the obligation to care for our children until they were at least three, then we could either continue to care for them, or move on. The government hoped this was enough time to use nurturing techniques to increase the chances of an enabled baby. Blake, however, had a rare lung condition. This condition, along with my genetics for heart problems, would not pair well in a baby. I dismissed him because of this.

Daniel. 17 years old. Specialty in trigonometry. IQ of 167, and apparently a relatively high EQ. His eyes were brown too, and his skin was the same chocolate color as his eyes. In his cover photo, he wore a green polo that complemented his skin nicely.

Luke. His cover photo revealed a boyish face. His eyes were blue, pretty enough. His skin was whiter than the other two, but had a hint of caramel and some freckles that told me he loved being outside. His hair was dirty blonde, like Blake's, but a little darker. He had a specialty in science, specifically physics, and drabbled in math. IQ of 179. He mentioned a love of reading. But he had also requested a trial period. 6 months.

I was a little concerned by the trial period length, but at least he wanted one like myself. He looked nice enough. His genetics proved he may produce a triple threat in mathematics, science, and literature if he were to reproduce with me. I did not really want to become a parent with any of these boys, but I had to pick a mate today.

I told the doctor to put a bid in for Luke. She nodded, but also insisted I put in a bid for the other two. I explained my concerns with Blake, but had to concede on Daniel. Luke and Mulan. Daniel and Mulan. They will have to tell me how those sound.

This is still very much a work and progress. I am publishing before I even have a first draft. I figured I wanted to get your opinion before finishing.

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