Sweeten My Coffee

Sick and frail

In the wild, a constant fight for survival is present in every organism's life. Natural selection is cruel and gives no second chances to those incapable of adapting to change. Thanks to humans however, a process known as artificial selection was brought into this world.

Eyes lifted to the sky, the child prepares to catch the ball.

What makes artificial selection so important is that it is entirely depended on human choices.

The ball is growing closer and closer, the child puts its legs one before the other and gets in a steady position.

With artificial selection humans interfere in natural selection and choose who survives in this world.

The ball slips between its fingers and with a crushing impact, bounces off the child's face.

The ones who survive are the ones that meet certain human criteria. Most commonly, the ones affected by artificial selection are animals.

'Gosh, how are you worse than all the other kids?!' A large lady approaches the crying child. Her face is scary. The sun behind her darkens her features.

'I am sorry...' The child rubs its face and drops down to catch the ball. Its chest meets her foot halfway through. The force is too intense, it falls back and the tears start rolling again.

'Pathetic. How am I going to turn you into something deserving of their respect? You are too frail. You are sick. Look at your hands. They are small. Your wrists? Girly.' She goes up to the child. Up close, she can finally see the rest of it. It is a boy. A small, tiny boy. So small that she could step on his reddened face and squish it like a berry. He brushes back his hair, they are as bright as the light that gently hugs her nape. 'Even your eyes are failing all of us. You took that bastard's eyes and now you have the same sorry look to you.' She crouches down to get on his level, but speaks in ways that are far beyond what he could ever think of. 'You better be glad that your father is infertile, otherwise I would have ended your life the moment you were born.'

It is a beautiful day, truly. The birds are cheerfully flying all over the Republic, watching carefully as children from the working classes have fun on the fresh green grass. They are the same age as him. Close to the first double digit number, he is nine years of age.

A blue sky reigns above. What awaits everyone is a happy sunset. It will be romantic. It will be beautiful. A work of art that shall inspire those with creative minds and big ambitions. Those who are free to live. Those who select how they want to survive.

'Mother...why do you make me sad?' Those words are uttered carefully, yet bravely. The child is holding his empty stomach, worried that if he looks up to her she will get mad.

'Sad? I make you sad?' Her hand jerks forward like the jaws of a dog, grasping the kid's ear. In that moment he instinctively holds onto his white fabric shirt. It is refined and beautiful, richer than anything those happy working class kids could ever wish for. His fingers wiggle and rub it between them. 'When your father forced me to get pregnant by a man that I hated for the sake of our family's legacy, I cried every night for nine months. Now tell me, are you the victim?'

The boy's hand stops rubbing the fabric. His short white hair is blown by a hot gust of wind. Sweat drips down on his shirt, then a droplet of blood from his nose. He looks up to her, his eyes sparkling with tears once more.

'No mother! I am not. You are the sad one. I am sor...' He chokes up, unable to look at her anymore. The shame he feels is immense. How much guilt can one endure before it consumes them?

She stands up, pulling him by the ear as well before letting go. 'Finally. You are a smart boy, Madeleine.' The name slips through her lips with a sense of pride. She loves that name, she chose it. However, she doubts that the bearer of such an elegant title should be him. 'Go now. Take the ball and practice again. You need to grow up. Do you want to stay skinny like your bastard father?'