Future

2072

The year is 2072. I sit alone in the row of empty seats. My worst fear faces me once again; no one being there, to lift the burden of my life that rests on my shoulders. As I try desperately to search for anything to bring me comfort, my mind drifts off to the fond memories my grandmother and I shared at that tiny café at the end of the street. Especially the one when the radio began to play Beyoncé by accident. That was a good memory, 10 years ago, before they tore the café down and built this lousy excuse for a subway I have to wait at every day. Before the phone call from the hospital saying that she had failed to recover from her stroke.   But no matter how hard I try to focus on the happy things, they are overridden by my father and the biggest lie he ever told me. When I was Just 13, I recall watching some sought of crime investigation show where a poor girl was kidnapped and raped on the way home one night. After the program had ended, my father turned to me and said: “If anyone ever rapes you, I will kill them.”

“It’s been three years now Dad, and none of the tabloids have shown up with any signs of you committing suicide.” #whatHAStheWORLDBECOME?