MOTHERS

◙three◙

"Again and again with the protests." Lorelai flipped through the channels until finding a documentary on the new and improved 'Self-driving cars—the twenty-fifty version', and retrieved her popcorn from the microwave as it beeped.

Another day in her moderately-sized house in her moderately modern suburban neighborhood; she couldn't complain. Price Laboratories had set her up comfortably here, surrounded by quiet neighbors who never bugged her, and far from the perils of the big city of San Francisco. She was isolated, unknown, and months of peace had passed since she'd been brought here, fresh from having delivered what they told her was a healthy baby that would be perfect proof of the success of the experiment.

But she would complain about the TV channels not diversifying their programs. She understood the anger, she did; but all she saw was news of violence, of death, of illegal abortions. News of men scolding women in the streets, reminding them of the law, accusing them of being too lewd. News of President Drum turning himself into more of a dictator than ever before. He'd gotten what he wanted with the abortion ban, and he'd turned his attention to other members of the population: hackers and the unhealthy.

Lorelai had always been a bit on the skinnier side—drugs had done that to her—but she'd always respected a person's right to have the body they wanted. It was no one's business what size pants one wore and what one liked to eat. And there were sometimes health issues preventing folk from being at a normalized weight. So for this psychopath to be hunting down those with body types that didn't affect him in the slightest made Lorelai happy she'd taken that deal with the laboratory to keep her identity safe and her name black-listed. Because the group he considered unhealthy included her, as a slightly underweight woman.

She popped a few morsels of popcorn into her mouth and chewed, enjoying the buttery flavor melting on her tongue. This had become her routine—get up, have breakfast, get dressed, go for a jog, shower, then lounge about watching TV for most of the day. Thanks to the settlement the lab gave her—a pretty substantial sum of money that had made her faint—she wouldn't need to work another day in her life, at least not for a long time. It was like an upgraded witness protection program, where she was sworn to secrecy on what she'd been through and what she'd done for the government, and in return she became filthy rich.

But it wasn't her style to flaunt it. She'd never had much money, and whenever she'd had a couple extra bills, they'd gone towards drugs. Now, the money went towards name-brand food, cool appliances she saw on infomercials, highly rated video games, high-class couture, and swanky shoes she'd never wear or show to anyone. She didn't have any friends, but didn't need any; this was her safe space, her cocoon, and she liked it this way.

The documentary started talking about past events and how vehicles had progressed in the passing decades. "Do you remember back in twenty-twenty-four, when self-driving cars were being mentioned, hinted at, but we weren't sure they'd be a thing yet? Look at us now," the narrator said, sounding way too excited. "Half the country is in possession of such cars, and soon enough the rest of the country will follow."

Lorelai huffed. "Not if you don't make them more affordable," she said, switching to a different channel again. "You don't seem to realize that that rest of the country you refer to is pretty poor, thanks to good old Dictator D." She stuffed her mouth with more popcorn.

When the president had been forcefully elected, she hadn't been born yet. She might not have even been a thought, yet. She was born in twenty-twenty-five, right at the beginning of the dictator's promises to heal the country, to heal the world, and bring it back to its roots. She grew up accustomed to his bullshit, much too used to the bloodshed on TV and the violence in real life.