Short Stories!

Melody Willow

The year is 2116 and they still haven't found out a way to get us from going to school! We have so much advancements in technology but here we are watching the teacher put out notes on the noteboard as we watch them appear on a tablet in front of us. All of us are wearing the same clothing to keep us safe. The clothing is a bodysuit of all black with stripes of yellow circling the body. Still everyone is jealous of me and my twin, they think we are the best musicians because of our names. I see them scowl at us in the hallways and hear them saying our names at lunch. Being an artist or musician is all you can be these days like doing painting, drawing, musical instruments, and singing. Only the best of the best make money out of it. I play the guitar while Harmony, my twin, plays percussion. We both hate it, even when we tried to join art classes or singing, we disliked it immensely. We couldn't hit the right notes when singing and we failed at painting an abstract painting in art! To not upset our parents and the society we stayed playing our instruments even when we had different passions. All I wanted to do was write but that was shunned in our world. Today in class we were learning about extinct jobs that are no longer used in today's society. I was excited, maybe they would talk about writing and not just music.

"Okay class the first job we will learn about is a writer!" our teacher says and pulls and chunky old-fashioned book from her desk. I smile.

"Writer's made these books and wrote everything their is to read today, they became extinct around the time of the music and art revolution" she says robotically, "They strung together words to make sentences that make little sense like a type of writing called Poetry where you write random words that sound pretty together". I press a green button on my tablet, the teacher then looks over at me. Her robotic face stares at me. She shows no expression, but she waits for me to answer. Being kind is in every teaching robots memory drive.

"Writing seems like an interesting profession, but why did it become extinct?" I ask.

"Because their was no use for it anymore because we got technology that can make just as an interesting novel as a writer can" the teacher replies and goes onto telling us about computer sciences.

"The computer sciences aren't yet extinct but to make all these computers, tablets, and robots like me, we need one person that is a computer scientist" she says.

I looked over to my sister, she seemed very interested in about the computer sciences. Her eyes were wide and was smiling very oddly. She always did seemed like the inventive type to me. She loves to create things, that's not art, and even bought a old fashioned tool kit without our parents permission so she could see what was inside our oven-fridge that made the food. After our parents found out, they scolded her and told her to practice playing percussion instead of tinkering with old artifacts. She was very sad that night and told me she wouldn't stop tinkering if it means she is happy. Her face was droopy and was red with anger. All I want is for us to be happy. Well that and the world to go back to when their was writers and computer scientists everywhere so we could fit in. I guess we were born in the wrong time period. Then the flying bus comes to the door of our classroom and we sit down in our seats so it can take us home.

"Our parents will never let us do what we want to do" Harmony whines. Then she grins, like she remembered something amazing.

"Did you find the antique notebook and pencils from Peregrine's old-fashioned shop?" she asks me.

I almost forgot I brang it with me! I reach into my iron fiber bag and pull out a antique notebook and pencil. As I take it out I feel the rough callus of the pencil and notebook rub against my hand.

"Wow! That's so cool! Write something Melody!" she says as soon as I take it out.

I open the papery notebook to a page covered in lines. I pick up the pencil and touch it to the paper, then I write, I love this old-fashioned stuff, in between the lines. The writing is sloppy and messy, they never taught us how to write at school, they only taught us how to read and play music or do art. Harmony looks at what I wrote, mesmerized.