Diverse

Life in the city was perfect… perfectly obnoxious. Who wants to live in a world where perfection was expected and normal was disapproved of? I certainly didn’t. Welcome to the age of Kens and Barbies.

 

  Please, reader, allow me to elaborate on that situation before telling my tale. In my world, the rich do not bother with the cycle of reproducing. Why? It’s a simple answer: the ladies do not want to be seen getting ‘fat’, the men do not wish to see their wives give birth and the other fact that their wives needed to be eye candy was another reason for them to go against it. Appalling, isn’t it? But what you don’t realize, reader, is that we have been brainwashed to live perfection. We breathe perfection, we crave perfection, we are perfection.

 

  Think about it, when a person has nothing better to do, what do they do? They sit their asses down on a chair and stare at an electronic screen. What do they watch on these glorious picture moving screens? They watch the news, the upcoming new television shows, movies, etc. That’s normal right? Wrong. In all of these entertainment shows they enjoy to project, portrays that to live a beautiful life, you need to be beautiful. How do you be beautiful? You get your ass of a chair for approximately 3-5 hours and get a new face planted over your own. Fun, huh?

 

   Anyways, because of a wonderful idea the higher class came up with, the responsibility of reproduction was shoved down to the lower class. But don’t get me wrong; those prosperous citizens of my beloved city still want kids. Kids to continue to live out their legacies; be their heirs. Hence, why by the age of 16 we are taken from our true homes and placed into one where we are taught to be plastic.

 

  To be placed into these families, we’d take a series of tests. The process is pretty simple, we take a test to test our intelligence, then we do an arts of our choice (painting, music or dramatic arts), after that, we’d get chucked into a ballroom in a fancy outfit where they would check how well we can act posh and polite, how elegant we could be. And after all those tests, they calculate all of our results and see who fits with what family’s preferences... Anyways, after all of these horrendous testings, we get shoved into an empty room with two adults. We, then, adopt their surnames, get beautified by machines and adapt to their lifestyles.

 

  Sometimes I wonder what type of family I’d be placed in. Would they actually love me? Or would they try to shape me to be their next heir? Welcome to my life, reader. A life where I’m being groomed to be perfect, just like the rest of my generation.

 

  We are the next generation of Kens and Barbies.

 

  We are the next generation of perfect snobs.

 

~

 

“Sybil, you may enter the room for your final testing now.” The sharp voice sliced through the air. I heaved a sigh as I smoothening the skirt of the shimmering blue grown. You can do this. I repeated over and over in my head.

 

  Don’t get me wrong, reader. I hate this and honestly, do not care about any of this. But likewise, I am human and I do have the fear of totally embarrassing myself.

 

  It took myself a moment to get rid of these unwanted nerves. Maybe no family will pick you and you can stay with mum and dad. I cheered silently in my head; a smile had formed itself upon my lips. No one knew what happens to a teen who didn’t get picked, supposedly they were shoved down to the lower class but some of them just… well, they vanish. But something we knew for sure was that, if a newborn seemed ugly, they were killed on site. If a child showed no promise of meeting the goals to perfection, they were killed on site. But if a teenager didn’t fit any of the preferences of any family, now that’s something no child nor teen knew about.