Tag Archives: Death

How much do my parents love me?

Abortion is legal until the age of 18, a kid who’s still a month away from his 18th birthday faces a difficult choice.

“Good night dear, we love you.” My parents called.

“Love you too.” I called back. Love me, that’s what they said. They didn’t know what I’d done today.

All my life my parents had raised me to be a great doctor. They had given me extravagant gifts and much praise whenever I brought home a 4.0 GPA, and I had brought home a 4.0 GPA every semester of my life.

I had been a part of all the right extracurricular activities and volunteer groups. Until today my chances of getting into the right school had been 100%.

Today had been the SAT. I had practiced for months, read every book on the subject, and taken every necessary class. My preparation had been ideal, and every sign indicated I should score in the top 5%.

I scored in the fifth percentile alright, just not the upper fifth. I hadn’t told my parents my score. Most students received their scores a week after testing. I didn’t know you could receive your scores the same day until today. After I had completed my exam, one of the proctors pulled me aside and told me that I had scored in the bottom five percent.

Before I could cry out that such a score wasn’t possible for me he had hastily told me that I wasn’t supposed to know, but parents had been known to abort their children when they scored low.

“It isn’t super common.” He had said. “But it happens.”

“My parents would never do that to me!” I had shouted. Thankfully he had pulled me into an empty soundproof room to have this discussion.

“Is it?” He asked. “You know who gets the pre-birth abortions right? Kids without futures” I didn’t respond. “Think about it kid, think of all those children with birth defects who get the axe.”

“But I’m not defective.” I said, still reeling from what I was hearing.

“I know that.” He responded. “I didn’t say you were, but to them, they’ve put a lot of money, time, and energy into your success, and after today, well, not saying anything about your future kid, but that kind of a score doesn’t look good.”

I thought about all the vacations my parents had taken me on, all the money on tutors, private schools, summer school, vacations to educational places, and all of it in their eyes was now wasted.

I could retest of course, but not until after my birthday, and a retest wasn’t a clean slate. I still had community colleges, night school, trade school, apprenticeships, but medical school was all but gone for me.

To them, I might as well have just plastered ‘boomerang generation’ on my forehead. My outlook on life did not look good.

I had jokingly told my friend that my parents would kill me if I scored low. Could it be true?

“How old are your parents kid?” The man asked me.

“Late thirties early forties.” I said.

“Still young enough to start over.” He told me. “Adoption agencies are eager to give kids to parents with practice.”

‘We love you’. My parents had told me before I went to bed. Was I willing to stake my life on that?

Video game vision

Level 22 nerd Teddy looked like he had aced the test as usual. I give him a nod and a congratulatory handshake as we walk down the high school halls to lunch, making sure to dodge the level 50 harpy with her dress of +3 shrieking, and her troll boyfriend. She clearly had some buffs casted onto him, and the two were usually trouble.

I wave goodbye to Teddy as I go and sit with my level 5-10 crew of humans. We all had very ordinary stats, a video game move here, a leadership buff there, but we were all pretty normal guys. I liked it that way, no competition. Just some regular old people having some regular old conversation.

I notice that our quarterback is sporting a new special move, but before I can make it out someone sits down across from me. He appears to be just like me and my friends at first, until I see his class and level contain only question marks.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the quarterback’s sweet new fake punt move?” He asks, looking straight at me.

“Uh yeah.” I say.

“How could you know that?” My friend with +2 athleticism asks. “We just practiced that before school?” The mystery man shrugs, without breaking eye contact with me.

“I know things.” His eyes narrow. “Many things.”

“James Franklin Glasgow, let’s go.” The mystery man says.

“Go where?” I look to my friends, but none of them seem to hear.

“You shall see.” He says. I look at my friends. None of them seem to think this is strange, and I need to figure out what the question marks mean.

“Where are we going?” I ask, standing up and following him out of the cafeteria.

“To the afterlife.” He says. I try to dive away from him, but I’m suddenly unable to move.

“Your friends are about to figure out that you’re suffering a lethal allergic reaction to that crabmeat sandwich you’re eating. The mods have decided to pull you before it got too painful, seeing as you’ve been good enough to beta test ‘stat vision’ for us. They’re awaiting your report on the new special ability now.”