A Peaceful World That Isn't
1112 Words
The year was 2150.
Humanity had finally reached what it always claimed to want — peace.
No wars. No famine. No disease. Artificial intelligence guided cities with flawless precision, curing illnesses before they spread, predicting disasters before they struck. Machines harvested crops more efficiently than ever, while doctors had become almost obsolete — nanotechnology had replaced most of their work. Humans lived longer, smiled more, and even booked hotels orbiting Earth as casual weekend getaways.
On the surface, it was paradise. A golden age. The kind of future generations had dreamed of.
And yet…
Something darker still lurked beneath.
Because even if humanity erased every threat from the outside world, there was still one danger it could never erase.
Itself.
— ✦ —
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
The alarm clock screamed at 6:50 AM, and Ethan nearly threw it across the room. His eyes cracked open — bloodshot from another late night. His textbooks were still sprawled across his desk, papers everywhere. Half his own work. Half homework he had done for classmates in exchange for scraps of money.
His laptop screen still glowed faintly, showing half-finished math problems he hadn't even needed to do.
He rubbed his face and muttered, "Another day, another disaster…"
The shower didn't help. The water sputtered, lukewarm at best. The mirror fogged too quickly. His reflection looked like a zombie — brown hair sticking up at odd angles, dark circles carved beneath his eyes. The uniform he pulled on was wrinkled, and one button was missing.
Maybe today will be better, he lied to himself.
By the time he stumbled downstairs, his mother was already in the kitchen.
"Good morning, dear," she greeted warmly, sliding a plate of eggs and toast across the counter.
His younger sister, Fujiko, sat at the table scrolling through her holo-pad. Without looking up, she smirked. "You sleep longer than anyone I know. It's honestly a skill at this point."
Ethan scratched the back of his head and laughed nervously. "Heh… yeah. I had to stay up late again. Homework stuff."
He tugged his bag tighter against his side, hiding the stack of papers crammed inside — each one with another student's name neatly written at the top.
Fujiko rolled her eyes. "I wonder why…"
"Fujiko…," their mom sighed, giving her the look.
"It's fine, Mom," Ethan said quickly. "She's got her reasons. I don't mind."
His sister grinned smugly. "See? He doesn't care. That's why—"
"Fujiko!"
"Alright, alright!" Fujiko groaned, sticking her tongue out at him.
Ethan grabbed a piece of toast and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'll take breakfast to go. I'm already late."
As he opened the front door, he heard his mother's voice drift behind him — soft, not meant for him, but loud enough:
"You know your brother is weak, Fujiko. Take care of him. Stand up for him."
Ethan froze, his hand tightening on the doorknob.
Weak, huh? Yeah… guess that's me.
He stepped outside before the words could cut any deeper.
— ✦ —
The bus was already pulling away when he reached the stop.
"Wait! Wait, hold on!" Ethan shouted, sprinting after it.
The driver looked right at him through the mirror… and smirked. The bus roared away in a cloud of exhaust.
"…You've got to be kidding me," Ethan muttered, panting, hands on his knees.
He tried to keep running, but his foot plunged into a deep puddle, sending dirty water surging up his legs and soaking his uniform. He stumbled forward and crashed onto the concrete, his bag skidding across the wet ground.
"No no no no—" He scrambled to open it. His worst fear spilled into reality: the homework inside was ruined, ink bleeding into unreadable smudges. Names, dates, entire problems — all dissolved into mush.
"Please, no…" His voice cracked as he flipped through the drenched stack. "If I show up without this… they'll beat the crap out of me again…"
His chest tightened. His stomach twisted. He sat there in the middle of the street, dripping wet, watching his only lifeline dissolve.
Why me? Why is it always me?
— ✦ —
By the time he reached school, the day had only gotten worse.
His teachers ignored his raised hand, called him lazy when he forgot a pencil, and accused him of cheating when he finished tests too fast. Nobody defended him. Not once.
At lunch, the kids whose homework had been ruined found him. They shoved him against the lockers, fists slamming into his stomach.
"Pathetic."
"Why don't you fight back, dumbass?"
"Your mom probably wipes your ass for you."
Ethan crumpled to the floor, their voices echoing in his skull — and beneath them, his mother's voice layered over everything: You know your brother is weak.
A kick split his lip. Blood ran down his chin.
He thought, maybe this was why his dad left. Maybe no one wanted him.
The pain blurred into old memories — his dad's face, always half-shadowed. The smell of smoke on his jacket. His voice, low and serious: "Ethan, you've got to be strong for your mother."
And then nothing. His father had vanished. And nobody ever explained why.
— ✦ —
The final bell rang like a death sentence.
Ethan slipped out the side exit before anyone could corner him again, his split lip still throbbing, the taste of copper sitting heavy on his tongue. His ribs ached where they'd kicked him. He kept his head down, hoodie pulled up, backpack clutched tight against his chest like it was armor.
The main road home was twenty minutes. The alley shortcut was eight.
He chose the alley.
It wasn't smart — he knew that. Alleys were where things happened to kids like him. But his hands were already shaking, already calculating: if he got home by four, rewrote all six assignments by midnight, maybe — maybe — they'd leave him alone tomorrow.
He told himself the math made sense. He told himself a lot of things.
The alley smelled like rust and old rain. Graffiti crawled up the walls in languages he didn't recognize. His sneakers splashed through shallow puddles, each step echoing off the brick.
He was halfway through when the shadow fell across him.
He stopped.
The shadow didn't.
A van screeched to a stop at the far end. Black figures poured out — helmets gleaming under the single flickering streetlight. Before Ethan could scream, something slammed into the back of his neck. The world spun. Colors collapsed inward.
The last thought in his head before the darkness swallowed him was his dad's voice.
You've got to be strong for your mother.
He hadn't been.
- Writer
