scene twenty - future - year eight

“We’re way too young to be sorting out our futures, dude.”

“Agreed.”

The worksheet sitting before them was… it was heavy, to say the least, with all its questions, misleadingly printed in a nice, childish font with bright colours and plenty of pictures for guidance, prying into the heads of its young recipients. What did they want to do when they were older? What did their future family look like? Where would they live? What higher education did they plan to follow? What were their credit card details?

Okay, maybe not the last one, but it was a funny joke at the time.

“I mean, I don’t even know what I’m having for tea.” He picked up the sheet by one corner, letting it flop down and hang in the air, as he continued to stare at the questions. “A couple years ago I wanted to be a mafia boss—fuck, I still wanna be a mafia boss!”