Seen and Not Heard

By: James Fritz

 

    My alarm is the first thing I hear every day. It’s one of those old-fashioned clocks with the bells that chime. No matter how many times I pick it up and throw it across the room, it always works the next time. When I finish high school and get out into the world, that piece of junk is going in the trash. 

    Along with this fucking collar, but that’s a no-brainer. 

    After taking a quick shower and changing into a collared shirt with khaki pants, I go down to the kitchen. A bowl of Chocolate-O’s awaits me. 

     “Good morning, Vidar,” Dad says. “Sleep well?” 

    I nod. He sips from his coffee mug. Despite the fact that he’s one of the biggest lawyers in St. Louis, he keeps his hair long enough to require a ponytail. I guess people trust the suit and tie more than anything. 

    “Not sure if I already told you, but I’m meeting a new client today, so I won’t be picking you up until 4:00 PM,” Dad says. “This old lady out near Florissant claims that she shot a Muted in self-defense. Supposedly, he tried to take her purse and run, but I guess he got more than he bargained for. Her testimony is rock-solid, and she’s got witnesses to boot. Should be an open-and-shut case.”

    I finish off my cereal and grab my backpack. Dad puts his empty mug in the sink and fetches his car keys. 

    “I’ll tell you what,” Dad says. “Some Muteds are just trash. They care about getting high, getting laid, and getting drunk. I mean, I know it’s typical for people their age, but where are their parents? Why are they letting their kids run wild? It’s ridiculous!” 

    Our BMW ferries us to work and school. Dad scrolls on his phone. I try to get caught up on sleep. Some shock jock holds forth on the radio. 

     “I don’t know about you, but this is a good day for me. Twenty years ago, this nation got its act together and passed the Quiet Amendment. All kids under the age of eighteen were prohibited from speaking. All of them. No exceptions. And I gotta say… that was the best decision we’ve ever made as a society. The economy’s boomed, crime has gone down…

    “Whenever my kids are at home, they are seen and not heard, mother-fucker. It’s been a miracle. And to that one German guy with the name I can’t pronounce who created the necklace, I would suck your dick if I ever met you. That’ll be the only time in my life that I go gay. I’ll go gay for the day.” 

    Dad laughs.

    “I’d pay money to see Harold Stein do that,” he says, referencing the radio show host who blathers on in the background.

    He turns it off and goes back to his phone. Whenever somebody calls it a necklace, I want to gouge their eyes out. It’s not so much a necklace as it is a collar. A collar that sends an electric shock into your vocal cords whenever you try to speak.

    In a prior age of the Earth, animal rights activists would have lost their minds over somebody putting a shock collar on their pet. But now, if you walk on two legs and are under the age of eighteen, it’s mandated.

 

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James graduated from Loyola University Chicago with degrees in business and music. He recently quit his job as a data analyst to write full-time. He enjoys reading and writing, piano, jiu jitsu, snuggling with his wife, and his self-appointed role as president of the Evgeny Kissin fan club. Several of his short stories have been picked up by publishers such as Gypsum Sound Tales, Hellbound Books, and Black Hare Press. You can find him on Instagram under the handle @james.fritz.writing