The Next Century

By Catherine Joanna Hazlitt

“Most certainly, I am,” Darcy replied. “My word! The 22nd century! Would you believe it? I never thought I’d live long enough to see this.”

“The name’s Brent. Caleb Brent. Fancy meeting one of you guys here. I only seen people like you on TV! What century do you harken to, dear sir?”

“Well, you wouldn’t believe it but I seem to have transported myself to the future somehow! I am merely a professor of Literature, hailing from yonder England. I know not how this here circumstance has happened. But, come, my friend, you must surely tell me of this place. What are these strange metal chariots that appear to glide across the roads? And what are these tall gleaming towers that surround the roads? And the huge metal birds that fly across the sky?”

Darcy continued an engrossed conversation with Brent, as he learnt about this futuristic world with its numerous enigmas. Who would have thought that in the future, the authorities would make euthanasia mandatory at age 75? Who would have thought that the Government would set a rule for abortion to be performed on all imperfect fetuses? Who would have imagined the creation of an organ factory where all human beings – young and old alike – were sent to if they had any physical or mental handicaps.

To Darcy, it appeared to be a bleak future – perfect on the surface, but on the inside, all ethical underpinnings had totally collapsed. Darcy was grateful he did not exist in that future, as he rested that night. The next morning, he arose to the sound of the cock crowing and realized he was back home – September 12, 1658, England - where he belonged.

By Catherine Joanna Hazlitt