He could see all the timid, odd third children he'd known at Hendricks School getting a chance to lead ordinary lives — or maybe extraordinary lives. Maybe one of them would become a great inventor or a great writer or a great philosopher or… who could say what they might be capable of now?
He could see Smits reclaiming Population Police headquarters as the Grant house again, turning it into a home for children who'd lost their families. And he could see the boy on crutches, the one who'd been beaten by the Population Police, helping out.
He could see himself as a grown man with a farm of his own, married with children of his own — maybe two, maybe three, maybe more. He would take his wife and children and go back for Sunday dinners with Mother and Dad and Matthew's family and Mark's family. And they'd all sit at the same table, all together.
He could see himself and his friends gathering each year at a memorial for Jen and all the other third children who'd died in the rally. He could see himself staying longer than everyone else, bending down over the memorial so he could touch the cold stone and whisper to the ghostly memory of a girl who would never grow up, who had sacrificed everything for her beliefs: Jen, we did it Everyone's free now.
He didn't know if any of those things would really happen.
But they were all possible now.
About The Author
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Document ID: 688257ae-498f-4b72-93f6-7db05ee3ac73
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