Search the Community

Hello All, Controversy on this story's origin. 🤔 Anyway, Just checked in to drop this tag label: <Main: Human 65% 🤝 Tool: AI 35%> Also No. I used it to augment the structure and a little bit of the filler. Period. Thanks and Good luck All. 🙂 ... Prologue – The Mysterious Announcement The first time I heard about Eternal Child Week, I thought it was some kind of prank. A weird, government-issued meme. A pointless holiday. Maybe even a last-ditch effort to make people feel excited about something in this dull, over-scheduled world. It smelled like a distraction—one of those fake “historic moments” that ended up meaning nothing. The announcement itself was a perfect example of that. There were press releases, official statements, news segments where talking heads in expensive suits acted like this was the biggest deal since, I don’t know, sliced bread? And yet, no one explained what it was. Just a bunch of vague phrases about “limitless potential” and “the dawn of a new era.” Right. Totally buying that. And now? I was stuck in a boiling-hot school auditorium, wedged between a hundred sweaty students who were just as uninterested as I was, all for what was basically a glorified sales pitch. The ceiling fans whirred uselessly above us, barely stirring the thick, muggy air. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, making the dust particles dance in the dim glow. The wooden chairs creaked whenever someone shifted, and honestly, the whole place smelled like a mix of stale air and regret. Liana, my best friend and self-proclaimed menace to society, was sprawled out beside me like a cat who had completely given up on life. She had mastered the art of maximum limb sprawl, stretching her legs out as far as she could get away with without getting called out. She had never once in her life sat like a normal human being. “If this turns into one of those ‘Embrace the Future’ speeches,” she muttered under her breath, “I’m out.” I didn’t take my eyes off the stage. “Out how? You gonna just… walk out?” “Damn right.” She flicked her dark curls over her shoulder with an exaggerated flourish. “Might even throw in a slow-motion exit, just to make it iconic.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Just… maybe don’t get expelled before lunch.” She grinned. “No promises.” Before I could warn her again to at least pretend to be a functioning student, the auditorium lights dimmed. The low chatter died down as the massive projector screen behind the stage flickered to life. For a moment, all we saw was static—then the Global News Network logo flashed across the screen, followed by the impossibly polished face of a news anchor. She had the kind of voice you’d expect from a ridiculously expensive commercial, smooth and rehearsed to perfection. "Citizens of the world," she began, speaking like she was unveiling something revolutionary. "Today marks the beginning of a historic change. In preparation for the first-ever Eternal Child Week, the government has issued the following statement." The screen cut to a sterile-looking press room. At the podium stood a government official—the human embodiment of serious business. His suit was crisp. His hair was perfectly combed. His face was unreadable, like he was auditioning for the role of “Man Who Has No Emotions” in some corporate drama. "As we stand at the dawn of a new era, we must embrace both progress and reflection," he declared, his voice as dry as a PowerPoint presentation. "This week-long observance is not merely a celebration, but a recognition of limitless potential. Further details will be released in the coming days." And then—just like that—the screen went black. Silence. Dead silence. Then, a wave of groans. Liana threw her head back so dramatically I thought she might fall out of her chair. “Ugh! That told us NOTHING!” I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Yeah. Because they don’t want us to know anything.” Around us, students were already pulling out their phones, fingers flying as they updated their social feeds. Memes were being made in real time. Conspiracy theories were being posted before the guy even finished his speech. Some kids whispered excitedly, coming up with wild explanations. Others just rolled their eyes and moved on with their lives. At the front of the auditorium, our principal—who looked like he regretted his life choices—cleared his throat into the mic. “Now, I know some of you have questions,” he said, trying way too hard to sound reassuring. “But I encourage you all to keep an open mind. More information will be provided throughout the week.” From the back row, someone muttered, “Sure it will.” I had to bite back a laugh. The principal, deciding he had done more than enough for his paycheck today, sighed and waved a hand. “Alright. You may return to class.” And just like that, the entire auditorium exploded into movement. Chairs scraped. Bags were grabbed. Voices rose as everyone started making their way toward the exit, either relieved to be free or already lost in conversations about something completely unrelated. Liana stretched her arms above her head with an exaggerated groan. “Well. That was a massive waste of time.” “At least we got out of class,” I pointed out, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. She wiggled her fingers dramatically. “Oooooh, at what cost, though?” I gave her a look. “You’re ridiculous.” “And you love me for it.” We pushed through the crowded hallway, dodging slow walkers, side-stepping last-minute locker stops, and weaving around groups of students who were already over the whole thing. But even as I went through the motions, something nagged at me. No one was really talking about it. Sure, there were jokes. There were complaints. There were wild theories about aliens and secret government experiments. But there was no real concern. No one was even asking why this holiday existed in the first place. And that was what unsettled me the most. I turned to Liana, keeping my voice low. “You seriously don’t think this is weird?” “Oh, it’s weird,” she admitted. “But it’s the kind of weird where you just let it happen and hope it doesn’t get too bad.” I gave her a flat look. “That is a terrible approach to life.” “And yet, here I am—thriving.” I groaned. “I hate you.” She smirked. “You wish you did.” When we finally reached our lockers, I hesitated. That nagging feeling still hadn’t gone away. The hallway around us was its usual chaotic mess—lockers slamming, footsteps echoing, students shouting to each other like they were allergic to talking at a normal volume. Somewhere in the distance, a teacher was already yelling at someone for running. It was just another school day. But that was the thing. This wasn’t just another day. The government had just dropped a brand-new, world-wide event into our laps with no explanation, no real buildup, and—most importantly—no obvious corporate cash grab. And yet, everyone was already moving on. I frowned, leaning against my locker. “This whole thing just feels off.” Liana hummed, tapping her chin like she was actually considering my words. “What, like government conspiracy off, or boring corporate nonsense off?” “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if this was supposed to be some fun new holiday, wouldn’t there be sponsorships? Merch? Like—Celebrate Eternal Child Week with limited-edition Pepsi! or some garbage like that?” She blinked. “Okay, yeah. That is kinda weird. Maybe they’re just bad at marketing?” I shook my head. “No way. The government never rolls something out without a reason.” Liana leaned against her locker, smirking. “You are so obsessed with this.” "You made a twenty-minute speech about why the cafeteria should sell better snacks." “And I stand by that,” she shot back. “But this is different. You freak out when things don’t make sense. It’s, like, your default setting.” I frowned. “I do not—” Liana’s eyes suddenly widened, and she let out a soft gasp. “Oh my God,” she whispered dramatically. “You’re totally one of those noir detectives who narrate everything to themselves.” I froze. Oh. Oh no. She did not just say that. Liana’s face paled as she realized exactly what had just come out of her mouth. Her brain had finally caught up to her own words. “Uhh…” she stammered, stepping back slightly. I stood perfectly still. My expression didn’t change. Except for one thing. I smiled. Not a normal smile. Not my usual, tired, deadpan smirk. This was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that sent Liana’s fight-or-flight instincts into full panic mode. She took another step back. “Wait—” “Liana, girl~” I said sweetly. Too sweetly. “Would you like to repeat that?” My smile didn’t waver, but my eye twitched. Just a little. Her hands immediately shot up in surrender. “Okay, let’s not do anything hasty—” “Am I too kind to you~?” My eye twitched again. Liana, for once in her life, shut up. I let the silence stretch out, letting her fully absorb the weight of her mistake. Then, with a sigh, I turned back to my locker. My smile vanished, like it had never been there. Liana stayed frozen for a second longer before slumping against the metal, exhaling like she had just barely escaped with her life. “Good lord,” she muttered, rubbing her arms like she had the chills. “That was terrifying.” I smirked. “Then stop being annoying.” “Impossible.” The bell rang. “C’mon, let’s go,” I said, already walking toward class. Liana fell into step beside me, still shaking her head. “One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” I grinned. “Can’t wait.” We walked toward class, weaving through the usual morning chaos. Students rushed past us, shoving textbooks into their bags at the last second, half-heartedly speed-walking to avoid getting marked late. The normalcy of it all made my stomach twist. It shouldn’t be normal. Not after that. This morning, nobody had ever heard of Eternal Child Week. By lunchtime, people would probably be talking about it less than whatever ridiculous fight broke out in the cafeteria today. It was already fading into the background—just another thing happening in the world, another “big announcement” everyone would forget about in a week. And yet… It didn’t feel like something we were supposed to forget. Liana nudged me. “Still overthinking it?” I shot her a look. “It’s not overthinking if something is actually weird.” She hummed, unconvinced. “I dunno. Maybe it’s just one of those things where the government wants to seem mysterious so people actually care? Like, ooooh, vague and spooky announcement—what does it mean?!” She wiggled her fingers in mock suspense. I crossed my arms. “That would only make sense if they were selling something. Suspense is good for marketing, not government policies.” “You sound like you know what you’re talking about, but I’m too lazy to fact-check.” I rolled my eyes. “Shocking.” She grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Look, all I’m saying is that unless the principal walks into class tomorrow and announces we’ve all been drafted into some secret immortal army, it’s probably just a dumb publicity stunt.” I wanted to believe that. I really wanted to believe that. But my gut told me otherwise. And it wasn’t just the way they had announced it—it was the reaction to it. The lack of real concern. The way it should have been a bigger deal, but wasn’t. People weren’t brushing it off because they didn’t care. They were brushing it off like it was something they already knew. Like it was normal. Like it had always been there. A chill crept up my spine. That wasn’t possible, right? I mean… I was sure I had never heard of it before today. I was positive there was no mention of Eternal Child Week anywhere in the history books, no lead-up, no official talks. But if that was true, then why— The shrill sound of the final warning bell yanked me out of my thoughts. “Whoops, we’re gonna be late,” Liana said, already speeding up. I shook off the weird, creeping unease and followed. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I was just looking for a mystery where there wasn’t one. …But something told me that whatever was coming? It wasn’t just another holiday. And deep down, I had a feeling we weren’t ready for it. pan widget