Land of the Free

A Story by Elfinlocks

Tim is 18 now, it is time for him to pick his future.

"Your eighteenth birthday is a very big deal, Mr. Firling. Today is the first day of being an adult for you, and with it you now have a whole lot of new responsibilities." The Judge said as he sat down on the other side of the desk. Today was Timothy Firling's eighteenth birthday, which in the country where he lived meant the he was now a fully legal adult. "You do not seem very happy for someone who is now an adult, Mr. Firling."

"I guess I just feel indifferent. I don't feel anything new, I still feel like I did yesterday." Tim remembered back to when he was a child playing with fake swords in his backyard, he always thought being an adult would be some journey that would take forever. But it wasn't. It seemed like it was yesterday when he would don the persona of some knight saving the kingdom.

"You should be happy. Being eighteen is a very good thing, you can do things such as vote now, and own property. I'm sure you'll come around to loving being an adult, everybody does eventually." The Judge said. "But, as you know, before you can fully transfer from a child to an adult you need to decide on your future, which is why you are here. I've looked at your test scores and have compiled some occupations I feel would suit you very well." He got out a folder with a bunch of papers in it, he took out the papers and put them on the desk and slid them over to Tim.

On the papers were a lot of assorted jobs that he could choose from. Tim knew, as he was told in class, that the job he picked this day would be his forever. That's the way it worked in his country, once a person turns eighteen they had to pick their future out from a list of occupations based on their school test scores. Tim skimmed the list, he saw jobs such as janitor, fry cook, and landscaper. He frowned. "I want to do something art-related." Tim said.

"I'm sorry, Timothy, your test scores showed you to be a laborer. Regardless, our fine nation has little need for artists." The Judge said.

"A nation such as ours should need artists though, and I don't want to be a laborer." Tim protested. "I shouldn't even be picking what I want to do for the rest of my life, anyways, I'm only eighteen."

"Well, Timothy, your test said you are a laborer, so you must be. Furthermore, eighteen is the age everybody must pick out their future. That's how it is."

"I barely even know myself though, how am I supposed to pick something I want to do?" Tim said. He was only just reaching the end of his teenage years, puberty was nearing an end but it was still raging through him, he was only just starting to figure himself out. "Did you want to be a judge?" Tim asked.

The Judge grew flustered at the question, "Well, I...yes. Yes I did." He said.

"No you didn't. You hate forcing kids to ruin their lives, you hate this job." Tim said.

The Judge tried to regain his composure, "You're right." He admitted, he then looked up at the camera watching over the room. "But. I must do what that test told me to do. That's the way it is. You should be happy that you live in the great United States of America, at least here you get a choice of what you want to do. We are the land of the free. Now please, Timothy, pick your occupation."