The Little Curiosities

by Comma Typer

Born in the Right Generation

“Wow! What’s this book?!”

The fascination of the twin birthday foals (seven years old now) warms their father’s heart, especially with Pumpkin Cake—big reader she is. “It’s not just any book! It’s a little scrapbook we made for the both of you!”

By his side, Cup Cake brings the book closer, opens it before them. “This book is full of memories we’ve all had together since the day you were born!”

The two growing foals blurt out their Woah!’s together: near the book’s end the background and its decorations are cut-outs and drawings of school bells, notebooks, pencils, and crayons. The taped-on pictures speak for themselves: There’s Pound taking his first proper flight lesson, laughing joyously as he did his first loop-de-loop in front of family and friends. Here’s Pumpkin just after her first proper magic course, her horn glowing at recess with the other unicorn foals glowing their horns too and levitating their food trays to some music from the phone—a juvenile competition on who could glow the brightest without getting out of sync.

“I wanna see Pound’s birthday face last year!” shouts Pumpkin, glaring at her brother.

Despite Pound’s reasonable protests and sensible arguments against the action, his parents give in with a teasing snicker of their own, and they turn a few pages forward. On birthday number six: Pound’s finest hour as he blew the candles, excitement getting to his wings, and said wings pushing him forward to make his face meet chocolate cake. His face, literally caked with frosting.

“At least I lived up to my name,” brags Pound, pointing at his devious sister. “I don’t see you smacking your face into cakes or pumpkins!”

“At least I could help grow pumpkins and make cakes!”

A yellow hoof shields the two from each other. “Hey, hey... let’s not get into fighting here. Let’s… uh, anything else you want?” A nervous sweat bead forms on his forehead, but his big-chinned smile distracts them.

“I’m older!,” Pound Cake insists. “That means I’m first in the baby scrapbook! You gotta show Pumpkin that!”

Pumpkin’s horn glows in irritation. “We’re twins, which means we’re equal!”

“But I’m five minutes older than you!”

“Who cares? Doesn’t mean you can act all bossy like a real big brother!”

Ignored in the childish debate, the parents exchange troubled looks.

Cup then puts a hoof on Carrot’s withers.

“Remember, Sweetie: that’s why we pushed ourselves to make this in the first place. Gotta show what it was like back before.”

“Right… to not delay it longer,” he replies with an uneasy voice. Reassurance comes a second later.

He flips the scrapbook loud—pages slamming against one another—all the way to the beginning.

The noise silences them, but the photos keep their attention: two babies swaddled in white cloths, resting on the same cradle.

“Uh… what are those?” Pound asks.

“They’re… you,” he says, pointing at the two figures. Standing outside the cradle and smiling for the camera are some bipedal creatures. The babies themselves look much like them, it turns out. “And, yes, that’s me and your mother.”

A gulp could be heard riding down Pumpkin’s throat.“But, you look so… weird.”

Some discomforting cold breeze goes down Cup Cake’s back, but she puts on a smile just as big as her husband’s. “It was a very different time back then. In fact, you were barely weeks old when the world became the way it is now….“

---

The two would sometimes sleep in each other’s beds.

This time, it’s Pumpkin’s, complete with a few stuffed dolls and a big school tome about magic for grade-schoolers. Tucked into their blankets minutes ago, the twins stare up at the stars painted on her ceiling. The fake celestial bodies glimmer under the moonlight zooming in through the window.

“You know what, Pumps?” Pound doesn’t take his eyes away from the stars.

“What is it?” Neither does she.

Silence punctuates the smile on his face. “I’m glad I’m not some weird magicless ape.”

It is met with a light punch to his head, courtesy of the filly. “Dad’s gonna pull your tail if he hears that!”

“Come on, Pumpkie! I can’t imagine life without my wings and—face it—you wouldn’t like having your unicorn magic taken away from you, huh?”

A frown falls over her. A yes in her mind, but a no in her heart. “Argh, you got me there. Still, Mom and Dad and all the grown-ups lived like ninety-nine percent of their lives like that.”

Pound turns over in his bed, turning his back to her as he closes his eyes. “Means we’re lucky.”

Pumpkin is left staring up at the ceiling, being lucky or not coming to mind again and again.

The stars and his snoring will not be enough to put her to sleep.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

Now there's a generation gap for the ages. The first group with no memories of being human will lie on the side of what may be a truly unbridgeable cultural divide. Though I imagine plenty of people will try to connect with them regardless.

[Venerable Ro]

10115258

Oh yes, it takes three generations as I understand it.

One generation that was full grown, they lived in the old world all their lives, and they never fully leave it.

One generation that was half-and-half, old enough to remember, but young enough to learn. They sympathize with their parents even as they baffle them.

And finally, one generation that knows aught of any world but that which they inhabit, politely listening to their grandparent's fairy tails without entirely believing them.

[Eroraf86]

10115612
I take it you speak from experience?

[Venerable Ro]

10115634

S. M. Stirling's Emberverse is a fascinating read, a post-apocalyptic setting where people didn't just sit around like a bunch of radioactive bandits.