If it was only possible for them to remember THIS part of the day, outside—and not to have it blacked out by the pills half an hour from now. To remember this part of the day, above all other parts, on into adulthood. What a different world they would create....
"So we come to the nice nice part of our day," she said. "We are going to talk again about the 20th Century."
The children fidgeted in pleasure. She had turned on the sun five minutes ago and its beams through the window highlighted the youngness, the eagerness of their faces, turned so trustingly to her.
Here and there the sunlight flashed silver glints for instants on the tiny identification discs, smaller than 20th Century dimes in their foreheads and half hidden in the hairlines where they were inset in each person nowadays at birth.
A small hand shot up.
"Yes?" said Miss Hippiness.
"Can we talk about the gangsters?" Marymarymary asked.
Another small hand jerked up, eagerly.
"Yes?" said Miss Hippiness.
"Can we talk about wars and bombs and things?" Henry Sixhenry asked.