2026 Monthly Story Challenge #4

Liberate (Wordcount 5726)

By Jayde Holmes

Charlie pulled up to a grey box-like house well after dark, after fighting to keep heavy eyelids held up and tired eyes from rolling backwards. His wrists ached, his clothes were soiled and it felt like some feral creature was clawing its way out of his stomach.

Despite the overwhelming desires to get clean and get fed, he spent almost ten minutes scrolling on his phone. Quick videos of men taller, thinner and better dressed than him leaning against cars he could never afford with their hands in their pockets making witty observations about the world. Or families with kids lacking behavioural problems going on the types of outings he’d never have time for.

There was a knock on the car window.

He looked up from the phone. No great loss, as his mental health helper was starting to steer him towards government sponsored shorts anyway. His seven-year-old son Dean was outside, grinning at him.

“What the hell Dean?” Charlie said as he flung open the door and jumped out of the car. “You can’t be up this late, you need more sleep for school.”

“But I miss you.” Dean said, coming in for a hug. Charlie adjusted his position and hugged his son back, careful to smile, so Dean wouldn’t take his concern as a lack of love.

“I miss you too” Charlie said. “But we need that bonus, so I’ve got to work back late.”

“I know Dad.”

“I wouldn’t have to stay back so late if I could focus longer and work faster. I don’t want you to have that problem, so we gotta fix you up now. And that means early nights, so let’s get to bed.”

“Maybe I can just be a tradie” Dean said. “Or do something that I don’t need to do much reading or writing for.”

Charlie hugged Dean tighter as his cousin’s twisted fingers flashed before his eyes. He hadn’t just fucked up his hands, but he’d got a hunched back before turning forty after all those years working in a factory.

“Let’s just get you to bed” Charlie said. “Though I am glad I got to see you.”

He walked Dean back inside, into a grey house where the shoes were kept by the door, but the floorboards still never looked clean. The toys were all packed away (or maybe untouched since yesterday) but the pram was in the hallway, with the contents of the baby bag strewn all over the floor.

“What happened here?” Charlie asked.

“I offered to help Mum put it away” Dean said.

“That’s not your job” Charlie said.

“That’s what Mum said” Dean said. “She said I already had appropriate chores. But Kelsey and the twins kept her really busy today, and so she never got around to it.”

“Where is your…” Charlie stopped the question once he heard the shower going. The less he said, the less likely Dean was to pick up on how angry he was with Cara. “Let’s just get you to bed.”

“Should we pack it away for Mum?”

“No. That’s Mum’s job. And yours right now is to get some sleep.”

They made their way through the open plan living/dining room and then through a maze of hallways adorned with perfect family photos, all staged, filtered and touched up so much Charlie barely recognised anyone in them. The shower was still going, but the babies were quiet, so he kept telling himself that Cara had still done her job.

Dean’s room was mid-transition. They had bought him a massive wooden desk with an ergonomic chair and placed a pristine white computer monitor on it. The back of the monitor had some sticker residue, but they’d mostly kept the space clear and clean, with no distractions save a paediatrician-approved white gear fidget spinner. They had started to get rid of the toys and posters elsewhere in the room that were distracting Dean, but then Cara did some research and found that there were drawbacks to making a child’s environment too sterile. Dean’s room now was half office, and half-pigsty. Charlie hoped that was best for him.

Dean got comfy in his Lightning McQueen bed and Charlie started reading him a story. He noticed Dean didn’t seem to be listening, but he kept going.

“Dad, can I ask you something?” Dean asked.

“We’re not poor” Charlie said. “As long as your mother and I both keep pulling our weight, nothing bad will happen to us.”

“Uh… okay” Dean said. “But Dad, are we free?”

“What?”

“Are we free?”

“Of course we’re free, what do you even mean by that?”

“Just wondering if we’re free”

“Dean, has someone been trying to fill your head with garbage?”

“We were just talking in class.”

“In class?”

“Yeah, we’ve been learning about all the countries we’re helping to liberate in class.”

“Ohhhh I see.”

“Ms. Blake was saying that in some places, they do really bad things to people. There are slaves who can never stop working, and people weren’t allowed to say anything bad about the rulers and stuff.”

“I know, it’s terrible to think about. I didn’t think they’d teach you about the wars until next year. Would you like me to get you exempt from those lessons.”

“No, I’m good” Dean said. “But Dad, Mylie Pierce said that we have all those things over here too. And, and it’s true isn’t it?”

“What do you mean it’s true?”

 “Well, you know. You can’t stop working. And there are so many things I’m not allowed to watch or read or anything.”

“That’s because you’re a child, and I’m not working right now.”

“But you have to keep going even if you wet yourself or get hungry.”

“I could quit any time I want and go on Centrelink” Charlie said.

“You can? Really?”

“I would be a very bad idea though. We won’t be able to get enough money for you and your siblings to keep doing all the activities you need to do to grow into healthy adults. And we’d have to move to find a smaller house. If we can even find one with a decent landlord. It’ll be too much of a struggle.”

“Oh. That sucks. You know, Mylie Pierce says her parents told her that we’re all owned and controlled by the olly-gacks.”

“Sounds like Mylie Pierce’s parents are a couple of whingers” Charlie said. “If we weren’t free, then they wouldn’t be allowed to say stuff like that. They’d be round-up and sent to camps like in all those bad countries we have to free. We’re very lucky to live in a free country. People all over the world would kill for our freedom.”

“Ms. Blake said something like that after Mylie said we were all owned by the olly-gacks” Dean said. “But she also said that we have to watch out for all those people invading the country. We worked hard to be liberated from the woke people, so we have to make sure we don’t get brainwashed again.”

“Your teacher said that?” Charlie asked. “Dean that’s totally unhinged, she shouldn’t be saying that crap to a bunch of kids. She -”

Charlie was interrupted by a ping from his smartwatch.

“What was she talking about Dad?”

“Hang on, my helper is giving me an alert. Don’t pout; remember we talked about how important it is to stay healthy?”

“I know.”

Charlie read the notice on his watch, which had detected a spike in his blood-pressure and listened back on his conversation. He waited for the hourglass to stop turning, then got out his phone and read his helper’s message.

“Hey there, it looks like you’re getting stressed out. Sometimes other people do stuff that makes you angry. Holding on to so much anger is bad for you, and damaging relationships over political differences can leave you alienated and alone. Take five deep breaths, then when you are calmer re-assess the actions of the person who is making you angry. Latter you should to try and see things from their point of view. But for now talk about something happier.”

Charlie took five deep breaths, trying to clear his mind. He looked at Dean, who was so impressionable, and took five more.

“Are you okay Dad?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine” Charlie said. “Your mum and I will have to talk to Ms. Blake soon. I’m sure she has her reasons for what she said, but people who say –

Ping Ping! His watch alerted again, repeating its earlier message to talk about something happier. He picked up Dean’s book, making a mental note to talk to Dean about bigotry when he was in a better headspace. And when he had time.

“Just don’t listen to anyone who calls people woke” Charlie said.

“Why not?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s get back to the story.”

The story did not take too long to read, and Charlie was glad to have spent time with Dean. He realised as he packed the book away that it was a story meant for much younger kids. Was Dean falling behind in reading? Or developmentally delayed? He thought about all the terrible possibilities as he walked back through the hallways. His chest felt tight as he walked, but his helper didn’t bother him.

Cara was waiting for him in the kitchen. She wore a nightie that hadn’t been washed in days and did nothing to hide how much she’d let herself go. She also had a towel wrapped around her head as if she was at the spa.

“Thank you for reading to him tonight” Cara said. “He’s been missing you so –“

“How long were you in that shower for?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been reading to him for like, twenty minutes. And who knows how long he was waiting up for me? Cara, I’ve just done a 12 hour shift where it was constant calls, and then I came home to do your job too!”

“The twins haven’t stopped crying Charlie!” Cara said. “Theres no break, I haven’t been able to shower for three days. And Kelsey! What kind of kid doesn’t like phones? I’ve been looking after them non-stop.”

“I couldn’t take a break today” Charlie said. “This close to the end of the month and my sales numbers so low? I’m going to be working almost non-stop all week! While you get to actually spend time with our kids. I would kill to get to look after the twins.”

“You said yourself that people just can’t afford to buy at the moment” Cara said. “Why are you burning yourself out for a target you can’t reach? Me and the kids need you. I need help here.”

“You’re a registered stay at home mum! Do you know how many women would kill to get paid to stay home with the kids?”

“I’m not getting paid enough if we can’t survive without you getting a bonus every month.”

“It’s not a bonus, it just means I don’t get docked pay. And I’m sorry I can’t focus enough for the whole month. I’m trying my best and I just don’t have the bandwidth to help you too.”

“I can’t keep doing this” Cara said. “I never liked kids. I just didn’t think I could hack it in the workforce. I can’t keep doing this alone.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have burnt through the baby bonuses so quick. We had twins Cara! How are we already broke again?”

“Twins are expensive. Charlie, I need you around more. Or I need to get a job.”

“You’ll lose the stipend, and your wage will just go to childcare” Charlie said. “This is your job Cara. I’m doing mine even though it sucks. Maybe with the next baby bonus we’ll be able to afford for me to take some time off.”

“Next bonus?” Cara said, bursting into tears. “Nonononono. Four is enough Charlie, I can’t do this again.  I can’t I can’t I can’t!”

Cara’s phone pinged from the livingroom. He recognised the jingle from her mental health helper. It was seared into his brain from her post-partum depression days. It kept ringing as she proclaimed that she was done having children. It was probably trying to remind her that she was supposed to love her children.

He hated that she was like this despite how awesome the kids were. His heart was pounding and his fingernails were digging into his palms. He felt like he was about to black out and couldn’t tell if it was because he was hyperventilating, or because he’d only eaten two protein bars during his entire shift.

His mental health helper remained silent.

“Go look at your damn phone” he spat. “I’m going to have a shower!”

“Fine!” She cried, turning away and skulking to living room. You have leftovers in the fridge.” 

The adults were both so focused on their own misery, that they didn’t notice Dean scurry away from the doorframe. The little boy retreated to bed unseen and began processing what he’d just seen.

---

Teenage Dean sat in the back of the taxi staring out the window without seeing anything. He’d changed back into his school uniform right after Dad’s funeral and had somehow gotten snot on his sleeve already. He didn’t know how; he was a cold asshole who’d barely cried since he’d heard about the heart attack. He’d cried a bit at the funeral, especially when his youngest sister had come to him after the slideshow and said she’d learnt so much about Dad. He had cried a few times, but he felt he wasn’t grieving the way he was supposed to. He had more memories of Dad than his siblings, but he was already thinking about what would come next instead of actually mourning.

The taxi pulled up to his school. The cabbie had to tell him to get out twice before Dean realised where they were. He got his bag and got out. The cabbie had to toot the horn and get him to come back for the MindMate Exclusive Wearable he’d left on the seat.

Dean considered leaving the MindMate box, but Mum worried about him. “You’ve got to be strong now” She’d said the day after Dad died. “You can’t afford any setbacks with school now that Dad isn’t here. Dean I’m so sorry.”

He took it with him. Half the class had mental health helpers now, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. He kept telling himself that as he quickened his pace through the empty quadrangle.

Every time the topic of helper apps of any sort came up, he always thought of this one random night from back when he was little. Where he’d stayed up late to see Dad, and after Dad had read one of Kelsey’s books to him, Dean had told him about something racist is old teacher had said to him. He’d watched Dad go red in the face, but then his phone had beeped and his mental health monitor had calmed him down. Then Dad had gone into the kitchen and shouted at Mum for being overwhelmed with the twins, and the app hadn’t done anything to calm him down.

It probably meant nothing, but he’d been distrustful of mental health helper apps ever since. A paranoia that had only grown as Dad’s politics had slowly shifted. Of course, that distrust was probably going to be the death of him considering how many contradictory thoughts had been running through his head since Mum had received the text from that Dad had died at work.

By the time he got to his English classroom his hands were shaking so much the box was rattling. He took a moment to calm himself before knocking. He still felt his breath catch as thirty-six pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

“Finally decided to show up” Baxter said from his prized desk below the aircon.

“Shut up” Another boy – it was hard to tell who with all the crowding – said from near the far corner of the room. “His Dad just died.”

“Enough guys” said Ms. Lane from behind a pile of paperwork and worn-out yet unread copies of Fahrenheit 451 on her desk. “We just don’t have time to stop today. Wayne, go take your seat.”

“It’s Dean.”

“Sorry Dean. Take your seat. I know it’s hard when someone dies, but you’ll get over it.”

“Um, thanks” Dead said, squeezing between desks.

“I only got a couple of hours for my daughter’s funeral when she passed” Ms. Lane said as Dean pulled back his chair, sucked in his gut and sat down. “It sucks Dean, but that’s the way the world is. Dive into your lessons; it helps to stay distracted.”

“Thanks Miss.”

His worksheet was already set up for him, so he forced his bag and the accursed MindMate box under his desk and tried to take Ms. Lane’s advice. He’d always been too easily distracted. Too busy thinking about unimportant stuff instead of his work. Yet despite what the adults around him said, he’d noticed that his attention span was quite good compared to his classmates.

Usually.

He read the instructions on the board, then stared at his sheet for almost a minute before admitting he had no idea what he’d read on the board.

“Hey, Dean” said one of his neighbours. It was hard to pinpoint exactly who’d spoken. Dozens of whispered conversations had broken out, and Ms. Lane was already busy grading the papers on her desk. He noticed she had three custom smartwatches on her wrist. Two of them he recognized; the pink Mom’s Angle watch was merch from Mum’s favourite parenting help influencer, and Mum had an identical peripheral. She also had a media recommendation helper like most of the kids in class but be didn’t recognize the channel brand. Her other smartwatch was generic, and could have just been a smartwatch, but he suspected it was a mental health helper. Not everyone wanted to admit they needed one, even though nearly every adult had some sort of mental issue these days.

“Dean” his neighbour said again.

“Sup Mylie” Dean said.

“You okay?” she said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but what about now? Sorry, I’m really sorry about your Dad.”

“It’s fine” Dean said. “I’ve barely seen him all year, and he was getting a bit douchy. But like, he loved me and my little siblings. And he worked so hard and got so stressed became he had to support six kids, so now I’m not just sad I feel… look I should focus on this quiz.”

“Don’t push too hard” Mylie said. “I know everyone handles grief differently, but shoving it aside and being a good little worker doesn’t help.”

“You haven’t even lost a parent so shut up.”

“My parents are both gone.”

“Oh. Damn, sorry Mylie, I didn’t know.”

“Not dead, they got arrested last year.”

 “That’s not the same” Dean said, forming a fist and struggling not to slam it onto the desk. “My Dad wasn’t a criminal. He never did anything wrong. He…, he did everything right and still died.”

Mylie’s face contorted and went red. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if prompted by a mental health helper. Except, nothing on her beeped, and she didn’t have any earphones in. He looked at her arms, which were covered in dozens of plastic bands in all shades of black and red. No helper peripherals though, so if she had any helper apps they were confined to her phone.

“My parents aren’t criminals either” she said. “They organised a peaceful protest against wage theft and got five years for inciting violence.”

“Oh” Dean said. “That’s…, that’s bullshit.”

“Yeah. It’s bullshit” she said. “It’s bullshit what happened to your Dad too. Someone said he had a heart attack from stress. But he didn’t seem that old.” 

“He wasn’t. He just worked constantly and never had a chance to look after himself. He…, did everything he was supposed to.”

“It shouldn’t be like that” Mylie said. “No-one should be pushed that hard.”

“Hey, I don’t want to bum myself out further by thinking about all this stuff I can’t change” Dean said, picking up his pen and trying to focus on the worksheet. “I need to get to work.”

“But -”

“Thanks Mylie” Dean said. “I need to keep busy though.”

He didn’t get much work done that lesson. Or for any of his other classes that afternoon but looking like he was busy working kept people from talking too much. From offering him sympathy. From reminding him of what he’d lost.

The next time he was alone was on the bus ride home. He’d done a good job of holding everything together, so maybe now he should start thinking about what came next. That meant thinking about the MindMate again, so he tried to put it off by scrolling on his phone. His social media was so full of ads for enlisting in the Defence Force or Mines that he ended up watching an ironically long short about condensing older movies so that modern audiences would have time to experience them.

Dean wondered when his father last watched a movie. Probably not for years, and he certainly never had the time to watch any old school hour plus movies.

People turned towards him as he let out a strange, chocking gulp. He slammed his arm and face into the bus window and tried not to make any noise as the tears flowed down his face. Well he’d wanted to mourn properly, but he hated that such a random thought could leave him crying like a baby.

He choked back the tears, swallowing mouthfuls of snot as he tried to dry his face. He forced his mouth shut, and a couple of other students were staring at him, but he held it together. Now it was time to force himself to do something useful. He opened his bag and took out that damn MindMate box.

Mum had given one to all the kids after the funeral to encourage them to use a mental health helper. To the younger kids, she’d simply said the watches would help them feel better. To him she’d been more blunt.

“We can’t afford any of the kids going off the rails” she’d told. “Registered Mothers don’t get a stipend if they can’t keep their kids out of trouble, and now that I’m single, they’ll be looking at us very closely. Dean, promise you won’t bail on us.”

“Of course not” he’d said. “We need to stick together.”

“We need a miracle” she’d said, handing him the MindMate box.

He opened the box.

He thought about Mylie’s parents being taken away, and that familiar distrust of the helper apps flared up. He wasn’t sure why the two seemed connected. If Mylie wasn’t using a helper after losing both parents, then they probably had nothing to do with them either. His head must be really messed up.

He put the MindMate peripheral on.

His parents both had MindMates. Shittier older versions, but they’d both used them. Dad had done everything his MindMate had told him, and he’d still died of a stress-induced heart attack halfway through a sixteen-hour shift.

 No-one should be pushed that hard.

There was a part of him that agreed with what Mylie had said. That had always agreed with her. No-one should be working as hard as Dad and still struggling to get by. Maybe there just wasn’t any way to feel good and happy if things were bad enough.

Dean wiped a tear from his face and tried to calm his breathing. The students who’d been staring at him were now very obviously trying not to look at him. He shook his head and reminded himself that everyone had to hustle these days and other people were fine with it. He got his phone back out and navigated to the app store, but he couldn’t focus enough to find the MindMate app.

He had to figure out what Dad had done wrong. Or at least what he could have done differently?

Maybe six kids were too much? Except Mum was a registered stay at home mother who got paid to raise kids. They were supposed to make a large family to offset all those selfish women who couldn’t or wouldn’t raise even one kid while working. That’s pretty much what every politician he’d ever seen online always said. So why did Dad still have to work himself to death?

Maybe Dad just sucked at his job? Dean bit his lip and navigated through the app store. He’d just have to make sure when he got a real job, he was good at it. Except he was easily distracted and had always struggled with schoolwork, and it had only gotten harder after he got a fast-food job. According to his manager, he sucked at even that.

He hit the download button.

Then the app asked for permission to link to his Medicare account.

And the bus arrived at his stop.

Dean noticed just in time to pocket his phone, gather his stuff and rush out. He kept his phone pocketed as he walked home. The helper had been meant to help Dad cope with stress. It was supposed to help Mum cope, but she had barely been holding it together even before the heart attack. He wanted something that would just come and fix the pain and help him keep going through the shitstorm he knew was to come, but as he walked, he kept digging up that hazy memory of his parents fighting and Dad getting no guidance from the helper, even though it always told him not to be angry at people who deserved it. Maybe he’d just use it until he had enough data to see a shrink. By then maybe he’d be old enough that it wouldn’t reflect badly on Mum if he needed professional help.

He was in front of his house, and the sight made him stop. It was identical to all the other flimsy grey boxes on the street, but this was where his parents had raised him. The house Dad had slaved away to make rent for decades for. The house Dad had lived in when he hadn’t slept in his car outside the office. Where he’d actually been able to live.

Dean shook and balled his hands into fists. What a selfish asshole he’d been, worrying about something as petty as a helper app when he should be sad that Dad was dead. What was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with him?

“Dean? Dean!” His oldest sister Kelsey came around from the backyard. She was thirteen, and had already swapped her uniform for a pink top. Her new MindMate sat on her wrist, nestled between pastel beads and bracelets.

“What are you doing home?” He asked.

“They let me go early” Kelsey said. “I didn’t breakdown or cause a fuss or anything, the principle just thought I needed it, so Aunty Emily picked me up. She just left to go check on Grandma and Grandpa. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Dean tried to insist he was good, but he opened his mouth and an animal cry escaped as he burst into tears again. Kelsey stepped towards him, tears welling in her eyes, and her MindMate buzzed. She looked at it, frowned, then closed the distance to hug him. Her MindMate kept buzzing as the two of them held each other and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. But somehow his sister’s arms around him and the weight of her head resting on his shoulders made the horror of Dad’s death seem further away.

He’d never have guessed it, but as the two of them cried together, Dean realised that letting those overwhelming emotions go free actually made him feel lighter.

They made their way to the backyard and sat on the bench where Kelsey had been reading. She’d bought a tissue box out with her, and they spent a bit longer in their own misery before wiping their damp faces.

“Good book?” Dean asked, picking up the old paperback she’d been reading.

“Eh, it’s okay” Kelsey said. “I think I’ve read the same page three times since I got home. Is that normal?”

“Yeah, I’ve been the same way.”

“That’s a relief. Hey Dean, there was a part in the book where the MCs boyfriend leaves, and she spends like, months just moping around being sad. Like, the book just left a bunch of pages blank to show how she couldn’t do anything. That’s not the right way to handle losing someone, is it?”

“That does seem excessive” Dean said. “Especially if it was just a break-up and the boyfriend was fine. But, I dunno, the more I try to imagine what life is going to be like without Dad, the more I just, you know, wouldn’t mind tuning out and going blank for a few months. That sounds a lot easier.”

Kelsey’s MindMate buzzed angrily. She looked at it and her face crumpled. Before Dean could say anything, she scowled and hit the mute button on the device.

“Dean, the MindMates can be wrong, can’t they? I mean, I know it would be bad to just, spend months not doing anything, but can’t we just be sad for a bit? Do we always have to do what the MindMates tell us to?”

He thought about Dad getting angry at Mum and his mental health helper staying silent. Thought about how it encouraged him to spend every waking moment working. But if he was being paranoid then he couldn’t let that effect how Kelsey worked through Dad’s death.

“What’s it been telling you to do?” He asked.

“Mostly it just wants me to keep busy. It didn’t want me to go home, even though the principle said I should have stayed at the funeral. When I did get home it said I should distract myself and make things easier for Mum by doing some chores before she came back. I did that, and it was good to help Mum, and Aunty Emily stayed for a bit to help and that was nice, but as soon as I was alone again it just hit me and I started crying. The MindMate kept buzzing and wanted me to watch this video about grief, but when I finally did it was all weird, so I muted it and went out to read. I only turned it back on when I saw you coming home, but now it’s saying talking to you is dangerous and I should go back inside, but talking to you has been the best thing I’ve done since Dad died. I feel better, so I don’t know why it’s dangerous. The MindMate can be wrong right?”

“Maybe talking about going blank for a few months sounded like encouraging depression or something” Dean said. “I think… I um, yeah, they are wrong sometimes. Talking to you seems to have been the most helpful thing I’ve done so far too.”

 “So, it’s okay to just, be sad for a while and not do anything?”

“I… yeah maybe. I think at your age if you don’t wear one for a while people might think Mum isn’t looking after you, so you better keep it on. But if it tells you anything that seems wrong, you can come talk to me and we’ll figure it out.”

She squealed something he couldn’t make out and threw her arms around him again. He hugged her back, and cried again, but the tears were tamer this time. He felt more in control of himself. He tried to think of paths through the future that would lead to security for him and Kelsey and the rest of his siblings, but he couldn’t. He tried to work out how Dad had screwed up enough to leave them in this mess, but he found that he finally believed that Dad had done everything he was supposed to do.

He held Kelsey closer as he realised that the world was so irreparably messed up that there was no way for a human to escape being ground down to the bone.

He knew if he ever mentioned that thought to a MindMate, or to his Mum, he’d be warned away from it. Dwelling on stuff you couldn’t change just caused more anxiety.

But he didn’t want to keep blaming Dad for just doing the best he could.

He didn’t want to keep thinking it was their fault everything sucked.

“I saw an old movie with Aunty Emily once where people ate tubs of ice cream when they were sad and it made them feel better” Kelsey said. “Do you think… goddamnit why if this thing still buzzing? I put it on mute! Oh. Oh wait, comfort eating is actually bad, isn’t it?”

“Screw it, ice cream sounds good” Dean said. “Maybe not a whole tub though. Maybe just a bowl. Think that’ll make the app happier?”

Kelsey looked at the watch and shook her head.

“Nope. But it sounds safe enough for me.”

They went inside together, and Dean figured defying the helper and getting ice cream was technically rebellion. He doubted people like Mylie and her parents would agree, but if all he could do in the face of a shit society was feel human emotions and admit the problem was the shit society, then maybe just getting to that stage was enough of a liberation.

For now.

“Wait, what if we run out of money and need to save our food?” Kelsey asked. “We might not be able to get luxuries like ice-cream for a while.”

“Nah it’s okay” Dean said. “I’ll return my MindMate tomorrow, and we can use some of that money for more ice-cream if we want to.”

Kelsey seemed dubius, but they each made themselves a bowl of ice-cream, with sprinkles for her and Milo for him.

When Mum came home with the younger kids, Dean convinced Mum to let him make bowls for the whole family. They ate together while watching some long movie and spent the evening taking turns crying and offering hugs.

THE END

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