Teenage fantasy

Carl clutters the floor of the sci-fi/fantasy section. His shoulder blades lean on a length of Michael Moorcocks. He lisps through elaborate orthodontic work to relate to an unseen someone, via his mobile, that his life is over. Dictators have stolen his freedom and destroyed his will to live. He drags the metal-shielded heels of his Docs up to his thighs to let someone past to the Asimovs. He cloaks himself with the wings of his long black overcoat, wishing he could disappear completely. He has to escape the boundaries set by the regime, he has to make a new world for himself. His head slumps left, nose towards the Pratchetts. He wonders, out loud, what the future will hold and how the rest of society will view him, now that he isn’t allowed to get his eyebrow pierced.