Match Day

Putting the finishing touches on her curvy top lip, and with a light finger brush through wavy amber locks; she wants to look her best. It was nervous energy that motivates her. Created by what her imagination anticipates. Smart, strong, and handsome, thoughts of him made her ensure there was not a smear on her lips; careful like the childhood focus on the edge of a coloring book picture. After adding her image to the same bathroom mirror as millions before, she exits the Pittsburgh Intercontinental Airport.

Driving east from the heartland, Francisco’s mind had two hours to run freely before he would arrive to his destination. Thoughts of pearl soft skin against his nearly bare chest dance in his head as he nears the final exit. Francisco’s attention rumbles back to reality as airliners announce their presence overhead, and the Pittsburgh Intercontinental starts to make its presence known.

Waiting in the dark, with reflections of red and green airport lights glimmering on her freshly worn baby blue bridesmaid dress, she anxiously notices the classic silver 2055 Camaro with twin black racing stripes growling in the curb. Excited for future memories awaiting, she gracefully strides to the muscle car as Francisco opens the front passenger door. “Good evening Jenny; you look absolutely stunning.” Did you come from a wedding or something?” Francisco continues with a wink.

With the Camaro door open and the green and red lit panel exposed, a middle-aged woman, also waiting, utters, “I would have expected a pretty girl like you to be picked up in a car like that.“ Smiling thankfully and with palms sweaty, Jenny lowers her head inside the silver street machine.

Registered for a match, they both anxiously await the announcement of who they would spend the rest of their life with. An arranged marriage like process developed by the New Free World collaboratives to ensure the survival of human intelligence. Jenny already knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with her South American soul mate, Francisco Julian Castillo, III. He is her best friend.

Francisco wasn’t so sure if Jennifer Amber Williams was the one. He wasn’t quite sure what his future had in store. He loves her dearly. In fact, he couldn’t imagine a life without her, nor who else he’d ever want to do anything with. However, the importance of this engagement requires a higher degree of scrutiny. “Is love really enough?” Francisco often wonders to himself, as he often wonders about his beautiful Jenny.

Today was Match Day, and the whole world was watching. Grinning with hotel anticipations, Jenny checks to make sure the mandatory NFWnet cell phone application was working properly on her phone.

In the early years of the New Free World revolution, the Board pushed its political philosophies and implemented studies to resolve humanity’s global issues. The Board consists of the top one percent of the world’s wealth, with the top five percent as advisors. The market and wealth rule the world. The top fifteen percent of the world’s wealth are the designate voting members to elect the Executive Director of the Board. Executive Director Fredrick John Buchanan, the most powerful man in the world; with the remainder of the Board members strategically placed throughout the world in managerial like positions. There are no more nations, just humanity, the Board, and the New Free World.

Jenny runs to the Red Roof Inn check-in counter, as Francisco grabs the luggage. Grabbing only the essentials, as the car is stuffed with enough luggage in case things don’t go as expected during tonight’s worldwide broadcast.

“Jenny, you are going to make me fall,” Francisco says chuckling as her embrace tangles up their legs while walking up the stairs. Her excitement too great to conceal. A green light announces the door’s opens arms from Francisco’s keycard swipe. Inhaling the light with a ravenous thirst, the room exposes one king size bed and jacuzzi.

Just before the turn of the century a study had shown that the level of humanity’s intelligence was declining significantly. Advanced intelligence tests were developed to determine current intellectual functioning through methods designed to assess intelligence. Sometimes referred to as intelligence quotient (IQ), cognitive functioning, thinking skills, aptitude, intellectual ability, and general ability. The rate of decline observed was alarming. Scientists determined that unless special measures were instituted, the results could be catastrophic.

A specialized team of scientists and experts found that the rate of births per family unit with an overall lower intelligence rating were populating faster and at a higher rate than those with higher intelligence. Children of cognitive deficient parents began procreating more frequent, and their lower intelligent children were procreating more frequent. Many of their offspring were intermingling with the offspring of the higher intelligent families, thus diluting and potentially eliminating intelligent family units.

While higher level intelligent couples are focusing on careers. The more successful they become, the less time they have to procreate. Promotions and relocations took the places of Lamaze classes and day care visits. By the time the intelligent couple decides to create a family, one or both will face the frustrations of maturity.

Frustrated and divorced, both intelligent man and woman, wander nomadically through dating apps. Never having found “the one,” opportunities are lost; replaced by overtime and twenty-four hour shifts. Then time delivers its message to the womb of everyone’s hope. Adoptions of lower intelligent babies are now the only alternative. Until there are no more intelligent people.

So by unanimous vote, the Board decided to intervene with a strategy to lower, if not eliminate, the possibility of lower intelligent procreation. Additionally, with consultations of various experts, the Board implemented strategies to promote successful intelligent procreation. Thus, the creation of “Match Day.” An ode to the archaic method the medical profession placed their future professional colleagues.

The hotel room was scorching hot. Before Francisco could even process his thought to turn on the air-conditioned, Jenny utters, “leave it off and come here.” Focused on his destination under the covers, Francisco climbs in; peripherally noticing her outfit and panties on the hotel floor. Dinner will have to wait.

Her lips soft and moist, saturated with the essence of their movements. Plump and erect, both swollen with the blood that races through their bodies. Glistening with the flavors of their actions, just like a July evening, dripping from the lust of an unconditioned hotel room. The window shades dance from the open window breeze as a new moon peeks in, reminding them what they already know. There is no one that can make them feel the way they make each other feel. He knows her, and she knows him more than anyone in the world.

July 17, 2121, Match Day is a global holiday. Everyone stops what they are doing to watch the live stream broadcast from their mandatory NFWnet cell phone applications. If couples filled out the application, questionnaire, completed several psychological examinations, and lab work, they could submit for a compatibility match. If matched, they can seek permission to procreate which is a prerequisite to marriage. If the applicant couple matches, generically termed, “green lighted,” both applicant’s phones will flash a symbolic green light. If one or both of the applicants flash a symbolic red light; then both applicants, regardless of the color, must report to the Department of Children and Family Managements for processing. Sometimes, they will provide you with a ride under the authority of an incompatibility warrant. The Board claims they are sent off for skills training and job placements. No one really know what happens to them after processing.

Match day is always festive, including fireworks, music, and an adoption of an ancient times ritual, where a giant apple structure was lowered in unison with a countdown to celebrate the match day commencement. Celebrity live bands and countless concerts are performed all over the world. Match Night is just as much a capitalistic opportunity as it is an exceptional formula for population control.

Francisco and Jenny plan on watching the broadcast together. Back from a romantic candlelit dinner, they cuddle on the temperature controlled bed with phones in hand and the television station on with the big fake apple dangling in the sky.

The tension in the air was near breaking point, until their eyes meet. Jade, like green lights with a shade of magic, her eyes capture his full attention. The warmth of her smile comfort Francisco like a warm blanket on a brisk December morning. Bringing her hand to his face, Francisco comforts her with a smile as she feels the pinch of moist lips on the back of her hand.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Jenny says carefully. She doesn’t want to excite, however, she doesn’t want either of them to be unprepared. Neither know what to expect if either were to get a red light. “Start packing, I’ll scrub the entire room, and get to the car,” Francisco recites firmly, with a sense of calm about him. He pulls her closer, squeezing her tighter as a symbolic reassurance. “Everything is going to be ok,” he whispers. His mind elsewhere wondering, what are they going to do if they get red lighted.

…”nine”…“eight”…“seven,” the crowd’s countdown on the television sends anxious chills down their spines. Seeking comfort in each other’s arms, they hold out their phones. “six”…“five”…“four,” she didn’t know it was possible to get any closer, but they did. The eagerness to discover their fate distracts them. The romantic dinner and intimate moments distracts them. The degree of love that they have for each other distracts them. “Three”…“two”… one percent battery power she glances, just by chance, in the corner of Francisco’s phone. As soon as she turns to inform him, they hear, “one!” Her light vibrates a luscious green illumination that lit up the room. With jubilant excitement she looks over at Francisco’s phone which reads, “powering off,” and flashes black.

“You cannot be serious, you didn’t charge your phone?” Jenny belts with a bit of frustration. “Shit, I wasn’t paying attention,” Francisco responds guiltily, “I don’t know what happened, I haven’t used it all day.” Frantically looking for a cell phone charger, they needed to find out immediately what Francisco received. Rumors and urban legends regarding what happens to red lighters interferes with their focus. Horror stories about red lighters going missing, and treated like second class citizens. Not many people know someone who received a red light. Red lighters seem to relocate and disappearing from everyone’s attention.

“Knock, Knock, Knock…” Jenny runs to the other side of the room where Francisco is standing. The television is still on; their location is compromised. “Who do you think it is?” Jenny anxiously whispers, while firmly gripping Francisco’s arm. “I don’t know, but what if I received a red light?” Francisco’s imagination begins its frenetic marathon. Once past the feelings of inadequacy, as he quite possibly did not match with his love, the concerns for their well-being took precedence. “Knock, Knock, Knock…”

“ We have to get out of here,” Jenny exclaims. “If these guys are NFW agents, we may be extinguished from existence,” Jenny asserts as she pulls on Francisco’s arm. “Knock, Knock, Knock…” entering the bathroom and out the window, they both sneak out to the car. With engine at a crawl, the silver beast creeps out the side street near the back entrance. Once Francisco sees they were in the clear, he guns it down the highway. Jenny looks back and sees a row of various law enforcement vehicles alongside the entrance.

Exhaling a slight breath she was holding, Jenny gives Francisco a kiss on the cheek as she clasps his hand. “Okay, give me your phone so we can charge it; we need to see what color you got.”

With the intensity of a mother who realizes she just left her new born child in an overheated car, Francisco shouts in a panic, “my phone!”