My Children Have Spontaneously Formed A Hive Mind And It Is Ruining Our Weekends
The sheer volume of telepathic chatter during breakfast is making it impossible for me to read the morning paper in peace.
It has been three weeks since my children merged their consciousness into one hive mind, and I am nearing the end of my tether. Silas, Clementine and Horace now do their homework in flawless synchronised silence, which was briefly pleasant. On Saturday mornings, though, I expect noise and arguments. Instead, a calm line of children crosses the kitchen as one organism and finishes every cereal in the house.
It began last month. They stopped talking, relying instead on eyebrow twitches and a low psychic hum that seems to come from the radiator. I assumed it was another phase, like the period when they walked backwards in protest at bedtime. Then my son asked me, telepathically, to pass the salt before I had reached the dining room. Household life had plainly changed.
My wife Felicity calls it a marvel of human evolution and says we should welcome this stage of development. I don’t agree. Ask one child a question and all three turn their heads at once, then give you the same flat reply. Yesterday I told Clementine to move her shoes from the hallway. The resulting wave of shared indifference made one eye water.
“I refuse to fund the upkeep of a domestic collective entity on a single salary.”
That would be odd enough. The practical side is worse. They now arrange themselves with an efficiency that leaves me feeling surplus to requirements. Last Tuesday they cleaned the whole house in under twelve minutes, moving about like very tidy locusts. Some fathers would be grateful. I found it hard to watch a collective intelligence vacuum the stairs without a word while my parental authority sat nearby, unused.
The grocery budget has gone as well. Since they share one metabolic objective, they snack at exactly the same moment. A packet of biscuits no longer lasts a few days. Three mouths deal with it in seconds. I hid treats in the garage, but they found them through three solid walls, presumably after consulting whatever is currently running through the living-room ceiling.
I took the matter to the local parents association, hoping somebody had dealt with adolescent group minds before, or at least knew a specialist. I got blank looks and a suggestion that I limit screen time. Taking away their tablets will not interrupt the neural pathways they have established above the sofa. It merely means they stare at me in unison while I confiscate the chargers.
What bothers me most is being left out. As a conventional singular consciousness, I cannot join their internal discussions. I sit on the sofa while they watch television with blank faces, clearly occupied by something better in the telepathic ether. I have tried meditation. My brain waves are apparently too analogue, and I finish with a mild headache.
I have given them an ultimatum. If they intend to operate as one collective intelligence, they can pay rent as one tenant. I will not fund the upkeep of a domestic entity on a single salary. Until that happens, I have barricaded myself in the garden shed. It is the only place with enough lead paint to block the humming.