The inspiration:
A story:
Mother shushed the children as they tumbled, laughing, into the house.
"Mam." They fell silent, glancing at the ancient woman. Mother singled out Seth, "My eggs?"
He grabbed his antigrav belt, hating his chore of chasing chickens out of the trees, avoiding their needle teeth, just so Mother had fresh eggs for breakfast. He ignored Mam, a First Wave, weeping over album images that rotated above her lap.
"Unfair." Seth mumbled as he unsealed the door and stepped out under the two rising moons, "I'm SO off this farm when I'm 18."
Too bad he could never go to Earth.
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Now, your turn.
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