The Era of Juvenile Domination in Incan Society

Upon arriving in this timeline, I have discovered that the most profound deviation lies not in grand historical events but rather in the unassuming organization of the household. Here, the Incan society has adopted a peculiar yet intriguing approach: a system of domestic governance where children, of all things, hold supremacy over their households.

This is not confined merely to idle whims or demands for sweets before dinner—no, indeed, these children possess absolute authority over familial decisions, from financial allocations to where the family llama should be parked for the night. As a curious observer with a penchant for irony, I've dubbed this the Era of Juvenile Domination.

A typical day in Cusco reveals fathers awaiting instructions from their seven-year-olds on the proceedings of the farm's allocation of resources, and mothers seeking permission from their toddlers to purchase groceries. Decision letters are dictated by children, their shaky script etched into clay tablets, determined by consensus during backyard assemblies, sometimes interrupted by the imperative discovery of a particularly enticing ladybug.

In considering how this significant domestic dérive has rippled outwards, one can observe societal impacts more amusing and ironic than disastrous. In political affairs, local meetings are often paused for nap times, lest the young leaders become cranky and issue decrees detrimental to public sentiment (their clear disdain for afternoon absence cannot be overstated).

Religion, too, is not spared their jurisdiction. Deities now prefer offerings of sweets and toys, apparently much amenable to the whims of this youthful governance. Indeed, the presence of marble idols interspersed with scattered maracas and neglected rag dolls throughout temples strikes a humorous tone in anyone aware of alternative divine priorities.

It is of particular note that Hernando Pizarro, who seized control of Cusco, has learned to negotiate with a council of adolescents, employing tactics like promising extended recess periods in exchange for allegiance. Strategies which in my home timeline would have seen him branded a madman, here, are merely considered pragmatic diplomacy.

Meals are an event, where vegetables find treacherous refuge yet still face trials and executions led by the discerning gaze of small tribunal judges. Portly adults occasionally sneak potatoes fearing whispered consequences like "early bedtime"—eternally scratched into the parental psyche as the harshest of sanctions.

Despite initial incredulity, one might argue rather reasonably that nothing exemplifies hierarchy’s frail concept more than the image of a grand Andean society operating under pint-sized benevolent despots. Nevertheless, in this apparent inversion, life proceeds with a disarming stability, thereby suggesting the inherent irrationality of all authority.

Each new timeline I traverse teaches me more about the absurdity and resilience of the human condition, and in this particular version of 16th-century Peru, one cannot help but question who truly holds power, and just how much naps have to do with it.

Witnessing a young boy in a feathered robe lecture his elders about the importance of synchronizing playdate policies with agricultural schedules, I find myself wondering if perhaps there's a subtle wisdom in these youthful governors. The wisdom of simplicity, perhaps, or the clarity of focusing exclusively on one's happiness—concepts lost in the complex machinations of adult governance.

Meeting with a local family, I found myself negotiating the terms of my stay with a ten-year-old girl who giggled as she demanded that I sketch a picture of my ancestor's favorite llama in return for bed and board. It dawned on me that, in this timeline, children cultivate the skills of barter and negotiation with a keen instinct, perhaps serving them better in life’s inevitable challenges later on.

While considering how sandboxes can simultaneously serve as negotiation tables and battlegrounds for serious disputes, I had to chuckle as I imagined the implications of this system beyond simple domesticity. Imagine CEOs consulting with kindergarteners before making a merger, perhaps charting the future of a company based on the merits of who has the best jump rope skills.

As I sit and pen these reflections, the distant squeal of children's laughter filters through the walls of my room. It mingles with the evening breeze, a reminder of the apparent absurdity and yet remarkably cohesive nature of this society led by its youngest members.