Freedom's Price

I stand high on the podium, staring down at the crowd below as my knees trembled beneath me.  Part of it was because I had been standing for so long; part of it was fear.  Fear of what lay before me; a long noose, and an abyss that leads to an untimely death.

The priest spoke in a booming voice, addressing the whole assembly. "And so, you have been charged and found guilty of treason in the first degree.  Your punishment shall be death by hanging.  Prosecutor, please begin the proceedings."

A sack was pulled tightly over my head, shielding me from the outside world.  I felt the noose being fastened securely around my neck, pulled taut to ensure I wouldn't slip through.  My breaths came in gasps; short, fearful gasps.

Suddenly, the floor beneath me disappeared.  My body fell, caught only by the rope fastened around my neck.  I saw it then; my life flashing before my eyes.  I watched with sealed eyes as my abysmal life played before me in Technicolor; a sad recollection of what once was.

Of what I had done to meet my fate.
~~~
"Son, in a few days' time you will become a fully-fledged Yellow...won't you?"

Papa glared down at me, a formidable air about him that made me uneasy.  The Operation had tainted his skin cells, so they were a bright shade of Yellow.  The colours were implanted into the skin cells of everyone once they turned eighteen, and represented their religion.  Pink for Jews, Orange for Muslims, Yellow for Anglicans, a colour for every religion there is.  To me, The Operation had always seemed pointless and degrading...but it was mandatory, and refusing it could result in death.

Reluctantly, I answered my father. "Of course, Papa.  What else would I become?"

Papa nodded, a stern yet relieved expression highlighting the yellowed wrinkles on his face.  Gently, he patted my head. "Good boy.  I know you will do well."

I didn't want to have the Operation.  I knew that the moment I did, I would be shunned and alone, abandoned by my friends.  They were Blues – Christian Catholics – and only spoke to other Blues.  The Operation did nothing but single people out.

Three days passed, as did my birthday.  It was time for me to have the Operation, to finally become a Yellow like my parents.  My heart sank as I lingered in the sterile waiting room, watching as people I had once been close to turned into things I was supposed to hate.  One boy, a quiet type with mysterious eyes, refused the Operation.  No words, no violence; just a simple shake of the head.  He was shot on the spot, the Doctor blowing his skull open with one, well-aimed bullet

"Anyone else wish to object?" the Doctor asked, as the mystery boy lay bleeding on the lino floor.  Nobody answered; we were too scared to, after what we had just witnessed.

I guess it was then I learned the ultimate lesson; the only freedom in this world is the blissful embrace of death.
~~~
"Daddy, why are those people a funny colour?"

Growing up in a house of Yellows, as a child I was unaccustomed to seeing the multiple colours of the various other cultures.  This occasion when I was five, the people in question were Purples; that is, they were Mormons.

Papa sighed, wiping his brow with the back of his weathered hand. "Son, when you reach the age of eighteen, you will undergo an Operation.  This Operation will turn your skin a funny colour, which is different depending on your religion."

Even as a child, I questioned the point of the Operation. "But Papa, why do we have to have the Operation?  Why can't everyone be the same?"

Papa frowned, anger flashing in his eyes as he yelled; "You ask too many questions!" Then, softer, he offered me some sort of explanation; "It's just to make sure that everyone can find somewhere that they belong."

"Okay, Papa." Back then, I said my words with meaning.  Now, looking back, I wonder if they ever held any meaning at all...
~~~
"Number 283, please report to the operating theatre now."

I swallowed hard; my turn had arrived.  Should I fight for the freedom to be myself?  I knew what the outcome would be, but perhaps...

"Number 283!!!  Report to the operating theatre immediately!!!"

I didn't have to think twice.  The answer was already there, brewing inside my mind.  It was dangerous.  Stupid, probably...but it was the last shot I had at attaining my freedom.

The Doctor was waiting for me.  He plastered the fakest smile I have ever seen onto his Blue face, before motioning to the seat beside him. "Let us begin, shall we?"

I made no move to sit.  With my arms clenched by my sides, I sternly shook my head. "No.  Let's not begin.  I don't believe I'm ready for this Operation just yet."

The corner of the Doctor's mouth twitched, and his fingers stroked the barrel of his gun. "Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be..."

"Then let me have the freedom to choose who I want to be associated with." Adopting a defiant stance, I folded my arms across my chest, challenging the Doctor.

The Doctor frowned, his teeth clenched tightly in annoyance. "If you refuse the Operation, then you are guilty of treason in the first degree.  Why die for freedom, when you can live for security?" His voice was smooth, his tone even and calm.  It made me sick.

"I don't need security...charge me if you want, but I would rather die as a free man than live as an imprisoned slave."

The Doctor nodded slowly, clearly impressed by my persistence.  However, it didn't stop him from charging me.  I would be trialled and hung, as punishment for my efforts.

But at least I would always be free...
~~~
I felt no pain.  It was a quick sensation of falling, followed simply by darkness.  Death is simply an everlasting darkness, after all.

I have no regrets.  I am free...and maybe, some day, the world will be too.