Crimson

Electricity buzzed in the dark and tight alleyway as the lights flickered on and off. The flies, programmed to be attracted to light, flew in circles around the flickering light, hypnotized by the bright fluorescent globe in the sky. The alleyway, which is filled with litter and stray cats. 

“9:25 pm. All citizens please report back to your homes for curfew. Any violation will result in immediate punishment.”

The announcement was heard all over the town as people in gray suits walked the sidewalk in a neat and single-file line. They acted like mindless drones, programmed to follow orders.

Which, they were, mindless drones. Their eyes were a dull gray, their faces pale and lifeless. It was almost hard to believe that they had heartbeats, like normal humans. 

“Single file line.” A guard yelled to the group. One person tripped. The guard, programmed to respond, walked over to the person.

“You are in violation. This is a warning. Continue onto the path, or there will be severe consequences.” The guard said his programmed response. The man nodded his head, quickly standing up and getting back into line.

Hover cars passed the sidewalk as they went to the upper wall. They lived better lives. 

Yet, if you were born in the lower class, you were doomed. They were trapped, living a pointless life filled with orders and drones. 

A flypast by the man's ear, causing him to flinch at the noise. He continued, however, walking to his house for curfew. His house was small. Gray walls and white rugs that were stained with use covered the apartment. It was bland and useless. 

“You’re home.” His wife said to him, walking up and kissing him on the cheek. Every day when he returned home, the same day repeated until he died.

He sighed deeply, sitting down on the couch and staring at the blank wall in front of him. He ran a hand through his auburn hair, exhaling a shaky breath.

This was not a Utopian world. He hated it here. He wanted to be able to live freely, but every move he made was monitored and examined. 

Every thought in his head was predicted and shut down. Every creative idea he made up in his mind was dismissed and punished.

I do not want to do this anymore. 

He thought to himself as he stared at the blank wall. The smell of food cooking filled the entire apartment. 

His mouth started salivating, even though he did not feel hungry at the time. He stood up, ready to go to the kitchen.

Laughing. Meadow. Grass. Girl.

His head erupted in explosive pain. He felt dizzy as he held his hands to his head, trying to stop the splitting headache. 

Playing. Field. Sun. Girl. 

He fell to the floor as his thoughts started racing. Images of his past flooded his mind like a dam that broke. He could not breathe as each image in his head showed a life. The perfect life. The one he could have. He reached out to it. 

Murder. Bone. Blood. Girl.

He yelled in pain as the images started turning dark. The girl he envisioned with her long brown hair cascading down her back, was ripped off by hands surrounding her. She kept trying to scream, yet the hands would not stop. 

Help. This. Poor. Girl. 

The images wouldn’t stop. He started to cry to himself. He started to feel the hands on his shoulders. No, he would not die now. He would put up a fight.

He grabbed the hands, throwing them against the wall. His head pounding as he repeatedly punched the hands into submission. Once he started, he could not stop. Every punch gave his mind ease and a release. The images slowed down. He closed his eyes, delivering one final bloody hit before calming down.

He sighed in relief, opening his eyes to find his wife beaten to death. He murdered her with his hands.

Somehow, he felt no remorse. He felt free, his mind had never been this free, his thoughts have never been this open. The girl he imagined in his head continued to laugh and play.

Freedom. Happiness. Excitement. Girl. 

He went to the kitchen, taking out the meal from the oven, leaving bloody hand prints all over the food. He did not want to eat the food, since it looked gray and disgusting.

Color. 

Bright crimson red as soft as velvet. It was too bright, mesmerizing. He smiled softly. Color, one he had never seen before. It was beautiful. 

He almost did not want to wash his hands. Yet, he would still be able to see the color from his dead wife in the living room. So, he washed off his hands, pumping a bunch of soap onto the fingers and palms of his bloodied hands.

Once finished, he walked back to admire his creation. He was able to create something. He bent down towards his wife, playing with her hair as he smiled. He admired her, her stained clothes in that beautiful crimson red, the tips of her hair dyed in that red. The way her body slumped on the ground.

“Subject number 1042863. Open this door immediately." A voice from outside rang. He did as he was told, walking over to the door and opening it to see two metal guards he had never seen before.

They had a navy blue badge, one of which he had never seen before. Today was a day of firsts for him. 

“Subject number 1042863. Your mind is freed and you have completed your goal. You are now a Gold class citizen. You may choose a name, and then we will transport you to the upper wall for evaluation and freedom.” One robot spoke directly.

His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled. He was going away from the awful place. The dump was this terrifying and boring place.

“I choose a name?” He asked the guards. They nodded, their cooling fan humming ever so slightly. 

“Crimson.” He stated. He wanted his name to be his favorite color, how it looked on his wife, who was on the floor of the apartment. 

The guards took a second to process the information, then they nodded. 

“Crimson, we will now transport you to the upper wall. Please follow us.” The guards said as they spun 90 degrees. He nodded, following them out of the apartment building.

The door was left open, and robotic flies sped their way to the dead body on the floor. The one thing they liked more than fluorescent lights was the crimson red of blood. They had not seen it in a long time, so it was a treat for them as they landed on the wife. She made no movements as the flies roamed across her body as they wished. Her gray eyes and her rosy mouth were open, an excellent hiding place for the flies as they enjoyed the present left for them.