crimson knuckles

red

it's the only color They allowed

after taking over

and "uniting" the world

and squashing the rebels.

red is the only color seen anywhere.

we learned about it in school, i think.

something about dna being too complex to control.

that didn't stop Them from taking our melanin.

crowds of people, all different shades of grey.

we look like cadavers.

i feel like a cadaver, at times.

anyway, red.

we can blush.

our eyes can become bloodshot after tears.

our noses, rosy in the cold weather.

we can bleed.

i've held onto that privilege.

the gift of red blood.

it's what keeps us together.

grey is too... lifeless but red;

red is vibrant

and versatile

and beautiful.

i used to get into fights

during the small reprieve

after school, before "recreational" time.

all the kids in my class

would meet up behind the bleachers

and just wail on each other.

rosy, dripping knuckles;

the mark of a child

growing up in this sick, twisted world.

the rite of passage

before They stopped being so lenient

with "continuous acts of rebellion"

and plant guards behind the bleachers.

it was cathartic

while it lasted.

i haven't seen red in years.

nobody feels anymore.

nobody cries

or shouts

or holds their breath

or blushes

or fights

or lives.

it's all grey.

it's all dull.

i miss it.

i can barely remember it,

but i see color every night

in my dreams.

it's not my fault,

but i feel guilty that

the new generations

don't get to experience it.

especially not since

They're developing a serum

that will take away our red.

or kill us.

They don't ever do trials first.

"We live as one.

We suffer as one

We die as one."

everyone gets their shot

at the same time.

...

the room is cold,

cold, and white.

pristine, even.

i'm scared to touch anything.

not that there's anything to touch.

we were all called in

during our "recreational" time.

i wasn't so shocked

at how fast They developed Their serum.

i'm buzzing with nerves

when the representative walks in.

face covered in that eery mask.

"To protect their identities."

to keep our abusers faceless

and powerful.

we exchange no words.

i twiddle my toes

in my shoes,

where the representative can't see me.

the representative brings out a silver tray with

one syringe,

one label-less bottle,

one band-aid.

it's over too soon.

a prick in my arm

with no warning

and a quick

covering with the band-aid.

i'm taken outside

where a waiting room

full of fellow citizens awaits me.

hundreds of rows of seats

with neat tray tables standing next to them.

on the table rests

one small knife

and one band-aid.

to check, i suppose,

if Their serum worked.

the people sitting next to me

keep their gazes forward

and distant.

i do the same.

it's quiet enough

to hear a pen drop.

i think some

hope for death.

it certainly would be

an easier escape.

better than underground

where everyone holds out ridiculous hope

that the resitance still resides.

just ten more minutes

until we'll all simultaneously

cut ourselves

and bleed for our opressors.

to see if we fit Their standard

for a colorless world.

it's over all too soon.

i take a stuttering breath.

years of this dreary existence

and i still haven't gotten used to

this feeling of dread.

shakily i take the small knife

and cut a horizontal line

on my palm.

black