“There is no other emotion than seriousness,” I read from the ripped, red poster plastered on the crumbling brick walls. The same shiny sign was hanging in my bedroom, my Sister’s bedroom, my Mother’s bedroom, and my Father’s bedroom.

I crouch down on the soft, dirt ground and read a single word written in fiercely bold, black lettering “WHY?” The same “ugly” word surrounded and formed the broken down rebellion. I disrange this thought quickly from my mind and out of pure anxiety look up at the huge gray watch towers circling our roads. The lights and cameras beaming down showing well aware there was someone watching down on you… angels my Father insisted. I snap my thin, beige band against my skin so a little red welt blossoms up. Reciting our daily chant, I sing quietly to myself, “Seriousness is our way. Seriousness is okay. Seriousness is the perfect pace and a perfect, perfect face. We our a perfectly, serious community directed by a perfectly, serious leader.”

My mind drifts back to my first ever meeting with Alastair Azazel, the leader of our community. I was five at the time when they decided to do something  about my “quality.” They seemed to ignore it up until then.

I had walked down to the Leader’s Office passing the Community Center and Meeting Area. I did not take the big, gray bus that day, and my Mother was holding my hand firmly until she stopped short at the paved sidewalk. Green grass littering the sides. She told me to go to the desk where the woman would kindly help me. The nice brunette had lead me up towards the top where my view was filled with a clear, glass room overlooking absolutely everything and everyone. I thought I even spied my house on J Ave. Alastor had greeted me with a simple hello, bending his head forward in a nodding gesture so his brownie ringlets (identical to mine) tipped forward. I responded back, a slight babyish tone to my child voice. He had seen my light eyes wandering up and down the walls, hunting curiously for anything opting to catch my attention. Grunting, he squatted down next to me. Grabbing me by my weak hands, he had gripped me forward, my own small, brown curls had fallen over my face as a tear fell loosely from the wet corner of my left eye. He had wiped it away with his rough finger tip. His nail slicing into my soft skin just ever so slightly. He studied my face expression and sighed earnestly. “James,  remember the only emotion is seriousness.” My grin had faded instantly as I rearranged myself into a tight lipped pout, face still and doll like. I think I saw a hint of smile in his lips when he saw me like that. He thought he had won my feelings or something...that was a wrong thought to think.

He had placed his meaty hands on me, cupping the round shape of my face. His facial features were the only thing I could see. His breath still lined with breakfast, the only thing I could smell and feel as he blew whooshes of warm air onto me. “James Jefferson, son…” he stopped so I could still hear the ring of the s-tone in his curved mouth. “I think of all of you as my children, and sometimes children have to be punished. Has your mother ever punished you James?” My mind flashed back to the straight black whip hanging in the kitchen. I nodded silently barely lifting my heavy feeling head. “Well, it is mandatory to do. Do you understand?” I nodded my head again, his hands still not dropping from my face. “Now, you my child have misbehaved. It’s not your fault. I know you can’t stop it from overtaking you.” My eyes had widened. “You have the unbearable curse of curiosity and it needs to be broken.” I nodded one last time.

My eyes drift down to my beige band on my wrist. The same band I have used to stop my curiosity for 12 years. Except now, it’s bigger, larger, and wider. I still can barely feel the pain as it pings me. I guess my curiosity is just too strong now.

I quicken my pace through Rebellion Alley. I hated the people there. How they put all this on themselves. Then still have not even enough pride to resist grabbing your ankles, hands, bags, or whatever they can put their grimy hands and dirt-filled fingernails on. They were always begging and screeching for food in their annoying, whiney voices. They knew you were not allowed to give.

My beige shoes feel like they're about to give up on me as I walk sloppily, sagging my shoulders into J Ave. We’re the first brown house out of the four, and I thankfully give into the door.

Carefully I creep into the house trying to avoid my agonizing slow parents. I walk up the stairs to my room and find Jenny in hers, blonde waves covering her face except for her eyebrows who poke through angrily scrunched together.

“Hey, Jenny.”

“Hey, James. I thought you were going to Cleo’s.”

“I am after homework if Mother Jane let’s me.”

“She will. She always does. And James it was a joke. ”

“Jenny,” I raise my features at her calmly. “You can’t say that. We shouldn’t let them find out.” We frown at each other both thinking the same thought. Her huge, light blue eyes wander back down to her small laptop after searching for any hint of disappointment on me, and she types furiously.

After one hour and thirty minutes according to the ticks on my metal gray clock of my daily routine, I am done. I slip out of my room and manage to get out of the house, crossing the pasty cement I walk along the aisles. Passing all the Aves., until I reach the third one, C Ave. I walk three down and reach Cleo’s house, knocking politely on the large wooden door. I hear faint footsteps inside and my vision is filled with Mrs. Caroline (and trust me there’s a lot to see). Her huge chocolate-colored curls hang just above her shoulders, cream colored skin dull, and mutinous, her pitiless, dark eyes searching my face. She crosses her arms so it gives her the appearance of cruelty, but I just barge on ahead.

“Hello, Mrs. Caroline. May I hang out with Cleo today?” She sighs, raises her bushy brunette eyebrows and tightens her crossed arms. I try again. “Sorry for my poor use of grammar Mrs. Caroline,” I repeat robotically. I don’t even have to activate my brain anymore. I've said this so many times. Too many times. “May I rephrase?”

“Yes, you may James.” I nod my head.

“May I please borrow your son Cleo's time for constructive freetime?”

“Yes, of course James,” she walked off then called aimlessly back to me, “Send my condolences to your Mother for me.”

“Yes, of course Mrs. Caroline.”

“Thank you James.” I step off the small raised platform and wait patiently for Cleo. I see him call to his Mother then rush out the door before he has time to be scolded for something. He meets me. Raising his fiery eyebrows and sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth. I follow him through the yard to our little place by Z Ave. Finally we sit cross legged, staring at each other.

“Cle…”

“James, dude. I did something today.” I eye him down, his beige clothing stuck from the glow of his sweat. The same ugly outfits we wear everyday from age zero to 18. Cleo and I at 17, we were stuck with the color.

“Yeah…” I say. He glances back at me, nervously biting his small, pink stained lips.

“I went to The Library today.”        

“That’s fine Cleo it’s mandatory to go to the library everyday. I actually think Jenny was on her way out with her friends, Sadie, and Janice...”

“Janice Jenkins? Boy, she’s a homely one.” I nod and and let a soft chuckle come out. Cleo looks up towards the towers watchfully then gives a slight thumb. “And Nah James… I went to The Library today.” My eyebrows raise past my hairline, so they're practically invisible. Cleo is curling his lip back and narrowing his eyes sheepishly. The look he gives me when he doesn't know how I’ll respond.

“You didn’t Cleo, you’ll be in so much trouble if they find out, if anyone finds out. I mean we're already in a load of trouble if they find the truth about the three of us...Darn’t Cleo.” He continues to make a face, but even then I think I see a hint of smile hidden in his lips, breaking against his shiny teeth. I point at him. “Don’t smile. You know we're not suppose to. We shouldn't even know how to smile”

“James they’ve been lying...don’t you wanna know what’s actually, truly going on here?” He groans, spacing his words out slowly for an over dramatic Cleo affect. I sigh, breath in and exhale, nodding my head shamefully.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, first of all there are like,  uh… people like Jenny, you, and me.”

“That’s that’s… interesting, people with thoughts of there own, you mean?’

“Yeah bro. And the drink, the drink that hasn’t been working since we’ve been five, that’s to hide the emotions we feel. The emotions that help control our personal thoughts.” Pure, startling shock blows through my mind in a straight, devastating line.

“The gummy?”

“The gummy, just changes your eyes from light to dark on your 18th birthday. And yanno I never wanted my eyes dark, I just feel like it kinda gives people the old complexion and...”

“What about jobs? Are there more than only five categories of jobs?”

“Yeah… but don't you think dark eyes give people oldy faces?”

“CLEO!”

“Fine… there is more jobs, more opportunities. There’s different life they haven’t been telling us.” I nod knowing what he’s thinking, what I’m thinking and probably Jenny too. “Jamie we have to get out, you know you want too, you know you’ve wanted to.” His voice turns stone cold serious, the Cleo that I am afraid of is talking now. Dread fills every inch of my body.

“But, what if we can’t.”

“But, Jamie what if we can.”

“I don’t know Cleo. Were already in a bunch of trouble if anyone knows about us.”

“Once in awhile James Jefferson you gotta pick the risk.”

The whole bus ride to school my legs bounces up and down, anxiously. All through class I can’t stop thinking. My mind is like a confusing road of different possibilities I never knew I had, let alone reach. Pinched face Patty Pam’s obvious job is Food, but mine isn’t. Light-eyed Sally Sue’s is Justice, but mine isn’t. Brown-haired Mason Middleton’s is Kids, but mine isn’t. Straight-haired Willa Williams is Landscape, but mine isn’t. And large-lipped Levi Lovejoy’s is Health, but mine sure isn’t. I don’t fit here. I never have, always wanted something more. I have to leave, leave with my sister and my friend.

I arrive at the meeting, people in bland colors are lined in horizontal rows… Until I spot my sister’s long, pleated skirt.

“Jenny!” She looks back at me and smiles with her big eyes, keeping a deviating straight line on her face. Cleo’s next to her, there hands brimming close. He see’s me, and lifts his head barely, whispering in my left ear.

“I knew you’d come, I knew you always would.” I feel his grin against the side of my face, then it vanishes brushing away. I walk silently on, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Cleo barely snaps his fingers, and we’re already leaving. I notice faintly that their hands are clasped, knotting each other together. We walk sideways, weaving through the lines, freezing when eyes are on us. An anxious swirl unravels in my stomach, lighting my insides on fire.

I see his dark eyes traveling on me, like he knew that this was going to happen. I almost see a smirk loosen in his face, and then he is shouting.

We’re so close. I can feel my joints practically yelling at me to run harder, stronger. Cleo and Jenny are in front of me, wind blowing back there warm colored hair. I kinda grin. I can feel my own hair rifling behind me. In one fluid motion, we’re two feet from the wall. In one stride, my legs double, a bullet hits me in the lower part of my right shin. I can feel the trickle of red making it’s way down my leg. My blood is pounding in my ears...I’m at the wall. A bullet glides across my back, plunging in deep enough. It’s lodged in there. Clear sweat sweeps down my neck.

Cleo and Jenny are over, grabbing at my glowing, moist hands. My clean cut nails slash into them, but they keep on pulling. I roll over, another bullet hits me square in the chest. They keep yanking at me, tears slide effortlessly down my crushed face. I hit hard ground and sag up against the wall, knocking the breath out of me. Blood oozes down in thick red streaks staining my beige clothing. I feel a twinge of satisfaction. I’m on the safe side of the wall. My view is filled with grass valley's, flowers, and so much light. My eyes can barely open from the wetness of my tears and the coldness of my darkening blood stuck in my eyelashes, yet I still see more than I’ve ever seen before. Jenny squats down next to me her golden ringlets falling thickly over her face, blue eyes soft and big. She kisses me on my cheek and wipes the blood from my chin. “Thank you big brother,” she whispers as tears roll down her face being chased by another and another. Cleo peers his face close to mine, his fiery orange curls brimming with sunlight,

“Love you bro, forever best friends,” he says. And like they planned this, they say four words in unison, four words that make the world go round.

“We’ll make you proud.”

“Go,” I say, nodding my head forward. They lock hands, smile at each other and run chasing the sky like wind, time, and space are on their side. I slump against the wall, smiling softly. My thoughts scatter and my mind turns silent finally thinking one thing at last. At least, I died with freedom in my reach where curiosity is allowed, colors are life, and people are who they wish to be. Everything goes pitch, starry black as I slowly, ever so slowly, slip out of consciousness with my first ever free grin plastered devastatingly on my sunlit tinted face.