Something Else

The Word in Red

Murderers.

I stare at the word. It's scrawled in metallic red paint, dripping with hate and violence. It stands out like a sore thumb on the pearly white wall. I try and rationalize it, try and push down the blinding anger it brings out in me. Anger is a crime after all, and crimes have punishments.

I take a few deep breaths and reach into the cart behind me, dragging out a dull, gray rag. I'm already way behind schedule, and this new graffiti is more than I can budget for. I get to work, trying with all my might to rid the wall of the offending lines. They must be completely gone when the children arrive for their lessons.

Who am I? Well, that's quite the question, isn't it? I'm no one important or worthy of mention. I'm the kind of person that stays out of the way, the kind that parents point to in the halls, whispering, "This is why you stay true to the law. You don't want to end up like him, do you?"

Needless to say, they don't.

"Joseph?" The word snaps me back to reality.

I startle, whirling to face the noise. A tall man with graying hair stands in the hallway, a disdainful look in his eye.

"Good Morning Headmaster," I say, twisting my rag nervously. Why is he here? Is this some kind of surprise work evaluation? He looks me up and down, frowning slightly. "Is there something wrong sir?"

"Of course n-" In an instant his eyes land on the graffiti behind me. He pales and backs up a step, shocked into silence. One gloved hand lands on the wall, and he shakes his head to clear it.

"No problem Joseph." He smiles tightly and looks back at me. "Just a clogged sink upstairs. I uh, trust you've got everything under control here." I shift uncomfortably. The words are weighted and we both know it. Without another sound, he turns stiffly on his heel and reverses back down the corridor.

I watch him go, not relaxing until I can no longer hear his receding footsteps. I toss my rag back into the cart. The word seems hardly smudged, its red sheen glistening almost smugly. My breathing quickens. If I wasn't in trouble before, I certainly am now.

Clearly, the graffiti is not my fault. I did not create this disturbance, but it is my responsibility to dispose of it. After all, this is Levorian society, a living, breathing organism. We work together and we work in unison to keep the beating heart of Euphoria intact. Each cell in our societal body has a purpose and a job to do. If I cannot fulfill my purpose and make this place a safe and protected environment, free from disturbing anomalies such as this, I will surely be demoted or worse.

Who would do something like this? I grasp for an answer, baffled by the act. The instinct to destroy is exclusively Human. No true Levorian would ever consider such a blatant act of treason. The fact that this even happened under the nose of our powerful security seems impossible, and every worker in this facility could be held liable. That's why the Headmaster looked so terrified, demotion isn't something you joke about. Surely, the culprit has already been discontinued.

I shiver. I know it should be comforting, but I've always been a little off-put by the Levorian death penalty. I scratch nervously at the silver band around my neck. The thought that my discontinuance could come at any moment is... worrisome to say the least.

A brief crash course in Levorian law:

1. At birth, all Levorians are fit with a collar-like attachment around their neck. Developed by Euphoria's brightest engineers, each is brilliantly constructed, tamper-proof.

2. The devices are made to inject Levorian criminals with a fatal poison, often referred to as "the death draft." It works its way to the brain in a matter of seconds, providing its victims with a quick and painless death.

3. The poison will only be dispensed if said victim's crime is deemed "uncorrectably human." There are more lenient punishments for minor transgressions, including demotion and correctional therapy.

Despite major changes, Levorian's day-to-day lives are quite similar to those of our predecessors. We have jobs, though they are decided by more than just inherited wealth. Citizens that stay true to the law are given endless rewards and promotions, while those that break it are tasked with the less desirable professions, like, for example, cleaning the walls of an elementary school.

Now, Levorian technology is far superior to anything Humans ever came up with. It's how we won the war, after all. Admittedly, most of our technological prowess is devoted solely to keeping the population in line. Constant surveillance and frequent check-ins make it nearly impossible to slip under the radar. It's just a well-known fact. Break the law and they will find you.

Right?

Right, I think as I stare at the wall. They'll find the culprit. They will. Normally, I'd never doubt the system. The only reason I think twice is that this is no isolated incident. I've been finding graffiti like this everywhere, in the classrooms, in the hallways. Its more than concerning.

It's. A. Pain.

Seriously, I work hard. I do my job, and I do it well. I don't need these extra hours of work stacked on my plate. Soon, I'm going to fall behind, and I can't take another demotion. I run my fingers nervously over my neckband, tracing the engravings there. Class three.

A brief side note:

Our system is something all Levorians respect and understand. All citizens start as what we call "class one," with nice houses and stable jobs. Each time they commit a serious transgression, they're demoted one or more "classes," and given a less desirable job and place to live. With hard work and good citizenship, classes will occasionally be bumped up. However, once you get past a certain point (class four or five) you pretty much drop off the face of the earth. Your work and quality of life are so terrible that there truly is no return.

That being said, I can't help but imagine in some traitorous corner of my mind, how humans would view our new world. They dreamed of it, in countless dystopian tales made to warn society of their imminent end. Perhaps they would be as horrified by us as we are by them. After all, an "alien invasion" is the stuff of nightmares. We are their destroyers, an amalgamation of their worst fears.

That's the thought that sticks in my head as I scrape the last of the graffiti away. What might seem like the work of a child is life or death to someone like me. I could try and do things the right way, cleaning up the messes day after day, trying to keep my head above water. Maybe this person will be caught, stopped. We are taught that the system is flawless, and a good Levorian would trust in that fact. However, as my class three title dictates, I am far from a good Levorian.

Maybe maintaining my composure amidst the crippling fear of discontinuance has truly begun cracking my sanity. Maybe the long hours of nonstop work, penance for my careless transgressions, has given me too much time to fantasize. In my mind, I see myself calling in a report of multiple severe transgressions, while the unconscious body of the culprit lies in this very hallway. A man in a white uniform thanks me for my help in the arrest of this individual, and my slate us wiped clean, my model rank restored. I live my life, a real life, finally the class one citizen I was meant to be.

This fantasy plays over and over again in my mind and I run my hands over the officer class tranquilizer gun stowed in the lower compartment of my cleaning cart. Its life or death, and tonight this vandal will see the end of their criminal existence. Maybe I'm crazy, but this crazy idea is the only one I have right now. I'll wait until dark, catch them in the act, and shoot them down for the authorities to deal with.

AllI have to do now is wait.