The Meeting

My finger is delicate on the trigger as I brace myself. My breath is slowing as I prepare myself to pull. The gun is hot on my skin and my nerves are jumping all over making it move up and down on my sweaty temple. I hold my breath. I have to do this. This was it.

"Well, are you going to do it?" A bored voice spoke up on my right.

The voice made my body jump and I lost hold of the gun. Instead of what I originally thought, I was not alone. Another was there to witness my glorious suicide. Turning my head I saw the sick figure grinning.

"I have to be dreaming" My mind was so calm, but my skin crawled at I took in the sight of the thing before me.

The creature grinned even more at my disgusted face. His odd smile remained still compared to the stir of images that made up his body. His figure constantly shifted and changed shapes and colors that my eye could barely keep up with. I was afraid, but oddly struck, which kept me from running.

"Sorry," He apologized in a gentle man like manner," Should we continue?"

He lifted the gun from the floor and placed it in my hand. I dropped the gun immediately. The composure he held left me uneasy. I was convinced he was to trying to kill me. I forgot the first part of my dream. Suicide no longer was appealing way to go, but rather a torture device the creature intended me to do.

"Who are you?" It came out rather squeaky and I wondered if I worded the question wrong. Maybe I should had said what or just ran.

The creature broke out in laughter. His body flickered and shook so much that I thought he was going to disappear. I hoped he would. He didn't so I waited for a reply or something. Eventually his laughter died to short chuckles.

"You tell me." He laughed. A foolish smile slipped onto his peculiar face and soon his oddness had lost its effect on me and I was annoyed.

Punching him came to mind, though it would be pointless since my fist would just go through him, most likely. I didn't really want to creep myself out with the ghost like feeling so I shoved my hands into my pockets. He just shook his flickering head. His grin has faded and his shoulders slumped. He grabbed the gun from the floor. He pushed it to his temple. The grin blazed back.

"Should I do it?" His finger pulled the trigger and a small click made the punch line of his joke. He roared in laughter and flung the gun away from us. I wasn't going to get it. I had already died and was in hell.

The creature soon became a blur and I wasn't sure if I was right about Hell. My eyes opened to the world I dreaded more then the dream. The creature may have laughed at my radical solution, but he had no idea what problems I faced.

My bleached skin slightly glowed and stung in the morning sun. I closed the shutters. I had been accused of inequality. I was, now, waiting to disappear, as was the punishment of the new world. I could see myself coming back as the stupid zombie that nobody could recognize as I became a new self, the preferred human that the O.F.A. was envisioning. It was terrifying. I would rather be wrapped back in the dream then thrown into this nightmare of reality.

"John." The name barely made me look up. It was everybody's name. Even the officer who had called it was named John Doe as well. I only glanced up to see what was in my apartment, though I knew it was the officers. There were only three social classes that I could tell that I society held; the lowest was mine the people, then the officers, and then the members of the O.F.A. (One for All). The people held the majority of the population though that didn't mean much since we were dictated by the O.F.A. in how we lived and died.

"John. We are here to hold your hearing of your conviction of inequality. How do you plead?' The officer waited for my reply. There was no formal introduction or official presentation during a trial. Just an officer, in his unmistakable gray attire, surprising you at your door and only saying the commissioned statement he now spoke, nothing else would conjure. No matter what I said, the man would still take me away. I would still be lost from society. That is what always happened and how it would always be.

I pleaded guilty without hesitation. The officer's eyes bugled in surprise for a moment, but resided back again. His voice was neither deeper nor higher than mine. See, we are all exactly alike. We had finally created a world that could not hate on race, religion, appearance, age, or temper. It was all masked or the same. No one was unique. Everyone shared the same identity, except sex. The members are still working on that.

"You meant not guilty." He said. I was breaking another rule. Challenging the airtight equality structure with one small guilty was all it took. The officer grabbed my shoulder and walked me out of the apartment.

It was early morning and the dew still hung in the grass as the mist softened the air. The officer gently pushed me forward into the street and into the white van. I wasn't locked up or tied down, as my assumption was when they said I was arrested. The officer, merely, took the wheel and drove.

"Officer," I said, in a confused whisper, " I think you forgot to …uh." I wasn't sure how to word it. It just was so strange. There wasn't even a grate to separate the officer and me. I was a reckless convict, yet I was free or at least I felt freer than I would if I had handcuffs on. "Restrain me?" I concluded.

The man simply chuckled. "No, John, I didn't. "

" Yes, yes you did." I was convinced. I was a prisoner. I am supposed to be confined in some way.

He sighed. Irritation seemed to throb at his temple. "John, you are going to be lost is that clear?" His voice was on edge and I could only nod in response. "So, why don't you worry about that instead?' He cracked a wicked smile and dread finally seeped into my head. The cockiness and surety I once had melted away as fear and doom swallowed me as the road headed to my undoing.