Novel Idea, Day 3

And back again!  Keep those ideas flowing, and keep on writing!  Remember: fiction writing is important - it offers us a way to explore ideas that can change our world!!!

Today's theme: Pick a color you hate.

Thoughts: I actually don't hate any color, so this is difficult.  What would that be like? Why might I hate a color?  Why might someone else hate it? Why is it important to some people but not to others? I feel like Ray Stevens singing, "Everything is Beautiful," and I'm not sure how I feel about that!  What role does color play in our lives?  Ahhh, there it is.  That's why.  OK, now I have a heading.  It's good that I stipulated the point of view does not have to be specific to the theme!!  Today's writing is a future world - a little sci-fi, and a little bit of issues we're facing today (which is one thing sci-fi does really well)  I hope you enjoy!

     Allyn dropped the visor down over her face.  She hated relying on it, but she had no choice.  Sometimes there really was just no other way to get the job done.  This was the only way to find him, and she was getting desperate.  She heard the familiar hum as the visor charged and then opened her eyes beneath the metallic shield.  The ocular connectors shot into her eyes, an electric tether to the visor that focused on one thing: finding the Zees. 

     It was almost impossible to find them, anymore, without the aid of the visors.  There were no outward signs, except on a very few, and even those signs were able to be covered by clothing, most of the time.  The only way to tell them apart was the synthetic components of their blood, and the visors could pick up on it.  It was standard equipment anymore for all police to use them.  You could find the Zees.  There was no more hiding in plain sight. 

     Most of her compatriots on the force hated the Zees.  It was common to hear other bragging about how many they’d shot, arrested, our just plain killed, all supposedly in the line of duty.  Allyn didn’t like it at all.  There was something that felt wrong about it, and every time she put on the visor, she remembered why.  It was the ugly muted yellow indicators that came up every time the visor detected the synthetic blood.  It made her sick to her stomach to see it.  Part of it, she knew, was that she was part Zee herself.

     The Zees were part of an experiment several generations ago.  Actually, they were the result of the experiment that began infusing amphibian DNA into that of regular humans in the embryonic stage.  The idea was to create a way for people to live in the toxic air – or rather, be able to escape from it by being able to live both in and out of the water.  The result was a generation of the children that looked nothing like their human counterparts.  The worst were those afflicted with scales.  It looked reptilian, almost, so much so that those with the condition were labeled as “lizards.”  Over the years, it was simply shortened to “Zee.” 

     Allyn looked down at her arm.  The twisting tunnels of her veins showed the sickening yellow color perfectly.  She wanted to throw up.  At least the equipment was working.  Sick though it was, she knew she was searching for a Zee, and that he lived in this area of the city.  He’d been wounded, and some of his blood was left at the crime scene.  The evidence was irrefutable.  Now, she just needed to find the right Zee.

     She scanned the busy street in front of her from the safety of the alleyway.  Police were not welcome in this section of the city, and the less attention she drew to herself, the better.  She was surprised at the amount of Zee blood the visor picked up in the passers-by on the street.  It was everywhere.  Luckily, she was looking for a specific percentage of blood.  The visor would match it precisely, and lock in on the individual.  It made surveillance easier, at least, and in this case, she at least had a particular individual in mind. 

     Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that using the visor for a legitimate purpose was somehow wrong.  It could be used against her just as easily as it could be used against a citizen Zee.  Luckily, there was a limit to how much visor usage a person could take.  No one would be using it in the police barracks, or in the station houses.  There was a problem with the interface that led to a macular degeneration of the user’s eyes.  Even when out on the streets, you could only use it for so long.  Thankfully, each unit came with a timer that automatically shut it off after forty minutes.  It would take several hours to recharge the battery, and for her eyes to recover significantly. 

     The timer reached twenty when she spied the color-matched Zee.  She saw him disappear around a corner, and followed him to a small apartment building.  It looked like an old house that was divided several times.  The mat outside was the same muted yellow.  Sympathizers.  Zees were welcome here.

Thanks for reading,

Me

UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!

The following is by author "KM" who gave me permission to post it.  I believe it is unedited, and there are a few typos and things, much as there are in my own offerings.  Hey, it takes GUTS to put your stuff out there, so let's here it for KM!!!  Thank you for sharing!!!

Theme: Tattoo Shop

Today is the day. Today is the day, I can hardly believe that it is the day…and it is THE DAY!

I knew it was coming and I still was dreading yet anticipating it. I know the others have been thinking the same thing, there is a group of us, they say that after the first one things are different, things are more intense and you just can’t go back to the person you were before. But then again all that is whispered because talking about the way you were after the first one is no allowed.

Today I get my tattoo, I know what you’re thinking. Why is this such a big deal? Maybe in your world you can get a tattoo that means nothing, or means something just to you that you get to choose, but in my world, on you 18^th birthday you go to the “Blood Spark shoppe”, a magic tattoo studio. Every town has its own and everyone has at least one tattoo.

On your 18^th birthday it is mandated by the high lord that everyone get the one tattoo to mark you for the rest of your life you true path in life based on your personality. As you can imagine you can fake your way up to this pointe but no this day, of all days, no this day. So yes fear, concern, excitement, if you think you have a good idea of who you are by now then you should have less to worry about, but if you’re like me and you have no idea…well let’s just say, UGH!

So this morning I will got showered like I always do before school, but the bus I boarded today did not take me to the clean white brick building where I have learned all my lessons from the day I was able to walk. Instead I rode downtown with 20 other kids, silently thinking about who we were to be. We rode  among the tall sky scrapers, under the clear blue sky and puffy white clouds. The wind rushing past the windows in an attempt to get rid of the smell of pure anxiety in the air.  Some of the others looked green like they could get sick any moment, others had small smiles on their faces, no doubts in their minds that they had grand paths in life.

So here I am standing in from of this little shop, neon lights al over the front windows, we file in one by one and take a seat the bench that circles the outside room of the wall. Old leather that has held tons of young butts awaiting their first ink. No sounds of the buzzing machines in this shop, no chatter and laughter or stories are heard coming from the back rooms. But there is a distinct heaviness in the air, and it is unmistakably the feel of magic. 

Over the next few hours we are called back down the brightly lit hallway. The walls all look like a typical tattoo parlor, with colorful flash on the walls and artist portfolio books from artist that work at other shops on the end tables for us to look at. But since this is a different type of tattoo studio, there is that one book, written by the High Lord explaining that we will be separated after the procedure into the next stages of our lives. Whatever image declares us our place in society, will be documented and we will be expected to follow the rules of our new lives. But the biggest of all rules, rule # 1, is that you never talk about the procedure….EVER!

Finally it my turn, none of the others have come back out and I assume it is because they have been taken out the back to their new lives. Slowly I get up, straighten my shirt so it hangs straight over my jeans, swinging my back pack over my shoulder I follow the leather vested attendant down the hallway. The flash art work slowly disappears and plain white clean walls stretches out in front of me.  We turn a corner and I find myself in a room with 4 people in white robes and they smile as I enter. The leather vested guy places a hand on my shoulder and pats it gently, winking his eye he turns and leaves the room with a soft click of the door.

They lead me over to the chair in the middle of the room and as I sit down I can feel the warmth of the last person who sat in it, strangely comforting. Each of the four robed figures place their hands on one of my legs or arms. There are no words in the room, just a general knowledge that the magic is about to flow through me and I suddenly panic and can’t keep still. Fidgeting till I am practically shaking the chair they grip my arms and legs tighter, a flood of cold streams into me coiling in my stomach and turns n to a brick of pure pain. This was not the warmth I was expecting, the agony is unbearable. The stabbing, pulsating pain of the cold grip gets worse and worse till I scream and just keep screaming, unable to stop till the world goes black.

I wake up to a pounding on the door and as I look around me, I am no longer held down. The four robed figures are in the fetal position on the floor. The room is no longer white and clean, but looks like it has been burned to a crisp. My stomach is painfully cramped, but nothing like the pain that I was sure I passed out from. Sliding from the chair my knees are weak and I barely make to the door and open it to see the ashen face of the man in the leather vest. “How did you do that” he asks breathlessly “this door does not lock, and no has ever screamed like you just did”. Shrugging I mumble something about intense pain and blacking out. That is when I look down at my arms, covered in beautifully inked shades of red, orange, pinks, purples, even green and golds…yes GOLDS!!!! Are flames, curling and dancing across my arms and hands, when I look at my legs they are there too.

Glancing at the leather vested man I find him on one knee bowing down to me, “what are you doing?” I hoarsely ask since my throat is still sore from my earlier screams.

Placing a hand over his heart he boom loudly in simple words that send a shiver straight to my core….. “Hail to the new High Lady.”