Seeking Perfection | An Original Short Story
Title: Seeking Perfection
Genre: Sociology, Spiritual
Rating: PG-13, genocide themes
Summary: I am Plain. It means there is nothing special about me. I'ts not my real name, but it's what the Extraordinaries call me and I can't remember my real name anyway. The Extraordinaries also say that they don't want Plains in their world, because they're looking for a world where things are perfect. And Plain isn't Perfect.
Word Count: 2478
Seeking Perfection
I sit alone in an empty room. The walls are bare and resplendently white. I sit on a mattress covered with a dank white sheet that matches my plain white clothes. On the opposite side of the room there is an identical mattress, its bareness ringing with the void of a recent departure. An occupant who will never again sit on that creaking mattress. Nothing in the room breaks the maddening scheme of white. Not even the pale glow of my skin, skin deprived of sunlight and nourishment for as long as I can remember. Not that I can remember much.
My entire memory is filled with day after day spent in this white room. I do not know how long I have been here, or even if I was ever anywhere else. It didn’t used to be so bad when Black was here. At least then it wasn’t so lonely, or as white. Black stood out in this pale prison with her dark hair and skin. She had never been particularly nice to me but I never said anything about it. I always figured at least there was someone in here with me even if she wasn’t nice. Then a while ago (I have no way of truly telling time in here) the men in red came and took her. The people who leave with the men in red never come back.
The men in black are not as dangerous. They call themselves the Caretakers, whatever that means. The Caretakers bring the meal trays three times a day and once a day they escort each person to the bathing house to clean up. They are not very friendly, however, and they always call us mean names. Like Black; they’ve always called her that because she is dark, and they always say it as if it is a crime to be dark. All of us go by the names the men in black give us though, mostly because none of us can remember our own names. I am Plain.
I once asked a man in black what Plain meant, and he told me it meant that I am not good enough. We live in a world where we seek the extraordinary, he told me, where we want nothing less than perfection. Being plain meant that there was nothing special about me. After he told me this I began to pay closer attention to the other men in black. Each of them is indeed beautiful with smoothly sculpted faces, soft tan complexions, and excellent builds. Their eyes are bold and their mouths are well shaped with gleaming teeth. They are right; compared to them I am very plain.
I do not know what my face looks like, there are no mirrors here. Black said I am ugly, with hair and eyes the color of mud and skin like the walls. I am small, far too small for my age as the Caretakers tell me. Although I can’t recall my age, the Caretakers say I can’t be any older than eight.
The door opens and I am startled out of my thoughts. Two Caretakers enter, with a young boy walking between them. The young boy looks around the room and a muffled whimper escapes his lips. One of the Caretakers shoves the boy between the shoulders and he falls to the ground. The men laugh and the boy crawls into a corner, crying silently and hugging his legs close to his body.
“This is your new roommate, Deaf,” one of the men says to me with a loud laugh.
“What is Deaf?” I ask curiously.
“It means he can’t hear anything, you idiot plain child,” the second man snaps.
“Enjoy the rest of your time, Plain,” the first man says and the two men begin laughing again, as if it’s a funny joke. With this they leave the room and close the door with a thud. When they are gone I get on my knees and creep slowly towards the boy. He flinches away from me. I stop and sit where I am, ready to wait for him to allow me closer.
He is actually an attractive boy. If he weren’t Deaf then he would be one of the Extraordinaries. His face is shapely and narrow, with bright blue eyes that slant slightly and soft black hair. He is well built, lean but powerful, and his skin is a copper color the glows in this white place. He is at least my age, if not younger, and a little smaller than me.
Curious, I try to inch closer but the boy shifts away and croaks in a very nasal voice, “Ghost.”
I shake my head firmly, wondering what a ghost is, and then extend my hand towards him. The boy watches it tentatively and after a long moment he reaches forward and touches it carefully. He seems surprised at it and slowly clasps my hand with his. I crawl closer and sit next to the boy on the floor. Suddenly the boy leans sideways, wrapping his arms around me, and cries into my shoulder. I hold him until he quiets and pulls away, wiping at his eyes.
“Dank ‘ou,” he says in the same nasal voice that continually changes pitch.
“Are you from the outside?” I ask excitedly but Deaf’s eyes turn sad and he shakes his head.
“I not ‘ear,” he says, pointing to his ear for emphasis. I sigh as I remember the Caretaker saying this and slump back against the wall. “I scared,” Deaf confesses as tears come again to his eyes. With a whimper he huddles against my side again and I put my arms around him.
The door opens and two men dressed all in red enter. They cast one look at Deaf and I, and immediately begin to laugh.
“Well what have we here?” one of the men asks his companion.
“Looks like the new boy has made a friend,” the second answers with a shake of his head. “What a short-lived friendship.”
“Plain, come with us,” the first man says. I try to rise but Deaf is clinging so tightly to me that I can’t move.
“No, no go,” Deaf pleads with tears still on his face. One of the men in red comes and yanks Deaf’s hands from my arms, making Deaf yelp. I follow the men in red to the door, but in the frame I turn to wave at Deaf. He waves back faintly and then the men in red jerk me out of the room and shut the door.
I walk between the two men without talking as they travel through a series of hallways. I know a few of the other occupants I pass. The older man who stands no taller than me that they call Dwarf, the boy with scars on his face that they call Ugly, the sightless old woman named Blind, and the man who talks to people only he can see who everyone calls Crazy. Every one of them smiles at me faintly as I pass, except for Blind who continues to stare at the far wall blankly. I reply with a weak smile but I am scared.
As I walk passed, Crazy begins mumbling to the empty space beside him. “Poor thing, she’s headed off with them red fellows. Last time we’ll be seeing her.”
The men in red turn a corner and I hurry to keep pace. We enter a new hallway that I have never been down and the silence feels heavy to me, which is even scarier. At the end of the hallway is a simple door, white just like every wall and door in the building. The two men lead me to the door and when we approach it they push it open and usher me in. Inside is a round room filled with other people of different ages, all of them looking as plain as me, crowded together in the small space. The door closes behind me and I am pressed against an older boy, who puts his arm around my shoulder.
Set in one wall is a large glass window above our heads and through it I can see men standing inside, all of them dressed in red. One of the men that brought me in walks to the man in the very center of the row and talks to him. The man in the center nods and turns to look at us through the glass.
“You are all here because the day has come that we will rid this place of all of you Plains that are fouling up our perfect planet,” the man says in a loud voice. “In a few moments we will be done with you and our world will be that much closer to being purified.”
The man toggles a switch on the table in front of him and then he and the other men in red all sit in chairs. The boy with his arm around me pulls me closer. My eyes look at the row of men in red clothes and suddenly settle on one of the men that had escorted me here. He is staring at me as well with his face set, a face that holds something familiar.
“Good-bye, my daughter,” the man mouths silently. Surprise and dread fill me and I pull my gaze away from the father who brought me to this fatal end. Tears in my eyes, I hug the boy with his arm around me and bury my face in his shirt.
A faint hissing from below reaches my ears and suddenly a strange smell burns the inside of my nose. Screams begin to fill the room as everyone breathes in the foul odor. My eyes water in pain as the air burns my throat and lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The boy drops to his knees and pulls me closer to him as he gasps for breath. I can’t help it; I begin to scream in agony. I feel as if I’m drowning. Every time I try to draw breath it burns in my chest and I choke before the air makes my head hurt less.
The boy’s grip loosens and he falls away from me. His eyes are shot red and blood flows from his mouth. The boy slumps to the ground where he begins twitching among the dozens of other people writhing on the floor.
Screaming becomes too painful on my throat, forcing me into silence. I can feel the blood, sticky in my throat and dripping from my mouth and nose. My eyes burn so bad that I can’t blink. Slowly I collapse on top of to the boy, who has finally stilled. As twitching begins to take my body I grab the still warm hand of the boy. The boy who had protected me even though I was not perfect; the boy who had guarded me without judgement; the boy who had comforted me when my own father had led me to my death.
My thinking is becoming fuzzy and I can’t make sense of anything besides the pain that sings through my body. The hand around mine is warm and comforting. I can no longer breathe. My eyes can see only dark and the only things I can make sense of are the pain and the hand. Sounds are going away until I can hear nothing but the slowly fading beat of my heart. I give the hand one last squeeze of thanks and allow the darkness to wash me away.
A pale white light appears in front of me, blinding my eyes after the shadows. I feel a tugging on my hand and notice that it’s clasped inside of another person’s hand. My eyes get used to the light and I can open them. I am standing on the edge of a field of rolling white among a crowd of people looking as confused as I am. Far ahead a golden gate stands open and the people around me are headed towards it.
I look to my side and see the boy, the one who had held me, is holding my hand in his and looking very happy.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Free,” the boy answers in a vague voice, still staring ahead to the gates.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For holding me.” The boy looks down at me and smiles. He lifts me onto his hip.
“Thank you for staying with me,” the boy says. He kisses my forehead and then begins walking towards the gates. As we move with the crowd I see many of the plain faces that had surrounded me in that round room, but the light from the gates makes them all seem beautiful. The boy’s face is also lit brightly and he looks even more beautiful than the men in red back at the white building. I distractedly wonder if the light has finally made me beautiful too, but I am too shy to ask.
When we reach the gate I grip the boy’s shirt in sudden fear. The boy stops and looks at me curiously.
“Are we allowed to go in there?” I ask in worry. “Am I too plain?”
A man standing beside the gate’s entrance answers kindly, “No, dear Rebecca, you are beautiful. None are too plain to enter this place.”
“Rebecca, is that my name?” I ask excitedly. The man nods. “It’s beautiful.” I turn to the boy holding me. “What is your name?”
The boy glances at the man near the gate, who answers, “Anthony.”
“That’s beautiful, too,” I gasp. The man laughs. “What is your name then?”
“I go by many names, but you can call me Father,” the man answers.
“Thank you, Father,” I say solemnly. I have never known a man as Father before. Joy fills me as I think about this kind man being my father.
“What do you think, Rebecca, should we go in?” Anthony asks me. I gaze forward into the white beyond, but this white seems so different than any white I have seen. This white seems warm and welcoming. Peace creeps over me and I turn to Anthony and nod.
“Will you come with us?” I ask Father.
“I cannot come now, I must see that my other children enter safely, but do not worry, I will join you soon enough,” Father promised. “Go now, my children, and enjoy your freedom.”
Anthony steps toward the gateway again. As he walks I look at him. “Anthony, if he’s your father, too, that makes you my brother.” Anthony laughs and kisses my forehead once more.
“And you are my beautiful sister, Rebecca,” Anthony says in reply. With this Anthony steps forward, through the beautiful golden gateway and into peace.
Into freedom.
Into happiness.
Into perfection.