A Mask Made of Lilies

Red. The roses outside the city were such a deep red it seemed as if they had been dyed with the blood of the thousands who had been slaughtered here. Red. The color of the past. White. The lilies inside the city limits were a pure white, as if everything they had ever felt, done, or seen had been wiped from their pretty little faces. Made to believe they were perfect only if they never let anything show. If they looked exactly like their neighbor, blank. White. The color of the present. Black. The pure black New York Night hellebores that crept unbidden across the roofs of the houses in the square so when you looked up all you could see was an ink blackness. A flower that used to stand tall, now forced to crawl. Black. The color of the future.

Red. The color of the past. To remind us that the past was a horrible and bloody time. To remind us to move past it. White. The color of the present. To remind us that the present is perfect, and we can be too if we do our part. Black. The color of the future. To remind us that the future isn't real, and we can keep the white of the present. The flag flies over the Manor every day. Red, white, black. I walk past it every day and try to imagine the colors symbolizing what we are told they symbolize instead of the flowers I remember them as. Roses. Lilies. Hellebores. The flowers that the Manor tells us to get rid of, and yet no one ever seems to be able to fight them off. Today is Marking Day. I have to be the lily today. A perfect face with nothing stirring behind it. I cannot be the mix of roses and hellebores that the bouquet of my mind is usually made up of. Marking Day is never kind to the roses or hellebores.

Even today I walk past the flag, but today I stop after passing it. I take my place among the lilies. The anthem plays. The Manor Doors open. Two flowers come out. Rhododendron and Azalea. They live in the manor, though neither are very high up in it's hierarchy. They seemed to be paid high wages for working one day a year. They live in the utmost luxury. Azalea holds a tray with three bowls of paint. Rhododendron holds a list of all the lilies lined up for this Marking Day. Their names and their fate. They come to the first lily waiting patiently. The one holding the list reaches into the white bowl of paint and takes a little to spread on the lily's forehead. The lily breathes a sigh of relief. A lily indeed. The same thing happens to the next 10 people. They pause at a lily near the end of the first row. Rhododendron reaches into the bowl full of red paint. Not a lily. A rose. They mark the rose's forehead slowly. "No!" a cry comes from a few rows back.

The whole bouquet of lilies turns to see a rose among them. Holding their hand to their mouth. It's too late of course. This rose has managed to spill red dye all over their once pure white clothes. The love this rose showed for another has marked it as the same. Rhododendron takes a little paint from the red bowl and walks purposefully through the lines of lilies to stand in front of the rose. They mark the rose's forehead and walk back to where Azalea is standing. They continue their marking. Soon the poisonous flowers come to where I am standing in line. I hold my breath. Will I be marked a rose, hellebore, or lily? I look back on the things this year has brought me. I do not believe I have made any noticeable mistakes, still I don't exhale until Rhododendron reaches into the white bowl and marks me a lily. The two flowers move away to stand in front of the lily to my right. Rhododendron checks the list. Time seems to slow as she checks her list, and reaches into the black bowl. This hellebore in disguise has now been stripped of their deceiving mask. I have to fight the urge to let out a gasp. Hellebores are rare and powerful. They are the flower the Manor fears the most. I move a little farther away from the one I have found standing next to me. The hellebore beside me lifts their head to meet the stares of the lilies. They are a proud flower. They do not bow their head in shame like the roses before them did. The Marking continues as it has.

The Marking reveals nine roses and three hellebores in all, as well as one orchid. The orchids are simply lilies that can't cope with the life they have been given. They are the ones that faint when it is their turn to be marked. The rest of the bouquet turn out to be the lilies their faces say that they are. The roses, hellebores, and orchid walk slowly to the front of the bouquet and turn to look at the blank faces of the lilies they failed to imitate effectively. The lilies move to account for the blank spaces that once were filled with a flower. An unknown flower comes from the manor and takes the orchid away. No one knows what becomes of them. They are never seen again. Azalea leads the hellebores away from the roses, with Rhododendron following behind.

The world shakes with a noise louder than anything else. No, nine noises. Nine shots that take the roses straight through the heart from a rooftop no one can see for it is so wreathed in black flowers. Sometimes I imagine the roses' hearts are the only ones that work correctly. But those are not the thoughts of a lily, so they must be dismissed. The roses white clothing is stained with pure red blood, the same color that condemned every one of them. Red. All nine fall. Dead. Marking Day never was kind to roses.

Now Azalea leads the hellebores up to the makeshift platform by the Manor. She carefully ties them to the poles sticking out of the piles of wood. Three flaming arrows rain down from above to light the stack of wood at the hellebores feet. Their screams split the air as they are burned to death. I watch as they slowly turn to ashes the same color as the flowers they are named after. Black. Marking Day never was kind to hellebores.

Governor Oleander walks out of the Manor. They walk slowly across the platform, their footsteps echoing through the square. They stop at the end of it and survey the group of lilies gathered so neatly. The governor says "_ _ _ _ _ _(lilies) of my beautiful world. Congratulations. The weeds have now been pulled out from among you, and you are now ready to join the rest of the world among the jobs that have been picked out for you. Please report for duty at 16:93. We look forward to seeing you being successful in your new lives. Thank you." They walked away. We were dismissed.

I slowly left the square. Turning away the red and black that stood out so brightly on the white squares at the foot of the Manor. I couldn't help but feel revealed. My lily mask had covered the roses and hellebores in my mind effectively. The roses and hellebores I left behind were not so lucky. Red, White, Black. Marking day never was kind to roses and hellebores.