In 500... (or less)

For the Love of a Strawberry

There was no helping Braxton, he shouldn't have said it.

The men in uniforms were headed straight for him. We didn't look. You looked the first time, then you didn't anymore. 

"What's wrong with saying I really like strawberries?!" Braxton yelled to the men as they approached him. That's not what he said, of course. He would still have been sent away for conditioning if he had.

"'Really like'?" one of the men snorted. "You said they were your 'favorite'."

People scurried away from the scene, pretending to be engaged in something else. No one wanted to be a witness. 

"I can't enjoy a strawberry or two, now?" Braxton insisted on pleading his case. Strawberries were no better than any other food. That was the law. All things are equal. Everything.

He yelped as the men attempted to subdue him.

"I have a family! Don't do this!" Braxton pleaded. "Please!"

Against my better judgment, I stole a glance at the scene. I couldn't help myself, people rarely fought back anymore. Not like they used to. Only the older folks who remembered what things used to be like ever put up a fuss. 

The man tried to keep his grip on Braxton with one hand as he reached for the dart gun clipped to his belt. I knew I should look away. It had been so long since I had witnessed anyone get the tranquilizer. I had to watch.

"What are you doing?" Carissa tugged on my arm. "They'll see you."

I didn't say a word, tearing my arm loose from her grip.

"You can't go around taking extra strawberries!" said the man, pointing the dart gun at Braxton. "All of the fruit cups have to be equal."

There was a puff of air, then Braxton fell in a heap into the arms of the other man. His fruit cup spilled on the sidewalk. Each man took an arm and drug him away.

I turned from the scene with a slight smile of satisfaction on my face. Lunch break would soon be over and I had to get back to my desk. Two men in uniforms were quickly coming from the other direction. I wondered if the other men had asked for help with Braxton. Then one of them looked at me.

"What are you smiling at?" he said gruffly.

"Nothing," I replied, suddenly aware that my gawking had drawn attention to myself.

"You were smiling," the other man said, "watching that other man be taken away. Enjoy the show?"

I knew what I should say. I knew I should deny it. I should lie. I should tell him it was the first time I had the opportunity to see the dart gun in action and was just curious. That's not what came out of my mouth, though.

"Yeah," I said. "The dart guns. They're my favorite."

I offered my arms to the men to be led away. I knew the rules. You can't go around having favorites.