The Color of Despair

"We are more than this!" Casey's voice echoed around the empty room. "Thana, we can have a life! We don't have to live pushed down - rejected simply because of cultural perception!"

I stared at the crown someone had scrawled on the wall, a symbol of rejection. Our symbol. The spray paint glittered silver in the late evening light, standing out against the dirty walls.

I pointed to it. "It's silver, Casey. Gray. The color of despair. Lifelessness. Death." My hand dropped to my side, fingers clenched. "We aren't rejected because the culture simply tells people to reject us. They reject us because we need rejecting!"

"No!" Casey exclaimed. "I refuse to believe that we are worse than everyone else!"

"But we are." My voice was quiet.

I stepped towards the broken windows, the glass that littered the floor. "They might shame us, but they are also terrified of us. How many times have we beaten up one of them? How many people have died because of your group trying to gain our freedom? This was once a family's home. We've destroyed it; scattered the family. Turned a peaceful neighborhood into an empty shell."

Casey spun away, anger standing out clearly in her dark eyes, her black hair spinning in the air behind her. "They made us do this." Her voice shook with anger. "They are the bad ones, Thana. Never suggest otherwise." She started toward the door. "The crowning is tomorrow. You can either live the rest of your life obeying their tyrannical rule, or hide and live a free life." She stormed out of the room.

I curled up in a corner on the thin blanket I used as a mattress and brushed my dull black hair out of my face. I might spend the rest of my life alone and shunned, but I deserved it. We deserved it. How could we demand to be treated equally when we destroyed homes, splitting families in two, making children quake in their beds with terror? Darkness slowly fell outside, but I remained awake, staring into the emptiness of the abandoned room.

*    *    *

The sound of quiet footsteps sounded in the empty building, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat, my body going tense. Who could it be? Casey wouldn't sneak around like that, and the other Rejects never came near me. The person stepped into the abandoned room, and in the darkness, I saw the silhouette of a man. 

"What do you want?" I pressed up against the wall, my fingers clutching at the knives wrapped around my middle. The cold silver of the blades should have comforted me, but instead, it drilled a hole deeper into my heart. This was who we were. Outcasts. Rejects. Gangsters. Killers. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." The man raised his hands, his polished accent giving away the fact that he was one of the posh upper-class. The knife trembled in my grip. "What do you want? Why are you here?" My voice was cold and angry. I couldn't let him see my confusion and fear. I couldn't give him that advantage. He bent down, putting something on the ground. "We want to help." The man turned and left.

I sat staring at the bundle the man had left on the ground as my heart pounded in my chest. Was it a bomb? Something poisoned? A tracker? Or had he been telling the truth? I slowly crawled off my blanket and started to inch towards the bundle as if it would explode at any minute. 

It probably would explode at any minute. Casey would laugh her head off if she had seen me like that, but I didn't care. All I wanted to know was whether that bundle would kill me or not. I crouched down by it and saw a small tin on the ground. Taking a deep breath, I yanked off the lid and jerked backward as if it might bite me. The metal lid clattered to the ground, making me stumble back a step. I stared at the tin. 

Nothing jumped out, no smoke drifted into the air. Gingerly, I peeked in. The can held a small packet of sweets, a pair of gloves, a bar of soap, and a sewing kit. I stared at it. Why would he - or they, whoever the others where - give me things? Why would...? At the bottom of the can was a small piece of paper, and I picked it up, scanning the posh writing. It took me a while, but I managed to read it. We want to help you. Who you were born to doesn't determine who you become. The paper drifted to the ground, falling into a small patch of moonlight. I stared at the words, tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. I knew what I was going to do.

The next morning, as the soft sunlight lit the broken-down neighborhood, I slipped out of the building, stepping into the empty street. The rest of the rejects had vanished, hiding as they waited out the end of the day. Casey's words drifted back to me. I had two choices. I could hide when the government officials came, and live in freedom, or I come out to them, and let them crown me. Let them label me forever as an outcast, a reject. If I hid, I would be free from the government's heavy hand, but forever running away from them, stuck with the other Rejects. Or I could step out, and let them find me. I could become a slave to them, scorned and rejected. But I would be truly free. I took a deep breath. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life in hiding.

As the sharp slap of the officer's boots came closer, I kept my ground, standing in the middle of the empty street. My ripped and tattered dress floated around me; the faded blue so worn it was almost gray. But I had taken care to make sure my black hair was clean, and that the limp material had no stains on it. The officers marched around the corner, and for a second, I saw surprise and fear flash over their faces when they saw me. They weren't expecting a Reject to stand waiting for them. And they probably expected me to hurl a bomb or some other form of mass destruction at them. But I wouldn't. 

 Hands grabbed my arms as a dull metal crown was slammed on my head, and locked in place. The gray metal was dull and lifeless: the color of despair. I straightened up, holding my crowned head high. Gray might be the color of despair, a crown might be the symbol of shame, but I would show the world that symbols - that family - that cultural perception didn't make a person. I would show the world that gray could also be the color of hope. And that a crown could be a symbol of honor.