COLORBLIND

Loss is a painful thing; one that can spur a man to a variety of terrible actions if only to effect even the slightest bit of change. When a man always loses and everything foreseeable shows he can only lose, that man’s perspective on what is or isn’t moral begins to change. He becomes hopeless, detached, and potent. Desperation is dangerous.

I swiveled around a corner, continuing down a starch-white hallway, and steered myself out of the way from groups of well-dressed politicians.

“The President hires and fires all these politicians. And if they can’t do their job, I sure as hell don’t have any confidence the President can perform his.” I thought to myself bitterly, glaring back at them after they’d passed me.

I still remember watching as life drained from my wife’s eyes, the same way her blood drained from her chest wound. I couldn't stop the violent protestors rioting outside our home that fateful evening, or dispatch riot police, or request support from the National Guard to squelch the violence, but my city politicians could and they refused to. Instead, they let it go unchecked, effectively responsible for the bullet lodged in my wife's heart.

I didn’t support any of the new propositions for free food distribution and welfare for all that our President had proposed, but the effects of his bills were in full swing. The following armed and violent riots that rose to protest against his welfare went unhindered by our supposed representatives.

I couldn’t rescind the neutral response order that prohibited police from reaching me and my wife in the protestor’s zone, sealing my wife’s gruesome fate on the curbside of our home. None of what happened to my wife was deserved and all of it was those politicians’ fault.

Reaching the end of the hallway, I exited the white hallway into a grey stadium. The din of cheering imbeciles vibrated my skull as I paused to take in the new surroundings. I adjusted the strap of my heavy satchel into a comfortable position on my shoulder.

It appeared the crowd was already working themselves up for the start of tonight’s activities. I scowled bitterly and slipped along a path between bleachers toward a bathroom sign. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I dialed and put the speaker to my ear.

Gerald, my sympathetic accomplice, answered quickly, “You make it into the stadium, Hector?”

“Mhm,” I nodded, keeping my eyes trained on my surroundings, “just wanted to let you know how far I’ve gotten. How’s that guest list?”

Gerald huffed on the other end, “So far, so good, from what I can see. No colorblind attendants will be there according to the Secret Service’s list. Your efforts to take care of that with my little virus worked like a charm. Every colorblind attendee is sick and prohibited from attending. Ain’t nobody gonna notice a thing till you do the deed, good buddy. You sure you’re ready to go through with this, Hector? This is the end of the line.”

“I’ve got nothing else to live for in this damn country. Don’t even own any personal property anymore.” I scowled, hardening my resolve, and brushed past a bunch of phone-glued thirteen-year-olds. “Where do they cut off phone signals?”

Gerald tapped on a keyboard, humming to himself, “Ahhhh, anywhere within a hundred-foot radius of the President.”

“Cool.” I reached the bathroom and pushed through the door leading into it. The space outside the stalls and urinals was crowded by attendees. I squished my way to an open stall and slipped the lock in place. “Alright, I’m gonna put on the suit.”

Gerald inhaled excitedly, “Make sure every piece of it is connected. Otherwise, you’ll light up like a Christmas tree and it won’t matter whether folks are colorblind or not. I found the gloves to have the most trouble. But as long as you make sure they’re connected, you’ll be fine.”

“Sounds good.” I set my phone on a metal ledge and plopped my satchel beside the toilet. I unzipped the bag and pulled out a flexible, translucent suit. I slid it over my torso. I pulled a pair of pants made from the same material up to my waist. The bottom part of the shirt and waist part of the pants clung together like magnets, sealing the suit into one piece. I put on shoe pieces, clasping them to the pants. I made sure to connect the gloves to the sleeves as Gerald had specified. Once fully dressed, I pulled the final piece of the suit out, the piece for my head, and held onto it with my right hand. I reached back into the satchel and slung on a large coat over myself to allow me to pass through the crowd without attracting unnecessary attention. I retrieved my phone and left the stall, abandoning my satchel. “Ok, moving into position now.” I exited the bathroom and shifted into the crowd.

“Great.” Gerald’s voice answered. “Everything’s clear on my end. Godspeed, my friend. I wish you success.”

I sighed, “Thanks for everything, Gerald.”

“Honored to serve with you, Hector.” Gerald hung up the phone.

I passed a trash can and casually dropped my cell phone into it. I continued beyond a train of food trucks into a large hall that darkened with lack of sunlight and lightbulbs. I steered myself to the darkest area of the hall and discarded my coat. I pulled the hood in my hand over my head, completely covering my face. I heard clicks as the collar of my shirt connected the hood to the suit. A brief hum followed as my suit powered up. After a few moments, the whirring ceased and simmered into a stable vibration. I stepped away from my wall and jogged deeper down the hall.

A loud female voice above the dimly lit hall echoed through the stadium, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome… the President of the United States!”

The audience beyond the walls of the hallway cheered with excitement, clapping vapidly as their icon approached the microphone to greet them.

I reached a door in the back of the stadium’s labyrinth. I twisted the door open and slipped through quietly. I shut the door and turned around right as a Secret Serviceman reached the hall and glanced through me.

He nodded and put a finger in his ear, “Back door secure,” and walked away.

I crouched and skulked closer toward the voice of the President as he delivered his speech. My eyes looked down at the ground, unable to see my body or feet due to my suit and noted the impressions my feet made making in the carpet. I grit my teeth and slinked up a concrete flight of stairs.

When I reached the end of the stairs, I came into full blast of the stadium’s many bright lights, all shining down on the President, his family, and security men. I stood only a few yards behind the President. No one reacted to my presence as I pulled out a spike embedded in my sleeve, made from the same material as my suit, into the open and slowly passed one of the Secret Servicemen. I passed by him successfully but froze, sensing that I was being watched. I prayed that it only be paranoia.

My head spun downward to see the littlest of the President’s daughters watching my feet. The girl looked up and smiled.

My blood ran cold. She should not be able to see me.

“Why are you wearing that goofy suit?” She giggled, rocking on her hands in her chair.

Gerald only had access to the audience and Secret Servicemen list for determining which colorblind people would be coming. He could never have known the President’s own colorblind daughter would be present at this speech. How could he have known? We never even checked the President’s family.

I felt my face go pale as I realized our mistake. The girl’s mother reached over and snapped at her daughter, “Hey, Marie, be quiet.”

Marie pouted and gestured at me, “But mom, I’m talking to the funny man.”

One of the Secret Servicemen stared intently at Marie and the first lady’s interaction. I gulped, knowing the carpet I stood on could give me away with the impressions my feet were making since I was standing still this long.

The first lady glanced where Marie gestured, seeing nothing, “Honey, you can play later, ok. Daddy needs you to listen right now.”

Marie sulked and clasped her hands in her lap, passing me a sorry expression, “Sorry, Mister. I can’t talk to you.”

I gulped and faced back toward the President, slightly raising the metal spike in my hand.

With a few more steps and a quick stab of this weapon, I could fix America—I would end this oppressive system of false Americanism. I could liberate my country from evil. I’ve come this far, I can’t stop now.

I looked back at Marie as she watched her father speak and pet the small dog by her side. She caught me staring at her and smiled with a wave.

Emotion constricted my throat and tears leaked from my eyes.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do to her what her father had done to me. It wasn’t right.

A spurt of motion caught my eye as a Serviceman pulled his pistol, “MR. PRESIDENT, GET DOWN!!” He screamed, firing in my direction.

With spontaneous resolve to complete my mission, I leapt for the President only to be knocked off the stage by handgun bullets ripping through my suit and body. I lurched backward, seeing the shock and surprise in the President’s eyes as he watched my blood burst from the air.

I landed on the floor in front of little Marie and her dog. She clung to her mother and stared at me with tears streaming down her face.

“Why would you do that? I thought we were friends.” She sobbed.

I inhaled to explain but the holes in my lungs prevented me. I exhaled for the last time as my vision blurred to black and life left my eyes.

At least I will see my wife again.

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