The Red Scooter

A spark of red in a world of silver

The rigid day was bright and clear. Children danced gaily in the melting sun, catching the last few minutes before the playground showed its descent.

A sudden noise erupted from a metal box, sending the children into gleeful laughter.

“Termination in one minute,” the artificial voice came.

Parents moved in, hurrying their children from the hologramed set.

“But mummy, I want to stay on when it terminates” children whined, to which came the exhausted reply.

“It won’t work.”

“Termination in ten,” the countdown began. “Three, two, one.”

With a silent whoosh the playground fell into the earth, leaving nothing but the empty circle of its past.

“Curfew in one hour,” the voice of our guided lives sounded over the city, forcing out days into unwilling hands.

Parents were again hurrying their children, shooing them away from the vacant circle.

I waited till most had gone, disappearing into the coming night. Slowly I picked myself up, listening to the soft twang as I paced over the grass-covered metal.

One vehicle stood alone in the silver expanse of uniform care. A gossamer-red Vespa scooter. My gossamer-red scooter. Somehow the impossible had been done and the scooter was able to run through the streets. The risks I took forgotten in my joy for the thrill.

I unsecured the helmet from the back, catching my finger on the latch. A solid drop of silver blood fell, merging into the ground.

“How historic is that thing?!” A small squeak came behind me. The voice belonged to a small boy, covered in a mop of silver hair.

“Twenties,” I replied casually.

“Two thousand and twenty, epic!” Our short conversation ended abruptly on that note, as he ran to join his scolding mum.

I placed the helmet on my head, leaping onto the scooter and beginning to manoeuvre my way through the maze of streets.

Tall silver buildings loomed up around me, each one identical, inside and out. The streets were near barren, minimal cars zipping past me.

Although my slow speed was constant, the darkness was starting to slip in.

“Ten minutes to curfew,” the voice sounded.

Fear began to etch its way up my throat, my silver eyes glancing my surroundings.

“Curfew in place,” I was still slipping my way through the streets.

“C’mon,” I urged my scooter on.

But then, a raid of alarms behind me. My small mirrors showed the single car of Enforcement. The siren thundered into me, dancing my fear out onto the brakes.

The officer was burly, covered in his shining armour of uniform. I took my helmet off, resting it on my lap.

“Out after curfew and unregulated colour, that’s a big one missy,” the officers voice rose beside me.

I wasn’t sure what was worse; out after curfew or the denied colour that was once everything.

“I left in time, it’s just this blasted thing,” I kicked the side of my scooter, scuffing my shoe.

“You’ll have to come with me.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me from my complacent seat.

I followed without force, shame plaguing my face, fear the only existence.

As I placed myself in the car, I took one last reminisce of my downfall. My blood-red scooter, sitting different in the conformity.