Civil Colors

Sam sat with his legs crossed, one foot dangling off the bench, his heel thudding against the wall behind him in a percussive dull boom, the origin of which no one in the room could seem to pinpoint. His shirt was blue, covered suddenly by the crossing of his arms, locked tight now across his chest as he ducked his head in disdain.

Next to him sat Sarah, his elder sister by a year. She wore a red shirt and in seeing her brother’s slumping posture, sat erect to further display it and what it represented. The few others in the small waiting area were much older, their shirts matched hers. One old woman had given Sarah a knowing smile and nod as she had sat down earlier.

"We have to choose, Sam," she said flatly.

The thudding stopped, evident in the relief on the faces of the two women working behind the sliding glass window, but Sam sat indignant now with a scowl on his face. 

"I'm not going to budge," he replied. "Mom is more like me, she's a textbook Blue. I'm sorry."

"No you're not Sammy, and you don't know mom as well as you think you do, she would choose Red."

Sammy uncrossed his legs, turned his whole body toward her and leaned forward to strike, but the doctor appeared in the swinging doors near them.

He was tall and slender, with dark skin and brown eyes that seemed weighted with anxiety. He offered no smile, only a sigh.

“Do we have a decision yet?"

The siblings had stirred in their seats at the appearance of the physician, but settled back into them now at this solemn question. 

"No," Sarah answered quietly.

The Doctor sighed and massaged his temples. 
"Let me remind you two again," he started. “Your mother still can’t speak. So, we need you to choose her Civil Color or we can't do the surgery. You have an hour."

Sam and his sister nodded and the physician left back through the doors, shaking his head as he pushed them open. He had no idea how this poor woman had even been admitted without a Color. He suddenly began to recall his time in college, the pre-med days when the country was still unified. He ducked his chin to his chest, and observed the blue shirt peeking through his white lab coat. 

"Damn Colors," he said, still shaking his head.

Back in the waiting room, the two siblings, nineteen and twenty years old, were still arguing their way from issue to issue. After half and hour the elderly woman, apparently noting their mutual inexperience, came over and sat near them, offering her opinions on the issues.
A few hours later, the debate had spread through the enitre intake area of the hospital. Word had spread that a woman had been admitted with no Civil Color and her young children were deciding for her. Hoards of people eventually gathered, shouting and re-shouting their beliefs over the next.

Smart Phones had been replaced by Smart Glasses and those had been replaced with Smart Lenses, so everyone in the room could access the internet through their brains. This made civil debates impossible.

"Blues are compassionate," one voice would yell.
 "Reds care too," another would reply.
"It's called a Polacratic Democracy," someone shouted from the back, "It's what's keeping us from war!"
"So you think," someone else chimed in.
The debate raged on for another hour.        

The doctor had made his way back into the room, awestruck by the crowds of people and their fever pitch debate. He began to cry. 

He put his hands on his hips, rubbed the corners of his eyes then began sobbing. Someone noticed him and stopped yelling. Another person saw him too and shut their mouth. And as more and more of the polarized patrons of the waiting room began to witness the attending physician weep, it fell silent. Everyone looked at the Doctor. Sam and Sarah stood.

"She passed away," the Doctor whispered. "I hope you're all happy."

Silence. 
Then, someone pointed out the Doctor's blue shirt and the reds began to blame him, the blues began to defend him and the arguments resumed. And so did the swinging of someone's heel against the bench as the percussive dull booms returned, this time unnoticed. 

Reviews

[C. Rose]

An engaging voice, a realistic relationship between siblings, good "bookends" of repeating the dull booms.

My suspension of disbelief came at the doctor's dialogue. Doctors aren't so poetical - and they typically do not give such strange explanations to the patient's children. And then the "she's going to die" line was a stark callous contrast of his previous lines.

Overall great, - but perhaps the doctor's lines could be altered or given to a different character.

[Wesley D. Stein]

Thanks so much for the review! I really appreciate this type of feedback as i tend to misread how the prose plays to someone without the author's full vision of the world in which the story is set.

The doctor speaks poetically for the same reason everyone wears either a red or blue color with an 'r' or 'd'. In the distopian future of a polarized America, doctors may be more artistic or poetic because of the black & white contrast that society has become.

What you helped me see, is perhaps that concept got lost somewhere and I overlooked how it may unfold during such a short piece. Great idea about reassigning the lines from the Doctor, but maybe I could just build a little more realness into the distopia idea?

Thanks again

[Mathew Nicolson]

You've established an interesting relationship between the siblings. I don't have any so I don't know how realistic it would be to argue at such a stressful time, but it's a fascinating reaction. And I have to say, that's one spaced out doctor!

[Samuel Dickens]

I had to read the last half a couple of times before I could understand it. I was looking for a literal, clinical explanation from the doctor and didn't immdediately put all the pieces together. Maybe I need another cup of coffee. One other thing--when Sarah spins her head and puts a welt on her brother, it's not clear what it was that hit him, although the logical thing would be her hair. On the message--it seems that "united we stand" isn't doing so well.