Author's Note: I got my inspiration to write this piece from a little blurb on a baseball code of ethics sheet. It said the parent spectators shouldn't discriminate against players because of their ability. It got me thinking about what it would be like if we did show disdain towards people just because they weren't good at something. No, I'm not encouraging prejudice, but rather trying to tear it down.
Gregory Dolton was watching his son play a basketball game when They came for him. His son was everything he was not: athletic; intelligent; coordinated. A short and balding man, Gregory was like a cartoon character come to life. He was always committing petty acts of stupidity, but these actions never had consequences. That is, until recently. After a night of little sleep because of a lengthy fight with his wife, Dolton fell asleep while driving to work. The accident he caused severely injured a pedestrian, while severing a tendon in his own arm. With this injury, Gregory could no longer hold a pen, which was a vital part of his job as a pen salesman. Losing his job was the final straw, and even though he was not a smart man, Dolton was able to predict this visit from Them.
"Mr. Dolton," Number Seven said in an unemotional monotone. Part of his job of being one of Them was to lose all emotion. "We are here to inform you of the changes that were recently made to your Perfection Status. The Committee has decided that you are Imperfect"
"No . . . no. I can change. I mean, I mean . . . please give me more time. I can heal. I can change!" Dolton began to cry even as the words left his mouth. Hot tears streamed down his face as he tried to think of a way out of the destiny that had been chosen for him.
"Mr. Dolton," Number Eleven, the other man who was there, said in the exact tone of his associate. "The Committee has spoken. You are just too stupid and too uncoordinated to be a Perfect for any longer," Eleven continued allowing a hint of disdain to sneak into his voice. "You endanger the Perfection of our society and it will not be tolerated, not for one-"
Number Seven cut him short with a sharp gaze before any more emotion could find its way into his partner's voice. When you were one of Them, inability to control your emotions could get you demoted or even labeled as an Imperfect. Checking his watch, Seven started to worry. They only had a minute left before Dolton was expected in the car. If they were even a second late, they would be considered traitors and enemies of the Committee, even worse than Imperfects.
Reaching into his red bag, Seven barked orders at Dolton. "You will tell no one that we came. You will walk calmly towards a black car, license plate JG8-HKZ, parked outside the building. If you try to get help, we will know. If you try to escape, we will know. Here, take this ticket and don't lose it because we will know," Seven finished and handed Gregory the ticket he had taken out of his bag. It was all procedure: the ticket, the instructions, the car. Nothing ever changed.
At this point, Dolton had given up hope. He dejectedly took the ticket and trudged towards the car. His son would notice his absence after a while, but by then it would be too late. It was already too late. Gregory accepted that now, he accepted his Imperfection. Only a Perfect could be Perfect.
Just as Seven had said, there was a black car outside of the building. What neither of Them had mentioned was the make of the car. Dolton was to ride in a Hearse, because being Imperfect was as good as being dead.
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The ride was as bland as Their voices, but it allowed Dolton to think. Throughout the city, there were posters boasting slogans like:
Death to Imperfects, Long Live the Perfect Perfect, Never Question the Committee. Gregory had never really paid attention to these posters, but becoming the target of their hate had made him think.
What is so bad about being Imperfect? he asked himself. A life's worth of reasons to hate Imperfects came to him, but he fought against them.
Why can't we all just accept each other's flaws? For the first time, Dolton began to form his own opinion about the topic of Perfection.
.
When the car arrived at the Hall of the Committee, Dolton was shackled and led to a waiting room by more of Them. More Imperfects were there and by their pained sobs, he could infer that they had just been told of their status.
.
Grey was the only color in the entire room. It was on the walls, on the floor, on the chairs, even on the others. For a minute, panic filled Gregory's heart, but he was soon relieved to find his ticket in his pocket. Because he was last in line, he took a minute to study it to see if it yielded any clues as to where his final destination would be.
The ticket was a silky gold and it shimmered in the half-lit room. The rainbow Stamp of the Committee, a circle with a pyramid inside of it, glistened, perfectly centered on it. Other than that, there were no markings of any sort. Dolton was still transfixed with the Perfection of the ticket when he was summoned.
.
They were back, Number Seven and Number Eleven, because they were assigned to Dolton's case. He was to be escorted by Them to the Perfect Perfect as every Imperfect was. Then he would be whisked away, someone else's problem, soon to be forgotten. The walk was short, down a narrow hall and they were soon confronted with a room, one that belonged to the Perfect Perfect. The door of the Perfect Perfect's Chamber was cold and intimidating, without a touch of life. Gregory felt a shudder go down his spine as he entered.
.
The Perfect Perfect sat behind a wooden desk in a room that was entirely wood. His every feature was Perfect, not a hair out of place, not a blemish on his face. He motioned to a chair in front of the desk, inviting Gregory to sit down. Dolton accepted, fearing the worst if he were to oppose this man's smallest order. With a brief clearing of his throat, the Perfect Perfect began to speak.
.
"I have brought you here today to explain the meaning of Perfection and to clarify the confusion you feel now. You see, I was once a smaller version of me. I was the best in my class, best on my sports teams, and I hated the others who weren't as skilled as I. Over a very many of years, I was able to form a small political party of people like me. We had little power at first, but we grew daily as people began to see as we did. Our motto, The best is only possible with the best, began to ring true in the hearts of millions. Very quickly after our creation, we rose to power. The basis of our beliefs though, I now see is a sham.
.
"There is no such thing as Perfection. Soon after I took power, I began to see Imperfection in even myself. I could not give up my power though, because being in charge is a drug to which I am addicted. To keep control of the population, I still had to believe full-heartedly in Perfection and the ways of my government. Because I believe Perfection is possible, and since every man, woman and child views the world through my perspective, my way of thinking is embraced.
.
"I now come to the topic of your Imperfection. In order for my type of society to work, I must play off of fear. Without fear for oneself, humans can hardly be motivated. Their natural laziness prevents anything of substance to happen. Fear acts as a motivator, encouraging work instead of sloth. In this case, I use fear to motivate Perfection instead of Imperfection. How I frighten my citizens is quite simple: Dispose of the Imperfects.
.
"Your Disposal is the end of the line for you. You may appreciate that I decided long ago it was too much work to simply kill Imperfects. Fear of the unknown is also much worse than the fear of death, because there are things to be scared of that are worse than death. That ticket you hold in your hand there is your ticket to a humane Disposal. Instead of being killed, which by the way will be your fate if you manage to lose it, the ticket grants you a one-way trip to the moon. Long ago, colonization of the moon was only a dream, but I have accomplished it. Of course, it had to be done in secret, for if the population knew the Imperfects were hidden on the moon, it would have to be blown up due to the immense disdain felt towards Imperfection. This is all I have to say, so I believe our time together is up."
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Six nameless, faceless figures slowly walked through a hallway towards a giant steel creation of technology. In history, these people would be heralded and called heroes, risking life and limb to explore the final frontier. This slow, majestic walk towards their spaceship would be a grand celebration. Now, that celebration had been turned into a death sentence with the only sounds being the scrape of shackles on the ground. Each man wore an identical expression, one of absolute hopelessness. They were all thinking of the life they left behind, and the life they were about to begin on the dark side of the moon.
