A boy of seven trudges down a dark hallway. He knows what is going to happen when he opens that door, and he is frightened. He’s scared because he knows it will forever alter who he is. Who he will become. What he will be.
In a small country off the coast of India, a recent collapse of government and economy caused the system to be redesigned. Their election process had failed them. Nobody running was intelligent, or kindhearted, and so the country had fallen to ruins. So the educators responsible for the children, who would eventually lead their country, came up with a solution.
A single test was meant to measure your creativity, intelligence, and kindness. It sorted you into a group. A label you would wear for the rest of your life. Who you would be, what your opportunities were, how much you could receive for income, what resources you had access to. It determined everything for you. You took the test at seven years old, then again at 14, to make sure nothing went undetected. The seven years in between were “neutral,” which just meant you went to the same school no matter what your results were. But lower groups were prejudged because of their scores. It was hard to overcome that.
This little boy knew he was different. In preschool, he had learned everything they taught him easily, while others struggled. When he was three, he could fluently read, and when he was four, he could comprehend the more adult material with ease. He knew he was special. But he also knew the system was unfair, designed out of fear.
He thought of the groups there were, and how skewed they were. The highest was Aquati, represented by an aqua ribbon. These people scored in the superior range in all areas. They got everything. All resources, all educations, all oppurtunities were available to them. This was in sharp contrast to the lowest group, Escelti. Represented by a gray ribbon, these people faced a sad life of assimilation into a populous, to the point where all individuality was lost. Same clothes, same haircut, with little distinguishment between boys and girls. Everyone got very little in the way of resources, with just over the bare minimum for survival. There was no economy, only what was issued. To go there was to lose yourself to the mob.
There were many different levels, so many it took a while for the young boy to go through them all. Pink, purple, green, brown, red, blue, yellow, orange, black, white, gold, silver, tan, and red-violet. All had different degrees of economy, individuality, and oppurtunity. The people in the top levels thrived, but the people at the bottom barely lived. It was unfair. But this was what the council had declared. Until met with opposition, it would continue in this way.
As the little boy found the courage to open the door, he stepped towards one of the desks. They placed a thick packet of paper in front of him, so thick that a special staple had to be used to hold it together. The test took days. You would work on it steadily for four hours, with a half hour lunch break, then five more hours until dinner. It was exhausting, and everyone was asleep quickly after dinner. But the next day was just as hard. And the next. And the next. The little boy was the first to finish, and it took him ten days to complete it all. It was just in time for dinner, so, in order to avoid the teasing from his peers, he hung at the back of the line and handed it in. The teacher nodded, then began to grade it as he left.
Dinner was quiet, as usual. Everyone was too exhausted to even talk, so all that you could hear was the scraping of spoons as everyone finished their stew. Some kids looked like they hadn’t been able to sleep last night. The pressure to finish got greater and greater each day, as the longest you could stay at the test center was a month. Anything you didn’t finish was marked wrong, which drastically skewed your scores. It was very stressful. The little boy was glad to go back to his room.
For the remaining test days, the boy sat down with his test, going through the packet and looking at what the teacher had graded so far. His scores would be through the roof, he just knew it. But it was hard to look at the other students, who struggled to finish the last few questions before tomorrow. Tomorrow was grading day. Tomorrow, their futures would be set.
It was customary that anyone who got into the highest group was immediately sent off to their area, the Aquati area, and did not retake the test at fourteen. This usually wasn’t an issue, since nobody had ever gotten in at their first attempt. But, when the envelopes were distributed amongst the students, with their ribbons to sew onto their hats, the little boy was pulled aside. The teacher took him to her desk.
She rummaged through her drawers until she found a small box. Inside that box was an old envelope. Unlike the creamy white of the other envelopes that the remaining students had received, this one was cracked and yellowed with age. She slowly withdrew the envelope. As she carefully placed it into his outstretched hands, she smiled.
“I knew you were special from the moment I saw you walk in. You scored one hundred percent on that test, which has never happened before. It would have been impossible for you to cheat, since nobody else got some of these questions right. Do me a favor, and change the world someday.” He slowly opened the envelope to see the bright aqua ribbon. As he sewed it onto his hat, a tear fell on his hand. It was not his own. “Why are you crying, Teacher? Are you alright?”
She smoothed her hair. Another tear slid quietly down her weathered cheek. “Most of this classroom got gray ribbons. It kills me to know that their very being will be stripped from them, that they will be absorbed into a mob that neither wants nor cares for them. Those people are literally brainwashed. They have nothing, child, absolutely nothing. They are like scraps of paper in the wind, brushed aside by the council until they believe they are nothing. I wish… I wish it wasn’t so.”
As the boy looked up at his teacher, he uttered the words that would change everything. “Then it won’t be. I’ll do my best to fix it.” His teacher, overwhelmed, gave him a long hug. As she did, a plan slowly formed in his mind. It would, if it worked, change their history forever. But if it failed, he would become one of the brainwashed. He would become nothing.
Rifling through his suitcase, the boy found his sister’s gray nylon stockings. They had accidentally gotten packed with his things, and now he had a purpose for them. Right at the knee, he slowly and methodically cut a rectangle the exact size of a result ribbon. He repeated this three times, until the layers were no longer translucent. He carefully placed them on top of his aqua ribbon, keeping them down with only the loosest of threads. If he tugged it, it came off. Perfect.
The next day, all the kids with gray ribbons were herded into a small classroom. They were crammed two to a seat, until the room was overflowing. As the boy looked around, he saw small, perfect holes in the ceiling, cleverly hidden with paint. His heart skipped a beat. The teacher knocked three times on the door, and the boy heard a faint click in reply. They were locked in.
The teacher stepped up to the podium. He was a burly man, with muscles bulging everywhere, until they looked as if they would pop out of his skin. He turned to the board, taking out a little projector remote, pressing a blue button until an image of a little girl flickered to life. The little girl wore a gray sweater and a gray skirt, with gray stockings and gray shoes. Her hair was tied back with gray hair ribbons. She walked down a narrow sidewalk until she met a little boy, dressed in a gray sweater, gray slacks, gray socks, and gray shoes. They both smiled as they walked to a school.
Everyone in that school was also smiling. There was something… off about them, something the boy couldn’t quite place. But the school, as well as the students, looked so cheerful. Then the video ended. The burly man stepped up to a podium. He cleared his throat. “There have been some small changes. You will be going to a special school with only gray students. That was one of the schools. Didn’t they all look happy?”
The children, crammed into the tiny seats, slowly nodded. The burly man smiled. “That’s because they followed the rules. They acted as one happy family, where everyone is the same, so they were happy. It is bad to be different. Repeat after me.” All the students stood up, with sighs of relief heard all around the room. “Good. Let’s begin.” Everyone put their left hand up, as if to pledge.
“It is bad to be different.”
The students all repeated it. Something was spilling out of the holes. The boy saw it. He felt shaken.
“As long as I am the same, I will be happy.”
The stuff spilling out of the holes was a sort of gas. It sank, until it surrounded the students. Discreetly, the boy pulled his collar over his nose.
“Being different will make me sad.”
The rest of the students’ eyes began to glaze over. The gas kept pouring out of the holes.
“Being different will bring me pain.”
Vacant, happy smiles began to spread over the students’ faces. Their eyelids began to close.
“Being the same as everyone else will make me happy.”
Everyone’s voices began to slur. Their eyelids fluttered, and some began to lose their balance.
“I will be glad to be the same.”
The slurs became more pronounced. A couple felt their legs give out under them, the happy smiles spread across their faces. They were still awake.
“I am nothing. My personality is nothing. I am only the same as everyone, nothing more.”
More students fell down. The boy could not help but get some gas into his lungs. He suddenly felt dizzy. Everything the man was saying began to make sense.
“To have personality will bring me enourmous pain.”
The boy found he could not help but repeat the words. To try not to say them made him more tired. As soon as the words left his mouth, a slow smile spread across his face. The gas finally stopped pouring out of the holes.
“To be different is horrible. To be the same is all I live for.”
As the words left his lips, the boy’s vision clouded. His legs felt weak. But a sharp laugh brought him back. The gas was leaving. Everyone else was in their chairs, vacant smiles still on their faces. He stood up. He began to breathe. Courage rushed to him. The teacher raised an eyebrow.
The boy spoke. His words were clear and crisp. “No.”
The teacher stood up. “Excuse me?”
The boy said it again. “No! Why should we be the same? A community can only thrive when individuality is there! Sameness will bring no progress, no life, and certainly no freedom!”
The teacher knotted his brows. The other students began to wake from their spell. The boy continued, stronger this time.
“This is wrong! You shouldn’t brainwash innocent children! And you especially shouldn’t brainwash them because of a number on a page! You are stealing their lives. Look at them! Does this sameness seem good now?” As he spoke, all the students had an equal, angry look on their face. Comments raised from all over the room.
“Yeah, you thought you got away with this!”
“I almost believed you!”
“My life should be mine!”
The teacher stood up. “You foul kid. You got a low score, too! All of you did! You wouldn’t thrive in any society! Especially you, young man! Your score was lowest of all! Your teacher told me!”
The boy began to see red. “Liar! I’ll prove it to you!” And so saying, he tugged at the nylon on his hat. It came off easily, showing the aqua ribbon underneath. It was like someone had sucked all the sound from the room. You could have heard dust fall from the fan above their heads. Then the teacher stood up.
“Why are you here? You should be in gifted classes.”
The boy tore the hat off his head. “What class is better than this? All those other classes would have told me nothing about the horrors here. I knew something was up. All those older kids were clearly brainwashed. They hate their gray ribbon going in, but they love it coming out. It was all too obvious. And now I have proof.”
The teacher began to laugh again. Thinking himself clever, he shot back. “What proof? My word is stronger than yours.”
Then the boy held up his camcorder, which he had concealed inside his hat. “Gee, I’m pretty sure video evidence is a bit stronger than your word. Sure hope no other students see this, or you could have a revolution on your hands. See, the great thing about this camcorder is that it can broadcast to any projector, anywhere, with just a click of this green button right… here!” The teacher jumped back. He was frightened.
“Please don’t. I’ll get fired.”
Instead of answering, the boy bolted to the desk. He snatched up the intercom. “Attention, students! What you’re about to see is real footage, just taken, of what happens in the gray classrooms! Pay close attention to the effects on the students as the gas is released! Thank you!” The teacher, now really scared for his job, attempted to snatch the camcorder out of the boy’s hands. He was too late. The projector flickered to life. Every moment was captured perfectly, until the teacher knew that his job was lost like his control over his classroom.
The gray kids began to burst out of the classrooms, as did everyone else. It was a revolt like nobody had ever seen. The reexposure of corrupt government caused people to lose faith in their council. The council was replaced with children, gray children, who had experienced what a corrupt government could do. And, of course, the little boy was with them, governing with them, every step of the way.