Policy

The light had removed all detail of the room.

Great, now light has gone mad as well, Zak thought to himself. Figures, the Emperor was selling his clothes to everyone. Might as well have light join the nonsense bandwagon.

He tried to bring his hands to the aid of his eyes, but they weren’t feeling very helpful seeing as they were caught up in a previous engagement of rope and numbness. Zak didn’t remember giving them permission to be tied together, but who was he to argue when he was on the losing end of this disagreement. He would, however, sacrifice one of his pinky’s just to be able to push his hair out of his eyes.

Outlines were starting to emerge from the light. Objects were revealing themselves to him. This was good. It prevented him from making up an ‘I Have A Dream’ speech to free his hands.

“Mr. Prescott, surely you see the error in your ways now.” The voice was heavy and crowded with gravel. “Take this opportunity to reflect on your position.”

Zak flipped his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes and attempt to focus on the figure making words, and he found himself once again defeated by the congealed blood holding his blonde hair firmly out of place.

“Could you turn the dark up please? You’re drowning in illumination.” Zak squinted and could see that tonight’s guest list included the Converters, Predicants and the Promoters.

They always came in three’s. One was never allowed on their own. It was an illusion of self-insurance of never going astray from the flock. One could have doubts. Two could convince themselves of a different interpretation. But three was the magically odd number that kept them even. The Predicant adjusted his tie while never moving his neck. The Promoter was busy helping his cuff links fall in line and the Converter adjusted the white handkerchief in his suit pocket to a perfect point aided by starch.

“The light always hurts the guilty’s eyes. It takes a bit to adjust your narrow views to the correct spectrum. Your body has grown so accustomed to tolerating darkness, it naturally rejects light.” The Predicant stepped back with a self-congratulatory grin following his enlightened words. It was also his retreating that gave Zak an opportunity to finally focus on him without narrowing his eyelids.

“I’m not guilty. I am merely not a sheep.” Zak knew before he finished his declaration that it would hurt.

The back of the Policy book did two things at once. First, as it was swung by the Promoter across Zak’s face, it traded his newly regained sight for his hearing as his ear seemed to have selflessly flung itself to take the grunt of the blow. Secondly, it made him sad that he was always right. It hurt like hell.

Battling gravity, with his balance being the prize, he looked up at the Trifecta and felt the excitement of a sudden gush of copper in his mouth. He was feeling generous so he tried to pass some of the wet crimson to the others with his mouth and a gust of wind. His poor attempt at spitting ended in a wet chin and an avant garde design on the floor.

The Promoter straightened Mr. Prescott back onto his feet. That old reliable pole; still there to steady him and keep his hands in place.

The Converter placed his gloved hand on Zak’s torn shirt, dead above his heart.

“Do you accept the Policy and all of its gifts freely given to you and accepted by the Majority?” The Converter eagerly raised his eyebrows and graced his face with an upside down frown in anticipation of Zak’s agreement.

“I have lived a fantastic life. One filled with sobering lows and climatic highs. I have fallen and righted myself. I have broken bones and mended hearts. I have done all this on my own without the obtrusive guide of the Policy and nods of approval from the Majority. Like you robotically stated earlier, the body rejects evil. Therefore, I have no capability of allowing the Policy or Majority in my life.”

Zak had straightened his posture and was now staring at the Trifecta with his head rising in triumph as the final punctuation to what he knew were his final words.

The Converter’s upside down frown reversed itself as he stepped back making room for the Promoter to bring the Hammer of Righting crashing into Zak Prescott’s skull, finally releasing his thoughts to scatter about the cold white floor, free at last.