The New Colour
By Zsolti V
Attribution-Non Commercial License 2012
Smashwords Edition
Special Thanks
Magdolna
Cam Baker
Deb
Aaron Kirkland
The New Colour
By Zsolti V
What do I think? What do you think?
-Cloe
The range of issues is as immeasurable as the mass of protestors clamoring to be heard outside The Fifth Global Summit in Liberty Square. Adorned with an exclamation of signs, costumes, and puppets, they filter through, gushing into the streets, and rumple, blow by blow, into the repetition of police batons. Some proclaim, some cite, some profess, many bloodletting and led away somewhere; others lay listlessly, arms behind them, pepper sprayed squinting faces, held to the ground by blue knees and black boots.
From the news helicopter: the spectacle of swarms seem to flow as if under water in a fish bowl as huddles and ruffles of color spin into and against the copy and pasted molds of battle helmets. What are they protesting?
From the police helicopter: the spotlight highlights the various spacing and kettling techniques that contain the potential rioters. The finite walls of ordinary official blue paramilitary armor box the suspicious fiesta before their inevitable lawlessness. Ok, you've had your say now why don't you go home?
From the towers of wealth: media tycoons, banksters, and oligarchs, in giant robes of steel and glass look down upon their flock and means. Richard Spectre is one of them. He owns ATV News and at first, he ignores the protests, as do his 508 TV stations, newspapers, and magazines, but soon he finds the need to ridicule therabble and hordes, who, sweating with laziness, are angrily demanding what they were too dumb to procure from the system. While he has his pundits deride the protests with mockery, Richard Spectre still feels it necessary to send out a reporter to get some coverage. Maybe this will sell. He rubs his chin outward with his thumb, loudly, against the bristle.
Impervious to the mash, somehow safe in the frames of the camera, Cloe reports into the bellies of hungry televisions across the nation. She speaks with a moral authority that tells her viewers more than her words. “It started with just a few dozen students and has turned into a few hundred people. But what are they protesting? We came down here to find out. The protestors have not yet begun attacking police. So far I see a few aggressive arrests, but none of the violence the police have warned us about.” Suddenly one of her heels break, she begins her fall, but someone catches her. She returns the favor with an interview. “What are you protesting about?”
“We're here to stop the corporate coup d’état and restore the republic,” he says matter-of-factly.
Cloe has green eyes; she looks at his - blue. “The demands seem rather vague Mr.?”
“Gustave.” His cheeks bold, his beard brash and his eyes pierce. He's almost too pretty to be here.
“I'll be specific. Maybe you could actually report the news instead of editorializing for your sponsors, Miss?”
“Cloe”.
He smiles at her. It’s bright and white like a draped banner and very infectious.
She smiles back coyly.
***
Gustave’s heavily edited interview airing behind Cloe on the large video screen has The Make-up Artist periodically looking up and breaking her focus on applying the medium pink colored eye shadow.
