Green

          

The elevator clunked and rattled as Jones was transported to the surface of Earth. This was, of course, illegal. This is what forced him to use the rusty, barely functional, budget elevator in the slums of Utopia. 'Some Utopia', Jones thought smugly, as the elevator continued its ascent.
"Please prepare for surface," a pre-recorded message said over the metallic clanging of amateur machinery. Jones put the mask over his face, and prepared his flamethrower for any threat lurking around. The elevator doors opened, and he crouched in reflex to the cold air flowing into the metal box. His flamethrower was at the ready, however no threat appeared. Jones relaxed, and stepped out into the barren wasteland of his prosperous planet.

   Jones could never get used to the brown. Even after decades of doing what he did. He looked at his map, already having decided to venture into uncharted territory of what was once known as London. He stepped over the makeshift gate, created from the hands of Big Ben. The clock tower itself was naught more than a pile of rubble, not very distinguishable from the other piles of rubble were the clock face not there. Jones sighed as he began counting paces in a north-easterly direction.

   Jones turned into the main street of town. This area had quite clearly had not been explored, in part due to the mountain of rubble that had to be scaled. Jones, being a scavenger himself, knew that the others were too lazy to explore an unreliable area. The buildings were in mostly decent shape, compared to the wasteland of the 2037 bombsite in Central London. No, this area was much nicer than that shithole. Not that 'nicer' meant much in this world. A pile of metal was 'nicer', but it was a pile of metal nonetheless.

   Jones turned and followed the winding streets on his way to the quarry. He walked past the bank, its safes now containing the most useless currency in existence. He walked past the grocer, with cartons of hardened milk spilled on the floor. He almost turned into the road leading to the quarry, when he noticed something that wasn't brown. Not entirely. At this point, all he had known was brown. His curiousity got the better of him. He turned the other way, into a small grove of trees, the size of a school. There was a sheer canvas hoisted on metal poles covering the canopy of leaves, and buildings surrounding the grove. The amount of cover surrounding the grove hid it from the eyes of the authorities, who were searching for biological life to regenerate the Earth.

   The trees did not look like the typical tree that was represented in Utopia. Whether that was due to the half blocked sun, the nuclear fallout, or species of tree, Jones did not know. What he did know, was that they were trees. Many trees.
"Holy shit," Jones exclaimed, his eyes wide as he took in the grove. He approached a tree, removed his glove and placed his hand against it. The rough bark scraped his hand as he dragged it along the wood. "Green," he repeated to himself, over and over again. It was a colour he saw in books. It was a colour he saw on television. It was a colour he saw when he vomited from food poisoning. It was a colour he knew well, yet he was mesmerised by it. All he could do was stare.

   Jones' back began to get sore from lying down on the hard ground. It was a gentle reminder of how long he had spent staring at the trees - at the green. He slowly rose from his spot, and got up to his feet. He walked backwards from the grave, and whispered, "I'll be back." Rushing, he ran to the quarry to scavenge what precious materials he could collect. The rusty doors would not budge, forcing him to find another entrance to the potential goldmine for his black market trading. He climbed through a window instead, and stumbled into a kitchen for the would be workers. On the counter sat an unopened bottle of wine. Jones' face lit up. This was a fortune in a bottle. Frantically, he ransacked the cupboards and shelves for more bottles, finding a whole crate, which he loaded into his backpack.

   Jones went back to the trees, and sat down on a bench at the edge of the area. He could see the whole ceiling of green. He smiled at the trees.
"This is our little secret, right?" he asked the trees. The leaves rustled in the wind. It sounded like they were saying a very extended "no". Jones frowned, furrowing his eyebrows and blinking rapidly. 'No?' he thought. Then he remembered - he had told his scavenger group where he was going today. When he would return with all the wine... 'oh no', Jones thought, his train of thought carrying on the turn of events. When he got back, the others would see his fortune. They would come here looking to make their own fortune, and find the trees that everyone had been searching for. 'That would be the end of my business', Jones thought, burying his face in his hands. Jones liked green. He wanted more green. But he was getting rich. His scavenging business was booming. If Utopia did not exist.... he was nothing. He had nothing. Jones sighed, and unslung his flamethrower.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. The trees said nothing back.

   The elevator stopped when he reached the end of his journey.
"You stayed late, did something go wrong?" Bailey asked, concerned. Jones looked at his second in command with a deeply sad look.
"Something did go wrong," Jones began, before smiling and shouting, "we're going to be rich!" Jones and Bailey laughed, and unloaded the wine bottles, excited for the profits they would make. Jones liked green. Jones did not like brown. But while he knew green well, he knew brown much, much better.