Dystopia story

Breanne Rezendes
Mrs. Smith
Creative Writing
May 23, 2012

I was afraid. I didn’t want, Johnny, my baby to have bleached skin either, it’s not fair. I looked at myself in the mirror, I was a pale whiteish color and so was everyone else in society. I looked closer at my son, his skin was peeling. He was only 5 weeks old. I touched his face, it bruised just to touch it. I screamed, something had gone terribly wrong.

“Tanya, what’s wrong?” Robert said as he busted into the bathroom.

“Look at his face” I yelled.

“Calm down, I’m going to call the doctors. I’m sure they’ll be able to tell us what to do” He said. I didn’t understand why he seemed so nonchalant about everything.

“No, I’m going to the hospital now” I said.

Johnny had began crying. Something wasn’t right and I knew it.

Robert and I drove to the hospital. We waited in the emergency for what seemed like hours, but in reality it was only about twenty minutes. Hospitals had recently developed a quicker way for patients to be in emergency rooms. When the doctor finally came he took us to a room and examined Johnny.

He hadn’t stopped crying since we left.

“Your son, Jonathan, is one of the rare cases. His skin simply doesn’t agree with the method used to bleach his skin” announced the doctor.

“So... what are you trying to say?” I said. My voice was shaky.

“We’ll have to keep him in the hospital for a few, just to monitor him. Our researchers have been developing a medicine for infants with his condition” The doctor replied.

Condition? I thought. Just because he has sensitive skin doesn’t mean he has a condition. Humans were not made to all be the same color. But now my child had a “condition”. I didn’t want to start anything so I took Robert and we stepped outside of the room.

“We have no other choice but to leave him here, the doctors will do what’s best for him” he said.

“Yea, I guess. Well I hope so.” I said.

I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to Johnny, because then I might have changed my mind. The doctor said they didn’t know how long they’d have to keep him or how serious his “condition”  was. What if he wouldn’t be okay? was the only thing that ran through my mind.

Robert and I drove home in silence. I needed to take a stand. But what could I do? If I protested against the government I’d be thrown in jail. There had to be other people who felt this way. I was stuck.