Light’s Price Tag

The sun had a price. Not the harm to your skin, or the damage to your eyes. An actual value. Pounds, euros, dollars, yen, Bulgarian lev. Light had a price tag.

It turned out nothing was beyond human reach or human greed. When all eyes suddenly turned off as though we were machines with owners, it was a monopoly on the sunlight which returned everyone's sight. Or rather, it’s what had taken our vision, and then, only with regular payments, could people return to normal.

But it was never the normal people had known, and it never would be again. Dwindling into a systematic oppression, humanity was shoved away from what had been a better time, from what the self-proclaimed kings of the human jungle had called 'defunct', and into a New Age for humanity.

If you couldn't see the oppression, then there was no oppression.

There were only two possible ends to all of this. Either humans gave in and accepted their new way of life, or they didn't.

*

I tilted my neck and thrust the injection into my blood stream. The world revealed itself through sketched black and white lines before filling in with colour; total darkness left and the tainted view replaced it. I had gotten so used to the process, I could do it blind. It was a growing habit. It wouldn’t be long until I forgot what it was like before.

"Thanks." I threw the used needle in the bin.

Jim, the black market's go-to man, saluted with two fingers - only two, because that's all he had. It was his mouth which brought him success, if living and working in this alley away from the police and government eyes counted as success.

A sold-out government. The richest man in the world had a name, but his was one I wished forget. Birth had no relevance; nationality had no purpose. We all bowed to the man who put a price tag on being able to see. If we did not bow, we would become significantly shorter a few moments later.

No one knew for certain how he had done it. Rumours spread, hatred following each one.

"He put it in the food."

"There's something in the water."

"He spread it through the air."

"It was a weapon. One of those satellites in orbit."

Whatever he had done, he had captured the eyes of everyone. He had thrust the pedestal under his feet and over everyone's heads. Now, there were those of us who had to find comfort in the shadows.

Jim’s crooked smile caught me at the door. "Later, Anthony," he said.

I nodded and left him to his cats and work. At least the animals had been spared.

This was the only safe place I could find. Safe because I could sleep here and someone was bound to inject me if I slept too long and passed my expiry time. Trust was hard, but in the darkness it came easier. Fear brought inaction, but animosity brought unity, and we were deep in the vitriol. Going deeper still. I did what little I could for whoever wound up here in the pits, for those who became dregs.

I stopped in the neon glow of the rain-infested street. Damp lingered here even when the weather gave us a reprieve. I watched the announcement on the screen held up outside one of the small shops above the low hanging awning and embedded into the wall. The screen had a countdown, ticking down to zero.

Many people had tried to kill the richest man in the world. I didn't blame them. One person comes and destroys the way of life of everyone on the planet, yet he is protected day in and day out by the lions and the chickens. The protectors all wanted a piece of his riches, or even the adulation from the man at the top. But he would never notice them.

The rich bastard’s vision had never darkened, or so the rumours went. He could watch the world burn and shrug it off as he rolled in piles and piles of money. Though people had started saying he did little other than live through his visor where a virtual reality kept him entertained. Was the real world too boring for him?

He showcased the attempts on his life through the screens he had put up on every street corner. The TVs were always on and always loud, so no one would miss any of his announcements. Victims with weapons were killed for all to see. Others were captured and left blind in cells. Nobody knew what became of them. And then there were the successes - the times when everyone believed the desperate actions had killed the richest man in the world. It had all been on the screen: the shots, the blood, the ever-present scream. But they turned out to be a body double, or a fake, or – at my own guess – a fabrication.

"Greetings, one and all." The richest man always wore his black visor, never showing his whole face, and a black suit as dark as when the lights turned off. When he spoke, it was an auto-tuned robotic voice, adding to my own belief he was no longer human. Perhaps he never was. Humanity was no longer showcased.

"As of the start of next month, prices for Sunlight Alpha and Sunlight X will increase to twelve dollars per injection."

Murmurs of unsurprised rage ran across the streets and through the shops. They knew it was coming, but venting made the announcement easier to swallow.

"This is for the benefit of everyone. Imagine what would happen if we stopped the necessary medicine. For a price of only twelve dollars, I'm practically giving it away."

I could almost hear the cheers of agreement from the richest man's cabinet of bobble heads.

"He really is a man with a death wish." The voice belonged to a trench coat encasing a man beside me. His hands were concealed in his pockets, if he even had any. His hair was either oiled or wet, and he had been blessed with heterochromia: one blue, one green.

"He's certainly someone with something," I said half-heartedly. I snuck a sidelong glance. The man flashed me a grin under his hirsute face.

"Don't you think it's wrong to curtail the amount of sight people can have?"

"Duh. But who the hell am I? A rich man doesn't care for a poor one. Just like a lion doesn't care for the ant. They can do what they want because no one can stop them."

The man forced a laugh. "You're Anthony Cartwright, aren't you?"

My eyebrow lifted. My other one tended to stick, with the scar slashed across it.

"Don't look so surprised, my friend," the odd man continued. "Word gets around. You've been helping some of my pals. Jim's is now a place we all frequent."

"I haven't done anything noteworthy."

"You're too modest. But it's usually a modest man who can see the most light." The odd man held out his hand. "Charles Simpson. Nice to meet you."

I didn't hesitate to reciprocate the handshake. If he had wanted me dead or worse, he would have done so already.

"What say you to a little get-together with the team?" said Charles.

I kept my surprise to a minimum. Was it a shock? No. I knew people were moving, acting, gathering. When you walked the streets, kept an ear out and an eye open, you picked up on things.

My lips pursed. "I think you can find more value in someone else."

"There's that modesty again." Charles wagged his finger. "All I'm asking for is a meeting. See for yourself what our tomorrow holds."

I sighed. I don't know why, but I answered without putting any thought into it. "Lead the way."

"Excellent." Charles rubbed his hands. "Follow me, my friend."

We strode under the grey drizzle, passing people too upset and irate from the announcement to notice us. Taking the smaller streets, the alleys started to thin. The populace and noise dropped.

"Have you topped up on your light?" Charles whispered.

"I have," I whispered back. I knew when we had to be quiet.

A distant siren roared, the flash reflecting off multiple puddles as it splashed through the road. We were not the target, but some unfortunate person had broken the law. The new, or the old law? My mind drifted to pointless things.

When we stumbled upon the copper-coloured door imprisoned by a rusted iron frame, Charles pulled out a key. He checked our surroundings. I did the same. All was clear and quiet, and we went in.

Charles picked up a flashlight in the darkness. Pointing out the collapsed table and the broken chair, he told me to watch my footing as we traversed the hall. Light crept out from under the door at the end – electric light. Music seeped with a quiet vibration. Charles knocked a rhythm into the wood.

The music stopped. Light shot out as a red-haired woman opened the door. She nodded to Charles and took longer with me. Under scrutiny, I flicked my chin in greeting, and she did the same.

"You got her approval," said Charles. "Nicely done. No one gets Stacey's acknowledgement. Not even us."

"Us?" I said.

"You're about to find out."

There were two more inside, in addition to the red-haired women who, now under the clear light, wore a brown tank top with her bob frizzling at her shoulders. She took a seat to the side, her mouth a simple line.

There was an older man with grey whiskers and a paperboy cap. He stared at me, smiling. I couldn’t find it in me to smile back. But I nodded to him.

The last man – who could only be this group’s strongman – wore a tight fitted shirt to show off his muscles. Or perhaps, considering the stains, he had never changed shirt as he built his strength. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed.

And then there was Charles. The leader.

“Do you know what we are?” he asked me.

I didn’t need to look around again. “Resistance?” I said.

“Close.” He bounced at my answer. “You know what? I’ll give you that.” He leant on the table where the old man sat. “We were part of the Resistance–”

“Until the leading bastard sold out,” the old man chimed in.

“Until… Yeah, that,” Charles finished. “Anthony, meet David. And the big, muscular man over there is Raul.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I said, leaving the pleasantries to a minimum. “So, the Resistance isn’t what it’s chalked up to be?”

“You got that right, boy,” said David. He must have been a smoker, because ash left his throat with his voice. “Run by more suck-ups.”

“That explains how they’ve been able to keep going for so long,” I said.

“You are smarter than they said.” Charles had a wicked smile, one that sent a shiver through me. “Richie – that’s what we love to call the bastard – has enough power to squash any resistance group. But only if he knows they exist. That’s how we knew something was off. Nothing had happened to the Resistance – nothing at all. And we weren’t doing anything to change our situation. So, the four of us left. Well, David here more just followed.”

“I worked in management.” David’s smile was genuine, like a father proud of himself.

Stacey’s eyes dug into me. “Are you tough enough for this?” she said.

“Probably not,” I said. “I should really leave you to it. I’ll make sure to keep my mouth shut.” I nodded to them all. “It was nice meeting you–”

“Are you afraid of the darkness, Anthony?” said Charles.

I stopped my gestures. My ready-to-leave state changed. “I’m not afraid of much, nowadays.”

“Then you are one of the lucky ones. Every day, every night, people claw for the light. They scream and cry and beg for it. It’s so loud. So very loud. Do you think it’s fair?”

“You know my answer,” I stated, my cold heart answering for me.

Charles chuckled. “Sorry. Poor question. But do you think life should continue like this? For as long as there have been oppressors, there has been the oppressed. And people tilt either to submission, defeat, or a new side they didn't believe themselves capable of.” His smile returned, twisted. “Retaliation." He held out his hand - his calloused, four-fingered hand. "Anthony, will you join us? We can return the light to everyone. We’re just the tip of the boiling atmosphere. There are millions out there ready to fight back. And the dominoes will fall. Someone just needs to give them a push."

For years now, it was just me and my life. I make it to the next day while storing up on light whenever needed, and keep doing the same thing. The Day of Blindness, the Day the Earth Lost its Sight, the Day Freedom Died – the catastrophe had so many names, monikers from the bottom, but none from the top. And now it was the new normal. The mundane of years prior turned into a darkness I didn’t know possible. Then everything got tougher and tougher.

I closed my eyes. I could still see the light. The glorious bulb hanging above my head, piercing through my eyelids.

I nodded.

Cheers came mostly from David. Raul grunted his first noise – one of approval – and Stacey said an overly basic “Good.”

"Anthony.” Charles held out his warm hand. “Welcome to the revolution."