A man is walking down the street on a cold, cloudy January day. He is on his way to work but is constantly on the lookout for anyone of the “other” party. His purple shirt is buttoned up and tucked into his magenta pants. His polarized sunglasses make it hard to see, but he needs to cover his gre*n eyes, his ultimate shame. He would rather gouge them out, but then how would he be able to recognize truth from lies? The other people around him on the street sport the same purple outfit; no gre*n in sight, yet.
As the man follows the group to work, he starts thinking of how excited he is. “The people all around me share my same ideals. We are one. We must uphold our values and reject lies and pursue the truth.” The collective march is the same every day, yet it is his duty to find the truth no matter what. Soon they reach their destination, a road empty of cars, yet full of bodies. He looks at a pile of them to the left and feels an immense wave of sorrow come over him. “Look at these poor souls,” he thinks as he examines the blood-stained purple attire. “They all had families, friends, and now their lives are gone.” A few tears fall from his eyes as he scans to his right and the sadness changes to anger. He is now looking at the bloody bodies of people wearing gre*n clothing. He wants to shout: “Those murderers! They do nothing but think of themselves, spread lies, and kill our innocent people!” but keeps it to himself as work has not started yet. The “other” party is late, of course.
He then moves his eyes to the crowd of purples lined in a row all down their side of the blood-ridden street. Their mouths stay silent as well, but suddenly, one by one, their eyes gleam forward in anger.
“The ‘other’ party is coming,” exclaims a woman with a disgusted tone. All down the street, the purples begin to shout.
“Liars!” says one.
“Murderers, thieves!” exclaims another.
“This country will fall as long as people like you exist!” yells the man, finally relieving his built-up emotions. The gre*ns join in as they reach their side of the street, swearing, accusing, and threatening the purples in the same manner. This is how it is at the start of every workday. By the end, bloodshed will occur and a few on each side will not return home. Luckily for the man, he survived another day and heads home with a smile on his face, proud of himself for serving his country.
At home, as he starts to unbutton his blood-soaked shirt, a little boy runs and hugs his leg.
“Daddy! I’m so glad you made it home safe,” says the boy grasping the man’s leg as hard as he can.
“Thank you, son, it’s great to see you too! How was school?” replies the man, picking up his son for a proper hug.
“Not good, I accidently mixed yellow and blue in art class and the teacher sent me to the principal’s office. Daddy, why do we hate the gre*ns so much, don’t they just wear different colors?”
“The gre*ns are all liars son, everything they say is false. They may seem like us, but just look at their clothes. They want to tear this country down and take all us purples down with it. You’ll understand one day, just like I did and my father and his father. Here, this is how my father got me to first understand, let’s watch the news!” The man puts his son down and smiles.
“Yay! I can’t wait to be just like you and all the other purples, Daddy!” shouts the boy and he runs towards the TV and turns it on. The news channel flashes onto the screen with the purple-shirted news anchor reciting some statistics.
“Already this month, 78% of gre*ns have…”