The Few

Assessment with Queen

As the elevator went up and the group suddenly started to feel nauseated. Abi slipped her hand into her brothers. "Are you..."

"Petrified yes." He cut her off and replied quickly. "Let's face it we don't know what we are getting our selves into." 

The elevator stopped and the doors slipped open. The corridor was darker than any other corridor that they had seen so far. Blue walked out and started down the corridor and turned to a door. He knocked on the door waited behind the door. "Come in." A male voice said from the door. 

"Rue, this is for you." She almost squeaked as she stepped forward and turned the handle of the door. She slowly walked in and shut the door behind her and left the group behind. "Come on, Jet's next." They went back into the elevator and the lift shot back upwards. "Remember what I said Jet, watch Queen." He breathed out heavily as he glanced at him. He was taller than Blue but he still managed to look down at him. He was not a patronizing tone in him when he talked he was kind. More so than anyone else they have met so far. 

"Blue?" Abi asked kindly. 

"Yeah?" 

"This may seem like a strange question but, how old are you?"

"27, why?"

"You just seem.... well like a real person." He laughed.

"As apposed to?" He asked looking at her smiling. "Lance and Red you mean? Lance is very full of life and well, a huge personality that's for sure. Red is a well...she's Red." He smirked. The door opened. "But I get it, I am like a real person." 

He stepped out of the elevator and walked towards a room. The corridor was very bright and white and it was a complete different contrast to the down stairs in the communications corridor. He came to a door and yet again nodded. There was a female voice that came from behind the door. "Yes?" Blue nodded to the door and Jet stepped forward. He exhaled and turned the handle of the door. It swung open and revealed a large open office. Queen was sat behind the desk with a pen in her hand writing on a piece of paper. "Mr Moss?" She said without looking up from the paper. "I managed to find 3 more of your pieces of work." She replied pushing the file towards him with her pen. "Take a seat." She still didn't look up, she carried on scribbling away. "Is that your work?"

"Erm...yes. They are mine." He replied sitting the the chair across from her. "What do you think? Are they any good?" He asked, "I've heard that you are a visual genius. So you would have an opinion on these." She stopped writing for a moment then carried on.

"Why does it matter what I think?" She replied, "you don't do this because you want my opinion. You don't do this for anyone else but you. If you get any attention from others as well then it is a bonus surly." She glanced slightly. 

"Well yeah." He replied. "I want people to think for themselves, I want them to be who they are, I can't let the things I see not be..." He paused she dropped the pen lightly and looked directly at him. 

"Go on?" She replied. 

"It doesn't matter..." He replied dropping his eye line from hers, remembering what Blue said. Everything he told her would get back to the Boss and could be used. "What do I need to do for my assessment?" She learned back on her chair and turned in it. She stood and walked looking out of the window behind her. 

"Jet." She said simply. "You have a talent that is for sure. What I like and what you do may not be the same. Taste is an opinion but ability and talent that is something anyone can see and you have that." She didn't turn just spoke, "people out there, they also understand art, people make art and have great talent. Your father is one of them...I have looked into you don't be surprised. He is a good artist very good. He has talent. You though...you have a vision and it can be seen within your art. You have a sight, that someone can use. We could use." She turned. She handed him a book. "I want you to look though this book and find 6 pieces of art. Each from different artists and I want you to create your own design with the 6 as influence. I want you to show me what is inside you. Who you are, not someone wanting to be in the Few. Not someone trying to rebel against the natural order. Who you really are Jet. There is a studio on there," she nodded to a room next door. "There is everything you could ever need in there." He stood and took the book. "You have until lunch to have a plan, I will be checking." He nodded. "Oh and Jet...the things you see...don't ignore them. Let them guide you." She added. "You're excused." She said gesturing towards the door. He walked through and was welcomed by an open studio that was covered in many different methods of art equipment. He was completely overwhelmed. He sat at a bench and opened he book. He looked over hundreds of artists. They were stunning, there was nothing wrong with any of these paintings. But he didn't feel anything towards them. But what he did see was a quote from a painter, “I shut my eyes in order to see.” – Paul Gauguin. His chest began to beat faster. He stood and walked to the window, carrying the book with him. Looking out over the city. That was how he saw his art. He couldn't paint with looking at how things really were but how things should be. How he needed the world to be and to help others see that. He sighed heavily and looked at the book again. He turned the page to an artist called Helen Frankenthaler. Her art was bright and colorful. I t made no sense. It was illogical and beautiful. There was a quote under a piece of her work that had a pink background any many different colors looked as though they were carelessly placed around the canvas, but there was no carelessness. Every stroke meant something. He couldn't tell what but when he read the quote it all made scene.

       “There are no rules. That is how art is born, how breakthroughs happen. Go against the rules or ignore the rules.         That is what invention is about.” – Helen Frankenthaler

There are no rules. He thought. But out there all there is, is rules. In here there were rules and restrictions. He wanted freedom he wanted to go against what everyone thought to be the way things should go. He had to show that. He had to let colors, let shapes and let textures explain how to feel and he wanted to create to destroy. He wanted to destroy to rebuild. He wanted to rebuild for the everyone to have a chance to live to their own heart. His head fell on the building his father worked in. He had worked his all his life and didn't get anywhere. He had a three letter name and that was enough to put him back regardless of talent. The world changed to protect the planet, but the people have suffered. There has to be a way, a way to make people thrive but keeping the world safe. Art couldn't do that, no. But it could make people think. Make people decide to be real versions of who they are. He could feel the anger building inside of him. His brother in law, four letters and a doctor. His sister had got great grades and had been the top in her class, and only came out as a pharmacist because of her letters, her finances and her background. All of this was bullshit! Complete BULLSHIT!  

He slammed the book on the table near him and rolled up his sleeves and walked over the where there was blank canvas' and picked one up and put it against his easel. He took out watercolors, acrylic, oil based paint and Encaustic paint. He took handfuls of different paintbrushes, pallet knives, sponges and pallets. He poured almost every color of every type of paint he could into the pallets and stood and looked at the canvas, opening the book. “To be an artist is to believe in life.” – Henry Moore. 'They would kill us. Members of the Few are killed everyday. Just because we want to live our own way.' He thought picking up a brush without thinking, dipping it into the paint and placed in to the canvas. Thinking differently made you a target. Being born in another country made you a target. Not wanting to follow one thought that you didn't have made you a target. You thought their way or they made you. If they couldn't keep control of you they executed you. You were with them or against them. Jet believed in life. People were told how to live and that...that made him furious. “Great art picks up where nature ends.” – Marc Chagall. Humans destroyed this planet once, they nearly killed everyone and everything on it just to drive their cars, just to keep their houses warm. They hid garbage in landfills and not care about the repercussions of that. People were monsters. They had spent centuries killing each others in wars. For religion, money, land and power. And now what did they have to show for it? Nothing. He got angrier and painted faster. “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” – Edward Hopper. People don't f*****g listen! They need to be shown how wrong they all are. How wrong everyone was. He needed to be who he was but he needed to be. Be the best man he could be. But the world needs to see what it really was. How f*****g sick it really is. “The works must be conceived with fire in the soul but executed with clinical coolness.” – Joan Miró. He slashed at the canvas with paint, not seeing what he was doing. He had tears of fire streaming down his face. Nothing. He was worth nothing. Abi was worth nothing, his father, mother, sister, his niece/nephew. Neither was the Boss, Blue, Red, Lance, Rue, Max, Queen anyone. No one meant anything to the Alliance. The planet meant nothing to the Alliance. Control that was it. Everyone needs a place and they chose where that was. Freedom was nothing, not when you had no chance to even have the same chance to use their freedom. The brush fell to the floor splattering yellow paint on the floor.