The Much Talked About Mr. Drury

"The Much Talked About Mr. Drury"

It was the year 2130 and mankind had long since gone underground to escape the horrors
that presented themselves not long after our time. The above world was overrun by all sorts of terrible creatures such as ghouls, mutants, and a plethora of unmentionable things. However, as exciting as the undead may be, our problem was many times more subtle. It was as simple as this: an extreme lack of color and realism in this new society.

The first person to ever bring this issue to light was an elderly gentleman by the name of Mr. Drury. He was quite an odd man to have come by such a dull name. He had white, frazzled hair and kind, watery, blue eyes. He was very thin and walked bent over, using a walking staff which was much like a black and white striped candy cane. All in all, he was a pleasant sort of person.

Mr. Drury was walking down the halls to his apartment (which was just as white and boring as every other apartment) after teaching his grade's school art class. As he walked he saw some works of art displayed in the hall and stopped to observe them. There were three paintings.

The first painting was a sovereign black swan sitting on a silver sheen of water, arching it's neck and spreading magnificent obsidian wings. The second was a gorgeous ballet dancer, arms raised above her head, dressed in ivory and eggshell. The third was a black and white painting of the current colony president of which there is nothing particularly nice to be said.
They were all well done, to be sure, but so very lacking and unrealistic. They were really just an idealized version of life and had no real meaning to them.

Mr. Drury frowned and continued on his way, being generally neighborly and greeting people along the way. He entered his home with one thought in his head and that was to paint. He dusted off some old boxes with tubes of colored paints within and set up a canvas and easel. Quickly mixing the paints and preparing the canvas he seemed unstoppable in resolve. Just when he was going to fill the space with illicit color, his hand froze, his brush just a hairsbreadth away from the stark, white canvas. After a five second pause, he wet his lips nervously and murmured, "It's been a long time." and began to paint.

To be frank, there isn't really a way to describe them that could do them justice.

For starters, they were very, truly real. Scenes from life before the Great Misfortune were strictly prohibited in this new society, but that was exactly what he painted. They were the scenes that we all know so well. Mr. Drury knew them too, as he was one of the first ones to enter the underground bunker nearly sixty-five years ago.

One painting depicted a young couple at the very top of a Ferris wheel and the vibrant colors and the intoxicating merrymaking of the fair going on below them. Another was of a concert. It showed singers sporting punk clothes and dynamic poses; cell phone lights glared in the darkness and pyrotechnics shot up from the sides of the stage, illuminating the singers and instrumentalists. There was one painting of a young man riding a crowded subway to work. He was dressed in a business suit and was trying to eat the breakfast bar hanging out of his mouth and text simultaneously.

There were two particular paintings that the colony president was certain to dislike very much. The first was a depiction that showed a bandit fleeing the scene of the crime. It was nighttime and showed him ducking behind a rubbish bin. The blue and red lights of the police vehicles lit up his frightened face. The latter was a very gritty, realistic war scene showing men and women fighting for their lives and for their country. Everything was covered by a veil of smoke and dust. There was blood smearing camouflage fabric and the orange-yellow flashes of mighty explosions. Yes, the colony president was sure to hate that one the worst.

Mr. Drury produced many more paintings then that throughout the night and held the paintbrush amazingly steady for a man of his age. When he ran out of canvas, he began to paint the walls. When he didn't come to work in the morning, a colleague came to his home and she found him doing what he was strictly not supposed to do. Being the upstanding citizen that she was, she immediately ran and alerted the authorities of what she had seen.

A warrant for Mr. Drury's arrest was issued and he was brought to the colony president, named Mr. York, to have what he was told to be a correctional conversation. Mr. Drury did not appreciate the obvious euphemism much the same way he did not appreciate Mr. York. It was well known that Mr. York was the man who essentially outlawed color and realism.

Mr. Drury entered the black and white office, shook hands with the younger, round-faced, round-bellied Mr. York, and took a seat. He noticed how Mr. York's chair was much taller than his own.

Mr. York smiled happily from his figurative pedestal and took out a faceted glass bottle of brandy.

"Mr. Drury, it is so good to see you!"

Mr. Drury smiled back a little weakly.

"Care for a glass, eh, Mr. Drury? Gentlemen our ages don't have much to lose."

Mr. Drury held up a hand in polite refusal, "Oh, I'd better not. My doctor would definitely have something to say if I did."

"Good man, good man." Mr. York muttered with a chuckle. "So, Mr. Drury, do you know why you're here?"

Mr. Drury opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. York cut him off.

"You're here because you've done something that's broken the rules and caused quite an uproar at that! It's left a few people very unhappy. I, too, understand that rules are important, but I'm willing to wave the charges only if you promise not to do it again. How's that for a deal?"

Mr. Drury sighed and tapped his knee with his cane a few times before replying.

"I will not."

"Pardon?" Mr. York asked, smile gone.

"I will not stop."

"But surely-"

"Sir, there is really no other way to put it. You would do well to throw away these foolish notions. You said it yourself; I am old and have nothing to lose, nor do I see myself as having done something wrong. Furthermore, if I am to curry favor, I will plead with the people in a fair court of law, or have you taken that away as well, Mr. York?"

Mr. York was not happy at this moment and was quite nearly purple with unhappiness.

"You'll regret this Drury!" York exploded inelegantly. He stood quickly, knocking his large chair over backwards. "I have been very pleasant to you, but no more!"

Mr. Drury stood with a frown. He was mildly disappointed with Mr. York, having thought that a man of his stature would have something more creative to say.

Mr. Drury nodded and said, "I do not believe I will, but you may try as hard as you like to make me." He walked to the door and muttered, "Pleasant indeed." just loud enough for Mr. York to hear before continuing on his way to his apartment.

Sometimes life isn't fair and there's nothing one can do to help the situation. Mr. Drury knew this and didn't yell or shout when he came into his apartment to find five young police men gathering up his paintings. All six men stopped and stared at each other a bit awkwardly before carrying on with their business. Mr. Drury thanked them for their hard work, sat down in his plush black chair, and began to grade some student assignments.

Psshhht. Psshhht. Psshhht.  

Mr. Drury was nearly halfway through his papers when he heard that heartbreaking noise. He looked up to see a few repair men painting the same boring shade of white over his colorfully painted walls. The paint covered more and more until nothing but white stared back at him. He sighed sadly and retired to his room to finish his work.

Mr. Drury's young colleague spared no time in telling almost everyone what she had seen. Before long, the halls were all whispering the same things like "Have you heard about Mr. Drury?" or, "That Mr. Drury. I always knew he was an odd one."

Of course, they would immediately hush whenever he walked by. He would greet them and they would make the correct inquiries after his health and family as a good neighbor should.

Another person who didn't waste any time was Mr. York. He fully intended to make good on his threats and secured a trial date for early the following week.

The day came and Mr. Drury seemed to bear the stares and attention surprisingly well. Everyone took their seats in the large court room. They spent time getting acquainted and preparing their notes. The judge arrived very late for one reason or another.

Finally the process began and the witnesses, defendant, and accusers swore the necessary oaths. It wasn't a long court session. Not like the long sessions that involved thievery, murder, or possession disputes. Mr. Drury had clearly broken the law. The problem was what to do with the man. No one had ever broken this law before and the authorities were at a loss. It was rather asinine, the whole situation.

There were three main witnesses which were chosen by Mr. York. They were brought to the stand before Judge Stanchion. Judge Stanchion was a stern lady about ten years Mr. Drury's junior. The three witnesses were as follows: Mr. Drury's colleague, a nervous, fidgety busybody by the name of Mrs. Cole; a policeman named Greg Donald; and a maintenance worker that never actually made it to the witness stand so we needn't worry about him.

Mrs. Cole was called up to the stand. She wrung her hands nervously as she was addressed.

"Mrs. Cole, please inform the jury and myself of what you witnessed."

Mrs. Cole twisted her wedding band on her ring finger, "Yes, yes, of course. I was just comin' t' see where Mr. Drury was b'cause I had t' manage the class that day by m'self, your honor. I came in and I see, I tell ya, I see Mr. Drury paintin' away on him walls like a madman. They be awful, terrible pictures too your honor. He was usin' color, your honor, and paintin' all these things that I ain't never seen before!"

Mrs. Cole erupted into ridiculous hysterics and the judge started to get impatient.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

The gavel hit the wood three times.

"That's quite enough, Mrs. Cole. And what did you do after you witnessed this… scene that you described?"

"Well, judge, I say to myself, 'Mr. Drury done a bad thing so I need to tell someone right quick.'"

Judge Stanchion looked down her nose at Mrs. Cole.

"I see." She said dismissing Mrs. Cole. She turned to Mr. Drury and asked the inevitable, "Mr. Drury, is what Mrs. Cole stated entirely true?"

Mr. Drury stood shakily, nodded, and sat back down. It was true that is what had happened. Granted, Mrs. Cole wasn't the most eloquent speaker, but the woman loved firsthand gossip and wouldn't corrupt a truth better than a lie. Perhaps she might exaggerate it.

"So you admit to the accusations?" the judge asked.

"Yes."

"Then do you plead guilty?"

"No."

Judge Stanchion looked at him with a bored expression, nodded, and called the next witness up. One of the police officers strutted up to the stand and stood with military poise.

"Please, Mr. Donald, enlighten us of what you saw."

"I did not witness Mr. Drury in the process of painting the art. Rather, I was sent to recover it and bring it to the evidence and investigation room, your honor. There were nearly twenty-three paintings not including the ones on the walls, all of them in color, your honor.

"Is there nothing else, Mr. Donald?" she asked.

"Well, your honor, if I may, I don't believe that Mr. Drury truly deserves a sentence at all. I think that he was trying to show us something. Maybe if he was allowed to explain-"

Mr. York jumped right up from the accuser's stand and shouted obnoxiously, "Dangit, Greg! She's not asking for your opinion!"

Everyone in the room began to speak among themselves and shout out what they thought.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.  

Mr. Drury was beginning to think that Judge Stanchion sure loved that gavel.

"That is enough, Mr. York. If you have something to say then follow proper procedure and refrain from expletives in the court room."

Mr. York huffed and regained his fake smile. "Of course, your honor. That brings me to mind, I have some evidence I would like to display."

"The paintings, I presume, Mr. York."

"Why yes, your honor! Sharp as always." He waved some people in to the room. They carted what appeared to be twenty-three rectangular shapes covered in white cloth. The room hung in a frozen silence. So thick was the suspense, that one could have chopped it, fried it, and served it for dinner.

The white cloth was ripped away by Mr. York with a Cheshire-cat grin. The room was filled with an unnecessary amount of "Ooooh!" and "Ahhh!"

The paintings were set side by side, all twenty-two and a half in a row; the half being an unfinished painting of a Tasmanian tiger. The war painting was set in the very middle and before long, drew all eyes to that specific spot.

"You see, your honor? It's just too soon to remember. And why would we want to remember things like crime and war. All those colors put ideas in people's heads that they ought not have."

"Mr. Drury," Judge Stanchion said, "please rise."

Drury stood.

"Have you anything to say Mr. Drury?"

Drury nodded and cleared his throat, "I think it's very silly for you to block out the real world when that is what we are all striving for. You are ignorant, silly, and narrow-minded. Through the generations, mine being the first, I've seen children grow up not even knowing the colors of the rainbow, or how a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. Neither does anyone remember war anymore. I would rather war be a figment of my imagination, but if we forget, then how can we prevent it? War, I mean, your honor."

The judge, and a woman in the jury near the back, looked as if she had an epiphany. Everyone in the jury began to nod their heads in an attempt to appear wise. Meanwhile, Mr. York was making a habit of turning purple.

"Mr. Drury, I believe that you are quite correct. However, until Mr. York's law can be deemed reversible as well as unconstitutional, you will be let go from your current place of employment and your paints will be taken from you."

Mr. Drury nodded, a bit unnerved by having all eyes on him, and sat back down. Judge Stanchion formally declared the final verdict. Everything was in the proper order and everyone began to file out of the court room seemingly satisfied with the verdict.

As it happened, Mr. Drury was no longer much talked about now that all of the rumors were cleared. It seems he was not so odd or mysterious as everyone had thought.  

He returned to his home and spent much of his spare time reading some books he had taken out of storage which he probably shouldn't have been reading due to Mr. York's law which was still in effect. Mr. Drury's health had also begun to go further downhill. It was no surprise to anyone when he was found passed away in his bed about seven months after the court case.

It was too bad that he was never able to see color and history become prominent again in the colony, but he died as he lived: with the odd and self-satisfied smirk of an odd and self-satisfied man and a room full of illicit novels about the world as we now know it.

Take that, Mr. York.