Legend

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Obviously I’m not dead, but it’s safer for her to think so.

At least twice a month, I see my Wanted poster flashed on the JumboTrons scattered throughout downtown Los Angeles. It looks out of place up there. Most of the pictures on the screens are of happy things: smiling children standing under a bright blue sky, tourists posing before the Golden Gate Ruins, Republic commercials in neon colors. There’s also anti-Colonies propaganda. “The Colonies want our land,” the ads declare. “They want what they don’t have. Don’t let them conquer your homes! Support the cause!”

Then there’s my criminal report. It lights up the JumboTrons in all its multicolored glory:

WANTED BY THE REPUBLIC

FILE NO: 462178-3233 “DAY”

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WANTED FOR ASSAULT, ARSON, THEFT,

DESTRUCTION OF MILITARY PROPERTY,

AND HINDERING THE WAR EFFORT

200,000 REPUBLIC NOTES FOR

INFORMATION LEADING TO ARREST

They always have a different photo running alongside the report. One time it was a boy with glasses and a head full of thick copper curls. Another time it was a boy with black eyes and no hair at all. Sometimes I’m black, sometimes white, sometimes olive or brown or yellow or red or whatever else they can think of.

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