Introduction
The current year marks 2240. Twenty-four years have passed since the start of a new governance and the world as we once knew it has become a distant memory of the past. Freedoms we once had have been stripped from our very beings rendering us hopeless and voiceless. At the turn of this new civilization, the government made the decision to suppress individual expression through the mandated glossectomy of the most of citizens. Under this order, existing citizens forcibly underwent the surgical procedure to have their tongues removed. Newborn citizens are to now have their tongues removed in infancy, ensuring that newer generations will never know the power their voices holds. With the vast majority of citizens rendered voiceless, speech is now reserved only for the elite.
DAYBREAK
The sun peers in through the battered blinds reminding me of the day's work that lies ahead. Rising from the three inch mattress that carries an imprint of my frail body, I am greeted by the familiar pain that runs along my lower back. Today is Thursday, though it does not hold much significance as it is a day just like any other. I gather my tattered cap and slip on my rubber boots as I head out the door, ready to submit my body to the arduous task of farming. I almost forget to grab my badge and scold myself for such carelessness. It's strange to think that I once lived in a time where a small metal square would have seemed insignificant and unnecessary. Now, the simple mistake of forgetting would cost me a meal ticket, putting my health at an even greater risk than just the strenuous labor it faces. With my badge pinned below my faded collar, I begin walking to the field just about a mile away from my house.
LATER
With the sun slowly beginning to dwindle, I continue making my way back home. It is hard to believe that there once was a time where seniority marked the end of your laboring duties. Now at age seventy-two, I am still expected to meet the demands of the fields for another six years, give or take. I think back to what my dear Isabelle said right before any of this became a reality for us. "They'll work us til' the end of our days, Henry." How I wish to have believed otherwise, but as always, she was right. She didn't make it very far after the new council came into effect, enduring only seven years of hard labor. These words often replay in my head, making me wish that I could hear the sound of her voice once more. I force these thoughts out of my mind as I near my house.
DAWN
Entering my small bedroom, my hand gravitates underneath the frame of my wrought iron bed to find a tattered copy of Isabelle's favorite works. The well-worn spine barely supports the pages that have become my afternoon indulgence; a fact, that if discovered, could land me in a world of regret. In my hands lies a rarity that became the target of the council's efforts to eradicate any and all forms of expression that could prompt resistance to authority. But to me, this book grasps only my fascination with a world that once was. I turn the pages to find the poem that lingers with me still:
"Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,/ There's not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boughs-/ That phraseless Melody- / The Wind does- working like a Hand,-/ Whose fingers Comb the Sky- / Then quiver down with-Tufts of Tune-Permitted Gods, and me-"
My grip tightens as I hold the book closer. Oh, how I wish my voice could be carried like the sound of the wind.
Credits:
Created with images by Max Fuchs - "untitled image" • Nathan Gonthier - "Benny was once the “mayor” of a homeless community in Dalton, Georgia. For years Benny did the best he could to look after the town’s homeless community. He became sick and weak to the point where he may not have survived until a local organization stepped in and lent Benny a helping hand. Benny is now not only off the street and into an apartment, but he faithfully serves all day, everyday at the same place that helped him when he needed it most."