Utopia

Jim sat down in the grass and stared at the blinding white scenery of Utopia. The speaksperson would likely come and announce the time soon.

In some tales from his grandfather, he had heard about devices long before him. From square plastic or blocks that displayed the time to something more like a robot that could chat like a human being. Of course, these were completely fantasy. Speakspeople always announced the time and anything else couldn’t replace their central role.

Jim tore a blade of grass into thin, green ribbons. He scattered them into the wind and sighed, checking the empty horizon for the tenth time. Perhaps he had woken up too early for school to open. A blaring magnified voice from a megaphone rang out and halted his thoughts.

“Hour 10, Academy is open. Please report to the area to receive Education.”

Jim sprang up and ran through the streets. As the blazing reflection of the white-walled buildings crawled past, he decided to entertain himself with more stories. There used to be metal beasts that would carry you all around the place within minutes. How funny it was that people once invented it. Didn’t they ever worry about accidents? Jim shifted back into reality.

The enormous building of the Academy greeted him, squishing out all the measly squares of where they all lived. As he opened the towering door, encrusted with pounds of gold for decoration, the familiar clatter of tables crashing and screaming greeted him.

Thick fumes of gray smoke wafted from the cigarettes of most of the teachers. The rest slept, only here to receive the paycheck. Jim wanted a job like this, easy and low-effort, just like the rest of Utopia. He strolled around the cluttered hallways of fighting children that those teachers were supposed to manage.

Ah, here it is. A tipped frame with only one nail left hung over a sad scratched door. ‘Mrs. Eves, 3rd Grade’ Jim once heard that Mrs. Eves was the only teacher in this entire school who properly attended Elementary herself. He was blessed to receive such a skilled educator. He approached a table that didn’t look so battered and sat down.

“Quiz time!” announced the sing-song voice of Mrs. Eves.

The stubby, blonde woman passed each of the children a paper.

“Jim, would you please read the question for us all?” asked Mrs. Eves.

Being the proud best student of the class, Jim rose up and started reading the single problem on his sheet of paper. He already knew the problem before he read the question. He always did.

“What is 364 plus 281?
A. 5145
B. 645
C. 83
D. 654”

Mrs. Eves smiled and added “Good. Now please all complete your test before we go through and review the answers.”Jim didn’t even blink. His pencil hit the paper before Mrs. Eves finished talking. He stifled a yawn. He could do this math in his sleep. The question was so very easy and blindingly obvious. He picked up his pencil after having finished counting his fingers. It was best not to look smart, or else the other kids would stare. He drew a smooth little circle around A. Jim sat there and waited for the rest of the people to finish.

“Alright, I had reviewed everyone’s answers. The correct one would be A.” said Mrs. Eves.A hand shot up from the crowd.

“But isn’t it B?!” cried one of the girls that Jim did not recognize.

“Absolutely not! The correct answer is A. I know this because I’m properly educated, unlike you children.” said Mrs. Eves flatly.

Jim shrank down, despite agreeing with Mrs. Eves publicly. He always felt uneasy when the teacher was set off so easily. The girl, now in hot water, trembled for the entire period of class.

Jim’s muscles tensed. He almost reached a hand out to her shaking shoulder, but he caught himself. Empathy was inefficient. It was a sympathetic defect. To acknowledge her sadness was to admit that the Academy failed to make her happy.

After the final release of this session, Jim dashed to Mr. Green’s science class. Jim was again greeted by a sleeping man for the next hour. The day trudged on and on, though each class was no better than this.

Lunchtime was a chaotic part of the day. Maybe even the most chaotic. The Cafeteria smelled of burnt sugar and artificial grease. Because of one of the rules preventing dystopia, the dispensers allowed students to choose whatever they desired to consume. The theory was that free choice made happy citizens. The reality was a room crowded with children either vibrating from sugar or fainting from malnutrition. Jim watched as the boy in front of him in line typed out ‘Choco-Blast’ for what seemed to be the tenth day in a row. The boy’s skin was pale and pasty. His eyes were sunken like a corpse. Despite this, he still shoved candy into his mouth with increasingly shaky hands. Jim didn’t have to choose. His mother already aggressively recommended him a specific string of numbers to memorise.

He typed in 7-2-6-C.

The machine whirred and spat out a tan-colored block of protein and a side of boiled greens. It was flavorless and cold. However, when he looked around and saw some of his wheezing classmates vibrate from sugar, he ate the block in silence before going into the next class. After waiting and waiting, the sweet release of the speaksperson’s voice rang through the Academy.

“Education hours have ended. Please exit the Academy.” droned the speaksperson.

Jim squirmed as he tried to stay still. The flood of screeching children dying to get out of the building will trample him if he attempted to exit now. He fidgeted with his fingers and counted the blaring of ambulances. Around 5 would suffice, as Jim concluded from his routines. Lucky to be one of the people unharmed, he strolled out of the Academy. A wave of flashing white light blinded him. Even without the speaksperson, Jim inferred that it must still be a little around noon, given how much light is reflecting off the crystal-like squares of homes. He passed each monotonous house. Same shape. Same color. Same everything. But this was for the best. He couldn’t imagine the jealousy that would haunt them if there were different houses.

A slightly more rectangular wall blurred pass. Oh! He almost missed the Chatterplace. Jim sneaked a glance in. It was the same old building as always, a place for adults to discuss the this and thats while still being monitored. Jim would always try to catch a phrase or two when he had the time. He pressed his ear against the thin walls. He was pleasantly surprised to hear his father’s voice this time.

“The heater is off again. It’s freezing!” his father hissed. “My son’s lips are blue at night!”

“You know the rule. The Central Sensor in Block A reads a perfect 25 degrees. We are equal to Block A. Changing our temperature would imply that we deserve more than them.” replied a deeper voice of a man.

“Block A is in direct sunlight! We’re in the shadow behind the Academy! Their sensor is sure warm, but we’re freezing!” his father said with a hint of rage.

“It’s equality. Be thankful, at least the water is working.” the other man answered robotically.“Well, it’s not! The sink has been leaking for a week and I submitted a repair ticket.”

“And?”

“Denied. They said that repairing my sink would be considered Structural Inequality because your sink isn’t leaking. They won’t send a mechanic until at least 51 percent of the block has broken pipes. Even Jail would be faster to respond,” his father spat.

Having heard enough of the quiet whispers of what he called ‘adult issues’, Jim returned to his journey back to the house. He looked around. Still the same usual houses. However, he couldn’t determine which one was his. Again. Jim drew a small white button out of his pocket, the one without the hole. His finger traced along the lines until he found the actual part to be pressed.

“Initiated a private request. How may we aid you today?”

Jim paused. His mother would always remind him to use keywords for this. Now which one was it…? Ah, yes.

“Citizen #849. Locating House 832.” he said.

The smooth voice of the speaksperson immediately answered “From current location, head forward 2 blocks and right 1 block.”

Jim nodded despite knowing that the speaksperson wouldn’t be able to see him. He ran into the house as soon as he managed to find it. A woman with golden curls and crisp blue eyes stood there.

“Ah, Jim! You came back a little late. Good day at the Academy? Did you consume your knowledge well?”

“Yes. I am full of facts.” replied Jim blankly. It was the correct script.

“Very well, let’s get you to bed.” muttered his mother.

He stared at the white ceiling as he laid in the white little bed. It was again too cold for him to sleep. It was just as his father had described. Jim counted each sound he heard so that he could at least occupy his mind with something. There was the rhythmic rustling of the breeze hugging each perfectly trimmed bush, the pitter-platter of light rain, and… A deep thudding noise of footsteps.

Curiosity gripped him. What could it possibly be? Citizens are all settled by this time, with children already at Hour 19 and adults at Hour 21. The creaking noises of slightly worn out stairs informed him that the sound was within his house. Maybe it’s just his father or mother going downstairs to fetch some water. Wait. The water giver is upstairs… Jim sprang up from bed.

He carefully pushed the door open and peeked around. Of course, in the pitch black darkness, there would be nothing visible anyways. He decided to follow the sound. Down the stairs he traced the steps. Out of the house he traced the steps. Into the alleyway he traced the steps. Perhaps it might not have been a wise choice to go out in the open at what he thinks is around Hour 1.

The white crystalline buildings still managed to magnify the moonlight enough for Jim to see the scene. A streak of scarlet lay on the glimmering white tiles. Two figures were there. One was slumped over like he or she was sleeping, just on the ground. A tag hung from his or her neck. Bold black letters on it read “Central Heating Admin.” Jim recognized the second one. It was his father! Jim was about to run towards him when he saw the knife in his hands. It was wet with crimson. Drops plopped onto the ground painting more red flecks on the white canvas of the alley. Jim froze. All he could do was simply stare. “Still not changing the temperature, huh?” muttered his father. Before Jim could even process the phrase, red and blue light flowed into his eyes. He had never seen the police before this. However, none of that mattered as he watched the men approach. Jim stared in horror. Instead of trying to hide or bolting away, his father stood there like a statue. In fact, he even waved the knife slightly at them like a proud cat showing its owner a dead mouse.

He smiled as the men took him away and muttered “At least, I’m going to Jail. They actually have heat there, don’t they?”

After taking his father away from his view, the men turned to him.

“Please return to Residence 832 immediately.” one of them said in a bland voice similar to a speaksperson.

Jim didn’t need to be told this; he already desperately wanted to be back in his bedroom again. All of this was too much for one night. Jim headed back to the house. He was back in bed again. Again he stared at the white ceiling. Questions flooded Jim’s mind. How could he? Was he sick? Or was he… relieved? His father hated the cold house, the broken sink, and the rules of equality that were endlessly piling up. Maybe Jail had heat. Maybe Jail was a place where you could be independent and live independent. If a cage was the only place that offered comfort, what did that make Utopia?

The light of dawn burst into the room, with no apparent origin in the windowless cube of the house. He might have to prepare for the Academy again, despite the fact that a speaksperson has not announced the time yet. But what does the Academy really serve? Despite Jim excelling in it, he would ultimately end up in the same boring old homes and boring old jobs. Maybe it will even give him a craving for Jail where it looked nicer. He sat there with all of his previous anticipation gone like a shadow being struck with a flashlight.

“Hour 10, Academy is open. Please report to the area to receive Education.” rang out again.

Jim did not have his usual eagerness for obeying that command, but he still got out of the house. The piercing reflected beams of sunlight was always a thing to never get used to. Jim wandered out into the street, shielding his eyes. The pristine cleanliness pavement that was once a source of pride now mocked him. It showed no trace of the crimson pool from a couple hours before, as if his father and the person he killed never existed. The Academy loomed ahead. For the first time, the gold on the doors didn’t look like a decoration. It was bars, trapping all those who were within. He walked towards it. He didn’t want to, but there was no other place to go. He took his usual seat and waited for Mrs. Eves to arrive. It was average for at least one teacher to be tardy every day. A new test was handed out as soon as she arrived.

“Diana, would you please read the question today?” asked Mrs. Eves.

One of the girls spoke up “What is 5 times 7?
A. 12
B. 2
C. 57
D. 35”

The class stirred. Some were scratching the walls, others were fighting their classmates. It appears that they wouldn’t be able to provide an answer peacefully today, like most of the time. Mrs. Eves saw this and gave the test answer.

“The answer is obviously A, 12. This is because we are adding the concepts of numbers together and not the values.” she said.

The other children were finally silenced temporarily, satisfied with the blurry explanation. Jim stared at the paper, his hand hovering over A. Now he wasn’t quite sure but he believed that the answer was actually D, 35. Yesterday, he would’ve circled the A without a second thought to please her. But yesterday, he didn’t see how easily the truth could be wiped away with water and a mop yet. If the pavement could lie about a murder, Mrs. Eves could lie about math. Jim’s hand shook. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t circle the lie. For the first time, the best student in class put his pencil down and left the paper blank. Mrs. Eves strolled around the rows of seats, collecting each paper. She didn’t even bother to glance at his empty sheet as she threw the pile of messy paper onto her desk.

“Class dismissed.” she mumbled.

Jim would usually go to Mr. Green’s class. But that would serve nothing, as watching the man snore would teach him nothing. He drew low and swiftly sneaked out of the Academy. The golden doors sealed with a heavy thud, sealing the noises of fighting children inside. Jim expected something to happen. Maybe a speaksperson scolding him from the sky. But there was only silence.

Jim wondered where else he could go. If this was the definition of perfect, he didn’t want to be perfect. Imperfect people seek imperfect places. And of that Jim knew, was The Furnace. It was a shabby gray-ish white corner near the Academy’s library where students are told not to go. It’s heard that the place is used to burn books from the outside world, a corrupted place that keeps trying to darken Utopia. Jim was imperfect, not Utopian, now, so why should he be afraid of the place?

A wave of intense heat slammed into him as soon as he approached The Furnace. It wasn’t just warm. It was violent. Jim climbed over the burning steel fence, ignoring the warning sensors blinking an angry red. There was only one book that had not been destroyed yet, laying on the edge and tilted towards the raging flames. It drew closer and closer into the fiery pit, pushed slowly by the conveyor belt. It was titled ‘Songs of Sorrow and Joy: A Collection of Poetry’. Jim’s heart sank. He heard that poetry was the most meaningless and useless of all possible things. But that was from the Academy, and the Academy was wrong.

He scrambled down the fence, his shoes sliding in the soot. The heat was unbearable. It dried his eyes instantly.

The conveyor belt jerked forward and the one corner of the book dipped into the open jaws of hungry embers. It shifted black in an instant, the edge of the paper curling over. Jim didn’t think. He didn’t calculate. He lunged for the book. He threw his hand out, just as the book was tumbling in. He snatched it up and ran back to the space in front of the Academy.

Jim inspected it. The book had many scars from the past and the paper was yellow and crumbly. Not in the best condition. Jim sat down on a rock and opened his trophy from the deed. The first page wasn’t filled with A, B, C, or Ds. It also didn’t have a question. Instead, there were words littered in a way that resembled fallen leaves across the pages. He frowned slightly but started reading to himself.

“Number 1. Gray Skies
Do not fear the falling rain,
nor the tears that stain your face.
For a heart that feels no pain
is a cold and empty place.”

Jim paused. He didn’t expect it to be such a stark contrast to Utopia. Yet it was… Beautiful. As if the words came alive and reached out to him. Jim glanced at his surroundings. They were white, shiny, clean, and perfect. But they were an empty place where it was utterly cold. Just like the poem said.He gripped the book tighter, making his knuckles turn white. He stood up. Escaping the border was pointless. It was time to bring the border here. Jim stood up and went back into the Academy.

He walked into the library. It was vast and mostly empty. Jim found the display case, where the book of the week is usually shown when the staff remembers to put it up. He carefully set the book there, his hands trembling. If he was caught, he would be stuffed into Jail where he would be forced to stay with people who were twisted by the rules.

He picked up sounds of tapping footsteps. Jim’s heart sank. Someone was coming. The librarian, a slender old woman sporting a head of gray, was here. The click of her heels against the marble tiles grew louder and louder. Jim dove behind a shelf of approved manuals. He pressed his back against the cold metal. Through a gap in the books, he watched her silhouette draw close. She stopped right in front of the case, almost breathing into it. Jim did not move a single muscle. She grunted and wiped a smudge on the glass before resuming her walk.

Jim let out a small silent sigh and sneaked back out. He waited near the library, crouched like a hunting cat. It began from the girl from math class, the one who questioned the answer B. She wandered next to the case like a curious doe until the ragged paper caught her attention. She stopped. Jim watched her squint at the text. He could make out the gentle parting of her lips tracing each word. She didn’t move on. Instead, she waved to a boy nearby. He came forward and read it too. His eyes were wide and carried a terrified glimmer. However, he didn’t report it. He smiled.