They were born, lived, bred and died in this place, the people of that town. Leaving was unheard of and what for anyway? True happiness was found there, satisfaction and contentment at the least. All of the unhappiness felt by the outside world never infiltrated this place. It seemed mythical, magical, unreal but yet, there it was, standing tall in all its glory, under blue skies and a gleaming sun. There was no such thing as a bad day in this town, every day was better than the next, but no day could have been said to be bad. The people were content and the town was content.

 

There were seven of them, boys- or rather young men, though their youth seemed to still be ongoing. They had been born in the town and taught in the town and now they did what everyone else in the town did. All the work, play, rest, eating, celebrating; they knew it all. They seemed to be what the outside world called ‘friends’ but it was unsure. The concept was unknown to the people of that town. If you worked, played, ate and rested together, did that constitute this ‘friendship’? For if so, then the entire town must be best of friends, as all did all with all. The men, as we shall call them, did their work together. Some could dance, some would sing, and others were more content to watch their co-workers or friends performing what they had created on stages that were set up around the town, small sighs of happiness leaving their lips as performances finished.

 

Yes, it could be assumed that these men were friends. They shared a home, not an uncommon occurrence for many of those their own age, where they worked on their trades, never fully working alone but all seven helping each other to present the best performance that they had given yet. There was no mistrust, no anger or harsh words, no competition in this place; only harmonious working together and agreements on improvements.

 

And that’s how the entire town was. They [the men] were not out of the ordinary. Each year was the same. Mothers raised their children, fathers played with them, adults worked at their jobs, children went to school, the town flourished and happiness continued to reign. The same year after year, an unbroken cycle, a circle. That’s how this town could be described. A perfect circle, the most beautiful and complete of all the shapes. No imperfections can be found in a perfect circle and in the same way no imperfections or blemishes could be found in this town also.

 

The city of dreams many would say and the people of the town are happily enough living there, ignorant of any other way to live. This life is all they know and nothing that any outsider can say will change their minds. After all, can outsiders even find their town? It is carefully hidden, to avoid the corruption that comes with the knowledge that the outside world possesses and to keep any negativity out. This town is blissful and calm, without even a ripple of doubt to the intentions of others.

 

The men, though different in appearance, all seemed to have the same soul. If one man had an idea, another man would voice it almost immediately without any discussion of it prior. They stood at different heights and widths but no man could be said to be more handsome than another and their similarities meant that people in the town often would refer to them as a group rather than as individuals, which none of them really minded. After all, it was their shared work that the town enjoyed.

 

Previously we spoke of circles and of their perfection. However, we know with the technology of our outside world if you expand the picture of a circle there could be even 1 pixel out of place and suddenly that circle is no longer perfect. A fleck has marred its perfection and just in this way there is a fleck that mars the perfection of this town.

 

In the most beautiful building in the town, there lives a child. You must be thinking “Oh what luck for that child to live in such a beautiful place. Oh, how marvellous for that child.” However, this is not so. This child is kept in the cellar, far from human eyes. It once knew it’s mother but has long since been separated from the warmth of her love and the sparkle in her happy eyes. Now the child lives alone, known about by all, albeit thought to be a rumour by some. Far from the light and warmth of the sun which it might pretend is its mother, but close ‘friends’ with the darkness and dampness of its surroundings. It used to cry out but now there is nought but a hoarse whisper of “Please” whenever its daily meal is delivered. It is the only source of anything but happiness in the town.

 

Disgust is the most common response to it. It is easy to differentiate man from woman on a normal person but this child with its bloated belly, squinted eyes whenever it is light enough to see it, and stick-like limbs is not normal and it cannot be told as to whether it is male or female. Mothers think to themselves how lucky they are that their children are not like this and the rest of the town think how lucky it is that they were not born to the child’s fate.

 

Pity is the next most common response but it is easy to get over since no-one wants the slimy feeling to stick around them so they push the memory to the backs of their minds to contemplate again, some day, when they have nothing to do. The child’s suffering is the payment for the perfection of the town. No-one knows who made this trade or who regulates it but all know that if the balance is tipped, perfection will leave to be replaced by what they might assume to be chaos but what we outsiders know to be normality.

 

Contemplation is a rarer response and often those that contemplate may not be heard of for a while but surely enough those people too re-join the town and forget about the child in the cellar, in lieu of going forward with their life and not breaking the perfect cycle. They may seem more mature but that could be because of making a resolution to work hard after seeing what they saw in order to forget.

 

The youth joke about it, that child, betting at its age and gender but the truth is no-one knows, so no-one loses and no-one wins. They all go home content at not knowing and forget that their conversations about it even happened. It has always been that way and looks like it will go on this way forever.

 

It is Autumn or what seems to be Autumn in the town. The leaves are falling red, yellow, gold off the trees but the temperature is still warm and there is no discomfort felt by any. By some sort of compelling force the men are drawn to that building, the grandest, most beautiful one. They find themselves being ushered to the cellar and hear the soft groan of the child. Confusion fills their senses and pity overwhelms them. The tallest of them leads the smallest of them away as they leave as it seems that he is in a trance. They go back to their home and begin work.

 

For the first time, they have no communication as they work. The singers write lyrics for songs that aren’t yet written, the dancers choreograph dances for those same songs, and the producers sit in their studios with headphones glued to their ears churning out melodies and harmonies that are both harmonious and discordant at the same time. When they finally meet again after days have passed, they put everything together and the puzzle is finished.

 

That evening they perform. The performance has a different feel from its usual feel but no one complains or thinks badly of it. It is still an amazing performance and they all know and trust the men. The congratulations go around after the performance but the men seem to be caught up in another world as they make their thank you from seemingly another dimension.

 

It is the dead of night when they do it. Seven of them, in a line, walking away from the town. They are the first to do so. And under the arm of the tallest member is a small child, the child. For the first time, it sees light that isn’t gone within an instant. It has been given clothes and shown care. The next morning, the towns people will wake feeling that something is not right, already some have already awoken with this foreboding feeling but the seven continue to walk away with the child breaking the perfection of the town.

 

Walking away from Omelas.