Far Off

Silence

Murray Steele descended the few steps from his cottage. His was a modest home on a simple country lane. He could be happy knowing that all the residences and streets of The Comity were modest.

With a pop in his step, he made his way quickly down the street. His lungs filled with the crisp morning air. The scent of lilacs hung about him from unseen flowers. Birds twittered in the trees above. Whistling softly to himself, he ambled past sleepy neighbors in their humble homes.

It was his day off. He only got one of these every few weeks, so he wanted to make the most of it. It was a rare gift, having time alone. We can all be better citizens when we've taken care of ourselves, he thought. It wasn't an official mantra. There were so many of those, he wasn't sure if he remembered them all. Perhaps this one was too long to qualify as a mantra. Either way, he thought it might be better to keep it to himself.

Nearing the end of the street, he considered his options. On this day, he had the luxury of indecision. While such opportunities were rare, he found he enjoyed making decisions. This choice was guided by his destination. Only the route was yet to be determined. Lingering on the corner, Murray finally turned east toward the rising sun.

He remembered the term 'east' from his youth. It was a word that had fallen from favor. Earth's long history included such terms. They had once been useful, but many of them animated political entanglements. It didn't serve to bring people together if some were from the east and others from the west.

Continuing this way for several more blocks, he reached another corner and stopped. After some hesitation, he turned north toward downtown. Earlier, he had considered a more circuitous path, but he was getting hungry.

He knew calling it a 'downtown' was generous. It constituted little more than a wide spot in the road. Having a fondness for such archaic terms, Murray only employed them privately. Like east and west, suburb and city, rural and urban, the differentiation bred contempt.

In fact, it was no longer acceptable to think of one town as distinct from the next. This too tended toward dissociation. We're all in this together, he thought reflexively.

Murray wasn't sure if that was the correct mantra for the occasion. Maybe 'All are united in The Comity' was more appropriate. He didn't find much solace in either of them. To him, some terms were more practical than others. If one town could be confused with the next, how would he find his way home?

Arriving on the central street – it was no longer called Main, he crossed quickly. On the corner stood a derelict gas station. Beside that was the only remaining eatery in town. The smell of freshly baked bread emanated from the place. On the window he found the word 'food' prominently displayed. No other words were necessary. Simplicity certainly had its place in The Comity.

Upon entering, Murray stopped at the first empty table and sat. He looked up to discover that several citizens were staring at him from around the room.

Walter Simmons stood behind the counter. "Are you okay, Murray?" Walter was a pleasant, plump, older man who'd run this cafe since before Murray lived in the area.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Murray exchanged nods with several people in the room. This did not keep them from staring his way.

His neighbor, Rose Andrews, called to him. "Did you forget your Explique?"

Murray glanced down at his left arm to find that he had indeed forgotten the device. "I suppose I have," he said.

"Is it being repaired?" asked Rose.

"They would have given him a temporary one," said someone from the corner.

Murray looked their way. The face wasn't familiar. "No, it's not being repaired. I took it off last night and forgot to put it back on."