HeRo (Sⓗort Stⓞrⓘⓔs)

• U T O P I A •

→ u·to·pi·a

yo͞oˈtōpēə/

noun

// an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect //

— short story based on the novel, Anthem, by Ayn Rand —

• U T O P I A •

  → To write my thoughts upon a cleft of paper is unlawful — if I were to be caught doing such a thing, my punishment would be long and painful. But there are some things worth the risk. I have many thoughts. And these thoughts must be released, lest I say them aloud and be eliminated in the process.

My name is not important. Only my story.

   → My first experience with these lonesome thoughts, was at a young and beautiful age. As a child you have no sense of order or law. You simply exist.

My class had been frolicking in a group of thistle weeds — the plants so high that it seemed to our tiny imagination that they touched the sun and God and the stars. Our parents all were attending a conference at the town center. Although they vaguely knew our location, no one worried. We knew the rules. And we were raised to follow them.

But we never were taught to think.

Thinking is such a simple idea. To just have words in your mind. To have ideas and suggestions and thoughts. But here, it was forbidden.

“Save me! Save me!” one child cried.

I remember clearly the way his coat fluttered as he cheered to us all to save him from the evil monster in our little games. Often times, the monster was naughty children. The ones who did not follow the rules. We all would group together and force upon them the task of acting as ill as before. But today, there was no real monster. Only a patch of grass that symbolized a snarling beast. As my legs raced to this boy to touch his shoulder and free him, I lost my footing.

My body went tumbling down a hill, my shouts and cries lost in the crunching of wood. I fell so far I could no longer see the sun, and the only thing surrounding me was dense wood and the disturbing caws of birds.

“Someone! Please! I'm lost! I'm alone!” I screamed until my throat became raw and I realized that it was no matter — I was trapped inside the woods.

This began my ascent into thinking. My throat bled. I could not speak, so my brain shouted and whispered and murmured for anything — anyone — to rescue me. It terrified me, being so alone. We were never alone at home. Everyone worked together. Everyone had a task. We did as the law said, and lived as the law spoke. But in my tiny little head, I began to wonder the meaning of truly being alone.

What was so bad about keeping yourself company?

Where was the harm in letting silence complete you?

In actuality, there was no harm. It only allowed for my mind to expand and wonder and question. How many hours I spent there, I'd never know, but it was enough. Enough to touch the tip of the iceberg. Enough to set sail to an ocean of thoughts.

“Are you okay?” my parents had asked me — more out of duty than real love.

I gave them a small smile. “Yes, mother. Father.”