By Christopher Humphrey

This was a short story written for a college course based on the premise of writing a story from the perspective of the one of the townspeople in Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.

There is nothing finer than the feeling of waking up enveloped in layer upon layer of fine, silken sheets. I could lay here forever as Morpheus whisks me away to lands in the far reaches of imagination. Yet golden sunbeams dance through the gaps in the curtains to fall squarely upon closed lids. I slowly but surely pry my eyes open.

One more minute. A little more sleep would be nice.

 Just outside my window is a sea of red tiled roofs leading down to the shimmering strand. Even at this hour, I can see little specks of people playing and sitting upon the white sands. Today is a joyous day after all.

I emerge from the comfort of my bed, my feet make contact with the cool ground. Upon retrieving my slippers, I hastily put them on as I made my way over to the window. Already, I see more little specks putting up all kinds of elaborate, multi-colored decorations. Balloons, banners, murals, everything you might imagine was there. You see, this festival is no mere celebration. It is a triumph of the wonderful place in which we happily live. Hardship and strife may as well be prose for a fantasy, or better yet a footnote.

Down below, near the center of the town, I watched two able-bodied men unfurl a large banner, where they then drove two wooden stakes into the ground on which the banner was supported.

“Welcome to the Festival of Summer,” it read.

 And in that moment, without any notice, I felt a sharp pain that spread through my head. It was not a physical pain, but something else entirely. A logical pain, perhaps? No, that does not make any sense.

I could not make heads or tails of the strange sensation. But in that moment I remembered that I had the most peculiar dream last night. However, that was all I could remember about it, that it was peculiar. Well, that and that it frightened me half to death. That is the trouble with dreams, you cannot remember them when you want to.

Stretching my arms wide, I collected myself and pulled out my clothes for the day: a suit of sky blue from head to toe, much like the wide-open sky and ocean which surround our fair town. I ran down the stairs and went out the front door in one swift motion. A cool summer wind briefly brushed past my face as I jogged down the cobblestone path.

There is a small seaside coffeehouse that I make a pilgrimage to every morning. They have a massive bay window which has the best view of the ocean in the entire town. You would never believe it if you did not see it for yourself. Sometimes you can see people on their sailboats riding out on the gentle waves, a rainbow of triangular sails impregnated by a zephyr from lands unseen. Today was no different. I caught a glimpse of those sails as I entered the coffeehouse and made my way toward the counter. A bell rung softly, which naturally caught the attention of a young woman sitting behind the counter.

She closed the book she had been reading and looked at me with kind eyes. Her rosy lips formed into a warm, pleasant smile. I know what you must be thinking. How can anyone be so happy? The woman engrossed in her novel should have felt inconvenienced by my arrival, right? But I can assure you, her smile then was genuine, and so was mine. That is simply how things are in this town. It is not the purpose of this narrative to answer skeptical questions.

“Hello! May I help you, sir?” the woman asked.

I thought about the question despite always settling for a tea and bagel. I suppose the routine had become its own comfort.

“I would like­—”

Like a bolt out of the blue, the indescribable stinging returned. But this time is was something more, an image. Or rather, a fragment of an image viewed through a dusty pane. I collapsed to the floor and curled up into a ball, wincing from the mental anguish.

All around me I heard voices say things like “Is he all right?” and “Quick! Bring him to the doctor!” In an instant I was lifted up by a few people as my vision faded in and out. As I was carried away I thought about my cloud-like bed. I imagined that pseudo-weightlessness as colored blurs passed me by.

My consciousness eventually returned. I was startled by the unfamiliar place at first, but I was relieved to find that it was just the local physician’s office. In a town like this, people rarely, if ever, get sick. Even injuries are a rarity. Still, having Neddy was a necessity for those rare occurrences.

He just smiled all the while, his rosy cheeks puffed out, seemingly unbothered by treating a patient on the day of the big festival. After sitting me up, he wiped his glasses with a piece of cloth as he assured me that I was going to be just fine. He said that his wife, Lucinda, had gone through something similar recently and that a little rest went a long way for her. Naturally, Neddy suggested the same for me. Truth be told, I felt like my little episode was something that rest could only scratch the surface of, but Neddy’s kind demeanor helped put my heart at ease. Just before I left, he had given me some phosphates or phosphites, whichever one it was. I looked back as I left his office, Neddy gave me another comforting smile and said, “Don’t worry my friend, a little rest and you’re safe as houses!”

Outside, it was clear to any resident of this town that the Festival of Summer had already gone underway. The blooming colors all around me made it feel like the town had been a mere blank canvas yesterday. Earlier, the cobblestone roads had been relatively barren save for the few setting up the decorations, but now I was struggling to weave in and out of the crowd. There were also red and blue tents with vendors that sold cute little trinkets, toys, and various types of food that would make my mouth water. I could see the elders in their long robes walk with the children, who had these amiably sticky faces. The children were helped onto a fabulous array of horses. As hard as it may be to believe, even the horses seemed to be having a good time, giving no trouble at all to the noisy children. They galloped with a joyful whinny as streamers of silver, gold, and green flew about in their braided manes.

I moved on a bit further down the various winding roads until I came to a large circular area in the midst of the houses. A band was playing there with a cornucopia of instruments including gongs, flutes, tambourines, lutes, and so on. Listening intently to the beautiful music, I sat down next to a group of large, bearded men who laughed heartily as they took huge gulps of beer, though a good bit of it would miss their mouths and just end up streaming down their faces like tears of joy.

After a while of hearing those soothing tunes, my next-door neighbor Jane and her husband John came over to see how I was getting along. They asked if I was feeling better. Word tends to get around town quickly. I had almost forgotten about the incident at the café. I laughed at myself for being so silly earlier. Then Jane, John, and I talked for a couple hours more about various subjects. Eventually, the words of my dear friends began to fade little by little. Not because of a loss of hearing, I could hear them quite well if I really put my mind to it, though I was fixated on something just beyond Jane’s shoulder and golden locks. It was a group of children bringing their happy horses to a stop in front of an old building. They struggled to descend the horses, their tiny feet just above the cold, hard ground lined with confetti.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the building the wide-eyed children stood in front of except that it was strangely unremarkable. It seemed to be one of the few buildings in town that had no decorations, its color a muted blue. Before I even knew it, my feet led me to the odd house. Jane called out to me, “Hey! Where are you going?” and John just sat there, looking puzzled.

The children did not acknowledge me, they too were in awe of the blue house.

Nobody else seemed to mind though. I briefly looked, half-expecting everyone to be staring at us. But that was not the case. Everyone was as joyous as ever, caught up in the reverie of the festivities. John and Jane continued to talk, the bearded men continued to chug their beer, and instruments blared loudly. Yet the children were different, a curious expression painted on their faces.

Finally, a young girl, no more than ten years old, with blonde hair that went halfway down her back clasped her hand around the silvery doorknob of the curious blue house. Turning the knob, the girl opened the door wide, revealing darkness and nothing more. Upon lighting the lamps in the room, things were seemingly ordinary with a quick glance. The room was partially furnished with a table, chairs, and basic shelving.

It almost seemed like the children knew something that I did not. The blonde girl walked to the back of the room and opened a curious-looking door which had seen better days. It did not lead to another room, rather a dark, damp staircase sat on the other side.

One by one, the children and I descended the stairs which led to another door which was locked. The blonde girl pulled out a key. I wondered how this little girl acquired this key, but the mystery of what lay on the other side of the door won out. She hesitantly inserted the key into the lock and gave it a slow and cautious twist.

When the door had completely opened, all the breath escaped from my body. I could have sworn that a corpse sat there upon the floor, but that theory was ruled out when one of the other children came over and kicked it, making the poor creature whimper in pain. It was horribly underweight and there was not a stitch of clothing to be found on it. Its modesty had only been half-preserved due to the amount of dirt and grime caked onto its skeletal body.

I was horrified, yet at the same time I was not as surprised as I thought I should be. It was as if I had seen this scene before. It was as if this image needed to exist, otherwise… what? I had no way of knowing. The strangest part is that it almost made sense, that it was more believable somehow.

When that ghastly thing screamed at the sight of a mop in the corner of the room, I could stand it no longer and fled from that dreadful place, leaving the children far behind. I made my way back outside and like before, I sat and listened to the music play while bearded men had their fill of beer, only this time in silence. When the sun dove behind the horizon, I returned home and immediately went to bed.

There is nothing finer than the feeling of waking up enveloped in layer upon layer of fine,

silken sheets. I could lay here forever as Morpheus whisks me away to lands in the far reaches of imagination. Yet golden sunbeams dance through the gaps in the curtains to fall squarely upon closed lids. I slowly but surely pry my eyes open.

My eyes half-open, I looked across my room and out the window. To the left, I saw a grassy knoll which leads to the city limits. There were people on it, tiny specks walking away until they disappeared behind the horizon. It looked like there was a young blonde girl among them who seemed familiar, but I could not place exactly why. All I could remember was the wonderful festival. I reminisced about all the food, music, and decorations. That is all there was, right? My head throbbed for a split second, but I shrugged it off and decided to sleep in a bit longer.