What Happened to Omelas? – A continuation

What Happened to Omelas?

A Continuation of Ursula LeGuin’s Short Story… by Navin

Salem was quiet. He had been quiet for the past three months. Since the moment he laid eyes on the child in the closet, he had not spoken a single word. His parents had tried to get him to open up, then gave up when they were unsuccessful. It was another beautiful day in Omelas; they had everything they could ask for, so there was no point trying to change things they had no control over. Whether Salem left Omelas or never spoke again, they had three other beautiful children to keep them happy, and to be their pride and joy.

Salem’s mouth was still, but his mind was far from idle. He had been utterly shocked and devastated by what he had seen in that basement. He had no way of processing it. All his life, he had known beauty, peace, splendor, magic, music, and light. That room had been void of all of that. Darkness, sadness, and torment had filled that space.

Salem tried to move past this horrible revelation but could not do it. When he looked at his reflection, showing a healthy young boy with clean curls and luxurious robes, he felt revolted. He couldn’t look anyone in the face anymore. When he saw their smiles and heard their laughter, all he saw was the contorted face of the suffering child. The music that echoed through the city made him think of pounding pipes and whine of electricity, the only sounds that the child heard. How could so many people live so happily while knowing that one innocent child suffered in their stead?

He stood up. He knew what he had to do. He would leave Omelas. He would go somewhere far away from this sick town, this perverted place where the outer sweetness was really full of maggots.
Salem walked through town, still not speaking and looking straight ahead. People turned to watch him as he passed, knowing they would never see him again. However, Salem paused at the city gates. He couldn’t leave. The child was still there, locked in the hellish closet for the rest of its miserable existence. Salem turned with purpose and went back into the city, towards the basement, towards the closet, towards the child.

…
There was a sound outside the door. The child choked and snuffled and turned over on the damp floor, its bones digging into the hard cement. It curled into a ball as the door unlatched, preparing itself for the kicking and prodding. Nothing happened. After a long time, the child opened its eyes and turned towards the door. Through the glaring light, it saw a boy standing there, looking down at it. Not with disgust and loathing, but with something else. Compassion. He knelt and reached towards the child. It weakly pushed itself further towards the corner of the closet, but the boy reached further and pulled the child out of the closet. He picked it up and carried it like a baby. All the child could do was squeeze its eyes shut against the light and bury its face in the boy’s shoulder. It felt something it had never felt before: hope.

…
As Salem carried the child out of the city, a great rumbling began. As the boy cradled the frail child in his arms and stepped away from the oppressive shadows of the basement, the vibrant city of Omelas began to tremble under the weight of his defiance. With each step he took toward freedom, the joyful sounds of the festival grew distant, replaced by an eerie silence that echoed through the streets. The vibrant banners, once symbols of celebration, fluttered weakly as if mourning the child left behind. Buildings that once stood proud began to crack, their facades peeling as if the very essence of the city recoiled from the truth that had been hidden for so long. Citizens, once blissfully ignorant, watched in horror as their utopia unraveled before their eyes, their laughter replaced by shouts of confusion and despair. As the boy and the child vanished from sight, the air thickened with a palpable tension, marking the beginning of Omelas’s collapse – a city built on the suffering of one small child, now crumbled under the weight of its own conscience.

—

We all know that it’s not always easy to do the right thing. Sometimes it may mean doing something unpopular or unfathomable to all those around you. This story is an extreme case! But, at the end of the day, what matters most of all is your own conscience. 💎