Echoes in the Park

Utopia is real. It's a city, technically, but you've always thought of cities as loud, concrete places. Bereft of trees. Cloaked and choked in smog. Places where there's never enough space. Always more people pouring in. Another shop to cram into a corner somewhere. One more block of flats, and another, and another, because who needs parkland anyway?

Utopia has almost as much green as grey and glass. It sprawls like a drunk man on a bus, but it smells a lot better. The sky is clean. So is the river that encircles it on three sides.

A smattering of young and beautiful people walk along the streets. Their limbs are sun-warmed and swing freely. Their clothes are attractive, and they're clever, but not too clever.

A funny thing about Utopia: joy thrums in the air. You can feel it. You could throw a pebble and it'd hit a happy person. Someone who looks like the ice cream truck has broken down, and the ice cream is being given away for free.

Wait. The ice cream is always free.

There's very little traffic, and hardly any road rage. I mean, there's nobody to rage at. There's nobody in your way, because there's nobody.

Everyone is polite. Even cyclists are tolerated.

The food is delicious, and reasonably priced. The weather continues fine.

Look closer, though. There aren't enough people. Where is everyone? And why are the few people you can see all youthful and good-looking?

But not, as you are beginning to realise, too young. There are no children anywhere. No skinned knees or snotty noses. No mischievous kids running amok outside cafes while their faded-looking parents bear the brunt of judgemental glances. No toddlers squalling, red-faced, for sweets.

There are no sick people either. Nobody coughing or sneezing, no masked faces. No walking sticks, crutches or wheelchairs. Everyone here doesn't just look nice; they all seem to be in the peak of good health.

If you were to stop that young woman over there, walking through the park, you could ask her. She doesn't seem in a hurry. She looks rather nice. Stylish. Large, rose-gold sunglasses, and a wide floppy hat over her straight hair. You could try to figure out why she (and everyone else) is always in such good spirits all the time. You could try to figure out the puzzle.

Maybe she'll laugh, or sneer, or hurry away. Or... maybe she'll be happy to talk to you. All you need to do is strike up a conversation. Fall into step beside her, go on, and ask her where she's going.

"I'm going to visit Mum," she says. Why is it, do you think, that this puts you in mind of Little Red Riding Hood, off to see her Granny?

"Oh, that's nice," you reply lamely, hoping it's true. "Where is she?"

"In the Home," says the girl, as if you asked which direction the sky was in.

"Oh."

There's a beat of silence, and you spend it scrutinising her reaction. Is she anxious, depressed, annoyed? Not a bit of it. Her smile hasn't slipped. She brings her 100% recyclable cup to her lips and sips on her smoothie.

"She won't even know I'm there, to be honest," the woman says in a matter-of-fact tone, settling her peachy bottom onto a nearby bench. "But it's nice to see her. And of course, I can join her for a while if I want. They have ways of doing that now."

You're wondering if she has a boyfriend. Would it be rude to ask? She smells nice, like vanilla. Probably everyone smells nice here. She chatters away, and you ask the question that's been bugging you.

"Where are the children?"

She's got that Look again. The same as before, like you've just walked in from the rain asking why everything is wet.

There's another pause, as if she's working out whether you're joking.

"In the Village," she says, measuring out the words slowly and patiently with a bemused half-smile on her lips.

The desire not to appear stupid wars with the lust for knowledge and loses.

"Ummm... Is the Village a daycare?"

This time the silence stretches around the phrase, I don't know how to answer something as stupid as that.

You don't like the silence. Not least because, when it's too quiet, you can almost hear things. Things that don't fit. Whirring and beeping. Just out of reach of your consciousness, and quite out of place in this wide open space. Naturally, you trip over yourself to fill the pause.

"Look, I haven't been here very long. I don't know how your city works. I'm sorry if that seems stupid. I didn't mean to cause offence."

She's sipping the smoothie again, eyebrows raised, sun glinting off her sunglasses.

"I know," she says. "I could tell you weren't from around here the moment I looked at you."

She's intrigued. That's nearly as good as attracted, isn't it? Keep her talking!

"Really? I thought I was doing so well, blending in."

"Oh, it's nothing bad," her tone is reassuring, "I'm not even sure what it is... You just look... different." Something changes in her expression and she looks away. "It's hard to explain. There aren't many outsiders here. And we... Well, we never leave. So I don't have anywhere else to compare it to."

Worry is etching itself onto her face, like Jack Frost painting ferns on a window in winter. Stealthy, almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

"Is it really so weird here?" she asks, shyness blooming a delicate pink on her cheeks.

"No!" you blurt, but look: her eyes are guarded, now. She doesn't believe it.

"Why don't you tell me about Utopia," you say, inching closer on the bench, spellbound by her every word.

That anxious expression has eased, and her eyes are warm. There is a spell shared between you, and you already think it wouldn't be so bad to never leave this place.

"Annabeth," she says, holding out her hand. It feels warm and smooth, and that feels good because this bench is so cold and hard and the gown is so rough and...

wait that's not right

"...Want some?" She gestures the cup at you. "It's real nice. You can get it at the ice cream van. It's free."

You don't want your own smoothie. You want to sit here, in the sun with a pretty girl, and share one with her. It feels intimate, and delicious, and you can't stop smiling.

She loosens, and tells you about the Village.

"It's like, the ideal environment for little kids," she said. "It's all backed by science. And it's super safe. We've heard stories about what happens to kids out there. Ugh..." She scowls, and you hate to see her looking so uncomfortable. You hand the cup back to distract her. She sips and smiles.

"I grew up there," she carries on, as if the moment of tension never happened. "I have some great memories. It's a real community, everyone pitching in to help each other, and such a good education... There's a formula, you see. For the perfect childhood. For everything actually. The perfect day. The perfect memory. The perfect... Anway. Everything there is structured to give everyone the very best childhood. One day, if I have kids, I'll raise them there as well."

The smoothie really is quite tasty. It's funny, you can imagine going to the Village to raise kids. Then going to the Home, afterwards, just the way she describes... Every need taken care of, nothing but happy memories. Going to the Sanitorium if you're unwell.

A scratch on your inner arm makes you frown, and you slap it away, the wasp or whatever it is. You glance down, but there is no insect, only the wrinkled, slightly papery skin of an aging man, and

no, that's not right, that can't be right, everyone here is young and beautiful and you're-

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-cold and hungry. the beeping is louder, and so is the humming of machines. the scratchy hospital gown does nothing to ward off the chill. the light overhead is harsher than the gentle sunlight in the park. the disinfectant smell stings your nose. there's pressure, a scratch, then more of the Drug floods your system and you relax into-

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Her lips feel good against yours. It feels like you've always been here already, even though it's only been a few short weeks. You were at the local hostel at first, but your application for an apartment was accepted quickly and everyone has been nothing but helpful.

It's wonderful here. Beautiful. Clean. The people are so helpful. And of course, you're falling in love, so everything sparkles even more brightly.

You know that one day you will move aside and let the next generation enjoy this beautiful city. Live out your days in the Home. Until then, you will be with Annabeth. And after, as well. Annabeth has explained it all so clearly. They submerse you in your memories from the City, so you can live those golden times over and over again. You cannot think of anything more perfect. To feel like this forever? Bring it on. No depression, or pain, or grie... (You squash that thought like a bug.)

The night sky is clear. No smog, no light pollution, an unadulterated cascade of stars to match the overflowing in your heart. Fingers intertwined on the rug, her hair mingling with yours, her breath, too.

"Is this real? It feels too perfect to be real. You're too perfect."

Her hands on either side of your face, and the whiff of mango on her breath... it feels real.

These will be the happiest memories of your life. You kiss her again, a kiss that could last a lifetime if you need it to.

The weather continues fine.

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