The Destruction of Utopia
Syne27

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The city was beautiful. There was no filth, no trash. The water was pure, and on every street corner, flowers bloomed in a myriad of colors. Birds sang from the eaves, and every night crickets chirped, and fireflies danced in time with the sound. “This is perfection!” the people yelled, as they danced the night away. “This is beauty,” they whispered, as the sun dawned the new day. The children skipped to school each day, laughing, and trudge the whole way home. The people whistled while they worked, and frown and tear were never seen. No sorrow lived within their land, nor anger rear his ugly head. Not jealousy, nor strife, nor any other emotion of malcontent was seen. All was gay and young and good.

“Who but us could find a place of such beauty?” a man said one day. “Who but us could make a mundane city into a heaven? In all the cities in all the lands on Earth, there is but one city that has found the lost paradise. One land among all the thousands and that is this city. Utopia, they call it. They thought it couldn’t exist. But I say it can, and it does. Right here, this city, our city, is that paradise, the Utopia…”

At first, the people in the street who heard him murmured to themselves, unsure. But, as the words were repeated, slowly they grew to ring true in the hearts of the people. Perhaps they felt that if they were to speak against the prophet, their city could never again be said to be that paradise… Perhaps, they thought that maybe, just maybe, the prophet spoke the truth… “Our city is Utopia!” the people cried in celebration. “Our city is perfect,” they announced as their toasts.

The children still skipped, and the workers still whistled, but after the prophet came, something changed. There was no sorrow, nor anger, nor strife, but there was no gaiety or youth either… There was no hope. Because, when you have perfection, why bother wasting time wanting something more? Children stopped playing make-believe games; why dream, when dreams exist before your waking eye? Workers didn’t hope for raises, because they were content with their salary. And somehow, when no one was looking, the first emotion of malcontent snuck into the hearts of the people…

It started with the little things – children playing took longer to return to their homes at nightfall, and men returned home late, without a word of explanation. And the mothers and the wives grew distressed, frightened by the new changes. In time, the fear grew bitter, and the women grew angry at the lies.

When family returned home late, or disappeared for hours without a word, the anger in those left behind grew, and festered. And when the boys came home, from playing in the fields, the anger scared them. And, in fear, they fled away again, and the anger in those left behind grew, and festered.

Soon, all the good was gone. Discontent rang through the air as funeral bells, somber in their proclamation. But no one spoke a word in anger, nor was any tear shed from sorrow. Perhaps they felt that if they were to speak against their brethren, their city could never again be said to be the Utopia they prided in… Perhaps they thought that maybe, just maybe, the darkness would leave, and the sun would dawn again over their city of paradise.

But, as in many aspects of life, weeds, when allowed to linger, grow and multiply, and their roots dig deeper into the soil. So, with time, it grew worse. Because there were fear and anger, the trust that held together the remaining rags of their happiness started to disintegrate. The brotherhood that the people shared was strained, and no longer were all men comrades and friends. The laughter that had been heard on the streets changed, and shouts and arguments were heard instead.

The city was not as it had been. The birds, as though aware of what was happening, no longer sung their tunes from the rooftops. The flowers lost their beauty, and the colors of the world seemed to fade together, until all that was left was brown and grey; brick and iron. And with every tear, the water grew a bit more bitter, a bit more tainted…

“What happened to the birds?” a few young children asked. The ones who understood the gravity of their fate, but didn’t yet comprehend the social reasons for silence. “Why did the laughter stop, and why’d everyone get so mean?” And their mothers couldn’t answer them, nor their siblings nor friends. Everyone shushed the children, but the words echoed in the minds of the regretful, lingering on and stirring up long buried doubts. “It’s our fault…” they cried, as the day turned into night. “We’ve destroyed ourselves…” they whispered, and swore that change would come.

It never did. Some tried, and tried to bring about a shred of peace, but it never came. Every day, a few people withheld tears, and swore to serve the greater good, all the while determined that it would make a difference. Some people couldn’t change though. Set in their ways, some people lost a bit more faith, and grew a little angrier. And every day, the city grew a bit more sullied, and the people grew a but more bitter, a bit more tainted…