The Sound of Silence
Based on Simon & Garfunkel's song by the same name.



Good morning, Richard... Good morning, Richard... Good morni-
Richard heard the reassuring crack of breaking plastic as his arm hit the alarm clock, and smiled. "Morning."
He stood, stumbling slightly from fatigue, and made his way to the closet. He ran his fingers down the drawers, feeling along the Braille labels, until he found what he was looking for.
Richard was one of the few who had chosen blindness, by looking into the permanent sun that had been erected with the signing of the New World Order.
The sun had been created "for the benefit of all mankind", on the theory that permanent sun ensured better growth of crops, more productive days, and a more pleasant atmosphere, since the climate and season could therefore be controlled.
Since the sun never went down, the citizens’ eyes had to be protected, but some, though no true protest group was ever created, chose to do without, and had therefore gone blind. Richard had been among them.

After he had dressed and prepared, he typed a numeric code into the security system by his front door. A robust male voice echoed from the speaker.
"Good morning, 6138332... Richard Townsend. Please confirm that all is well in your abode today."
"Fine, good Boardsman... and you?"
"Wonderful, thank you, Richard. Have a pleasant day."
Richard left his house, pausing only to smile with the slight glee he gained from walking out his front door each day, the smallest feeling of victory.
Hello, darkness, my old friend... I've come to talk with you again.
Out of nowhere, the song ran through his mind. It was old, written almost 200 years ago.. but Richard always had a feel for the classics.

Richard made his way to work, appearing no different from the hundred sighted people on the sidewalk near him. The Boardsman picked out the degenerates through their vision, assuming that the sighted were the good people, because they had welcomed the sun. The title of Boardsman applied to many people, basically identifying them as a figure of authority. Policemen, politicians, company management, and even the security men that ran confirmations on the in-home security systems, were to be referred to as ‘Boardsman’. They were considered to be men of honor, but truthfully, they paid little attention unless a scandal was afoot. However, scandal was easy to find if one looked. That's the issue with a perfect society, he thought, anyone can have whatever they want.
Richard was a linguist for a major electronics company. He spoke five different languages, so any business conducted between those countries and their office needed to go through him. The New World Order had chosen, rather than convert millions to a universal language, to provide translators for most any situation, creating more jobs and less confusion. America provided the translation for his company, so several languages could come in, but translators were not overused. It could not be said that all ideas which sprung from the Order were useless... they simply had enforcement issues.
Around three, Richard answered a call from a German consulting firm, and prepared his pen and paper. It was easier for him to translate when he had felt the motion of each letter.
Dummkopfe sagten I... fools said I... sie wissen nicht... you do not...
The man on the other line rapidly hung up.
Richard finished the translation, and then frowned.
... you do not know, silence like a cancer grows.
Odd, he thought, Simon and Garfunkel again?
He shook it away. Must've been a wrong number.
"All is well, Mr. Townsend?"
Richard recognized the voice. Casually laying an elbow on the sheet of paper, he turned to face the gentleman. "Wonderful, good Boardsman. And you?"
"Oh, wonderful, just making some rounds... to see if I could help anyone... in need of some guidance." the Boardsman went on to the next cubicle, shuffling his feet, as though his dress shoes didn't fit properly.
The fan above Richard quieted down a bit. It had been broken for some time, and he was glad to see the malfunction was subsiding a bit.

The day continued uneventfully, and as he heard the din of his fellow employees die out, he began to pack his things and leave.
"Excuse me, Mr. Townsend."
Richard turned abruptly to face the Boardsman. "Yes, good Boardsman?"
"Why the devil are you preparing to leave? You've an hour left to go."
Richard paused. "Oh... um... my apologies, good Boardsman. I was under the impression people were.... won't happen again, good Boardsman."
The Boardsman chuckled. "Glad you're hearing me, Mr. Townsend. Have a pleasant day."

People talking without speaking... people hearing without listening... Nah.
After finishing the day, and after making certain that closing time had come, Richard packed his things and left, pausing only to tip his hat to the doorman. However, he could hear no sound, not even the rustling of his clothes. Guess he left on time, for once, he thought.

But as he stepped outside, his confusion grew. He could hear no sound of the crowd. "Where is everyone..."
"They're there, 6138332."
The voice sounded almost nonexistent, as though it were everywhere and nowhere, in his head, or right behind him."
"Who the hell are you?! And if they were here, I'd hear them."
"Reach out your arm, 6138332."
Almost unwillingly, not wanting to venture into this strange magic trick, he did so. His fingertips brushed the back of a businessman's jacket.
"My name is Richard, and what have you done? Who are you?"
The voice laughed. "Tragic, 6138332, I understand. The Boardsmen all understand. But the clauses of the New World Order are quite clear, and any degeneration must be corrected."
"That has nothing to do with me."
"On the contrary, 6138332, you are without sight. Such things are a choice, an act of free will. And when free will makes decisions that harm the greater good, action must be taken."
"Fine, I'm scum. So throw me in Maximum Security and call it good, but quit doing this."
Richard could feel the heat of the sun intensifying, ever so slightly.
"No, no, 6138332. The Order is apparent. If you choose not to appreciate our gifts... we cannot appreciate yours. Your gift is your ears, and we must make things fair. This is the last you will hear, but the Boardsmen are generous. We will return to you our gift. The gift of perfection, 6138332. Love it. The sound of silence is yours."

The first thing he saw was the wall of the apartment building in front of which he had stopped. It was a ramshackle place, looking as though it had been made of cobblestone. On it, in simple black letters, written just large enough to be readable, was the word 'listen'.

The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls.... and echoed in the sound of silence

Richard sighed, and continued on his way, as the eternal sun cast a wretched light on everything before him.