Another's Words Leave No Room For Thought

A Story by Ashlyn Nasmith

A short story about a boy living in a world where each person's voice is for sale.

The morning was brisk. The Boy had his hands jammed into his pockets so his fingers could still navigate a key when he arrived home. He didn’t even remove them to scratch at the skin around the newly installed V-Box in his throat. It itched after each annual instalment. The new model was much smaller than the last. With smoother edges, it minimised the amount of initial discomfort. Because of the size reduction, the update also required a skin graft. So, while most of the irritation originating in his neck was gone, there was now the added annoyance of the protective layer on his thigh rubbing against his jeans as he walked.
Over the Boy’s life, his voice had belonged to numerous transnational oligopolies, the only entities able to afford voices in a world with as severe an economic divide as his. Currently, his voice discussed “the benefits of getting your power from Nik’s Electric”. A few minutes ago, the Boy had walked by someone broadcasting the same advertisement. What had been truly strange was the year his voice had been purchased by the company his father worked for. Stranger still was that his father worked there as a buyer--one of the many who watched the voice market to purchase newly available voices in areas the company wanted more coverage. His father might have been the one to buy his voice, and they would never know.
The voice market was utterly absurd. The overwhelming majority of voices were continually traded back and forth between the same people. They sold voices in areas where they were successful in favour of areas where they weren’t doing so well. And every single time, greed got the better of them; they always needed a profit. So voices, sold within a few months, had the highest inflation of any resource in human history. At the current average, a single voice went up in value by three million each month. No one could afford their voice anymore. Being such a large market, it had to employ many workers. Most of the human population spent their lives buying and selling voices for someone else, never able to afford their own.
A quiet beep came from the Boy’s V-Box, followed by a monotone voice saying, ‘Voice now on sale by… Nik’s Electric. Selling for… five hundred forty-six thousand, ninety-nine, ninety-nine.’ The advertisement continued after and would until the moment his voice sold.
The Boy adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag nervously. Everyone always looked at you when your voice went on sale. It was always interesting to see how much each person's voice sold for and who bought it. He was less than fifteen minutes from home, yet his voice would sell long before he arrived.
Sure enough, within a minute, his voice had sold. The V-Box fell silent. Usually, the new buyer would have taken over with whatever they wanted to say within seconds, but there was no sound. The Boy started to draw looks from people passing by; some confused, some fearful, and some even looked disgusted. After another minute of walking, there was still no sound. He couldn’t help but touch his neck self-consciously. Another ten minutes, and still his voice stayed quiet. The Boy was very worried. A voice going unused for so long was unheard of. It simply never happened. When voices cost as much as they did, it was considered a waste not to use them immediately.
The boy stopped dead when he saw the lone police officer walking his way, weapon out. ‘We have received a call concerning your V-Box. Please hold still while we verify your identity,’ said the voice from the officer's V-Box. Police were not only required to give up their voice, but each had to sacrifice an eye for a camera. Both they and their office counterpart could see through the replacement. The weapon he carried was a small pistol that the Boy recognised. It was a new design manufactured by some pharmaceutical corporation. Supposedly, it fired a tiny dart, which released a fast-moving temporary paralytic through the body. “Non-lethal, with no lasting side effects”, was what the latest police publicity campaign had said.
‘Lift your chin so I can see your neck.’ This time, it was the Officer's own voice.
The Boy did as he was told, exceedingly aware of the gun aimed at his chest.
‘There is evidence of tampering.’ The Boy wasn’t sure who the Officer was talking to until he added, ‘Did you disconnect your voice?’
'It was working before, I swear,' the Boy signed.
‘Your V-Box is not connected to the network. You do know that’s a crime, right? You could be locked up for a long time if you aren’t honest with me now.’
'I promise it wasn’t me. I just had it put in today,' the Boy pleaded, becoming frantic.
‘That is not the newest model, so I find that hard to believe,’ the Officer said.
'Maybe they didn’t--'
‘Alright, that’s enough. Hands behind your head!’ the Officer yelled. People on the street all backed away from the scene.
'Please, Sir, I have the papers--'
‘HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!’
The Boy quickly unzipped his bag to pull out his papers…
The last thing he knew was the sound of the gun.