Cash For Thought

Prompt: “Imagine Ideas must be paid for. They are the currency. Are there literal “idea shops” or is it much darker and mysterious, involving extracting information from people’s minds? Is being creative, imaginative, actually dangerous in this society? Are people’s minds examined by the authorities to check if their thoughts are idea free? This could lead to a rebellion… Is your character a rebel who dares to dream, or a member of the bounty hunters? Think outside the box. What are the implications of this?”

 

Ever since the new Page was written into our town’s Chapter a lot of things have changed. People have been starting to be arrested for speaking poetically or explaining things in new and creative ways. I had always been a creative person, but now that it was illegal, it was hard to hide. I took the cover of a Cutter, the sort of freelance “Idea Hunters” that started popping up when the normal police force abandoned the town, to try to hide my creativity. 

It was a risky job, having to track down the “Thinkers”, as we called them, and watch them be taken away to places I knew they would die or simply be so harshly persecuted that all but their life would be stripped from them. 

I had also taken up being a Cutter for other reasons. I had chosen to be a Cutter to protect creativity and originality and ingenuity. Seems counter-intuitive, right? Well, it is; and of course, it was extremely dangerous. If I was found out, I would have all thought erased from my mind and sent to the Blanks, a sort of desert on the very outskirts of the town, and left to simply exist with nothing. 

So far, I had been lucky. And that was partially thanks to my dearest, and nearly lost friend, Symila.

Symila was a poet. She was beautiful, and artistic, and knew words better than anyone I had ever met, before, or since the new Page came into the Chapter. I often came home to our little hideout apartment to her scribbling lines on whatever she could find to write on. Sometimes the only surface she had to write on was the walls.

I loved watching her write. 

She had this swishy handwriting that you could get lost in even without reading the words the curls and swoops formed.

*     *     *

"Hello, all!" I called when I came into the apartment one late night. It was really an early morning, but as Cutter, you would tend to lose track of time.

"Teyo!" One of the younger Thinkers called to me. "Any News?"

"News" was the term we used to refer to new Thinkers that I had been able to save before other Cutters got to them. Lately, my luck hadn’t been so good.  

"Not today, Click." I told the young boy.

Click looked at me with disappointment. His story was a sad one, and he had been one of the few in the last group I had been able to save. 

"Hey, where’s Symila?" I asked him, not finding any evidence of her having been around for quite a while. I often found a new poem, or stack of poems, on the small desk we all shared; but, there weren’t any there this morning.

"She’s… been sleeping for a long time… I think something’s wrong with her." Click ran off before I could ask him anything.

 The other thing about this town was that it was powered by the energy of people’s creativity circulating. Ever since the new Page outlawed all forms of creativity, it was difficult to get any power. Of course, our little hideout was unique in that sense, since we all still had our creativity, we still had electricity; but, creativity was also a life force. And if ideas somehow ran out, it would mean the certain death of the unfortunate soul.

 And since Symila had been sleeping a long time, this was my first, and largest concern.

 I ran up to her small bedroom and found her curled under the covers. I smiled, happy that she was still alive; I could tell she was still breathing. I sat on the edge of her bed, on the side that her back was facing, and waited for her to notice my presence.

 “Te…yo?” She whispered weakly.

 She could barely speak. That was a concern too; though, she may have just been tired from all the writing she did.

 “I’m here, Symila.” I assured her. “Click told me you had been sleeping for a while. Are you all right?”

 “I told him… Not to say anything.” She spoke a little louder this time; but, she was still weak and still wouldn’t turn to face me when she spoke.

 “Symila… I’m here for you. I’ll do anything I can if you’re sick, or hurt, or…” I felt my eyes grow hot with tears.

 I would never tell her, but I loved Symila.

 “I’m okay Teyo.” She said suddenly. “But, I think I’m sensing someone in trouble…”

 Symila rolled over to face when as she said that.

 “Do you know… what kind of creativity they have?” I asked.

 It usually didn’t matter but sometimes certain types of creativity, like Poets, or Lyricists, or Novelists, were specifically searched for by order of the Page. Often times, people of the same type could sense when they were in danger; and since Symila was feeling this strongly about this particular person, it must have been a particularly gifted Poet that was in danger.

 “She’s safe for now… But the other Cutters are searching for her. She would be sent to the Blanks for sure if you can’t get o her first. Please, Teyo… Save her.” Symila begged.

 “I will. Do you know where she is? Or her name at the very least?”

 If this Poet was as gifted as I thought then she wouldn’t be going by her Common name. She would under a Pen Name. But it would help to know either, or both.

“It’s… well, she goes by Onna, but her real name is Phlorence.”

 “Okay… Click and the others will look after you while I’m gone.” I said, giving her a quick hug before I got up.

 “Be safe, Teyo. She is strong. We need her.”