Why is no one paying any attention to us? We walked right into the city without being checked. The people at the inn we checked in to just mechanically showed us to our room. All the people in the streets look like they just were done celebrating something, but got interrupted. Everyone I see in every direction has a slightly nauseated and horrified look on his or her face. There are few people moving, and those all have worry and determination etched into their features. Suddenly, a deep bell starts tolling, and relief visibly washes over the faces of the people. Celebration comes to life once more, and music starts to sound from various corners. Men and women and children dance in place, and some wildly run around in sport. I wonder what that was about. I quietly tell Jake that we should be getting back to the inn.

"Okay, Momma. Can you tell me a story tonight?" he questions, then yawns widely.

"Sure. Now, let's hurry back." I smile at my precious son and usher him back to the inn.

"Alright people," the council member said, "Anybody have an idea for the rally on-" He was cut off by someone slamming the door open and rushing, out of breath, into the hall. "What is it man?" he asked concernedly.

"It..." And he collapsed to the floor. The council members looked around confusedly, when suddenly, everyone felt sick. Some clutched their heads, some cried, and some just got looks of nausea and guilt. After a moment, the head of the hall stood and called the hall to attention.

"Now, people, we must hurry." He stated with determination and leadership in his voice. "We all know what this means. It apparently has died. We must choose a new one." Chaos broke out among the hall.

"We have to..."

"...we can't..."

"...the youngest..."

"...have to get someone, but who?"

"Enough!" the head exclaimed. "We must do this in an orderly matter. Now, we need to know if anyone has more children than others, if there are any orphans, if any--"

"Uh, excuse me, sorry for interrupting, but I believe I have a solution." The man who had run in had woken up. "Just this afternoon a young woman and her son came into the city. They do not come from here. The boy is young, I'd say at most six years of age. We could use him, and then we wouldn't have to use one of our own."

"Hmm, yes, yes, that's brilliant! Marshal, organize a stealth team. We need that boy. And somehow, we need to get the mother far away. We cannot have her ruining it by trying to rescue him. Blayer? You take care of that, and we need, what, horses, ahh, yes, a wagon, special herbs, let's see... "

One of the others walked over to the back of the room and lifted a panel in the wall. Inside was a rope leading up into the ceiling. She pulled it, and the bell tolled out over the city, spreading relief.

"... and they lived happily ever after. The End." I recite the last lines of the story.

"That was a good story," Jake says sleepily, then yawns and snuggles into his blanket. I tuck him in better, and bend down to kiss him on the cheek. I brush a strand of hair off his forehead and smile down at him.

"I love you, Jake," I say gently.

"Love you too, Momma," Jake intones softly, then falls asleep. I stay by his bed for a while, watching his adorable face.

"Sweet dreams, baby."

I slowly come awake. Without opening my eyes, I breathe in deeply. Ahh, the scent of a forest is so refreshing. I don't want to get up yet, these leaves... Wait, leaves? My eyes snap open and I bolt up. Where am I? Why am I in a forest? Wait, where's Jake? "Jake? Jake! Jake? Sweetie, where are you?" I stand up and look around for him. "Jake! Where are you?" I slowly realize that my son isn't around, and I fall to my knees, tears of worry threatening to leak out of my eyes. Where am I? Where is my son?

Okay, I have to think this out. The last thing I remember is falling asleep at the inn in Omelas. Somehow, I ended up way out somewhere in the middle of some unknown place. It stands to reason, then, that my son is still in Omelas. I look around for some sign of where I am. How did I get here? Wait a minute, are those tracks? I bend down closer to the ground to examine the strange markings in the ground.

I grew up on the lower part of one of the mountains around Salemo. My father was a tracker and as a child, he taught me some of what he knew. I learned enough to make out tracks in the ground. I silently thanked my father for those lessons. I straightened, and after one last look around, I followed the tracks. They appeared to be from horses and a cart or wagon. That must be how I got out here.

I have to get back. I have to get back to my son. I force back tears of despair and concentrate on tracking.

"Momma! Momma, help me! No! Stop it! Please! No! I want my Momma!" Jake screamed, fighting his captors as they took him down a flight of stairs. He wriggled, bit, and fought, but he was only a child, and stood no hope against two men. "Please, misters, let me go. Let me go!" he sobbed. They didn't acknowledge him.

Finally arriving at the bottom, they met a severe-looking woman who forcibly took his clothes. She then unlocked the grimy door and pulled it open. The two thugs tossed Jake into the dirty room and before he could regain his senses, they closed the door with a look of disgust. He heard the click of the lock.

Running to the door, he hit it and screamed. He screamed and cried for his Momma. He yelled until he was too tired to stand anymore, then he crawled to a corner, curled up into a ball, and cried. He cried himself to sleep. After a while, he woke up again, and he tried pounding on the door again with his small fists, screaming for help, but to no avail. No one cared about him. When the people came with his food, he tried to escape, but one of them just kicked him back into the corner, and they left. He screamed at them, "I will be good! Please, let me out! Please! No! Let me go!" but it had no effect, just as before. He tottered over to the food and tasted it, but spit it out right away. It was disgusting, but after a while, he got so hungry he ate it anyways. The next day, when they came with more food, the same thing happened. Outside the building that contained him, people could hear the screams at first, but as the first week went on, the noises got less and less frequent, people slowly began to forget about him, going about their normal lives again, and after a month passed, most had already shed the memory from their minds.

They all know that is has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weather of their skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery.