Once again, I stand outside the gates of Omelas. Once again, I enter, but this time is different. I see people celebrating, I see children racing and playing, I see mothers and fathers look lovingly at their sons and daughters, give them an extra hug or kiss when they come near. Suddenly, a feeling of peace and happiness tries to take over. I relax in the feeling until I realize what I am doing. I fight it off and continue.
A month following a trail through the wild has made me tougher. My face is said to be weathered, and a look of grim determination covers my face all the time now.
I walk quickly up the broad streets to the inn I had stayed at the first time. I enter and walk inside, just to get a great shock. The front room looks completely different from when I last saw it. For the first time, I think about how hasty I had been. Jake wouldn't still be in our room. It has been a month. I have to think this through now. I'm in Omelas, but where in Omelas is Jake? I start to despair. The city is huge. How will I find him? There must be many young boys here.
"Hey, now, young lady, what seems to be the problem? Oh, I know. Did you just go see it?" The innkeeper walks over to me.
"It?" I ask, wiping the few tears from my eyes.
"Yes, It, you know," she says in a low voice, "the one who takes all the bad things from our lives. Yes, well, it's really rather sad," she continues in a more normal voice. "That poor boy, not that I'd do anything for it, mind you, but it is sad. I saw it about a week after it was caught. It still had some emotion then. Was crying out for it's Momma, believe it or not."
"It's 'Momma'? I ask faintly. No. It couldn't be.
"Yes. Fortunately, it's stopped now, but before, you could hear it screaming if you stood outside on a quiet night. Had many people complaining that did."
"Can you take me to him?" I won't believe it. There is no way. Oh, Jake, please don't let me be right. Please.
"Well, alright, if you really want to," the innkeeper says, uncertainly. "You know, most people wouldn't want to go near it, but I'm a nice person."
"Thank you," I say, nervous and hopeless. Taking aside one of the servers, she gives some instructions, then turns back and walks toward the doorway, beckoning me to come along. We walk outside and move toward the center of the city. As we get closer and closer, the dread in my heart grows and grows.
Finally, the innkeeper stops in front of a plain whitewashes building. She leads me inside, and we find ourselves in a group of people, kids and adults, going down to see this "it." We walk down a steep flight of rickety stairs, onto a landing that smelled so foul I could practically taste the filth. It's disgusting and horrific that they could keep...
One of the people in front unlocks the heavy door and swings it slowly open, revealing a set of bars like those used in a prison.
The dirty light of the lamps pierces the dingy blackness of the closet-like space.
The first thing I see is a bunch of mops and a bucket. Then I see him. I run to the door and reach through it toward him. "Jake, oh, Jake, what have they done to you?" I sob silently. He slowly edges closer and then I see his face clearly. He had bruises staining his entire body, cuts and scratches covering his face. And his eyes. Those sweet eyes. They hold no recognition. He doesn't recognize me.
I collapse and hug myself, tears streaming down my face, sobs racking my body.
"Miss, hey, come on, let's get you out of here." One of the men reaches down to try to get me up. I slap his hand away and rise by myself.
"How can you see this?" I say quietly, my red-rimmed eyes accusing. "How can you lock up a child in a place like this? Can you really just ignore the fact that he's down here? My one question is: why. Why do you do this? And don't you dare," I yell, "tell me that it's keeping you from feeling grief. How can you be this selfish? How can you do this? He's five years old. Yeah, yeah, I've heard, 'Oh, but without him we won't be happy!'. Sure, you may lose this stupid, empty bliss you feel day and night. You may actually have to work together through hard times. But is it that bad?"
"Now, you see here, young lady..."
"No! You see here! You can't really experience happiness without feeling sorrow first. You just can't. But you people, you archaic savages, you dump all the guilt, sorrow, unhappiness, grief, shame, regret, and everything on one small, defenseless boy." I finish in a whisper, "How can you live with yourselves?"
When two guards rush down the stairs and grab me, I feebly fight back, but I have no strength left. I'm crying for my son as they drag me up the stairs, but no one cares. No one cares that my whole world has just collapsed into a pile of dust. My last look at my son, the only reason I am living, is of him looking out of his prison, scared, naked, dirty, wondering whom this person was. Not knowing that I am his mother.
My body is shaking as I am pulled outside and toward the gate. They throw me out and close the gates. I walk and walk, slowly, stumbling, until I walk away from Omelas. Then I run.