The Speaking Bee

I realized that it was the summer solstice, and the day did feel longer than usual. The line inched forward. I looked at the scribbled paper in my hand. I still hadn’t decided which word I was going to say. A man ahead of me stepped up to the microphone. The crowd was quiet. He lifted his carbon filter and said, “wife”. There was a murmur in the audience, and he exited the stage. The line moved forward, and as I stepped I could feel the vial in my back pocket.

I had lived in New Toronto for 10 years. I came voluntarily which was not how most came during the last two years. People had naturally been drawn either to Europe or to North America. Eventually it was no longer a matter of choice. The newspapers called it “unsolicited global transfer”. They were still called newspapers even though they weren’t actually made of paper any more. Paper had been off-limits since 2025. Manufacturing it caused too much heat.

The next person in line for the microphone was a young girl, probably 12 or 13. It was more and more rare to see young people in line. Most parents had begun to dose their children with alcohol throughout the day. This calmed them down and made their energy easier to manage.

As the girl walked forward I glanced down at my paper again. There were a few words that I had already nixed like, “Air-conditioning” and “summertime”. The rules were strict. You were allowed one word and it could not be hyphenated or compound. Those took too much time to say and released too much carbon dioxide. The young girl raised her filter and said, “ice cream”. There was a loud buzzer. The guards gently took her arms and replaced her facial carbon filter. She was taken backstage. I knew she wouldn’t be back for two months. Nervously I glanced around and unconsciously felt for the vial again. I probably wouldn’t need it…but I had been bringing it during the last few months just in case.

After the Gobi Desert had shifted to cover most of northern China, the only sustainable population centers other were on either side of the Atlantic. The earth was uninhabitable below the Tropic of Cancer. Most island cities were under water. Europe and America were the last places where the temperature could be endured.

 As is true of all catastrophes, this trend hadn’t been planned. It had not been anticipated that having so many people living…and speaking…in two concentrated global areas would cause the carbon problem in the atmosphere above the North Atlantic. What had been planned was the quick response. The first few weeks with the masks had been very difficult. The claustrophobia was made worse by the heat. It took a great deal of concentration to prevent panic. The facial carbon filters masks forced slow breaths so that only careful movement was possible…slow movement and no speaking.

I looked up and realized there were only two people ahead of me. Even though this experience happened every four weeks, I still hadn’t gotten used to it. That’s why I always carried the paper. And recently I had also been bringing with me the vial.

 The next person in line was a large man. He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and began to shout a volley of obscenities. People in the audience immediately ducked in practiced fashion and the rest of us in line took two steps back quickly. The guards rushed forward, and the large man shot himself.

When the Monthly Medical Vocal Allotments began it was out of caution. The doctors had published several findings stating that if vocal cords weren’t used at least once monthly then other physical maladies could result. Sick people meant more hospital visits, which required extra venting, and that added to the atmospheric problem. People were told to line up once a month in their ventilation district, step forward to the microphone (to ensure compliance), and say one word. Over time it had become customary to use your word as a way to commemorate those things which had been lost in the climate wars. Recently it had become more political, and that’s when the guards began to be used.

The large man’s body was cleared from the stage…this was the third similar incident in the last three months. As I looked at the large body being carted away I realized that I envied the man. The loudspeaker gave off three rhythmic beeps followed by the standard pre-recorded sanitary announcement which was used anytime there was an issue. The soothing female voice said, “Please remember: indoor voices and kind words.”

A young lady who was next stepped forward. She lifted her filter and spoke her word softly into the microphone, “Laughing”. The audience seemed to collectively hold their breath, but the word was technically allowed. It wasn’t a command and therefore didn’t qualify as incitement. The guards didn’t move. The young lady exited the stage.

 All animals had been destroyed shortly after the Vocal Allotments began. That lowered the methane level. Plants and vegetables were soon added to the protected list because of their oxygen-producing benefit. The only thing people had been allowed to eat for the past three years was PASTE. It was a pale, wet substance that provided enough calories for nutrients but not enough energy for people to feel like moving unnecessarily. It also contained a small amount of botulinum.  It slowed everything down… mind, digestion, and intent.

The soothing pre-recorded female voice began at the same time as the PASTE. The predictable repetition of the announcements and reminders helped crowd control. There were only a handful of phrases. The most common ones were: “Walk. Don’t run.”, “Quiet, please.”, and “Any questions? Raise your hand.”

I glanced down at my paper one last time. I had narrowed my options to three possibilities. Two were benign and definitely allowed, “pets” and “daughter”. The third choice was more dangerous. I decided. I stepped forward, lifted my filter, took out the vial, and said, “Socrates”.