New Face (If Only I Could Speak: Episode III)

“What time is it?” Lys asked as he finished counting an orange crate situated near the back of Syre’s corner store.

“Near three,” she whispered.

"Not too shabby considering this was all inventory. Smells wonderful, by the way! I think this year’s oranges should go right up front!”

Syre gave a soft giggle as she moved through her little shop. ‘Syre’s Supple Sweets,’ was its name, and it was more than appropriate. The young woman found a way to make every fruit she’d grown just that; supple and sweet! It’d brought great relief to her new employee the shop had not slowed but simply eased for the previous season.

Though Sonare existed as a silent city for its curse in speaking only that which stood true, the man labeling notes for official fruit counts spoke often. She found it both odd and an honor as she learned quickly the only other person he spoke to regularly was his mother. Everyone else saw only silence.

It was a shame, in his case. Few people seemed to annoy Lys and vice versa. Easy-going, kind, and always willing to help, his offer taking inventory and stocking shelves at the little fruit shop came with no surprise. In fact, it had been a surprise he’d taken so long to ask.

Payment was not his goal. He desired company—her company specifically. It’d become his closest admittance to liking her. Still, Syre slipped the eager young man coins and a mild selection of free fruit as thanks.

“Tomorrow, I’ll check your garden,” he offered after a few moments of silence.

Syre startled, pulled her notebook from an apron pocket, threw it on the nearest counter, and scribbled swiftly.

Lys moved to the counter, knowing an argument would be written.

‘No, no,’ she’d written. ‘You’ve done plenty. I can manage my crops. I’ve done it for several years.’

“Alright,” he huffed. “If you say so.”

Syre tore the note free to expose another blank page. Though she began to get comfortable with speaking only to her new friend, she refused to lose the habit of writing. There were things she preferred not to say or admit aloud. For one thing, if she ever heard the nasty old hag down the road act as her reputation, she would have no issue speaking her truth. It would not be nice. Far from it. Still, conflict made her uneasy.

Lys continued to stand at the counter. When he noticed there was nothing else to do, he began to mindlessly tap on the wooden countertop. Since the young, shy girl before him never made physical conversation, it was becoming harder and harder to fill time. He’d made several attempts to make her comfortable, but she had no interest in budging.

He supposed she preferred routine with little to no exception. After all, walking and talking in what was meant to be a ‘silent’ city seemed counterproductive. If anyone slipped with the wrong person, all agreements would collapse into an inescapable war. No one sought, nor did they have time for that over an extreme admittance.

The young, semi-conversational man imagined everything collapsing in on itself should silence become obsolete. Something, however, always puzzled him. How do children learn to read and speak without a vocal explanation?

A loud tap, tap, tap jolted away his spinning mind. Seeing Syre smile, his head titled curiously.

Her hand drifted outward toward the ringing bell of her shop’s entrance with joy dripping from her smile. She rushed over, notepad in hand, and began her page-long introduction. The customer seemed new. She’d taken the time to learn each face in Sonare that made it a point to stop at her shop on a regular basis. It made owning the place even easier as she had no reason to write her excited introduction upon each entry.

On her notepad, she wrote, ‘Hi! My name is Syre—like tire—if you’d like to know! Welcome to Syre’s Supple Sweets! Everything is home grown in my backyard! How can I help you?’

“You don’t talk, either?” the new face blinked. “What the hell is this place?”

Before Syre could scribble, Lys gladly took the reins. “Sonare, the City of Silence. If you like to hide your true feelings, it’s best to keep quiet around here. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

The woman blinked again.

“Most of us can talk. We just choose not to. Believe me! Kills the violence. How can we help you today? We’ve got fresh oranges. I just stocked them myself.”

“Uh… I’m sorry to say that’s not why I’m here. You see, I’ve gotten lost, and—”

“I’m sorry to tell you that once you get in, you can’t leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Once you get in, you can’t get out. You’re stuck here until the end of time. You can’t get ahold of anyone on the outside, either. Generations upon generations have lived here. We aren’t even capable of expanding. I guess that’s what makes it a good thing to be in a city and not a small town. No one knows why or how, so I’ll save you from that question.

The woman remained silent in shock as she realized how serious the mysteriously speaking store employee held not an ounce of sarcasm.

“I’m sure someone can set you up with a place. You just need to look around. Most around here aren’t rude. Though, we haven’t had a stranger in over seventy-five years.”

“I see…”

“While you take all that in, would you like an orange?” Lys offered.

At the cue, Syre rushed over to her newly stocked orange crates and grabbed the closest one. Her smile beamed as she brought it over and set her notepad on the countertop once again.

Before the new customer could object, Syre had, ‘I’ll let you have it with no charge!’ on her paper and shoved it at the woman.

Still, the woman remained cautious but took the orange. After examining it, she sighed. “These are nice.”

“So, what do you say?” Lys piped in.

“Well, if you’re really telling the truth, I guess I have no choice.

Before the two knew it, the new resident of their silent city began to peel the orange.