Unburdened

 No weakness, no hesitation, and no guilt. A “perfect” society created only by strict rules with no opposition or loopholes standing in its way.

She could change the world. 
She could change it…
She could…

But the words dissolved before she could finish them. A dark, blurred figure leaned over her, becoming fainter and distant as everything slipped into silence.

The wooden clack of the gavel echoes into the atmosphere, placing a final, inescapable verdict on the offender. The courtroom sits still, the air thick and uneasy. No one says a word. All is silent as everyone watches the exchange between the victim's family and the murderer. The Richards stare at Dr. Arnold. He looks away. There are no tears, no mourning, no regret, no nothing. He offers no apology for accidentally giving the patient doses of the wrong medication. The medication that took her life. Her parents sit with stone-cold expressions—no protesting, no demanding an apology. Dr. Arnold is pulled from his chair and dragged out by two officers, heading to serve his time in prison.

The crowd soon disperses, whispers and murmurs following them as they leave the courtroom.

The consequences were expected. 

Dr. Arnold broke the law. 

That was quite an efficient proceeding. 

I’m glad the trial ended quickly.

This was yet another achievement for the developing city of Catharsis—a blooming society of technological advancements. Everyone was content with the verdict of this case, especially the journalists, eager to share with the world how justice was rightfully and efficiently served. Every journalist—except, perhaps, one.

Lira stares at the notebook before her— an empty white sheet with only three phrases scribbled in between the lines. 

Why didn’t he apologize? Why did they not cry or react at all? Do people realize when they're in the wrong?

Lira knew something was strange with her. She wasn’t sure when she noticed, but it happened all the time. Was it when she accidentally dropped and ruined her best friend's birthday cake? Was it when she fought with someone in a bad mood? Was it when she accidentally stepped on someone while playing at the trampoline park?

She hadn’t realized it until she was old enough to understand human emotions. Of course, there was love, despair, happiness, jealousy, anger, annoyance, and everything else. But she felt something else. It tugged on her heart whenever she caused something to hurt others. It was a horrible feeling— she felt like a monster.

And most times, she wondered if other people felt it too. Did they feel a drop in their chest, or start crying for no reason? What about the feeling of despair every time they thought about their actions? Did they avoid the people that they offended, like Lira had? What really is an “apology”? Is it simply just a formality that people say in order not to get reprimanded?

⋅───⊱༺ ⊹ ༻⊰───⋅

The Librarian walked across the cold, stone floor, pushing a cart full of returned books. Her swift fingers ran through the air, putting works back onto the shelf, one by one. Spending nearly 50 years working in the National State Library of Catharsis, she read and reread every single novel at least two times. She knew the feeling and the scent of every single book, the content and author included. Well, she was incredibly confident about it. 

As she neared the end of her working shift, the Librarian came across a large, navy-colored book with fancy gold patterns lining the edges. The corners were chipped, the pages yellowed, and there were specks of dirt stuck in the lettering. She had never seen this book before. Curious, she pulled on the cover. It wouldn’t budge. She tugged and tugged, digging her fingers into the pages, trying to pry it open. It seemed like the pages were glued together. 

It was when she flipped the entire book over that she discovered it. A teeny tiny hole placed near the edge, in a circular shape that could fit three needles. A small keyhole for a book. She had never seen this style before. She was sure that it was common during the Utopian Era, but it was nearly centuries ago, in an empire that existed on the other side of the world. After the war, books like these were burned away.

The Librarian looked around, making sure no one was watching. Discreetly, she placed the book inside the front pocket of her apron. She scurried toward the front desk, where her office was. 

The library was huge. Not only did it take up the same area as a soccer field, but the shelves also skyrocketed more than 25 feet high; the glass ceiling was placed at an even higher elevation. It would take minutes to walk from the Librarian’s current location to her office. Luckily, no one was around to find the seventy-something-year-old lady speed-walking across the marbled floor, heavily breathing, sweat trickling down her face.

Near her destination, she turned the corner of a shelf when a figure suddenly appeared in front of her. Screaming, the Librarian stumbled back, dropping the book. She looked up, and the mystery person stared right back at her, a surprised look on her face.

“Sorry, I was just leaving.” A young girl, somewhere around her twenties, crouched down and picked up the book. The Librarian sighed in relief, gathering herself.

“It’s nearly midnight, Lira. What are you still doing here?” Grabbing the book out of the girl’s hand, the Librarian placed it back into her pocket. “Don’t study too late. Sleep well, and don’t rely on caffeine too much.”

Laughing, Lira swung her bag over her shoulder and started heading toward the main entrance. “I’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Levy. Get home safely!”

⋅───⊱༺ ⊹ ༻⊰───⋅

Lira walked through the tight, empty streets of her neighborhood, a thick scent of cigarettes in the air. Light shone through the windows of several restaurants, as if wasting electricity could prevent thieves from breaking in. All was quiet besides the local street cats rummaging through the garbage bags, as well as her own footsteps, heels clacking against the rocky ground. 

Barely getting by with her low salary as an entry-level journalist, she could only afford a tiny studio apartment, even as she split the rent with her best friend, who shared the room with her. 

Entering the apartment lobby, she checked the mailbox first, opening the little compartment as a bunch of papers spilled out. Lira sighed, picking them up one by one, seeing that some were about payments, some newspapers, and most were spam letters from companies she’d never heard of. As she was about to lock the mailbox, she spotted something glistening in the corner, shoved far back from the piles of paper. Reaching out, she grabbed what seemed like a tiny metal key, rusted and golden.

Did someone accidentally drop their key in there while they were checking mail? It was possible. But comparing it to her large, flat mailbox key, she decided the round shape of her discovery could not fit inside the keyhole. She checked the front desk to ask if anyone had lost their keys, but no one was there.

Lira sighed. It was late anyway. She decided to leave this issue for another day. She would find the owner soon, one way or another.

⋅───⊱༺ ⊹ ༻⊰───⋅

 A few days passed, and Lira could not find the owner. She asked around everywhere. Her best friend, who told her that she had never seen it before. Her neighbors, who were rarely home. Whenever she visited the front desk, no one would be there, and she did not want to leave it there when it could easily be stolen. 

She tried to forget about it for a while, dropping it in her bookbag in case she found a use for it. However, it kept tugging at her mind every second, compelling her to reach for it, making sure it was still there.

Then she remembered. It was a strange interaction with Ms. Levy, the Librarian. She was holding a book. It seemed like an old copy, with its yellowed pages and dull-colored cover. Yet, it seemed to stand out from the other books inside the library, with its—although dirtied—gold lettering and vintage style. What was even more peculiar was the fact that the pages remained intact, even when Lira picked it up by only its cover. She had expected the pages to fan out—as gravity usually worked—but it remained as solid as a stone. Ms. Levy’s reaction was also quite strange. Why did she look so anxious? Why was she running around the library at midnight? Was it something about the book?

Lira doubted that the book had any answers. Perhaps she was just overthinking things. Even as she decided to return home for the day, she found herself getting off a train at a stop earlier. Her legs dragged her inside the State Library and toward the front desk, where Ms. Levy sat reading, as usual.

The Librarian looked up at her, a friendly smile on her face.

“Hi Lira, checking out the newspaper again?” The cheery tone surprised her. Her last encounter with Ms. Levy was not quite a pleasant one, if she had to be completely honest.

Lira forced a smile and held up the tiny key. “Not today. I was wondering if this belonged to anyone?”

Ms. Levy’s face went pale. At first, her eyes quickly strayed away, as if wanting to avoid the conversation. But with a moment’s hesitation, she sighed and motioned for her to follow her into the office.

Even in her office, there were hundreds of books placed neatly across her shelves, as well as her floor, where stacks of books lay, gathering dust. Although fairly organized, Ms. Levy seemed to have a bit too many books and papers lying in her office. Lira stepped over multiple stacks, careful not to push them over.

The Librarian led her to the last bookshelf farthest from the door. She started pulling out books from the middle shelf, revealing a metal wall behind them. No, not a wall. It was a vault. She twisted the dial and opened the cover. There it was. The book she had seen last time, in Ms. Levy’s arms. The dull, navy cover with golden linings.

She gently reached for it, taking it out of the compartment. Heart thumping anxiously against her chest, she inserted the tiny key and twisted it. She did not expect it to work, of course. But with a soft click, the cover of the book separated itself from the pages. A mix of excitement and suspense building inside of her, she fumbled to open the book’s contents.

And there it was. One single word on the first page.

Guilt.

For a book that certainly contained at least 300 pages, “guilt” was the only thing printed in it. On the first page, squarely in the middle, in a small, neat font. All the other pages were completely blank.

Lira laughed bitterly. Was this some kind of joke?

Slamming it shut, she handed both the book and key to Ms. Levy, who sealed them inside her vault. Lira thought a blank book couldn’t possibly have that much value, but the Librarian was adamant that it was “special”.

She decided not to argue with her. After all, it was getting late, and this trip had only wasted her time. She had missed the last train, so she had no choice but to walk back home. At least she found the key’s use. She wasn’t quite sure how it ended up in her mailbox, but things like that happened all the time. 

If she hadn’t noticed anything on the way home that day, she certainly did the day after. At first, it was very subtle. Or, in some cases, the actions seemed more bold. At work, she found the place even more awkward than usual. Usually, her coworkers and senior staff would ignore her, either because of their workload or for the sake of avoiding social interaction. However, on that day, everyone seemed to be avoiding each other. Even the friendliest and loudest workers sat silently, exchanging awkward glances.

The once bustling newsroom shifted into a silent, tense atmosphere. Everyone seemed extra focused on their work. Actions varied with the person, but it was clear that everyone had something on their minds. Some became very moody, some became completely silent, and some even called it a day early, claiming they felt slightly ill.

That evening, she noticed it again. This time, in the streets, out in public. It was clear that many people were struggling with something. The anxious expressions, nervous fidgeting, and slight tears were making everyone go mad.

Lira felt nauseous. What if all of this had to do with that… ‘magic’ book? What exactly was “guilt”? Was this, perhaps, her doing?

Days passed, and things remained mostly the same, with Lira’s worry growing minute by minute. The feeling was back. The drop in her chest, the despair, and the endless overthinking. It did not help that her best friend, Kate, was actively avoiding her.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Lira hated confrontations— it made her nervous and sweaty, worsened by her constant overthinking and distress. The weight of her small wrongdoings—especially towards people she loved—was pulling her apart. Has Lira done something wrong to Kate? There were thousands of possibilities— but she wanted to know exactly what it was. Was it because she forgot to do the laundry? Or because her room was a mess, with paper piles stacked everywhere?

“It’s nothing significant. I’m just tired.” Lira knew she was lying. Her usual bubbly and energetic friend rarely felt tired. And the tone that was used— the slight exasperation and tightness in her voice— was reserved for people she wasn’t close with, or in some cases, people she disliked. Kate was acting similarly to everyone else. Avoiding eye contact, a tense expression, and unstable emotions. 

Kate looked back at her and forced a smile. “Hey, I’m going out for a quick run. Why don’t you rest up?”

Lira reluctantly agreed. There was no point in trying to communicate when the other avoided it. She returned to her room, sighing as she read the papers and notes for covering the Arnold Trial. Of course, news already came out days ago, right after the trial ended. But as an entry-level journalist, her manager assigned her to write about the same event, except with more “depth” and “critical analysis.” 

She took out the notes she had written down during Dr. Arnold’s trial. Of course, she knew that she had barely written anything, but she was hoping it could give her a clue on where to begin. She opened her journal to the nearly-blank page.

Apology. Reaction. Wrong. Those were the words she had written down during the trial. 

Apology. Reaction. Wrong.

Apology.

Reaction.

Wrong.

Lira frowned. Opening to the next blank space, she scribbled “guilt”. 

She recalled that feeling of distress. She recalled the pit in her stomach. She recalled the sweaty palms, the emotional outbursts, and the million thoughts that clouded her head. She recalled the way people acted around each other, the avoidant gazes and nervous expressions.

But she also recalled her own actions, compared to others. She had always considered herself the odd one out. While others around her continuously went off with rude remarks and gestures, she would find herself constantly worrying and overthinking her actions toward other people. When people told her it wasn’t that serious, she wouldn’t understand them. And they wouldn’t understand her.

Sure, Lira had always hated the feeling. She wished a thousand times for it to disappear, for her to feel the same way as everyone else. But that was not the case now.

Now, things had changed. Now they understood the knots and circles and the mess of thoughts inside their heads. Now they recognized the feeling that comes when they realize they’ve hurt a person. 

And maybe, now, Lira finally understood what that feeling was, and what that word meant. 

She grabbed her pen. She started writing it all down, from the very beginning. From Arnold’s trial to the book, then the newfound conscience, and all the way down to what “guilt” really was. 

The feeling was horrible. It ruined relationships. It brought self-criticism, anxiety, and negativity. When it lingered too long, it would eat away at the person, and some would not be able to endure it.

But Lira believed that “guilt” also brought emotion, empathy, and development. It allowed people to strive for the better version of themselves. It created a new understanding of what was right or wrong. She believed it developed a sense of one’s morals. 

There were countless times in Lira’s childhood when she made mistakes. Many were small slips a child would make, behavior she would fix because adults told her it was “wrong”. The adults were right, of course, but Lira did not fully understand at the time. She blindly followed the rules set by the authorities and did not question them.

When she was in elementary school, she got into a huge fight with one of her friends. They were all immature, and the argument was over something petty, like wanting a specific toy for themselves. The situation escalated, and Lira ended up saying hurtful things that got her in trouble. Parents, teachers, and the office got involved. 

But that wasn’t Lira’s biggest issue. Even after she apologized, she could not help but feel that emotion—guilt. The feeling stuck with her for months, and on many occasions, she avoided that friend. But the friend did not care. She went back to normal, always greeting Lira with a friendly expression. 

A few weeks after the incident, Lira decided to face her emotions head-on. She baked cookies for her classmates, although there wasn’t any event going on at school. For that one friend, she packed two cookies with a handwritten note, explaining that she was sorry for what happened.

When she delivered it the next day, the friend was confused. She had forgotten all about it and told her it didn’t bother her anymore. But when she gratefully accepted the gift, Lira felt happy. She was glad that her actions were forgiven. She felt relieved from all the stress and emotions that had been building inside of her. Although “guilt” made her feel horrible, she felt like she had become a better person afterwards. She learned from her mistakes and decided that she would never fight over such pettiness again. As awful as it was, “guilt” allowed her to reflect on her actions and become a better version of herself.

She was not quite sure why it was hidden away in the first place. She suspected that the Council, or individuals in power, had something to do with it. If “guilt” did not exist, then people could live comfortably, without constantly being burdened by their wrongdoings. Perhaps that was exactly what they wanted. And for as long as anyone could remember, they got away with it.

⋅───⊱༺ ⊹ ༻⊰───⋅

Kate anxiously lingered beside the windowsill, watching the crowd gather with protest signs in the streets below. 

Someone was bound to die. The crowd was not moving in the same direction, and opposing groups were mixed in. The path was far too tight to accommodate the hundreds of people protesting outside Kate and Lira’s apartment. 

They wanted answers. They wanted Lira gone. They wanted to see the journalist who revealed “guilt” as the powerful and complex emotion. But Lira was not there to provide the audience with what they demanded.

Lira did not return from work that day. After she published her work, coworkers claimed that she had left and had not contacted anyone afterward. She had disappeared without a trace—and no one knew if she had left of her own accord, or if someone had taken her away. 

Kate believed the latter. After Lira went missing, her work was taken down, and the Council did not make an appearance. She suspected that all of this was connected to the Council. The disappearance and reappearance of guilt. The war from centuries ago. It was their long-time goal. No weakness, no hesitation, and no guilt. A “perfect” society created only by strict rules, and no opposition or loopholes in the justice system.

Kate finally had an understanding of Lira’s strange behavior all these years. She was determined to avenge her friend. She wanted to call out the leaders and demand answers. She wanted to change the world. 

She could change the world. 

She could change it…

She could…

But the words dissolved before she could finish them. A dark, blurred figure leaned over her, becoming fainter and distant as everything slipped into silence.

⋅───⊱༺ ⊹ ༻⊰───⋅

The city of Catharsis hummed with peace and tranquility. Efficient, just, and regulated, like it always had been. Citizens walked the streets without a worry on their minds, enjoying the comfort of their internal stillness.

No one doubted anything. No one cared. No one remembered.

The revolution was far behind them now. No one even seemed to realize it happened. 

Catharsis was peaceful again. 

No weaknesses, no inefficiencies, and no guilt.