The Heart Always Knows

"Aren't you excited?"

I gaze at my eleven-year-old sister and wonder why I feel such a sinking sensation inside. It's her Heart Day, the day she officially becomes an adult, one of us. One of everyone. Marie is skipping around the living room, dressed in pink, her face flushed with happiness like every other child who will be receiving their heart-shaped locket at the Heart Ceremony this afternoon. The last day of childhood. The last day of freedom.

In a few hours everyone will assemble in the main square of our city, as they will be doing in every city across the country, as all the eleven-year-olds receive their heart locket in the official ceremony.

Simple, silver, elegant and beautiful, the locket in the shape of a heart is a symbol of belonging. Of unity. Of courage. We wear it with pride, a badge of honor.

"Courage is Safety," Marie sings out, practicing for this afternoon. "Choice is Danger. Unity is Strength."

"You'll be fine," I tell her as I finger my own locket, given to me seven years ago, now nestled in the hollow of my throat. The locket is beautiful, and it is also a state-of-the-art piece of technology--a computer, a camera, a monitor. It keeps track of my blood pressure and my heart rate, my oxygen levels and my lung capacity. It records what I say, it knows where I go, it can even sense what I think. It keeps me safe.

"Are you ready to go?" my mother asks as she comes downstairs, dressed in her best navy blue dress. My father follows, hair brushed back, smiling easily. He wears a silver disc, my mother a heart; everyone gets to choose which they'd prefer. And that's the point of the whole ceremony, our while civilization. We get to choose.

"We should go," my father says. "We don't want to be late."

We head outside into a beautiful day--hard blue sky, lemon yellow sun, like a child's drawing. Marie is skipping ahead. My mother looks at me in concern.

"Alice, are you all right?"

I nod, drop my hand from the locket at my throat. Why am I feeling this way? Why does part of me want to keep Marie from putting that locket around her throat, from choosing the wonder of safety? It wasn't even a choice for me, in that I never considered not wearing the locket. Why would I? The only people who don't wear it live on the edge of the city, in tumbledown buildings, scavenging for food. They have matted hair and dirty nails and hungry expressions. Why would I want to be like that?

Our city is beautiful, clean, airy, and free. No one has to work, because everything is automated. We are free to pursue our pleasures, enjoy our leisure. There is no danger, no crime, no sorrow, no pain. Technology has saved us from it all. The only thing we’ve had to sacrifice is the ability to choose—anything. But that’s a sacrifice worth making, surely?

The center square of the city is lit up with a firework, rainbow lights everywhere, music playing. Everyone mills around, excited, entertained. We may be able to pursue our pleasures, but there few events like this. Marie heads off with the other eleven-year-olds while I wait with my parents, nameless and faceless in a crowd, but someone somewhere can see my heart rate on a screen, will choose what I eat for lunch, will scan my thoughts.

Of course, I'm being fanciful. I know that. There's no person staring at a screen; there are only algorithms. There are far too many people, far too many choices to be made, to leave it to human chance.

The ceremony begins. I listen to the speech that is given each year by the mayor of the city, how technology freed us from the shackles of labor and war, how computers and automation allowed us to live our best lives. How society can only function when everyone is agreement, when all is unified. When choice is willingly sacrificed.

Everyone cheers, and then everyone chants. "Courage is Safety! Choice is Danger! Unity is Strength!"

Near me I hear someone mutter, the words seeming to snake into my brain. "The secret of happiness is freedom, and the secret of freedom is courage." I whirl around, but whoever has said it is gone; the crowd is full of people like me, staring straight ahead, blank-faced and silent.

The secret of happiness is freedom. We never talk about freedom. The government never uses that word; it's obsolete, irrelevant, if not outright dangerous. What even is freedom? The ability to choose. The words come instinctively, from deep within me, a sense of rightness at my core that I've never felt before. I am not free. The locket suddenly pulses against my throat. It's never done that before, and my fingers fly to it; I am shocked to realize it is buzzing against my skin.

My mother gives me a concerned look, her eyes widening in genuine fear when she sees the locket vibrating. "Alice..."

Up on the stage, the first eleven-year-old steps forward. I press the locket as if I can silence it, but I can't. I don't have the choice to do even that; I have no power at all. No freedom.

The realization bursts through me--I have never had any freedom. And I have never had any happiness. Even pursuing my pleasures--innocuous hobbies because nothing dangerous or incendiary is allowed--does not make me happy. The restlessness I have felt for so long has sunk into despair, decay. I feel as if I am rotting inside my own skin. The secret of happiness is freedom. Could that possibly be true? Are those matted-hair, hollow-eyed strangers on the edge of the city freer and happier than I am?

"Marie Everhart!"

I watch as my sister steps forward to receive her locket. She bends her head, and I see the vulnerable nape of her neck, the clasp that goes round it, sealing her forever.

Of course, it's easy enough to snap the chain. To walk away. If you dare.

Courage is Safety. But what if it isn't? My locket is still buzzing. My mother is looking fearful. And then I see them, coming through the crowd. Dark-jacketed government officials. I see them often enough in the city, smiling and cheerful, going about their work, keeping us safe. They are not smiling now.

I glance at my mother, and she frames a single syllable. Run.

But there is nowhere to run, not with this heart nestled in my throat. My fingers find the chain. I look up on the stage and I catch my sister's eye, or at least I hope I do. She smiles. And then I turn away from the crowd, from my parents, from the city I've always known.

As I walk toward the city gates, I snap the delicate chain around my neck and send the locket spinning away onto the street, into the gutter.

The government officials fall back; I am no longer their concern. I am an Other, to eke a living from the hard earth, hand to mouth, finger to bone. The secret to happiness is freedom. I smile and keep walking.