"Smile," the TV's bland, monotone female voice told Mr. Maple and his two children, Marilyn and Josh. "Because no matter what your situation is, it can always - always - get better." A jolly, grinning man bounced happily across the smiley face permanently displayed on screens across Sunnyville. "Hellooo, Maple family!" he bubbled at them all. "It's gonna be another bee-you-tiful day today, and I hope you really enjoy it."
"Thanks, Mr. Mayor," the Maples told the TV. Mr. Mayor bounded off-screen, presumably to welcome another happy family to another happy day in Sunnyville. The Maples got up, made sure everybody else was smiling, and went about their morning.
The Maple house, like all other houses in Sunnyville, was painted a bright, cheerful shade of yellow. Smiles abounded, from the eternally happy clock, to the dishwasher that grinned at them as it burbled joyfully during breakfast. A plate of eggs and bacon popped from a box that served as a stove, arranged into a smiley face on a white and yellow plate. A cup of coffee with an inspirational message slid from the coffee pot for Mr. Maple, and a newspaper slid from the middle of the table. The paper was filled with all sorts of wonderful news about how the stocks had gone up that day, how a Good Samaritan had helped his elderly neighbor with her groceries and was now starting a club to help people with grocery shopping, and how the weather was going to be nice and sunny the whole week. Mr. Maple put it in the recycling bin, gave his son a shot from the hypodermic needle marked "HaPpY sHoT!", carried him up to his bedroom, and left to visit his wife.
Mrs. Maple's morning was quite different. Shortly after the marriage had begun falling apart, she had been taken, as the Officers called it, to prevent bad feelings. She resided with the other outcasts in Dismopolis, as the slum a few miles from Sunnyville came to be called. She woke up to her broken TV, which had been destroyed by her trigger-happy neighbor, Rich. A few days after he had broken her TV, he had shot her in the leg (by accident, he told police later; he had "thought she was a burglar") when she was going to put the cat in. She had very nearly bled to death on the slow ride to the hospital, and when the surgeons had attempted to take out the bullet, they forgot both the anesthetic and to take out one of their rusting instruments. She had gotten a tetanus infection and nearly died again. Her leg still hurt when she walked, which amused Rich to no end, but she had been grateful she hadn't died. She had some burnt toast and slightly molding butter for breakfast, washed down with a glass of lukewarm water. She heard her husband drive up. "Hello, dear," he said cheerfully as he walked in, his spotless suit a sharp contrast to the built-up grime on the walls.
"Cut the horseshit, Bill," she said. "Are you going to do it or not?"
"I will," he told her, and then two black cars pulled up, one a police car, the other a hearse. Two Officers rushed in, spun her around, and handcuffed her.
"Are you sure you want to Divorce your wife?" one of the Officers asked.
"Yes," came his ever-cheerful reply. She was led to the police car, and as she was getting in, a gunshot sounded from behind her, and Bill Maple crumpled. She was shoved into the back seat and driven back to Sunnyville and to her children. They would live happy lives, she thought. Just like everyone else lives "happy" lives. She was freed and led inside.
"You will obey all Sunnyville laws," said an Officer.
"I know," she told him. He looked sad, but he was cheerful inside, she reflected. He was like the others, always cheerful.
"Hello, Mamma," said Marilyn.
"Hello, darling," she said as the Officer left. "Come here. Where's your brother?" Marilyn stepped forward, holding out her arms for a hug.
"In his room. Daddy gave him his happy shot and put him in his room."
"Oh, good." Mrs. Maple grasped the needle and injected half of its contents into her daughter.
"Momma!" she cried. "I - I'm not happy..." she looked surprised for a moment, but then the poison took effect and she fell into the carpet. Mrs. Maple could hear sirens wail. She hurridly injected herself and felt the blackness pressing in. She let herself float in its depths before sliding beneath.
*** The following is an article from the Sunnyville Post. ***
Mr. and Mrs. Maple have moved out of Sunnyville for the time being. If you wish to contact them, please send a letter to Mr. Mayor's office and they will pass it on.
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What do you think? I tried to say that a utopia is not a utopia because something perfect never is, but I'm not sure if I got it across. Please critique!
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