The Price of Words

In the year 2142, every spoken word cost money.

Citizens were given a monthly word quota—go over it, and you were fined. Speak too much, and you went bankrupt.

Silence was survival.

Milo had three words left before his balance hit zero.

He turned to his sister, her eyes pleading for help.

The guards were coming.

Three words.

Three choices.

“Run.”

“I love you.”

“Forgive me.”

Milo swallowed hard.

And whispered the only one that mattered.

“Run.”

His balance hit zero.

And the world went silent.