I tore the check from her manicured claws.
“600 words?! I-” I swallowed the rest of my sentence; it burned my throat, but I couldn’t waste any words, my rent was due in a week.
“Sorry hon, but the company’s been making some cuts. Consider yourself lucky you still got a job. Personally, I’m surprised. You were never one of our best writers and…” Her plump, red lips kept moving, but the sound was drowned out by the stale air in the white-walled office.
Jocelyn was never my favorite person. As an editor, she couldn’t possibly earn enough words to talk as much as she did and afford the diamond-encrusted Rolex that hung on her lanky arm. I had always suspected she was a little too friendly with our Content Manager, a handsome man from the east side of town who headed the censoring of our publications. He was rich, so rich that he ironically never had to write; he could afford to speak freely as he wished.
“Hello.” Jocelyn snapped her talons in my face, bringing my attention back to the blonde nest that sat on her head. “I said that will be all. You can go now.”
As I made my way down Seventh Street to catch the five o’clock subway home, a shiver ran down my spine. I zipped up my jacket and stuffed my hands into its fleece-lined pockets. It wasn’t supposed to snow until tomorrow, but soft flakes had already begun falling from the sky. A silent couple walking hand-in-hand on the opposite side of the street caught my eye and my stomach knotted. It was difficult to find love nowadays; I wondered if they had met before The Silence.
“Hey, Dave,” I said with a wave as I passed the speechless man who made his home on the corner of my office building. He sat huddled under a dingy blanket in the black knit beanie I’d given him a couple months ago before autumn arrived. I only knew his name because I had asked him to write it down for me once. I passed him each day going to and from work and always made sure to spare those two words for him.
He gave me a knowing smile through his scruffy, grey beard.
I began to cross the street towards the subway entrance, but a chill rippled through my jacket and stopped me in my tracks. I peered at the inside of my right wrist. My voice-box read 200 WORDS. Clutching my paycheck with my left hand, I spun back towards Dave. I knelt down next to him and glanced around the street, but no one was in sight. I held out my wrist and he did the same. I entered 20 into my voice-box and tapped mine against his. He looked at me with worried, but grateful eyes. I quickly stood up and hurried across the street. Transferring words to the speechless had been illegal since June, but I knew those 20 words would be just enough for Dave to get into a shelter for the night.
On the subway, the announcements came over the speakers, courtesy of the mayor: TOMORROW MORNING AT EIGHT, THE FORCE WILL BEGIN THE SPEECHLESS SWEEPS. ANY SPEECHLESS FOUND LOITERING ON THE STREETS WILL BE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY. FORCIBLE ACTIONS WILL BE TAKEN AGAINST ANY RESISTORS.
I was glad I’d transferred Dave those words.
The next morning, I got off the eight o’clock subway and began my usual trek to work. I had almost made it to the top of the stairway when I heard rampant shouts from the street and then an echoing bang. I stood frozen at the top of the stairs as I witnessed the scene on the other side of the road.  At the feet of two enforcers laid a limp and bloodied man with a black beanie, wrapped in a red-soaked blanket. I wanted so badly to yell for him, but I didn’t dare. My rent was due in a week.