Beginning of my distopia

The only 15-letter word that can be spelled without repeating a letter is uncopyrightable. The World Committee had decided that it was a breach of human rights for individuals to have property. Copyrighted material was the individual’s own work. So copyright had been outlawed. Either everything was uncopyrightable, since it couldn’t be done, or no work was because if three hundred people had the same idea they could all write the same thing and each put it out for others to read. That was if the World Committee consented to the three hundred manuscripts. After all, what if the others liked one copy over another? So no one wrote any ideas down. They kept them in their heads, if they had them at all. It had been one hundred fifty years since the World Committee had consolidated power from the individual nations, and publishing houses were in very short supply.

Madison Sims walked past the ruins of old monuments that were in the center of U.S.S.A City One. The pyramidal top of one monument seemed to point at the bearded head of the only part that remained of its mate. That head looked strangely sad. Why had the people before the World Committee made a statue that showed sadness? Madison pushed the thought out of his head. It didn’t matter why. That nation no longer existed. Now there was simply the roving Committee. It was the constant care of every World Liver to do what the leaders said.

The Committee was residing for this four-year period in U.S.S.A. City One. Three months before they had moved into the large white government buildings from Middle East City One in the Tigris River Protectorate. The parade had gone for miles, the celebration for weeks. Madison had stood dutifully on the sidewalk watching the black motorcade trail by. When he was supposed to he cheered and clapped with the crowd. When the thirteen members of the World Committee had gotten out of their identical automobiles, he had put both hands over his heart. When they reached the door of the Committee Living Quarters he had bowed his head in respect. The World Livers could never see the inside of those Committee mansions.

Madison hurried to a food stand, filled up a canvas bag with food and walked down some steps to the Metro. On the platform, among the crowd stood a middle height woman with tawny hair. She wore the tweed suit of the Department of Barter and Trade.

“Hello, Fellow Liver Tammy Hall.”

“Hello, Fellow Liver Madison Sims.”

Their words were simple, but their eyes told a different story, a story that could never be spoken. Their petition to be co-housing fellows depended on no one finding out that they actually cared for each other. The two of them moved onto the northbound train with the other people, “Next Stop: Station 2.” The platform disappeared and the low electronic beat of pulse music began. Madison and Tammy did not speak again until they had reached their house a half-mile walk from Station 4.

Madison and Tammy scanned their retinas as they hurried inside.  There would be no visits from the L.E.C. tonight. The inside of their house was simple. It had five rooms; a living room attached to the front door, the kitchen, a dining room, a bedroom, and an attached lavatory.