"Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts."
- Patrick Rothfuss

Blaine Anderson was never a very outspoken individual. Of course, he simply couldn't afford to be. The prices for words had risen astronomically, so that only the very wealthy could afford to buy more.

He opened the door of his apartment, glad to be home after a long day of work. He worked at the local library, so all he had to do was stamp the return dates into the books when checked out. It required no words, which was good. The pay wasn't amazing, but at least it paid the bills.

Of course, it couldn't buy him more words.

He would complain, but it really didn't bother him all that much. That was just the way it was. Every baby, when born, received 1,000 words for their entire lifetime. Upon reaching adulthood, they could buy more words if they had the money for the operation, but if not they would die upon uttering another syllable.

If it was up to him, he would still have all 1,000 words and have saved enough money for 500 more. However, he still had serious debt to pay from the medical bills, and his availability in the job market was bad because of his low word count.

When he turned sixteen, he was officially old enough to start work in the factories. The pay was extremely low, but if he hoped that if he saved up to buy more words and get a better job.

He managed to get through his childhood only saying ten words. He still remembers them all. First, a "mommy" when he was three. His mother immediately shushed him, silently explaining that words were not to be wasted on names. Second, when he was six he said "Hi I'm Blaine!" to a girl in his daycare class. Once again, he was chastised and instructed not to waste his words on introductions.

The third time was when he was thirteen, and had stupidly decided to tell his mother he loved her, and she slapped him for wasting three more words. Words were not to be used on useless phrases, such as terms of endearment. That could me easily said in a hug or kiss.

So by the time he hit sixteen, all he needed to say at his job interview was, "I'll work hard." And with those three words, he was hired.

However, two days after he hit eighteen and decided to buy 500 more words, his mother fell ill. The doctors attempted to explain to him the disease, but he never really understood, and didn't want to waste the words to try to figure it out.

All he knew was that in order to pay her medical bills, he had to spend the money he'd saved up for his words. Not only that, but he had to find a new job, as the factory didn't pay him enough for the high bills.

Blaine searched and searched for a new job, but the only one that would pay enough for his mother's medical bills happened to be one of the most dreadful jobs of them all: answering telephones.

The job was at a big business, where the owners had enough money to buy a lifetime supply of words, but were too lazy to answer their own phones. So instead, they hired out those with high word counts in need of money to answer them for them. Slowly but surely, Blaine's words started to run out.

His mother eventually passed away when he turned twenty, and that was exactly when his word count had dropped so low that the business had fired him. Blaine's word count was low. Fatally low.

At twenty-one years old, Blaine had exactly twenty-four words left. Twenty-four words for the rest of his life.

Instead of wallowing in self pity, he got a job at the local library and vowed to keep his word count where it was. Instead of speaking, he would often find himself miming out various gestures.

His mother had never had enough money to pay for his education, so he only knew how to read, not to write. He had tried it before, and the letters all slipped around the page beneath his fingers.

He sat down on his couch, letting out a breath that he had been holding for quite too long. Not talking was far too easy, he could never understand how people made the fatal mistake of speaking past their count and overdosing.

When life was on the line, the clear choice was silence.

With that thought in mind, Blaine made his way to his bed. Twenty-four words. He could die in a matter of seconds, just by speaking one sentence. But what on earth would be important enough to waste words on?

To Blaine, all he could bring up was a fond memory of his mother. He gave up 966 words for her, all meaningless and forgotten.

Now that he had no one, twenty-four words would be more than enough for the rest of his days.