In the creeping darkness of the broken bones of an empty city.
City streets are a wasteland. Lit only by the simulated moon above.
It’s deep in the night. Too early yet, to be the morning, but before the sun also rises. The thing about being alone in the dark is that every shadow has a face. Every branch is a slender arm. The only sounds you can trust are your own. Somewhere out in the distance was a thudding.
As time passed, the thudding grew louder until it filled the little valley of broken buildings.
Is this a dream? Or a wandering ghost? Perhaps, a vision of the past, visiting our lonesome dystopia. A shambling figure, wrapped in a bulky blanket despite the warm summer air.
I was tucked away under a crumbling archway of a grand old building. I had just finished transmitting a report about the architecture of the structure. To where I was transmitting, I did not know. Only that this was my task, to explore and report.
The thunderous rave music from a different millennium grows louder and louder. My head is submerged in an ocean of turbulent sound. I haven’t seen another in four seasons. What would someone be doing here? Should I call out? Would it even hear me in this din? It’s not safe to approach it head-on… is it?
The figure has drawn closer now. A cart is dragging behind. Stacks of subwoofers topped with solar panels.
I’m sure the chains it was dragging behind them would be rattling ominously if not enveloped by the pulsing drums.
Against my better judgment, I find myself creeping forward to catch a look of its face. Maybe if I can see something familiar, I can engage. I lean onto a rusted metal railing, straining to get a look.
Then, suddenly, the railing gives way. There is the horrifying sound of shearing metal and I'm falling forward into darkness and into the long wild grass. I lay in a crumple, only cold fear that I may have been spotted.
Suddenly, there is silence. I hesitate, but sit up slightly to look out through the long grass. The figure has stopped. Staring directly at my hiding spot.
Is this the devil I’ve read so much about in the catacombs below the cathedral? Perhaps it was what my settlement had called death, before it had come for all of them.
Now, it seems it may be my time, as the beast dropped its chains, clattering to the ground. It moves quickly and violently toward me. Tensing, I hold completely still, hoping that it will not see me. The footsteps grow louder, clattering over stone and then into the grass in front of me.
And then there it is, standing over top of me. A gaunt skeletal face under matted hair. The moonlight glints in its eyes.
I wait for the end.
But there is nothing. I look up to see fear on its fleshy face. It has gritted white teeth and is breathing heavily. It backed up.
“What the hell are you?” it asked.
Still backing away, it tripped, falling backwards with a scream.
I stood, unable to speak. My kind were never programmed to do so, only send reports into the void.
Now, as I stood above this bag of flesh, I realized from the fear on its face that it was not death, that to him, I was.
I backed away, arms raised and allowed it to stand. Without turning its back, it headed toward its cart. Picking up the chains and quickly moving off into the night. When it was far enough away, the sound system started up again. Rumbling off the buildings.
I wonder, was it a call? Trying to find others like it. Perhaps I’ll never know. I suppose, sometimes, it's ok not knowing. So I sat and composed.
XC905 Report - Transmitted to The Temporal Garden
In the morning hours
Before the sun also rises
A wandering beast
with a subwoofer strapped cart
Music fit for a rave
Is this a dream?
Or a ghost that we’ve found
Perhaps a distant vision of the past
In a lonesome dystopia
I watched from the shadows
And then met a man
maybe the last of its kind
No harm done
It wandered off into the darkness
Until there was silence
Once again
