Whispers On The Wind

Flash Fiction February #25: You discover (or invent) a device that can send messages back and forth to your past self. You know something terrible has (or will) happen. Do you warn your past self? Or use the device for another purpose?

2035:

The world was all but empty now; hardly anyone dared to venture from their homes in fear of what awaited them outside their doors. The military stalked our streets with orders to capture anyone bold enough to step outside. No one knew what became of the unfortunate souls that had been caught, only that they were never seen again. We had everything we needed in our homes, though the air was stale and dust clung to it like glue.

I was a singer before the world ended, and I still take comfort in it today. Filling the air with my songs is the only way I know how to survive in this broken world. My microphone broke long ago, but I have been carefully fixing it over the years. With one last turn of a screw, it was finished; I hoped. I plugged it in and began to sing.

At the World’s end

Unable to comprehend

What led us to this place

When did we fall from grace

“Damn, it must still be broken; it doesn't seem to be picking up any of my voice” I grab my screwdriver to take the entire microphone apart once again but before I can, I hear a delayed voice coming through the speaker.

“Hello? Who’s there?!” The voice sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place where I knew it from.

“Hello?!” My voice searched desperately for the person on the other side, but I received nothing in response. “Maybe it only works if I’m singing..”

All that withers and dies

Reflected in the skies

Our future remains unknown

We reap what we have sown

“Please tell me who you are!” The voice cried back to me. That pitiful cry shot through my brain like lightning - that was my voice.

The year is 2035

Barely anyone is alive

I am the singer at the end of times

My name is Madeline.

“Wait, you’re..me??” My past self seemed smaller now, no doubt crumbling from the weight of this moment. “It’s 2003 here, I honestly could not imagine making it to 2035..how do we do it?”

Oh, 2003, reminiscing on that year makes my blood run cold. That was the worst year of my life.

Sweet little one

I know you want to run

Your world is shattering

And your psyche is scattering

Don’t listen to what they say

Pay no attention to the fray

Her death has made your world halt

But this is not your fault

In that instant, the electricity running through the speaker shorted out and the plug began to smoke. This world had finally taken from me the thing I needed most .

---

2003:

I watched in shock as they lowered my mother into the ground. They covered her with dirt and although I wanted to force them to take her back out, to give her back to me, I was paralyzed. The world felt like a horrible dream that I might wake from at any moment, but the moment never came. All I could do was stare at the mound of dirt while tears ran down my cheeks.

In moments of stillness, the world speaks to you. Just as I was about to turn and walk back to the car, I heard a strange voice in the wind.

At the World’s end

Unable to comprehend

What led us to this place

When did we fall from grace

I knew better than to answer the voices that were brought in by the wind, but something in me demanded that I respond.

“Hello? Who’s there?!” My calls were met with nothing but empty air for a moment, but as I started walking the voice returned.

All that withers and dies

Reflected in the skies

Our future remains unknown

We reap what we have sown

“Please tell me who you are!” I begged, feeling even more desperate to connect with someone now that my mother was gone.

The year is 2035

Barely anyone is alive

I am the singer at the end of times

My name is Madeline.

My name was Madeline..

“Wait, you’re..me??” How could this be happening? My already fragile mind cracked under the enormity of all of this. “It’s 2003 here, I honestly could not imagine making it to 2035..how do we do it?” I was desperate to find some solace through this nightmare.

Sweet little one

I know you want to run

Your world is shattering

And your psyche is scattering

Don’t listen to what they say

Pay no attention to the fray

Her death has made your world halt

But this is not your fault

“Then why does everyone say it is?! Why do they push me away and make me feel so alone?! I’m nine years old! I can’t be alone yet!” I cried to the winds, but heard nothing in response. The voice on the winds has left me, just as everyone else has, but her lullaby stays with me.

I walk back to the car where my family screams at each other, and when I arrive their eyes burn into my soul. Tears still burn my cheeks as I climb into my seat, but throughout the entire drive I tell myself “this is not your fault”.

Image: Unsplash - Bruno Cervera