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The Last Radio Station Segment 02: Beauty in Familiarity

Another day gone with no sight of incoming visitors. My vigil began at noon with a bacon sandwich. The two slices were all I had left of the luxury meat, so I had intended to savor each bite. It was to my misfortune that one of those slices fell from the bread and onto the floor. To Pixel's fortune, she got to keep it.

"Between the two of us, I think I've lost more weight than you." Those ancient felines must have had some good instincts to manipulate humans into feeding and sheltering them. Here was their ancestor, however many centuries later, with a modest filling each day. Pixel's meow rumbled with delighted purrs as thanks. "Guess I have more weight to lose, huh?" Fool I might have been, but I wouldn't have been able to eat if I knew Pixel was going without. It wouldn't have been right.

I normally would have used this hottest point of the day as a siesta. Have a meal, drink a cool glass of water, nap, then run my daily perimeter check for gaps in the electric fence. I had neither the calories or water in me to make that trek, let alone fix any potential problems. Any folk who came by would be more than forgiving once they brought me the supplies to do my job.

Bacon finished, Pixel lept into my lap. She sniffed me down better than any hound for even a scrap of meat or carbs. "Sorry, that's all for lunch." Disappointed with her findings, she pranced back indoors. Granted, it wasn't time for the usual watch to begin, and she was likely as ready to nap as I. "Alright, don't leave me behind, now." I relented to follow, even if sleep eluded me.

Seemed as though she didn't want to sleep either. Pixel hustled under my desk and jumped clear onto her elevated bed to sunbathe. Her icy blue eyes stared longingly, an invitation to join her in the broadcasting room. I obliged by claiming my chair. "Might as well have music if we're going to loaf." No better use of my time and meager energy. With a few flicks and presses, we were live.

"Afternoon, Willow Creek. Before you go checking your watches: no, it ain't quitting time. I'm here ahead of schedule by request of the darling Pixel." Hearing her name, she sprang onto my shoulder from behind and gave a yipping cry. "She loves being part of things." I gently relocated her onto my lap for our shared comfort. "I dunno which of you are cat people, but you should know a Russian Blue like Pixel is one of the dang-near loveliest things you'll ever see."

My mind briefly wandered in a space that felt instant and infinite. What other sights had I seen in my life that were beautiful? I recalled the rainbow-hued waters of Pearl Harbor. A tragic beauty if there ever was one. Lives lost, the environment polluted with steel and oil. There were also the dark indigo mountains of Alaska. The glaciers then had still been pristine then, layering the stoic geography with shades of whitish-blue. A rocky island beach whose cold Michigan waters could shift from grey to cobalt by the sun's rising. The Grand Canyon on a cloudless day, the bands of millennia on display for anyone patient enough to enjoy their own fleeting, insubstantial being. They were all things I'd likely never see again.

"She's definitely the most beautiful cat in this world, anyway." My fingers found purchase beneath Pixel's chin. "But my top pick? Now, that'd be what a lot of you might call corny or cheesy." The emotion left me as a gentle exhale from the nose. "It was this young lady in a garden. She was as pretty as could be, her hair done up and a smile bright enough to put all troubles to bed. She loved to dance and laugh, and I can't recall a single moment she'd hesitate to pursue what she wanted."

My hand ceased its affections to Pixel, who wrapped her forelimb around it to keep it nearby. "Out of all the sights I've witnessed, I wish I could return to that garden. Though I wouldn't mind seeing some supplies brought my way, either." I placed a 45 vinyl onto the player and let the needle descend. "For this sweltering afternoon, Sunshine Of Your Love by Cream."

[th-eventide]

The Last Radio Station

Segment 1: Memories of Home

My eyes swept across the field of browning grass, tracing along a concealed gravel path I knew by heart. Any vehicle would be kicking up a small cloud of dust that threw the plants' gold up into the blue sky. Anyone fool enough to walk the distance from town would have planned ahead and be close enough to see. It was with a hollow ache I had to accept the reality that I had been pushing down for three weeks.

"They're not coming today."

My lone audience was the Russian Blue at my heels. Pixel was a sweet cat who followed me as loyally as any dog. She came with me and watched the road each delivery day, spending her time on patrol around the paddock we had and never roaming into the tall grasses. I'd like to accredit her intelligence or instincts for her innate knowledge of my need for company during those hours of waiting, but I honestly think she simply learned that fresh food came after porch time. Disappointment was our constant companion since the first missed delivery.

"And at this point, I don't think they're coming back."

A shame. Pixel liked the Sharon, the old lady who drove the truck. My cat mewed as she turned her head up to me. I could hear and see the question she asked. 'So what do we do?' Food was nearly out. Our drinkable water down to the last gallon. I couldn't hunt the mutated animals that roamed beyond the electric fence. My only weapon was an old revolver with twelve rounds of hollow-points. It'd piss off anything larger than a coyote and blow the good meat off anything smaller. Without the supply of filters and de-radded food...

"Well, we do what we can."

I stood from the rocker and made my way inside the brick building. Pixel hurried after me, her sleek tail perked up with a sense of curiosity and expectation. Her cries punched buckshot into my chest. I gave in, supplying her with the last slice of SPAM, which I ground up before placing it into her bowl. Five thimblefuls of water were likewise all I could spare her for today. She was blissfully ignorant of our circumstances as she chowed down. I walked away and into the office.

Our compound had, at one point, been a school. It was an old thing when we found the place, the oldest photos of alumni dating back a century. Of the seven buildings that were once standing, three remained habitable, with the administrative building serving as our home. It was oddly shaped, as though someone converted an old garage's break area into administrative quarters and an additional room to serve as the lone arts their programs had to offer. But that's rural life for ya.

Of course, we didn't do all the restoration ourselves. The townsfolk agreed that the place could serve as an emergency shelter as long as someone could tend to the grounds and infrastructure. I volunteered and have been living here ever since. Room and board as long as we kept the place ready to receive, including keeping the solar panels clean and the backup generator functional. For extra measure, a radio tower was added, capable of both receiving and dispatching messages. I mostly used it to play the various pieces of media we brought with us. Vinyls, cassettes, CDs, whatever I had inherited from my folks to play over the airwaves. It brought some measure of joy to the overall dreariness my distant neighbors had felt in their bids for survival. It had also been my first resort when the shipments stopped. No answer. Today would likely be no different.

Seated in my armchair, I flicked switches, rotated knobs, and cushioned my ears with the antique headphones. The red bulb on my desk lit up to signal reception.

"Evening, Willow Creek. It's your friend, Franky. How ya'll faring out there?" I could suspend my sense of belief for a moment to imagine someone might hear me on their radio, that they might send help or remind Sharon to make her rounds. "I hope I've caught you at home, snug in your chairs, or watching the sunset on the porch. It's sure lovely watching the gold grass turn during these autumn evenings."

A dose of nostalgia hit me as I recalled my old home. The acres of hilly grass; how fireflies used to bob about drunkenly in their nightly search; the tree frog choir. All summertime events, but they were laced with a touch of home. "You know, my parents liked music. It's why I do this whole thing." I rotated my chair, my mounted mic on a swivel with me. I wanted to see the fields beyond the electric fence and imagine the sounds of my childhood home. "My mom and dad were very different people with different tastes. Really didn't do their marriage any favors."

My next rotation was towards the wall of media. What would I play to begin the brief window I had for my broadcast? "As a matter of fact, I don't remember a single song they both enjoyed. My mom liked jazz, rock, and R&B. My father was more of a funk fella once you got him out of his shell. I have a mix of both in me. Probably part of why I moved away for several years."

The song called me in that moment. My hands went to work, preparing the equipment for the change from live audio to the CD. "But I know this culture here. You lot are more into a country feed. So, let me play for you a song you'll probably like." I slipped the disc into the player. "Up next is Different Day by Jeff Austin. He's from out of town, so treat him nice."

My finger froze on the switch. I couldn't let another day go by without acting. "And Sharon, if you're still out there, don't be a stranger. Come by and visit with those supplies, alright?"

I flipped the feed.

[th-eventide]

Tarot Tales 0. The Emperor & The Hanged Man

I once imagined death to be an oblivion, a complete and solitary blackout where I could pass eternity in lucid dreaming. There had been too many afterlives introduced to me where restful peace was something to be earned, and goodness weighed on an unfathomable scale to be assigned a score. A void of dreams seemed better by comparison. And I wished I wasn't there.

The void was what I expected, what I had wanted. The ethereal figure in Victorian coattails was neither. The lapel of the black tailcoat had been meticulously embroidered with gold thread. What I thought at first were lightning bolts were gnarled and barren tree limbs. The grey waistcoat beneath had no embroidery, instead displaying a Damascus pattern in the fabric. No trousers or shoes, as they didn't need pants. Their form was a whispy violet fog, coalesced into a vague humanoid shape that tapered off towards the legs. The overall shape was masculine, thick at the breast, and as tall as an old poplar tree. I doubt I would have been any larger than an action figure in their gloved hand.

"You have realized what has happened to you by now, yes?"

I stared, trying to focus below the tophat and on the darker divots that I took to be the thing's eyes. I wished they hadn't asked. It was salt rubbed into a fresh wound. My life ran a short and rather unremarkable race. Dead at thirty by heart attack. I remembered the rush to the hospital, the stress and pain that kept building until the world went sheet white.

"I had life insurance," I give as my half-hearted answer. "They should be able to bury me, at least."

A sonorous hum rolled through the vapor. I decided that this thing must have been a him. "You are taking this rather well." Was I? I felt a depressed acceptance over it. My face was likely pallid and morose. "Perhaps you don't need another chance at life?"

A fleeting spark of hope lit the darkness. "That's possible?" I had heard stories of people being resuscitated with visions of afterlife. Could I be one of those people? "I could go home?" I would do all I could to be better if I could just go home.

The hat rotated side to side, giving an answer that nearly smothered my feeble hope with ice water. "No. You are dead there, and that is how you must remain. However, you could live again in a different world."

A different world...with different rules and different troubles. The cynical side of me wanted to reject that. "Why would I want that?" I sighed. "Live another life in a world possibly worse than my last one?" And die alone again? "There's no promise my life would be any better."

"Of course not. Life is a struggle to continue on for as long as it can. There is always compromise to that continuation." The still air of the void stirred as the creature brought its face down to me. "But you would not move on as you once were. You would have your previous experiences to guide you and my gifts to enhance you. What you would do with that foundation would be of your own design."

I weighed it over. That was far better than beginning from zero as an infant in the old world. There, your environment, parents, and resources all shaped who you could be before you were even cognizant. "I would essentially be an unbaked piece of clay." The shape my potter spun me into would be my default state. But I took over from there. I would be fresh to a world I adapted to.

"...Alright." I could barely believe I was willingly walking off a cliff into the unknown. "Do what you have to."

The creature shook its head once more. "As I said: the continuation of life a compromise." His massive hand extended in a gesture of receiving. "What would you give me to venture on?"

A toll tender to the next life. "Should have known there was a catch," I groused as I began to dig into my pockets. I was surprised to find myself with clothes, let alone with my phone and wallet on hand.

He interrupted my search. "Your material effects are of no value to me." The hand palmed the air, a slow, patient request to give. "Trade to me something unique, something only you possess. Give to me a piece of yourself."

Icy dread slueced through me. I knew what he meant without further elaboration. He didn't want money or even a limb. The price of a new life was to willingly sheer away a part of the old me. What could I give while still being me? I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Any part of me?"

The hat nodded silently in confirmation to my question.

I could feel my lips flatten, turning inward for my teeth to bite. Giving away something like my memories would leave me without any foundation. I refused to go into the new world not knowing who I was. But I would not abandon my morals or emotions either. What was left to offer then?

"Would you take my humanity?"

The creature seemed stunned. No answer came for a handful of minutes. But he eventually responded. "You would carve away your innermost core? The part that connects you to all others?"

It was my turn to silently nod. To not be swayed by my humanity would likely do me best. Envy, pride, greed, sloth, wrath, lust, gluttony? All of mankind's worst traits would be gone. And maybe I could find peace if I wasn't human. "Just put me somewhere with people who aren't all humans, okay?" There had to be something else out there, something better.

Another round of quiet in the void passed. And then, "It shall be done as you wished it." I felt a spreading numbness, like my limbs and body were falling asleep. I looked down to see everything dissolving into bright blue sparks that flew into the creature's palm to form his own swirling galaxy. "May you find this next life better than your old life found you."

And then the dark rejoined me.

[th-eventide]

"The eventide echoes elicit my serene solitude." - Twilight

{{ The Writer | Questions | Answers }}

✧ Greetings, curious writers and peers! If you've happened to stumble across this, it means you've found my writing blog. It's not meant for RP like my others are. Instead, I'm writing based on journaling RPGs that I've found online. They might be one-shots/short-stories or may become entry-based stories on their own. As I write, links to the stories will be found beneath the cut.

Tarot Tales - an isekai story that attempts to avoid some of the overdone tropes of the genre. Our main character has died and when asked by the mysterious tollkeeper what they would trade for a second chance at life, they give away their humanity. Written via the solo journaling RPG "F∞L" by M. Kirin.

The Last Radio Station - Franky lives with his cat, Pixel, in a repurposed school. He tends the grounds and keeps things ship-shape in case anyone ever needs refuge, spending his free time broadcasting old music over the radio tower installed in his home. But what happens when supplies start running low? Written via the solo journaling RPG "A Playlist for the End of the World" by Ludipe.

Mothman's Medicines - first entry under draft.

A Northern Blend - first entry under draft.