Music Prompt:
Con aka Samwise: The chimes rang out slowly, echoing out of the old kazaam steeple. The vibrations were followed by an almost mournful buzz from the nearby electronic monitor, plastered on the front of the sanctuary, depicting all the most recent propaganda. It was disgusting, really. They were displaying their blatant lies on the front of a place of worship. A worship of truth. Made it almost seem purposal.
Sketch leaned into the cubbyhole that he had found. His back was up against the cold stone now. At least he was out of the rain. His feet were placed in exactly the same spot as two previous feet. A statue’s feet. This whole city had been gutted. All of its heritage removed, and replaced by monitors.
And now the younger generation didn’t know who and what they were.
Slowly a speeder wheeled down the street. Searching for him. Sketch was handily hidden behind one of the screens, but he could still see through the holes in the monitor. Holes made by rocks thrown my insubordinate citizens.
Chains rattled below.
Sketch slowly reached out with both hands, and pressed on the monitor. It resisted momentarily, and then crashed to the ground below. It fizzed in a puddle below. A nearby wire sparked next to Sketch’s head, where it had been plugged into the thing.
The guy on the speeder turned to face him. Sketch raised up his hands. “Totally an accident, man! Totally! I was just standing up here, hiding from you, and I leaned on it too hard, and boom, it’s lying down there drowning!” Sketch paused. “Who installed it, because they did a crappy job! You should investigate them!”
The guy on the speeder seemed stunned. That was the intention.
“I’m going to go inspect the rest of these, see if they have similar issues.” Sketch stepped forward, and off the edge. He hovered there his boot jets keeping him level. “Gotta run.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: Forty-four days. It had been forty-four days. Not even so much as a “hello”. She knew she deserved it.
She sat at her piano and brushed her fingers against the cold keys, worn from years of use. Random snippets of songs transmitted from her brain into her hands, but she couldn’t make any coherent melody out of them. She searched for the perfect thing to play, but instead of finding it, her hands fell limp into her lap.
A yellow light flashed in the corner of her eye. The piano needed water. For once, she ignored its gentle plea. She leaned her elbows on the keys, put her head down on her arms, and stared out the window.
Words floated in and out of her mind. Patches of conversations they had had. The sounds of uncontrollable laughter, mindless humming, quiet sobs. The voices were soft and familiar. Even smells came back to her, the aromas of baking cookies and rainy asphalt and the dust that collected on the windowsills.
Forty-four days since she had been home. It felt like years.
Maria #2 aka Fili: The skype ringtone played, bouncing off the walls of her room while she herself lay in the middle of her bed, knees pressed up against her chest. Her hair splayed out in all directions, connecting her to the darkness of the room like fine cords. The screen of her laptop at the edge of her bed cut through the deep dark that covered the floor and drenched the walls. The call dropped off of the screen, and her fingers turned white, pressing so hard into her knees. Her cheeks were damp, sticky with tears, and her eyes felt swollen. Her heart, however, felt nothing. It seemed so peaceful, to sit here and watch the same thing happen over and over again. A call would come in, and she wouldn’t move an inch. The call would drop, and she would imagine she never knew anyone by the name of Sara. She would picture a beautiful world, where she was its only inhabitant, a place full of darkness and warm soothing nothing. She reached forward, arm shaking, and moved the cursor over to the logout button. “Goodbye,” Her lips parted with a crack and her voice split the ends of her hair. Nothing would ever be quite the same. Never again.
Sketch leaned into the cubbyhole that he had found. His back was up against the cold stone now. At least he was out of the rain. His feet were placed in exactly the same spot as two previous feet. A statue’s feet. This whole city had been gutted. All of its heritage removed, and replaced by monitors.
And now the younger generation didn’t know who and what they were.
Slowly a speeder wheeled down the street. Searching for him. Sketch was handily hidden behind one of the screens, but he could still see through the holes in the monitor. Holes made by rocks thrown my insubordinate citizens.
Chains rattled below.
Sketch slowly reached out with both hands, and pressed on the monitor. It resisted momentarily, and then crashed to the ground below. It fizzed in a puddle below. A nearby wire sparked next to Sketch’s head, where it had been plugged into the thing.
The guy on the speeder turned to face him. Sketch raised up his hands. “Totally an accident, man! Totally! I was just standing up here, hiding from you, and I leaned on it too hard, and boom, it’s lying down there drowning!” Sketch paused. “Who installed it, because they did a crappy job! You should investigate them!”
The guy on the speeder seemed stunned. That was the intention.
“I’m going to go inspect the rest of these, see if they have similar issues.” Sketch stepped forward, and off the edge. He hovered there his boot jets keeping him level. “Gotta run.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: Forty-four days. It had been forty-four days. Not even so much as a “hello”. She knew she deserved it.
She sat at her piano and brushed her fingers against the cold keys, worn from years of use. Random snippets of songs transmitted from her brain into her hands, but she couldn’t make any coherent melody out of them. She searched for the perfect thing to play, but instead of finding it, her hands fell limp into her lap.
A yellow light flashed in the corner of her eye. The piano needed water. For once, she ignored its gentle plea. She leaned her elbows on the keys, put her head down on her arms, and stared out the window.
Words floated in and out of her mind. Patches of conversations they had had. The sounds of uncontrollable laughter, mindless humming, quiet sobs. The voices were soft and familiar. Even smells came back to her, the aromas of baking cookies and rainy asphalt and the dust that collected on the windowsills.
Forty-four days since she had been home. It felt like years.
Maria #2 aka Fili: The skype ringtone played, bouncing off the walls of her room while she herself lay in the middle of her bed, knees pressed up against her chest. Her hair splayed out in all directions, connecting her to the darkness of the room like fine cords. The screen of her laptop at the edge of her bed cut through the deep dark that covered the floor and drenched the walls. The call dropped off of the screen, and her fingers turned white, pressing so hard into her knees. Her cheeks were damp, sticky with tears, and her eyes felt swollen. Her heart, however, felt nothing. It seemed so peaceful, to sit here and watch the same thing happen over and over again. A call would come in, and she wouldn’t move an inch. The call would drop, and she would imagine she never knew anyone by the name of Sara. She would picture a beautiful world, where she was its only inhabitant, a place full of darkness and warm soothing nothing. She reached forward, arm shaking, and moved the cursor over to the logout button. “Goodbye,” Her lips parted with a crack and her voice split the ends of her hair. Nothing would ever be quite the same. Never again.