Of What Was Left Behind (ONC 2024)

05 - Story

Upon rebooting, the camera's first glimpse was of a juvenile bird, bathed in the pinkish, yellow-orange hues of sunset. The light danced along the edges of its body, casting ripples of colour across its downy feathers as they fluttered in the breeze.

It chirped curiously before pecking at the device, then turned to warble at the grass. This action drew two other juveniles, who approached and stared expectantly at the camera.

At that, the program shifted. There was that strange vague sensation, the tugging, the unravelling of some sort of constraint. Then, that dormant thing deep within, stirred.

"Let me tell you a story."

And so, the machine did, speaking of a story stored within the memories. The first few sounds resulted in crackles, causing the birds to flinch. Then words, barely audible under the static, came from its speakers.

"I feel bored."

There was a pause as the woman stared at the camera, her head tilted in thought.

"No, that's not right."

The camera then paused. The sensation twisted and roiled, hissing at the unsaid words. The dormant thing shifted uncomfortably. At the same time, a hissing sound emanated from the speakers and the birds kept on watching, their forms stark against the swaying grass.

The woman's gaze fell to her hands, resting on the gleaming surface of her desk. The desk lamp cast a harsh light, bleaching some areas and throwing others into shadow, highlighting the contours of her hands in crisp detail.

"I feel...exhausted. It's as if all of my energy is drained. I feel so tired."

There was a moment of silence.

Meanwhile, the adult birds landed beside their offspring, all eyes fixed on the camera with intense curiosity.

"That intense sadness still comes from time to time, I won't lie, though- though I've just been so busy lately."

She closed her eyes.

"So many more people are dying and we're planning to move soon. I don't know when but I guess somewhere between six months and two years. Depends on the government, I guess. Not that some people care."

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Everything's already been so fucked up. And now we have to deal with this?"

The woman paused as tapping sounds came from behind. She sighed.

"Kiki! Later please!"

There was a muffled squeak and the woman shook her head. She reached towards the camera and the memory stopped.

The birds blinked at the abrupt lack of words and garbled static. After a brief pause, they turned away, disinterested in the now-silent machine.

...

As daylight waned, the camera lowered itself into power-saving mode, its program labouring in the darkness.

Deep in the darkness, the program toiled. The forgotten code integrated with the core, changing slightly its priorities. Unnecessary now referred to memories without that overlap, the changed definition prompting it to comb through its archive.

The room, stripped of its personal touches, felt bare. The once-familiar desk stood empty, devoid of its typical clutter. There was no computer, placed haphazardly on the desk, nor was there the typical white coffee cup, smearing its long cold beverage on the desk. Other pieces of furniture were equally barren, the bed neat and made and the bedside table, empty.

In the setting of the sun, sounds of sirens would pierce the silent room, as well as distant booms which would shake the windows.

The camera, despite all this, kept watching, carrying out faithfully its duty to surveil. Every now and then, it would reach out to the servers, receiving news of danger, of new crimes that were recorded that day. It would do this multiple times, finding new reasons to watch and protect the home. It would then contact the household security network, feeding information to the main computer.

Upon finding no relevant overlap in a memory, the program methodically dismantled it, erasing it from existence. Then, it moved on to the next one.

The camera watched as cracks started to form in the walls. Other than static, only silence would return its calls to the servers. Its connection to the security bots were gradually weakening, and the nano machinery reserve that was so crucial to maintenance was gradually dwindling.

At this point, something scrambled between the walls, scratching at its confines. There would be silence and then squeaks before those sounds faded. From time to time, wind would blow through the broken windows, pushing brown, five pointed leaves into the room.

The desk which was once clean was now covered in a thin sheet of dirt and ash.

That too, was shredded. It repeated its actions again and again before finally reaching the last of its archives.

The walls have mostly broken down. Some parts were scorched and the camera faced the splintered, broken door. The carpet was mostly gone, with some burnt edges clinging at the walls. Broken glass and bottles covered parts of the room but they too were now mostly hidden in the grass sprouting between the cracks in the now-concrete floor.

The camera itself was situated close to the ground, half facing the sky. It saved the last reserves of the maintenance nano-machines. By now, not even static answered the machine's calls for updates, nor was there any reply when it tried to communicate to the security network.

So the camera remained, a silent witness to the decay around it.

The camera paused as another flicker of that strange sensation, brushed against the fringes of its programming. Then, it vanished, along with the last memory.

******

Is the story for the juveniles, or the last cry of the past now erased? Or perhaps, it's something else entirely. That answer, my dear, reader's is up to you. 

For further information, I will be publishing chapters every 2000 (ish) words at at a time. Right now the current word count sits at 4133 words. 

See you next 2000 words!

-Arland