Of What Was Left Behind (ONC 2024)

18 - Collision Course II

The camera watched the memory roll on endless repeat. It was stuck between the logical and illogical, between two parts of its code that shouldn't have to tangle, that should have enhanced each other.

Each attempt to switch to a different, corrupted memory was thwarted by the illogical side, drawing it back repeatedly to the same scene: a room with a woman reading a book–

"I want..."

Predictably, at this point, the memory terminated abruptly, dissolving into distorted sounds and splashes of colour.

–to an unending loop.

It was to the point of senselessness. There was nothing else to do. It was mindless, much like its surveillance efforts throughout all these years where all the camera could do was watch the walls crumble, the roof cave in and the grass grow.

There was no point in anything really.

...

The cat watched over her sick kitten, her worry and panic gradually intensifying by the minute. She had brought enough food, to the point where all her kittens except for the sick one had been fed. She even had enough food for herself.

But her sick child refused to eat. It just lay in its spot, curled around itself. So the cat did the only thing she could - keeping watch.

Her kitten grew noticeably weaker. Its breathing became shallow and even the others looked to its ill sibling in concern.

The cat whined. She looked around, panic flooding her system. Her tail lashed and the cat fought against the urge to run.

There was a moment when her kitten stood up unsteadily, its eyes glazed. Then, it walked over to her, to its mother, before curling up tight. It was over in less than a second. One moment, her kitten was breathing, the next, it was still as a rock.

A sense of confusion flooded the cat. She stood up, eyes glazed and, following instinct, moved the kitten to the outside. She clambered out of the shelter before spotting a tree where her child could rest.

With a few graceful leaps, the cat reached the tree, lowering down her child onto its roots. Then, she turned back, listening to her quiet surroundings. Squeezing back into the shelter, she curled up around herself and let herself sleep.

The cat awoke from the sounds of play. Her remaining kittens were in the middle of wrestling, rolling around the space. She stood up, noting the weakness in her body. Chills made its way down her spine.

She was sick.

With a snort, she turned towards the outside, signalling her children to follow her lead. She had to hunt if she was to keep healthy, especially if she was to avoid her departed kitten's fate.

...

The birds flew with a larger flock, calling to each other as the sun began to set. The silver-eyed bird circled in the sky, feeling the feathers ruffle in the air. She called out to her family as she began diverging from the rest of the birds, hoping for them to follow her.

She was going to return back to the place of the creature. So, with hurried wingbeats, she flew down to the canopy, following the familiar trail of ruins until she felt that pull, that need to land and survey the place.

As she angled herself towards the ground, a spark from the creature caught her eye. It seemed as if its eye was trying to glow, trying to awaken and perhaps, trying to become well enough to greet her and her family once more.

...

The camera found itself looking at a collage of colours. Unlike the other times the memory played, it stopped at the end, refusing to replay.

So the code stirred. It pushed into other pieces of data, prodding and waiting to see if its illogical side would pull it back to that memory. It didn't.

The machine delved into more corrupted data. Suddenly, the illogical side pulled it sideways and plunged it into another memory, one that was still intact. It started out with an empty room where the camera faced the door. Then, the door opened, as the woman walked in, holding a bird in her cupped hands. She smiled, looking down fondly at the animal.

"This is Kiki."

Her happy expression crumpled for a second.

"We aren't allowed to bring pets, so I'm spending as much time as I can with her before we go."

She looked back down at the bird, gently petting its head with her thumbs.

"I know pets are bound to their owners. I know it's probably futile for you to defy your own genetics. However, I truly wish that, one day, you will be free."

There was a moment of silence as the woman considered her words.

"I want you to live your own life, without feeling compelled to search for an owner that isn't there, for a place that will no longer be important." She looked up, staring at the camera. "I wish the same for you too even though in some ways I dont want-"

The woman trailed off, closing her eyes.

"I don't want to be forgotten, but I also don't want you to be stuck watching this place decay." She laughed. "I probably sound a little strange but I guess after all the talking, it just feels natural you know?"

She looked back down at Kiki, letting the bird hop onto the bed. She watched it bounce across the bed, chirping merrily.

The memory then froze, flipping back to the time when the woman was again on her desk chair and reading a book. The memory replayed and ended in a sea of colours and the program, both sides of it, understood.

Then, the camera could see. Its sight was fractured, broken where greys mixed with greens and oranges. It could see the movement of the silver-eyed bird, which waddled towards it, tilting its head.

The machine found that it cannot whistle. It tried other sounds but nothing came through. It was simply too damaged.

The bird pecked at its lens cautiously, rearing back at the sound of something cracking even further. It trilled inquiringly at the machine, which gave no response. It then cautiously head butted the plastic-covered camera, which shifted, and along with it, the device's field of view.

The machine saw a splintered forest.

There were ruins of course, most at least half in-tact. Leaves draped off the collapsed skeleton of houses and traces of an old road outlined by empty spaces were all that was left of human civilisation.

Young trees were everywhere. Most were thin and spindly, growing from the ground or from large mounds. The silver-eyed bird hopped around, facing the camera's lens. It trilled once more.

The machine could only watch, its vision flickering from time to time. It observed the extensive cracks which spiderwebbed from the sides. Some places, where there was an empty spot, must have been one where a shard of glass fell out.

As it flickered, the camera briefly caught the glimpse of eyes near a tree metres away—there one moment, gone the next.

******

Word Count: 19145