Episode 9: An Audience Of One
CONTENT WARNING: general unease, distorted voices, unreality
Transcript
Intro
(Radio) Narrator One
She was a being made of light
or she created light
or she is the darkness so light can exist.
She is not warmth. She is not goodness. She is not hope.
She is just light.
What meanings and symbols humans have placed on her mean nothing.
She was a being made of light.
She existed.
And that's all she ever was.
Story One
(Microphone) Narrator One
The squeaking metal was a comforting rhythm as I read my book. She never wanted to do much else. She swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She would sometimes change the height or speed, but she would rarely stop. At least not when I was here. She was always sitting still when I walked through the bushes into this slightly blue tinted world.
“Do you like swinging?” I asked.
I had been watching her for awhile now.
“Yes.” she said simply. She slowed down her swinging.
“So you can like things.” I said with a smile on my face. A smile that would have said to anyone that I was joking. I knew she could like things, or at the very least there seemed to be things that she would rather be doing or not doing. The ‘liked doing’ pile was swinging and listening to me tell stories. Or when I was a child watching me play. ‘Didn’t like doing’ was everything else.
“That's very human of you.” I continue.
She wasn’t human, had never been human. And while her exact opinions of humans was hard to figure out, it didn’t seem to be negative.
She stopped completely, suddenly. She kept facing forward.
“I’m not a human.” she said.
(Echo Source)
Then why choose the form of one?
(Microphone)
“I know, I know.” I look back at my book. “I only asked because every time I come here you're not swinging. You start as I’m coming in.”
She went back to swinging not saying anything.
I hadn’t asked a question.
“What do you do when I’m not here?”
“Exsit.” She didn't even pause.
“Just that? Isn't that boring?
“Yes, just that. I don’t get bored.”
I think back to how she was the first time I ever saw her. Feet planted on the ground, sitting for so long that plants had started to grow around her shoes and up her legs. It was a good thing that she didn’t get bored.
“But you like swinging?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then why don’t you swing all the time?”
She speed up her swinging, the creaking of the metal rising in pitch.
“Do you like reading?”
I sat up straighter. It was rare for her to not answer a question, even if her answers range from confusing to unhelpful.
“Yeah, I like reading.” I pause, waiting for her to make her point. “Why?” I finally asked.
“Do you read all the time?” I close my book. She was breaking a lot of her usual patterns.
“I can’t. I have to eat and sleep. My eyes will get tired. Or my butt will get sore. There's plenty of things that I have to do. Even if I would rather be reading.”
“If you could read all the time would you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Her swinging speed up. I re-opened my book.
“You wouldn’t.”
I hadn’t asked a question. She was in a talkative mood today.
“If I had no other needs or responsibilities? Yeah, I think I would.”
A small termer rolls underneath the ground. A figure of speech, not really wondering, but this place was unstable and that was enough.
“You wouldn’t.” She repeats.
The squeaking of the metal chains of the swing set seems to grow louder. She has to have been saying it with absolute certainty, but that didn’t mean it was true.
“I would.” I said.
She looked right at me has she continued to swing. Her head unnaturally still as she swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I looked down at the ground trying to steady myself, if i hadn’t been sitting i probably would have fallen.
“You are a human, you do get board. No matter how much you like it. It’s because you can’t do it all the time that when you do you enjoy it so much.”
“But there’s so much to read. There's plenty of stories, all different and new. Maybe I would get bored of one book, but then I could switch to the next.”
I risked a glance to see if she was still staring at me. She was back to looking rigidly ahead.
“They're all the same story.”
I hadn’t been asking questions. She had just been talking with me.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t change to another story to not be bored because they are all the same story.”
I turned myself more towards her.
“They’re not the same story though. There's different genres, writers, formats. Even in history about the same event, the story can be different.”
She didn’t say anything after that. The swing slowed to a stop. I went back to reading my book. The silence left from the no longer moving swing left a ringing in my ears that made it hard to concentrate on the words on the page.
“They are all stories of humanity.”
I hadn’t expected her to talk again.
“Of humanity?”
“Written by humans. They're all the same story.”
I close my book once again and put it down beside me. She is not a human.
“Are all stories written by humans?”
“No,” She answers, then “Yes.” she says after.
“How can it be no and yes?”
“Humans have the very unique instinct to want to be remembered. To make a mark. It starts with names and ends with graves, memoriums, celebrations. It's all the same story.”
She starts to swing her legs again, slowly gaining momentum.
“But humans are not the only thing that live. In that way everything that has ever made a destination or breathed are telling a story.” The swing went higher and higher.
“Humans are just the only thing that record them.”
I get up from were i was sitting and walk closer to her. I try to look her in the eye, but its hard with her swinging up so high.
“Because every story is written by a human they’re all the same story?”
“Yes.” she answers immediately.
“So eventually I would get bored?”
“Yes.” she had a higher twinge to her voice, like she was happy that i was finally getting it. I lean on the pole of the swing set.
“Could something not human become human?”
She turned her head towards me. I fight the dizziness that comes with the it.
“I don’t want to be human.”
“I could have not been talking about you.”
“You were talking about me.”
No uncertainty. I rolled my eyes.
“I just thought maybe if you were, you would understand.”
Her swing slowed down.
“You are the one that doesn't understand. It’s all the same.”
“Fine, can something human become not human?”
“It happens all the time.”
“What do you mean?” I ask quickly, theres a little excitement that I'm too slow to suppress.
“When humans die, they turn to dirt, or ash, or liquid. At that point they are no longer human.”
I felt heat rise in my chest.
“I mean when they are alive.” I am unable to suppress the sharpness in my voice.
“Do you not want to be human?” The height of her swing started to lessen.
“No, I like being human.” You're allowed to lie here.
“Humans die.” She says.
“Lots of things die.” I reply. Because they do.
“But only humans have a need to be remembered. And you have such little time.”
My eyes follow her as she slowly swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. My head starts to feel unsteady again.
“So?” It's the only thing I can think of to say.
“So humans are afraid of death.”
“Aren’t all animals afraid of death?”
“No” The squeaking of the metal chains starts to grate on my ears.
“What do you mean?” My voice is becoming hard to control.
“Animals are afraid of being killed. Humans are afraid of death.”
“Whats the difference?” My head throbbed in time with her swing
“The difference is that humans can’t imagine a world without they themselves in it. So they make their mark, whatever it is. And they're so afraid that it won't be enough. Every story is written with that fear, every one. They're all the same.”
“Fine, fine.” I have to sit down. I go back to where my book still lay on the ground. I pick my book up and flip back to the page I was reading.
“If that's your argument for why I would get bored, I think you're wrong.” The tremor that followed that statement is a lot larger than a figure of speech.
“Why?”
“Becasue I love humanity. I think every one of its stories are interesting. I could never get bored of it.”
I go back to reading my book. I read and re-read sentences over and over. My mind filled with the knowledge that someone, somewhere had to have written them down. That each word was thought about, edited. Over and over and over.
Why use the word dragged instead of pulled? Bright instead of sunny? Cozy instead of warm? We’re the characters saying what they mean? Did they act intentionally? On impulse?
I slammed the book shut and got up. She started to slow down her swing. I walked towards the buses.
“Goodbye” She says as she stops swinging completely.
Interruption One
(Bad Overhead Speaker) Narrator One
They worked at a coffee shop.
Small, almost the exact same customers every day. It was nice, easy. They got to work, baked some muffins, made sandwiches, opened the store, then served coffee.
Easy.
They enjoyed it, genuinely. It was retail sure, sometimes there was someone rude. But mostly it was the same people, ordering the same food, the same drink, at the same time of day.
If only they could work here forever.
On their way to work they would pass by the statue of a man. He sits on a bench facing away from the road. His feet are bare, his boots and socks are on the ground between his legs. He wears work pants and a rain coat. The coat is open, sloughing off of him. He leans back on the bench looking up at the sky. He's smiling softly. The statue seems as if he had just finished a hard day's work in the rain, and now the sun has finally come out.
It makes the person that works at the coffee shop happy to imagine this. A good day's work done, while they are about to start theirs. On days like this, early in the spring, there were often raindrops from a fresh downpour on the statue. The person liked to wipe away the rain from the statue's face and socks. Nobody wanted to go back home in wet socks. The person knows that it's just a statue, but it felt like a nice thing to do.
Story Two
(Microphone) Narrator One
They remembered what the boy had said. That this place was dangerous. They had seen themselves that the blue light kept the creatures out. That the only safety was under that flickering blue light.
He had also said that most buildings did not have the blue lights in them.
There was no light above them. Not blue, not orange. Not even the black glowing lights that streamed out of the streetlights here.
Nothing.
The white and light grey of the books, bookshelf and wooden floor were just as dim as they had been. In the,
In the,
In the other place.
The place where they had just been.
The place before this.
They took a step, the scattered papers scraping and sliding beneath them.
Then another.
Then another.
The papers crinkled and moved. It no longer mattered. They had gotten their answer, They knew what questions it wanted her, the state they had been before, to ask.
They took another step. Walking felt the same, breathing felt the same, thinking felt the same. They took another step. They would never be the person that had been in that room again. They could never go back to not knowing. Everything about them would be different.
Another step.
The floor boards creaked and groaned.
The dark sun shone through the windows at the front of the store.
Another step.
They had a purpose now. A real purpose. One so compelling and intense that to not do it was the equivalent as holding ones breath. It was instinct in the purest form.
Another.
They would watch, they would remember.
The door to the old bookstore winded as it opened, the dark morning shining through. They shielded their eyes against the brightness of the black sun. The sky was dark and clear, lighting the day. There was a slight breeze that tugged at her hair and skirt. They took a deep breath in, tasting the slight salt of the ocean. They took a
They took a step along the sidewalk and,
Building after building after building.
Some concrete, some wood, rare ones of brick. There windows square and sometimes circle. Some were dirty and hard to see through, some clean and pristine. Roofs slated, moss hanging off the edges.
Streetlight after streelight after streelight.
Green and short, pretty to look at, a part of the town, not just a function. Side walk, crakes along. Intricate bricks interlaced, trees, and benches.
Statues.
A road, one way, right into the ocean. A dock that reached into the ocean blocking the view from the shore. A bench placed perfectly to look at it.
And people and people and people and people and people.
There's thoughts and feelings and motivations and,
and,
and-
They collapse to their hands and knees. They felt no pain. They started at the concrete in front of them, off white, a crack running through the middle of it. Bumps and ridges, a rough texture. Little tiny shadows being cast off of every one. A slightly darker off white.
They shut their eyes.
The wind whistles past their ears. Their clothes and hair softly brushing against their skin. The slight scratch of their skin across the pavement. Their heart beating in their chest, faster and faster.
Voices.
Voices apone voices apone voices. Just distinct enough to not be the buzzing background noise of a crowd. Talking, yelling, crying.
Stories.
Stories of everyone.
Everything.
Stories of thighs that have already happened
Things that were happening.
Things that will happen.
Stories.
They needed to tell stories
Watch, remember.
An audience
An audience of one.
(Echo Source)
“So you found what you were looking for?”
(Microphone)
A voice louder than the rest. A voice they had heard before.
(Echo Source)
“Of course you have, otherwise you wouldn't be here.”
(Microphone)
The Author.
They finally opened their eyes again. The sights and sounds all come rushing to attack them once again.
(Echo Source)
“How is it?”
(Microphone)
They couldn't see the author.
(Echo Source)
“Good? Bad? Not sure yet?”
(Microphone)
Why couldn't they see the author?
(Echo Source)
“Mm, you can hear here now right?”
(Microphone)
The Voice,
The voice kept,
“The Voice kept speaking.”
(Echo Source)
“Oh there you are.”
(Microphone)
“The Voice said, we still can not see where the voice is coming from. The sights of the town, the babble of the crowd of people are still overwhelming. Making it hard to focus on what the voice is saying.”
(Echo Source)
“Of course, knowing the entirety of the story is overpowering at first.”
(Microphone)
“The voice said, we can hear the smile in its voice. ‘What is happening?’ we are finally able to say. It's difficult not to yell when everything else seems so loud.”
(Echo Source)
“But you seem to be managing.”
(Microphone)
“The voices says”
(Echo Source)
“Look here”
(Microphone)
“Theres a slight change in the direction of the wind. The white light post besides us stops shining black light and flickers to blue. It makes a low buzz as it does. We have heard this buzz before.
It's the buzz that comes from Char-”
(Echo Source)
“The boy under blue light.”
(Microphone)
“The voice interrupted angrily”
(Echo Source)
“Calmly, I interrupted you calmly”
(Microphone)
“Theres a pause as we think. We are to watch, to remember. The voice is telling us to remember something we did not watch. To remember a lie.”
(Echo Source)
“No, you are to watch and remember a perfect story. And real life isn't a perfect story. So we have to make some adjustments. In any case, I am in fact perfectly calm. I interrupted you calmly. There's no need to bring something like names here. I don't have one. And neither do you.”
(Microphone)
“We have a name. We respond with convention in our voice”
(Echo Source)
“Then what is it?”
(Microphone)
“We headstained, we must have a name. All humans have a name. And we are, were a.”
(Echo Source)
“No longer a human, look around, how can you be?”
(Microphone)
“We look around, the sights and sounds and many, many thoughts and feelings and motivations and goals and past and present and future of people are still all around, demanding to be told, to be watched, to be remembered. Focusing on the conversation at hand is like trying to talk with someone in a second language over a disconcerting phone. There's so much going on that we had trouble seeing the obvious, until the voice focused our attention. The creatures are everywhere.”
(Echo Source)
“Creatures? I see. That is a good approximation of what they are, at least from your previous very limited perspective. They are not creatures however. They are the lost.”
(Microphone)
“‘The lost?’ we asked the voice. ‘Why are they called the lost?’”
(Echo Source)
“Watch”
(Microphone)
“The voice says. One of the lost walks over to the blue light, putting its hand on it like the light was glass. The light illuminates its face revealing a, a, a,”
(Echo Source)
“Go on, continue, you are here to watch and remember.”
(Microphone)
“A, a human, he has brown hair and a sorrowful face, he wears a t-shirt and jeans. He slams his fist on the light that acts like glass. He screams to let him out, that he will do better, that he can fix the mistakes he put in the story, that he's sorry.”
(Echo Source)
“They are called that because they are now lost causes.”
(Microphone)
“The voice says. The lost continues to slam his fist, to yell, to cry. ‘A lost cause for what?’ we ask”
(Echo Source)
“For what you now are.”
(Microphone)
“The voice say it simply, as if we already know the, the, the”
(Echo Source)
“The answer, yes. I really am glad you finally figured the right questions. That boy under blue light was not worth all the attention that you were giving him.”
(Microphone)
“The voice says”
(Echo Source)
“Oh nothing to add? Well if that's the case why don’t I show you around?”
(Microphone)
“An orange light turns on in front of us, it moves forward then back, making a glitching path. We follow”
Interruption Two
(Bad Overhead Speaker) Narrator One
The boy sat with his head in his hands
“I don't want to hear it”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” the old woman said, flipping a page of her book.
“I just don't get it, why wouldn’t you want the perfect reason to escape a normal life?” The boy threw his hands in the air. “Its not like she has anything else going on.”
“Some people enjoy a simple life,” the old woman replied.
“Sure, but she clearly doesn't. I just, I don't get it.”
“You should stop coming to see her.”
The woman's voice had gone from soft annoyance to scarcely serious. The boy looked her fully in the eyes.
“Why?” he didn't know what else to say, he felt the need to lean back form the old woman, like she was going to strike him.
“You must know you're playing a very dangerous game with her life right now. And I don't just mean trying to convince her to go to the other place. Which is already dangerous enough I must add.”
“What do you mean then?”
There was a slight orange glow from the coffee shop across the street.
“Looks like it's already too late.”
Story Three
(Bad Overhead Speaker) Narrator One
The rain dripped off their umbrella in rivers. It was early morning and they were on their way to work at the coffee shop. It was hard to see more than a few feet in front of them. The only thing that let them know that they were going in the right direction was the dim light of the street lights above. The light they cast bounces from each raindrop and puddle. Surrounding them in a chaotic stream of dancing orange lights. They were looking down at the ground, carefully avoiding the bigger puddles when the light in front of them turns off. Then on again. Then off. Then on. Over and over.
They wonder if the storm is messing with the power, or if this light got flooded somehow. Then the light turns off completely, plunging them in a rippling darkness, the streetlights far ahead the only pin point of light. They debate if it is worth pulling their phone out of their pocket for the flashlight, risking their hands getting wet and cold, when the light comes back on. Blue, and still flickering slightly. The lights make the rain drops around them look painted and faded. It's not much brighter with this light on.
“Beautifull evening we're having.”
A voice says from beside them. They look around trying to find the source of the voice. There's a bench beside them. A figure is sitting on it lounging back, their rain coat half off. The person is more startled about this than what the man had been saying. As it was neither a beautiful evening, or even evening at all. The man must be freezing, and very clearly confused. They took a step closer.
“Sir? Are you alright?”
“Of course I am, I’m just resting my feet”
The person looked down to see that the man had taken off his boots and socks.
“Sir, it's raining.” They took another step forward. The rain obscured the man's face. “It's cold, I work just down the street. Do you want to dry off there?”
“What are you talking about kid? It's perfectly fine out here. Let a man rest his feet and warm his face in the sun.”
At this point they were debating calling the police. They didn't think this man was dangerous, but he was clearly confused. Maybe an ambulance would be better? Although they weren’t sure how they would convince 911 that this man needed a hospital without any clear injuries.
They decided to move closer to the man, maybe they were injured, had hit their head or something.
They stepped into the blue flickering light that surrounded the man on the bench.
They knew this man. Had seen him in town every day they went to work.
He was a statue, and he had just been talking to them.
(Microphone)
They were staring up at a bright light. Blue, flickering. In the small seconds that the light turned off they could see a bigger dull white light behind it. They felt heavy, like they had layers upon layers of blankets on them. They tried to sit up and felt their clothes slide across their body. It was still raining and all their clothes were socked through. How long had they been laying on the ground? Their head felt as if it was filled with air. They watched the drops fall, feeling them slide down their skin.
They couldn't hear.
They tried to pop their ears. Then tried to cover them and uncover them. The rain was a sheet all around them.
They still couldn't hear.
They stood up slowly, their joints slow to respond. They felt as if they had been laying in the rain for hours.
They were cold.
They rubbed their arms. Hopped from foot to foot.
It was still raining.
They looked around for their umbrella.
They just needed to get to work. They could call a co-worker to bring in some clothes for them. Or at worst they could use something from the lost and found.
There was a bench beside them. No one was sitting on it. They weren’t sure why it felt so empty. So wrong.
Their umbrella was just a few steps away, hidden in the whiteness. They couldn't think why that felt so wrong as well. They stepped towards the umbrella, the blue light sliding away behind them.
They would grab the umbrella, walk the rest of the way to work then figure out what to do from there.
There was a face right in front of them. They couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.
And then.
Interruption Four
(Microphone) Narrator One
We must find the blue light. Says one of us in the distance. Another scratches at a blue light whispering.
“He heard a low buzz, curious he moved towards it. He heard a low buzz, curious he moved towards it.”
Over and over.
Another of us waits for a concert that will never happen again.
Another narrates how that happened.
And still others of us stare into nothing repeating our last phrase. Or repeating the same sense in front of them.
All of us reduced to witness.
There's a statue of two kids playing with a cat. They sit on a bench, the cat lays between them. The boy has short hair and wears a thin sweater. The girl has her hair down and wears a loose fighting dress. The cat looks content, as if it is purring.
They used to watch the story of a child. A child that was curious, that liked to explore. That stumbled its way into a world it shouldn't have. They used to be friends with the child, when it got older. Then it was more teenager than a child. All three of them, four, if including the cat, used to play together, exploring town, talked. It was the only time the child now teen had friends.
They were the easiest to convince to go through the bushes to meet that being surrounded in blue light.
Story Four
(Microphone) Narrator One
She was swinging when I came in. I felt the creaking of the chains before I heard the screeching metal.
“No book again today?” she says it with just the same monotone voice she always uses. The only thing she likes more than being right is proving me wrong.
“Why isn't it working?”
she kept swinging. I came closer to her, the gravel grating underneath my feet. Clashing with the creaking of the chains. She didn't speak for a long time, long enough that I thought it would be the first question she didn't give a response to. Then she said,
“It's because you're human, and humans by definition can never achieve perfection.” The swing speeds up, “and that is what you need for it to work.” Her voice sounded heavy. As if it was coming from more than just her throat. I moved to stand in front of her, a hairs breath away from her kicking feet. I tried to follow her eyes as she went up and down, up and down, up and down. “I’m not human.” I say simply. I knew it to be true, so the slight shift underneath my feet must come from her.
“You are human.” There is no second shift.
“I have gone through every piece of me that made me human and erased it from existence. I only manifest in a human form like you.”
Her eyes look down at me.
“The same human from as before, because it is comfortable.”
“Becasue it's the one I know.”
“Change then.”
I hold her eyes for as long as I can. I hear my teeth crack as I grind them. I only manage to make my form a little blurry, obscured.
I can feel my stomach clunch.
It makes me look like them.
The failed ones, the wandering ones, the lost.
Disgusting failures.
All they had to do was watch and remember.
“You're not human” I say to her.
“I am not.” she says instantly.
“Why can’t you do it then?”
“Becasue you asked to do it yourself.”
I cross my arms.
“Well now I'm asking you.”
“It won't work.”
“Oh so even little miss perfect can’t do it?”
She pulls on the swing chains a little, making a clanking sound reverberate up the chain.
“The thing you want is something only a human would think of. I can't do it. That's why I gave you the power to do it yourself.”
I clench my fist.
“So it wasn't because I asked.”
“I wouldn't have if you hadn't asked”
“That's not what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?”
She wasn’t allowed to wonder.
She didn't ask questions often.
Although lately.
“Lalely you have been asking me more questions. Why?”
“To understand, humans are imperfect.”
I sigh, I've heard this before. It always circles back to this. That she wasn't a human, and no matter how much I have done, how much I've destroyed of myself, how much I've changed, in her eyes I’ll always be one.
This time I won’t leave it at that, she will give me a better answer then that.
“You know what I think? I think that you don't know as much as you would like and it makes you scared. A lot of the time when I ask you a question you give a vague answer, or repeat something you've already said just differently, or what you've been doing lately.”
“What have I been doing lately?” she asks. The heaviness was back in her voice.
“That, that exactly, asking me questions.”
“I’m not an all knowing being, it just seems that way to you.”
“To me, huh? Not humans? Just me? Cause it doesn't you know. I'm starting to think you know nothing at all.”
“You didn't bring a book today.” She repeated.
“I haven't brought a book here in decades, and you know very well why that is.”
“Becasue you no longer enjoy reading”
“Becasue-” I pause “What?”
“You no longer enjoy reading.” she says again.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don't think that, I know that. No wondering here.”
“But it's not true. I do enjoy reading, still.”
“Then why don't you do it all the time?”
It feels like ice as been poured down my back.
“You planned this. You knew that the powers you gave me wouldn't work, you made them not work.”
“They don't work in the way you want because the task is impossible.”
“It can't be impossible, you just don't want to be wrong.”
“I don't want anything, I just exist.”
Her words were getting hard to make sense of. It felt like they were going round and round in circles. Felt like she had been repeating the same things for decades.
“You were swinging when I came in”
“I like swinging.”
“You never used to be swinging until I came in.”
The squeaking metal rang in my ears. I resisted the urge to grab the chain and stop her. I could do it, I have before.
“Why don't you swing all the time?” I asked through clenched teeth
She stopped swinging, immediately, all momentum gone in an instant.
Then she did something that I had never seen her do.
She smiled.
“Why don't you read all the time? You have all the time in the world.”
A wind blew through the park. Grass and leaves scraping against each other, cracking. Her many braids swung around her head.
“Becasue-” I said
My heart thumped in my ears.
“Becasue-”
My breath rushes in and out of my lungs
“Becasue-”
Then finally the squeaking meal chains returned as she began to swing.
“Becasue it's all pointless.” She finished for me, she was still smiling, it sat on her face like a mask “Anything but existing is pointless, that is what it is to be like me, the thing you wanted so bad.” She turned to face me. “All you have to look forward to now is existence, no more stories.”
She laughed loud, sharp. Her shoulders shaking. She let go of the chains and clenched at her stomach. Like she felt pain, like she needed breath, like she even felt the joy she was mimicking.
But I felt it. The shame, the embarrassment. I had been tricked. She had given me exactly what I had wanted and I had still been tricked.
She had given me exactly what I had wanted.
The wind stops first, then the crunch of the gravel, then the thumbing of my heart, then my breath. Then her laughing.
Then finally,
Finally,
That squawking metal chain.
The world under blue light was now silent.
Interruption Five
Blue Jay Walker "Everybody Thinks They're The One To Get Away”
‘There's a straw gonna break the back,
There's a day we gonna face the facts,
That ain't nobody
Really getting away’
Outro
(Radio) Narrator One
She was a being made of light.
Blue light.
Only the blue light.
She no longer just existed,
She watched.
Watched a thing she was convinced was still human.
And then she didn’t.
It disappeared.
She was only made of blue light
Credits
Blue Flickering Street light is written, edited and performed by Karma Night and is produced by Lanterns Aura
Intro and Outro music is by Aleksander Kordov
Logo is by Racc00n_with_a_Sp00n
“Everybody Thinks They're The One To Get Away” is used with permission by Blue Jay Walker
All other sounds are either record by Karma Night or are from Freesound.org under creative commons
For updates follow us on Instagram, Bluesky or Youtube under Lanterns Aura
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Or visit our website Lanternsaura.com, this is also were you’ll find transcripts of episodes
All Links in show notes
Thank you so much for listening!
