The Whisper in the City

The dark skeletons of skyscrapers stretched into the twilight sky. I trudged along an empty street, my feet dragging through the damp sand, leaving deep grooves behind me.

How long had I been here? I couldn’t tell.

The overcast horizon was slowly growing lighter, the mist thinning with each passing moment. The street seemed familiar to me, but any landmarks that might have been here before were completely effaced now. Everything around me was falling apart, disintegrating into sand that covered every inch of the ground.

Suddenly, a soft, faint whisper came from somewhere in the distance. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen anyone else in this desolate place, so I shuffled toward the sound.

The voice came again, this time a little closer and more insistent, but I still couldn’t make out the words or pinpoint where it was coming from. I tried to pick up my pace, but the sand was dense and viscous between my toes.

The whisper kept calling, getting clearer, as though someone was tuning a radio. It was soothing but firm. I sensed it wished me no harm—at least as long as I did what it told me to. Finally, I understood what it was saying.

“Come on, just a little bit further…” the voice urged.  

It seemed like it was coming from a building to my right. I stared into the shadows in the gaping doorway that led into a dark hall. Nobody was there. I caught a reflection in one of the grimy shards of glass jutting from a window frame. Was it me? It couldn’t be! How could I be this old and shriveled? I turned away and wandered toward the low horizon.

“We need to get ready, somebody is coming…” the voice called from up ahead.

A warm rain suddenly began to fall. It frothed in my hair and trickled down my cheeks. The air filled with a strange scent, something fresh and sweet. It didn’t seem right­—rain shouldn’t smell like that…

The voice kept coaxing me forward, and I kept on wading through fragrant sheets of rain, my feet squelching in the soggy sand.

After a while, the rain stopped, and the sky cleared a little, though the sun was still hidden behind the thick veil of clouds. The lukewarm mist curled around every turn, filling the streets that branched out from the crossroads I passed. If only it were clear enough to see what lay in the distance—maybe then I could remember…

Just as I reached the next junction, the whisper gave me a new command.

“Alright, let’s get something to eat. Come on now… turn here…”

I looked from side to side. Across the road to my left stood the remains of a diner. I plodded toward the building through the endless sand.

I thought there couldn’t possibly be anything to eat here, but as I stumbled over the threshold, I caught a whiff of toast and coffee. 

The diner was as decayed as everything else in this city. There was less sand inside than on the street, but it still covered the floor with an even layer. The display counter stood empty, the glass shattered. Here and there, overturned furniture lay scattered across the ground. The upholstery on the chairs and benches had rotted away a long time ago. The cup-shaped clock on the wall was missing its hands. Decay, dust, and sand.

There was no one inside. Still, I heard muted whispers coming from every corner, buzzing like cicadas on a summer night. I moved through the room, trying to make out what the voices were saying, but there were just too many of them now.

I shuffled through the jumbled chairs and tables to the center of the room. Here, on one of the tables, sat a plate of food and a cup of coffee. My stomach rumbled.

There were no utensils, so I grabbed the food with my hands, stuffing it into my mouth. The toast was crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. The omelet was fluffy and creamy. The coffee was strong and sweet. How long had it been since I had last eaten anything? I wasn’t sure. It felt like ages.

Suddenly, the air around me shimmered as though in a heat haze. The dilapidated diner faded away, and I found myself in a warm, sunlit kitchen. Light-wood furniture, a crisp tablecloth, plates with delicate flower patterns on the rim… A woman stood in front of the stove. Her hair fell in neat waves, and she wore a light blue fit-and-flare dress. She turned to me and smiled.

“Georgie, would you like another piece of toast?” she asked.

Was she talking to me? Was that my name? I wanted to ask her what was going on, but before I could find the words, the mirage disappeared. I was back in the decaying diner, an empty plate before me.

“Okay, George, you’re done? Let’s go now…” the whisper cooed.

I followed the voice back into the street. It kept urging me forward with its bright, incessant tone.

Well, at least now I knew my name. But all the other questions still whirled in my head. What did the voice want from me? Where was I going? How long had I been here? Who was I, really?

It felt like this mess in my head would boil over, washing away all this dirty sand and all the debris of this dead city. I gritted my teeth, clenched my fists, and plowed forward.

At last, the road led me to a park. Patches of grass poked through the sand. The trees, covered in yellow and red leaves, peeked through the fog, taunting me. A path lined with benches led into the mist.

“Alright, let’s sit down here…”

I settled onto the nearest bench. Quiet fragments of music fluttered to me from somewhere far away. The sound was comforting, familiar.

The voice hummed around me for a moment before fading into the background. The music grew louder and steadier. I thought I recognized the melody but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It reminded me of someone—someone I used to miss…

I sat alone, enveloped by the soothing blanket of music, staring at the colorful trees before me. Bit by bit, my angst and frustration melted away.

After a while, I heard the whispers again. The voice that had been guiding me was talking to somebody else now. The new voice seemed familiar, like I’d heard it sometime long ago, in another life.

I felt a movement in the air beside me. Someone touched my hand.

“Dad? Dad, it’s me…”

***

The small room was tidy and clean, as nice as a room in such a facility could be. The curtains were open, and you could see a small park, colored in gold and red by the approaching cold. An old jazz standard was flowing from the player in the corner. A woman sat on a stool beside an armchair, where an old, frail man rested. She held his hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ross, he’s not having a good day today,” a nurse said gently from behind the armchair. “To be honest, they’re few and far between now, and it’s hard to say how many more he’ll have.”

“I know. But it’s still so hard…  It’s like he’s wandering further and further away,” the woman said, wiping the corner of her eye.

“Dad? Dad, it’s Katie. I’m here…”

His dry, thin fingers tightened around hers.