Sounds-Box

9.6.9

Red nose for fun

And blue for sea,

Yellow, the sun,

And green the tree.

A world of rainbows for you and me.

***

She clutched her hand in hers one last time before leaving.

Big. Calloused. Her own little fingers tiny in comparison to her mom’s.

Her normally reassuring breathing had grown shallow in the past days. More erratic. More… the word was gone, but she knew the feeling - like water trapped under ice. Mother needed the small round... the healers. Yes, that's what Grandmother had called them before she became not-here anymore.

The little girl grabbed her satchel - her collection of precious possessions. She never knew when she’d need them.

And today, today was the day when she might precisely need them.

Today, she would venture further than ever before.

Not since everything changed. Not alone.

She sifted through her belonging in her bag, weighing which ones she’d bring: the glass-silver shard her mother once used to peer around corners; the water bottle she could refill on the way; the dried meat (hated the taste, but hunger wouldn't care); chalk to mark her path. She found the thread with beads she kept because it made her eyes feel different. Same with the square paper showing the tall, lush thing. Like Nameless Post at the crossroads but with leaves.

She kept them.

Her fingers brushed against Sounds-Box - that little metal and wood object she cherished.

She cranked it. Soft melody filled the room and lifted her heart as if attached to floating clouds, and made her lip corners flutter upwards.

Her mother stirred, eyes meeting hers. Sweat-slicked forehead. A smile formed.

The little girl shook her head.

Not that smile.

She knew it. It was the same one Grandmother had offered. The abandon. The letting go. She was not ready. She couldn’t leave for the not-here. Not leave her alone like this.

The little girl shook her head and the mother passed a hand on her cheek. Cold. Harsh. A tear formed in her lower eye-thing, but didn’t swell.

The little girl nodded. She knew it wasn’t a tear of sad. It was pride. Or that thing that used to have a word for it, between a mother and its child. And couldn’t be broken.

It gave her strength.

The little girl donned the satchel, wrapped the scarf around her head and approached the tarp leading outside. Then returned.

Took Sounds-box and tucked it away in her bag.

In case she needed courage.

9.7.0

Red nose for fun

And [?] for sea,

Yellow, the sun,

And green the tree.

A world of rainbows for you and me.

***

Wind bit through her tattered clothes.

She pulled the scarf closer, matted hair slapping her skin. Above, the sky moved fast. Dangerous. Predatory. Sweeping debris.

She knew how to stay low, avoid being swallowed whole by the gust.But without mother, she felt as light as the scorched tarp caught on Nameless Post jutting from the ground like it had been planted there, a long time ago, for some abstract reason. Cables hung loose at its base. She remembered playing there, pretending they were creatures trying to snare her feet. She'd laughed then. At imagined threats. 

Now it felt silly.

Now danger was real. Everywhere.

She got in view of the buildings. She knew how to keep close to the walls. Avoid being seen.

But the sounds caught her off guard. Carried by the wind. 

She ducked near a geometrical boulder and went silent. Silent as the mouse. Just as she had learned.

Distant silhouettes. Other humans. 

She watched their movements. Their vacant meanderings, scouring endlessly the ground for — things, objects. But she knew there was nothing of interest left in that land. It had been looted countless times. One had to look in small nooks and crannies. Or dig in the mud.

She waited until their silhouettes blurred with the horizon and ran for the tall building Grandmother had shown her.

She recognized it by the symbol hanging above the entrance. A large cross — its hue striking her memory in a way she couldn’t describe. Not like the rest. Something her eyes tried to see but her mind couldn't grasp.

She knew the barricaded door was locked and the reason why the place hadn’t been picked clean was the secret entrance Grandmother had shown her: a small passage above, behind a metal thing. She was small enough to crawl though. That’s how she’d been here before. And had been a hero for a week.

But just before she could enter, a shadow moved. 

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Four legs.

Teeth.

Hungry eyes.

Not-friend.

The feral thing growled. Its fur matted as her hair. Dirty. Dark. Shaking. Trembling. The eyes —the beads, scrutinizing her with that same intention she felt in her stomach when mother cook the small black roots.

Not move.

The animal snarled. Saliva poured down its lip. It advanced slowly. Head low. How far could it jump?

The little girl reached in her satchel and found the dried meat. If she could divert it, maybe she could reach the hole above the door. She lowered her hand, unwrapping the food.

The gnarly thing looked at it.

Smelled the air.

Clacked its teeth.

She threw it as far as she could and sprinted towards the hole. 

The animal ran after the food.

She put a foot on the wall to hoist her up. Her fingers caught the rim of the hole, metal tearing at her skin. But her foot slipped. She fell, chest slamming against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. 

The thing barked, and spun around. It charged.

The little girl clung to the ledge, arms burning.

The feral thing leapt and snapped at her foot. Teeth caught fabric. She felt hot breath on her ankle. She pulled harder.

Another jump. Another snap.

She kicked at nothing, at air, at fear. Her foot lifted just beyond reach, and she scrambled up just in time on the ledge.

Her whole body shook. Below, the creature circled and jumped, nails scratching the wall. Marks in the filth.

She pulled the metal hatch and crawled inside. Inside the echoing tunnel.

Safe.

Metal walls pressed against her heaving chest. She waited for her heart to quiet. The growls diminished.

She peered over and saw it was still there, glancing between her and the dried meat.

Go eat. I'm not for eating.

9.7.1

[?] nose for fun

And [?] for sea,

Yellow, the —,

And — the tree.

A world of [?] for you and —.

***

She crawled in darkness, the sounds of the feral thing fading behind her.

One way. Forward.

She dropped into the space. Nothing had changed since the last time she was here.

She remembered Grandmother’s voice coming through the metal tunnel, telling her what to look for. She had obeyed then, going directly for the round healers. But now, curious objects waited for her to discover. 

She ran her hand over a small black rectangle. An image sparked to life. On the screen, someone she didn’t know appeared, a non-mother.

Maybe from the meanderers? Or the enemies?

A sound started, like Sounds-box would make, but different in tone.

The man didn't look like the strangers from around here.

His clothes were nice and clean. Bright that hurt to look at. Small shiny dots catching light.

His lips turned upwards as if hearing the melody too. Then, he spoke.

“NeuroSync: The Future of Thinking. The AI system that promises to handle the cognitive burden of daily life.”

An incomprehensible garble of words. Was the man even speaking her language?

”…Language optimization in progress... Sensory processing externalized... Segmented recognition subroutine offline…”

Her fingers lingered on the figure and the image shifted on the rectangle. The melody vanished.

Images flooded. People smiling. Plugging in. Thinking less. Forgetting more. People stopping. Standing. Empty.

Words falling away like... like... She couldn't remember what things fell.

Another voice came from the rectangle.

“This just in: The N.I.S., NEURAL INTEGRATION SYSTEM v9.7.3 deployment exceeds expectations. Cognitive transfer rate accelerating. System architects celebrate 'paradigm shift in human evolution.”

Words with no meaning. She dropped it and the screen smashed to pieces, silencing the nonsense. 

Maybe Grandmother was right: better go for the round things and let everything else in place.

She went for the shelves, fingers tracing the edges. "Remember," Grandmother had said, "find the container that is... is..." and then Grandmother had made a long pause, trying to describe something about the container beyond its shape. "Like fire," she'd finally said, "like long sunlit afternoons. Like the mud on your hands." The little girl shut her eyes. Third shelf up. Left corner. Behind fallen boxes. She found them—cylindrical containers that caught her eye the same way the beads did.

These were the healers.

9.7.2

[00111] [?] for —

And [?] for [00010110],

[0001011111], the —,

and — the [0100011].

A [001010001] of [?] for you and —.

***

When she peered outside, the feral-thing was gone.

Relieved, she started the journey home. A faint drizzle began. Cold and senseless. Within moments, it soaked her to the bone, her clothes hanging like dead things. Even her satchel grew heavy, pulling on her shoulders, the straps cutting through her skin. 

The rain turned ground to mud. Each step became treacherous. She fell repeatedly, muddying her knees, her hands, her face. 

Somewhere a flicker. Light. No. Lights.

She held her breath. She knew these lights: the torches of the Humans of the Bone-Cross.

Grandmother said they remembered something called "red" and worshipped it. Dangerous people. She heard voices through the rain. Chanting without melody.

Mother had warned to avoid them. But diverting meant straying from her path.

The rain, the fog, the cold… she looked around. Just mud. Desolation. Emptiness. Was she lost? 

No, her eyes found Nameless Post with the floating tarp in the distance. A tiny dot. Hope.

She clutched the round healers in her satchel. Mother, I’m almost there.

But she had to hurry. Darkness would fall soon.

In the dark, she’d lose her way. Even a straight line was a straight path to getting lost. She knew this. After a certain point of the day, darkness descended faster and faster. Through the falling rain, it was hard to tell how close that moment was —when time accelerates and engulfs you. How long before she couldn’t see where she placed her feet? In the dark of the night, the way vanished, swallowed. It slipped and slid and fluttered away from beneath your feet.

She knew this.

She cursed herself. Too much time playing with the screen. She should have been more focused.

Moving faster, she slipped again and hurt her knee on a rock. Her satchel slid from her shoulder. The healing container rolled down the slope into a mud puddle, a few yards away. She got back up to retrieve it, wincing at the pain in her knee. That’s when she heard it again.

The growling.

The feral thing was back. Stalking between her and the container. 

She froze. Her satchel lay beside her. Without the healers, she couldn’t return. Mother needed them. 

The creature lunged, teeth bared.

Her hands moved instinctively, pulling her satchel up just in time. Teeth punctured the fabric inches from her face. Hot breath leaked through. The thing growled and yanked, head thrashing. Stitches gave way. Her precious things spilled around her in the mud.

Sounds-box hit a stone. Crack.

She glanced right. It lay broken in the rain. Next to it, something caught the weak light: the glass-silver. Too far to reach.

The beast dropped her torn satchel. Hungry eyes found hers.

It attacked again, jumping, teeth snapping at her throat. It caught her scarf, tearing the cloth, yanking its massive head side to side. The little girl felt the weight of the animal, could smell its damp and festering odor. Could feel its hunger and desperation. Just like hers. Just like her mother’s.

No. It won’t be you today.

She couldn’t feel her fingers in the cold rain. Couldn’t feel her hand. Her soul.

The damned rain that lashed at her face. That blinded her. Rain that exalted the fear, metallic in her mouth.

She pulled hard on her scarf and threw herself toward the glass-silver. Fingers closed around it as the animal jumped again. She turned on her back. Arm swung up. The thing's own weight drove the shard deep.

It fell, silent, collapsing on her like a limp rag.

A warm, thick liquid flowed where the glass had struck, and mixed with the rain on her skin. She pushed the body off and looked at her hands. Blood. Dark. Wet. Warm on cold hands in the fading light.

Feral-thing still. Not-moving. Like Mother soon? No. No. NO.

She rushed to the bottom of the slope. Dark-nothing encompassing everything. Her own hands, indistinguishable from the night closing in around her. She patted the ground. Cold, wet, angry mud. If only her eyes could see what her mind had forgotten—that something… that quality that made the container stand out against mud and rain. Like fire… like a sunlit afternoon…

Disoriented, covered in filth and blood, she searched for the healing things, not thinking about finding her way home as complete darkness fell.

Her mind should focus on survival.

But no.

She wasn't thinking of her mother waiting, fading away like the last bits of some collective memory.

She thought of her abandoned satchel, Sounds-box, the beads, and all the other precious nameless things that would be lost forever.

9.7.3

[00111] [?] for [001011101]

[101000] [00010110],

[0001011111],

[0100011]

10110

0

“To name is to create.The ancients saw no pink, only pale red—until the word, like magic, brought it into being. Now they strip our tongues of color-words, of feeling-words. The Integration is not progress but theft. Stand against the Revision!"

—S. Lamant, Year Two After Darkening