wanderer

In a not too distant future, we glimpse.

Across these wastes, light reflects upon the harsh sand with a golden glow. Speckled with the memories of life and days long past, ruins sit melancholically silhouetted by rolling dunes. Concrete columns jut from the earth, almost mimicking the unique and mesmerizing patterns of nature.

Tiny in this mass expanse of a once considered great place, a wanderer marches on in the heat. They are looking for something; anything that could be recovered. 

Tirelessly, possibly out of necessity? 

Although the majority of what is found is worth no more than scrap metal, for only a moment, the harsh glint of a foreign object catches the eye of the wanderer. Curiously they approach, eagerly hoping to find something of value.

The small reflective object lay dormant, sleeping in what seemingly should have been its final resting place. The wanderer notches their finger into the fittingly sized hole in the center and rises up examining the curios; a mirror-like circular pattern creates a picture of themselves, returning a vague image of their curious expression back at them.

The wanderer excitedly flips over the foreign object, and is met with a cool matte blue. Etched across it the first line in bright yellow reads “Flying Microtonal Banana”, the second “King Gizzard and the Wizard Lizard” these strange combinations of ancient language fall flat on the eyes of the wanderer.

Without much more thought, the item is placed into a small satchel with the rest of the day's haul.

Much later, as darkness begins to replace the light of day, the wanderer is in a small bustling market. The aroma of foods attack the nose, the sounds of hecklers invade the ears, the many colors and faces assault the eyes. Amongst the ruin, the world is still spinning, and the people are still here.

The wanderer is now attempting to haggle today's haul with a scrap dealer, hoping to get a few extra Shyll for the strange curios they found in the sand. To their surprise and disappointment, however, nobody seems interested in the item that reeks of the past. It has no material value to them.

Later, as they wander through a maze of stalls and vendors on the way to their current accommodation, they find a small stall filled with strange objects and ancient texts. The old man within greets them with a gentle smile, beckoning them to peruse the many wonder-filled oddments on offer.

Although they are tired and weary by now, they decide to give selling the object in their satchel one last chance. They reach for the small disc-like shape and show it to the stall owner, who’s eyes widen, glistening with a youthful glow at the sight.

“Ah, yes! How wonderful! I listen to those often myself!” says the shopkeeper happily.

“Listen to them?” replies the wanderer humorously, writing off the shopkeeper “How can you listen to this?”

“Easily!” quips the shopkeeper, “I have a machine for them, I recovered it many, many years ago.”

The wanderer's expression slowly turns from playful to curious, “What do they say?” they ask, impatiently.

After some thinking, the shopkeeper replies “Well… It’s actually a form of music. At Least that’s what I think, it’s pretty strange. As for what they say, I couldn’t tell ya, It’s all in ancient language, and I’m no Scholarite.”

“Music, on a small object such as that!” replies the wanderer in amazement, their hunger and exhaust seemingly gone from their body. “I can’t imagine how the ancients could have done that.”

“Would you like to give it a listen? Truth be told, I'm very curious myself!” The shopkeeper exclaims.

Nestled behind the stall, the wanderer is guided through curtains and doors into a small, messy apartment. Along the back wall a dusty, large machine sits idly on top of an old wooden shelf. The machine itself appears just as foreign as the mirror-like object to the wanderer. Complicated woven meshes and metal parts create an otherworldly finish. This machine is certainly from the old world, the wanderer thinks.

The old shopkeeper, however, is all too familiar with this anomaly. A hatch pops open, and the item is placed into the device with a small audible click. Like a mechanic tending to his vehicle the shopkeeper masterfully moves around knobs, presses buttons, and tinkers with the machine. The wanderer watches in amusement, taking in the scene.

After some work, the old shopkeeper announces “Well, it seems like a good bit of it is damaged, but I think I got this one working.”

Both the wanderer and shopkeeper await eagerly for the sounds to start. The disc begins to spin and the two are met with a scratching, screeching noise that quickly fades into the start of a melodic and alien sound. The tune starts out fuzzy and indecipherable, but slowly becomes more coherent.

𝅘𝅥 

M-lt—-g

Me—-ing, melti—-, -elti-g

m---ing

—-ltin-, melting, melti-g

Conflagrated and cremated

When the world is consummated

Devastated, populated

World of isolated mortal folk

The earth is melting down

Our home and our playground

Won't be fit for our children when our world

Has melted down

Melting

Melting, melting, melting

When the wanderer picked up the CD in the sand, they had no idea what it was. Furthermore, when they got to listen to the CD, the message being conveyed was the world they now lived within. Humans have been creating these warning signs about the direction of society for ages. 

Tales passed on over the flames of a crackling fire.

Drawings in a cave that warn of beasts and poison.

Language etched into tablets, telling of great disasters.

The melody of a song that warns of days to come.

The digital landscapes of a game ravaged from nuclear weapons.

The sign in a power plant illustrates the skull and crossbones.

Fictional stories have been created by us to pass down our lessons and teach our children from the very beginning, and yet in this oversaturated state of media, it seems we take for granted the stories and tales we hear.

What happens when we stop wandering? When we listen to those short stories once again? Will we understand?