Words All The Way Down

Inspired by the following prompt: [WP] All of humanity hears chaotic whispers from beyond the universe all hours of the day, 24/7. There are entire professions built around interpreting the specific whispering people hear. People obeying every word of those whispers. Until…the day of silence. The day the whispering stopped.

02.02.88

The day the whispering stopped was the day that most everyone lost their minds. Those that worked closest with the voices remain comatose in their beds, nine out of ten no better than vegetables. In fact, vegetables would have been more useful considering the dwindling supply. The tall buildings are no better than deathtraps; the roads nothing more than cracked asphalt. Everything is falling into disrepair. Everything is deafeningly silent, my spirits are low.

A couple and their child walked through town a week ago. I shared some water from my catchment system and all of my remaining food with them. Who would have thought I wouldn’t be able to scavenge anymore since then.

At least they gave me some good information in the trade. Apparently, there’s a small settlement a 5 days north where us that remain are trying to help each other out. That family should already be there by now, and I was about a day behind them. Had some goodbyes to say at home before leaving town.

Sometimes I wonder if making this trip was the right idea. I’ve worn through my shoes. I’ve run out of food. I’ve run out of water. All I can do now is hope.

02.03.88

Finally, the silence is over. I can hear the settlement in the distance.