The Name Game

 

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Introduction

With the world ending outside the window, how can one not try to distract themselves with even the most mundane of games?

One cannot.

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Bzzzzzt–

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

Round and round and round and round.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

There's nothing else.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

There's never anything else.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

Just the static, the white noise, then the name, over and over again. Marshal. Bzzzzzt!

I sit back in my chair. It cricks beneath me, despite how much weight I've lost.

Alright, so I weighed two hundred pounds before, and now I weigh one eighty. But it was a whole twenty pounds, and it seems like even more, considering starvation's what took it off.

There was no more food in the pantry. Not that it mattered. There were no more people either. No more stores, no more water, not even an apple tree had survived the bombings.

I'd read the last of the newspapers, heard the last news report on the radio, thirty days before the voice began repeating the same name over and over and over and over. No one knew who had set the coordinates. Didn't matter, everyone got hit. There were nukes and missiles and torpedoes sent everywhere; China, Africa, England, France, Russia, Romania, Texas–Everywhere.

There was too much fallout. Too much radiation. All of the food was contaminated, all of the water ruined with corpses and radiation and shrapnel.

There wasn't even any time for anyone to push blame onto anyone else.

There was nothing left but corpses after the first week. The people who listed the worldwide casualty rate kept changing, because they kept dying of radiation poisoning. Last I'd heard, it was more than half the global population.

I sigh, and adjust the frequency once more, as I've grown accustomed to doing every few hours. I don't know why I do it, it's not like there's anything different on any other station. The guy, whoever he is, has tied up all the frequencies. Though, I doubt it was hard.

What, with everyone else being dead and all.

I'm still waiting for my day. I haven't been outside lately, or at all, really. So, I'm not sure if I was exposed or not.

Hah. There I go again, having hope.

I live in a shack. I'm not in any sort of fortified bunker, I'm in an old wooden house on a hill. If I look out the window, I see blackness, charred remains of buildings and cars and grassy hills. Of course, there are bodies too. Obviously. But I try not to focus on those.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"Polo," I mutter, shifting in the judgmental chair that creaks and groans as I move.

You'd think it'd be a little less shallow, considering there was no one else alive to sit on it.

"Ungrateful chair," I murmur.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

I close my eyes, and try to imagine what this Marshal guy looks like.

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Marshal

When I open my eyes, the moon is out. Or at least, I imagine it is. It's awfully dark.

In reality, the moon hasn't been seen since...Well, I'm not completely sure. It was amidst all the bombings. There's too much pollution now, too many factories and oil–...mills? Plantations? The point is, a lot of things went boom, and now the air is filled with smog. I expect, if the radiation or the starvation don't get me first, the unbreathable air will have the last laugh.

I haven't given it too much thought, really. How I'll die.

I mean, I've considered a few things, like, what I'm likely to die of. Like, I'm not very likely to die of drowning or murder or a hit and run. And anyway, I don't think thinking about my death is a very good use of my time. I mean, I know I'm gonna die. That's just undeniable. But, that was undeniable yesterday, when I didn't die. And it was even true a year ago, when the world was at semi peace.

Maybe I'm just insane, or maybe the hunger is dulling my senses, or heck, maybe it's the pile of corpses i have to wade through to get to my mailbox. Not that I get mail, or leave the house at all. But you get the idea.

You...I act as if someone in the future is actually going to read this. I must be going insane, to expect anyone to actually find, let alone read this. Other than Mr. Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt! there's just me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me and my hunger addled mind.

I laugh, and the sound his like sandpaper in my ears. I wonder what laughter sounds like. Real laughter.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"Yes," I say. "I hear you."

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"I can hear you." I say.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"I can hear you." I say.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"I can hear you." I say.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

"I can hear you." I say, pausing. "I...can..."

I stand suddenly from my chair, and catch the edge of the table for support, the thudding sound nearly overpowering the white noise pouring through the radio and the name, almost ceasing to be a name, being repeated over and over and over again.

"But what if..." I murmur.

I'm going to call back.

Bzzzzzt–Marshal–Bzzzzzt!

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–Bzzzzzt!

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~

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