Of What Was Left Behind (ONC 2024)

16 - Devastation

After the story ended, the birds lingered for a few minutes, perched silently as their feathers ruffled in the wind. In the distance, the sky rumbled ominously.

At this sound, it was as if a spell had been broken; the birds' attention snapped to the sky. Then, one by one, they left. The silver-eyed one stayed the longest, turning towards its family and back at the machine. Then, after another second of hesitation, the bird left.

Another rumble echoed, and dark, grey clouds rolled in overhead.

The camera watched the grass sway faster and faster. Dried leaves lifted from the ground, swirling in the air before settling back down. Then, the first drops of rain fell, driven sideways by the wind. It was light at first, barely a sprinkle.

More rumbles filled the air and lightning flashed behind a cloud, lighting it up for a brief second.

The rain poured.

In an instant, the wall became gleaming wet and the camera's warning systems screamed at the water seeping in through the cracks. Electricity sparked and for a second, the camera's vision wavered.

A loud crack split the air. The wind howled, and the camera's view became a blur of distorted colours as water streamed down its lens. Another crack sounded, this time directly overhead.

The camera saw a shattered landscape.

Colours appeared as disjointed fragments. The sound of cracking continued as something large and brown—a branch—fell onto the camera. More water gushed in, entering through the new dents and cracks left by the fallen branch.

For a few seconds, the visual feed cut out. Then, amid scrambled code, chaos ensued within the camera's circuitry. Water infiltrated deeper, sporadically turning functions on and off.

One moment, the machine was preparing to send an urgent message. In the next, it was stuck searching for some kind of error hidden within its code. It was searching for a snarl in the program, a corruption which started out small but had lasting effects.

Nothing.

The camera's internal alarm flashed. There had to be something. Otherwise, it wouldn't flash.

Then the machine was reading a series of memories. Some were of the woman, others were of the birds. The woman usually cried or talked and the birds walked, flew or played. Sometimes they did those activities together. Other times, they did not.

In another instant, the camera surveyed its splintered surroundings. As the rain lightened, water droplets rolled off the lens, catching on the jagged bits, slowing their descent. The grass appeared cracked, and the sky seemed fractured, with light forming zigzag patterns like a spiderweb.

The machine was back within its code, fighting off a phantom data storm. Meaningless information pelted at the code from all sides. Patterns bloomed and withered. Something popped and whined.

Then-

–The camera found itself back in the room of its memories. Its systems were running smoothly, as if the storm was a dream, an illusion. It saw the woman reading from a thick book, flipping through the pages every now and then as if she was bored of the story or impatient to get to the end.

There was a moment of calm, where the woman settled down again with the book. A second later, she sighed, seemingly giving up on reading and walked out of the room. When she returned, she sat on the bed, setting down the small, white mug on the bedside table.

The camera could guess which words came next.

"I tried to return things back to where they were before. You are back on your mount and I am - was - not talking to you."