Scorpio opened her eyes with enthusiasm and instantly sat up, her eyes turning, finding the face.
“Good morning, Scorpio.” The face said, for the four-hundredth-and-forty-sixth time.
“Can we go outside today?”
The face nodded, “of course we can.”
Scorpio sat outside, in her wheelchair with the face next to her. They sat in peaceful silence, a silence that people enjoyed. Scorpio was enjoying the silence, and as the weird outside air filled her lungs she got a sense that this was as good as it got. As good as it was ever going to get, as good as it ever was.
“I like this,” was Scorpio's comment.
“I like this too,” replied the face.
Scorpio turned to the face, “can we do this every day?”
The face thought for a minute, “I would like that...”
Scorpio smiled, but the face continued, “but I'm afraid we can't do that. You missed the transmission by the way, yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“I recorded it for you though. Would you like to listen to it?”
Scorpio nodded and the face scampered back through the window to get the recording.
Scorpio sat alone, still enthralled by the scenery. She had recently started to notice how each of the skyscrapers had squares neatly positioned in rows that went up the sides of the buildings. She wondered what they were. She had no clue.
When the face returned Scorpio asked what the squares were. The face replied that they were called windows and that most buildings had them. She had turned and pointed up at the building behind them, the one they lived in, Scorpio looked up and almost fell back out of her wheelchair it was so high, and had so many windows.
The face presented the recording to her. It was an old style tape recorder and Scorpio had no idea how to use it.
The face walked her through it.
“They will probably be using these more nowadays,” the face had said, “seeing as there's no electricity any more.” Another thing that Scorpio had no knowledge of. “People will be using old things. Because the new things won't work.” Scorpio nodded, but she didn't know what new things she meant of, or any of the old things. She looked down at the device in her hands and imagined a series of “old” things with dust on them, constructed with knobs and dials and which were clunky and cuboid in size and shape.
“Now,” the face leaned over, “this is called a tape recorder because it records sounds... like, copies them, makes two, so you can listen to them again.”
“How do they do that?”
“I'm not entirely sure,” the face laughed, “but to play something you press down on the right facing arrow.”
Scorpio hovered her finger over the button and looked to the face, it nodded and she clicked the button down. There was a click, Scorpio jumped with fright, and then there was a whirring. A voice leapt out of the machine at her. Scorpio gave another start. How was that even possible? She flipped the machine over to check the back, the sound distorted a little but didn't stop.
“My dear people, it is a time for rejoice and celebration.” Began the voice, it was deep, authoritative. Scorpio was sure it was a man's voice. She looked over to the face, her lips didn't move but still the voice continued. “I am here to report to you, the survivors of this terrible time, that the beginning of the end is here.”
