There is ruin, and there are cellphones. At the moment, the latter is more important.
The screen is emptiness. It glows with the power of the Void, stretching out endlessly, black on darker black and no names fade in.
No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.
Flip the phone shut and decide that desperation isn't pretty. It's time to face another day.
Stand up. Dress. Walk around and try not to trip over the rubble. Humans have spawned the Death they are trying to escape from their own running footsteps. Cowardice laid waste to the world.
After the apocalypse, wait for a phone call. Check for a message every few minutes. There's nobody around to hear anyway, so keep your ringtone at full volume.
Wander, it's better than staying in one place. There's a factory that once made your favourite brand of shoes, beams sinking from the ceiling and draped with cables. A few sensible flats litter the floor; throw them, one by one, at the overhead lights.
Maybe in the noise and electric rain the phone will beep and you won't hear it and you'll be pleasantly surprised when you see the message. The prism of sparks fade and your vision fades to white.
Distraction nags. Flip the phone open.
09:56 AM!
Your fingers are cold.
Rain.
Drip drip drip drip - don't get the phone wet.
Answer me answer me answer me answer me apologise you damn bastard apologise
drip drip drip drip drip
look me in the eye you coward don't leave me don't
drip drip
dripdripdrip
d
r
i
p.
Must be the water messing with your circuitry. Hide somewhere warm and dry yourself off before your mind gives out.
The abyss of the future yawns from horizon to horizon. The end of eternity beckons. Inescapable grayness of the remnants of the rain stretches upward, neverending.
Your face is screwed up like it's about to cry and frankly, it looks pathetic.
Restart, pain is inevitable. A thick, forced swallow and then it's over. Reset button pressed.
Stand up. Stretch. Go on, walk around. Mangled bodies and child-size creatures gnawing blankly at the soil. One pushes itself towards you and paws at your pristine uniform. You survived because you're made of metal.
The poor creature's about your height.
You could have easily switched places if not for a whim of fate.
Flinch and run away. You're in no way strong enough to provide any meager form of help.
Another day of waiting drags itself to conclusion. You drag yourself to the shoe factory and stare at the emptiness of the cellphone's screen.
Your programming is restless and you contemplate the flashing lights and smog in the air and rest your hand over the phone and wait for it to hum with your bouncy waltzing tune of a ringtone.
The muted numbness embraces you, and you shudder in the cold. The expanse of emptiness is crushing and disorienting and you hallucinate flashes of light on your screen - One Message Received! : "Sorry—".
Your fingers fumble as you cradle the cellphone. It is a dented piece of metal coated in gaudy plastic, and you fix your gaze on it as if it could somehow save you.
The day is yet a swaddling babe and you're already crying.
Wake up.
You move. Something inside creaks, like it's rusted. Must be all the crying. Your eyes blur over endless strips of code and sequences of 0010010111010100101111. Stand. Walk around. Survey the destruction you escaped and cannot repair.
The end has passed you and left you behind.
No messages. No missed calls. Blank.
More crawling creatures that nibble at your feet and slither around your toes. They writhe up your body and latch on to your crevices. They drag you; you are helpless.
It rains again.
Dripdripdripdripdrip d r i p drip drip d r ip drip.
You don't resist the water even though your mind is rusting from the inside. They try to swallow chunks of the metal body they have as a spoil, but their teeth dent on the surface.
They moan in disappointment and rummage around the piles of dead, dragging their fingernails through innards and intestines for a bit of meat. Stand up. Be very quiet - run away.
Check the phone again. There's no harm in doing so.
10:45 PM!
One Message Received! : "Sorry—"
The above never happens.
Insects shriek and cry and you inhale the stench of death and betrayal. The sun is molten gold and it melts your eyes.
The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.
The address you have entered is incorrect.
The phone you are trying to call is not registered.
DRIPDRIPDRIPDRIP drip drip drip drip
drip
d
r
i
p
return to me return to me apologise
You haven't yet specified what you want him to apologise for, not even in your own private files. Maybe you've forgotten how he wronged you, but will refuse to forgive him until you receive that tiny gesture of submission.
You refuse to entertain the possibility that he might be dead.
There is a void within you, and your shrunken eyes betray its existence.
You keep the phone.
You don't delete the number.
I am reposting a lot of stuff from tumblr, and this piece is no exception (Writing Challenge Day 2). I am weird that way. I am also refraining from indulging myself in the use of contractions.
I also do not own VOCALOID, or even a VOCALOID. This piece is based of the song "Cloud" by Kagamine Rin.
I hope you enjoyed it.