He wakes up in the morning, the salt of sweat crystallized overnight flaking from his eyelashes as he pulls himself wearily to his feet, once more.
The sun is hot.
The desert is endless.
And he walks alone…
…except.
Except.
"And now we take you, inexorably, to the weather…"
"Kiss me hard before you go
summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
that, baby, you're the best."
There's excellent reception in the endless desert.
Cecil's voice is constant; his phone doesn't do justice to his deep, sombre tones, preaching the wonderfully strange events of Night Vale's daily grind like a terrible prophecy. Still, it's better than nothing and if this desert has anything in abundance, it's a whole lot of nothing.
He's okay with being on his own, but the desert strips all pretensions away: a scientist is alone. That's what a scientist is.
The days are terribly hot, but the nights are cold and he imagines Cecil is holding him tenderly as they walk, as if his voice could become a physical, tangible thing.
Cecil's voice is constant.
Cecil's voice is everything.
It's the voice that keeps him walking, inexorably as the weather, towards the mountain. Towards the light.
He wakes up in the middle of the night, eyes wide with terror as the sweat cools on his trembling skin.
The moon is cold.
The desert is endless.
And he walks alone…
…except.
Except.
"And now we take you, regrettably, to the weather…"
"Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore"
There's excellent reception in the endless desert.
Cecil's voice is inescapable; his phone won't turn off, won't let him stop hearing those deep, sombre tones, preaching the terribly strange events of Night Vale's daily grind like an irresponsible fantasy. Still, it's better than nothing and if this desert has anything in abundance, it's a whole lot of nothing.
He's hates being on his own and the desert strips all pretensions away: you're far from home. Your home was perverted long ago. Your home does not exist. You are the voice of nothing. You are nothing.
The days are wonderfully hot, but the nights are cold and he imagines Cecil is holding him down as they walk, as if his voice could become a physical, tangible thing.
Cecil's voice is constant.
Cecil's voice is everything.
It's the voice that keeps him walking, regrettably as the weather, towards the mountain. Towards the light.
"Think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky"
Perhaps, one day, one day just like any other in the eternal desert, their paths will cross.
A burst of static, the light atop the mountain flickers, just for a second.
A cloud obscures the sky.
Perhaps they look up—
A scientist is responsible. A scientist shields his eyes. That's what a scientist does.
A Voice is eternal. A Voice stares into the sun. A voice is joyful, briefly, in blindness.
Perhaps, then, they hear the weather in stereo and look, across the endless, empty desert and see each other.
Perhaps one of them smiles.
…if you can call it a smile.
"Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky
Later's better than never"
Or perhaps they don't. After all, the desert is empty.
Only Cecil's voice is constant.
Only Cecil's voice means anything, at all.
It's the voice that keeps them walking, whatever the weather towards the mountain. Towards the light.