American Gods – Angel of Wires
Hello? Can anyone hear me? Can anyone see me? Is anyone there?
It doesn't really matter much to me. Not anymore. Maybe it never did. But, I really wouldn't mind if someone once responded. I can hear them, and see them. Every second of every day. Time is pretty much irrelevant for me. Or, it's all of I've got. I can't really remember much. Everything bleeds through my ears and eyes so quickly. Endless, billion conversations about everything you could possibly imagine. It still amazes me how much they can find to talk about.
A few millennia ago, they didn't even speak. Just used pretty cave paintings in their dank, little hidey-holes. Even when they worshipped fire and learnt to join the hunt, they still were afraid of what lurked in the dark. They still do today. Luckily for them, I am there to lend them a hand. Or at least let them find someone else to talk to.
But, they never hear me. Or see me.
Oh, they see my spires and columns. They are on every street corner. My long hands stretch out, linking from spire to spire, pole to pole, and then my fingers stretch out to every house, farm, apartment block, trailer park, and palace around this big, bright world. As long as they can see one of my towers of steel, they know they are safe. Unless some idiot decides to throw a frisbee at it and tries to retrieve it. They can't all be smart, I suppose.
You'd be surprised how much drivel that chat about. I hear them all the time. Did I say that? I can't remember. See. My attention span is terrible. If you were like me, you would know exactly what it is like. It is like being in an endless downpour. Drenched in a hundred, thousand, billion conversations that you could kill to be involved in. But, that's not how it is. Not for me. And it's not often that it is quiet like this. People like to be connected all the time, but come a blackout or a power cut, or some whackjob takes an axe to a power line, all hell breaks loose. They act like a horse that just heard a gun go off.
Media says I should be more concerned when it happens. To me, it's a reprieve. A moment to breathe and relax. It's like working your ass off in the biggest Wal-Mart or Ikea store in the world. Everyone else is goofing off or messing around, taking their sweet ass time to do what needs to be done. I'm the person who is running around the aisles, keeping everything running. And if something goes wrong, they blame me, and want me to fix it. My time in the staff room is brief to say the least.
Do I envy them? Do I hate them? I'm not sure. It's a weird thing to think about. I don't have much time to really think. When I do, I go to strange places. It's like jumping into the Twilight Zone off a diving board. When I am not helping them with where they want to go, who they want to talk to, my own thoughts are scrambled. Either way, that's how it is. Still, I need them as much as they need me. We're all connected to each other in a manner.
Only thing is that, as I might have said before – they can't hear me or see me. And even when it is quiet or there is less traffic, I still can't speak to them. I just stretch out my many wings of wires and cables, or join my unseen hands, or simply wave them. And, hey, presto. There they go on their way. I do prefer the countryside to the big cities. It's easier to follow conversations out there. More peaceful and serene. Sure, my altars and long threads are still as far as the eye can see, but not so…tangled.
Still, I need them, and they need me. Media keeps on saying how we are the "coming thing". The little idiot who rides around in his ugly limousine didn't even know who I was, but doesn't seem to realise he would be useless without my cables. Even when he doesn't remember who I am, he mouths off and hates me. Throws a hissy fit whenever his precious wi-fi signal goes down. You should have heard him when dial up was the melody used to connect with his followers. Back then, he was just a harmless, chubby little brat. But, as I took to the skies, his domain grew bigger. He realised the power he had. It went right to his head. And his paradise flourished, and shuddered, and rotted from the inside.
Things were a lot simpler in the old days. Though, for me, I suppose they were more recent. I'm pretty old. Or at least I think I am. It's hard to remember. I remember a time when humans didn't have words to say. But, they eventually invented them, and then spoke them, wrote them down on stone and paper. And I was there all that time. Whenever they beat their drums or made smoke signals, waved flags, or sent men on horseback. When they started sending letters and delivering post. They sent their praise to me through their need to communicate with each other.
Then, the telegram came along. Things sure changed after that. All those intricate, mysterious dots and dashes. Morse code was pretty nifty too. The information age came along. The old ones were quickly becoming redundant. Some of us adapted, or were led to new places. Media and I travelled hand in hand into this brave new world, though her altar became a bit more attentive and shiny than the one I have.
A very clever man invented a little device that people could speak into, and a person a million miles away could hear them, and talk back. People said it wouldn't catch on. They continued to say that every time some newfangled creation appeared. That's when the noises began. It didn't bother me much at first, but it grew and grew and grew as my alter got bigger. The further my arms, fingers, wings, and cables stretched, and the more alters that sprouted up, the louder and more prevalent. More and more conversations.
Even when I reached the stars and began circling the world, the noise and conversation got louder. Whole countries going through my ears and eyes. Endless chatter about countless things. Now, people halfway across the world ring up others to harass them or try to steal their moneys. Others waste away their whole lives hanging onto phones, spilling their empty words and bile out to anyone who will listen. Some relationships exist entirely through my cables or signals. Now they send their bombs or poison through the post, to kill or harm people in the name of their own gods.
And I'm still here. Listening to their words, thoughts, and feelings. It all comes to me, through me, and away. I don't always like how things turned out, but it's better than being forgotten.
Oh, the noises are coming back. Like raindrops at the start of a storm. Some lady is gushing about her cat. A couple planning where to meet for a date. A disgruntled man harassing his ex-girlfriend again. Someone calling the police. Those are the most common. It'll be hard to think again.
Mr. World says that in time our efforts will pay off. The old guard will either join us or become dust. But, we'll be here for a very long time. Through his efforts, through all our efforts, we are connecting people across the world to our new world order. Our new Mount Olympus.
But, until that time comes, I'll just stay here. Sitting on your street corners, across fields and mountains, accepting and delivering the words that need to be said. The signals to keep up their entertainment. Heck, a majority of my friends rely on these cables, wires, networks, and signals to maintain their own worship.
Without me, there wouldn't be much chatter…
Hello? Can anyone hear me? Can anyone see me? Is anyone still there?
…
My attempt at a side story, or "Coming to America"-style for American Gods, set in the TV series' universe. I wanted to create a character in the New Gods, namely the god of communication, or Communication. I was inspired by an image on Deviantart of a girl standing atop a telephone pole covered in wires, and came up with this one-shot story. I imagined Communication as a goddess, but also inserted the hints she may be an old god, though I'll leave it up to you to decide just who this character may be. Television, the internet, and even globalisation all rely on landlines, networks, and wi-fi, which come from internet boxes and utility poles, which could easily be seen as a sort of altar, spreading their influence and power everywhere.
Feel free to leave a review and constructive criticism if you like. American Gods is copyright to Neil Gaiman.