“53, 30, 89? or is it 4, 19, 56?” I’ve been having issues keeping track of time ever since they returned. We were better off without them. Some hail them as gods, but I’m not the religious type and they’ve only made our lives worse.
I was released from the machine late last night and knew I wouldn’t make it home in time. I could feel my head pulsating worse than ever before. I covered my ears and ran home. I slammed the door and headed for the windows. I was able to reach them before she finished the lyric.
She sang those songs every night. Covered in a gale of darkness, high above us all she chanted until the sun rose and her cries resonated over the entirety of Santiago. She sang songs of death and sorrow. Every night a new song but the same theme. No one has even seen her face since the spire erected. When she first arrived many gathered at the spectacle, the spire shook the earth as if it had its own heartbeat. It reached far beyond the clouds and cast a shadow that blocked the sun in my district. Her first song. The first note. It vibrated through my body and felt like it seared my soul in the process. I covered my ears and instructed others to do the same. My cries were deafened by her demonic chorus. I watched as my family was turned to ash. I spent the next few days hiding under my desk until the machine called for me again. Always calling. The machine whirred it’s usually tone, rapidly speeding up before screeching to an abrupt stop. The ninth time this week, fifty third this month. The overseer has required us to wear these clunky devices over our heads that scan our brainwaves. Every-time it activates I can feel this sensation of my blood growing heavier. The usual crew tonight, except Ikil hasn’t returned since he spoke. He told me that her songs could bring back the dead.
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