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#and without asks im just gonna write the haran i want
feathersforclones · 3 years
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Listening Outpost 9 sat silently on top of a cliff, round roof reflecting the shining stars above except for the small set of three antennas proudly situated right on top in the middle of the roof. Two of them were rotating around the biggest of the three, catching noises and data from all the surrounding land. Not that the surrounding land was much to look at or listen to. Listening Outpost 9 was one of the last ones still standing, still being operated by a Listener. Just one.
Only a few blinking lights could be seen on the sleek black outer walls, gaslight peeking through small gaps in between ill fitting and repaired plates, all painstakingly rubbed down with some kind of black mud and brushed so well that it looked pristine at night.
There is only one door for Listening Outpost 9, which faces the only way to the house and onto the dark land the cliff springs from. Its an island, stone and moss galore but never trees or the semblance of other live than the Listener.
At the bottom of the cliff is a roaring sea, waves clashing like wild hordes of horses against the stones, clawing at it and taking away parts, gouging the ground and stone with long practiced ease. Its so loud, that it can be clearly heard on top of the cliff, can easily be heard and recorded by the moving antennas sitting as innocent witnesses on top.
When they were first deployed, there had been 4 persons to man the tower, the house, the Outpost. This was years ago though. Now there was only one left. One Listener who had long forgotten his name and on somedays even his purpose. It was hard not to follow the other three, to just surrender to what he could hear every night when the two moons of the planet were not to be seen. Not to declare himself free and willing to leave the Outpost to go looking for what he could record. To follow the haunting melody sang by whatever beast sat at the bottom of the cliff, calling for him like it had called for his Brothers.
And why could he not follow it? The Outpost was long since forgotten. The whole planet seemed to have been forgotten by everyone else but himself. The Listener sighed, a gloved hand brushing over the side of his helm, his trusty bucket, which was scratched and dented heavily. But he had no longer the materials to repair it. The screen was broken, one of the radio antennas ripped right off. There were holes in it, leaving him helpless to escape the notes of sorrow and longing drifting up with the winds, playing with his heartstrings.
He tried to escape many times from the Island, but there was no boat nor ship to take him away. And this was his post. This was where the buckets of his brothers rested peacefully. And what would wait for him outside of this world? War.
So he stayed his feet and hands, did not call out to his brothers among the stars to remember him, to get him home and safe and to be sheltered in between humans that looked like him. He took all of this, his emotions and feelings and bottled them right up inside himself. Until today.
The two moons could not be seen everywhere and he knew he had only a little time. With a heart that felt heavy and close to breaking, the man made his way to the small staircase leading upwards to the repair hatch in the roof. It creaked miserably as he pushed it open with his hands, a shoulder needed to prop it open fully. The salty winds greeted him first, pushing misty drafts of clouds around him in a cold and wet but welcoming hug. The quiet beeping of the antennas was drowned out by the roaring of the waves he could hear below him, but not see. He fell more than sat on his behind, head tilted backwards to stare at the vastness of black all above him. Stars shining in it like flickering lightbulbs which had to be changed sooner than later. His helm, his trusty bucket, was clipped to his belt, it would not help him any longer. He slipped the black gloves from his hands, throwing them aside without a care. And there it was, starting up right as the sound of waves finally dimmed down to the gentle heartbeat of a living sea. Foam Horses tamed for a few precious hours of time. A wild beast settling down to listen to one of his own’s call for … for something the Listener didn’t even know.
There were no words to the melody, no rhythm or rhyme. It was feeling, raw and unfiltered and reaching up towards the sky and him and everyone who would dare to listen. But he was the last one. The Listener breathed out, eyes falling shut, heart stuttering in his chest. The voice, the haunting vocals, wrapped around his self like a scarf made of finest silk, bound him just as strong and unforgiving to its source. He could hear his brothers in that voice, calling for him, telling him to join them. Join them down at the bottom of the cliff, where they had all gone after a while, surrendering to the voice, to the emptiness that had spread in all of their chests. They left him alone. One after the other.
No one cared. About the Outpost, about the non existent information and not about one single Brother left on his own on this wasteland of a planet. A single tear made its way from his closed eyes, slowly making its way down his chilled flesh to finally drop on the roof. He would not give in. Not today. But how long until the Sirenscall of freedom and companionship would lure him in as well. He does not want to be alone anymore.
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