A Phantom Message

The old radio crackled to life on a rainy afternoon, its static a symphony of forgotten voices. I leaned closer, half-expecting a ghostly transmission. Instead, I found myself engulfed in an echo – a message tailored for no one yet addressed to everyone. The words whispered through time, and I became their unwitting audience.

At first, it was a simple tale whispered from the ether. A child spoke of lost seashells and the smell of salt in the air, but the ocean had never touched our landlocked home. I imagined the child’s laughter, tinged with the melancholy of dreams unvisited.

The next part of the narrative unfolded like an origami crane, delicate and poised, transforming under the rain’s choreography. An elderly voice recounted a journey beneath the earth, past the roots of ancient trees, gathering forgotten truths and unshed tears. I could almost feel the damp earth through these words, an invitation to explore underground worlds rich with stories of their own.

Somewhere, a bell tolled, perhaps in an unseen cathedral, echoing through the fog of memory. It rang for an occasion unknown, its sound a tether to a celebratory feast long abandoned.

I pondered this phantom message as the radio fell silent, leaving me with an emptiness that hummed like the dying notes of a song. Each fragment lingered, vivid yet intangible, as if I had touched something ephemeral, now dissolving in the light of day.