Post nuclear war RP where England died and Sealand grew up. Written in January.
I really wished we continued this
It’s hard to remember a time before the internet. A time when everything wasn’t as simple as the click of a mouse and conveniently delivered to a brightly lit screen in an instant. News wasn’t momentary, it could take weeks to find out what’s going on somewhere relatively close by. A time when words disappeared when people forgot them. A time when communicating could be impossible. A time when expressing yourself was much more difficult.
There were other methods, however. There always were. Before internet, there was television. Before television…
There was radio.
Recently, with all the boats docking themselves nearby, Sealand had to pull out all of his tools in an attempt to make repairs for whoever needed them. Each day more and more ships would pull in-be it for the trade, to find a place to stay for a while, or temporarily just for some repairs so they could continue on their way.
On this particularly clear night, Sealand couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of his family, friends, and past memories were running through his head, reignited by interacting with all the families he was taking care of. He went into the deepest part of the fort’s storage, rummaging through old belongings and things long forgotten. In the background, the shadow of his aged guard loomed by the door. Most of his toys had already been given to the children, but he managed to find a few remaining action figures amongst his boxed possessions. He picked one up and dusted it off with a gentle smile. This one was from Christmas…From…
His smile faded away and he set the toy aside.
In the far back of the storage stood a box tightly shut. The box looked somewhat familiar… Sealand slowly approached it and grabbed the lid, taking no precaution before prying it off. Inside of it was older looking electronics that took him a moment to identify. It was radio equipment.
On an abandoned frequency….
The first sound to come about that wavelength in decades. The faded sound of whirring.
Mumbling could be heard.
“Is it on…?”
It was a man’s voice.
The nervous voice drew closer to the microphone once more, stammering as he began to speak.
It wasn’t his first time working this, there probably wasn’t anyone listening. Why would anyone be listening to the radio right now? Did anyone use radio anymore? …It didn’t really matter, did it?
He cleared his throat and began again.
“Good evening. This is Radio Essex, broadcasting live. I’m your host, P.K. The first hit, a song from way back. ‘Green, Green, Grass of Home’.”
The screeching of a needle faded as the old song began to play.