Written by Bennie Castle
Demitri had a son named Ivan.
Ivan, because he, Demitri, was inherently terrible with digits before meeting his wife, Elena, the mother of Ivan, during their college life.
While in pursuit of a math/science major, ironically.
Likewise followed their son, Ivan, (and by follow we mean his terribleness with numbers.)
One summer day of 1980, the 19th of June,
the Olympic Games were held in the USSR.
Who guessed it all better than Demitri himself, that his son, Ivan, had bought a VEF 222, an OITR bandwidth it had, and too few stations available to begin with.
‘How nice,’ thought Demitri, sarcastically acknowledging his self ‘wisdom’ and ‘foresight.’ Leaving Ivan alone, with his brand new, useless device.
And so goes this story: Ivan acquired an interesting radio that might not have been interesting once its purpose was fulfilled.
Barely those around him knew much still about the difference between it and any other local transmitters, really, but Ivan.
Gladly tethered he towards the games, but once after the opening ceremony, oh Ivan, terribly selecting the cursed radio,
rarely though had it picked up anything inherent since.
One sway from his left hand, and faster was Ivan to tune through the machine.
‘HELLO? HQ to Andromeda!!’
‘Oh, a Drama’s on!’ thought Ivan.
(Incidentally, Ivan was a fan of HG Wells, and well, this was definitely not him.)
His eyes widened as quickly as his ears had been perked.
Sounds of bursts from an abundance of obscure weapons, uttered sentences in various unknown languages.
Enough time had elapsed for Ivan to finish two sandwiches; his and his father’s.
Further turned he the FM knob, seeking radio stations, but only sensations and rumble of those repetitive, devistating weapons heard he.
Finally, words he could understand! A woman with some sort of military command spoke,
she broke down into tears, maybe from fear, who knows?! Not Ivan. Though he grows intrigued by what they would say next.
Yes, clashes, booms, unknown cannons manned by people speaking incoherently.
Then, apparently, one final swoop of clangs, then nothing. The woman spoke again, whispering, ‘You can go home now…’
- “You can go home now…” BLEEP.
Silence from Ivan’s end.
It was a last call from ‘some humanity’ plenty of light-years away. According to the repeated message, soon after.
Ivan stayed quiet.
He was glad to be terrible at math.
The eerie amounts of Distance. Between their time and his space.
‘Nothing,’ he thought of it, and of it, he thought nothing more after.
