It was night.
Eli sat in the dark on his bed, radio in hand, tuning through the stations. His mother had confiscated his games earlier in the week. "For bad grades," she said. Like her, he was small and pale, with night-black hair.
Outside, the moon hung in the sky, silver and full.
The shows were the same each night — politics, religion, sports. Three or four stations of old music. Eli listened a little, then moved on. He didn't linger. He yawned and continued to tune.
He moved to the dial's furthest left — a place he knew was full of static — then stopped. He heard something new.
He listened carefully.
He had never heard anything like it. It wasn't music. It wasn't voices. It wasn't noise. It reminded Eli of nothing else.
It kept on.
And Eli kept listening.
He sank into the covers. He did not touch the radio for the rest of the night.
The year was 1996.
2
The radio was silent the next morning. The batteries were dead. The memory of the sound continued in Eli's mind. He could almost still hear it.
Eli thought of the sound as he brushed his teeth. He thought of it as he ate breakfast. And as he got dressed. He thought of the sound as his mother drove him to school. He thought of it all throughout the day.
Things felt distant — the teachers, the students, the school itself. At recess, he circled the perimeter of the playground, remembering the sound, running his fingers along the chain link fence. At lunch, he ate nothing. When taking a math test, he wrote the numbers he felt like, caring nothing for the answers.
He took the bus home. It, too, felt distant. The sound of the children seemed far away.
The bus stopped and let him out. He walked through the parking lot of his apartment complex, then onto the sidewalk, stopping in front of his apartment door. He put in the key and went inside, locking it behind him.
His mother kept batteries in the fridge. "It keeps them charged," she said. He went to it, then slipped out two AAA batteries from the door. He then got his radio and slipped them inside. He turned it on and put on his headphones.
The sound was still there.
He got into bed, curled up in the covers, and listened.
3
The next day came.
Eli sat at the back of the bus, away from the rest, listening to the radio. At recess, he circled the playground as before, radio in pocket, headphones in, keeping the volume just low enough to hear the bell.
The school-day went on.
Then ended.
Once home, he went to his room, then sat in bed, listening. He paid no attention to time. He felt no hunger, no thirst. His mother knocked on the door sometime after 6 o'clock, telling him she brought food home. He got up, his headphones still on, then ate a lukewarm burger and fries at the kitchen table.
Once finished, he put the fast food wrappers away and returned to his room. He got on the bed, closed his eyes, and kept listening.
4
Sometime in the middle of the night, Eli awoke to another world.
He was in a room, empty and pale with moonlight. Before him was a window in the shape of a circle.
He went to it. He looked out. The sky was black. A single moon hung against it, shining. Beneath it was a city of small, square buildings — pale, lifeless and still. Eli knew he was in a tower, high above the "city". In the distance, loomed the silhouettes of three other towers, each with strangely curved roofs at the top.
Eli watched them.
Soon all faded to black.
5
A week passed.
Eli no longer touched his television. His comics remained on his shelf, unread. He kept his headphones on as often as he could, listening to the sound, caring for nothing else.
"What are you listening to?" his mother asked him at dinner one night. "I never hear your TV."
Eli said nothing.
"Let me hear," she said.
He took his headphones off, then handed them to her. She put them on. She listened. She took them off.
"Strange," she said.
Eli put them back on and continued to eat. The food tasted like nothing. The kitchen felt like nothing.
6
One day, Eli lied.
It happened in the middle of first period at school. Eli sat at his desk, listening to Ms. Garland speak and write on the blackboard. She was old and withered and her hair was gray.
Eli raised his hand.
"Yes, Eli?" Ms. Garland asked.
Eli claimed his stomach hurt.
"Okay," she said. She walked to her desk. "Come get your pass."
Eli got up. He went up to the desk, then got the pass. He left the classroom, then walked to the nurse's office. He waited in the yellow lobby. Another boy, sneezing, came out of her office door soon after.
The nurse came out — a small, red-haired girl. Freckled.
"Come in," she said.
Eli did so. He took a seat on the chair inside.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Eli told her more lies. She believed them. She took his temperature. She listened to his heart with her stethoscope. She called his mother. He went back to class, got his backpack, then waited in the lobby. His mother picked him up fifteen minutes later, feeling his head repeatedly as they drove.
"At least it's not a fever," she said. "Maybe you ate something bad."
She drove Eli home. He went to the couch and turned on the TV after they went inside. She got him a glass of milk.
"I'll try to get back early," she said.
He nodded, drinking his milk.
She left.
He turned the television off. He went into the kitchen with his milk and poured it into the sink. He got his headphones out of his backpack and went into his room. He laid on the bed and began listening.
7
That night, Eli awoke in the same world as before.
He now level with the city itself, standing at the foot of the tower, on the ground. The sky was black. The moon was white. All things were without color.
He stepped forward.
He wandered down a street. Park benches sat alone beneath white street lamps, dimly shining. The buildings were wrapped in burlap, glowing softly, swollen with moonlight.
In time he found a park bench with a large, crumpled thing on it, as big as a body. He stepped to it. He looked closer.
It was a corpse.
He could not recognize the face. It was wrapped in black fabric. Its eyes were white.
Empty.
Eli pushed it towards the back of the bench, making room for himself. He crawled onto the bench, placing his back against the corpse's stiff chest. He reached behind him, grabbing its hard arms, then wrapped them over his shoulders.
He laid for hours, held by the corpse, his eyes open.
I'm being held by a dead body, he thought.
Above, in the ink-black of the sky, the sound of the radio hummed on.
8
Eli went to school the next day. He brought his radio, listening to it as often as he could, making sure not to let the teachers see. He listened at recess and in the bathrooms. He listened at lunch and on the bus on its way home.
As he stared out the window, the world looked fragile. Distant. As thin as paper. The buildings, the cars, the men and women and children and dogs walking on the streets — all paper.
All ephemeral. All indistinct.
All far away.
When the bus stopped, he left it as if in a dream. He could not tell if he was walking fast or slow. The black door to his mother's apartment appeared before him, as if from nowhere. He put his key in, then slipped inside.
The sound continued.
It felt like it always would.
9
At recess, three boys went up to Eli as he circled the playground.
They were a grade older. All were large.
"Give me your radio, faggot," the largest said.
The two others grinned.
Eli stood still, watching them.
"Give it, faggot," the largest said.
Eli's eyes went to a stick on the ground. He grabbed it, fast. The sound continued to play.
The boys backed up.
"Faggot," the largest said.
Eli rushed him, jamming the stick into his belly. The boy shouted and fell. The others ran. Eli stood over the boy, gripping the stick.
"Fuck!" the boy said. He got up and ran.
Eli watched him. He watched all three of them. He looked at the end of the stick. It was bloodless. He kept it on him and continued walking until the bell rang, listening to the sound.
10
A new night.
Eli awoke in the same city — now in the center.
He turned around. The buildings were empty. Quiet. The windows were black.
He looked in the distance at the towers. There were three, as before. Behind them stood a silhouette, faint and dark.
He walked towards it. He felt eternal. He knew he would reach them, soon.
11
Sunday came.
Eli went with his mother to the mall. He insisted on keeping his headphones in — both in the car, and in the mall itself. "I don't understand it," his mother said.
She didn't stop him.
The two walked through the mall, looking at the stores. Eli watched the people. He heard them speaking and walking as the sound played on.
His mother spoke. Eli heard, but didn't care. They kept walking. She went into a clothing store. She looked at dresses. Eli waited on a chair while she put them on in a dressing room, coming out occasionally to look at herself. People walked by — old, young, women, men. Eli took no notice.
His mother finished looking, then paid. They left. They continued walking, his mother carrying her purchases in two silver bags.
The air seemed to tremble. Eli felt light. Almost endless.
They stopped in front of a game store.
"I'd buy you a game," his mother said. "I haven't bought you a game in a long time. But you haven't done anything to deserve it, have you?"
Eli said nothing.
"You keep listening to that shit," she said. "Why?"
Eli remained quiet.
She set down her bags, then reached to pull his headphones out. He moved out of the way, quickly. He looked at her. She sighed, then looked around.
No one had seen her attempt.
She picked up her bags and walked forward, quickly.
Eli followed.
12
They left the mall. It was still day out. The air was quiet and alive.
Eli felt light as he walked to the car. The sound continued. They got in. Eli's mother said nothing. She reached for the radio, but drew her hand back.
Eli didn't notice.
They left the mall parking lot. Eli turned his attention to the window.
His mother then pulled into a restaurant parking lot. Eli had been there before. The parking lot was half-full.
"Take those things out of your ears," Eli's mother said as she unbuckled her seat belt.
Eli did as told. His mother got out of the car. He unbuckled his seat belt and did the same, slipping the radio into his pocket, holding the headset in his hand.
They walked to the glass doors. His mother pushed in. Eli followed.
13
The two walked out the glass restaurant doors into the darkness. The sun had set.
"Do you want to rent a movie?" Eli's mother asked. She got into the car.
"No," Eli said.
He got in.
"Okay," she said.
She paused, looking at him before starting the car. Eli stared ahead.
As they drove home in silence, Eli's gaze remained fixed out the window. Lights from passing cars and stores blurred by. Above, long silver clouds formed against the black.
They came to a stop light. Eli's mother sighed. "I hope you get your grades up," she said. "You are trying harder, right?"
"Yeah," Eli lied. He looked at the car in front of them. It was silver and old.
The light changed.
They moved forward.
"If you promise to try harder, I'll let you have your Playstation and Nintendo back," his mother said.
"Okay," Eli said.
They kept driving.
14
Sometime in the middle of the night, the sound stopped.
Eli opened his eyes. He heard rain outside. He sat up. He grabbed his radio, tuning it back and forth, confirming it was dead.
He got out of bed and went to the window. He opened the blinds. Everything was wet. Dark. Specks of rain dotted the glass.
He watched. Waited.
He knew he would need new batteries for the next day.
He slipped back into his bed. He closed his eyes. He thought of the world's end — of all things shutting down, stopping, slowing.
Coming to a close.
He wrapped the covers around himself. The rain continued. Like that, he fell asleep.
15
It happened in class. Third period.
Ms. Garland stood at the blackboard, writing and speaking. Eli sat in the back, headset on. He could not hear her.
The old woman turned to the class. She continued to speak. She walked up and down the desk rows. She stopped above Eli.
"That's it," she said. "I'm confiscating this."
She reached down and pulled his head phones off.
Eli looked up.
She held her hand out. Eli slipped his hands into his desk, grabbed the radio, then handed it to her.
"And I'm calling your mother for a conference," she said. "You're lucky you avoided a citation."
Eli watched as Ms. Garland walked back to her desk. The other children stared at him. Some whispered to one another. Some snickered.
Eli remained still.
16
"I'm very disappointed in you," Eli's mother said as she drove him home.
"I've never been this disappointed. You're not taking school seriously. You don't seem to take anything seriously. You don't seem capable."
Eli stared out the window. He said nothing.
The conference went badly. Ms. Garland would be keeping his radio for two weeks. Eli's mother would confiscate the other radios in the apartment. Eli would pay more attention in class. He would get his grades up. He would never bring his radio to school again.
It was decided.
His mother continued talking. Eli listened, staring at the evening sky. It would be dark soon. He watched the lights of passing store windows, the headlights and taillights of cars glowing against the twilight.
"I shouldn't do this," she said, pulling off into a burger joint's drive-thru. "I'm hungry, though. I haven't eaten much all day."
Eli kept quiet. His mother ordered for him. They pulled up to the window. She paid. They waited. A girl handed the food off. Eli's mother took it, then gave it to Eli.
"Here," she said. "Hold it."
They then drove home in silence.
17
It was night.
Eli laid in bed in the darkness of his room, staring. He did not feel tired.
He shifted onto his side, listening to his breath.
He waited.
He sat up. He stared at the moonlight. He sighed, then went to his bedroom door. He put his hand on the knob. He paused.
He opened the door.
He walked out into the hallway, then into the living room. It remained dark. He let his eyes adjust, then went into the kitchen. He pulled a glass of water from the dishwasher, then put it under the faucet, letting it fill. He drank it down. He left the glass in the sink, then returned to his room. He climbed into bed, spread his arms out, and waited for sleep to come.
It did not.
18
Eli yawned throughout the next day. He wrote answers at random on his exercises. At recess he sat against the fence, staring at the cloudless sky. At lunch, he did not eat.
The bus took him home. He opened the door to his mother's apartment with a key, then slipped inside. He set his backpack down. He got a glass of water, then drank it. He then opened the fridge, pulling out a loaf of bread. He ate a few slices without butter or jelly. He didn't bother putting it back in. He went to his room, then turned on the television. He watched for a few minutes, then turned it off. He crawled onto his bed, lay into his pillow face first, shut his eyes and fell asleep.
Hours later, his mother came home with dinner. She knocked on Eli's door, waking him. She scolded him for leaving the bread out. He did not care.
He ate his dinner, slowly, at the kitchen table. His mother ate hers in the living room, watching her nightly shows.
Once finished, Eli went back to his room. He shut the door. The lights remained off. He sat on his bed, staring, listening to the sound of his mother's television in the other room. He laid back on the bed. He stretched his arms out. He then fell asleep.
19
Eli walked the perimeter of the school yard. He ran his hands along the fence. It was getting colder. His jacket felt heavy.
He noticed two boys — 6th graders, the highest grade — staring at him. The two biggest in the school. One with brown hair, the other with black.
He tried not to look at them. He kept walking.
Then they approached.
"Hey faggot," the first one said.
Eli stopped. He looked at them.
They weren't the biggest. But they were big enough.
They laughed.
"He's afraid," the first one said.
"Yeah," the other said. "Faggot's afraid."
They began to hit Eli.
He did not stop them.
20
It was midnight. A school night.
Eli hadn't heard the radio in three weeks. He sat in his room, on his bed, in the dark, staring at a patch of blue moonlight on the far wall.
He grit his teeth. He got up from his bed. He went to his bedroom door, then turned the handle. It opened easily. The hallway was black. He heard his mother snoring in her room.
Carefully, he made his way to the kitchen. He turned on the light. His eyes went to the knife-set on the counter. He approached them, slowly, then put his hands on the handle of the largest one. He held it tight.
Tighter.
Then slid it out.
He stood a moment, holding it. He looked at it, closely. His lip shivered. His hands and feet felt cold.
He went to the kitchen-light and turned it off. He walked into the dark of the hallway again, then slowly made his way to his mother's door. She continued to snore.
Her door was open, slightly. He pushed it open, further. Red light from her alarm shone faintly on her face.
His hands and feet felt colder. He moved up to her. He looked at her. There was a faint smile on her lips.
He squeezed the knife. He raised it up. He looked at his mother's closed eyes. He raised the knife higher, then thrust it down.
21
Eli opened his eyes. It was morning. He yawned, stretched his arms out, then sat up. The room was lighter than his own, back home. The walls were concrete, painted white. The window had no drapes, no blinds. When the sun rose, the light came in, freely.
He had been there for four months.
It was visitor's day. He had no one scheduled to see him. He hadn't seen his mother since the incident. He hadn't seen his grandmother in two months.
He looked out the window. The sky was blue and bright.
Just then, a face appeared outside the window of his cell-door. It was Henry — a tall orderly with a kind face.
Eli sat up. He heard Henry put in his key, then turn it. The door opened.
"Hey," Henry said. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Eli said.
Henry smiled, holding a breakfast tray.
"Ready to eat?" he asked.
"Yeah," Eli said.
"Sleep well?" Henry asked.
"Yeah," Eli said.
Eli scooted back as Henry set the tray down.
Then Eli noticed it: on the tray's left edge, a small gray radio and set of headphones.
"Oh yeah," Henry said, "they're giving you this radio for good behavior. I know you been wanting one."
Eli said nothing.
Henry smiled.
"Well, I hope you like it. Enjoy breakfast, alright?"
"Yeah," Eli said.
Henry nodded, then went out. He locked the door behind him.
Eli grabbed the radio. His hands shook. He turned it on, slipped the headphones over his ears, then tuned the dial as quick as he could.
22
It was night.
Eli stood in the center of the city. Strewn around him were bodies. Corpses. All stiff. All dead. Above, the moon glowed like an eye.
He felt large inside. Vast.
He looked out to the city's sprawl — all silver and gray, covered in spectral light, as still as death.
He looked at the moon.
It wavered.
He knew it was paper, then — thin paper, glued to black fabric, shining and all the way unreal.
He smiled.
He looked into the distance, at the towers from before. There, standing behind them, was a woman, taller than them, arrayed in black, standing silent.
Watching.