Part 1: https://sketchedtext.com/2023/10/18/the-broadcast-part-1/

It wasn’t just that station that was wrong.

My first idea was that the station was some postmodern art piece, giving the wrong current events to draw attention to our inattention. But, as was generally the case, my creative arts degree would not help me.

Other channels proved to be similarly out of sync. I was hesitant to tune too far at first. The bar wasn’t numbered, and I felt like that original station was a home base from which to venture.

The next non-numbers channel I found was in a language I didn’t recognise. Using my phone, I got a mostly-translated block of text.

“it is coming I know you sit in your homes gazing at your loved ones but soon you must make a choice who can you let go who must be sent outside who must be forgotten it cannot wait it is coming it is one of you or all of you I am alone in this station so it must be me oh god it must be me it must be me it must be me I will loop this message but you must forget me I am just a recording forget me it must not be me you hear I will be gone it is coming I know you sit“

The random numbers channel became infinitely more interesting after that.

I spent some time writing down the numbers, which loop after around ten minutes. It was certainly a code of some kind, which I resolved to put in front of someone smarter when I could think of a good cover story.

In the meantime, I started a list of the channels I found. Most channels were in English, which made things easier.

My original channel had weather that made no sense. It was one of the radio host’s “too soon” jokes about the singer’s death that confirmed that.

“The singer, who was famous for her smash-hit. And also her popular music” had apparently been crushed by a block of ice falling from a clear sky.

Another channel seemed to sync with current events, except that the hosts didn’t seem able to laugh. Every time there was a joke, there was a horrible, gagging breath, then a single clap. Same with guests and callers. I kind of liked that station: the banter moved quickly. On the other hand, I gave a solitary clap to a friend’s joke while I was at work and got a look that told me it was taken as sarcasm.

I do not like the “fine” channel. The news is always fine, the weather is fine, the songs are about how OK their lover and current circumstance is. No highs or lows, no shocking events, just a smooth ride into the grave. That sentence is actually the station’s tag line. Although I swear I can hear screaming in the background.

The rhyming channel got old fast, too. When I listened late at night I learned some delightful limericks, but as I listened more I realised the rhyming was enforced, not natural. The host seemed to delight in tricking guests into missing lines, at which point their voices were cut off abruptly. I also did not enjoy the gimmick that callers were invited to make a bargain with the host. Too many words rhyme with “soul”.

The worst channel, and the reason I am writing this, was almost silent at first. But there was no static, so I knew I was tuned into something. Then a voice came through.

The person begged for contact. Every person in their city had apparently disappeared at once: traffic at a standstill, homes unlocked, lights still on. But no signs of anyone moving in the city. They had tried to go further afield, but there were no signs of life elsewhere. For them, there were no other radio stations broadcasting. In hopelessness, they asked if anyone was out there, able to hear them.

I unplugged the radio. It is a thing of universal revulsion, I think, to hear your own voice.