Writing on the Wall #3

This is Writing on the Wall – a discussion page where you can show us your writing!

This week, we invite you, in 100 words or less, to post your reply to the following prompt:

There’s a radio station that only plays when I’m alone.

Comment below with your stories! We look forward to reading them.

4 comments

  1. There’s a radio station that only plays when I’m alone. The announcer waits for external noise to concede to her whispered breath. Music begins on autoplay. Dark visions waltz past my electric eye. Eliciting Memory’s power like a sword to dishearten and disembowel.
    Now, a new tune spins. The announcer speaks in glowing tones of yesterday and speculates on tomorrow. Memory’s sword glows golden, soothing but never healing the hurt. My radio station yields to the rising hum of hope. The announcer, ever cunning, waits.

  2. A patient was seated on a chair, opposite his psychoanalyst in the room.

    “There’s a radio station that only plays when I’m alone,” he said, “I’m not crazy. Release me!”

    The doctor ignored him, scribbling in his notebook.

    “It’s all in your head,” the analyst said, “You’re not in prison for your crimes because you have schizophrenia.”

    “Wrong! I tuned in for an obituary before you came,” the patient spat, grabbing the doctor’s pen, “It was yours,” he said, burying it into the man’s throat.

    The door flung open as a guard, wielding a Taser, stormed into the grisly scene.

  3. There is a radio station that only plays when I’m alone, old songs of long ago. Sinatra, Mathis, Nat King Cole come flooding in with memories of times long gone. My mind’s eye sees sweet, sweet scenes of happy times, when we were “us”. You were always there — but not now. Now the songs are played for me alone.

  4. There’s a radio station that only plays when I’m alone, in the dark, driving past broken street lamps and ancient towers. It turns on by itself, a wretched music of what happened before the end, the fire, the frogs. No one is anywhere for miles and miles and the wind blows sand forever, but sometimes someone appears beside me. The radio goes off. A ghost blows smoke in my ears. This is even worse than the crackled screams because it remind me that happiness was a possibility once. Freedom was a thing, but hey disappear. Then I’m alone. It plays.

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