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Deep Story nr. 110 l message zero l by Thys & Taylor

Deep Story nr. 110 l message zero l by Thys & Taylor

Deep Stories vor 7 Jahren

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1:03:23

Today we are happy to announce our further collaboration with
Simon Rucker. After his island adventure has entertained us for a
long time, his new project is now in the starting blocks. This
time he takes us into a dark future dystopia. We will travel with
him through a large and complex world that is in upheaval. A
world run by a few and where those who don't ask questions are
doing well. The prologue of the new episode story is musically
accompanied by Thys & Taylor. They pick up the gloomy mood of
the first lines and put us in the mind of Samuel with their
skillful track selection.

My name is Samuel and me writing you this message is the last
thing I'm doing in my fading life. My name is Samuel and I am
sitting up here on the slopes of the dark mountains in my cabin
writing a message that may never reach you. I call it message
zero, for there is nothing more to do. Night moves slowly over
the ridges, plunging all the rocks and ravines around the vast
alpine pasture into its murky darkness. The wild creatures will
soon leave their caves and pits to haunt the few remaining ones
again and again. And in the meantime I know, there is even
worse.

Outside in the sky, scattered birds pass by. I don't know, maybe
they are already heading south - hoping to find something better
there than here. A little bird doesn't have to think much. A
little bird may have hope. Shimmering haze hangs over the abyss,
it is gradually getting cool in here, behind the thin panes of
glass overgrown with brittle moss. It is gradually getting cool
in here, I have no more wood for a fire. I light a second candle
with the worn gasoline lighter. And if the thing already once
burns, also immediately still another cigarette. I shiver, soon I
will get my coat in the other room and continue writing. Keep
writing until the thin pencil falls out of my aching fingers and
I sink down inside myself. If the figures of the night do not
succeed sooner in tearing down my barricades in the lower two
floors and drag me with their long bony arms from my writing room
to do who knows what with me.