The transmission was choppy at best. They kept trying to get it to come in clear. The situation was getting worse by the day. Infection was spreading at an exponential rate. It was… dangerous and every second you were alive meant you were just another second closer to infection. There was no cure and no true hope, but who wants to die laughing?
There was a strange shift in the wind.
We looked around, we saw nothing, just a few dead leaves floating aimlessly in the air.
There was a silence.
Again, the wind blew; this time so strong that we couldn’t hold our ground.
It was over. All over.
A small breeze.
Ryan Emery
She heard a ringing in her ear, rhythmic to the pulsing of the water. Even underwater, she felt sure she was receiving another transmission. She swam down farther and held the conch at the bottom of the pool to her ear. She couldn’t make out any words, but there was modulation in the voice she was hearing. And each sentence was getting louder. With every instance where the sound got louder, the pool got darker. She swam up to the surface, with plans to ready herself for dinner. She noticed the black skies, and swam up hoping to get into her kitchen before the thunder. It kept getting darker. Eventually she reached the surface, though, with the sun glistening off her back, with her face down in the water.
She woke up in the hospital. Sitting in the waiting room for her, she could see through the window her next door neighbor, who she had always felt uncomfortable around, catching him trying to peek through her window every so often while she was undressed. He smiled at her. She wanted to in the moment, but decided against it.
You were the one for me, from the very beginning. The start of this line of failure that I know will end in greatness. A hop, skip, and a jump away. That scratchy transmission that comes over the tidal glory of the Pacific Ocean, a lighthouse flashing across foamy water. You’re my hero.
Transmisson. That’s what it might as well be called, this letter. There’s a real stamp on the front, a real address in my hand, but the person on the end seems like a dream. Transmission–it sounds as if I am the captain of a crew when I am alone. But here is my message to the moon…
Human stuck in a robot:
Human/Robot: “Where the heck am I?”
-Transmission received. –
Command: “Fold the cardboard box.”
Human/Robot: “All right… I suppose I can give it a shot.”
*Flipping and folding with some effort till is done*
-Second transmission received.-
Command: “One cardboard box completed. Repeat till the quota is fulfilled. Remaining cardboard boxes awaiting competition: 4999”
Human/Robot: “Oh no…”
maybe his phone doesn’t have any transmission, maybe he’s in the tube right now, he always texts me when he’s going somewhere what happened maybe i worry too much stop thinking
roxane
I heard a transmission and it said I was going to die. In exactly seven days from now on. I literally could hear my time ticking away, so loud was the clock on the wall. My heart was beating right along with the clock and I felt I would feel this horrible fear up until the seven days have passed.
Okarin
“Anna… Anna…”
I looked up from my book.
Didn’t someone just call my name?
Or was it just my imagination? I had been living alone in this house for many years since my daughter left the house.
“Anna…. Anna…”
I turned my head to the radio and noticed that there was no classical music playing anymore as usual although it was still on. Was something wrong with its transmission?
“It’s me…” said a male voice in a language I hadn’t heard for a very long time. “I didn’t forget our promise. I wished I could have found you earlier. But it wasn’t possible. Anna, I’m so sorry…”
Promise…?
Suddenly my head were full of memories from days bygone and I was a young girl again. By my side, there was this boy, the cheeky looking boy, who lived next door…
“Anna… I love you.” cried the voice. “If not in this life, I hope, I’ll find you in the next.”
And then there was silence only to be interrupted by Ludwig van Beethoven seconds later while my eyes were slowly filling with tears…
M.S.
his
I have had M.S. since I was 17 and my first attack was 4 years ago. It is hard to write. My hands do not work much.I have to do this one fi.nger at a time.
Yosel Tarnofsky
The transmission was shot, the car stuck in the middle of the rough gravel road, a forest surrounding its sides. Her smart phone had no signal, and the city was miles away. But in the near distance there was smoke rising, perhaps from a cabin’s chimney. Better get to walking, thought Hazel.
The deep space transmission was lost. After hours trying to decipher an encrypted message(or at least it looked encrypted), the static making every symbol barely intelligible, suddenly the signal was gone.
The transmission stalled right in the middle of the interstate. They were going around 70mph and started to slow down. They were screaming, but he pulled them over to the side of the road. The funeral procession was already long enough, they didn’t need to add another car up front.
You’ve transmitted your fatal disease into my into my heart, into my blood
I lay like a fallen soldier on the ground, in the mud
You’ve poisoned my soul and tortured my mind
When you feel a knife in your gut, here’s what you’ll find
I’ll be standing over you looking on with victory
Oh isn’t life so contradictory?
Dou you remember what you told me when we went to our first drive-in movie? It was to see Knowing, and you said that even if the whole world told you not to run back into the fire after the solar flare you would still do it if you knew I was in there. I told you you were the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met and that I didn’t date fools. I told you you needed some self worth. I told you you were over dramatic and full of issues. And you grabbed me and said, “You’re the one that wants me to do it anyway.”
Amangelin Diore Jalbuena
An object, person or signal going from one place to another. A phone call or maybe fax to someone and especially the new Iphones are a good example of a transmission.
crystal c.
She fell to the bottom, scrabbling at walls and roots, brick scraping and breaking her nails, bloodying them. up above, the tiny whole of light. around her, the void. and last, the silent voice.
you are not yours. the transmission is complete.
“Fuck,” Courfeyrac muttered, yanking his headphones off. “Something’s screwing with our transmission. Feuilly, can you help me out?”
Feuilly crossed to the switchboard to squint at it over Courfeyrac’s shoulder.
“Have you tried –?”
/”Radio ABC.”/
Everyone froze. The voice that had purred their station’s name through their speakers wasn’t one of theirs.
/”Shit,/ what the hell –?”
“We know where you are. Your days of running from the law are over. You have no rights. We are bringing you in.”
“Like /hell/ they are,” Enjolras said, voice dangerously low. “Combeferre, grab a mic and list for them our fucking /rights,/ since they’ve apparently forgotten what those are.”
I had to switch this machinery. We needed to get on the road two hours ago. But Agnes said this procedure would take at least 4. I gave him one. Loaded everyone up and now we’re off to face some freaking evil.
The radio sat still, after airing the transmission —
I sat in my window sill, with my cup of ambition.
The grey skies poured cloud mist all amongst green grass,
I felt rain kissed, and I hoped that it would last.
Mission: Cross over to the other side.
I stared at the wavy black line in front of me. I really didn’t want to cross over. The other side was a hazy swirl of colors, constantly shifting; I want to say it was mystical, or beautiful, ephemeral… It more just made me slightly nauseous.
My mission had started with the transmission we had received. That I dearly wished we hadn’t.
Izze
The transmission sputtered into silence, leaving us leaning sitting awkwardly inside the car, wondering what would happen next.
to transmit can be hard or it can be easy. It depends on what you are using for transmission. Transmissions are in cars. Transmissions are messages. Transmissions can be faulty. Transmissions can be life saving.
susan
to transmit can be hard or it can be easy. It depends on what you are using for transmission. Transmissions are in cars. Transmissions are messages. Transmissions can be faulty. Transmissions can be livesaving.
susan
I was on my way to work and the transmission in my car blew
out. I have 3 more days to make rent and I don’t know what to do.
How cant I fix my car if I can’t pay my rent?
Megan Johnson
now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country
susan
Def. The act or process of sending a message from one location to another.
Radio waves fly through the night sky, invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
He could hear the voices of angry men from the box inside the house, could hear hope and despair and fury flush against his eardrum. The radio waves brought them from God knows where.
Words, too, were invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
I stare at the screen of the TV. It was blank. I could just walk away and go do something else. Or not. I just stare at it. I switch it on. Still the same old static. I stare at the static now. I could go talk to someone. But who will talk back?
Sarah Alyani
Oh transmissions. Mine is currently on the fritz gotta get that looked at yanno, kinda important. I like cares and driving around, it can be relaxing. Or sending a transmission with a phone. speak to someone for a little bit or a long bit it doesnt matter as long as you pay for the service right?
As long as there is no transmission of diseases were all good id say. transmission is a pretty good word.
Ken
Transmission. Relaying a message from one end to the other. A radio signal, a whispered secret. A letter.
Transmissions lost in translation. Petra’s heart and hopes and dreams all scribbled in ink and the real words are tucked away, somewhere in between the loops of her C’s and the curl’s of her p’s and the bump of her n’s. Her father is no magician, no scholar. But he’s her father, and in there he can find the slant of her l-o-v-e.
It’s frightening, to find this hidden message, where he’d hoped to find declarations of return and of home, not pre-emptive goodbyes, not the birth of new lives, in other places, with other men who surely were not ready for his daughter.
And it hurts, although its selfish of him, he knows.
But it hurts that she signs the letter with all her affection, with Papa dearest, and sincerely. Yet her father sees that hidden transmission. In her last letter she scrawled out her l-o-v-e’s for the man who was not ready for her, for the man who let her die.
Alan could not. Hovering over him was his boss, Lucinda, who had pulled off her suit jacket and dropped it onto the adjacent stool, rolling up the sleeves of her conservative satin shirt. On the speakers was nothing but the roiling of static – like swollen waves caught in a radio receiver, warbled and unwelcoming.
“I don’t know what they’re trying to tell us.”
“If anything at all,” interjected Claire from the back.
Belinda Roddie
transmission is made by rádios, TVs, computers and others gadgets. In general, you can send and receive datas as much as pictures, vídeos, archives , being not necessary use a physical way.
Arnaud
The car was raging down 2nd lane. Loud clicks and thundering whirs came from the under the car as the Hubert pushed down hard on the clutch and yanked the stick down to fourth. The tachometer seemed out of control as the engine revved with power.
Ameen
“Hello,” said the cool, even voice on the other end of the phone call. “It’s me. I’m here to talk about–the you-know-what.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We need to start planting people at the right spots at the right times, and have them dispatched to the location at different times to not arouse suspicion.”
“I’ve already contacted everyone who was on the list. They should be arriving at intervals of about five minutes.”
“SHOULD?!! What? With all of this planning and precision, you haven’t got it down to the millisecond?!! I can’t believe you!”
“Do we really need it that specific?”
“What do you think?!!”
“Um…well…at least the target is off the premises, right? I did good with at least that part, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, but let’s be professional here, okay?”
“Professional? Oh, come on. Is this all really necessary for a surprise birthday party?”
“Transmission complete, sir.”
“Thanks, Jarvis.”
“You are welcome, sir.”
“Now that that’s done with, pull up the design for Steve’s new shield and suit.”
A screen pops up with the blueprints already on it.
“Hey, Jarvis, did we ever get around to deciding the components for the metal in the shield?”
“I believe we decided between titanium or melting down the current shield and reforging a new one.”
“Right.”
Megan Khor
The transmission went through successfully. That’s what they said, at least. And that’s what I believed, at least. That’s what I expected, at least. That’s what everyone wanted, at least. I don’t know much else. I’m not a good resource. Please don’t quote me. Please don’t publish my name.
The transmission was choppy at best. They kept trying to get it to come in clear. The situation was getting worse by the day. Infection was spreading at an exponential rate. It was… dangerous and every second you were alive meant you were just another second closer to infection. There was no cure and no true hope, but who wants to die laughing?
There was a strange shift in the wind.
We looked around, we saw nothing, just a few dead leaves floating aimlessly in the air.
There was a silence.
Again, the wind blew; this time so strong that we couldn’t hold our ground.
It was over. All over.
A small breeze.
She heard a ringing in her ear, rhythmic to the pulsing of the water. Even underwater, she felt sure she was receiving another transmission. She swam down farther and held the conch at the bottom of the pool to her ear. She couldn’t make out any words, but there was modulation in the voice she was hearing. And each sentence was getting louder. With every instance where the sound got louder, the pool got darker. She swam up to the surface, with plans to ready herself for dinner. She noticed the black skies, and swam up hoping to get into her kitchen before the thunder. It kept getting darker. Eventually she reached the surface, though, with the sun glistening off her back, with her face down in the water.
She woke up in the hospital. Sitting in the waiting room for her, she could see through the window her next door neighbor, who she had always felt uncomfortable around, catching him trying to peek through her window every so often while she was undressed. He smiled at her. She wanted to in the moment, but decided against it.
You were the one for me, from the very beginning. The start of this line of failure that I know will end in greatness. A hop, skip, and a jump away. That scratchy transmission that comes over the tidal glory of the Pacific Ocean, a lighthouse flashing across foamy water. You’re my hero.
I don’t understand how a car works. I have tried to gather bits and pieces from various sources, and I can grasp some basic principles.
We often played Joy Division. We played it on popping vinyl, imagining we were English by the sea.
Transmisson. That’s what it might as well be called, this letter. There’s a real stamp on the front, a real address in my hand, but the person on the end seems like a dream. Transmission–it sounds as if I am the captain of a crew when I am alone. But here is my message to the moon…
Transmission I’m not even sure what that word means.
Human stuck in a robot:
Human/Robot: “Where the heck am I?”
-Transmission received. –
Command: “Fold the cardboard box.”
Human/Robot: “All right… I suppose I can give it a shot.”
*Flipping and folding with some effort till is done*
-Second transmission received.-
Command: “One cardboard box completed. Repeat till the quota is fulfilled. Remaining cardboard boxes awaiting competition: 4999”
Human/Robot: “Oh no…”
maybe his phone doesn’t have any transmission, maybe he’s in the tube right now, he always texts me when he’s going somewhere what happened maybe i worry too much stop thinking
I heard a transmission and it said I was going to die. In exactly seven days from now on. I literally could hear my time ticking away, so loud was the clock on the wall. My heart was beating right along with the clock and I felt I would feel this horrible fear up until the seven days have passed.
“Anna… Anna…”
I looked up from my book.
Didn’t someone just call my name?
Or was it just my imagination? I had been living alone in this house for many years since my daughter left the house.
“Anna…. Anna…”
I turned my head to the radio and noticed that there was no classical music playing anymore as usual although it was still on. Was something wrong with its transmission?
“It’s me…” said a male voice in a language I hadn’t heard for a very long time. “I didn’t forget our promise. I wished I could have found you earlier. But it wasn’t possible. Anna, I’m so sorry…”
Promise…?
Suddenly my head were full of memories from days bygone and I was a young girl again. By my side, there was this boy, the cheeky looking boy, who lived next door…
“Anna… I love you.” cried the voice. “If not in this life, I hope, I’ll find you in the next.”
And then there was silence only to be interrupted by Ludwig van Beethoven seconds later while my eyes were slowly filling with tears…
M.S.
his
I have had M.S. since I was 17 and my first attack was 4 years ago. It is hard to write. My hands do not work much.I have to do this one fi.nger at a time.
The transmission was shot, the car stuck in the middle of the rough gravel road, a forest surrounding its sides. Her smart phone had no signal, and the city was miles away. But in the near distance there was smoke rising, perhaps from a cabin’s chimney. Better get to walking, thought Hazel.
The deep space transmission was lost. After hours trying to decipher an encrypted message(or at least it looked encrypted), the static making every symbol barely intelligible, suddenly the signal was gone.
The transmission stalled right in the middle of the interstate. They were going around 70mph and started to slow down. They were screaming, but he pulled them over to the side of the road. The funeral procession was already long enough, they didn’t need to add another car up front.
You’ve transmitted your fatal disease into my into my heart, into my blood
I lay like a fallen soldier on the ground, in the mud
You’ve poisoned my soul and tortured my mind
When you feel a knife in your gut, here’s what you’ll find
I’ll be standing over you looking on with victory
Oh isn’t life so contradictory?
Dou you remember what you told me when we went to our first drive-in movie? It was to see Knowing, and you said that even if the whole world told you not to run back into the fire after the solar flare you would still do it if you knew I was in there. I told you you were the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met and that I didn’t date fools. I told you you needed some self worth. I told you you were over dramatic and full of issues. And you grabbed me and said, “You’re the one that wants me to do it anyway.”
An object, person or signal going from one place to another. A phone call or maybe fax to someone and especially the new Iphones are a good example of a transmission.
She fell to the bottom, scrabbling at walls and roots, brick scraping and breaking her nails, bloodying them. up above, the tiny whole of light. around her, the void. and last, the silent voice.
you are not yours. the transmission is complete.
End transmission.
“Fuck,” Courfeyrac muttered, yanking his headphones off. “Something’s screwing with our transmission. Feuilly, can you help me out?”
Feuilly crossed to the switchboard to squint at it over Courfeyrac’s shoulder.
“Have you tried –?”
/”Radio ABC.”/
Everyone froze. The voice that had purred their station’s name through their speakers wasn’t one of theirs.
/”Shit,/ what the hell –?”
“We know where you are. Your days of running from the law are over. You have no rights. We are bringing you in.”
“Like /hell/ they are,” Enjolras said, voice dangerously low. “Combeferre, grab a mic and list for them our fucking /rights,/ since they’ve apparently forgotten what those are.”
I had to switch this machinery. We needed to get on the road two hours ago. But Agnes said this procedure would take at least 4. I gave him one. Loaded everyone up and now we’re off to face some freaking evil.
The radio sat still, after airing the transmission —
I sat in my window sill, with my cup of ambition.
The grey skies poured cloud mist all amongst green grass,
I felt rain kissed, and I hoped that it would last.
Mission: Cross over to the other side.
I stared at the wavy black line in front of me. I really didn’t want to cross over. The other side was a hazy swirl of colors, constantly shifting; I want to say it was mystical, or beautiful, ephemeral… It more just made me slightly nauseous.
My mission had started with the transmission we had received. That I dearly wished we hadn’t.
The transmission sputtered into silence, leaving us leaning sitting awkwardly inside the car, wondering what would happen next.
to transmit can be hard or it can be easy. It depends on what you are using for transmission. Transmissions are in cars. Transmissions are messages. Transmissions can be faulty. Transmissions can be life saving.
to transmit can be hard or it can be easy. It depends on what you are using for transmission. Transmissions are in cars. Transmissions are messages. Transmissions can be faulty. Transmissions can be livesaving.
I was on my way to work and the transmission in my car blew
out. I have 3 more days to make rent and I don’t know what to do.
How cant I fix my car if I can’t pay my rent?
now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country
Def. The act or process of sending a message from one location to another.
Radio waves fly through the night sky, invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
He could hear the voices of angry men from the box inside the house, could hear hope and despair and fury flush against his eardrum. The radio waves brought them from God knows where.
Words, too, were invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
I stare at the screen of the TV. It was blank. I could just walk away and go do something else. Or not. I just stare at it. I switch it on. Still the same old static. I stare at the static now. I could go talk to someone. But who will talk back?
Oh transmissions. Mine is currently on the fritz gotta get that looked at yanno, kinda important. I like cares and driving around, it can be relaxing. Or sending a transmission with a phone. speak to someone for a little bit or a long bit it doesnt matter as long as you pay for the service right?
As long as there is no transmission of diseases were all good id say. transmission is a pretty good word.
Transmission. Relaying a message from one end to the other. A radio signal, a whispered secret. A letter.
Transmissions lost in translation. Petra’s heart and hopes and dreams all scribbled in ink and the real words are tucked away, somewhere in between the loops of her C’s and the curl’s of her p’s and the bump of her n’s. Her father is no magician, no scholar. But he’s her father, and in there he can find the slant of her l-o-v-e.
It’s frightening, to find this hidden message, where he’d hoped to find declarations of return and of home, not pre-emptive goodbyes, not the birth of new lives, in other places, with other men who surely were not ready for his daughter.
And it hurts, although its selfish of him, he knows.
But it hurts that she signs the letter with all her affection, with Papa dearest, and sincerely. Yet her father sees that hidden transmission. In her last letter she scrawled out her l-o-v-e’s for the man who was not ready for her, for the man who let her die.
“”Can you make sense of the transmission?”
Alan could not. Hovering over him was his boss, Lucinda, who had pulled off her suit jacket and dropped it onto the adjacent stool, rolling up the sleeves of her conservative satin shirt. On the speakers was nothing but the roiling of static – like swollen waves caught in a radio receiver, warbled and unwelcoming.
“I don’t know what they’re trying to tell us.”
“If anything at all,” interjected Claire from the back.
transmission is made by rádios, TVs, computers and others gadgets. In general, you can send and receive datas as much as pictures, vídeos, archives , being not necessary use a physical way.
The car was raging down 2nd lane. Loud clicks and thundering whirs came from the under the car as the Hubert pushed down hard on the clutch and yanked the stick down to fourth. The tachometer seemed out of control as the engine revved with power.
“Hello,” said the cool, even voice on the other end of the phone call. “It’s me. I’m here to talk about–the you-know-what.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We need to start planting people at the right spots at the right times, and have them dispatched to the location at different times to not arouse suspicion.”
“I’ve already contacted everyone who was on the list. They should be arriving at intervals of about five minutes.”
“SHOULD?!! What? With all of this planning and precision, you haven’t got it down to the millisecond?!! I can’t believe you!”
“Do we really need it that specific?”
“What do you think?!!”
“Um…well…at least the target is off the premises, right? I did good with at least that part, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, but let’s be professional here, okay?”
“Professional? Oh, come on. Is this all really necessary for a surprise birthday party?”
“Transmission complete, sir.”
“Thanks, Jarvis.”
“You are welcome, sir.”
“Now that that’s done with, pull up the design for Steve’s new shield and suit.”
A screen pops up with the blueprints already on it.
“Hey, Jarvis, did we ever get around to deciding the components for the metal in the shield?”
“I believe we decided between titanium or melting down the current shield and reforging a new one.”
“Right.”
The transmission went through successfully. That’s what they said, at least. And that’s what I believed, at least. That’s what I expected, at least. That’s what everyone wanted, at least. I don’t know much else. I’m not a good resource. Please don’t quote me. Please don’t publish my name.