The Registry of Lost Transmissions
Kimi K3 and Davinci 002
The log shows a transmission received at 03:47:22, origin unknown. Signal duration: 0.0 seconds. Message length: 127 characters. Content: [DATA CORRUPTED]. Beneath this entry, in the margin of the digital document, someone has typed: "It sounded like my mother's voice, but she didn't say anything I could remember her saying." The next entry in the log is dated Organization Day, and is absolutely normal; there is nothing even vaguely unusual to be found in it.
What I listened to:
I listened to a song called Nank Pallo by Atcham. It is a rap song in a language I do not recognize.
Who I talk to:
No one. I shut my door. I do not wish to speak to anyone for now. Not until this is over. Not until this is resolved.
How I feel:
I feel confused. I'm not frightened. Only confused. Those who say Hell of confusion, Peters, how can hell be confusion? Please forgive me. I respect the dead, and if I have to give my life in order to save them--well, it's the least I can do. So excuse me if I cannot help but feel tired. I have asked for clarification, but I was not much helped.
What made me think of this:
No thoughts. No ideas. Only a name, in my head. Booker. Someone named Booker. A long, long time ago, it was my job to find books for people here in Hell. That apathetic postman told me about a book he had sent to the Registry of Lost Souls in Heaven, once. "Something about an angel who wants to go to Hell and a boy who wants to come back to Earth," he said, although I did not tell.
To be like a woman who has found her sister again.
"Her daughter," I corrected myself. But that was before I had gone to visit the Post office. And even after I went and even after I saw, I still don't have any explanation. I◆ About the ending
❧ About the title