(Untitled)

[shatteredsylvia]

From one particular radio frequency comes a lot of static - but sometimes, a woman's voice. A British accent is barely distinguishable in the words.

“-- Hello? My name-- via Wy-- Hello? Is anyone--”

Comments

[angela_edmunds]

Angela frowns, and adjusts the dials of her radio, to try to make the signal clearer. "Hello? Keep talking, okay, just trying to get you in better..."

[shatteredsylvia]

The signal suddenly gets much clearer. The static completely disappears.

The woman on the other end sounds relieved. "Oh, hello! I'm Sylvia Wycliffe. I'm living at--" here she gives an address of a house outside of Metropolis "-- with my son Michael."

[angela_edmunds]

Wycliffe, Wycliffe. She knows that name. After a long winter of being mostly closed in the farm, it feels as if her mind has become addled.

"Oh!" she says, remembering. "We have a Wycliffe near here...an Oliver Wycliffe. Do you know him?" She rummages around for a pen and paper to write down particulars.

[shatteredsylvia]

"Hush, love, hush..." the woman says, then begins to sing: "There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence, upon a crooked stile. He bought a crooked cat, who caught a crooked mouse. And they all lived together, in a crooked little house."

Perhaps she's singing it to her son. It's an oddly ugly melody for a lullaby; harsh and jangling, none of the notes work.