Breaker Whiskey

[TRANSCRIPT]

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Except, if I were dead, how does that explain Harry? I obviously have some…guilt over what I did that I think would factor into my brain making up a weird purgatory of no people and mysterious, possibly all-knowing beeps on the radio that feel like they’re taunting me more than they’re helping me. But, even if I didn’t spend my life thinking there was an afterlife, I could see my subconscious deciding that the best way to process what was happening was to justify my death somehow through creating a punishment. 

Because, let’s be honest, if I’m dead, I know how. I know why. What I did—what I was trying to do in this case, in this case—that failed and I didn’t make it out and deep down I decide that “hey, this is probably for the best, because here’s what would happen if you did succeed, do you really want to live like that? But even if all of that was true...I don't know that my brain could resist giving me something I did want. Someone I want. 

Harry seems real to me. Annoyingly so. Real and exactly who she’s always been to me. No substantial change, despite everything we’ve been through. And I’m not sure I’d punish myself that much. Maybe I just don’t want to believe I would.

So if not dead…then what? We’re back to square one, which is me as the stone, setting a ripple around the world that destroyed nearly everything. 

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I’m not sure I should be so cavalier about this stuff. Talking about my own death, my own final gasping breaths of life. But ever since finding Leann, there’s a sense of unreality that I can’t get over. I’m sure there’s a real name for it, something a psychiatrist would immediately be able to identify, but I never did see a shrink back in the world. Because I mostly didn’t have to deal with shit like this. 

But I’m outside my body. Outside everything. And I want to figure out what this all means, find the truth, the answers that I’ve been wanting for so long and also….it feels almost inconsequential now. Like nothing I uncover or grow to understand will actually change anything. 

I’ll still be alone in the world. I’ll still have done what I did. Harry will still have betrayed me. And I’ll still be in—

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It’s not like learning certain things changed anything. Knowledge can’t kill love.  

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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Okay, alright, sorry, I think I had a mental breakdown yesterday. Um, another mental breakdown. Maybe this is all some kind of prolonged breakdown and I’m actually sitting in a padded room somewhere. 

The thing I almost asked—I’m not sure I even want to say it out loud, it’s idiotic. 

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I was going to ask if you’re god. There. See? Fucking stupid. 

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But, then…who are you? What are you? If I’m the one who caused all this, then how do the two of you fit into this?

I just keep circling back around to…

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I’m dead, aren’t I? That’s—it’s the thing that makes the most sense. Or, I don’t know if that’s true, it doesn’t explain everything, but it would explain…

Well, if I’m dead, then Birdie, Fox, Leann…it’s all a twisted figment of my imagination. There is no ripple because this is just my own personal hell, some kind of ghostly afterlife where nothing makes sense and there’s no way out and nothing and no one else is real. But I can’t bear to be alone, even in death, so…

People say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but maybe it’s not really like that. How would we actually know anyway? I guess, near death experiences. I’ve never had one of those, not really. So maybe that is what happens when people are facing down death, they see everything like a movie reel behind their eyelids. 

But what if..what if that’s not what it is. What if, instead, we see our future, our afterlife flash before our eyes? And there really isn’t an afterlife at all, but instead whatever it is we were imaging in our actual life…it flashes before our eyes but because we’re dying, the moment seems infinite. That blink of time, a life’s worth of feelings and beliefs and speculation about the universe, compacted into the last few seconds before our hearts give out. 

Maybe all of this is the final burst of comprehension from a dying brain. 

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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“You are the stone”. 

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Does that? Does that mean what I think it means? That…that all of this—what the world is now, the lack of people, Leann—are you trying to tell me its all my fault?

How could—how does that even work? If—if this really is about something I did…I mean, fuck, I don’t know what to do with that. Even though it’s something I’ve thought about, something I’ve worried about, I never actually believed I had that kind of power. 

Is it…is it because of…?

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Jesus, why am I asking you? I haven’t even told you what I—

Wait, okay, if I’m the stone, I’m the one who made a ripple that somehow dragged Leann into all of this, then how do you fit into this, huh?

And by you I mean both you morse code lunatics. Are you connected to me somehow? I mean, you must be, right? Except you seem to know what’s going on here, even if you won’t tell me, so are you…

I mean, are you—

(laughing)

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See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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“There are others. Some connected, some not”. That’s what you said. 

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Fuck, why am I still listening to you? You and Birdie both, you know just how to play me, know when to give me just enough tantalizing information that I find myself sitting by the radio, just waiting for your next transmission. 

It’s…(laughs) I’ve had this completely out there thought every now and then that you—one of you—is actually Harry after all. I don’t know if it’s just because she’s now my only reference point for people that aren’t me, or if it’s the psychological mind games, but there are just some moments…

It’s ridiculous, I know it is. Not only because of the information that you’ve both given me—I mean, some of it might be crap, stuff that Harry could’ve made up, but the coordinates sure as shit were real. It’s not just that though, it’s that…

I don’t think Harry is that cruel. She liked to play with emotions, that’s for sure and certain, but she wouldn’t…she wouldn’t get my hopes up like this, over and over again. Or, I mean, she did do exactly that a lot over the last fucking decade but—

Harry wants there to be other people just as much as I do. She might not admit it, might be too scared of the potential consequences to go and seek answers out herself, but she doesn’t like living in this world anymore than I do. She just…she’s just convinced herself that it’s penance. That being trapped with me, forced to look at me every single day but never—

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You know, that’s what she said to me in that last big fight? One of the things she said anyway. That it was torture, for her. Sharing a space with me, orbiting around each other like planets on a collision course. But it was karmic justice, that she would have to be in the gravity well of the one person who has the best reason to never want to speak to her again if she told the truth. 

And, of course, she was right about some of it. I didn’t want to speak to her after she told me the truth. Especially since I’d finally told her the truth, the full truth that’s made every day since I met her a kind of slow burning agony—

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Anyway. Harry wouldn’t mess with me, not in this way. She wouldn’t give me false hope, not when she’s holding onto her own with bloody fingers. 

So maybe if I can figure out the cause, the—the stone that caused the ripple for lack of a better way of putting it—maybe then I can figure out where those waves might have gone. And maybe on the other side of that ripple is other people. 

[click, static]

[beeps]

You are the stone

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See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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Okay, this sucks. 

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Not talking about where I’ve been driving…it sucks. I want to talk about what I’m seeing, the landscapes, the funny town names, the strange roadside attractions. But I worry that if I do, I’ll easily give myself away and then…

Well, I’m not sure what I expect the worst case scenario to be, but I’m getting…paranoid again. A bit how I was when we first escaped. A bit how Harry always is. 

I did find something today that I don’t think would give away much, because I’m sure this isn’t the only one that exists but…it’s a tiny little church. Like, tiny tiny. Basically just an altar and enough room for a few people to stand. What on earth is this for? The world’s smallest parish? Private prayer? They’re certainly not filling the pews on Sunday, there aren’t any pews. 

It’s overgrown, like everything else, and it’s even more lovely because of it. Like it's not a house of worship for god, but for nature. As small as it can be so as not to intrude on the free landscape around it. 

I have very rarely thought about what my imaginary wedding would be like, mostly because, well, I never really thought I’d have one. Not only for the obvious reasons, the, you know, legal reasons, but because even if it was allowed, or we just wanted to do it for us, fuck whatever the law or the church says…I don’t know that I ever really thought I’d find someone for life. And then, when I did meet somebody who—

Well, there were other problems, weren’t there?

But if I were to have a wedding ceremony, even just for the hell of it, I certainly never would have picked a church. But I think I could see a wedding happening here. A tiny white chapel, surrounded by green, just big enough for the people you trust the most. Pocket-sized and private. 

It’s a silly thought. I doubt they ever had weddings at this chapel. Most people want a lot of people at their weddings, a big celebrations. This church couldn’t hold all of that. 

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I just want to be able to share this with someone. For finding the other survivors to finally become easy. For there to be others to find. 

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[beeps]

There are others. Some connected, some not.

- .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / --- - .... . .-. ... .-.-.- / ... --- -- . / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - . -.. --..-- / ... --- -- . / -. --- - .-.-.-

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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I feel a little bit like I can breath again, being back on the road. Even though I never slept in Leann’s house, I spent a lot of time in there, at all hours of the day, and it got…oppressive. Even after days of the windows being open, fresh cold air coming in, it still…

Well, I’m happy to be out of there. 

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I think I can safely say that ghosts aren’t real. Or at least, Leann’s ghost was nowhere to be seen. I’m glad that her…spirit or whatever it might be isn’t stuck here, but it really doesn’t help me understand what the deal is with Este’s Park or the Denver photos. 

The Denver polaroids…I keep looking at them, trying to find more anomalies, trying to make out the finer features of the faces, but nothing reveals itself. They just start to look odder and odder the longer I look at them. Like everyone is…wearing a costume, or something. Like everything is just slightly off. 

They still don’t seem like ghosts. It feels more like…looking through a window, into somewhere else. Standing in the doorway of Dorothy’s home, all sepia-toned and shadowy, and looking out into the colorful world of Oz. Except I can’t step through. I’m just stuck inside. 

Maybe the camera is revealing something I can’t get to. Maybe…maybe I really am dead after all, behind some veil that makes me invisible to the living world. Maybe the man I saw in Estes Park wasn’t a ghost at all, but a living man, surprised to see me, a ghostly figure in his otherwise normal hotel room. 

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See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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I know I said I wasn’t listening anymore, but you’re the one who knew Leann existed in the first place so…not that I’m going to take your word for it, but:

If I understand what you’re telling me…Leann was just collateral damage of some bigger ripple. Which, yeah, thanks for stating the obvious. Clearly something bigger than all of us happened and we’re the suckers that got hit by the waves. So does that mean that everyone else…drowned?

Leann didn’t do anything, she’s not connected…and all I can think is that I am connected. Is that what you’re trying to say?

Not every ripple affects every pond in the world. Obviously, some things are big enough to destroy everything, the meteor killing the dinosaurs. But maybe…maybe it’s not about everyone being bowled over by a wave, but about certain people in a certain pond…not connected directly but swimming in the same soup…maybe those people are all here because of some rock that got thrown into that pond. 

Jesus, that makes no fucking sense. And even if it did make sense, it wouldn’t help me figure out what the fuck pond I’m in. 

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I am heading out today. Getting away from North Dakota, leaving Leann in peace. I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll be telling you where I’m going. If anyone out there—any other survivors, real human beings who want to talk to other human beings—if any of you hear this, tell me where to meet you and I’ll drive to you. But I don’t think I’m going to be detailing my own movements, at least for a while. All of this…none of it feels right. I’m not taking any chances that aren’t necessary, not anymore. 

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See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

[TRANSCRIPT]

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There’s nothing for me here. All I’m accomplishing by staying is intruding on Leann’s privacy and making myself lonelier. 

I don’t believe in the afterlife. Or, at least, I haven’t as a general rule. But Leann did. She believed in God, believed that dying was just an inevitable next step in a long journey. Toward the end, she welcomed death, even if she was beginning to have doubts about where she was ultimately headed. 

I think it’s unavoidable, in circumstances like ours. Thinking of hell, I mean. Whether you truly believe in it or not. I didn’t read all her final entries over the radio, it didn’t feel right when…well, I don’t know if it was a fever or if everything just finally got to her, but her last words didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I felt strange enough reading them, I wasn’t about to broadcast it. 

But it was obvious where she thought she was going next. And that makes me so…she didn’t deserve to go out thinking that. To die alone, so full of fear. No matter what kind of person she was. 

Not that there’s any evidence to suggest she was anything other than a good person. But she wondered this plenty, and I can’t help myself from wondering either—

What did she do? To find herself here, in this terrible hollow shell of a world. 

What did you do, Leann?

[click, static]

[beeps]

[click, static]

L did nothing. Not connected. Ripple big.

.-.. / -.. .. -.. / -. --- - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / -. --- - / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - . -.. .-.-.- / .-. .. .--. .--. .-.. . / -... .. --. .-.-.-

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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“September 12th, 1974. I am not well. The last few years have been harder on my body than I ever expected, but I’ve made it through, against all odds. But it seems to finally be taking its toll. 

I do not know what it is that ails me, but I know it is serious. I am faint and weak, and though I have no appetite whatsoever, I do my best to feed myself. But it becomes harder and harder each day. Writing just these few sentences has already taken more energy than I can fathom, but I have to finish these thoughts before they flee my mind forever.  

I’m coming home, Harry. It is my deepest and last wish that I should see you again, but there is a secret fear inside of me that I won’t. I know where you are. You went into the arms of the Lord in Heaven above when you went to your eternal rest and it was always my plan and solemn vow that I would join you there one day. 

But what kind of loving God would do all of this to a devoted servant? Why would He leave me here without you, without our girls, without a friendly face in the world, if not to punish me for something I’ve done. I once thought that this was a test, a trial to show my strength and devotion to the Lord, but there is no glory in the death that stands in my  doorway now. I do not feel like a martyr upon the cross. More like a sinner cast onto coals. 

What have I done to deserve this hell? There’s a rattle in my lungs and a fog in my head most moments I am awake, but I think it is the loneliness that is killing me once and for all. I’m so sorry, my love, I tried to be strong for you, to be brave, but I cannot bear it any longer. 

If I have failed in my test, I am sorry for it. But I have to think that hell is full, and warm, and that that might be better than this place.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

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"February 2nd, 1974.  The winters are getting harder and harder. It isn’t so much that the storms are worse, but that there is so much more unpredictability to them. I know the weather patterns of my home like I know my own name, but I hadn’t fully appreciated just how reliant I’d become on the Farmer’s Almanac. 

There is also the matter of my age. I feel the cold so much more now, and long even more for the warm comfort of my dear Harry.  

Oh, Harry, what has happened to us? There are days when I curse your name for leaving me when you did, for condemning me to this life alone. For I was alone even before this purgatory I’m in now. Now, I can pretend that our girls are out there still, living off the land just as we taught them, and unable to contact me. I can imagine that they are happy. But when you died, I knew you were gone forever and that I would forever be alone in the world from then on. What is my life without you?

On days in which my head is clearer, I find myself thanking God that you went when you did. I can be selfish at times,  and I want you with me more than anything, but I am glad that you do not have to live with this uncertainty and fear. 

I’m tired, Harry. I want to see you again, my love.” 

[click, static] 

I don’t know—I don’t know why I read that one aloud. There’s nothing in it that—

I’m so sorry, Leann. 

[click, static]

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