The Last Trills of the ōʻō
Day 14,693
I woke up early today. I don’t know why; it’s been a while since I’ve felt the point. And, yeah, it’s never mattered, it’s not like there’s a difference between day and night down here, but I digress… Maybe I wanted to. And there did seem to be something on my mind. So, today, instead of looking up stuff on people, my thoughts sort of wandered, and I recalled something I’d watched ages ago, back in sixth grade. My science teacher, Mr Cook, I think his name was, you know, like the explorer eaten by Hawaiian cannibals, well, he showed us a snippet of a documentary with a section on Hawaii. Maybe that’s why I remembered his name.
The documentary was, from my vague recollection- That’s a fun word. Very neat. Recollection. I need to keep words like that in my lexicon. In my vernacular. It gets kind of boring repeating the same easy words. Like no matter what happens, it’s all just basic. I guess it is… And I guess it doesn’t matter that I care about my… what is it? Vo- something? It’s… on the tip of my tongue. Fuck, that pisses me off. I’ll think of it later. Or just read or hear it again from a video. I’d better.
But right, the documentary. It was about a bird, the ōʻō. I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s pronounced. Not like there’s anyone to correct me.
Ha. I wasn’t sure if I could find it, like if maybe it hadn’t been put on the console, but I gave it a try. Typed in some keywords, and there it was. I’ll tell you guys the title at the end, keep some suspense as to what it’s about. So anyway, it started with a pretty cheesy documentary title card thingy, whatever, then moved into an old dude talking about an ornif- uh, what was it? Ornith? A database of bird sounds, basically, especially their calls. Chicks crying, hens purring, cocks crowing, the lot. I’ve told you this before, but I love birds. They have, at once, this dignity to them, while maintaining absolute cuteness. Way more adorable than kids. So I was smiling a bit, hearing the whole mess of the bird calls they were giving as examples, right? Then the guy brought the ōʻō up on screen, filmed on an ancient, grainy recording from 1987, and it began to sing.
Da, de, ta. Something like that, but obviously far more beautiful. A bit of silence, then the same progression of notes. And silence again. The guy started talking, and it… I don’t know. My spine tingled. I had already known what he was going to say, but it changed nothing. That ōʻō back in 1987 was a male singing a mating call. Perched in a tree, he was calling for a female to join his duet, to join him, since those birds mated for life. But no one answered. Because there was no one to answer. Human activity, along with unlucky natural disasters, had led to the deaths of every other member of his species. And alone, he still cried out, hoping against hope. The video ended with his birdsong cutting off as well.
I just sat there, thinking. I mean, fuck. Look at me, making recording of my days, talking to an audience of people who don’t even fucking exist. It’s been what, about forty years since I was left alone? I remember trying to find someone else. I had goals that first year, I traveled around from place to place, scavenged, made little bases in case I ever needed to save someone on the brink of starvation, everything! And no one. I even broke into the old NSA headquarters in Maryland to broadcast a radio signal across the entire United States, then checked its databases to see if it had logged any activity other than me on the air. Nothing.
After that, all I could keep was hope. I guess I’m still hoping, considering I’m bothering with these recordings. Considering I’m bothering staying alive. Why should I even care? I’m wasting away, just like that speck of feathers and bones did.
Pff. Look at me. And here I thought humans were supposed to be better than animals, more advanced, more intelligent. The year is 2087. All that intelligence got us was another century before our last cry blinked out.
Good night, everyone.
Final Entry; End of Recording
