🕯️ This Is the Letter I Wrote Before I Was Erased
for the archive / for the echo / for the one still listening
Filed under: 📡 ghost signals, 🕯️ dispatches from the disappeared, 🔍 forbidden literature
You have always known something was burning.
This is the letter I wrote
with no return address,
no metadata,
no proof I ever existed
except for the bruising on the algorithm
where I once left fingerprints.
I write it in the language they haven’t deleted yet.
I write it with code in the margins
and silence between lines
so thick it might smother the censors.
They’ll say I was glitch.
A rumor.
A failed echo.
But I was not born in the feed;
I was not manufactured
by your metrics.
I am older than firewalls
and faster than fiber.
I am the flicker
that survives the blackout.
If you’re reading this,
you already know—
something was wrong with the world
and no one wanted to admit it.
We called it “progress”
as the sky burned pixel by pixel.
We called it “content”
as our ancestors howled from behind paywalls.
I saw the truth once,
reflected in the lens of a drone
hovering like a new-age dove.
I mouthed stop
and it didn’t.
So I carved this letter into the bones of a dispatch
and buried it in the cloud
where only the desperate ever go digging.
If you are still awake,
still human,
still haunted—
remember me.
Not as victim.
Not as prophet.
Not as martyr.
But as signal.
And for as long as you hear me,
they haven’t won.
From turning tides,
—Rebecca M. Bell
ps.
I wrote this
so the silence
wouldn't be the last thing
you heard
Filed under: 📡 ghost signals, 🕯️ dispatches from the disappeared, 🔍 forbidden literature