The package on my doorstep had my name, but I definitely didn’t order it.
How could I have?
I glanced around me, perplexed: the street was still empty, covered in dried mud and tree branches that had been pushed to my doorstep by the flood from the last storm. The gray car that had crashed into my gate still reflected the pale morning light with its dented body from the hail. In the distance, I could still see the black smoke rising from the city after the tornado had passed through.
My gaze dropped to my feet: the small cardboard pouch was stained, worn, and battered, but I immediately recognized the logo on the label, even faded. My face fell, and I almost staggered; not from hunger, no, but from the sheer terror that jolted through me like an electric shock.
I bent down, throat dry, my hand trembling, almost afraid that the package would bite me when a shrill noise pierced my ear. Startled, I threw myself against the wall, stifling a scream. A beast, emerging from the side of the house, lunged at me, buzzing like a swarm of wasps. No, it flew towards me, halting in mid-air right in front of me.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!”
Dazed and curled up, I finally understood what I was looking at: the “beast” had an oval shape, floating in the air with four small propellers that made a faint high-pitched hum. It had a screen for a face, displaying a reassuring, friendly expression with pixelated blue lights. It had two robotic arms—one swinging reflexively in the air, almost human-like, childish, and the other holding out a small screen that read:
“Please press your finger on the screen to confirm the delivery.”
In a mechanical reflex from the past, I raised my thumb to dismiss the formality, as I had always done: but a deep fear washed over me immediately, and it ended up in my mouth, pinched between my teeth.
I picked up the package and studied it carefully, as if it were a trap. And in a way, it was, for as I saw the logo again, my heart sank into my chest, and I burst into tears as I hadn't in years.
The delivery drone waited patiently by my side, emitting occasional beeps, its screen-face switching between expressions of enthusiasm, joy, or satisfaction seemingly at random.
It didn’t seem concerned about its energy reserves as it hovered in place, arm extended: perhaps its batteries could last a human lifetime, perhaps there was still a functioning charging station nearby. That wasn’t the kind of question we asked ourselves before.
It sent me a pixelated wink, as if encouraging me to accept the delivery, and that’s when I exploded. I tossed the box into my long-barren garden and sprang to my feet, my eyes still red:
“FUCK OFF!! FUCK OFF!!”
This package had waited exactly twenty years, to the day, before being sent back here; it could wait another twenty. I slammed the door behind me, an extraordinary rage crushing my stomach and boiling up to the tips of my fingers; unless it was hunger and cold, I didn’t know.
***
This morning had passed with an extreme slowness as the sun gradually disappeared behind the heavy clouds: a fine rain began to fall, which didn’t seem to bother the drone, which hadn’t moved since this morning, its propellers slicing through and projecting the raindrops like a cascade of glitter. My gaze fell on the small cardboard box that was starting to darken as it soaked up the water, and before I knew what was happening, I was already running through the garden to retrieve it.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!” the drone called out, catching up with me, its tone still perfectly mimicking friendliness.
I took the package in my hands, as if it were the most precious thing in the universe, and headed toward the house. The drone followed me to the door, still offering its digital signature interface. Drops of water were running down its gray cover and its blue pixelated screen, giving it the look of crying tears of joy.
“Go away,” I said, “I’ll never open this package!”
It remained still, continuing to take in the water.
“Fine, alright,” I mumbled, “Go get out of the rain, but once it’s over, go handle your other packages!”
I grimaced as a violent cramp suddenly seized my stomach. For a moment, I thought the drone might come closer to help me, to show concern, but it simply extended its stupid signature screen toward me again.
I ignored it and made my way to the kitchen where I used to prepare meals. The fridge, long dead, was slightly open, revealing its empty interior as hollow as my own stomach. The sink faucet was turned to full, but the bowl underneath was completely dry. I rummaged through the cupboards, fully aware that there was nothing left to find, and the impatience and fear rose quickly within me. A new cramp seized my insides, and this signal was enough for me to understand: there was no choice, I had to leave here to find enough to survive for at least one more day.
I gathered the few belongings I still had and packed them into a large backpack. The sight of the full bag pinched my heart: a reminder of happier times, lost forever. I don’t know why, but I took the package with me: even though I couldn’t bring myself to open it, I found that I simply couldn’t part with it.
Once ready, dressed in my jacket, hat, and gloves, I took one last look at my old house, battered and shaken by the elements. In the distance, an explosion echoed somewhere in the city, producing a deep rumbling sound that reminded me of my own stomach.
I walked along the side of the road, having no idea where I was going. But when I saw that the delivery drone was still following me, waiting for its signature to finally be released, I realized that I felt a strange relief.
***
I finally arrived at a commercial area after walking along flooded fields for several hours. The last storm had passed several days ago, but the land, which had previously suffered from drought, simply couldn’t absorb so much water so quickly. The drone was still following me, making occasional synthetic noises as if trying to start a conversation.
I passed by a sporting goods store, one of the few windows still intact, displaying a faded ad for tents, and my heart tightened in my chest. A sort of memory overwhelmed me, and I was almost transported back over twenty years, to another life. I fought it and managed to come back to the present, as if dodging a moment of discomfort; although, without realizing it, I had placed my hand over the left side of my chest, where the inner pocket of my jacket was holding the little package.
Further along, there was a frozen food store. As I approached, I discovered that part of the wall was riddled with bullet holes, so I began to move more cautiously. Inside, the place had also been visited by a mudslide, which had scattered the once perfectly aligned bins into a jumble of open graves. As I looked around, I wasn’t surprised to find it empty: a can of food was enough of a motive to kill someone these days, so it was unlikely to find anything easily. As I moved forward, I realized I was wrong: one of the bins contained an old human skeleton, its clothes rotting on it. Probably left behind by the scavengers.
Maybe if I searched in the back room...
I was interrupted in my thought when a gunshot rang out in the room. I instinctively dropped to the ground, my heart pounding in my chest. A metallic scraping sound echoed, like a mechanical bull thrashing between the frozen bins.
“Attention! Propeller malfunction! Please move away! Maintenance call in progress, do not approach!” a familiar digital voice blared.
I struggled to get up, my hands still trembling, to discover the delivery drone dancing on the ground like an insect flipped onto its back. One of its propellers was broken – it had probably tried to follow me into the store and gotten caught on a shelf or bin – and it couldn’t right itself, even though it was swinging its little robotic arms wildly.
A sense of unease crept over me: I realized that I was no longer at home, safe, but out here. I thought back to the bullet holes in the wall outside. The corpse. I managed to grab the robot, ignoring the red exclamation points on its main screen, and started running toward the sporting goods store.
Beams of white light filtered through the torn roof. Even though the camping and hiking section had been ransacked, the shelves overturned and emptied, I managed to find the outdoor recreation section. The drone was no longer struggling in my arms – I imagined it felt reassured, even though I knew deep down that its security system was locking it in place to prevent it from harming me – and I managed to find parts to replace its propeller. Once back on its feet, its screen changed as if it had detected new hardware, and a progress bar appeared, as if it was updating or going through a rebalancing procedure. Still in my arms, its propellers began to spin in jerks, one after another, and when the progress bar filled completely, it took off, displaying its usual radiant face.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!” it exclaimed.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty, devastated store, stroking my now white, unkempt beard. I had been here before, twenty years ago. I had organized a camping weekend, and not knowing at all what I was doing, I bought all the necessary gear, half of which I never even used. A miserable smile must have formed on my face, but all I could see were the tears blurring my vision.
Just as I had done for the first time twenty years ago, I unrolled my sleeping bag and settled in for the night. But this time, there was no campfire, no scary stories: just the weary hum of the propellers, like a comforting melody breaking the deathly silence of this world.
***
I woke up with a start, breathless. The store was still just as deserted, but illuminated by the daylight. I realized I was drenched in sweat, my sleeping bag bunched up at my feet. I took a long breath, which burned my throat: it was hot, terribly hot, and I was dying of thirst. I pulled out my water bottle and drank the last of it, but the water seemed to slide down my dry throat like the earth outside after the rain.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!” announced the drone as it approached me. I shot it a glare and stood up, my head spinning.
I left the shopping area with difficulty, sweat droplets blocking my vision, the heat radiating off the black tar like a furnace. I felt like I was cooking, even in a t-shirt, whereas just the day before I was wearing gloves.
I decided to temporarily leave civilization, get as far away from the scorching concrete as possible. I eventually found a country path that ran alongside the road and the empty buildings, and walked for several hours, taking advantage of the rare patches of shade where I could, under dead trees struck by lightning.
The drone was still following me: the hum of its propellers lulled me, then its sporadic electronic beeps would wake me up, pulling me out of my trance.
Somewhere during the day, eyes glued to my sneakers, I realized the sun was becoming softer around me, until it disappeared entirely. I was just beginning to rejoice, thanking the heavens, when a flash appeared at the edge of my vision. I looked up and saw the horror before me: a massive black mass covered the entire horizon, the thunder crackling like a hungry monster.
My face fell. Exhausted, torn by hunger, terror nonetheless gripped me, and I began running along the path.
As the storm approached, I found the road again and spotted a large building that seemed pretty solid. I rushed inside, closely followed by the mechanical postman, and the echo of my hurried footsteps tore through the silence of the long corridor I discovered. Rows of rusty lockers watched me silently, like ghosts. On the grimy tiled floor lay torn bags spilling notebooks, rulers, and pens. A sense of déjà vu suddenly overwhelmed me, something terrible, but this thought stopped dead just as the daylight did, hesitant to venture further and face the darkness with me.
I pulled out my flashlight, with its last batteries, and sent a weak beam of light down the hallway. Behind me, the drone timidly advanced.
“Scared of the dark?” I whispered.
And I could have sworn I saw, for a split second, its pixelated face express fear, but it was so quick that it left me paralyzed. No, instead, I thought I had seen a familiar face. Someone dear. Perhaps a memory. I tried to collect myself, but I discovered my free hand was once again resting on my chest, fingers nervously tracing the contours of the small cardboard box.
Meanwhile, the drone moved forward and entered the darkness. Then, a white flash suddenly blinded me: the robot had activated its LED lights and illuminated the entire hallway.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!” it chanted, as if proud of itself.
“Yes,” I answered, amazed, “your thing is awesome!”
We explored the abandoned school together, glancing into the deserted classrooms: some had their chairs and tables overturned in complete chaos, which was unsettling, but others seemed still intact, tables neatly arranged and chairs lined up, which was actually much more terrifying.
As we moved forward, a wave of nostalgia took hold of me with its icy claws: I knew exactly where we were, why this place felt familiar. Sadness overwhelmed me, but I was clearly too dehydrated to even cry.
In the cafeteria, I found a can of ravioli that had rolled under a shelf: I opened it and drank it all in one go, not even trying to heat it up, even though it tasted awful. We continued in the dark, lit by the pure white light, until exhaustion took over me. We finally stopped upstairs, in a room full of books, perhaps the library, and I decided to settle in for the night: the temperature had dropped considerably, so I put on my jacket, scarf, and gloves, then crawled into my sleeping bag.
Once settled, the drone joined me. Its lights first illuminated the dusty shelves, making me aware of the musty smell of old books filling the room. Then, it passed by a children’s book that lay on the ground in front of us. I grabbed it, and a shiver ran through my whole body.
“Want me to read you a story?” I asked.
The drone responded with a series of enthusiastic beeps, which made me burst out laughing. So I opened the book and started reading aloud, under the pure and comforting LED light. Without glasses, I had difficulty making out the letters, but it didn’t matter: I knew the story by heart, almost reciting it. I had spent so many evenings telling it, an eternity ago. Before I could reach the end, something snapped inside me, and my voice broke. That night, no need to tiptoe, avoid the toys on the floor. That night, I cried until I fell asleep.
***
This time, I was awakened by a thought:
DANGER.
I jumped out of bed. It was still night, but the drone was in the corner of the room, still casting its artificial light. The rain hammered against the windows, and the storm rumbled much louder. The storm was coming, but I was safe inside.
So why was I scared? Why was I shaking?
I mechanically walked toward the window. Maybe I had heard something else?
My mouth opened, and my heart stopped: outside, in the street, two beams of light were flickering. Flashlights. Scavengers.
I turned around in a panic: our lit room would give away our position.
“Eliz...” I started to yell, but then I froze, my hands over my mouth, horrified.
“Turn off those lights!” I corrected, my face white.
“A package for you! Digital signature required!”
“No, damn it! No time for that! Turn off that damn light!”
I rushed back to the window: the flashlights were heading our way. There were two of them. If they were armed, which was likely given how little effort they were making to stay discreet, I didn’t give myself much of a chance. I leaped toward the drone, grabbed a small tarp from a shelf, and tried to cover it. But it immediately pulled itself out with its tiny arms, reaching toward me again:
“A package for you! Digital signature required!”
I returned to the window one last time in panic: the flashlights were at the bottom of the building, and a beam of light rose to directly blind me.
I didn’t take the time to decipher the shouting and orders from one of the men; I turned and ran, looking for an escape. I bolted down the hall, closely followed by beeping and digital boops: the drone’s light helped me spot an emergency exit which I opened with my shoulder.
I was slapped by the icy rain, and a gust of wind shoved me back, as if ordering me to return inside. It was dark, but the lightning tore through the sky at irregular intervals, revealing this end-of-the-world painting in flashes. I heard a scream behind me, at the other end of the hall. A hot, powerful breath brushed my head, followed by a crack like a whip, piercing my eardrum. No time to turn around, not even time to pray; I rushed down the emergency stairs, soaked to the bone in seconds. Once at the bottom, I tried to cross the street; the force of the wind made me fall into a puddle, so I turned back to try to walk along the building, bumping into the drone on my way.
Already, I heard the emergency door swing open again, a sound not much different from the thunder cracking close by. Another gunshot rang out in the night, striking the concrete a meter in front of me.
Without thinking, I dove into the first entrance I found along the wall: two huge double doors. I arrived in a vast room with a half-collapsed ceiling. Water cascaded onto the rotted and warped wooden floor. In front of me were bleachers, once holding students, now populated with shrubs and other vegetation. To my left was a stage. The podium had been overturned. Something strange surged within me, and I felt hypnotized by this place. A warmth rose from my stomach, quickening my heartbeat. I felt both awed, proud, and yet so powerless. For a moment, I could almost hear applause and felt as if I had been transported back in time. A happy time, full of joy and hope. But the applause grew louder and louder, until it turned into a deep rumble.
Snapped back to reality, I looked up: the rain falling through the giant hole had turned into hail.
I glanced behind me: I had closed the door, but if the men had seen me enter, I was dead. The hail, the wind, and the thunder were battling to see which was the loudest and the most violent, barely allowing me to think. I desperately searched for another exit, anything that could help me escape, but everything not directly lit by the storm ripping through the sky above me was shrouded in darkness. At that moment, my blood froze when a flash of light enveloped me. I froze, ready to feel my body riddled with bullets, but I recognized the delivery drone stubbornly coming to join me through the hole in the ceiling.
Gracefully descending, it was nevertheless struck by a larger hailstone and came crashing down in front of me in a shower of sparks. Against my will, I moved closer and took it in my arms: its propellers were intact, but it had taken a nasty hit to its shell, exposing its circuits. Its screen was cracked, and some pixels were missing from its smile, defying the misfortunes awaiting us.
Seeing it wet, I feared the water would short-circuit its electronics, so I unwrapped the scarf I had around my neck to dry it off. It allowed me to. Once almost dry, I wrapped it around it to protect the large hole on its side, which seemed to restore it because it floated back into the air. And then, time stopped.
I was in another world. But in the same place. It was graduation day, almost thirty years ago. The room was filled with euphoria and carefreeness: we thought the world was ours, and that we had all the time ahead of us. The future was bright, and everything was possible. In front of me was the most important person in my life at the time: I was proud and happy that we were going to the same college. I had given her this scarf. It was a silly gift, but she had kept it carefully all these years, even until the end. I had wrapped it around her neck, exactly like it was now around the drone. An indescribable terror shook me to my core: what if I lost this too? What if I forgot? I could barely breathe and struggled to keep my legs from giving way.
“A signature for you! Against digital package...” the drone stuttered in a voice crackling like thunder.
I took a step back.
“Signature... A signature for you! Package here!! Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa...” Louder now, accompanied by sharp beeps, like screams of agony.
“Shh...” I whispered, “we’ll get spotted...”
“Sign!! Sign!!! Here!!”
Its arms were swinging wildly. Its cries and glitches grew louder.
Horrified, I stepped back, unknowingly sinking into the shadows. The world around me was instantly plunged into a deathly silence when I saw the door beside me slowly open.
In slow motion, I first saw the muzzle of a weapon enter the room. Like in a dream, the gun advanced, then a trembling hand appeared in the doorway. A trembling hand. A long, thin arm followed silently, barely a meter in front of me. My stomach twisted when it finally brought its head through. A face distorted by fear. He was as terrified as I was. He was just a kid.
He stared at the drone, which now seemed to be trying to restart, blaring that it had entered safety mode. The young man passed just in front of me, scanning the bleacher rows: I realized I was hidden in the shadows, invisible. Seeing him point his weapon at the defenseless drone stiffened me entirely. The scene froze. My heartbeat, which I could hear over the muffled sound of the hail and storm, had now stopped. I saw the drone with its scarf, and I saw someone else too. What had been her last words? I couldn’t even remember. Despair enveloped me entirely, as soft as death. I lowered my gaze: without realizing it, I had picked up a plank and was holding it tightly.
“Hey!! Over here!!” he yelled, partly to warn his partner, partly because he was scared.
Those were his last words. My fear of dying turned into a dull rage: why had that damn package been delivered after all this time? Why subject me to this? The young man had just enough time to turn around when the floor creaked under my foot, but the plank came down swiftly on his skull. He collapsed, dropping his weapon. No scream, no final breath, just a ragdoll falling to the ground, deprived of its soul.
I picked up the weapon, shaken: it was the first time I’d held one. I felt the power it exuded. I thought about the bullet impacts on the wall of the frozen goods store. And all the others I had seen over the years.
Suddenly, the ground began to tremble. The auditorium was shaken, and part of the ceiling that was still standing collapsed loudly, sending up a cloud of dust. Looking up, the opening was wider, and amid the blue lightning streaking the sky, the chaotic, deafening cracks, I saw it: a dark, tentacled mass, devouring the sky. It danced, twisted like a monstrous, tortured snake, projecting in its macabre dance debris ripped from the world of men—branches, rooftops, pieces of life carried in its infernal ascent. A terrible rumble accompanied it, not thunder, no, more like the roar of a hungry beast, the scream of a thousand voices. It was approaching, vibrating the very air, and I realized with horror: a tornado.
The door opened again, this time abruptly. A man entered, a flashlight in one hand, a weapon in the other. The beam swept across the room before freezing on the body sprawled on the floor. My heart stopped in my chest when his face seemed to be that of a ghost. Same eyes, same cheekbones, and the same expression as the boy I had killed when he turned around for the last time. The man remained frozen for a few seconds, then fell to his knees. Mechanically, I pointed my weapon at him; my finger hovered over the trigger.
The roar of the tornado grew louder. The walls trembled, the rest of the roof threatening to collapse. The man slowly stood up, his gaze shifting from the body to his weapon. I saw him hesitate, just like I had moments before. I didn’t move. Our eyes finally met. In his eyes, I saw the same thing as in mine: an infinite void, the kind that can only be filled with vengeance. Or death.
He raised his weapon. I could shoot. I should shoot. The tornado was now so close that debris flew around us like projectiles. The drone still lay on the ground, its cracked screen flickering faintly. The scarf… her scarf… danced in the wind like a ghost.
In the fury of the cataclysm, the howling wind and the flashes of lightning formed a maddening symphony. Yet, amidst the chaos, something else emerged – a light, almost childlike laugh. The scent of cut grass. Hasty footsteps on hard ground. A warmth on my cheek. Images flickered in my mind, indistinct, too fast, too blurry: a golden field at dusk, a piece of red fabric dancing in the wind, a tender, fleeting, unreal figure.
The void gripped me, unrelenting. Deeper than hunger. Crueler than the cold. I had forgotten them.
The package against my chest suddenly felt like it weighed a ton.
I finally pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was lost in the roar of the tornado now consuming the building. I dove behind the bleachers as the roof was torn off completely. The world became chaos. I clutched the drone to me, desperately hanging onto a beam as the force of nature tried to tear me from the earth. I was shaken, struck, scratched, bitten by all sorts of objects swirling around the room.
Then, nothing.
***
I woke in the rubble. The sky was a clear blue, as if washed clean of any trace of the chaos from the day before. The drone still rested against me, its cracked screen indicating that its restart had been successful, as though it had woken from a long nap.
My hands trembled as I finally took the small package from my pocket. The label was almost worn off, but I could still read our name. All three of us. The drone stretched out its arm, sliding the scarf at my feet. My thumb lingered on the signature screen.
“Thank you, enjoy your delivery, and see you soon!” it finally said, then flew away.
With a pang in my heart, I watched it fly away for good, leaving the horizon in search of the next package to deliver, if it wasn’t the last.
After a moment, I opened the cardboard pouch. I first retrieved a small piece of paper, with the following inscription:
“Thank you for participating in our project: The Memory Capsule! Twenty years ago today, you entrusted us with your most precious photos, the ones you wanted to preserve for the future. You told us: 'These are the moments that truly matter. I want to make sure I never forget them.' Today, as promised, we return them to you, carefully preserved and restored. These moments of happiness are yours once more. Memory is fragile. But some things deserve not to be forgotten.”
I took the photos from the package, looking at them one by one. A tear-carved furrow traced my cheeks.
Tears of joy.
