She arrived through frequencies—scattered signals caught in between abandoned radio waves and half-developed film reels. Her role wasn’t to be seen, but to listen.
2025.07.18
珍不是這個世紀出生的人，甚至不是上個世紀。她透過頻率而來——那些散落的訊號藏在被遺忘的電波與未顯影的底片之間。她的使命不是被看見，而是聆聽。在一間早已被拆除的劇院遺址深處，珍守著聲音的檔案：浸入紅絲絨布幕的哭泣聲、嵌進破裂木地板的掌聲、糾纏在後台塵埃中的低語。
每晚，珍將心靈調頻至過去的波段。有時，她會捕捉到片段的獨白、斷裂的愛語、或夾雜著恐懼的笑聲。更多時候，回應她的只是寂靜。但就連寂靜也有質地，而珍懂得如何歸檔。她稱這些有紋理的沉默為「情感殘跡」，並將其壓製於磁帶中，存入貼有標籤的鐵盒。某夜，她聽到一個聲音喊她的名字。
「珍……妳還在。」
那不是錄音，而是記憶本身，赤裸而未經過濾。
珍第一次流淚了。那不是她的淚水——而是所有被遺忘的演員、消失的觀眾、未完成的故事的淚水。
從那一刻起，珍不再只是檔案的守護者，她開始回聲低語。她告訴那些殘影：你們沒有被遺棄。記憶有形，而她是它的守護者。
Jane wasn’t born in this century. Or the last. She arrived through frequencies—scattered signals caught in between abandoned radio waves and half-developed film reels. Her role wasn’t to be seen, but to listen. Deep in the forgotten archives of a long-demolished theatre, Jane catalogued voices no longer remembered: sobs soaked into red velvet curtains, applause embedded in cracked wooden floors, whispers tangled in the dust of backstage corridors.
Each night, Jane tuned her mind to the wavelengths of the past. Sometimes, she would catch fragments of old monologues, broken love confessions, or laughter stitched with fear. Other times, only silence answered. But even silence had a texture, and Jane knew how to file it. She called these textured silences “emotional residues” and pressed them into magnetic tapes stored in labeled tins.
One night, she heard a voice that recognized her.
“Jane… you stayed.”
It wasn’t a recording. It was memory itself speaking, raw and unfiltered.
For the first time, Jane wept. Her tears were not her own—they belonged to all the forgotten performers, the audiences who vanished, the stories that never reached an ending.
From that moment, Jane didn’t just archive. She whispered back. She told the echoes that they were not lost. That memory had form, and she was its keeper.
