WARNING: Contains some derealization and dissociation (bad fucky mental things in general)

They had no home. They had no name, no memories, no real identity.

And yet, there was one thing that they knew for certain.

Cecil's radio show came on every day at the same time. When it began, they found somewhere nice and cozy and dark to tune in. The host's voice was familiar to them. Had they known him in the past, or had they listened to so many broadcasts that he defied their foggy mind? Was there a past for them at all?

They didn't know. They might never know. They didn't really care.

One day, the show did not come on. The show did not come on because they had found their way into Cecil's studio. It was an accident, but they were not upset by it.

He was frightened and saddened by them. He tried not to show it, but they could tell by the way his hands shook and his eyes widened. They didn't understand why he felt this way, or how they knew that he did.

The lost spirit tried to tell him they were friendly, but they couldn't speak. They floated noiselessly in the air, unable to feel or affect the world at all.

And yet, here they were. Affecting the world. Specifically, affecting Cecil Baldwin the radio host, and then his radio show, and then everyone who listened to his radio show.

They backed away through the wall. This was not how they wanted to affect the world.

They found somewhere else to listen to the broadcast. Somewhere less disruptive, where they didn't hurt anyone. They were a gentle spirit, shaped by confusion and sadness rather than anger.

Maybe one day, they would find out why.