Speaking of which, the Night Vale school district has announced some changes to the elementary school curriculum. They are as follows.
In response to parent feedback, history class will focus more heavily on textbook readings and traditional exams, rather than live ammo drills. Geology is adding a new type of rock, on the grounds that it’s been a while since anyone has done that. The new type of rock is “vimbi,” and it is categorized by its pale blue color and the fact that it is completely edible. Points will be awarded to the first student to discover a real-world example of it.
Math and English are switching names. Their curriculum will stay exactly the same. Astronomy will now be conducting stargazing sessions only with blindfolds on every participant, in order to protect them from the existential terror of the void. Also, Pluto has been declared imaginary.
All classrooms will be equipped with at least one teacher physically present for the entire instruction period. Astral projection will no longer be used in any classroom situation. Finally, in addition to the current foreign language offerings of Spanish, French, and Modified Sumerian, schools will now be offering Double Spanish, Weird Spanish, Coptic Spanish, Russian, and Unmodified Sumerian.
Hello, listeners. In breaking news: the sky. The earth. Life. Existence as an unchanging plane with horizons of birth and death in the faint distance. We have nothing to speak about. There never was. Words are an unnecessary trouble. Expression is time, wasting away. Any communication is just a yelp in the darkness. Ladies, gentlemen, listeners, you… I am speaking now, but I am saying nothing. I am just making noises and as it happens, they are organized in words, and you should not draw meaning from this.
The service for Leland will be lovely. We will throw flowers and weep. He will be buried in the break room, as is the custom. His family will come and moon about the coffee as though we have answers. We do not have answers. I am not certain that we even have questions. I have chosen to not be certain of anything at all.
This is Cecil, generally, speaking to you, metaphorically, for Night Vale Community Radio. And I would like to say, in the most nebulous terms possible, and with no real world implications or insinuations of objective meaning… good night, listeners. Good night.
The City Council recently moved to name dance as the official town language. This measure has been met with tense debate and raised voices over the past several weeks. Proponents say we need a unified language, as it will save money on municipal signage and documentation, not to mention bring us together as a community. ‘The poetry of the human body,’ they said, while quickly pulling in their elbows and turning their bowler hats down over their eyes in an obvious tribute to Bob Fosse, ‘mates physical being with mental necessity, a marriage that brings purpose to our quickly rotting living corpses.’
Opponents say that this move, if voted into law, is discriminatory against the physically handicapped. Also, less than 10% of Night Vale citizens have ever taken a single dance lesson, let alone achieved lifelong mastery of one of the most ethereal and difficult to grasp art forms. One opponent, who wished to remain nameless out of fear of retribution, told us that the bill was entirely funded by lobbyists from Cheryl’s Little Princesses Dance Studio. ‘Just follow the money,’ they said. Then the anonymous insider’s pupils grew until they eclipsed the whites. Their tongue slid out from their knife-gash of a grin, and their hair would not stop greying, and growing.
Listeners, thank you for your calls and emails. We’re getting word that the sandstorm has already begun to hit. Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, called moments ago to say that the sand was thick and really flying fast, but that when it touched his skin, he could hardly feel it. He could hardly feel a thing, that the past was a fiction, and that consequences were a choice. He saw colors and shapes instead of familiar things like stoves and ponies. He shouted a bright confirmation of life up toward the sand-covered sun before gasping and screaming, ‘No. Not you. Not you!’ and then hanging up the phone.
Well, thank you, Larry, for that informative report. We’ll certainly keep that in mind.
Old Woman Josie has not called, but intern Dana said that Old Woman Josie updated her Facebook page with an Instagram of some runestones. Dana has been furiously translating these symbols, and her best guess is that they say ‘They come in twos. You come in twos. You and you. Kill your double.’
There’s also a link to this amazing cat that keeps jumping in and out of boxes and oh my god, that is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Dana, you have got to post that on my wall. Oh my god, he loves those boxes so much!