[ WP ] American satellite started transmitting 46 years after being abandoned in 1967

It was almost rhythmic in its hostility. Like after years of aging, certain frequencies began to decay, muffled and inorganic in their intonation. It wasn ’ t some sort of new found vigor for life. Not some sort of reawakened spirit, instead screaming into the void, peering down at its creators, incapable of determining its own fate. It had never even stopped in the first place. Not lost or broken. Exactly where it was supposed to be. Chirping out its hollowed tune, merely forgotten by man. Until it was found way out there on a long shelved frequency only audible at certain latitudes. The kind of muffled static that thousands of people have skipped right past. Every four seconds it rang out like a car trying to turnover, completely out of gas. The ringing echo reverberating through the silence. 
 
 
 With one hand pushing the headphone to his ear, the other stirring Macaroni and Cheese, three children wailing in the background. Phil Williams, tall, frail with the kind of eyes whose gaze lasts way too long, but you can ’ t help and stare back. The kind of man who hopes to one day be quoted on the news so he can proclaim proudly his position of ‘ Radio-Archaeologist ’, something only he believes to be a truly renowned position. A certain connoisseur of lost blips and bleeps, finding remnants of satellites long lost to the infinite pull of Earth ’ s orbit. Still close enough to be within the reach of mankind, but without ever making its presence noted. The blanket of the night sky a thin layer of dirt. All you need is a shovel to reach it. 
 
 
 After wiping down the kitchen, the kids were all asleep and Phil ventured out into his backyard, into a ramshackle old shed with enough thrifted radio equipment to make even the most mentally ill slightly worried. Torn Eames lounge chair, decanter of aged whiskey, and a set frequency. He sat down to enjoy his new found discovery, a nearly fifty year old satellite, out of commission almost as soon as it reached its full potential. Just one of thousands of pieces of scrap floating in our orbit. It wasn ’ t particularly hard to find the specifics. Copious notes, even if once classified now fully available, like a record of clay pots at an ancient Roman city. And with each four second rotation, once again in view of its life source, it called out to the billions below. But really only to one set of ears. 
 
 
 Eyes closed, the backs of his eyelids a fitting surrogate for the depths of space, he lived vicariously if only for a few moments as this inanimate series of wires existed out the dream of so many people. To leave the confines of this planet, an indescribable sound unique to its very unordinary set of circumstances. Breathing, almost meditatively to the undying recurrence. Voyeuristically joining this anthropomorphized explorer. A sense of innate calm washes over him. In the morning he he reported the satellite to some of his buddies, and they all enjoyed discussing the merits of his find. But for just a moment he flew through space. Shrieking towards the shimmering blue oceans, slowly fading into the dark recesses of the universe. 

