Paranoid

"It’s a lonely Monday afternoon. The grey clouds whisk above me bringing with it an infinite number of raindrops. The puddle of water transforms into a temporary prism forming a liquid silhouette of soft red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. The cold wind brushes my face like a dementor – taking all source of warmth in my body and soul.

Yet there is something immensely romantic about the melancholy. There is an awkward joy that can be felt each time the rain falls. My clothes can get dampened but my sense of security over the world is assured more. When the clouds cover the big blue sky, I feel safe under its cloak of condensed water.

But all sense of security is lost when the lightning strikes. I run for cover, speed to my room and hide under the covers. There is silence everywhere.

And then the lighting strikes again. It strikes at the same spot. I shiver. I turn on the radio and listen to some classical music. The weather report comes after a senseless blabber on some alien creatures watching the earth.

The absurdity of the early broadcast took almost forever. But music is finally fading in – “No More” plays while I dream of dancing the Tango alone. It’s getting late already. The wind now turns into a lashing monster and a special bulletin comes in. A few minutes later, people are screaming. A report comes in. There’s a thing loose and coming of from the ground. I heard news from the observatory a while ago. What’s happening? Is it the war? Is it?

And the radio broadcasts terrifying accounts. The romance I earlier felt fades into a dangerous tango between fear and excitement. What is happening? There’s fire. There’s something blazing according to the report. Are the Allies still intact? Is it the war? I should be safe. The consant barrage of beautiful music and bulletins on disaster makes my heart pulse."

Truly, whoever tuned in to the radio broadcast of H.G. Well’s War of the Worlds would’ve been petrified on that October night. World War Two was ongoing and the fear that has already stricken the minds of the people due to the global conflict is great. People were paranoid. As a result they were susceptible to even the least of emotional manipulation. What more if the potential fear over the unknown was tapped by such a master-planned and dramatic performance?

Back then the radio was a popular form of entertainment. People during those years would also get information from the radio. Yes, the people were suspicious always but the radio was something they could trust. Information was reliable through the radio especially with regards to the war.

Bulletins were another thing. Even now, I still get restless when a breaking news sign interrupts a normal program schedule. It must be an important event or happening to be broadcasted as a bulletin. Afterwards, seemingly realistic accounts “on-sight” would make people more restless and panic a bit. I myself would’ve listened more to the radio due to curiosity and excitement. Add to that the fact that the broadcast was in the evening when the darkness has set in. Plus you’re simply listening. You could only imagine the descriptions by the witnesses and analysis of the specialists.

I would’ve been really terrified by such a scenario broadcasted by the Columbia Broadcasting System. Listening to the performance was like listening to a real event. Music was played just like a normal radio station would. But as the bulletins started you couldn’t help but think of what’s happening. The information was fragmented at first and that added to the anxiousness. Who would want not to know what’s happening?

The whole broadcast was executed with such realism that anyone who was already overwrought by the War would’ve been easily terrified with the possibility of an invasion – not merely an invasion from Japan or the Soviet Union but a space invasion. The detailed accounts made it seem like it’s coming close to you. I would’ve huddled with someone waiting for more bulletins to come. You could sense the fear in the voices of the announcers and so-called witnesses. You could feel empathy over the possible casualties. You could feel excitement. You would wonder whether there are enough troops home to destroy the beasts – you could only visualize in your head how people were killed with ray guns. Is the military defense enough?

Who knows what could be lying outside? Are the extra-terrestrial creatures already near my home? How far-reaching is this realistic space invasion? The fear of the unknown and terrifying can be immense. The fact that’s it’s supposed to be happening near home would’ve driven people mad. You don’t see it as a performance or as a hoax anymore. You sense it’s real. That’s how potent the broadcast was. It gave you more thrill than Space Shuttle in EK.

"And then you try to calm yourself. You breathe rapidly. You can feel the sweat trickling down. Is it over? Then a final announcement:

Tonight the Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations coast-to-coast have brought you "The War of the Worlds," by H. G. Wells, the seventeenth in its weekly series of dramatic broadcasts featuring Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air.

Next week we present a dramatization of three famous short stories.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System."