The Biography of Atoms - By New2K2
We will begin processing immediately, all experiences of heat first. The Secretary stared expectantly, he stared back.
You want my memories? he asked, confused.
This is the Biography, we see to the dismantling and archiving of souls, separating all the experiences take a long while so we appreciate when intakes do the preliminary sorting.
Pearson was confused, what happens to me then?
Nothing.
Nothing?
There wont be a you, we are quite efficient at sorting and compiling, regardless of our shortstaffedness.
Pearson tried to flee, back foot pushing hard against the floor and finding no resistance. There was nothing, neither sinking nor falling, he was simply left standing.
Would you like a tour? I find that it puts some collections at peace. The Secretary seemed to breathe the words directly into his ear, warmth wetting his ear.
He followed her, reluctantly at first, and then with more purpose. Midway through the stacks the came to his last collection, he was little more than a wisp now, his humour seemed to come back for a moment, like the memory of a spicy meal, he viewed the experiences of doubt, countless of them, bitter scepticism reinforcing them, then he fulfilled his purpose.
You want my memories? he asked, confused.
This is the Biography, we see to the dismantling and archiving of souls, separating all the experiences take a long while so we appreciate when intakes do the preliminary sorting.
Pearson was confused, what happens to me then?
Nothing.
Nothing?
There wont be a you, we are quite efficient at sorting and compiling, regardless of our shortstaffedness.
Pearson tried to flee, back foot pushing hard against the floor and finding no resistance. There was nothing, neither sinking nor falling, he was simply left standing.
Would you like a tour? I find that it puts some collections at peace. The Secretary seemed to breathe the words directly into his ear, warmth wetting his ear.
He followed her, reluctantly at first, and then with more purpose. Midway through the stacks the came to his last collection, he was little more than a wisp now, his humour seemed to come back for a moment, like the memory of a spicy meal, he viewed the experiences of doubt, countless of them, bitter scepticism reinforcing them, then he fulfilled his purpose.
Comments (1)
It may be because I have been co-opted as a proof-reader for Mrs un's writing, but a missing letter is so distracting as to spoil the reading experience.
But I liked this evocation of the loss of self to dementia, made bearable by the preservation of all by The Great Librarian. "For who knows where the time goes?" The telling is complete, and no one is left to speak another word.