Tuesday, 20 December 2011

An Angry Sun by Bobby Stevenson


He had to lay his hands on them,

To hold them, to caress them would be enough for now.

They had spoken of them, the elders, but no one could remember

When last they saw them.

That had been the problem, all the words and all the photos,

all the music and all the knowledge in the world had been

Stored as binary: on chips, on phones, on tablets.

So when the Sun grew angry and sent the storm earthwards.

Nothing was left of the memories

Except those,

The books,

They were out there somewhere and he would find them.







A story in 100 words.

3 comments:

  1. I am not an angry man by nature, and I believe there was more curiosity than resentment in my heart.

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