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.