Rita looked down at her life.
“This is it?”
It lay in the palm of her hand; still, unassuming. A dull, grey cuboid. Four by ten by twenty.
Her life. Eighty cubic mils.
And it didn’t even need to be that big, that was the ridiculous thing. The actual storage element was a tiny fraction of that whole.
Ergonomics, marketing and whim were a greater factor in defining the scale of her life than the centuries she had lived, the skies she had flown, the worlds she had discovered.
No more glory. Everything was reduced to subterfuge.
(author's babble)
Flash fiction. Fantasy and science fiction. Magic, myth and machines.
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