The Wistful Show
The dream begins in the hum. It is a low frequency, vibrating in the marrow. You feel it before you hear it. It is the sound of a server farm, or perhaps a beehive. You are standing in a field. The grass is dry. It is brown and brittle under your boots. The sky is the color of static. You look down. Your hands are not hands. They are interfaces. The skin is thin, translucent. You can see the...
0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 1 Views 0 Vista previa