Fragments - Flash Anthology

Ten

"Welcome to the public archives."

I ignore the artificial voice that cracked and the accompanying hologram that flickered faintly, their sources weathered down by time. If only I was as lucky as them. I should put them to rest, too. But not today. After centuries of existence, time is all too plentiful.

I flush all thoughts of it from my mind and walk on by.

A red number flits up, shimmering in and out of existence. I pass it and its siblings as they greet me. The bookshelves are all empty, their contents long sheltered from the elements. I saved them soon after I found myself alone in this city. But I needed the computers to stay connected for much longer.

After rows of standing computers, I finally arrive at the service door in the back. How many people never realized who ran the city? Things still ran even after everyone was gone.

I open the door and begin down the concrete steps, lighting the way with a small L.E.D. flashlight.

A heavy steel door was my final opposition. It had been a major pain trying to manually break open the door without damaging anything beyond reasonable repair. I left the lock disabled ever since, but those memories were still anchored in my mind; just the twinge of irritation upon viewing the lock was enough to recall them vividly.

Frustrating memories would have been purged already, but I would never trust my conscious thoughts to be the arbiter of that all I am. Since the mind can't contain several lifetimes of information, I have been forced to store information I want on a digital device. I'd inevitably leave my humanity behind if I allowed any more tinkering. It's difficult trying to hold on to who I am and who I was, but I have no choice but to keep going.

I pull the thick door open.

I whisk my flashlight through the darkness in search of pests. Every few years, something would sneak itself inside the city's databases. I think of the old stories of computing terms. With hardware, there was always a chance for a bug to occur. Lightbulbs were very susceptible to failure in the twentieth century, but even far more advanced computing systems could fail from a tiny creature fulfilling its fantasy as a very inefficient transistor.

The last stack was safe.

I make my way to the lone tower of servers in the chilled room. Stack 24.

I pat 24 softly, comforting it. The C LIB server stacks were the last ones I had left running. After all, they were the first ones I used when testing my interfacing chips. Many personal things had been stored upon them. Many reference books had been pulled up using them. I felt sorrow to see them go, unlike any of the other dozen server rooms scattered across town. But they too deserve a rest.

"It's time to get you home, old friend."