I take another set of boxes and wheel them to their new home in the Archives of Everything. Recently they seem to have been getting heavier somehow. Perhaps because there have been so many this last year. Even in another dimension, this takes its toll. We might not be dealing with the bodies, like the Corpselarks, but these facsimiles of lives lost, gathered by the Compilers, they show you something else.
I saw a photo of a dying man, a woman he didn’t know by his side. Together they sat in a perfect, comfortable silence. As peaceful as a hug.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt (see here for other stories):
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
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