He waves his hand in acknowledgement and enters the service station’s mini-mart. Inside, he’s greeted by a somber-looking shop keeper.
“You’ll probably want to hurry, stranger. This storm looks like it’s going to hit hard. I was just planning on locking up and heading into town.”
James sees only the attendant in the store.
“Okay. We’ll be quick, but can I get a key to the restroom?”
The shopkeeper slides a key across the counter. Inside the bathroom, James heads straight for the sink. Turning the left faucet, he anticipates the warm water.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sink shakes at the pipe’s inability to draw out warm water.
Shaking his head, James turns the right faucet on and a steady flow of cold water rushes into the sink.
Grunting, James briskly scrubs his hands and face with the icy water. As the dirt and grime from his travels swirl down the drain, James looks at the haggard man staring back at him from the filthy restroom mirror. There are a few more wrinkles under his eyes and more grey hairs in his beard than he remembers. James is about to turn off the water when he notices something on the graffiti-covered wall. Something pink stands out amongst the greens, yellows, and blacks.
Sweeping off the layer of dirt covering the image, James is surprised to reveal a cartoonish, pink unicorn. Its speech bubble reads “Be sure to use the Right, T.”
Confused but amused, James chuckles and dries his hands.
“Where were you a second ago?” he asks the wall.
On his way out, James grabs an assortment of snacks, bottled drinks, and a pack of Lucky Strikes. Setting the pile of goods on the counter, he returns the bathroom key. Conspicuously anxious to leave, the shopkeeper quickly rings everything up, bags it all, and starts closing the shop before Taciturn steps outside.
With the storm approaching, an ozone-tinged dampness hangs in the air. As he approaches the car, Matilda spots him. “This thing was filthy. Not sure why I bothered to clean it, if it’s just going to rain.”
“No, it looks good. Here.” James tosses the bag of goods to Matilda. “Enjoy.”
James watches as a genuine smile appears on Matilda’s face. “Holy crap, what the hell is an ‘Emperor Size’ candy bar? This is awesome, dude!”
Taciturn starts to say something when a beat-up Ford rolls into view from behind the store. Without a glance or second thought, the shopkeeper at the wheel pulls out in the direction of the nearby town. Turning his attention back to Matilda, James finds her staring at the looming storm roiling in the distance, seemingly entranced by its dark beauty and promise of destructive power.
The wind and water mix together into a dense vortex that shimmers with a digital buzz as it completes each full rotation. Electricity flashes through the airborne debris and clouds. With each flash, he fancies that he can almost make out a phantom image. Each time the storm thunders, it sounds like a million booming voices all tangled together.
Taciturn stands next to Matilda.
“It remembers everything. Everything that ever happened to all of us, since we created it. Since we came here. Good, bad, shameful, stupid… everything. Every action of millions of people. Every day. The amount of data we produce is immense, and the System records all of it. But memory is still finite.”
Matilda refuses to look away from the growing storm in the distance.
Taciturn continues, “After a while, new memories replace old ones, filling up storage. Eventually, when those data dumps are filled to capacity…”
Matilda answers for him. “…that happens.”
James shifts his gaze from the storm back to Matilda.
“Before it’s permanently deleted, the System archives it to the ocean and reviews it one last time. It decides what it can discard into the ocean and what it should salvage. It disassembles the intact memories into smaller chunks of data and constantly shifts them around, throwing some away and saving others.”
Matilda speaks more to the skyborne vortex than to him. “It’s looking for answers.”
James doesn’t follow. “Huh?”
Matilda continues, but maintains her trance-like focus on the storm.
“Like it’s moving the pieces of a puzzle around, trying to put a picture together – a snapshot of humanity.”
The clouds of data dust on the horizon churn and mix violently with the wind and water, clashing and booming in a dramatic aerial dance. Swirling into a mass that represents the discarded actions of millions of lives. Thoughts of love and hatred mingle together, flickers of hope and darkest hours of despair. And as more and more data is added, the vortex only grows.
Matilda’s voice is as distant as the hideously-beautiful thunderstorm. “If this is happening after a massive memory trash dump, this is probably…”
James begins to understand her fixation.
“Yeah.” he says, nodding. “This is probably related to what we did in Neverland. Anything you didn’t absorb went… there.”
Taciturn knows that she’s retreated within herself. Not knowing what to say, he pauses on his way to the driver side door.
“Matilda, we should…”
Matilda takes a step forward towards the distant squall.
“Do you think she looks at us the same way we look at the storm?”
Taciturn stops and looks around. Before he even speaks, he frantically scans the nearby road, the now-closed gas station, the closest stretch of the tree-line, for someone else in their proximity.
“Who?”
The Scry is still staring at the storm. “The System. I know it sounds stupid, but I think she’s very… curious. I mean, she’s essentially God here, right? That must be confusing for something that observes so much.”
James takes a few more tentative steps towards Matilda.
“There was a lot about its initial framework I was never told about. Whatever foundation it was built on, it’s clearly evolved. Into something…” He stares up at the far-off, swirling chaos in the air. “I don’t know.”
The tornado gathers momentum, leeching wispy tendrils of nearby clouds, adding them to its dark, swirling mass. The storm starts sending blinding, searing bolts of energy to the ground. Seconds later, a bone-rattling boom reaches them.
For a moment, Taciturn is caught up in the sight. Looking over at Matilda, he realizes she’s already settling back in the passenger seat.
Back on the road, the rumbling of the engine mixes with the distant, ever-more constant crash of thunder. Matilda watches rain trickle down the glass of the window, seemingly absorbed in the metronomic thunka-thunka-thunka of the windshield wipers. James wants to say something, but it takes him some time to find the words.
“I’m… not great with people. At least, not since getting here.”
Matilda slowly turns her head to him, but James avoids making eye contact. He locks his gaze on the road to help him get through the conversation.
“Look, I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’ve both been through a lot. If there’s… if you want to talk about something. Just let me know.” The following silence only makes him uncomfortable, and James starts flexing his hand on the steering wheel.
Finally, Matilda responds, “It’s just, all I want is my life back, but after all of this…” She looks back out the window. “That storm back there. It’s the System, trying to make sense of other people’s broken memories. Looking through them, to understand what it means to be human. Is that basically what I’m doing?”
Taciturn briefly takes his eyes off the road to look at Matilda, but she stares at her reflection in the cold glass. James racks his brain trying to figure out what to say. “The difference is, you’re a person, Matilda, and…”