Memory

"But that is the way of it", soothes my grandmother's voice, deft hands busily guiding the needle, up, down, in, out.

"The way of what, Grandma?" I ask, though I hadn't all that time ago. I had closed my eyes and let her voice flow over me, as she related the tales she had to tell, talking to herself as much as to me, letting her tale peter out in the middle when she had had enough of it.

"The way of it all. Flawed it is we are, flawed. We think we hold our destinies in our own hands ..... we think our aim true ...."

I crane my ears, the way I never had done originally. I force my eyes open and strain to hear her voice, the rise and fall of it making it difficult to catch the words. "What, Grandma, what?"

"... a long time ago now, a very long time ... the world takes its own and keeps on moving ...."

"Tell me, Grandma, what?"

"... and we forget ... yes, again and again we forget .... So we cry only for ourselves and fear only for ourselves for who else should we cry for? Who else should we fear for? ..."

Grandma has something important to tell. All that time ago, all those years ago, all those evenings sitting by the firelight, her hands deftly moving, up, down, in, out, her voice gently soothing, what was it that I had missed? "What, Grandma?"

The Digger is out, it pulls itself out of the ground. Its grasping claws curve triumphantly around the glittering prize.

"Life boomerangs" says Grandma.

"Grandma?"

The Digger flies up towards me.

"One" says Grandma

The Digger reattaches itself to the arm of the Flypack. There is a beep of an incoming message.

"Only thinking makes it so" says Grandma

Beep. BeepBeep. BeepBeepBeep.

I turn on the transmitter. I feed in the code, the one word: Stream. I turn.

"Simplicity" says Grandma

I power up the Flypack.

"Universal" says Grandma.

I turn.

" ... we feed only on ourselves ..." whispers Grandma. I close my eyes. The Flypack is motionless in its velocity. I leave the village far behind.

"... forever ..." sighs Grandma.

I received a Commendation for Valour for my part in the retrieval of one of the Lost Crystals. I placed it on my Grandma's grave. Though my memories of her are vague, I owe her my all. A refugee from the Great War, she it was who brought me to safety. Who saved my life. An incredible deed of valour by a simple village woman who knew but household arts before the War began ... whose favourite hobby was to sit by the fire and embroider. I like to think she would have been proud to see the estate I have reached today.