Memory is like space—immeasurable, yet limited to a tiny speck. Just imagine it: living all the time by looking back. Growing up in a cage full of children, dreaming to be alone. Years and years waiting for a letter from another planet. In an instant, remembering everything your whole life tried to forget. For what… to be a puppet of the moment. For the only realization that you’re there, where they brought you.
We present the short story collection “Scattering into Dust.” Memory is only dust motes of the past—out of which the present is made.