The cursor began to move on its own, dragging my files—my photos, my taxes, my half-finished novels—into the man’s open mouth. He wasn't deleting them. He was archiving them. He was becoming the repository for everything I had ever forgotten I owned.

When the drive was empty, the man on the screen smiled. The .rar file vanished. The pressure in the room broke, leaving behind only the cold, humming silence of a clean disk. I looked at my hands, expecting them to be gone too, but I was still there—suspended, waiting for the next download.

“To see the world upright, one must first learn to love the weight of the sky.”