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Motherboard
There are phantom parts extending from my mind. Like unplugged computer accessories, I remember the feel of functionality, but the power cord’s been cut and the tech is obsolete.
I’m just a fried motherboard who’s anxieties rake over the words burnt into the screen from overuse, tendrils of self-loathing brushing against the digital remains like braille, searching for any functional bit of malware to exploit.
A peeling sticker that was stuck on cracking plastic once it had devalued enough. Theres a loud whirring when you try to boot it up, and with so many diagnostic alerts, it takes forever to do anything.
It’s probably faster on your phone anyway. I’ll be here in standby if you need me.
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"Stay angry, little Meg," Mrs Whatsit whispered. "You'll need all your anger now."
A Wrinkle in Time
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