Module

I felt the sun spill its rays across my face. In the otherwise cold tranquility of the mornings, the rays felt like warm hands that reached out to slap me out of my slumber. The year is 2420, and I am 11. I kicked the blanket made of cotton scraps off of my body, before entering the toilet for my usual morning routine. By this age, my parents let me roam the wastelands by myself, though I had to be back before the Faerrobots came out to patrol. I made my way towards the Heap, a dumping ground for the obsolete pieces of technology that even the bots didn’t care about.