Seasons never came. In the same way we dreamed of flowers we dreamed of snow or autumn leaves. A long time ago children made snow angels, leapt into piles of fresh foliage. There was a oneness with nature in the old films.
I will never forget the day that it was almost autumn. My brother and I had finished downloading education for the day into our cerebral processors when it happened. A leaf blew into the yard, just visible out our window. We rushed to see it closer. Another fell and then another. It was a beautiful spectacle. I raced my brother out the door.
Like children from another century piles of dark brown crinkled leaves lay before us. I ran with all the speed I could gather and jumped.
Strangely, it was not the sensation I imagined. I coughed as black dust stung my eyes. My clothes lit up with the tiniest embers. The sky was black and growing blacker. From the distance a factory of immense proportions loomed. Our leaves weren’t leaves but paper burnt and littered on the ground.