‘From Death?’
‘Abundance!’
‘From life?’
‘Stagnation!’
The Crone stood in front of the class, pointing at the chalkboard. Every answer to her question rezzed holographically on to it as the Children of the Dead stated it.
To humans, their forms would have been repugnant. Amino acids, dead body parts looped together, inserted discarded genetic remains of excrement. All encased in metal, electrical programs and prompts running through it.
But here, inside this Schrodinger Box,
Death was all that mattered.
This was their Creation Story.