Mutterings

 I twisted the door knob and entered my study. The repugnant smell of sweat and rotting apples slapped me in the face, reminding me to open the windows.  A bare light bulb provided light in the night - when even if it was on, two other lamps were thankfully relied on to provide illumination. The slightly warped wooden windows were dotted with green fungi on the outside, its edges cloudy and cobwebbed. Swinging it open, I unleashed a deafening whine from its rusting brass hinges.  A petite desk, at most 50 by 30 centimeters, sat in a corner, just by a door. Overwhelmed with stacks of laptops, masks and books, it shrouded its modernistic finish of glass, wood and dark metal. Hastily stuffed in its pigeon-holes were piles of bags and broken gadgets. A rarely used keychain, made of coarse plastic shaped in a honeycomb  with a name scratched on it by a 215-degree nozzle, held three keys, labelled “Random Cupboard 1”, “Random Cupboard 2”, and “Random Cupboard 3”.  ...

I pulled out the old, aluminium memory, smelling its remnants of its now nonexistent power. Its casing was a beautiful work now marred with cobwebs. Once fast ports lined the sides, with smudges from days of hard work and enjoyment.  Alas, it was now dead to the world. Its once vibrant screen has long stopped working, its once labelled “game-changing” keyboard was stiff and refused to be typed on... No use crying over spilt coke.  However, its presence still echoed its proud days of power. No longer being able to resist it, I opened its top with quavering fingers, almost afraid to disturb its accumulated dust.  Then the impossible happened. Its keyboard lights came on, blinked at me for a moment, then gave out and resumed its sleep.  But it was enough to remind me of days where I spent hours crouching over it, finishing a shot, or watching with proudness as it waded through renders, frame after frame, numbers crawling slowly. I let the overpowering force of nostalgia...