Sometimes, unexpected circumstances cause a computer system to store broken-apart pieces of a file's data in multiple locations. In that sense, a stored memory is fragmented and must be recollected. 

 

These were lines from an old textbook Ellie studied long ago. She stared at her reflection in the disk of a hard drive, wondering what invisible secrets the plate of metal held. Subtle clinks filled the room as screws were carefully put into place. The drive whirred to life as it was connected to power. Remembering words from a book, she ran a program to patch fragmentation issues, proceeding to turn to the person across the room.

 

"Everett, I'm done!" she exclaimed, smiling.

 

Everett blinked and adjusted his glasses, removing his headphones.

 

Ellie jovially asked, "Whatcha listening to?"

 

"Tchaikovsky," he answered, snapping out of his surprise.

 

"That sounds nice," she replied.

 

Everett glanced at the hard drive. Their neighbor, Conway, had requested them to repair it.

 

"Schematics and cool stuff you might like," he had said, "plus Haruka's old files."

 

Years ago, Haruka had left the group to work overseas. In between strenuous jobs and caring for family, she hardly talked to them anymore. Everett sighed, remembering the departure, before continuing to ponder what "cool stuff" entailed.

 

"Well then, let's deliver the results!" he said, trying to match Ellie's liveliness.

She grinned again.

 

They burst out of the office into the sunlit geometric plaza. Ellie gently waved to a few passersby leaving from work. After traversing stairways and sidewalks in the concrete jungle, they boarded a railcar running along the coastal line. Ellie briefly remembered how Haruka would get off at stop thirty.

 

"I really like these transit investments," she would remark.

 

Everett wistfully gazed at the ocean through the window. Cranes piled material onto the flood walls and buildings lit with colorful displays towered over them. The view from the window turned to hills and grass, and passengers cycled through as if it was a way of nature. The locale the two arrived at may have been an unusual place to live, but the peace and housing prices were enticing.

 

"Ev, Ell," a faint voice called.

 

It was Conway, leisurely turning through a novel. Everett immediately went for the gray cat sitting next to him, reaching down to pet its back.

 

"Your drive is fixed," Ellie declared, "You should stop using that type, they're very fragile."

 

Everett looked up and nodded in agreement.

 

"Well, thank you. Why don't we look through it?" Conway responded.

 

Ellie slotted the hard drive into an old computer terminal, and Everett began scrolling through its lazily-organized data, eventually stopping at a photograph. He opened it, eager to see something fascinating in the midst of all the monotonous paperwork. The drive scrambled to pick up pieces of the image. It was a shot of some scene atop a nearby hill. In the distance was the faint outline of the city, bay, and the setting sun. An unremarkable utility pole sat in the foreground, a flock of azure magpies perched on it.

Everett squinted.

 

"Don't you remember when we took that?" asked Conway.

 

Ellie paused to recount it. They had been on one of the nearby hills years ago, watching the sunset. Those blue-winged birds had caught the attention of Haruka, who took out a camera to capture that exact photo. She said something about exchangeable metadata.

 

"metadata," Ellie muttered.

 

There were some long coordinates within the metadata captions. She hoped that the digits, when stacked into a GPS system, would be precise enough to find that place. At the suggestion of a preoccupied Conway, Everett and Ellie trudged out through the beaten paths around the old knolls, with a surreal sense of familiarity.

 

Upon the noteworthy hill, Everett sat down, looking towards the sea and setting sun. Ellie stopped and stood, silently gazing at it. Perhaps they pondered the view; perhaps they pondered the past. The calm grass swayed in the wind, and the distant city continued in its perpetual motion. They saw the world, and the piece that was themselves. They gazed at the horizon, imagining Haruka's future.

 

Sometimes, unexpected circumstances break people apart. A glimpse at remnants of a memory only form a part of it. In that sense, it has been fragmented. Now, it was up to Everett and Ellie to recollect the fragments. The memories were slightly sad now, but they were happy that they happened. It was time to recount the past, then look to tomorrow.