I read that the brain is a scientist. It perceives the world by comparing incoming sensory information against expectations about what should be out there.
My brain is a thoroughly crap scientist. It postulates my deceased mother sitting across the dinner table from me. At least she looks happy now.
Ben Toovey is a Brit living in Germany.
Dolly squinted up, stolen from her busy holopad by the boisterous burst of blue-hued starlight. Her pupils adjusted. She caught her breath.
“Oh!”
Her Comet-class space train, cantering along the networked velocity gates, weaved a shimmering silver thread through the dense asteroid cloud.
“…I’ll need celery for soup,” she remembered.
Ben Toovey is a Brit living in Germany, and a keen procrastinator.