The Cloud

"...but there must be photos of my mother?”

“There are - were - photos.” The reply came from one much older.

“Were?”

“They’ve gone. Temporarily, permanently, I don’t know. Since the cloud…”

“What about the video? The one she left before…” The girl choked back tears.

“Gone.”

“But the hard copy… I saw the case.”

“Gone. There was no need for it. The cloud held it all.”

“But the cloud…”

“…is finished,” completed the face before flickering out.

With fingers that had long ago felt possessions, real objects, the skin of another, the girl started to rip the hair from her scalp.