Millicentia

Towers grow, like the mounds of certain industrious insects, from the smog and cables of Batmania City, and up into the cleaner cumulous clouds, reaching for the Sun.
In an apartment on the five-hundred and seventeenth storey of the Deroburton Tower, Millicentia Gravlington is sitting on the couch, eating hydroponic lamingtons, which contain no fat or sugar, because they are made of plastic. The bioengineered screen is turned on, automatically shuffling between channels. She’s not paying it much attention.


novel, story