It was 2054 and the atmosphere was still strong. I was about six years old. I stumbled into my grandfather’s basement one day, I probably wanted a glass of chocolate drink, and I saw him tinkering with something under a microscope—they were something you used to look at things that were really tiny—and my grandma was standing over him. They were still young—only about sixty—and she was yelling at him over something, I don’t remember what. I walked over to them, unnoticed, and then I said in my sweet, innocent voice: “Grandma? Please stop shouting.” I must’ve surprised my grandfather or something, because he swung around quickly, and the microscope went flying. The dish sitting on the tray splashed on my grandma’s feet and I saw her skin melting, boiling even. It looked like a marshmallow being set on fire. And my grandpa screamed at me to run up the stairs. I felt stinging all over my body. It felt like my face was cracking open and I felt blood pouring down my face…