Welcome.

I believe I may have seen you before.

That is the thing about memory.

It has many imperfections.

It whispers through the mind.

Find the thread and follow it to today's story, Dido's lament, written by Aidan J.S.

Manouge and performed by Sarah Dero, made in partnership with X-Prize.

At 4.58am on June 28, 2020, the passengers onboard A and A flight 008, on route from Tokyo

to San Francisco, are cruising at an altitude of 37,000 feet, approximately 1500 nautical miles

off the west coast of the United States.

A small bump, otherwise noted as a barely perceptible bout of turbulence, passes flight

008 through a temporary wrinkle in the local region of space-time.

What these passengers will soon find out, as they descend into SFO, is that the wrinkle

has transported them 20 years into the future, and the year is now 2040.

This is the story of the passenger in seat 14c.

It is special kind of mind-fuck to realise the moment between down with the sickness and

the shock of the day.

For the record, Shostakovich is as metal as classical gets, and anyone who says otherwise

is a liar.

I was in Tokyo for work, though I'd felt like hell for two months to avoid it.

A 27-year-old steeped in enough anxiety and self-doubt to brew half of Seattle's morning

wake-up call wouldn't have been my first choice for a meeting that could literally sink

...