They took the old away, once every decade, to the Island for centralised care. Efficiency demanded all communications ceased, but in any case with technology banned they could not have called, or emailed. We knew they were fine. Once a year we celebrated the Departed with a feast of the best the New Age permitted. Nothing processed, nothing requiring electricity or the evils of the Atomic Before. No. Simple music, simple foods. An image taken at the Departing on the shrine, with their favourite foods as an offering. Once a decade the steamship sounded its horn. We brought it our newly old. And dreamed about the day it would be our turn, and we would see our parents and grandparents again.