He thrust a small sheaf of paper into the other’s hand. The papers were bound together at the top, and the last sheet was of heavier stock – cardboard, in fact.
“This is what we used to call a tablet,” he said, next handing over a box of small, thin sticks. “And these are pencils. Bring the wood and the graphite inside to a point, and you have a writing instrument.”
“Writing?” said the other. “Where’s the keyboard? How do you attach a screen? What about the batteries?”
“There are no more batteries and may not be ever again. We must relearn how to write with these utensils. We must relearn how to make paper. We must relearn how to make pencils and pen and ink.”
“You weren’t listening, were you? Because there are no more batteries and may not be ever again. Your tablet is now a useless slab of glass. Well, not useless. You might be able to use it as a hard surface for your paper as you write.”