It’s winter, another warm winter. No one in my generation has seen it snow outside of the storms that destroy homes. Then it’s back to soggy warmth, a suffocating state of weather. Of course I know why, everyone has known for a millennia. When you betray your home it betrays you. But money has no feelings like people, and no one wants to hear your cries.
Everywhere people ignore it. That lingering feeling in the air. What is there to do exactly. You heard the sirens, the disembodied voice, telling you the world is ending. Then it tells you there’s a chance for redemption. Sell yourself to the state, go to war. Or be rich, sell your soul for a chance on The Arc. The poor leave for war or lock themselves in the factories, maybe that’s smart. I saw it on the wall. The New World. So ready to give everything away, give up. They can’t be blamed, of course, I tried and everything was taken. All anyone wants is to keep what they have left.

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