The New World Project

Chapter 1: To Whom It May Concern

The world has gone fucking mad. That's the only way I think I can describe this situation; fucking mad. And I don't really swear that much, so you know that it's serious.

Holy fucking dick-head son-of-a-bitch shit fucking mad.

Those are all the curse words I know. Except maybe arse and crap but they don't really count as swears because everybody says them anyway. And now that I've gotten the swear words out of my system, I'll probably do a much better job at telling this story. Because it's a long, winding, complicated one. And it's not very nice to read, or to write, which is why I nominated myself as the author. That, and the fact that the only other people I'd trust to write this story are either driving the car or dead.

So this is the story of how the world turned to shit.

Sorry, I forgot about the swearing. I promise I'll try harder. I would rub this all out with an eraser too, but I don't have an eraser, and scribbling it out looks messy and will make me want to restart this page, which might take a while considering I'm resting my notebook on the dash of a moving car.

Anyway.

This is the story of how the world completely corrupted itself. It's the story of stupid politicians and smart kids and people hungry to survive. It's the story of a couple Australian kids fighting for their generation's lives. It's the story of Miles Geem and Lucille West and Isaac Rao and Florence Taylor and Jasper Soren and Minnie Patterson and Evie Ahitana and Rena Jackson and Stanley Fish.

And it's the story of me, Rio Soren, the fifteen year old girl in the front seat of an old Suzuki Ranger, using half a lead pencil to inscribe the story of a world flipped on its head.

I told everyone in the car that if they let me act as scribe, our journal would probably follow random tangents and I'd probably screw it up a little. I did warn them. And I'm warning you too, you historians and family members and anybody who wishes to know what Rio Soren did in the summer of 2029; my writing style may be terrible, but this story, this entirely true recount of events, is a thousand times worse. Be prepared. It's not pretty. Not at all.

Anyway.

This is what happened.