A QUICK NOTE:
This is definitely not the best representation of my writing, and not my best work. It's old as hell, and I haven't updated in ages because I've been focusing on bigger, better projects! However, if you want to keep reading, feel free...
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One hundred years ago, the world was in chaos.
The resources we thought would never drain, disappeared. The sky we always thought would blaze sapphire blue, shrouded. The calm, giving story we called life, suddenly became brutal and terrifying.
Humanity was in peril. Countries closed their borders; turned away from one another entirely. Pandemonium ensued. The government collapsed under the weight of the horrible stress. Crime wreaked the streets. Murder, death, and disease was too common. Each day was a question of survival. It was an apocalypse. The same phrase was whispered in and out, back and forth, up and down, everywhere. America was dead.
And it was. There was no order, no structure, no sign that we would live any further. It seemed as if the human race was doomed. Many didn't believe we would make it another 100 years.
To this day, the man who had stepped up and created our new government is unknown. There is no information, no file, no history of any kind. As if he was a wisp; just to come and go. He came from nowhere. And suddenly, he rose, somehow managed to created the nation we live on now, and then disappeared again.
How ironic.
But he had come. And so, the great nation rose from America's ashes. The nation of Qento.
From that day forth, from our newly shaped government, from one hundred years later to the day I was born, many aspects of life had changed.
I realized this when I was six years old, when my class from school had gone to visit a Breather to discover how they worked and why they were so important to our society. My tiny, six year old mind had stared up at that technology, that man-made incredibly complex machinery that created the very essence that confirmed our survival, and for the first time in my life thought that's not how things used to be.
I remembered the holograms of trees. I remembered how our teacher had shown us the many functions of the ancient organism; how it had provided oxygen just like a Breather, but from it's very leaves through a process called photosynthesis, how it had lived and grown, how it had survived for so long. I remembered how awed I was that such a thing could exist. I remembered how I thought back to the world before Qento. I remembered thinking; how could they have lived in such an unmannered, savage-like way?
I had looked up at that Breather, blasting out the very means of our survival, and wondered how on earth we could have gotten to this point.
They had taught us, in school. They had taught us history; of the time before Qento, when we lived on the soil of a nation called America. Of a time when there were other countries around us, separated by waves of sea. Of a time when the world was round. I remember learning how otherworldly it had seemed to me. How unorganized, alien-like it had appeared. What on earth were they wearing? How could they dress to their own delight? They had not worn school uniforms, or had the proper haircut, or had their futures chosen for them before the age of ten. They even chose their own occupations; their own jobs, their own houses. How could they have survived for so long? They were practically scraping doom their entire existence.
