Beyond The Analogue Cliff (One)
To play a part in someone’s stories. This is the goal.
The thing that always amazed me was the way people chose to deal with it. On an individual basis.
The decline was rapid. Overnight in the grand scheme of things. One morning everyone woke up to find they were left with some sort of a void to fill. A requirement to find something to justify their existence. To live rather than simply being alive.
There was no longer any real need to screw each other over for money or property. Careers become hobbies. Some stayed in their old formerly highly paid jobs simply for something to do or because they knew nothing else.
Doctors, teachers, farmers and the like were identified as key positions and they received sponsorship from the RP Government. After a few years others careers fell into this bracket. Mechanics, plumbers and other trades became crucial to the ongoing existence of the population. Hell, there was a TV repair guy in our village who was like a god damn rock star!
Any skill set that could maintain, repair and extend the operation of any technology came under the comforting blanket of Government funding. Apprenticeships replaced universities as the further education of choice for the masses.
Elsewhere people chose the arts. Freed from the shackles of nine to five existence whole communities sprang up around the theatre and upcycling art galleries. Musicians and storytellers flourished and prospered with their new found hopelessness.
Other people, perhaps too many other people, simply chose to exist. To spend their days in a perpetual fog of no ambition and almost terminal boredom or, in some cases, under the numbing influence of Black Hops. They just shut themselves away and simply existed. Perhaps waiting for their own epiphany to come along and provide some direction or purpose.
Our tapestry is diverse. As diverse as can be imagined. In the end we all chose something…
I chose something.
I chose scars and stories.