continued from previous
The city had barely lifted itself out of the flood when the rain begun pummeling it down again. Dangerous rivers were forming in the streets once more, teaming up with the grey sky to compose a picture of a post-apocalyptic urban waterworld. But the downpour didn’t stop some of the last remaining residents from gathering in their favorite new squat once more. The newly abandoned cineplex was just one of the city’s venues that had been taken over, occasionally converted into a party venue for the End of The World Revelers, as they liked to call themselves: a mishmash of disenchanted youth, disenfranchised refugees, Minimalists and, last but not least, panic-depressive collapsitarians who just joined in occasionally to rubberneck on the shenanigans.
They all had one thing in common: they were part of Generation F, where the “F” stood either for Final or Fucked, depending who you spoke with. They belonged in the climate change generation, that special group of humans who knew for sure by now that society had entered a decomposition stage. They Revelers were often themselves recipients of the worst impacts of climate change already: broke, often homeless, their government assistance coupons exhausted a long time ago.
They were hopeless enough to not care anymore. But they were also broke enough to be free from the consumer-led ponzi scheme called capitalism, which had led to all of this in the first place.
But most of all, they were here to party. They were here to dance in their own funeral. They were here to celebrate the end of delusion. They didn’t need to pressure themselves with impossible goals and dreams anymore. For many of those who self-identified as Generation Fucked, the occasional dystopian rave party was their only worthwhile break from the grim reality of life in the government homeless shelters that had reached the size of small cities flanking the periphery of the metropolitan area. The rain could fall all it wanted, but it could never be louder than the thump of the EDM base that could be heard out on the street. However much the Revelers tried to keep their party a secret, the techno beat would still manage to escape its way through the scummy, thick concrete walls of the cineplex. You would be forgiven for thinking that you’re hallucinating, to even suggest that, somewhere behind the soaked concrete walls of this silent, wet, semi-abandoned city, there was actually a rave party taking place. But just like the phytoplankton, humans were finding new ways to thrive, even for short periods, in this dystopic New Earth.
(from the upcoming novel A New Earth)
to read from the beginning, go here
George is an author, researcher, podcast host, chemist, molecular biologist and food scientist. You can follow him on Twitter @99blackbaloons , listen to his Spotify podcast George reads George, sign up for blog alerts below, or enjoy his books