I live in a 35 room mobile home on the West Coast. Nevada. It’s almost time again already to move a few more miles inland. The waters keep approaching faster and faster every year. The servants are refurbishing the monster tow truck to get it done.
I’ve really enjoyed these last few years. Sure it’s a bit hot and sometimes it’s hard to breathe and the waters keep coming inland, but I’ve got a handle on things. Me and my family and our neighbor elites have parties, talk, enjoy orgies. Whatever.
History has proven us right. Earth’s resources were limited, of course, but we used them to the max until they started to run down. Bruce Alston—me—took it to its natural conclusion. The world we have today. My paradise.
Most of those billions of people from the old days are gone. Not my fault. Inevitable. And they were dead weight anyway. Who needs a bunch of restless extra bodies to feed? We’ve got enough servants to do what needs to be done, and they’re docile, too.
Still, I’ve been getting a little nervous. A few of my servants have disappeared and I discovered that they’re now working for Eddie. He feeds them more gruel, too. He shouldn’t be coveting my stuff.
I may have to take him out. My gun may be old and rusty, but it still shoots. Justice will be done.