![canstockphoto77287648.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/internutter/d9V5eVKn-canstockphoto77287648.jpg)

> When we drink, we get drunk.
> When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
> When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
> When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
> So, let's all get drunk, and go to heaven! -- Anon Guest

This was a decorative plaque found in the ruins. Unremarkable, save for the fact that most of it was legible, and didn't necessitate reconstruction. There were thousands like it. Almost one in every ruined home. Just like the ones with large lettering proclaiming the virtues, _Live Laugh Love_.

This was not a homogeneity graveworld, but rather one that went through a stage of homogeneity and therefore stagnation before the people had had enough and dove headfirst into diversity and difference like a small child entering an All You Can Eat candy store. This was an abandoned residential area that was abandoned and subsequently became archeology. Those digging there expected something of a snapshot of society in that time and place.

On one hand, it was fascinating. Rather like a train wreck was fascinating. On the other hand, it was horrifying in a remarkable resemblance to the previous simile. Thousands of carbon-copy homes with similar philosophies branded on the decorations they filled their private sanctuaries with. Identical plastic flamingoes and garden gnomes, identical plaques on the walls. Identical "one glass" portraits with a humorously gigantic wineglass, where the only difference was the woman holding the glass and whether or not there was a similarly enormous bottle of wine nearby.

This one concealed a metal box. An improvised time capsule that had been sealed with cling wrap against the elements. History and the pressure of the earth had deformed the metal, but there was a good chance the interior was decently preserved.

Naturally, they took the entire thing to the lab. Catalogued and swarmed over by all archaeologists present as they carefully examined it, probed it, and finally opened it.

In order to maximise preservation, they kept the box inside a sealed capsule of inert nitrogen gas as they opened it. Every piece had a story to tell, including some ancient fingerprints of the presumed owner.

Inside were some photographs and a diary that had a cover declaring that it was after ten o'clock somewhere. The pages were frail, but science prevailed in being able to read the contents, or at least scan them for translation.

It was an apocalypse journal. With the new year came the semi-traditional essay of a new journal. The following contents detailed an eroding of civilisation as the journaler knew it, culminating in increasing acts of desperation before the threat finally ebbed away. A slow slide into madness as everyone present was trapped where they were with the resources they had to hand... and a government they had once trusted proving that they were only out for themselves.

Rational minds did finally prevail, but it was long after the wine had run out. It was certainly long after patience had run out in regards to the excuses of an administration overblown with self-importance. Rugged individualism, so long as it adhered to the social norms of consumption, was out. Societies rebuilt themselves around the neighbourhoods that formerly never spoke to one another and lived in fear of the Homeowners' Association.

One memorable page was filled with the sentences, _The world is ending, Karen. Fuck you!_

The crisis ended almost as the year did, with society as the journaler knew it dead and reborn in a new image. Everyone had plans to leave the suburban nightmare and get closer to their food sources rather than rely on the revealed unreliable system that had run their lives.

The last entry, well before the end-of-year celebrations, read, _Too busy to journal. So much stuff to do. I can come back to this another day. I know where I hid it._

She had signed it with, _Good luck, future me!_ It was as if she knew she would not be unearthing that journal again.

One year's worth of extended crisis was all it took for the old ways to dissolve completely in a cloud of unsustainability. What rose from the ashes was, according to records, a series of communities that shied away from the values inherent in the former regime.

By all accounts, they did not need to plaster the words, _Live Laugh Love_ on their walls because they didn't need reminding. They were free to do all three without the interference of capitalism.

[Image <a href="https://www.canstockphoto.com">(c) Can Stock Photo / Jegas_Ra</a>]

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