The Butterfly Artist
Copyright 2012 Forrest Aguirre
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Now, 200 years after The Crash, the world began to cobble itself back together. Man had taken to the air a second time (or third if those eons old parchments of Atlantis and Mu can be verified as authentic) but the crystalline sphere surrounding the planet, protecting its surface from the poison ether of space, was closed to penetration and exploration. Connections, however, had been made and the words inter- and multi-national were again entering common parlance, as the words nuclear conflagration, genetic warfare and imperial capitalism had done immediately following the apocalypse known as The Crash. And, as has been typical of this world’s history – for time has proven the cyclical nature of human endeavor and failure – the Dark Continent lagged far behind the other lands across the seas. Only the cities of Jannsburg, Kampala, Cairo and Ngome housed any appreciable technology, and most of it, as one must suppose from the battle-scarring of that immense continent’s central and western regions, was military technology left over from countless campaigns and battles, thrusts and counter-thrusts, a bloodbath of deluvian scale. Culture – in the Northern Countries’ sense – was also lacking, except in these sprawling metropoli. Proximity to key trade routes had, through geographical fiat, destined growth and the accretion of civilization, though in its rudest permutations, in these areas once again, as it was time and time again.