Prologue
The year is 999 A.C., Ano Domini, the year of our lord. The succeeding records are written in the hand of Xavier XII, historian and professor in allegiance with the Church and Adam's land. The following account is a record of events from the downfall of the Modern Empire, to the current date, and is to be stored in the church archives for future reference.
To fully understand why the Modern World collapsed in upon itself as it did, one must be learned in not only the political aspects of the second millennium, but the social aspects, along with the consumerism that drove the last generation on till it's downfall.
The age group that rode the brink of the collapse was a frustrated product of those before it. Consumerism and the blatant hypocrisy of media was higher than it had ever been before in their society, focusing their attention on material products as opposed to the welfare of their commonalty. There was much social unrest and dissatisfaction with imperfection. The threat of nuclear warfare was high, and a group of nations known as "The Commonwealth" were on the verge of collapsing in upon one another. America, in it's past years, had more military power than many other nations combined, and was threatening to use it frequently.
However, the principal factor of the collapse was the abuse and eventual loss of what was known as "fossil fuels". Fuel was a substance made from ancient relics that was used to power what was known as "automotive machinery", and was used in the production of many materials that society was dependent upon, such as "plastics". The population, although being constantly told that the use fossil fuels was not unlimited, failed to believe that the loss of such would be upon them. When the news was spread, the structure of their nations began to crumble. Riots began breaking out in cities, and slowly, panic began to spread across the continents. Factories were smashed, cities were burned, and all fell to warfare and ruin. Law and order fell by the wayside, and many civilians were seduced by the temptation of cults and clans, most of which gave the promise of power, protection, food and water. The clans warred for territory and authority, creating new nations that were not governed by politicians in halls, but by leaders who had fought their way to the top. This is known as the Epoch of Iniquity, and it is where we base our calendar from.
The Epoch of Iniquity lasted for six hundred years, in which nearly all of the previous culture that the modern world cherished was lost. Cities became ruinous heaps that served as camps for thieves and sinners, while the countryside was left to clans to stake out their claims. The Church established a firm base on an island near what was once Britain, and named it "Adam's Land", in reference to the garden of Eden that God would see fit to bestow upon them. There, they cleansed the island of the sinners they encountered, and began building their empire, setting the foundations for the Age of Amelioration.
Many clans had gained sufficient power, and slowly began building their former nations up again, trying to return them to their former glory. Britain became the first to right itself, and declared allegiance to the Church immediately, as did Holland. What was left of Russia allied with China and it's many colonies in the surrounding nations. American clans invaded Canada, and the Northern half of South America, while Britain began a violent storming of Western and Eastern Europe, claiming most of Old Russia, and the surrounding nations. Holland had seized the rest of South America, the majority of Africa, and the state which was previously known as New York from American power.
The allied Russia and China immediately founded a republic, and began building up military power. Britain, fearing sedition from the countries it had conquered, set about imposing tradition upon the new nations and eliminating any form of rebellion. It pulled together a fragmentary centralized government, and tried to restore law and order. In 876, the end of the Age of the Amelioration, it was declared that Britain had chosen a separation of Church and State, and requested that the Church withdraw its powers from the nation immediately, before they were forced to so. This created tensions between Britain and Holland, which was still fiercely allied with Christianity and Adam's Land. The heads of both states argued fiercely during any meeting, and each suffered from petty acts of terrorism. Holland, fearing an American mutiny, immediately encouraged settlement of New York, which had been renamed "New Amsterdam" in honour of a colony lost to the British many ages ago. There were many disturbances in the territory, including an underground terrorism group setting fire to City Hall, an incident which is referred to as "The Last American Blood" in 973.
The Epoch of Iniquity and the Age of Amelioration have both shaped our present day world in monumental ways. Kingdoms have been built upon the thirst for power and territory, and it is only with the same hatred and determination that we shall prevail, and bring our world into the next millennium. With God as our witness, we will stride to teach His word to His children, and show to them the true Garden of Eden; Adams Land.
The lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack.
Xavier XII
Document 34:40, section C
November 13th was the last peaceful night.
The lodging house was dusty and dead, in every sense of the word. Dark and sagging, the windows glowing weakly, flickering with yellow candlelight that cast wobbling, slim shadows across Paradisj Plaat. They danced to the thin ragtime music that crept through the streets, keeping time with slim, snapping fingers and the flick of matches and cigarettes. A dying building's last claim to life.
You're my slamma-ramma-dipsy baby
My petticoat slinkster twirl
My hip-chunkin' slam-dunkin' razz-ma-tazz
Pirate smile soap box girl
The boys lived there. They spilled out the front door onto the porch steps, the carmine tips of their cigarettes bobbing with every movement of their lips. They crowded at the windows of the upper levels, legs dangling over the sills. The corner was thick with them, fingers curling around shared whiskey bottles and cigarettes. Cards flashed up wrinkled sleeves and appeared magically in ink-stained fingers, dice were caught up in slim hands with split knuckles, and fingers snapped in time to the broken piano melody that throbbed from inside.
Through the thin, rag tag curtains, which were strung up with bits of fishnet and burlap, you could make out their lanky outlines, shining gold against the waxy light of the candles. Gathered around the piano and harmonizing with thin, poignant voices, sprawled over torn, sagging sofas and tapping their feet in time, they were thin and ragged and filled to the brim with life and music.
You're my old time jazz piano
My honey-honey cool delight
I tell you true, there's none I wouldn't do
To get you in my bed each night
A thin boy with a blanket of dark, tight curls on his scalp and skin the colour of burnt chocolate executed a natural looking turn on the heels of his feet and cut into an old fashioned jitterbug step, which was greeted with much laughter from a few of the boys, who moved to join him, shoulders hunched underneath their ashen blouses and ragged suspenders, the heels of their hard shoes clicking against the floor. The boy at the piano leaned back, his fingers never straying, and tilted his head around to catch a glimpse at the dancers, his face twisted into a crooked smile.
You're my daddy-o hipster honey
You're my creamy dreamy root beer float
You're my slinkster date, and I just can't wait
To get you out of that petticoat
"Swing it, Race." One of the boys murmured. The pianist grinned, his tongue poking out between his teeth, and pounded out a rhythmic turn around before scaling his right hand far up the keyboard and launching into a scat section. His nimble fingers danced over the ill tuned, yellowing keys, avoiding the ones that had been torn out and split in half. More boys pushed themselves off their perches to join the swinging group that had formed in the middle, lips split open in wide grins.
"Hey fellas!" Jack called, appearing in the doorway, thin strands of hair falling over his almond eyes. "The goils from Miz Russet's is out there on der plaat!"
"Jimminy!" Snitch laughed, his body half hanging outside the window. "They're dancin', guys!" He whistled shrilly through his crooked teeth, the noise joined my many howls from the boys on the front steps.
You're my slamma-ramma-dipsy baby
My petticoat slinkster twirl
My hip-chunkin' slam-dunkin' razz-ma-tazz
Pirate smile soap box girl
The chords lengthened and trembled under Racetracks fingertips until he came them to a loud, pounding conclusion, drawing many boisterous, appreciative whoops from the dancers, and a few yells from outside for an encore.
"I ain't sleepin' tonight." Snitch swore, vaulting over a table crowded with dark bottles of whiskey and spinning towards the door, his arms loose at his sides. He was followed by a few other boys, laughing and making presumptuous comments about the new crowd that had gathered outside. Racetrack spun around on the piano bench and accepted a cigarette that a comrade offered to him, pinching it between his fingers, feeling the rustle of the tobacco.
"You comin' out with us, Race?" His friend asked, cocking his head towards the window. A shrill female rang through the night, speaking volumes on the meaning of his words. His lips twisted into a grin.
"Maybe later." Racetrack conceded, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and sealing his lips around it. "Save one for me, ah?"
"Sure. I'll make sure she's got her front teeth this time." The boy joked, shoving his friends shoulder sideways. Racetrack chuckled.
"I'll take anythin', boy, I tell ya." He replied.
Paradisj Plaat was in full swing. The usual drunkards who holed up in the pubs every night were beginning to make their appearance, swearing and picking fights with one another in the streets. The lamps had all been broken, the candles stolen from inside of them, but the weak light from the buildings surrounding the square was enough to bring the night folk out into the open. A few girls paraded through the square in groups, looking for some sort of diversion from a hard days work. And, as always, directly across from the lodging house sat Miss Russet's, ablaze with torch light and laughter, a strong smell of cosmetics and cheap perfume lying round it, sinful and tempting. It was alive with girls. Girls sitting in the windowsills with their skinny legs dangling out, skirts hiked up their thighs. Girls wrapped around posts, girls splayed out on sofas, girls posing by the staircases, girls grouped together, watching the men go by with practised, coy eyes. Even though the lyrics had died on the air, the words still seemed to be caught up in their heavily painted eyes. My petticoat slinkster twirl…
"Play it again, Race." The boy urged.
Racetrack took a drag on his cigarette, before twirling it around in his fingers and stubbing it out on the piano bench beside him. With clownish ease, he lifted his heels and spun around on the bench, before lettings his fingers hesitate over the keys, brush them slightly, and then press down a few experimental chord. It felt as though all of New Amsterdam was his for the taking that night.
You're my slamma-ramma-dipsy baby
My petticoat slinkster twirl
My hip-chunkin' slam-dunkin' razz-ma-tazz
Pirate smile soap box girl