It was the hardest of the times, they say. A few decades after the so-called The Great Collapse, the Motavian population had hit a historical low. The systems had collapsed completely after running out their energy reserves, and there was no technology or knowledge to repair them. The climate had gradually deteriorated, and, from a planet covered with lush vegetation, the Granary of Algol, there was little left besides sterile sand and rocky soil. Human life was struggling for survival in such a harsh environment and the once dominant Palman race was critically endangered, begging for the help of the once considered inferior Motavians.
But I was just a child living in the sad remains of what had been the most beautiful resort of the entire star system, the majestic city of Zema. Reduced to shambles after the impact of Palma's fragments, it was nothing more than three rows of wooden houses connected by unpaved roads. Just a few houses had masonry structures, and the house I used to live in was not one of them. While our parents had the hell to pay in order to reclaim small parcels of the barren fields near the polluted lake, and produce barely enough to save us from starvation, the boys of my age could not care less about anything that was not related to playing and having fun. I used to spend the whole days running in the unpaved streets, playing hide-and-seek, leapfrog, follow the master, blind man’s bluff, and ball games. I can barely remember what happened in those days, but the story I'll be telling now is deeply imprinted in my mind, as if it had happened yesterday.
Last edited by tilinelson2 on Thu Dec 29, '11, 2:37 am, edited 1 time in total.