the last of the great cities died when my father was a child. another victim of yet another war. the plagues followed. and the terrors. the living hid themselves away in tiny hamlets in hopes of surviving whatever new madness conspired to rob them of the little that remained. the earth itself had fallen prey to chaos. for three years a dirty snow fell that even summer could not erase. the ocean was barren. poisoned. near death.
sixteen long years passed before the great lungs started working again. my father said it was as if the ocean breathed a great sigh of relief.
what about new york city? did they survive the plague?
everyone has to learn how to read.
and so my father returned home after the holnists were defeated.