finally started writing down an idea...

this has been gestating for quite some time, alot of influence in the mental ether down through the years Wheel of Time books, Cloud Atlas, Time Machine, disaster movies (todays news) old sci fi

i think im currently going for a short story where the new/old landscape of ireland is the main character, i am currently reading the sister fidelma books (great+commended historic setting) and re-reading the wheel of time books


i have a few ideas for the characters and there will have to be the aliens at some point seeing as its the year 8000 (our antiquated calender)



it was inspired by the idea that the world could break and reform and life as we know it is just precisely that, so much stuff i've read and watched down though the years seem to aim towards the premise that this is not our first or last outing, and we have no idea how advanced a previous incarnation of our civilisation may have been...


anyway im also setting most of it in future ireland and i would like to think we will still have our irish humour


so here goes (be brutal in your reviews, its an early draft and not edited)

---

a short story

set in the year 216 (8236 old time)
the world and ireland included had been broken and transfigured by the multitude of wars that followed the collapse of organised civilisation, which stemed from the enivitable expiry of both natural and the new so called supernatural resources. more on this later.
what was the island of ireland is now a collection of islands, roughly retaining the original arrangement of land mass however ulster including donegal is now an island all its own, much to the dismay of the donegalese tribesmen. sligo and mayo and a nice part of galway are their own continent and it suits them well. the entire midlands including the previously ancient centre seat of provincial power Midhe is now a new central island of interconnective trade and transpondence. the east is entity mostly to its own bar the sunny south east which has a special relationship with the rest of now isolated island of south folk.
things were bad for a while, wild bad even but once the dust settled and the nettles started growing again the individual islanders that remained respondent saw that once pesky electricity and troublesome taxes were a thing of the new past, life and trade could flourish. mostly everyone kept to themselves on their own homesteads, trading excess meat for pumkins and stone craft of woven skins, a new neotribal substantiated society began to evolve. gone were the books of faces, the pointless escapades peoples consciousnesses were driven down shoddely cobbled streets like wild bulls drugged and stabbed just so failing mens egos could keep up with the natural expression of a trapped God.
now things were quiet, the auld broadcast cancer had long since ended and the new fields shone with the shiver of real green not the fake fertiliser facade of forty shades of ****e.
the earth was rich again from the blood of idiots and idolators, the idea men and women of the past that had all thought it such a great idea to to rush toward disaster in the first place. those times and peoples are mostly forgotten now, sometimes mentioned vaguely as folklore by the old ones who talk of electricity and other magics that existed in the ancient times.