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The end of the world came and went — but we’re still here
Imagine for a moment. No, remember.
You are a common person, living in the mid 1800s — one of your ancestors whose name has long since been lost to time, but whose blood still courses through your veins.
It is the hay day of Empire. British, French, Spanish, and Dutch hegemony dominate and subjugate the globe. Monarchy is the order of the day, and their will as well as that of the aristocracy is executed via a vast network of collaborators — coloniser and native. It includes military and naval men, civil administrators, local police, and tax collectors. Each taking their pound of flesh along the way.
You’re walking through the dusty high street of your town, on the way to the market to buy some flour. As you enter the main square and you see a man with a crowd gathered around him. He stands on a wooden crate, and is thus raised slightly above the people surrounding him.
He is unshaven, and wears a tattered cloak, but his eyes burn brightly. You see he is gesticulating wildly with his hands, and his face is animated. The crowd around him seems spellbound. Your interest piqued, you approach the group and begin to listen.
“My friends…I’ve had a vision” ventures the would be crier. “The end of the world is coming. A cataclysmic war will see 85…
