Mind well, dear reader, that the following account - though subjective as such narrations always are - is of no degree a work of fiction as a whole. While in the course of writing down what has not yet come to the full fruition of consciousness within my inept and erratic wit I might conjure plotlines or interweave ideas that are entirely forged from imagination, let us not forget that the basis of it all is rooted deep within the unbudgeable facta of reality as they had been unfolding for the recounted period of my life.
The year was 2020 and much to the delight of a new and prosperous class of humans called Influencers and their use of mnemonic illustrations it had been a sardonic ritual to denounce the respectively preceding twelvemonth in an ever escalating gale of resentment. Just as if tints and increment had never existed in both perception and verdict of humans, the year before was to be categorically framed as misspent and radically ill. Consequently, with a pollyannaish orison towards Fortuna’s clemency, a fair amount of hope for the amelioration of- well, everything at large- was placed in the succeeding year.
As time had passed on and as the populus had absorbed it, what witty irony and jaundiced (but cognisant) weariness might once have pervaded this well settled mockery had been drained and the hivemind that the human genus had then already become had trundeled it’s hollow handed down framework through the ages. As 2019 dusked the elite Individuals of the Influencer caste had fetched their favourite Hogamanay crack and children of the Web had had their laugh. O the tragedy of humans is how they fail to fathom the sapience in the prophecies they cast as jokes…
