After the Prime Minister’s death on the 15th of May, ethnic tensions grew in England. Their landslide re-election, coming only days before, had stoked protest among Nottinghamshire dissidents, who used the legacy of Yorkshire’s devolution to once more demand the status of a republic.
Once government intelligence was able to link green protestors with anti-west terror cells based in Scotland, all credible opposition to fracking was defeated, leaving the entire rural perimeter of Nottinghamshire primed for development.
After the government’s failed to deliver humanitarian aide to the affected areas, the various Mayors of Nottinghamshire took power into their own hands, and, acting under the instruction of their people, closed all diplomatic channels with London.
By December, during the hottest winter on record, the jagged circle was complete, with Lincolnshire, Leicestershire, Yorkshire and Derbyshire cut adrift of their neighbour. However, rather than bowing to cabin fever, the people of Nottinghamshire found strength in separation.
The automated security turrets, forged in cement and steel by his majesty’s government to keep Nottinghamshire’s people in, now inadvertently kept the desperate hordes out, as civil war broke throughout the rest of the England- the cracks of gunfire like distant fireworks as Ilkeston burned itself to the ground.
After the Black Rains, the insects were first to die. Then the fish. Soon the soil grew harsh, cold. There was a stay of execution for six months, when turnips would still grow. In turnips we trust. Then all was barren.
After comparing their limited options, it was generally agreed Nottinghamshirekind would embrace sinking further into the centre of the planet. When not fighting off cannibals, there was something beautiful in seeing the sky framed by the walls of a great cave. Or was the sky the frame?
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