It was the 11th year of the 47th century. Everything was now impractical. Everything was disorganized- it was every man for themselves. They thought that everything they created was perfect. They accepted no higher authority- every individual was the authority.  The once beautiful blue sky was now entirely red, like that of a rose’s red thorns. The former entities we considered as ‘animals’ were now extinct. The green grass we once stepped on, was now all brownish dirt. Rather than following the concept of poison to honey, they sank into the honey all too early, leaving the poison to haunt their future. Now they realize. They understand their mistakes, but what’s the point? It’s too late- we cannot restore happiness. Because there was never true happiness in this world to begin with.