Election Night 2044

Elagabalus finally died. His decrepitude sang the complexion of a punished man, though, the shimmering eyes, statically wide open, denounced the one who had been the last one to live on the surface. His mourn was a tremendous failure, there was only his nephew K, who was, by that moment, the older human in life at the age of twenty-four. K was the first offspring of the Stronghold.
By the year of 2010, the world fell into a great depression, the economy dropped and human boasting attitude overwhelmed nature, the environment got muddy. The world has got itself jammed in bituminous disgrace. Elagabalus was the last man to have seen the sun and the moon; by the year of 2044, all humanity lived underground in a world built out of concrete. When Elagabalus died, the reminiscences of the old world died together.
The people of the Stronghold had no identity. As they were a compendium of what once was a global diverse community, they did not share ethnicity, religions or even language. For this, they needed a leader able to conceal so distinctive backgrounds. Elagabalus was a good one, due to his exotic vividness and unusual tan. The human intellect regressed to a bestial level and they would choose their leaders by judging their beauty. That mournful night they would have to call a new election.
The Election Night 2044 was frustrating. None of the candidates has ever had a sunbath. Those diaphanous puppets of Hades were nothing but flesh and bones. Not even a spot of melanin. One could see melancholy frolicking through those empty bodies. How did the world could reach that path? There was nothing, not even beauty. Humanity was lost. Nature was harshly subverted. In 2044, nobody won the elections.


(minha redação para commonapp para a Tufts University.)