It is a strange day, here in Utopia. The men and women are not working, the children are not playing and there is dust everywhere. Solemnity looms above like the guillotine, scraping against the auburn rusted metal as it descends. The earth gives off an acidy smell; the stink of impending doom, and the walls pulsate as the blood in them runs feverishly, searching for a crevice. The motley crowd sees reflections on the crimson surface, trying very hard to differentiate the wives from the mothers and enemies from children. Their temples throb as the whines of the gods become loud and unbearable. The children run to their mothers only to find out that each one is made of wet sand, and as they crumble the children shout in despair and claw their own faces. One of the men throws a dead fish at Candorine, goddess of will. Another throws a handful of horseshit at Nefarisus, god of desire and both gods continue to whine and shout sacrilege. The people of Utopia put their hands over their ears as blood comes out of their nose and from the sides of their mouth. All along I sit on a pavement made of clay and wince at the chaos. Rubbing the wrinkles on my forehead I think of other civilisations that didn’t go this easily.