A prosperity for all men. The sign rusted and dull, but the words were still enchanting. Prosperity. What does that even mean in a world like this?
Enough food grown in the small garden carved out of this hillside? The community had come up with a barter system, but who is to know if the exchanges are fair? What weight does it hold? One disagreement and murder and violence could ensue. Luckily so far, the garden has fed everyone here and peace has lasted. But what if a baby is born? Or a stranger walks into town? Do we lose our humanity when hunger takes over? Or if the winter is harsh? Or the locusts come?
A prosperity for all men reads the sign at the town’s entrance, a lone relic of a time when people actually visited here. It’s a noble thought. It just has a lot of variables to overcome.