In the new democracy that took form after the war, when literally the dust had settled and with the help of rains that dug themselves into lakes, the ashes were molded into cities, flattened into roads and smoothly grooved into parks and recreation areas and lawns. And painted appropriately white and black and green; whatever they decided looked the most like what it used to be. Sometimes an artistic soul, emboldened by the relative peace and saddened by the perpetual grey of daylight sky, might offer to shape some trees to soften the angular environment. These would most often be painted green, but one fellow down on Center Street was from the Northeast. His trees always were a blur of oranges and reds. Very few in this area understood why, but let him be. Color was welcome.
In the new world order, every man and woman, every child of thinking age was given choice. Sadly, many of the older folk who still believed in God and promises of Heaven, looked around them, thought a while, then chose to die.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology