Tomorrow Morning: The Leveling

 Here's a little a vivid dystopian-utopian hybrid—a dream that starts with collapse but blooms into something far better.

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✨ Tomorrow Morning: The Leveling

I wake to a silence I haven’t heard in years. No rumbling garbage trucks, no hum of traffic. Outside my window, the street is full—but not with cars. It’s people. Marching, singing, holding signs that simply read: ENOUGH.

The strike had started a week ago, a whisper in the underground channels:
Don’t work. Don’t buy. Don’t comply.

By dawn today, the whisper was a roar. Every office tower stood empty. Supermarket shelves, guarded for decades by profit, were unlocked and left for people to take what they needed—no more, no less. City Hall’s glass doors were open too, but no one was inside. The “leaders” had fled, their bank accounts meaningless now that no one would serve them for money.

And here was the strangest thing: no chaos.

Neighbours who barely spoke before were knocking on each other’s doors, organizing food shares, swapping blankets, pooling skills. The internet still worked, but instead of ads and clickbait, people were streaming lessons: how to grow food in a bucket, how to build a solar panel from scrap, how to fix a bike.

A council formed, not from elections but from volunteers—gardeners, teachers, mechanics, elders, parents—people the community trusted. Their first decree was simple: Every person will be paid the same. No rent, no mortgages. Housing is a right. Everyone gets what we used to call “minimum wage,” but now it’s more than enough, because rent has fallen to zero and food is shared.

Former CEOs were in the streets too, in jeans and hoodies, planting seedlings, learning to swing hammers, not because they had to but because they had finally realized their survival depended on everyone else’s. The police weren’t gone, exactly—but the role had shifted to community safety, walking alongside neighbours instead of patrolling against them.

Mother Earth began to breathe again. Without the constant churn of factories making useless things, the air tasted fresher by the week. Migratory birds returned early, confused but welcome. Kids played in the streets, their laughter echoing off buildings that had once been luxury condos, now homes for families.

It was not communism, not socialism, not capitalism. It was something unnamed, something new—built on the idea that we belong to the Earth, not the other way around.

I leaned out my window and saw a chalk message scrawled on the pavement below:

We are not free until all of us are free.

For the first time in my life, I believed it.