The decision was made at a global summit, attended by the leaders of every nation on the planet — those relatively few that were still left. Looking back, it might seem a little extreme, but at the time it made perfect sense.
It was a simple enough solution to an old problem and everyone, at least everyone I knew, agreed with it. Not many remember the start of the conflict, but the gist of the disagreement was thus: one side felt that everything should be pooled and shared out equally, and the other felt that it was up to every man and woman, some said to stand on his own two feet and go out and get something if he felt he needed it.
Blood was spilled over the matter — a lot of it, and for a long time. And so, in desperation, the summit was called and a compromise was reached. The idea was to share everything out, as the one side wanted, but from that point on to let every man fend for himself, separate from all others. The world was to be broken up like a jigsaw, and everyone would get a solitary piece of the puzzle. In the weeks following, reams of giant pneumatic hammers sprung up like weeds across the landscape, erected by teeming crews of workmen in white overalls.
All we had to do was scrape off a surface-layer of paint on the day of dissemination and, as the land broke up, they would simply fall into the sea and dissolve in a pink fizz. On the eve of the split there were huge parties, the last chance most of us would have for a simple get-together. There were hugs and tears and solemn goodbyes.
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At the specified time of am the following morning the hammers all came down simultaneously, like the flat of a teaspoon on the top of a soft-boiled egg. I was rudely awoken by the almighty thud of the hammers, followed by a deafening compound crack that echoed out over the horizon.
