I sat in a rocking chair on my porch, smoking an old, worn pipe. In front of me, my grandchildren chased each other on the grass. Their parents, my children, sat in a rough circle on an old tablecloth in the middle of the lawn. In their center stood a pitcher of lemonade, a plastic tub of potato salad, and a plate of cold chicken. From this superficial glance, everything seemed right and proper; a pleasant family reunion in some dull suburban city district.

But you only needed to look at the tired, hollow eyes of the adults to know that something was wrong. They discussed urgently yet uselessly in hushed tones while children played around them in tattered clothes. Beyond the edges of my property, a fantastic and shocking display registered on the horizon: smog everywhere in a ruddy sky, collapsing building and infrastructure, fires that seemed to burn for weeks. Amidst the dilapidation, however, there were some surprises: a large, well-lit building that blared "CASINO" in neon pink, a replica of the Empire State Building (though it was completely hollow and made of cheap plastics) and complicated building snarled in wires and chrome that looked more like a machine straight of out science fiction. Which, considering that it was the fusion core power plant, I suppose it was.

Elise, one of my granddaughters, came up on the porch and sat in the adjacent rocking chair, though this one was broken. She was my oldest at 12, but more serious and mature for her age than I wish were true. I knew she had something on her mind, and I waited for her to speak.

"Grandpa," she began, "did you used to sell a lot of homes?"

I smiled. She asked this often, but I never minded. "Yes. The market used to be good back in the day. Hell, the city used to be good back in the day," I added wistfully. I closed my eyes, remembering the past. "Simulopolis was already a thriving boomtown by the time I was born, back in the 80's. We kept expanding and expanding, and no one knew where all the extra land was coming from, or why the mountains seemed to disappear. BUt no one cared - it was an exciting time, with exciting possibilities."

"But what changed?" she prompted after a while.

"Well, I'm sure your teachers have told you that, right?" I asked.

She shook her head slowly. "My district school closed down 2 years ago, so we never got to 'History of the City'."

I felt a wave of anger mixed with disappointment. Of course. "Well," I said wearily, "The mayorship changed. His younger brother took over, without any election process. And that's when things started to fall apart." I grimaced as I began to recall: "he made strange decisions; at first, they just seemed sort of annoying but largely harmless, like the ESB replica or marking random, abandoned homes as 'historic sites.' But things got worse. He created a highway line - costing millions of taxpayer's simoleons, - that ended abruptly at the Eastern seafront. And then were the installation of the casino, which caused crime to skyrocket overnight. But that wasn't even the scariest part."

"What was, then?" Elise asked with big eyes.

I hesitated a little. "Elise, don't repeat this to your parents, OK? I don't need them scolding me," I said, only half-joking. She nodded vigorously, and I continued on. "Well, we all started to complain, like sending letters in to Gus Oddman when random brownouts started happening, or picketing outside of Mortimer Green's office when the mayor increased our taxes to ridiculous levels. But he didn't like that.

The mayor...," again, I hesitated. It was one thing to think it, it was another to say it to your impressionable 12-year-old granddaughter. But she needed to know. "I don't think he's a human like the rest of us."

"What?" she gasped.

I lowered my voice. "He did things, Elise, things that humans couldn't possibly do. When we complained and picketed, random tornados sprung up. Unexplainable earthquakes shook our poor town. Fire started with no cause, and at some point there were rumors of UFO abductions. We got scared, and shifted our focus on rebuilding our homes and lives. The disasters stopped for a while.

But they soon returned, worse than ever. Huge swaths of the city were destroyed overnight, and people began to move out. And for some time, all the freshwater bodies in the city turned into saltwater." I shuddered, remembering that. It was only for a day or two, and didn't affect our taps, but it seemed reminiscent of an apocalypse.

"And then...?" Elise looked both frightened and eager.

I shrugged, taking another long draw from my pipe and blowing out a puff of sweet cherry smoke. "And then, he was gone. No one could contact the mayor. The advisors run the city now. They're not very good at it, but at least it's not doomsday every week now."

For some time, we were both silent, occupied with our own thoughts. Me, with the past. She, with the future.

"Do you think it will get better?" Elise finally asked.

I didn't think so, but I put on a smile for her. "Maybe. Rumor has it that the mayor's younger sister might be coming soon."

"And she'll be good?" Elise inquired quietly.

I have no idea. "I hope so, darling. I hope so."