[ WP ] You live in a post-apocalyptic world where you thought you were the last person on earth . One day you find a small town with only 500 people living in it . Little do you know that they follow a cult and are about to commit mass suicide .

`` Why are we fascinated by decay?'' 
 
 I looked over at my companion. Out of every piece of hotheaded philosophy that had spilled out of this cult leader since I arrived at the camp, this was the only one that sounded like it had honest roots. As if, for the first time, he was n't sure of the answer to the questions he was asking. I proposed a response. 
 
 `` Maybe we're just addicted to imagination. Maybe our mental pictures of the Colosseum today are much greater than anything it ever was.'' 
 
 The cultist took this thought in silence, and gazed out at his dystopian empire. A camp of about 500, scattered in the wreckage of former Manhattan. The view from the top of the Empire State was breathtaking. He spoke finally. 
 
 `` Then here's to the dreamers, may they come next.'' We clinked our glasses and drank. 
 
 I was n't sure what I would do when the day of the suicide came. I had long given up trying to turn these people from there course, because to do that I would need to turn the leader, the most resolute man I had ever met. When the day finally did come, I drank with the rest of them. I drank so that whoever came next to the Earth might see visions of a planet that are greater than anything that ever existed here. I drank among 500 sheep, led by a man, addicted to imagination.
