Human­i­ty has a knack for sto­ry­telling. Even before the inven­tion of the writ­ten word, tra­di­tions, often passed down from par­ent to child, told sto­ries about his­tor­i­cal events of the past, or shaped nar­ra­tives around lessons to impart. With the advent of writ­ten lan­guage, these sto­ries had the oppor­tu­ni­ty to grow com­plex­i­ty and detail, and even­tu­al­ly, scope. As our under­stand­ing of the world around us grew to encom­pass the vast expans­es of mys­te­ri­ous poten­tial above our heads, so too did our sto­ry , as para­ble evolved into fic­tion, and fic­tion gave birth to fic­tion. Today, fic­tion is such a com­mon­ly accept­ed form of sto­ry­telling that we all have a fun­da­men­tal under­stand­ing of how our soci­ety per­ceives our own future: and almost uni­ver­sal­ly, that future involves con­flict. you’ watch­ing a low-bud­get YouTube series or a $200 mil­lion sum­mer block­buster , if takes place for­ward time, we’ve all come to expect either a dystopi­an waste­land, space­ships tra­vers­ing the galaxy, or both. And near­ly every sit­u­a­tion, our pro­tag­o­nists had bet­ter be armed. The need for con­flict , and the character’s abil­i­ty to man­age it vio­lence, isn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly a reflec­tion of how we […]