You’re not one of them. You don’t clamber over the meek, buckling rivals’ knees and stamping on friends’ necks. You’re a good man. You’re honest. You’re kind and you’re fair. You’re not cruel or malicious.

You were raised well. You had a good family. You worked hard at school. You did your homework and studied for your exams. You knew what was expected of you, and you delivered all they asked.

You went to university, choosing history as your path. You liked the stories, learning your place in the past. You bonded with your coursemates, your housemates, your new girlfriend. You collected so many memories. You put the photos in the album, smiled and turned the page.

You went from internship to graduate placement. You worked your way into your company. You enjoyed working in insurance. You found it respectable, essential, part of the engine that ran our big machine.

You moved in with your girlfriend. You rented, then you bought. You knuckled down, put in the hours, hitting targets, rising up. You were happy, you were fulfilled. You had friends, and then a wife. You changed company when the time came, taking pick of all your offers.

You were earning more and more. Every year, every move. You worked for it, you deserved it. You enjoyed the process, watched the paycheques, shifting pounds from fund to fund. You found the best rates, always switching, making more here, and more there, forever nurturing the pots.

You weren’t greedy, you weren’t selfish, you just took what the market offered. You knew you’d found a good job, and were of a good gender and stock – but how was that your fault? You didn’t make the rules, you made the most of them.

You could afford to see the world, soaring to countries across the globe. You could buy life’s little luxuries. Your flights, your car, your meals out, your bigger house, your kids, your dog. You worked for them, not for yourself. You had a purpose. You had a duty.

You’re not extravagant. You know a bargain, and you know how to save. You don’t fuss about why things are so cheap, or how that came to be – if that’s what the market permits, then that’s the way it is. You just drop the toys and the clothes and the treats into your basket.

You watch your children grow. You humour their concerns, reassure them it will all be OK. You tell them not to panic. You tell them the world will sort itself out. You laugh away their suggestions of cutting back to ‘save the planet’. You explain how a drop won’t sway the ocean. You tell them everything will work out fine.

When India floods, you mourn with the rest of the world. When South America is scoured by hurricanes, you donate to the appeal. When the Middle East burns in famine and war, you buy a few more tins and grains, better safe than sorry.

You’re sad for the chaos that’s coming thicker and faster. You’re sad that it’s hitting the poor and underdeveloped nations. It’s a shame and it’s a sorrow, but that’s always the way it is. You didn’t make the rules. You just follow them, as you were taught to.

You did your bit, right? You recycled and sent the kids’ clothes to charity. Sure, you always bought new, but second-hand’s for those who can’t afford to. Of course you didn’t waste your vote on those environmental parties – you know what they’d have done to the economy if they won! Blame the governments, blame the corporations. This wasn’t down to you – a single person.

You’re anxious that food’s becoming scarcer, for you as well as them. Your bills are rising and the power’s failing, even when they fire up the coal again. You kit your family out with masks and save them choking on the air. You have another check of your stocks and your shares.

When the migrants come calling, you’re sympathetic but you still think clearly. There’s just not the room, you say, what with your own island shrinking. You’re not being selfish, you’re doing it for your children. What world would you be leaving them in, surrounded by the starving, the infecting?

You argue and vote, backed up by your politicians. But your walls can only stand up to the desperation so long. Your law and your order can only stand for so long. The people pile in, nowhere else left to go. Your world is fighting for food, for space and for air.

You’ll take your family, your car, and run for the hills. Your savings are your saviour. You’ll buy your sanctuary from the storm. You’ll see the sickness all-consuming from the windows of your shelter, you see it fester and overrun the masses left out there. You’ll shake your head, turn your back and bring your children to your side.

And you know time has come to hand over to the baton. You’ll leave them wealthy, protected, taught the way it’s meant to be. They’ll see you worked hard, you earned hard, you got more and more and more. You did what you were meant to. You got everything you could. You’re their example, an achiever. You’ll go with all you ever wanted.

‘All You Ever Wanted’ is published as part of the collection The Other World, along with many more short stories.