Grammar Nazis have seized control of the country. They run everything and show no mercy to the grammatically deficient, seeking to purify the Grammaryan race. Your neighbors are shredded bones and rotting guts, your classmates are festering in camps.
You are seven years old, you read little and speak even less. Your family has been detained on the false charge of a dangling modifier.
“Once we are released,” your father whispers to you, “our friends will sneak us out of the country.” He hands you a letter to carry to the guards.
“Its not our fault,” the letter begins.