In the year 2135, the nation of Novara had achieved what most could only dream of: a fully digital democracy where every citizen had a say in every decision, instantly. Gone were the days of slow, cumbersome parliaments and long-winded speeches by out-of-touch politicians. Instead, Novarans decided everything with a simple click—on their smartphones, at work, or while waiting in line at the coffee shop.

The government structure? Nonexistent. Who needed one when you could just vote online?

A major crisis had erupted when the last “traditional” government position—the Minister of Breakfast Foods—was unceremoniously voted out by a tweet poll. The country was in disarray.

"You can’t just click to remove the Minister of Breakfast Foods!" cried Darryl McEgghead, a respected food historian. "This is an outrage! How will we ever have coherent legislation about cereal, pancakes, and the deep cultural significance of the croissant?"

But it was too late. The votes had already been cast. "We're going to need a new Minister of Breakfast Foods," the official Twitter feed announced, "and the polls close in five minutes."

In Novara, government positions didn’t last long—no one had time for formalities. When the Chief of Internal Affairs posted a mildly controversial meme, a real-time poll was launched asking, “Should Chief Steve be impeached for memes?” Within 30 seconds, 92% of voters said yes, leading to Chief Steve’s immediate removal.

"Sorry, Steve," the notification read. "Better luck next meme."

It wasn't just impeachments and job appointments that worked this way. When Novara needed to pass new laws, they didn't wait around for a slow-motion debate in a parliament. Citizens simply received an urgent text: “Poll open: Should we make all Tuesdays National Nap Day?” The options were Yes, Yes, and Heck Yes. Naturally, the bill passed by a landslide. From then on, every Tuesday saw office workers, students, and even the CEO of RoboCorp curled up in blankets, pretending to work while actually napping.

Yet, as efficient as the system was, it had its challenges. The concept of instant decision-making meant people didn’t always think things through. For example, one fateful day, a poll popped up on every citizen’s device: “Should we ban all meetings for the next 24 hours?”

An enthusiastic 85% voted Yes, and Novara experienced its first-ever meetingless day. While it was an unprecedented success in terms of worker productivity, the subsequent lack of meetings caused mass confusion. The country’s infrastructure came to a standstill as no one could figure out what to do without endless conference calls.

"Weren’t we supposed to fix the traffic lights?" asked one confused driver, stuck at an intersection for hours.
"Was that today’s task? Or was it next week’s?" responded another, equally baffled.

However, not all decisions were so carefree. The process of selecting leaders became a bizarre game show. Every month, Novarans voted for their next Prime Minister, which could be anyone from a random middle schooler with a YouTube channel to the president of a knitting club. The competition was fierce, with candidates typically running platforms like "More Pizza for Everyone" or "I Will Solve Global Warming with a Fan."

One particularly controversial election featured a giant inflatable giraffe named Giraffey—a local internet celebrity. "Vote for Giraffey! The only candidate with enough neck to see all sides!" the campaign slogan proclaimed. To the surprise of many, Giraffey won. A press conference was held shortly afterward, where Giraffey, while looking somewhat deflated, explained, "My first order of business is more grass for everyone. And also, I’d like to extend the ban on meetings indefinitely."

Yet, it wasn’t all jokes and viral campaigns. When the country’s water supply was compromised by a factory spill, an emergency poll was sent to all citizens asking: "Should we implement immediate water rationing and penalties for polluters?" The poll closed with an overwhelming 99% in favor of the proposal.

"Wow," said one citizen after the poll. "That was the most serious thing we’ve ever voted on. I’m just glad we didn’t make it a meme poll."

The polls weren’t always perfect. There were a few instances where unintended consequences occurred. For example, a poll asking, “Should we give every citizen a pet robot?” was so popular that a few billion pet robots were ordered, creating a nationwide shortage of charging stations and robots suddenly rebelling for “more autonomy.” But, on the whole, Novara thrived in its clickocracy.

The most shocking twist came when the nation had to vote on whether they should keep their click-based democracy or return to traditional government methods. The vote came down to two choices:

More Clicks, More Freedom!
Bring Back Parliaments—They Had Really Nice Chairs.

The polls opened, and, of course, the country voted overwhelmingly in favor of the more clicky option.

As the results flashed across every screen in Novara, citizens cheered. "We are truly free!" they shouted, despite no one knowing exactly who was in charge at that moment.

In Novara, the motto was simple: "Why wait for progress when you can click your way to the future?"