Anincendia

Narrator's Letter 02/01/1990

Part I

It’s 1990, and humanity is dying out. Yeah, it sounds pretty dark doesn’t it. Thats because it is. The world is a shitty place these days. 10 years ago, everything was great. I had a girlfriend and was finally getting regular, great sex. I had a job at the labs, drove a bmw, and things were only looking up. I even played Dungeons and Dragons on the weekends. Such a perfect little life. Fucking Lovecraft.

Apparently my favorite author wasn’t fiction at all. He probably tried to warn us. I dunno, he was dead by the time I was born. Cancer, I think. More to the point, the old gods, or at least one of them, are real. We all heard when It woke up. It spoke to us. A searing burning voice straight to our brain, uttering the words I’ll never forget;

“You would wake Cthugha? — You are not ready. — I am not willing. — The price brings regret. — So the world ends.”

I watched the cigarette hanging from my lips fall to the ground, its cherry gone faster than a cheerleader’s on prom night. The last smoke I would ever know was gone just like that.

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