@biggest-gaudiest-patronuses I wrote something!!! I like writing in the second person! If anyone disagrees they can meet me in the back parking lot of the Waffle House at high noon!
Welcome to the land of dead gods and forgotten nightmares. It is a quiet place; some may even call it peaceful. Here the highway runs through a stretch of land. Six lanes and no cars. No cars and no people. No people save for yourself, that is, Dear Reader.
It is dark, yet light is coming from somewhere. Where is the light coming from? There are no street lamps here. There are no fireflies blinking their way through the weeds at the side of the road. Dear Reader, the light is in you. It is within you as you wander down along the road, faded voices calling your name.
This light, it is new to them. It is new to them and so, so very old. Living in the dark is hard. It lets you hide, but it also never lets you see anything new. Some may argue though that it is easier than living in the glaring light. Light highlighting your every flaw, casting false shadows, and dazzling the eye. These people are the ones who call this a peaceful place.
To each their own, Dear Reader. I am not here to judge.
The voices are not just calling your name, you soon realize. They are begging you. Come listen to us, they say. Come tell us your story and let us tell you ours. They want you to speak to them. They wish to be known. They need to have their stories heard, to have their great deeds recalled, to live again. These are not unreasonable wishes, but they are fruitless. You know you will never live long enough to tell anyone their tales.
You must not stop walking, Dear Reader. Your feet may grow weary and sore. A rock may find its way into your shoe. You must never stop. Go as slow as you need but never slow enough to be caught.
Never stop, for there are too many, and they will make you one of them.
Becoming one of them is not a terrible thing by any means. There are plenty of fates worse than this. It is not terrible, joining the leagues of forgotten gods. It is just isolating. You will be lonely. You will never be alone again. You will not be lonely. You will never truly know anyone again. If you wish to stop walking now, I will not fault you.
If you do continue however, do not be surprised should you come across a juddering mound of flesh, hair, and small bone-white shards. Do not be alarmed if it reforms into a creature with long, spindly limbs and a face so close to being human.
So close but not quite. It never was human but it was nearly there. In the dawn of the world, they were the miscreations. Perhaps the cosmic hand slipped and smudged their features. Perhaps it pulled a little bit too hard on their limbs. Whatever may have happened, they only now lurk in the back of the sleeping mind. A reminder of the past.
Be frightened if it lurches towards you on its legs which bend at the wrong angle and have toes like newly-sharpened pencils.
Run down the road, if that happens. Run so very fast and never turn around. You never know if those moments are what will allow it and its brethren to greet you. Run down the road. There is an exit sign on your left. Do not take that exit. It is a lie
More voices will call from the dim twilight there. The eyeshine of many creatures reaches you. You may perhaps wonder what light is reflecting off of the eyes. Do not. Keep running, Dear Reader.
As you run—you will keep running, will you not?—the landscape may change. Pay that no heed. The road will remain constant. After enough changes, the dawn will come. You will run right into the sun. Throw yourself into its light.
You have left the land of dead gods and forgotten nightmares. Pray you never need enter again.
