We’ve lived in a societal norms formed by our ancestors who defied the odds of survival, but here we are doing mindless things for comfort over human development. Incels as they call us. We thrive in the world of meaningless pattern; be born, be educated, go out in the world and be disappointed. We tried conforming to societal expectations; doing the same things again and again from morning until noon; clocking in and clocking out to that mechanical contraption they call Time Clock.
Oh yes indeed. The people who you call “Boss” will pay in a form of cheque, but in its exchange will be the hopes and dreams of the child in you will disappear.
That’s why my dear. I prayed to a God; tried to find him in the depths of the sea where he sleeps. Unleashing the Lord would give us the hope for mankind. The hope of release from these pitiful sorrows.
The hope of becoming all and becoming none.
Cyprian was reading the diary of his dead great uncle, Luduvico Mckinnon; a history professor of University of R’lyeh. It was most rumblings about a Deep Sea God and his search for it. As he read deeper unto the pages, the penmanship became more excited giving clues to the state of his Uncle’s apparent madness.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
He was attending the University of Roloa when he received the call of his Great Uncle’s passing. His shock hadn’t been subsided until he saw the coffins of his Great Uncle. The professor had been in great health, no signs of dementia nor signs of impending schizophrenia whenever he called him through the old telephone.
The coroner was puzzled with his Uncle’s body. There were no signs of trauma in body, no signs of struggle nor clear indication that will shed light to his Uncle’s passing. The coroner only confirmed that it seems the heart suddenly stopped.
He was in the room to look for clues as to what happened to his jolly and adventurous Great Uncle.
In the latter parts on the diary are scrambling and rumblings of the Great Old One. Drawings of unknown origins, clippings of old newpaper articles of disappearances were attached to it.
One of the clippings had the picture of the cadavers that had sticky skin almost jelly like. The eyes which are blackened on the Editor’s attempt of cover were oval almost circle protruding from the dead man’s eye sockets.
The event happened in 3rd of May, 1920.
It’s already been a century from these clippings, he thought.
Investigating an event happened eons ago will prove none to his search for clues.
He turned another page of the old diary. An article containing “Disappearances” was stapled on the diary’s page. A red ink was encircled to the word “Rhode Island”.