"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."

H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

(Prologue)

Time: ??:??

You blink once, twice, thrice, and slowly your senses start to get back to you. The numbness of your body slowly starts to give way to an old and familiar feeling: pain.

Like the gnawing pain in your stomach, writhing like worms and festering like maggots.

You're lying face down in the middle of a field, in a bed of glass and grass. You must have gone throught the stained window, because there are strips of lead clinging to the glimmering fiery shards. Like flayed tendons.

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You feel flayed too; cut open and exposed. Your face against the scorched grass, watching as the flames dance around you, resembling fairies that would try to lure kids into dark forests, and you know that it approaches to claim you, and so you'll become fuel for its never-ending hunger.

You can't get your body to care to move; you can't get your voice to croak, let alone get your tired and weak eyes to focus beyond the red smoke billowing around you.

The cell phone in your pocket starts to vibrate. Someone is calling you, but it's too late now.

It's just you, the fire, the night, and the cold shards of glass hugging your skin.