Unbidden
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Terras-Mons is under siege.

It began with a pamphlet containing unspeakable secrets, passed from Terran to Terran in a small building. The experiments conducted that night would have been considered impossible eons ago, even moreso considering its conclusions. Retries of various kinds were performed again and again in an attempt to disprove the results, to no avail. The knowledge they gained, unknown to the world at the time, cursed all who learned about it.

Scientists and medical men were baffled at the perplexing and horrific results they were shown. Scuffles of infighting and theories plagued the scientific community for days on end. Chaos — a new beginning, to some — unraveled all science that was held as unfaltering fact for so long. Not much time was left to contemplate the meaning of this before the preliminary siege had begun.

As the news disseminated to a wider audience, events with terrifying implications occurred. The Spire of Yeon, a magnificent testimony to world unity, ceased to exist in a brief flash. My eldest son was there as a maddening scream echoed from the tower — then the structure disappeared entirely. All weather of any kind ceased, causing worldwide water and crop shortages. Countries began to reform amidst the conflict, and tensions began to rise in competition over resources. My husband was forced by lottery into the newly-founded militia of the Better Terras-Mons Union.

I received barely enough electrotokens from the quasi-government to support my family. I was crippled and couldn't work, relying entirely on my spouse to bring in income. I was indebted to him for helping me so much, but could do nothing as he was taken away. I remember staring out the window towards the purple waves, wondering how the world went mad so rapidly. It was stupid of me not to connect the dots earlier.

More strange things occurred. At first, it was only big things: the planet Terras-Mons orbited would change color; a number of lightning bolts repeatedly struck the same spot; nobody could remember visiting specific areas. But as time went on, I too began to experience them. Clouds disappeared at random, books had their words shuffle randomly, and clumps of sand at the beach outside my home would fling themselves at me sporadically.

It was the twenty-second night of Presque-Vu when we finally crossed the threshold of damnation. A thick silence, quite literally unbreachable, encompassed our entire world. The quiet suppressed all noise, no matter how loud one's voice was. Hours passed, but nothing happened, and the world seemed to slow down briefly. I went outside to relieve myself of stress, only to discover the sky was completely empty.

The siege began.

The screaming of millions ruptured the shield instantaneously, a piercing wail that could be heard for light-years. A wave of something slammed me backwards, forcing me to retreat inside. Unrelenting in its persistence, with screeches from every direction invading my senses, I couldn't handle leaving my house. I laid in my bed and cried as my sons and daughters sobbed, begging to something that I did not have the strength to get up and see.

I do not know what happened in the following hours, but when I awoke, only my youngest daughter, El'Lie, had remained of my children — what happened to the others, I don't know. She lay huddled next to me, tears leaking from her eye and her choked cries mingling with the screaming. The painful wails in my head had moved beyond the walls of the home, yet I understood that at any moment it could breach the vestibule and enter. I shuddered.

My daughter began to speak to me, but I quieted her down, afraid to answer whatever she would ask. I listened intently, and heard pleading, as well as cries in languages I did not understand. They were close. I thought of my family, wondering where they were and what happened to them. I prayed not to know.

"Mommy," El'Lie had abruptly said to me, "are we going to be okay?"

"Yes," I lied, "we will."

She didn't believe me, of course, and buried herself within my embrace. A sporadic sob joined hers, and it was only then I realized that it was my own. Faced with an impossible threat — by both definitions — I had resigned myself and all I knew to death. My ears filled with a faint static, no doubt from the dimming of the energy-less lights.

It has been four days since then. I am writing this by candlelight for no reason other than peace of mind. The screaming has not stopped — and I doubt it ever will. My rations have run down, and there are no substances left to sustain me. A gaping wound of reality in the shape of my daughter beckons towards me from the unlit corner of my room, smiling a smile which does not exist and that I can only assume is my fractured mind creating order of chaos. In just a few moments, I will join her.

Our limited minds were not made to deal with the horrors of unreality. From the first day we discovered forbidden knowledge, they had begun to seep into the cracks of our consciousnesses. We stopped to gape and mock all that was, congratulating ourselves on conquering a mountain, though we merely stood on the edge of a slope. Our predecessors pushed us forward, and the ancestors of an unknown kind dragged us back into the abyss.

Much can be learnt from this encounter with a kind from beyond the veil of reality, if only there was anyone left to analyze it. Unbidden, we tread into the territory of the unknown, and unbidden these non-creatures arose to defend it. Perhaps they were like us, alien to a universe of cosmic horror, though no one had stopped them. I don't know, nor do I want to. Once I have gone, they will return to their slumber, and madness shall end until the cycle repeats.

Henceforth, I, Wi'Poi, mother of none, shall scream until the ends of time.

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