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Post by hfh admin on May 28, 2009 23:22:01 GMT -5
we've had this coming for a long time. arestotle predicted it and so did the mayan calandar. they said... that the world would end in the winter of two thousand twelve. they were wrong. it wasn't really anything but the start of a process, or the beginning of the end. on christmas eve that year people started disappearing. it started slowly. at first it wasn't anyone of any importance. then... the homes of politicians and dictators were being ravaged. humans, mortals and those of us with true talent were being weeded out in discreet. we became the bottom of the food chain. no longer hunters but hunted. if you're quiet you can almost hear and see the prophecies. the tales that speak of the blessed, those chosen to defend us. i'm beginning to wonder if they're merely ghosts. everything around me is dying so quickly... i'm sure that they don't exist, that they aren't really out there... i guess only time will tell.
its not two thousand and twelve, not anymore. i'm thankful. that year seemed to ache on for an eternity. it slowly ripped at the walls of each human heart, it shattered our faith and it broke our souls. there are rumors on the wind. they speak of hope for our race. they tell of a school, an academy hidden in plain sight. they say that it is a place where our heroes are rescued. where they are taught and prepared for the inevitable. a place where human and animal alike are raised with the knowledge of the war to come, of the end of existence. where they are learning how to live after the fact. where they are taking lessons that will teach them how to save us should we fall.
but they're just story book creatures... they can't exist. lycanthropes, leeches... demons and angels and humans that can manipulate the minds of others and the atmosphere around them? i can only hope that they really do exist. we need them now. now, that we are the inferior species.
everything seems perfect on the outside and in the city. people are living how they always have. the only strange things to report now are ocean movements and the weather, cattle deaths and flocks of birds. most want to ignore it. they want to pretend they don't see shadows in the middle of the day, that they didn't feel that icy grip on their shoulders as they slept the night before. let them... let them. sometimes its best to not seek answers. sometimes its better just not to know.
the idea of that school is all we have to cling to, but things are never what they seem. there was talk in the rain outside of old st. mary's cathedral. the father's cowering under their umbrellas spoke of a very questionable dean. they said there is no one to trust but ourselves, because trust has deserted us.  |
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