Editing Ergo Sum
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You are a lighthouse keeper. You are watching over a sleepy coastal village as the storm clouds roll in, and you are flashing the signal lantern, faster and faster and brighter and brighter, but [[Fallen|they]] do nothing. You are trapped on an island, in a tower, signaling desperately that [[The Witness|It]] is coming, and still they do not run. They are going to die—and if you do not [[Whirlwind|run]], you will die too. | You are a lighthouse keeper. You are watching over a sleepy coastal village as the storm clouds roll in, and you are flashing the signal lantern, faster and faster and brighter and brighter, but [[Fallen|they]] do nothing. You are trapped on an island, in a tower, signaling desperately that [[The Witness|It]] is coming, and still they do not run. They are going to die—and if you do not [[Whirlwind|run]], you will die too. | ||
You are leaning out over the ocean. Sometimes the [[ | You are leaning out over the ocean. Sometimes the [[Hive|fish]] brush against your fingers and believe that they have felt the divine; sometimes the tide recedes, and the fish do not know you except by your absence. And today, you strive with all your might to reach the water, because It is here, the [[Black Fleet|great dark shadow of the shark]] parting the water like a knife, and you cannot warn [[Human|them]], but you must. You must try. You cannot bear to lose even [[Collapse|one more]]. | ||
You are carrying a tower of books. If you recited one title each second, you would not finish before the heat death of the universe. And every year, every day, every minute, Its hands add more to the pile. A [[The Speaker|man]] reaches for one of the books, for you, and you want so very badly to reach back, to take his hand and tell him that you must bear it just like he must, forever, the memory engraved in quartz—but your hands are full. | You are carrying a tower of books. If you recited one title each second, you would not finish before the heat death of the universe. And every year, every day, every minute, Its hands add more to the pile. A [[The Speaker|man]] reaches for one of the books, for you, and you want so very badly to reach back, to take his hand and tell him that you must bear it just like he must, forever, the memory engraved in quartz—but your hands are full. |