February 6, 2018. What was once Philadelphia, PA.
Hello? Can anyone hear me? It’s all gone wrong. We thought it would just be drunk people climbing greased poles! We… we couldn’t have known.
Philadelphia is gone. The Great Birds have secured the sacred rings and the city has burnt to the ground. The many-headed beast of Revelations has risen, and the end is no longer nigh. It’s already passed.
I sit in the ashes, clothes torn, smeared with soot and losing blood, so much blood. I steal Wi-Fi from the smoking remnants of a Starbucks, quietly murmuring, “Why?”
But no god answers, for the days of his rule are long past. There are only the iggles now.
Things are picking through the wreckage. They’re shaped like us, but I don’t think they are us, anymore. Their movements are too graceful, too fluid. Too wrong.
There’s a… sound coming from the other side of that pile of burning cars. It’s screaming, but not fear, or pain, or food poisoning from eating horse shit. It sounds different.
There it is. What… Jesus, what’s wrong with it?
Whoever reads this, you need to send help. Call the military. There are survivors, but we lose more every day.
It saw me. It’s too fast, nothing is that fast