I suppose that I could claim that I had always suspected that the world was a cheap and shoddy sham, a bad cover for something deeper and weirder and infinitely more strange, and that, in some way, I already knew the truth. But I think that's just how the world has always been. And even now that I know the truth, as you will, my love, if you're reading this, the world still seems cheap and shoddy. Different world, different shoddy, but that's how it feels.

They say, here's the truth, and I say, is that all there is? And they say, kind of. Pretty much. As far as we know.

In fiction, I think I would have refused to believe it was happening, wonder if I'd been drugged or if I was dreaming. In reality, hell, it had happened, and I stared up into the darkness, and then, when nothing happened, I began to walk, splashing through the liquid world, calling out, seeing if anyone was there.

Something flickered in front of me.

They may be heartless, unfeeling, bastards, leeching off the minds of what's left of humanity. But I can't help feeling grateful to them.

oohhh!!!my headache.