really, it was over before it ever began

And so it begins.

You've known about this for a long, long time. You knew that this day would come, but maybe you began to hope that it was a nightmare, a false prophecy, a fiction. Maybe you thought that the noises at night were merely leaves on your window, that the shadows writhing in the corner of your room were simply the result of dim lighting and an overactive mind, that the cold hand reaching up from under the bed was a figment of your broken, shattered imagination.

But I'm afraid it's all true. Or, rather, I'm not the one afraid—that's you, that's always been you. You wear your terror like a cloak, your fear has become integral to your identity. And you should, since you know, and knowledge brings anxiety brings doubt brings fear until you're breaking down under the fluorescent lights at a fast food place and your entire existence has shrunken down to a pinprick in a vast and crushing emptiness.

Better watch out. They won't give you much of a head-start, if any. I mean, they assumed you spent all these years preparing. They want you to have trained and grown strong, they want you to labor under the delusion that you actually stand some chance of making it through the night. They don't want you to make it easy, they want you to put up a fight. For them, it's fun. That's why they do it. They say that there are only two reasons anyone should ever do anything: fear or fun. You'll provide the fear, obviously, and they'll bring the fun.

Are you asking me for my advice? What help do you think I could possibly give you? It's too late for you, it was always too late for you. Sorry to say it, but your fate was sealed the moment you drew your first breath. You're a walking, live-action tragedy, and we've all been paying close attention.

You can try to run or hide, but believe me, it won't make a difference. Nothing you do at this point truly matters. I can tell that you're still holding onto something, but what is it? What's really got you convinced that you actually stand a chance?

It's hope, isn't it?

Yeah, you're holding on tight to your delusional sense of hope as the world begins to decay around you. Well, a more accurate way to put it would be that you're decaying as the world watches. The world is indifferent to your existence, but they aren't, and they want to drag you down to hell. Again, fun—for them.

Anyway, I'm just the messenger. I'm here to tell you that it's begun and I'll be there to tell you it's over.

See you soon.