A solipsistic trip into the mind of one who sees, from a perch atop Miskatonic University, the reality of it all. Is it the navel-gazing of a philosopher … or the witnessing of the infinite horror within oneself?
When I dream of a void, I dream of an unending chasm. White shadows whisper, and they eat into my mind. I hear the smells of sacrificial flesh, and see the tastes of foreign meat. But these are only nightmares.
I.
I loathe my place in life. I want to escape, but I cannot. The city never seems to let me leave. At times, it nearly seems intentional—when I try to leave or have an out of town conference, I am always derailed or deferred. To be frank, I have never left the city in my entire life. Though I know that it is surely by chance or lack of ambition, it nonetheless seems entirely wrong. Does the city have a sentience? Logically, I know that is impossible, but these paranoias chill me nonetheless. But I want to leave! I need to leave, or I will die here. If I have decades left of life here, will that provide the opportunity I need? I think not.
