Reverberation

00: In Medias Res

December 1st, 2012; 06:15 PST

Peculiar weather systems have been observed around the United States since mid-September. Washington DC has been having a surprisingly balmy fall, while Arizona has been cloudy and drenched with rain. The Grand Canyon has been noting record flooding. Electronic communications across the States have been spotty at best, which researchers have attributed to sunspot flaring.

December 6th, 2012; 13:22 PST
Contact with the island nation of Madagascar abruptly ceased, geospatial sattelites report a strange fog, unnatural to the area. Any attempts to communicate by machines fails; all airlines into the area mysteriously lose contact.

December 9th, 2012; 15:48 PST
Almost all international communications begin to fail with increasing frequency; phone, airplane, and internet between countries fails.

December 15th, 2012; 18:19 PST
The nation of Japan has lost contact in similar fashion as the last. Somehow, a recording surfaces from there of a strange mist just before contact is lost, described as ‘poisonous to the touch’, ‘oddly growling’, and ‘seemingly alive’. Public outcry has begun to reach a fever pitch, yet the political sphere remains silent.

December 18th, 2012; 20:51 PST
Places across the continents of Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas begin to be concealed with the same fog. It starts with remote, less-habited places, but areas of natural beauty: Mount Everest, patches of the Amazon, the Nile peninsula, and follow to various smaller countries.

December 20th, 2012; 23:30 PST

A dream is had, and is shared. Not by one, and not by all, but by enough people dream it- and you, as well.

A pillar, a tower, arcs towards the heaven, looking ancient, yet strangely foreign. The architecture is none you realize; smoothed, curling stairways, windows looking like gazing eyes, and pillars lined with what look like maps to places- planets- stars – that you’ve never seen before. It looks as if it was carved from a single crystal, a deep indigo material, smoothed down to a mirror gloss. It stretches to the heavens, impossibly high, and then some.

A low rumble shakes the tower, and a single line splits through the middle. From the rend, about the width of a human being, a strange sort of fog leaks: It is colorless and grey, yet it hurts to stare at it too long, as if it was possessed of some alien physics…Or as if it was simply just a hole in nothing, a place where there should be, but there /isn’t/.

And then the tower broke. Shattering into splinters, it hurtled itself every-which-way across the horizon. In its wake, all that remained was that mist, surging outwards, flowing around you. You can almost feel malice radiating off you, as if it was threatening to swallow you, to consume you-

…and then you snap awake, safe in your bed. In your hand, lies a rounded shard of that same tower, warm to the touch.

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Hayatoru

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