Author: Liv

The need to write has become urgent. My thoughts, once manageable, are now turbulent, like the incessant ticking of a clock, warning of something terrible.

I haven’t slept in days, and I bite my nails to the flesh. The cause of my horror is real. My name is Carmélia, 26, and though there’s little about me that stands out, this isn’t about me.

At first, a slight haze darkened the earth—subtle, easily dismissed as city pollution. When I mentioned it to friends, they brushed it off. But the darkness grew thicker, a grayish, dirty fog that slowly turned black, like tar, even in daylight. Soon, it covered everything, bringing a putrid, musty stench that clung to the senses. Food crumbled in my hands, pages disintegrated at the touch.

And then the darkness took more. Black spots appeared on both sides of my vision, eating away at existence itself. It wasn’t just the loss of sight—it was a deeper annihilation, an abyss that filled me with emptiness. The streets vanished, and I was trapped in my house, staring at the nothingness.

I’m paralyzed by fear, afraid to move too much. Desperation drives me to drink perfume. The silence outside is maddening. Where is God? I’ve cried out to everything, divine or profane. But nothing listens.

The last streetlamp outside my house flickers—my only connection to sanity. And then, it too fades, leaving me completely alone.

I decide to end it. Knife in hand, I aim for my throat. But something stops me. It’s my shadow. It holds me, its grip soft and disgusting. I try to fight, but it’s too strong. It seeps into me, suffocating me, flattening me under an unbearable weight.

The darkness consumes everything—not just light, but form, sensation, and thought. It’s a total collapse, the end of differentiation. Everything is black.

I don’t exist anymore. The darkness has won. Humanity is doomed