It was a normal day in this strange Massachusetts city, quite strange indeed. Putting the unfamiliarity of this city from New York and LA, it is normal here, quiet and peaceful.

As of now, I am here walking along the streets of the city, minding only my own mind—or, just minding my own business. Birds chirping across the trees, albeit dull and red; as it was in the autumn. It was quite cold when I exited my house, but right now the heat seemed to rise—only a little, albeit—but it rose none-the-less, so I have took off my overcoat somewhere along that what's-her-name Carter along the road. As was yesterday, the mime I had seen was still there. Yesterday, he seemed to be holding an invisible object back, and I must say his acting was splendid. If he was in a play he'd be a star! Back to the present, the mime seemed to be deep in concentration, until, he had arisen from his sit, looking at me, and then behind. It was bleak in the night, the lights being a major and key factor in me seeing the mime. Now that I have mentioned it, a mime acting in the middle of the night, quite strange.

More strange however, was that the mime was now behind me, recreating his famous invisible box, appearing to be shouting something at me as I move my eyes over to his position. I look on in confusion, and right about now, citizens pour from their apartments and restaurants—waiting for something. The mime, as I look back, struggles. As I've said, a famous actor he'd be if only he'd taken up the path—he is even dropping beads of sweat! I've never seen such a performance!

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. . .

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Oh, dear.

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It seems that I have remembered the cause for this, I distinctly remember hearing from a friend what'd happen on this day. Soon enough, what I've remembered is true, as the mime's glass breaks, and out pours the messenger—the envoy—the carrier. "I'll hold it back! Run!" the mime says, fruitlessly though, as I appear to be the only one who hears it, he seems to be speaking some more. I could not tell his words from his mouth as I splendor in his presence. As I take in his beauty? Horror? whatever he is, the electronic lampposts turn off, breaking. Only the luminous moonlight guided us—if there were even more people with me—and even then it only pointed in his direction. All of a sudden, the city shifts, yellow faces in hoods stand atop pillars, behind me now were stairs endless—people appearing from the stairs as though they had started climbing it before it manifested behind me, and finally, I see him in a shade of his form. All this I am experiencing now, I do not know what shall become of me, and I only hope that oblivion awaits me. Finally, I know it, my destination, dare I even speak it. I walk along pavements I've never seen yet memorize into a weed-choked subway, along with a huge group of people.

If a divine power reads these thoughts of mine, I only pray for a peaceful oblivion. If I am to witness this coming, I wish for it to be uneventful. For all this to be a case of mass hysteria, just something, anything other than the truth I shall face. I pray to see my family again, I pray that my life shall live longer than this, I pray that—even if for a moment—I wake up from this nightmare. If only that were my fate. I shall say to you, reader of my words, god of thought and speech, that this shall be my final counting, I have told you all that I have proceeded. As I walk down the steps. . . I pray for salvation. . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. . .