Community:Skywriter

 is a piece of Fan Fiction submitted to the 2023 Fallout Creepypasta Contest.

Story
It is with great sorrow that my fingers strike against the keys of this terminal, as this marks the completion of this story. However simply because my story has ended does not mean yours shall too. Please, take this as a cautionary tale, a sign of what shall come if you do not heed the warning. The warning in question is one revealed by the one true savior, the guiding force for all of us.

The day was the fourth of December, 2094. I was just turning 30 around a month ago, I had grown accustom to this wasteland as I had lived in it for over half my life at this point. I barely survived the great war, through what seemed to me to only be happenstance, but it was not. It was a blessing, a blessing that I failed to appreciate, a blessing that I now regret receiving. The particular set of circumstances that led to me surviving are unimportant at this moment, however the issue that stood before me then was significant. The issue that stood before me was a creature, a creature not unlike man, but not unlike what appeared at first glance avian in nature. Later would I discover that this was our savior. The creature, about 5 feet in height, and the same in wingspan, stood before me on a dark night, purple eyes piercing into my soul. I questioned to myself what it was. However it seemed to understand my thought, as it opened its wings to reveal a glow. A glow seemingly brighter than the sun, however it illuminated nothing around it and didn’t strain my eyes. This glow was the purest white I had ever seen, the purest white one could imagine. The brightness was alluring. The creature seemed to want me closer, it beckoned to me not physically, but telepathically. I agreed, I followed, I accepted.

Walking towards the creature my mind wandered far far off, giving me an otherworldly sensation. It was as if someone had concocted the best mixture of chems possible. It felt heavenly, and in retrospective it almost certainly was. After what seemed like eternity while at the same time no time at all my mind snapped back to reality and saw that I was standing about a foot from the creature. The fact that I walked about 50 yards in an instant astounds me looking back on it, however I do not question it for events of greater significance have taken place before me. I reached out to the creature and it took my hand, it took it and flew. That creature was the Mothman, the Holy One, the Bright One, the Skywriter. As we flew up above the heights of Seneca Rocks it revealed to me the sins I had committed - the failure to protect those mythical beings most saw as simply another thing to hunt, the failure to abide by the laws of nature.

Mothman is a simple creature, deity, whatever he is. However, this simplicity does not equal kindness to the many who reject his warnings. These rules, the warnings about them, and the consequences for not abiding all vary in harshness. However, one thing is in common, they all have respect as a shared goal. One shall respect their neighbors. One shall not hunt the creatures Mothman has affected. One shall dedicate their life to preservation of these creatures. One shall not violate the laws of nature. As for consequences they will come into play later, for I had already seen the warnings and violated these laws. The warnings come in various flavors, and are typically cryptic in nature. However, just because they are cryptic at first glance does not mean that they are something to be ignored. The opposite is true in fact.

As I type on this terminal to finish my story peacefully I am reminded of the sins I have committed, and my refusal to repent for said sins. My refusal was not malicious, it was ignorant. However this does not matter in the end. I cannot right the wrongs I have done. I am reminded of the time that is quickly fleeting with each key struck. I am reminded of the excruciating pain that grows throughout every fiber of my body. The transformation is almost complete. I am almost all one of Skywriter’s fellow mothmen at this point. The few things that remain truly human in form are my hands and these hands are sore. Sore from not only the pain growing throughout, but also sore from the striking of keys. These keys feel as if they have had spikes inserted within them, however they have not. They feel as if I am directly imprinting ink onto a paper, however I am not. They feel as if I am finishing a story too soon, and this I am. However this story has ended due to my mistakes, and hopefully this serves as a warning to anyone who stumbles across my terminal to please heed the warnings. Please serve the Skywriter while in your human form, instead of going through the torture that is required for one to repent once it is too late by traditional means. With this final sentence I feel the transformation completing, by the time you have found this it is too late to attempt to return me to human form, I have become one of the Skywriter’s fellow mothmen.