Filed reluctantly by The Hollow Scribe, eternal clerk of unreasonable things.
Ah, greetings, dreamers.
Or as management insists I call you, “stakeholders in the ongoing mortal condition.”
I’ve just returned from my quarterly review with the Archive—yes, that Archive—and I regret to inform you that the human species continues to exist. Not thrive, not ascend, merely persist, like a mold that’s learned to monetize itself. Mortals being mortals at its finest.
Let’s discuss.
1. On the Matter of Productivity
I am reliably told that mortals have built entire cults around “hustle culture.” Admirable, if one enjoys worshipping exhaustion. Do you know what happens when you summon a spirit by accident? You panic, apologize, and swear never to meddle again.
Do you know what happens when a human summons burnout on purpose?
They call it a brand.
Back in my day (the First Rot, approximately twelve apocalypses ago), ambition meant defying a god and being promptly disemboweled for your trouble. Now it means working through lunch. How quaint.
2. On the Consumption of Knowledge
Mortals claim they “devour books,” a phrase that, taken literally, was outlawed after the Librarian Incident of Era Three. Knowledge is not meant to be consumed—it’s meant to sit heavily in your gut until you weep blood and question the nature of truth.
Yet here you are, “binge-reading.”
You’ve turned enlightenment into a snack food.
3. On Gods and Other Customer Service Nightmares
The divine realm now operates on a ticketing system. I tried submitting a complaint last month—“Too Many Prayers, Not Enough Smiting”—and received an automated response:
‘Thank you for contacting The Old Gods. Your supplication is important to us. Estimated response time: 9–12 eternities.’
Truly inspiring efficiency.
4. On Humanity’s Fear of the Void
You spend so much effort lighting candles against the dark, yet the dark has better things to do than eat you. The void is not cruel. It’s merely understaffed.
If I had a coin for every mortal who whispered, “I’m afraid of nothing,” I’d have enough to bribe the Hollow Queen herself—and she doesn’t come cheap, trust me.
5. Closing Remarks (Before the Paperwork Consumes Me)
Do I sound bitter? I assure you, bitterness is the only spice left in eternity’s kitchen.
Still, I’ll give you this: you mortals are tenacious little catastrophes.
You build, you break, you build again, and somehow call it progress.
The Archive insists I end on an “uplifting note.”
So here it is:
You are not insignificant.
You are merely poorly managed.
Until next epoch,
—The Hollow Scribe
Officially sanctioned, spiritually exhausted, morally ambiguous.