Help us to give an ending to a story
Poe was a writer who lived on the hill north of Indiapolis; the quietest town in the state of Veramendoza. In the minds of the curious, the hill looked dreary, but for the writer's daily life his abode was lonely; on moonlit nights, dreary; and he always had access to the Internet.
Thanks to technology and despite his solitude, Poe had a large following on social networks, who admired his dark and macabre writing style. However, Poe wasn't satisfied with just having online followers; he wanted them within his physical reach.
So he began inviting people to his cabin; with the excuse that he was going to hold reading sessions with his most terrifying works, he allowed them to invade his solitude and his hill. His followers, excited by the opportunity to meet their idol, eagerly accepted.
The gatherings were pleasant, Poe's voice seduced them with a strange fascination they had never experienced before; people climbed the hill anxiously and there even came a time when the desire to listen to the macabre stories became essential to sleep and although they felt that the voice of the reader was tearing them apart, that what the writer was telling was happening to them, that they were the victims of the murderer who one by one was taking their souls, they did not leave the hill; on the contrary, they slept during the day in front of Poe's house to wait there for the next night.
Indiapolis fell in love with Poe's reading; his stories had the people spellbound; he himself was amazed by the power of his tales, he even stopped writing to orally invent the stories and used the people as characters. He knew of secrets, of hidden beliefs, of enigmatic people; all the people were revealed to him in his mysteries; he had in his hands the truth of all, in his talent the darkness and the light to mix the false with the true and when he did it, he awakened the will of creation; he created an amorphous monster, collective, of a thousand heads, that began to attack each other.
From the hill Poe narrated and with the thread of his voice he moved the people, at will, as writers wish to move their readers. One by one he fell to the ground, dead, in a cruelty that threatened to end the world
Continuation
His followers, spellbound, had no will of theirs. The world of the writer became their illusion and gradually they transformed into the monsters of the writer's imagination. Poe laughed indistinctly, satisfied with his creation.
"I'll call this hill Rama, because it has given birth to men with dark souls," he said, "a new era has come," he added.
Daily his followers increased, this was what Poe wanted, an army, with dark souls, who could look through the lenses of people's eyes and make them monsters.
Daily they continued in Poe's tale. Even though it felt wrong, they were handicapped on their will. Poe felt it was time to take revenge for his years of suffering, banished to live on the hills for a crime he never committed. His solitude had only made him stronger in communicating with his dark side in writing. The amorphous monsters he had created was his weapon against the world, as he mobilized a thousand of them to send them to live among men.
"The world is cruel" he told them reading from the last page of his book, it was the last night to initial them into his purpose. He knew he had been forbidden to live among men, condemned to live on the hills until his death, but if he was ever going to rule, he first needed armies that would poison the souls of men.
"And there will arise an army that will conquer light and darkness shall rule" Poe said, ending his tale. The story felt so real to them than just a tale at this moment, there was this conviction that they were the armies that would conquer light. They left Rama with their heart poisoned, no longer to live as normal men but Poe's dark armies conquering light until Poe comes to rule.
Ayúdanos a darle un final a una historia
Poe era un escritor que vivía en la colina al norte de Indianápolis; el pueblo más tranquilo del estado de Veramendoza. En la mente de los curiosos, la colina parecía lúgubre, pero para la vida diaria del escritor, su morada era solitaria; en las noches de luna, triste; y siempre tuvo acceso a Internet.
Gracias a la tecnología y a pesar de su soledad, Poe contaba con un gran número de seguidores en las redes sociales, quienes admiraban su estilo de escritura oscuro y macabro. Sin embargo, Poe no estaba satisfecho con solo tener seguidores en línea; los quería a su alcance físico.
Así que empezó a invitar gente a su cabaña; con la excusa de que iba a realizar sesiones de lectura con sus obras más terroríficas, permitió que invadieran su soledad y su cerro. Sus seguidores, emocionados por la oportunidad de conocer a su ídolo, aceptaron con entusiasmo.
Las tertulias eran agradables, la voz de Poe los seducía con una extraña fascinación que nunca antes habían experimentado; la gente subía ansiosa al cerro e incluso llegó un momento en que las ganas de escuchar las macabras historias se volvieron imprescindibles para dormir y aunque sintieron que la voz del lector los desgarraba, que les estaba pasando lo que el escritor les contaba, que eran las víctimas del homicida que una a una les iba quitando el alma, no se fueron del cerro; por el contrario, durmieron durante el día frente a la casa de Poe para esperar allí la noche siguiente.
Indiapolis se enamoró de la lectura de Poe; sus relatos tenían al pueblo embelesado; él mismo estaba asombrado por el poder de sus cuentos, incluso dejó de escribir para inventar oralmente las historias y utilizó a las personas como personajes. Sabía de secretos, de creencias ocultas, de gente enigmática; todo el pueblo le fue revelado en sus misterios; tuvo en sus manos la verdad de todo, en su talento las tinieblas y la luz para mezclar lo falso con lo verdadero y cuando lo hizo despertó la voluntad de la creación; creó un monstruo amorfo, colectivo, de mil cabezas, que empezaron a atacarse unos a otros.
Desde el cerro Poe narró y con el hilo de su voz conmovió al pueblo, a su antojo, como los escritores quieren conmover a sus lectores. Uno a uno caía al suelo, muerto, en una crueldad que amenazaba con acabar con el mundo
Continuación
Sus seguidores, hechizados, no tenían voluntad propia. El mundo del escritor se convirtió en su ilusión y poco a poco se transformaron en los monstruos de la imaginación del escritor. Poe rió indistintamente, satisfecho con su creación.
"Llamaré a esta colina Rama, porque ha dado a luz a hombres con almas oscuras", dijo, "ha llegado una nueva era", agregó.
Diariamente sus seguidores aumentaban, esto era lo que Poe quería, un ejército, con almas oscuras, que pudiera mirar a través de los lentes de los ojos de las personas y convertirlas en monstruos.
Diariamente continuaban en el cuento de Poe. A pesar de que se sentía mal, estaban en desventaja en su voluntad. Poe sintió que era hora de vengarse de sus años de sufrimiento, desterrado a vivir en las colinas por un crimen que nunca cometió. Su soledad solo lo había hecho más fuerte para comunicarse con su lado oscuro por escrito. Los monstruos amorfos que había creado fueron su arma contra el mundo, ya que movilizó a mil de ellos para enviarlos a vivir entre los hombres.
"El mundo es cruel" les dijo leyendo la última página de su libro, era la última noche para ponerles las iniciales en su propósito. Sabía que le habían prohibido vivir entre los hombres, condenado a vivir en las colinas hasta su muerte, pero si alguna vez iba a gobernar, primero necesitaba ejércitos que envenenaran las almas de los hombres.
"Y surgirá un ejército que conquistará la luz y la oscuridad gobernará" dijo Poe, finalizando su relato. La historia se sintió tan real para ellos que solo un cuento en este momento, tenían la convicción de que ellos eran los ejércitos que conquistarían la luz. Dejaron a Rama con el corazón envenenado, ya no para vivir como hombres normales, sino como los ejércitos oscuros de Poe conquistando la luz hasta que Poe llegue a gobernar.