The basic trait of human nature is curiosity.

It is what defines this as a species.

No matter what part of our beautiful planet we live in, we always look up to the skies

and wonder, admiring the vastness of the cosmos.

Asking about our place in this magnificent world could be really be alone in the emptiness

of space, a spark of life that went against the natural order of entropy.

Where are we just part of a greater scheme, like a tiny cogwheel, and a world far more advanced

in the nose?

We asked ourselves these questions, but we never sat back and thought if we were prepared

to receive real answers.

The last, our romantic view of the universe would be forgotten under the terror of the horrific

truth.

I guess HP Lovecraft was correct, right from the start.

These cult classics he wrote about gods, so powerful and terrible in nature, that they

dreamed the world into existence and created humanity as a toy to pass their time through

the eons.

We were lucky that we were so small, so useless to them, so insignificant that they didn't

even care to look down to us puny mortals.

Should they ever choose to, though?

And kind would be reduced to ash, and the blink of an eye.

Sometimes I think that the man had true visions of the reality outside our blissful ignorance.

It wasn't writing fiction.

...