The lights came on after the show, but the cinema seemed a little noisy.

"What kind of movie is this? What is it about?"

"I don't understand what you're saying. I don't understand it at all!"

"I actually thought it was quite touching. I almost cried during the whole thing."

"Anyway, the ending seems to be okay."

"I haven't seen enough, why is it ending like this?"

"I wonder if the director has suffered some psychological trauma. How could he come up with such a plot?"

"I feel like I can make this movie, and I can act in it."

"It's a bit of a waste of ticket money. Next time I will read the reviews before buying tickets."

"I thought it was a bit exciting, but I didn't expect the ending to be like this. It's hard to evaluate."

"Does the director have other works? I'm a little interested."

The cast list was still rolling and the audience had already become noisy, talking at once about their thoughts on the movie.

He sat in the audience and did not stand up immediately.

As for the movie just now, although there were many plot points that he didn’t understand, the way of expression and the performances of the characters always made him feel excited.

If a work can touch people's hearts, it is basically a success.

As a creator, he has such thoughts.

The people around him urged him to get up. They were a couple, and they seemed to be in a hurry to get ready for the next party.

He politely made way and followed the crowd out of the cinema, still thinking about the plot of the movie.

After separating from his wife, he was often troubled by a strong sense of depression. When he was young, he suffered from mental illness and even failed to complete his studies. Fortunately, his later life gradually healed these pains and allowed him to focus on creation.

However, these emotions were brought back along with some quarrels, chaos, and betrayal. In recent days, he often suffered from insomnia at night and was troubled by nightmares.

In those strange and bizarre dreams, certain things that are difficult to describe in words affect his consciousness. He sees many wonders that he has never seen before, magnificent worlds, bizarre exotic scenery. He also dreams of some wonderful journeys, exploring humans, and crazy things.

All of this, inspired by this seemingly inexplicable movie, made it difficult for him to curb his imagination.

Walking down the street, everything seemed extremely novel.

The war is over, but people's lives have not become better. The economic recession and collapse have made life increasingly difficult for civilians, but on a higher level, the new technologies make everyone full of hope, as if the world will become a better place because of it.

He walked on this familiar yet unfamiliar street. This port city had been quite prosperous when he was a child. Today, there were many more steel ships at the docks. Those ships with thick black smoke coming out of their chimneys were sailing towards the distance, bringing hope or disaster, no one knew.

However, in his eyes, this dull, depressing, unknown and indifferent world has changed.

Will the cold white ship on the sea encounter a turquoise temple rising from the bottom of the sea? When the stars return to their positions, will a call from ancient times return to the dreams of strangers?

In the timeless shadows of the alley, are there ferocious beasts lurking around? Whenever the dark night falls, who are the whispers dancing with under the moonlight?

Is there an indescribable foreign god hidden among the ordinary pedestrians? The lurking fear comes from outside, casting the color of the starry sky on these people's faces.

Countless fantasies blossomed, bloomed, and exploded in his mind like fireworks. For ordinary people, such a mental state can hardly be called healthy.

He walked a little unsteadily, bumping into many people along the way, attracting some cold stares and insults, just like a drunk homeless person.

Returning to his deserted home, he took off his hat, took off his suit, and went to the desk.

Picking up the pen, he randomly pulled out a piece of manuscript paper and began to record his newly born nightmare on it.

"The inability of the human mind to connect known things to each other is, I think, the most merciful thing in the world. We live on a peaceful island called ignorance, surrounded by a vast and dark ocean, but this does not mean that we should set sail..."

His pen moved very fast, but it still could not keep up with the speed of his thinking. While he was elaborating on the grammar and techniques, his thoughts had already flown beyond the universe, between the stars, into the distant, ancient, deep void, and above the indifferent, grand, towering palace.

Unconsciously, time passed by, and when the sun set, he finally stopped writing and let out a long sigh, as if he had just relieved his mind of all the messy, trivial, and mind-torturing things through writing.

He was a little tired, his forehead was covered with sweat, he put down his pen, and wanted to close the door and rest for a while.

At this time, a flute sounded.

This was not an ordinary flute, but rather some novel musical instrument from the East. He had heard some street performers playing it in New York, and he thought it was an extremely cheerful instrument.

But now, the music sounds mournful and melancholy. Although it is high-pitched, it still cannot conceal the sadness in it.

He listened carefully, not knowing how much time had passed, until the moonlight shone through the window, falling on the words on the manuscript paper, giving them a hazy luster.

Picking up the pen, he had some new ideas and continued to finish writing the story.

A few days later, still troubled by nightmares and vague mumblings, he finally completed the novel. The entire creative experience can be said to be extremely enjoyable. Even during the writing process, his sleep quality improved a lot.

After reviewing his story again, he felt quite satisfied, but before that, he thought it necessary to listen to the advice of his friends.

After asking someone to copy the manuscript, he took out an envelope, folded the copy carefully and put it in it, then took out another piece of manuscript paper, flattened it, and began to write a letter in an elegant and neat handwriting.

"Dear friend, as you know, I have been troubled by insomnia and nightmares recently. These trivial things tortured my mind and made me unable to calm down. I followed your advice and watched some popular movies recently. I have to say that this gave me some clever inspiration. I incorporated it into the story and wrote a pretty good novel. Attached to this letter..."

"…As mentioned above, I plan to submit it, hoping to earn some royalties to support my life. I don't have many merits, and I can only write some words for people's entertainment. If you have any criticisms or suggestions, please reply as soon as possible. Don't worry about hurting me."

After writing the letter, he thought about it for a while and then signed his name at the end.

"…your faithful friend, HF Lovecraft."

(End of the book)