The radio crackled to life with a shattering burst of static, even though the battery in our old truck had died long ago, shortly after the all-devouring void reached the sister cities on the edge of the scorched and blasted lands where once crops grew tall. An old, old voice which may once have been human crooned to us, telling tales of the insignificant world we had known, before IT returned to claim ITS birthright. As the final light went out of the sky, condemning us to eternal darkness, the fading voice half-croaked, half-crooned, “And these are the tales of the Lake of Woe…”.
[The preceding was knocked off in a Facebook comment thread, wherein the poster asked for a three sentence story inspired by this image, written in the style of weird fiction author H. P. Lovecraft.]