There is a nondescript entrance ramp onto I295 in Portland, Maine. The ramp is busy and well traveled. Driving onto it, one notices the many discarded things in the shadows of the overpass above. Discarded computer monitors, old blackened traffic cones, beer cans, random shoes, baseball caps and old clothes.
On the left hand side of the ramp sits a blue recycling bin. It is cracked in half, as if it has been hit a few times or from when it dropped off the back of a pickup traveling at a high rate of speed.
Inside the bin are stacked broken gray stone tablets piled on top of one another. They are just over one inch thick and made of a dark granite. When they were intact, they were circular and fit together in a complex manner. They spill out of the broken blue bin and onto the highway to be further pulverized or puncture tires.
The tablets are covered with a strange writing never seen before. It is the writing of a race of people who once lived far below the ocean floor beyond the islands of Casco Bay.