Perhaps it's lack of sleep that leads me in writing this. All my fears and insecurities, well I suppose you've pretty well got a handle on that. It's not that hard to figure out. I feel like I'm drowning, slowly letting the water rush into my open mouth and down my throat to plug my lungs. My pulse pounds in my head as my blood rushes to my brain, never stopping. It's like a drum, thump thump, thump thump, over and over until it would drive me mad. It will never leave me alone, I know that now, and perhaps would be I a fool for believing that I can escape the fate of all those that came before me. I have a new path though, a new way of maybe surviving all this, though I no longer hold any regard for the life that I hold within my beating heart and rushing blood.
I am tired of all that goes on outside my door. The accidents, the mishaps. There are too many coincidences in this part of town, and I want nothing to do with it. As soon as I get the paperwork to close, I'm moving houses and hopefully I will have no worries of his goons on my doorstep, though that would be wishful thinking. Even though I am moving, don't think of this as running or trying to hide. No. I refuse to give up my life just because some abomination wants to kill me. Go ahead if that's what you really want Mr. Slender. Kill me and don't leave a body. Make me disappear into the night because it's not like there is anyone who really cares if I'm gone. No one relies on me for anything other than to be the existence that is just as easily forgotten as unpleasant paperwork.
So as I sit here at my desk, bottle of rum in one had and a bottle of coke in the other, I wonder if this is what life is really about. I wonder if this is what God's plan for me really is. Will I be one of the ones who fall quickly from grace, destined to live in the shadowy nether regions of the spiritual life, or will I be tied to this plain of existence for years to come. Really it's all in God's hands now. I can't see myself surviving this onslaught of Myth and Superstition, yet, perhaps today I will be one of the lucky ones.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Sunday, 18 September 2011
I'm sorry this post comes so late, but I've been busy. Not that kind of busy that I was working all night and just didn't have time to get online busy, yet I applaud myself for actually getting off my butt to do this.
I took a trip to
. You heard me right. The Holland drugs and Red Light Districts that would knock your socks off, but that's not what I went for. I arrived in front of the Cirque Du Soliel European Headquarters with little more than a backpack full of clothing, and a key that had been tucked into my father's diary. I had to confirm all that he said in the book, because I sure as hell wasn't going to just blindly believe something like that. It was certainly a hassle to try and get these guys to let me in. The old gym hadn't been used in years and there was some sort of shady reason that the Cirque people didn't want to tell me. Also the Russell family appeared not to exist, but there was a look on their faces as if they had seen a ghost while they looked at me. land of Illegal
It took about three days, but they finally let me take a look around. As I approached the old building, a feeling of apprehension clenched in my stomach. What if everything that my Father had written was true? What if all this stuff about Proxies and Slenderman was actually real? I couldn't think of that. I couldn't possible believe that any of this could possibly have roots in reality. I slotted the key in the old lock and turned, pushing open the door. The smell that came over me made me gag. It was like rotting flesh and unwashed blood that flew into my nostrils like a particularly annoying fly. There was the hum of insect life as I stepped in closing the door behind me and flicking on the lights in the dark room.
There it was, the sea of blood. Not cleaned in the years since my father had done it, and as I stepped in a puddle, I realized that the blood wasn't dry. My head was spinning. This wasn't possible. There was no way that the scene would stay so intact. The laughing came from high above. Insane. High Pitched. Like a child who was almost ready to cry their heart out, but was holding it all in. I couldn't take it.
I turned and ran.
And so here I am. Back home safe and sound, the key tucked far under my pillow along with that damn work of fiction. I refuse to believe what I saw. It's not real. It's not there. There is no such thing as Slenderman. There are no such things as proxies. This is all lies meant to scare me into running and hiding or fighting some figment of my imagination. I will not give in. I will not be scared of the bumps in the night, because they are nothing more than regular things in my normal life.