...before I get inundated with hundreds of complaints and claims of wifin' (of course I know what wifin' is, don't even ask) when somebody who knows what I'm talking about finds this blog.
Some of you (and by some of you I mean none of you, dear non-existent audience) are probably wondering why I'm not a gibbering mess with half his brain missing and the other half filled with razor-sharp crazy, just like every other person you've ever seen working for Him. I can't say for sure, because my employer isn't really the talkative type and my colleagues aren't big on questioning His motives, but from what vague indications I have and a little bit of assumption, I'm going to say it's because I do my job best when I'm able to count higher than five and actually remember the vast majority of what I do. Not that I don't have my moments. Nosebleeds and migraines are the most of it, but whenever I try to write something down in pencil it's a real struggle not to put an 'x' through every 'o' I write. Pen's are a little easier to use without provoking everybody's favourite spelling mistake, and keyboards work fine, but it's not like I'm completely immune to His compulsions.
Which brings me to the reason for my blog. It's a theory I've heard bandied about before, that seeks to explain why there seems to be an awful lot of records concerning Him nowadays that continue even into the midst of madness or beyond anything approaching convenience as one attempts to flee from Him. It's correct, as far as I can tell, and goes something like this:
He makes you write, and record and long to tell anybody and everybody, because surely you're just crazy and somebody will point this out and everything will get better, or because surely you're not crazy and somebody else will point this out and nothing will change, but hey, at least they can see Him too. And apparently, as long as you've got a shred of sanity and a tall, faceless friend, you have to write about it and let people know, even if He's not chasing you and doesn't really consider you worth noticing unless one of His other friends needs a splint or a shower.
Which brings me back to the second and third labels for this post, 'The Job' and 'The Colleagues'. I thought I'd explain what I could without getting anybody killed (especially me), just for interest's sake. It's probably not wise, but very little of what I do nowadays is, and we've already discussed the 'must tell everybody' compulsions I'm having so there's no need to rant on about that being my excuse until I've proved I actually am crazy. Anyway, to sum up my job, I'd say I'm something of a caretaker, provider and advisor for a network of loosely affiliated, partially brain-dead cultists intent on making life hell for people who interfere with their business.
I've heard us called many things, but the names getting the most truck on the Internet are Hallowed and Agents. Unfortunately for everybody involved, the person who trained me to do what I do referred to the Hallowed as two distinct groups of people, and it's both a habit I've acquired and one which I have desire to change.
The first is the Taken, people who have been Touched so thoroughly by His will that they have almost none of their own left. Between periods of activity focused upon fulfilling His orders, they frequently need to be reminded to eat, bathe or move at all. Some even need me to feed/bathe/move them myself when they're not otherwise occupied pulling on masks, chasing people and writing cryptic messages on the walls of wherever I've got them stashed for now.
The second is the Touched, which my old partner renamed the Hallowed once he learned of the term from me. I don't think I need to tell you where I learned it myself, and I think He might be angry if I did and you subsequently learnt where it was from. Though He does enjoy a challenge and a chase (as far as I can tell), so perhaps not. Still, safe and sorry and all that.
Anyway, my partner used to call them the Touched because that was what they were - Touched by His will but not Taken by it. For the most part, they're normal, and they can do a pretty good impression of sanity if they want to, but they still love Him with a fervour beyond comprehension and they still like to write in code and capitals all over the walls whenever nobody is watching.
What most of you call Agents he called Servants, believing them to be 'below His notice and unworthy of His touch' but 'aware of their place and eager to serve'. I, myself, am a Servant (neither aware of my place nor eager to serve) while he was a Touched when we met, a Hallowed when he rewrote his little 'Operator's Handbook' and a Taken when our employer came around one time too many times for a favour.
Actually, now I think about it, Hallowed would've probably served as a better title for the Taken, what with the originator of the phrase believing Hallowed to be nothing but the corpse of a person acting in concert with His will. But that is neither here nor there. For clarities sake, I will be sticking to the original titles of Taken, Touched, Servant and Heretic to describe those caught in His web, lest my contradictory definitions confuse you all (yes, that's right - with a grand total of nine page views, ever, I am now going to my non-existent audience as 'you all'). Heretic, obviously, is the title for somebody being hunted by Him who is resisting in whatever manner they've chosen, be it denial, running or even by fighting. If they're stupid, foolish or brave enough to fight. Finally, there is the Blind, who'll I'll probably be referring to as 'the lucky ones' whenever I write about them, since they're oblivious to His existence and untouched by Him.
Which leaves me with 'The Office', the last of the labels I wrote out so I'd remember what I was trying to cover this time round, and which I'm considering taking out. Basically I was being smart and trying to remind myself to work in a reference to my current living conditions on the sly, but I think I'll have to give it to you straight. At present, I'm holed up in an abandoned building with some colleagues of mine that's luckily only two streets over from a McDonalds with free wi-fi and a McCafe which stays open 24/7. Which is how this all started, since I've been sleeping during the day and doing my best to avoid my hide-out during the night because of all the damn sleep-walking and screaming. Since here is the only place open 24 hours a day anywhere nearby that I can charge my laptop, I'm pretty much stuck here. Not that I mind. My current setup is pretty perfect really, which means with my luck I'll be forced to move sometime in the next week.
Anyway, my head's starting to hurt, which either means I'm getting a visitor tomorrow night or I need another cup of coffee to wake me up properly. Either way, I'm going to go get one and call it a day (or a night) here. Who knows, maybe I'll steal somebody's wallet and go clubbing with the cash. God knows I'm starting to run out of ideas for entertaining myself with free McDonalds Internet in the middle of the night that don't involved getting kicked out for indecency.