Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Your brother's password was his middle name

And you're honestly going to tell me you didn't think to guess that!? What the fuck did you do to my Andy, Benjamin? Is he tied up? Did he try to kill you? Did you just abandon him and steal his phone? Fucking tell me! If you hurt him, I swear to He Himself I'll send The Faceless God after you for the rest of your life. He likes me, did you know? Every time He visits He tells me that, that He likes me. So don't think I won't. And why the fuck won't you take my calls, huh!? You go and tell everybody you want to talk to me and then you just never pick up. You fucking coward. Talk to me! I know you're on here. I waited until I saw you post, so don't you fucking try and pretend you haven't seen this the moment it pops up.

All we wanted was Andy back. I needed his help looking after all the people. I can't do his job without him. The Minister gets so mad sometimes, when I forget things. I just need some help Ben. Why'd you have to hurt Andy?

Monday, May 30, 2011

One Month Delay

If I haven't logged in to delay this update, it should be posted one month after I last logged in, at 12:00PM midday whatever the hell the blogger time is. I'm at least effectively dead, since even Taken I should retain the mental facilities and imprinted patterns necessary to continue performing habitual actions. Please note that this should not be considered proof in any way, shape or form that I am either alive or dead. All this means is I can't get to the computer, which might just mean that's impossible.

And I think I can guess why.

There's only so much room in the story, you see, and we're running out. I had my chance so long ago around the solstice - there's a clear spike when compared to my current views - but I've sadly regulated our story to the smallest of niches through my own failings. But that's okay, because there's more room here, where everything I do is of little consequence. I can work with niches, maybe even spin this into some sort of illustrative warning for the Hero That Shall Come.  I mean, there's not exactly a lot of people involved, so I think I can spin the factlessness into something useful, you know? Provided our friends don't interfere. She has such beautiful hair. Ben was right. It's always the hair.

Not that the Hero will come. Robert fucked whatever chance we had with the titles long ago. Actually, that's not particularly fair. All the twelve year old special snowflake gamers fucked whatever chance we had in the titles. For what they did, I hope they've fallen from that special breed of half-Blindness where you know Him but He does not deign to know you, right into Heresy alongside us all. I hope He has them on the Tree, waiting for me with all their dreams coming true.

I should've known. Really, I should've. I've seen the light enough times in their eyes that it should have been obvious. And all I thought He was capable of was raw terror and hate and confusion and pain. I had no idea.

I trusted your plans too much. Tried to make myself part of everything else, or at least let everything else make me a part of it. I never realized I hated the core theory, though. It made Hoso into the Minstrel, turned Zero into a homicidal maniac. It tore apart space and time so she could kill herself in a sick mockery of the death each Touched dies every day. I loved that music, and perhaps if she'd been less popular she might've faded into obscurity, been overlooked by Him. All she was would've remained untainted. Built him up and tore him down, rendered all his work into nothing and drove him to the edge of madness. But not only that - the core theory's poison is everywhere. What grew from what Robert made destroyed even him, and he was perhaps the best chance we had, the architect of it all. The idea was there, but here's the catch - the idea was too appealing, too deeply true for only the greatest of us to pick up. And once the idiots had it too, it all turned to shit. It destroyed so many lives what all of you did, and I'll see each one of you pay in time.

That's not me talking. Ignore that. That's a lie. That's someone else bleeding through from somewhere else, turning left while I turn right. There's only enough room in this story for one protagonist, and it's obvious forcing Ben to share is going to get us both killed. I should've expanded the cast. Told you about James and his vestments, about Sidekick's favorite foods, about Cain and Abel (they're nicknames, not what they actually call themselves.) I could've made enough room to stay if I'd brought in some more villains, fleshed them out and made it ambiguous. Hell, I might've even been able to spin myself a position as the older, wiser brother who teaches the hero what he needs to know.

But there isn't room, and I'm the younger twin regardless.

You can see where He has me. All this hate was never good to carry. But I've had it for so long, watching so many fail, watching so many come to my care and die alone, marooned on an island of insanity in a sea of the insane. We were all worth so much more, and perhaps if you'd all been better characters then you wouldn't have needed to be (Conduits) and (Cartographers) and (Oracles) and (Demons) and fucking (Heralds). I mean, what the hell is a Herald supposed to do? Announce the fucking (Sages) as they arrive wherever they're going? Bully for fucking Nessa. She was a good kid and she didn't deserve what the core theory did to her, not one bit. None of us did.

I feel sorry for Zero, and all the people he's killed, all the people he's going to kill. Mostly because the same thing's happening to me but also because he just got a really shit deal, even if it is better than, say, Jekyll. You try to take a hold of something good, some small chance, and you get lost in it. The story is all He needs, but the story needs a Dragon, just like every other one. Though that's not the worst part. The worst part is he almost made it back out but for that little detail about building a weapon out of the bones of the Touched. Then there's Amelia. Poor girl. If Zero hadn't been so far gone to have killed her, then perhaps the entire story might've changed. There's nothing like a love interest to keep the guy with a sword alive until the end. Speaking of love interests, The New Girl gave me an idea with all that writhing on the floor screaming God's name in pleasure. Because there are Gods, half forgotten and rotting, and some of them sit upon thrones not unlike His, and deal in stories told that cross paths with ours. At present, it's my only chance.

I never noticed it wasn't pain that was making her scream like that, the sick bitch. God is Ben going to have a field day if he ever sees this. There's so much more I'd like to say but it's all coming out on top of each other and I can hear the music now, so I don't have much time. I never knew He could be so beautiful, not in a million years.

It's Ben's only chance.

The core theory, Redlight, The revenants, everything that's passed and everything that's yet to pass will forever taint the work we do, or the work you try so desperately to do and the work I so foolishly did. It's something we'll have to live with - the stain of this failed attempt, that cunning deception. Hell, the core theory took so much there's barely any room left, and fading into obscurity for all of us is absolutely no soluti  nt to sleep before and He will be content to sleep again if all this fades. Sleep and wait until the time comes to strike anew on a world that has forgotten Him for the most part yet again.

on. He was conte

Look, I did what I had to do, and I can't explain it because that would invalidate what I did. n be won. I've done the math, okay? I know what I'm doing.You know I'm smart enough to get myself killed and end up winning all of this, in as much as all of this ca

Just, just don't fret, Benji. It's okayl. I'm perfectly fine, though I will concede to the fact of a little time pressure and a whole lot of dnager. so that you may live. There's only one cha I might be able to ke nce, only one other Tree to hang from, and if the parts of me He can't get to survive the nine days then ep enough of myself to get you out of this forever once I've hung from His and He's taken what he can.

Don't do anything r you, and I will not see stupid. I'm doing this fo you waste it.

I love you, man.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I Found Drew's Phone

I was out of toothpaste, so I went digging around in his bag for wherever he keeps his toiletries. Actually how I found it isn't really important. When I charged it and turned it on, though, it had 34 missed calls and 42 messages. Most of the messages (34, in fact) were just Telstra being a moron and insisting on sending a message about the missed calls, but some were from people.

Neither number had real a name, though. One had the name "IGNORE", and the other was just "My Old Number". It's obvious enough that the old number thing is a lie, because, well, here are the texts.

From "My Old Number":

There's three missed calls from this one, all right after each other and maybe a week after he disappeared at about 4 AM. That's when I'm asleep, more often than not.

"You missed the call. Is something wrong Drew? Did He get Ben? Are you alright?"

Then another about three days later.

"I know I'm not supposed to be texting you the updates, because you can't check which one of us it is, but something is going down. Call me."

Then there's eight more calls, one a day at Four AM.

"Look, call me to confirm it or whatever, but you need to know. He visited, and Cain and Abel are really excited now. Something's up."

That's it, apart from one more call about a week later.

Now the ones from "Ignore":

There's three missed calls from whoever this is right about when I think he disappeared, and then:


Then another five missed calls, all within about an hour of each other at the most.

"Don't do this to me, Andy. I'm scared. I need someone to talk to, please. I'm sorry about what I did, okay? I've already said I'm sorry."

Then another two.

"Baby please pick up. I want out, okay. He's not in my head, alright, if that's what you're worried about. I just want out."

Then another seven missed calls, over the course of the next day.

"Don't do this to me Drew. I'm not going to take shit like this much longer."

Then another one.

"Fine, I'm on my way and I'm coming to talk to you. I don't know when I'm going to wake up on my way to you, but I'm not stopping until I do."

Then there's an absolute tonne of missed calls, all over the place time and date-wise, leading up until today. There's generally at least one call per day, and there was one this morning, about an hour or so ago. Which means whoever Ignore is still wants to talk to Drew.

So I guess I get to tell them Andrew's gone and probably dead, whoever they are.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Mirrors and Madness

I saw myself move in the mirror today. He turned left when I turned right, or at least he turned to my left while I turned to my right, seeing as it gets ambiguous when the other person moving is also me. It was for only the briefest of seconds that I didn't really noticed until I'd looked away, and by then it was back to normal when I glanced back. But I moved.

He was there, or the mess He's making was there, seeing as I didn't see Him. If I'm starting to witness myself making two separate decisions simultaneously like that, then I think we're in trouble - even if it was such a small one. We've moved on again, and this time I have no idea where we're going. Away from home, and that forsaken, blood-stained hotel that we ran to, that's for sure.

I don't think it can be stopped. I've been looking at everything He's doing, all this "dimensional bleeding" insanity, all the frenzy He's inspiring in His Touched, all the people crumbling under the pressure, all the death and destruction and anger. And I'm scared. I'll be honest about that. I'm scared, because I know we can't beat Him, Ben and I. I'm in too deep to be standing and fighting without losing it all, and all that leaves is running. But I have a new plan, one that doesn't involve feats I cannot accomplish. One with layer after layer of redundancy and contingency as standard. One that I can't share. They're watching the blog - He's watching the blog, in a roundabout enough way.

But when we're safe, when I've worked my magic, when everything has failed, time and time again - and I find myself still alive, having planned for it all - then you'll know. When Ben and I are safe, I'll tell you all how I did it, because by then it won't even matter.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Sorry, But I Got Bored

This is fun, watching everybody play with this new computer. I just wish I could see the hardware, review whatever databases it's using to operate and have a poke around in the programming for whatever it's running to do all this. It seems fascinatingly complex, for a text-based operating system. It looks like it can even interpret poorly spelled and ambiguously phrased input, which is remarkable to say the least. It's at very least a marvel of software engineering, just on account of the kind of things you could do with a computer and some software like that. I might consider stepping over a body or two if it got my hands on this thing and see what the actual interface is like, I'll be honest.

But that's not important. It did give me an idea, though. I thought maybe I could run a couple of scenarios by it to determine our next course of action. It would just help if I knew how the decision making processes worked and if they were trustworthy. To be honest, I don't have a lot of faith in it, seeing as it looks a little like it confused Ben and I while analyzing us, thinking I'm more stable than Ben. It's not like that damn music might sway my vote for stability past his more intelligent horror in His presence.

I'm not really supposed to be blogging, but the scars are definitely sufficiently scabbed and healing that as long as I keep from typing too fast or hard nothing will be any worse off than when I started. They're definitely not going to tear open if I'm gentle, so Ben will just have to deal. Plus, it's just too much fun trying to decide what I should ask the thing next, or if maybe talking to it might not be a good idea. Now that I think about it, it definitely not one where everybody can see you asking it about your plans while a small subset of everybody really wouldn't mind spoiling them. I can hardly ask the thing where Ben and I should go hide right out in public, now can I? Then again, I wonder if perhaps I can send in requests for calculations or analysis by email. If only I knew how it worked.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Ben's an insy whinsy bit of a fool, and he's apparently incapable of listenning either. And I know I'm not supposed to be typing because it's bad for my stitches and healing in general, but I'm too drunk for it to hurt so it's aokay.

And so, without further adeu, I bring you the unmolested rendition of the last three halves of my newest piece of work, inspired by this increasingly shit situatiuon we find ourselves in:

Minstrel's cut her own face off
The Jester's noose draws tight
Old Zerosage returns from death
To stalk us in the night

And who the fuck is nocturne, eh?
And what the fuck's his game?
Through Reach the Boss has trolled us all
Consequences never be the same

Robert might'bve been the chance
But we all know how that ends
So let's just watch him find His name
So we can all get fucked again!

Oh poetry, oh noetry
Shout bingo, wont you dear!?
For while we drink and while I sign
Old He "that is" draws near

Oh yes, He comes to screw my plans
My theories effing A
And if it keeps right at this rate
I give myself a day!

And I can't give yo uthe rest of it because it doesn't count as forshadowing if you don't get the proportions right or just plain spell it out either, and my plan's not going to work unless i can get the story perfect and perfect stories don't spell shit out first they foreshadow. It has to fit, and that is too damned hard to do, I'll have you know. Too damned hard. I've had to cut back sooooooooooooooo much and now it's like the contingency to the contingency to the contingency to the backup plan's backup plan.

And yoiu know why? It's not your fault or anything, but there's not enough room with everybody else crowding about, and all the heroics get watered down and instead of Zeke Stramn getting enough sapce to save us all he end up getting relegated Mystic instead and instead of the dearest Sage fo Nothing sacrificing himself to end it all, we all work enough magic with our heads to make the whole thing piontless because you won't give him enough room to work with. Hell, if they can't do it, fricken pillars of awesomethat they are then I sure as hell won't be able to beat Him, will I? So contingency F-7 and a half or something. That one might work. There's room enough for half a plan.

And I just have to say sorry to past me for skipping out on your promise and posting up something that could possible be misconstrued as poetry if you squint and ignore the fact it's a drinking song. It's how drunk me rolls, and anyway I have a better plan than you so stuff it we're running with it!

Monday, April 18, 2011


Drew's drunk. Like, singing drunk. I just got a call from him looking for a lift back from the bar he's at all of three doors down from the hotel we're staying in, which I guess means he's also stupid drunk. He also thinks he's successfully hung up the phone because I can still hear him leading whoever the hell he's drinking with in song now that he's realized he's practically next door and thinks I'm no longer listening.

It's about the blogs, I think. Actually, it's so damn morbid it can't be about anything but the blogs, which I guess is why nobody else knows the words and is just kind of slurring along with him in the background. Here's the current verse as it comes through the speaker -

Michael's cut his own face off
The jester's noose draws tight
(Something about 'zerosage' I didn't quite get)
To stalk us in the night

Anyway. I have no idea who Michael is, but then I don't read every blog Drew follows and I'm not all that up to date on all of them as it is. But I'm heading off on a tangent there and I've decided I don't really want to complain as much as I did when he first called. It's more funny than annoying now. So on that note, I think I'm going to go get him before he uses up all of his credit or sings something stupid that sounds enough like an insult to start a fight with somebody he didn't even know was listening.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Moving On

Obviously we're no longer at the beach. We actually left the day after the last post, but we've been on the move or in places we didn't want it to be common knowledge we were in since we left, so I apologize for the lack of updates. We've visited Melbourne during our little stint of radio silence, because the days are getting awful cold all of a sudden ("that would be Autumn", shouts Drew from the bathroom as I read this back) and we needed to replace some old clothes so we don't, you know, freeze. All in all it was a pretty good trip, considering the fact there are 'old friends' of Drew's living there more or less permanently.

The only problem was the fact Myer is filled - and I do mean filled - with faceless white manikins, a good portion of which are wearing suits. Because, you know, faceless dudes in suits are in right now. Drew, of course, found the whole thing to be hilarious, but I am literally never shopping there again unless my life depends on it. I think I jumped every time I turned around, and it wasn't so much scary or horrifying as it was just plain annoying after the third or fourth time.

But apart from that, we're not doing a lot except driving somewhere I won't mention so we're not ambushed once we get there, in the vain hope we will be able to replenish our dwindling cash once we do. We're down to what we have left in our wallets, which is admittedly more than I'd usually carry in my wallet but at the same time not enough to survive for all that long. Well, I'm driving, all Andrew is doing is making mess in every hotel room we find on the way.

Case in point. He took this yesterday, when I told him to start packing up so we could leave, which I suspect is the only reason you get to see it because he immediately decided he needed to take photos so the internet could also know how much crap he's compiled on the job over the years. He then spent the next ten minutes artfully arranging his shit so it would look good but still have that 'authentic messiness' to it, all the while conveniently preventing himself from doing any actual packing and still allowing him to keep reading while he did it. Also he may have wanted me to omit that fact, but he wasn't forcibly elected to the position of sole blog poster so he's just going to have to deal with me undermining every attempt of his to impress you lot from now on.

But yeah. That's basically all Drew's been doing since the incident, for anybody curious as to how you go about spending your time when you're not supposed to be lifting anything heavier than a page lest your tear out a stitch. I get to do all the heavy lifting, and the driving, and the packing, and I don't see him volunteering for Laundromat duty anytime soon either, so I'll probably end up doing that, too. Although I suppose that's better than having to help him wash himself. Thank god for waterproof bandage guards, is all I can say.

Monday, April 4, 2011

The Beach

Everybody stares at Drew's arms. Like, everybody, and it's really not helping the mood when everybody we meet either treats us with suspicion or pity. He's also moping around like a little girl all the time, so overall this road trip is starting to suck. Not that we're still on the road at the moment, since petrol is far too expensive to justify not hanging around for a couple of days.

We're at the beach for now, because I guess Mum used to take us all the time when we were young and we have nowhere to go anyway. Drew feels like being nostalgic now he can't use the laptop for much of anything, which I guess is a better response than the anxiety and moodiness I was expecting. He's been doing a lot of reading lately, going over all of the stuff we got back from the cops now I spend more time on the laptop than him. Which is kinda alright, I guess. He's not supposed to be doing anything that involves frequent arm and wrist movements, but he seems to insist on adding more nonsense theories whenever he thinks I'm not looking, and that involves writing - which is bad.

The beach is nice, though, since Drew can't go anywhere near the sand for fear of getting it under his bandages. Some time apart has been pretty awesome, if I'm going to be honest. I missed the kid while he was away, but living with each other isn't exactly conducive to getting along all the time, especially in the situation we find ourselves in. Plus I haven't been swimming since Drew showed up at my house, so that's nice too, even if Autumn isn't exactly the perfect time to be out there for it.

So I guess everything's cool, apart from nightmares all the time, the dwindling amount of money we have and nowhere to go nor anybody to go to. But we push on. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Sorry to keep you waiting

But since my idiot brother took the advice that alcohol would defeat rampant paranoia and general directionless terror to heart, it seems I'm still in charge of telling everybody what happened.

We stayed in one place too long again, and I've finally realised what I was so stupidly missing that meant The New Girl was always catching up with us. The Operator Symbol skews the time it takes for whatever part of Him that directs her to find us, and I'm incapable of drawing one without bringing Him down upon us. But that's another story.

We were both asleep, right at about five am where it overlaps for a couple of hours before Ben gets up at seven or so, when The New Girl kicked the door to our room in - which is, incidentally, the first point I've found in favour of staying in more expensive hotels. Ben was a whole lot closer to awake than I was, and jumped right up, but he tells me she just pushed him aside and into a wall and lunged at me. Needless to say, I wasn't quite capable of getting from half-awake to defending myself quick enough, and she had a knife of her own. I was tangled up in the sheets, and she was absolutely insane and I couldn't get my blade to flick out without getting stabbed in the eye or something.

I don't know how long we fought, but there was so much blood all over me, and my arms felt like they were being torn apart. Eventually she wasn't even using the knife. She just tore at the cuts until her hands were covered with blood and I was starting to feel lightheaded from struggling so much and losing all that blood. And then she stopped, and for a moment I thought maybe she'd proved a point about how her threats were real and was leaving.

But then I felt it. I felt Him coming. I struggled out of the tangle of sheets, bleeding everywhere as I got to my feet and saw my brother writhing around on the floor in apparent agony, which I'm told was a result of a rather underhanded kick to a rather vulnerable area, if you catch my drift.

She was drawing The Operator Symbol from my blood, laughing maniacally as she did. It was a full on, completely deranged slasher flick laugh like you've never heard before, and it was all made worse by that paradoxical feeling of creeping dread and growing calm that meant He was coming. The symbol she was drawing wasn't very big, and it was awfully streaky, but it was obvious what it was and that's apparently enough.

I tried to stop her, but the sheets were all over the ground and I was bleeding everywhere and woozy as shit from the blood loss and I fell over like the useless idiot I am. And then she collapsed right in front of me and started groaning in agony like she always does when He shows up. And He was just there. He was so tall, towering above the three of us lying there in various states of agony and He was in my head and all I could see was Ben dying, over and over again. The blood all over me was his, not mine and I was responsible or I hadn't tried hard enough to save him or he'd killed himself because of me. The pain was gone from my arms and the wounds weren't real anymore but there was just so much agony. I couldn't breathe. My heart wanted to escape my chest and there was something shifting in the back of my head.

And then there was bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. I couldn't hear my brother shouting at me to run, I couldn't see him scramble across the bed to try to pick me up and get me away from that thing that is He, I couldn't feel the agony of countless open wounds all over my arms. I could hear the singing, though, the beautiful choir of souls caught in rapture. I could see Him, though, towering over us all from His seat on high. I could feel the loving warmth radiating from His heart to envelope the world. I just wanted to go home, back to those warm, loving arms.

I don't know how long it took for me to come back to myself, but I do know the first thing I did was vomit, and since I hadn't eaten for ages because I'd been alseep, it was mostly just stomach acid - and that shit burns. I mean, I still want to throw up.

He hadn't even noticed I'd vomited all over the floor of the car, he was that caught up in himself. I scared the hell out of him when I called his name, though, because apparently I'd been ranting and raving about the light of my God and a whole score of other crazy shit while he'd tried to get me away, and then once he'd gotten me into the car and done his best with my first aid kit in the boot and actually escaped the damned hotel I just fainted.

So once we'd figured out I probably wasn't going to die from the blood loss, on account of the fact I was awake again, we went back to the hotel and got all of our shit out of the room before we ran into another fiasco with the cops all over us again and cleared the hell out of there. We're getting the hell out of the state before we head to a hospital though, because as much as the bandages stop the bleeding and the neurofen kills some of the pain, I think I need stitches if these cuts are ever going to heal. Like, badly.

That took far too long and I need to change my bandages again because I'm bleeding everywhere. On that note, Ben'll probably be in charge of updating from now on, because writing fucking hurts.

I think I'm going to vomit

In like so many wyas. My hands are shaking and I've lost so much blood. We had to change hotels and everything, and all that blood all allvoer our room means the cops will be onto us something major. But thats why we use my cards buecase I'm smart like that and I don't have a house anymore.

And all this typings making me bleed again. I'll let Ben tyep this shit up.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

New hotel, New game

"Which means there's a reason a bunch of super-powered freaks are running around and it's not because He needs them."

That reason is He is smarter than we are. We're supposed to be the ones weaving the stories, melting the facts of reality into something more palatable over time, and instead He's the one really pulling the strings, keeping us occupied elsewhere while He works whatever game He's working uninterrupted. Is Redlight's supposed rebellion just another part of His plan? Did Zero sacrifice himself because He wished it so, before the Sage of Nothing became a real threat? How far does the deception go, and are we living a lie right now, just one layer higher in a ring of false worlds?

Dear god I sound pretentious. I think I'm going to go hit my brother in the back of his head with a pillow, just so I can stop taking myself so seriously for a moment. Oh, and this one has free internet!

Saturday, March 19, 2011

And now we're on the run

I have no clue where we're going, and neither does Drew, but the both of us have agreed we can't hang around any longer without his new girl finding some way around the security or a rather tall certain someone popping in for a visit. I'd like to post something interesting, but lengthy descriptions of us sitting around in the hotel all day trying to figure out what the hell to do for the foreseeable future when we have absolutely no plans doesn't exactly make for interesting reading.

Drew's trying to figure out how to find ourselves some sort of semi-regular income before ours runs out and we have to resort to theft. I put my foot down at stealing from innocent people to survive when he suggested it, which lead to another fight. The only viable idea either of us has had would be to steal from the people he used to work with, but that sort of thing's probably going to get us killed, so that's out for now.

This running gig is really boring.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Backroom Deals and Secret Plans

I meet him behind the hotel at ten in the morning. Ben is fast asleep in the room and won't be up until sometime after twelve, so we're sure we won't be interrupted. It is difficult to look at his face, or it is difficult to remember looking at his face, but he's wearing that red hoodie and that smirk so it must be him. I ask him how Robert's doing just for kicks, and he sneers at me like I've insulting him. The New Girl is with him, ten steps back leaning against an obviously stolen car (it's missing the front right hand side window) and smoking a cigarette.

It's funny how nothing but a bit of tobacco and about six thousand poisonous additives can make someone so much less attractive. She refuses to acknowledge me when I say hi, but that's kind of what I expected.

"Information and skills." He says, like there's a whole list of places he needs to be today and I'm a very small but necessary interruption to his plans. It's obvious what he's doing, trying to dominate the meeting and make out like he's in charge to extract more information from me, so I just ignore him and start talking at the New Girl.

"How've you been?" She ignores me, so I decide to poke. "Writing in agony each time He visits?" She laughs quietly and takes another drag, before throwing the spare keys to Ben's car over her shoulder where he catches them, then sneering haughtily at me and leaving.

He's smiling now, like there's a huge secret I'm not privy to, as he plays with the keys in his hands.

"Information and skills, Andrew. You get your keys back for free as a show of good will, but I have everything the police have taken from you waiting in the boot of your young friend's newly acquired car." He gestures to the slowly retreating back of the New Girl in the distance as he mentions the car, just as she turns to cast one last look at me before disappearing around a corner. I wonder idly if they rehearsed that, so tiny a detail. "All you have to do is convince me you've got something worth it."

I show him all the notes he's quite helpfully stolen back from the police, once I root them out of all the other stuff. We spend about twenty minutes discussing several ideas I've had, and various things I've recorded or written down. I can tell he's impressed with some of the content, so I start probing him for answer of my own.

"So," I ask "are you in charge of Australia, or what?"

After a short pause, he glances up from a map of recorded occurrences of theopany in Australia, clearly annoyed.

"I may or may not simply be visiting Australia at this very moment. For all you know Andrew, there's only one of me, and I'm not going to be telling you otherwise since the first thing you're going to do after this is go running back to your laptop to write it all up and show everybody in a attempt to get the recognition you so desperately deserve."

"Well..." I start, about to ask him about what he (and possibly his comrades) is/are planning.

"Do you think I'm a fool? I'm only here because I have something to gain being here. You've clearly learnt a lot about our mutual employer - to borrow a term - in your time, and have countless recorded encounters with Him which provide a deep insight into how He reflects off of your psyche. Now it might all be useless drivel written by a deluded fool who only think he's sane, or it might actually contain some insight I'm not privy to..."

Clearly frustrated that I've made him explain something we both already know, he waves a rather worn exercise book filled with transcripts of 'conversations' I've had with Him and various half-sane rantings I've indulged in during the aftermath of such visitations.

"... but the more you know."

We talk and talk in circles, dance around the truths we don't want to reveal and dress up the lies we'd rather the other believe. In the end the entire thing takes less than an hour, but it feels like an eternity, with how much we've discussed and how many notes I need to re-write. I return to the hotel room to find a small piece of cardboard slid under the door.

So the threats have apparently started. I should have seen this coming, really, since this is the only time I plan for us to be apart in the foreseeable future.

And the other side. For anyone why can't read that, it says and I quote: 

Time is running out.
You will both come to Him.
One to save the other.
One to kill.
One soon.
One too late.
One to protect.
One to destroy.
One alone.

And no. I'm not particularly worried about what it says. Just an fyi for little miss newbie seeing as I know you're reading this. I figure this is your first chance at fieldwork and you obviously need the help so I'll make an exception this once and give you some pointers. This kind of shit doesn't scare me. Especially if this is the theme you're going to stick with. I'm looking foward to carrying out this whole thing out just by describing what we would've done if we could actually be bothered getting involved, so fire away. I'm a veteran of the art, baby, and you're going to have to do more than that to scare me.

And that's all I can manage, seeing as I'm falling asleep on my feet here. Whenever it is you find this Ben, please don't wake me up until I come to myself. It's hard enough getting sleep as it is.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

I can't sleep anymore

I feel like I'm being hit in the head with a shovel every time my heart beats, but I just can't do it. He's there, waiting for me to close my eyes and He's there making sure I never do and I just want to sleep. I bought some pills from the pharmacy, but they're not working and I'm afraid if I take even a fraction more than the recommended dosage I'll suddenly find myself overdosing for no reason whatsoever on non-prescription drugs, if that's even possible.

I had so many plans. God I did. Whispered secrets and ancient artifacts and sacred temples. One of them had to be real. The Heel's not the only mystical object of ancient power they rave about, you know. There are other Trees and other creatures that stalk the night, not just His, and not just Him. The only problem is all of the Gods we could turn to are dead - all the real ones, anyway. 

We've still got the Abrahamic faiths, but there's too many splintered cells of revolution and division to create anything of substance there. There might be a chance in Asia, but He's everywhere there. I don't know why, but He's a lot more subtle and a lot less predatory in the East, like we wronged Him somehow, so long ago. If the Noppera-bō and the Mujina are faces of His, with all the irony that statement contains, then there's no chance we'd survive with Him already waiting and so ingrained into the history and culture.

God the monitor is hurting my eyes. I think I have to stop. I'm going to try again, but it's not going to work. It feels like I might never sleep again. Such a small luxury and a grand irony that He'll never find me there again, at this rate at least. Oh how I wish we'd never dreamed like this, sometimes.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

We got the car back

By virtue of having parked outside the hotel, rather than in front of our room, but that and the laptop is it. Almost everything in the hotel room was gone, which more than likely means the cops have taken it. They've got all our clothes, my bag and everything in it, but they had no idea we owned a car so we at least get to keep it and the laptop. That and all our money we had stashed in the boot is everything we need to survive, so it's not all bad.

We've changed hotels yet again since we don't have enough stuff to stop us from doing so, and while this one's a whole lot cheaper and a whole lot smaller, it's at least away from that damned town and has internet access. Insanely expensive internet access that almost brings the cost right back up to where we were staying last, but internet access nonetheless.

There are a couple of problems, though, the least of which is that we've lost the spare keys to the car. Or rather, Ben's lost them, but I'm not going to start accusing him because either he left them in the hotel and the cops took them, or the New Girl snuck them away somewhere in all of this mess and neither really makes it his fault. We bought a steering lock from Autopro, which should keep whoever has the keys from making off with the car, and we're keeping all our valuables with us for the moment in the room rather than in the boot like usual.

What's worse is the loss of my backpack. There's not a whole lot in it from a physical/financial standpoint, but there are a couple of burn phones from the old job and more information than I care to have the police knowing. I'm not sure whether all the crazy stuff I've inherited from James will have them conclude it's all nonsense, or if they'll realise it's basically all the details they'd need to investigate and sting what appears to be an Australian-wide gang intent on killing a sub-set of people chosen according to some delusional criteria. I'm hoping all the dressings unique to the Touched and all the references to Him will at least make them disregard it all, but the worse case scenario is probably just some agent of His noticing it for what it really is and making it all disappear.

But I need it back, and I have no idea how to get to it. Well, I have one that it's insane and won't work, and I have another but I'm on the wrong side of the fight for it. I wouldn't mind all our clothes back, too, actually. It's probably a lost cause, I fear, and I have no idea where we're headed now that Mum's place has backfired on us so impressively.

Except that we need new clothes.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Plans and Apologies

First off, I'd like to apologise on behalf of my brother for posting that mind-destroying wall of text. He's a writer and tends to forget everything isn't supposed to be novel sized on occassion.

Secondly, we're staying in another hotel in another slightly larger town, about one hour by train away from all our stuff and Mum's old house. If I can do the maths in my head converting from Blogger's time-zone to ours, I'll configure this post to go up two hours after we leave and we'll use it to hopefully distract Drew's 'new chick'. He thinks her boss is using his spider senses to tell her when we post, so she can be up to date on our plans. If that is the case, she'll probably head to the hotel's lobby to use the computers there to check on it, and that'll be all the time we need to get in and out, since everything in our room is packed anyway.

That is, of course, if the cops haven't taken everything, in which case we're royally screwed. Drew reckon's they'll leave it all there and try to use it like a trap, but I'm not so sure and I have no idea how we'd get it out of the police storage.

Wish us luck, I guess.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I've got some bad news and some bad news

He was there, in the closet. What's worse was that I was expecting a Labyrinth and He already knew that. The very moment I opened the door, everything just collapsed around me. I was falling, falling in the dark while all was He. God, I'm such a fool. All those people on the Tree gives Him so much room to think, so much space to work with. I've been on that Tree, oh yes I have hung for days and days and days and He saw me there and He looked into me and he knew what I do before I'd even decided to do it.

Trash, that's what it is. Theories and plans and ideas and the corpses of a thousand dead Gods. I should've known I'd never be able to protect Ben, never be able to find the right plans or ideas or leverage. After all of that, I thought I could outsmart Him. Yeah fucking right. Of course I'm not special, of course I'm just being screwed over. I don't get special Conduit powers or fucking Revenant buddies looking out for me. Just mindraped by a faceless alien abomination from a place beyond the comprehension of man. That's why I went. I knew He was going to be there, and even though I couldn't think it, didn't know it, I was operating for reasons I didn't understand because He's still in my head and I was going to make a deal, after all my clever plans fell apart and all my leverage evaporated into nothing. Me for him, keep Ben safe and make a swap.

I wonder, sometimes, if He's playing a long game and I'm not even the target. He made it clear enough falling there that I'm not important in all of this. I'm only here because I'm essential, however insignificant a requirements He has of me.

God. I was going to be so much more coherent than this. I'm trying to hold it together for Ben, but he wasn't there. He didn't Fall forever with nothing but a pathetic little rope to save him. Oh, thank God we brought that rope. I was going to get all meta on the game and take a ball of string into the maze, before it all went to hell. The symbol is, of course, the thing so it's not like I was going to use it properly. It gets you out because it's rope not because it shows the way, and it would've worked. I could tell. The abyss stares into you long enough and you get to do some staring back of your own before you decide you want to bash your head against the wall until your brain bleeds out your ears and your eyes stop working.

That's all noise, you have to understand. That's my brain screaming in agony as I try to comprehend what happened to me there. I've gotten it all out now and I think I can attain something close to coherency from here. So please, don't worry. I'm close enough to okay that nobody needs to panic.

We found the house easily enough, being that we'd lived there and nothing at all had changed in the town since we'd left so long ago. It's literally gone absolutely nowhere and changed not at all, but that's alright. It was empty, and that really should've been the first warning sign. One house in the entire street for sale, and it's ours, as if this whole thing has been laid out just to make everything easy. It was obviously a trap, but we went in anyway. We (or rather Ben) broke a window to get in, and of course I made a bee-line for the closet in our old room. I don't know what either of us were thinking at the time, but it all seemed so much like the right thing to do.

He was there the moment I opened the closet, and the weirdest thing was that there was no warning. The house went from that stark weirdness of a building completely void of furniture to downright fucking horrifying in a blink of an eye without so much as a by-your-leave. He was rooted into the walls of the closet and three or four meters taller than the closet should've allowed but at the same time kind of just tall enough to fit. He was part of the closet and formed like a mangrove tree, all twisted and knobbly, but with roots burrowed into the walls where the branches of His arms should've been. He strained to move towards me with this horrifying tearing sound, and the mass of twisted limbs just kind of shifted and stretched, like it was made out of plastic, or some sick approximation of flesh.

He had the teeth again, and the madman glare without the eyes. I don't know how He does it, but I can feel them watching me, boring into my soul and tearing every pretense I've built up over so long to nothing. He was looking at me, looking into me, and he was doing it all without a face - just a thousand rows of teeth. It's been so long since I've seen those teeth in my dreams, but I can still remember what it felt like to be eaten by them. Have you ever stabbed yourself with a pin or something like a sewing needle? I'm not sure if I was the only child who had a morbid interest in what pain was like right up until I started feeling it, but I can't've been the only person to be stabbed by a needle. It's not the pain that gets you though, it's the pressure. The way each point just kind of crushed the skin and flesh a little before it splits through and tears you apart.

Ben tells me that's about when I full on lost it - right when I opened the door and saw Him. It's the last thing I remember, losing control as He just kind of shifted towards us, grinning that maniac's grin. From there I can't recount what happened physically, because I wasn't all there any more. I'm told I collapsed as He sunk His teeth into my foot and dragged me into the closet. Ben had one end of the rope for our oh-so-clever Labyrinth plan and I had the other, so even though all he could see in the closet now was black, he just held on and kept pulling until eventually he managed to drag my unconscious body back out.

While all of that was happening, I was in the darkness, listening to His song, having my soul weighed and a thousand other unpleasant things. I think for part of it I was remembering the twisted memories he uses to talk to me. I can catch snatches here and there of me killing Mom, and Ben, and Dad and every pet I've ever owned, and of Him, sitting where Dad sits, or standing behind my mother as she comforts me, or playing catch with Ben or holding onto his bike as he tries to learn to ride it, but it's all impossible to hold onto and I don't really want to try. But that was all secondary to whatever it is that passes for conversation between us. I've never been good with dialogue, I'm half insane right now and He doesn't actually speak, but it's all burned in my brain so I might as well write it down.


I remember the car crash. He is standing on the side of the road watching, as Sidekick dies and James is killed (possibly, I don't really know). Or I remember it again, and instead of driving into a tree, it is Him I crash into. I'm not quite sure.

Clever. He says, in that way that he doesn't. He almost sounds like He is proud of me.

I think I ask Him something like "What do you want?", which was very much not what I'd planned. In response I get about a thousand flashes of people with their organs so carefully bagged, and forests totally devoid of human life. I see fire tearing apart cities, and fog creeping into cracks in houses where the last few people shelter in fear. I see His branches lifted to the sky, tearing apart the stars and the moon, rending all that is and will be apart into nothing.

He doesn't understand deals. You can't write up a contract and have Him sign it, but He understands that I understand deals, and that I know I have betrayed Him, and it's enough.

Payment. He says. I want payment. Or, You have wronged me, and I will make you suffer for it. Something akin to that. It's not really important seeing as he doesn't say it at all.

"I can work with payment. We can make another deal."

He chuckles when I suggest bargaining. I know He does, because I can still here all the children laughing with Him, shouting and mocking.

No. You had your chance. Now I will take everything.

I laugh here. I don't remember why. For some reason the things He was forcing into my brain were amusing me. I don't know why, but I remember what He was trying to say. They were pictures. Thousands and thousands of pictures of my brother killing me, or me killing him. The one I remember the most clearly, the one that stands out in my mind and the one that amused me so much is of Ben setting fire to our hotel room as I hang myself with the bedsheets. I don't know why it was supposed to be funny.

I said something here in response, but I've forgotten what. Everything else has a cutting kind of clarity to it, but I don't remember what I said. I do remember that it made Him furious, though, because after that He just rages for what feels like forever. The closest analogy I can think of for it is a dog going absolutely apeshit on somebody, tearing and ripping and just sinking his teeth into them and shaking, but that's not even really how it felt.

You are wrong. All you plans are for nothing. I will destroy all that you love before I take you. He says. Or something. No! There is no place to hide from which I will not find you both. almost fits too. I'm not so sure. It's hard to transcribe when I don't know what I said.

"Fine." I say, suddenly feeling the pull of a rope I didn't know I was holding. "If there's no deal I can make, then come and fucking get me, if you can ever catch me again."

Again? He asks, amused and confused by my words. Why would I need to find you again? I have you now. 

I was talking absolute shit, of course, and He knew it, but it kind of helped or I just have excellent timing and I said that right before Ben managed to pull me out, because I don't remember anything else but black until I wake up on the side of the road, with Ben shaking me, begging me to wake up and crying like the little girl he is.


And so here we are. In an undisclosed location chosen solely for it's internet access (I have several webcomics to keep up-to-date on people, that sort of thing is very important), trying to figure out a way to get back into the hotel and get all our stuff without alerting the cops. Because while I was having a chat with Him, it seems the New Girl was making a police report about a beating and an attempted rape at the local police station, sporting several impressive bruises to back her story up. I don't know how she found us, but I bet He was involved, and I don't know how she explained not being a local to the cops, but they apparently bought the story. The cops have had a car parked outside the hotel pretty much constantly since we got back from the house, and when they're not there watching the place, she is, with a phone in hand.

So yeah. We're basically fucked. But there is one small sliver of good news. The road I woke up on the side of was the one that marks the boundary to the Crown Lands near my house, and Ben says I came to the moment he dragged me across it, so I'm not so sure it doesn't provide some sort of protection against Him like it used to when I was a kid. There are a lot of stories about Sacred Woods or other Sanctified Places, even if James usually called them less complimentary names, but I didn't actually believe they existed until now. I'm not such a fan of ever going back, though, because spending enough time in them dilutes whatever keeps them pure, seeing as we bring thoughts of Him with us. But I guess it's good to know it's there, for emergencies or something, seeing as Servants can't get in.

Monday, March 7, 2011

The Rope Worked a Treat

But the car and the hotel are being watched. I can't stay long enough for a proper post, but we learned quite a lot breaking into our old place. For one thing, it turns out the closet's a lot bigger than I thought, but on the other hand the Crown Lands really are Sacred Woods, so you win some you lose some.

I don't know exactly where Ben is, because he's out buying bus tickets with his credit card just in case that'll be all it takes to draw her away. I think James is dead. I have to go. I can hear the song and if I don't leave now it's all going to end incredibly poorly.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Going Home

I tell you, I am so sick of driving.

Tomorrow's the day we'll get to Mum's old place, and we'd be there tonight if I had it in me to flagellate myself for anther couple of hours. I'm not sure if he plans to find anything or is just using it as a convenient place to head towards while we run, but Drew seems kinda happy we're headed there. I'll be honest in saying I guess I am too, a little bit. Home with Mum was home, way back when. I never really got used to living with Dad, and it all kind of fell apart without all three of us there. Which worked out well in the end, I guess, since I don't have to explain where I've disappeared to.

I'm still finding it hard to sleep, though, and it doesn't help that we've basically swapped shifts at the moment. I should be sleeping early and staying up late, but I just never feel tired anymore and Drew always drifts off before me. The worst part is of course that if we stay here he'll end up falling asleep right in the middle of a LAN cafe on one of the couches and I'll have to sit right next to him all night or risk losing my plug in the router.

Grumble grumble.

Friday, February 25, 2011

McDonald's Coffee is the Nectar of the Gods

We're on the road again. I think we got out just in time. Something terrible was set to happen, of that I'm sure. It's closer, now. He's closer. Whoever He's got following us - any money it's James, if he still lives - is closer now.

It's kind of hard to explain how my old compatriots do the following thing, because most of it is going to sleep in one place and waking up in another having bought some train ticket or convinced some trucker to give them a lift, but regardless of how it works hanging around brings them closer just like it does Him. One day whoever it is will wake up with a train ticket or an address that'll lead them right to us, and that's when it gets interesting. I've got a lot of contingencies, and to be frank, I really can't wait to try some of them out.

Not that any of them are too violent, mind. I cringe every time I see the words "fucked up another Proxy" thrown out as an afterthought. It never accomplishes anything, killing innocent people who've lost their free will. All it does is stain your soul and make you that little bit more used to killing. Well, that and deny some family somewhere any chance of ever getting their son, or their husband or their daughter back.

Do you want to know what the Touched do when they're not wearing masks? I'll answer the question for you. You don't. But I'll tell you anyway, and we can see if you'll all just learn to deal with what you've done and what you're doing.

Mostly they stare at walls, dead inside - nothing but an empty shell being driven by a poor impression of a human. Sometimes, they convulse in pain or with the intensity of 'His rapture', or speak in tongues about creatures long dead, thoughts long forgotten and the corpses of Gods. But occasionally, when He's busy elsewhere, when He hasn't bothered with the theopany in a while, they sit in the corner and cry. Or write letters to family that they'll never send, because what the hell do you say to people from a life you were torn from by a faceless God? Once in a while, some might even beg me to kill them, if they're feeling particularly hopeless.

These are people you're killing. Violent, dangerous, insane, cunning, demented people, but people nonetheless. Sometimes, they're not even Hallowed - and I have to use that word because Touched doesn't mean the same thing. We're all Touched, the Heretics and Hallowed and Taken alike, and sometime when you're "stomping the shit out of some proxy trash lol" you're just killing somebody indistinguishable from yourself a few months from now. What do you think Damien was like in his last few days? How do you think Maudin's going to end up if a prank ever goes too far? What separates them from us? The world isn't black and white, people. It's grey, endless grey, like a really shitty video game.

This post isn't for all of you, obviously. There are people out there who clearly understand the moral conundrum involved with murdering the shell of a person that's been corrupted by Him. But the more often you delude yourself into thinking you haven't been killing people, and every time you dehumanize the corpse you've just created, you do just that. Dehumanize them. This whole game - this whole fight - is one fought in the head-space of countless unlucky victims. And when a good part of that head-space just accepts the fact anyone He Takes is no longer human, it makes it very difficult for what's left of them to cling to humanity.

I get it. Killing people is hard, and it's easier when you convince yourself they're not people. And to an extent they're not, especially when they're trying to claw your brains out for besmirching His name and daring to resist His light. But somewhere inside that mind, buried deep within that grey matter and hanging from a Tree that doesn't really exist is a person, and they might not feel the pain as their body is destroyed, but they'll learn soon enough that it has been when they realise His Tree is the sum of their existence from now on.

And maybe, just maybe if you'd shot them in the knee, or been content to leave them unconscious on the floor instead of stamping their head in, they might've had another day weeks from then to enjoy a chocolate bar or watch a slightly more sane friend play Fable, or just have a shower and feel the water one more time. Or sit in a corner and cry about how much they want their mother. Like the person they are.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Frankly, it figures

Maybe it's all true, everything I've heard. Maybe Redlight was the sinful son of Adam. And also the anonymous nobody who first encountered the Slender Man, aeons ago. Maybe he did build the temple to Him, wherever it lies forgotten. Hell, every story I've ever heard about him was probably true, once, for one of him.  It's a troubling thought. If there is a game he's playing and it involves Him, then we're all fucked. All of us. The Touched are like a lifeline of normality for Him. With them hanging from His Tree, he can kind of understand how people think, and he isn't so disgusted by us, so angry and violent. They keep Him watching, learning and growing. Without us, all He is, is wrong, and all He can do is what He does best.

And if Redlight goes, a lot of my former colleagues might go with Him. It's obvious enough that anybody with enough of themselves left to want out would have the best chance then, and losing Redlight might weaken Him enough - temporarily, that is - that they'd be able to break free.

I don't like it. Redlight's playing a game that's most probably going to end with everybody you've every talked about Him to dead. You can't game Him. He doesn't understand the rules of the world like we do. And He's been in enough heads to understand betrayal and it's appropriate response.

On a much, much brighter note, I think we've been here too long. It's a middle of nowhere town halfway between another two middle of nowhere towns, but it has free internet in the hotel and I can't bring myself to leave. So we're going tomorrow, whether I want to or not. I can feel whatever's coming getting closer and nothing good is going to happen once it gets here.

Or maybe Robert's just crazy.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Really Roughly Read Roadsigns

I can do alliteration too!

Drew's too superior to write it out explicitly, and he really doesn't approve of me mocking him (that's the title) or his old employer's more trusted subordinates (that's the content), but I have to say it.

When all this whitetext business turns south and Redlight turns out to be playing us all again, I so called it. Just saying.

Oh, and for the darling Broeckchen (I swear Drew actually called you that once and I'm so totally going to get in trouble for saying that), I spent most of my time in Europe proper on a bus tour driving through forest after forest and mountain after mountain, and I'm certain something was watching me for parts of it in that perfectly stereotypical, wonderfully creepy way. Germany was hauntingly beautiful with all the bare trees and the snow, but I just know I was being watched and that kind of ruined it. I don't think it's particularly hard to guess who was doing the watching, but I didn't see anything without a face. Just a whole lot of unpleasantness, you know?

Friday, February 18, 2011

Redlight, Robert and Revenants

First thing's first - what's been happening lately? Absolutely nothing. We've been heading back south towards our old hometown just for somewhere to drive to, since direction helps this kind of thing, and there's been no indication whatsoever we're being followed. Which is terrible, terrible news, because it means whoever is following us knows me. That's literally all the news about us.

So Redlight.

The guy's a celebrity. Seriously. Half of my old colleagues had crushes on him, and that includes a good deal of ostensibly straight males. He's like the Jesus of the Touched community, with the added benefit of still being alive. The stories I've heard about him are obviously false, because, well, I'm almost certain he's never been to Australia and half of them are told by people who insist they've heard it from the man himself. I wouldn't worry about his 'mystical origins' if I were you, even if he is a Revenant. Still, I've heard told he's the only living descendant of Cain, the sinful son of Adam. There are stories we used to tell that say he's the first man to have ever seen Him or the first person to build a temple to a quiet forest spirit that would rather have been left alone but for some quiet worship from a few faithful followers, who was rewarded for his devotion with eternal life in service of a changing God.

It's all bullshit, of course. He may not know himself, but he's clearly Jay. It's too perfect not to be true. That's the way this works, you see - we end up telling stories, because stories feed Him while He sleeps, when our minds can't. First, He corrupts them, turns them into something more palatable - the facts change over time and we forget that this didn't happen and that did. Eventually what once was, is no longer.

So whoever Redlight was when he made that first post on Robert's blog doesn't really matter. Because it fits best if he's Jay. One day soon, when Redlight's story comes to an end along with Robert's, there'll be some small hint. We'll argue about it, quibble on this and that point and get caught up with the tiny inconsistencies that always occur when a person tells stories about themselves. But eventually, years after blogging about all of this has become trite and overdone, or after somebody discovers that you get left alone a whole lot more often if you stop telling people about all of this, then as long as He endures (which He will), someday somebody will stumble upon the circuit and discover it has changed since anyone last looked at it.

He'll have won every engagement, for one thing. As long as He outlives the civilization He haunts, that's what happens. The cold hard scientific facts of the past fade into obscurity until all that's left are stories in which the monster wins - because that's what He did so why shouldn't the histories reflect that at every turn? And if he makes the cut and remains something He remembers, then there'll be Redlight, perhaps a central figure, perhaps an unimportant footnote. But I'd bet my life he'll be Jay, because that would make the best story.

Anyway Robert and Revenants and I'll leave you all to tear my theory apart with the kind of scrutiny only your fellow Heretic is capable of. If I'm ever stuck in a repeating loop of imprisonment and insanity like that and you're given the chance to put me out of my misery, then put me out of my misery. For God's sake just let me die with some dignity. I don't care if it's Redlight or Him Himself that's offering whatever 'deal' will end up killing me, I'd really rather prefer to die.

Oh, and Robert, If you ever come across our little blog here, I'd stay out of the Forest Paths from now on, if I were you. It's kind of like taking a shortcut through a Police Station to escape from the cops. Eventually somebody catches on and locks the back door.

That's about it.

Oh, and before I forget, since I've said the word now and that kind of thing always invites speculation, I've never met a Revenant in my life. I'm still struggling to accept that they're real. When He's crawling around in your head shouting twisted memories at you constantly and trying to explode your brain by sharing His twisted versions of an emotion, you do kind of get an impression on how He works. And besides from being so terrifying your brain erases any memory of it as soon as it can, it also gives me the feeling Revenants are just not his style. Which means there's a reason a bunch of super-powered freaks are running around and it's not because He needs them. Which unsettles me.

That doesn't mean I'm not carrying around a can of mace. Super-senses aren't really the best idea for your elite warriors, seeing as it kind of makes anything capable of incapacitating a normal person because of sensory overload into a viable murder weapon. I've been trying to convince Ben to fiddle around with the car alarm to install a switch for it, since he knows a bit about electronics and that thing fricken hurts to listen to with normal ears and I'm not a huge fan of my chances of successfully employing the mace if it come to it, but he's not such a fan of messing with the car, which I guess makes sense.

And, uh, that's about it. And I mean it this time.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

I have been up all night

Reading all your damn blog updates off of Drew's account, since I'm too lazy to follow you all myself. Technically I was supposed to wake Drew hours ago so we could swap guard shifts so I could go to sleep myself, but it's literally taken this long to catch back up with the Internet. Not to mention 'the circuit' (that's you guys - or at least what Drew calls it all. Frankly I think it's a stupid name).

We can't find an internet connection for like a week and suddenly everybody updates. Literally everybody - I reckon there was at least one new post from every blog we're (well, he's, if you want to get technical) 'following'. Sometimes I wonder if you don't do this to mess with us.

Also you'll get a proper post from Drew when he gets up sometime in what is sure to be tomorrow afternoon. He's been sleeping like 90% of the day lately. I'm fobbing off of guard duty because Drew insists that he 'knows how my people operate and we're not getting attacked at like 5 in the morning unless we've got a tweaker following us - because even the touched need to sleep and they tend to do so in the mornings, so if you don't get tired until morning just go to sleep and stop worrying so damn much. They're not going to attack us in broad daylight in a service station carpark either so we're fine. Plus the car's locked, so unless he's got a gun we'll at least be awake for the whole attempt upon our lives.' Which is word for word how he said it, too. That's my thing. He always said he wished he had a mind for dialogue like I do.

And I'm rambling again, which I wasn't going to do because it's five in the morning and I need to sleeeeeeeep. Oh, and Broekchen, I'm not sure if I was imagining it or if 'our mutual friend' was involved, but I'll tell you all about Europe when I don't have a headache and I do have the time.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

This sucks

What you people do is no fun. Just thought I'd point that out.

For anybody interested, we're holed up for the night at some random roadway services. We don't really have them in Australia like they did over in Europe (or, at least, they're not called roadway services), but we do tend to have petrol stations with McDonalds or a crappy restaurant or something attached, so this is about as close as we get. Fortunately it's a twenty-four hour place and filled with truckers who look like they'd kill anybody who started a fight, so Drew figures we're probably safer here than we've ever been lately.

We haven't seen much of anything because Drew's refused to stop in one place longer than is strictly necessary to get a night's sleep so I guess that's a plus. He's still babbling incessantly about a million and one possible situations we might find ourselves in sometime in the future, what we need to do to be prepared for them and how to act once we're in them so as to increase our 'survival chances'. "Get the hell out of there and remove whatever obstacles are in your way in as time efficient a manner as you can possibly think of" about sums up every plan he's laid out. I just don't know if I'll be able to deal once one of those obstacles becomes a person. I'm not keen on facing a 'servant' of any description, though I'm less keen for a proper run-in.

I'll be honest - I'm terrified. Drew's being so matter-of-fact about how to defend yourself from somebody trying to kill you (not to mention being matter of fact about incapacitating or killing somebody), and acting like somebody trying to kill us in our sleep one day is just something we have to accept. It's not even the 'top brass' that scares me so much as it is the fact that his first rule is 'assume everybody is trying or planning to kill you all the time and act accordingly'. His second is 'if you see him get out and leave me behind if you have to so much as pause for me, just make sure you leave as fast and to as far away as possible', so that doesn't help much.

I don't know how he does it. We're being followed - of that I'm sure. I haven't seen anybody, but I just know that if we stop somewhere too long they'll catch up. Drew keeps assuring me of the fact, but he wouldn't even have to say it for me to know it's true. It's like staying in one place for too long just lets whatever is watching us grow and grow until that thing shows back up. A part of me wants to stay, though. We've discussed it at length, about the way it makes you curious and tries to terrify you into inaction, so I know any desire to stand and fight, or to investigate or to sacrifice myself for my brother's safety or just give up is just mind tricks designed to make me stay in place long enough to lose my mind, but regardless of all that I still know we need to run as sure as I know the Sun will rise tomorrow.

I can still feel what it was like to have it watching me, and that's enough to keep me firmly in the 'run away' camp. It was only for the briefest few seconds as Andrew dragged me back to the car screaming "Now do you believe me?" in my ear the whole time that I saw it, but it was still the sickest, wrongest and most terrifying experience of my life. He says I'm talking in my sleep now too, crying out for help and demanding something get away from me (three guesses what). He says I'm calling for Mum, telling her not to go into the closet, begging her to ignore what Andrew says.

I don't blame him or anything. I would've done the same in his place. It's all too long ago to remember what really happened, but I know enough now to be sure whatever it is killed her when Andrew begged her to make it stop watching him at night. I never saw the dark man with the teeth, but I do remember Andrew telling me about him out on the crown lands around the corner from our old house and how he made him scared of the house, scared of the closet and most importantly too scared to sleep. I know for a fact I never 'met' him until Drew showed up just like I never knew my neighbour over the road used to take photographs of me while I slept. That still creeps the hell out of me by the way.

It's not like he ever has trouble sleeping anymore. He's been having the most peaceful fricken sleep ever lately, while I'm tossing and turning all night and day watching him sleep with that damned smile on his face.

I may want to smack him one, but I guess that's what happens when you force two brother's who haven't seen each other in forever to sleep in a car right next to each other most nights when only one can drive. This rant's kinda helped a little though, which is nice. All this blogging is kinda therapeutic, especially through the nice blur of sleep deprivation. All this driving has torn my sleeping patterns to shreds, but Andrew says that doesn't really matter, because you can either have proper well structured sleep that's easier for him to get into but harder to corrupt, or fitful, unsatisfying and uncomfortable sleep that's never enough, which makes it harder for him to get into but easier to corrupt so that it all evens out in the end. But the coffee's starting to wear off now after that rant so I'm going to wake Drew back up where he's slumped over the table and head back to the car for the night. At least it's a station wagon with enough space to lie down.

Anyway, until the next time I'm angry at Drew for snoring so loudly and sleeping so well while I can't but am unable to take it out on him by ribbing him about how cars always make him fall asleep, I guess I hope you all stay safe and should thank you for the well-wishes. (Drew's on my back to be polite, but really, thank you.)

I'll make him do the next update the next time we find some wireless. It's absolutely shit here, but the password was just 'password' and Drew got it first try, so that's alright even if he did hog the laptop until he decided it was bedtime and did absolutely nothing with it.

Friday, February 4, 2011

I might've lied about when we were leaving

Which means we might be out of contact for a while and is also the reason Ben's throwing caution to the wind and (gasp!) talking to you guys for once. I don't know when we'll get back to an Internet connection, since we're planning to go off the grid somewhat and the only places that might have free wifi in the smaller towns will be few and far between. And James (or whoever James had in line to replace him as my 'consultant' if I ran and he died), if you're hiding out the front in that house waiting to ambush us, well, by the time this shows up we'll be long gone over the back fence, so better luck next time. Or not.

We left at 10 o'clock, or thereabouts - I'm not so good about writing about future plans as if they're past events. Suck on that. I'm a huge fan of time delayed posting right now, I just wish it wasn't raining so damn hard outside, even if it makes the escape significantly more stealthy.

Anyway, why we had to leave, and also why we had to leave earlier than I told you all: There's been a former colleague of mine living across the road from Ben for some time. I kind of had a suspicion there was when I discovered one of Ben's neighbors watching the house rather intently, but it's not exactly the kind of thing you can prove just watching some old guy watching your house.

I took a little bit of a risk, calling around to see if there was anybody in the area (I said I needed someplace to stay in-between two cities which I'm not going to name, because the town Ben lives in is really the only option insofar as accommodation goes). Fortunately for me, news of my car-crash apparently hasn't traveled, since nobody seems to know I've changed sides.

Turns out there was, and he had a phone number I could contact, so I gave him a call while I was watching the neighbor watch me. We had a nice little chat about how the Touched operate, and since he was pretty far gone I managed to convince him that he'd have to spend a couple of days staring at us creepily without doing anything, since that's what people think Touched do. I won't go into detail but as far as I know it kind of works in a feedback loop and makes it what Touched do, just like all of them writing in code all the time (though, admittedly, imprinted behavioural patterns also plays a part in the code-writing being so prevalent).

Anyway, I figured we had until the weekend before he started doing anything after our little chat, since he wasn't exactly the youngest or most spry Servant I've ever met. I also figured he had orders to alert whoever he's in contact with (which if I'm going to guess is most probably James if he's still alive) when we left, so as to help arrange an ambush or set up a tail. I also figured somebody was probably watching the blog (possibly him, since he was up with it enough to use a cell-phone). Hence 'leaving' on Saturday night and actually leaving now-ish. Actually, make that now, or the ten-ish minute it'll take to pack the last of our stuff. Ben's getting a little paranoid - which I don't blame him for, I am too - so I'm going to have to go. We've got his car parked two streets away, so as to not be seen leaving. Wish us luck.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

You know what? Fuck this

Andrew's being dramatic again, trying to get a rise out of me. I'm not scared of posting because I'm having trouble admitting what's going on, I'm scared of posting because talking to all you guys is a risk. Andrew's been ranting all day and night about what things constitute risks and potential imprint patterns and opportunities for growth within subconscious desires and how to train my mind to reject any of the psycho-magic our mutual friend (Andrew won't let me say or type the name) works while he's trying to get into your head.

I'm worried enough with what went on (that I'm not allowed to tell you about until we leave Saturday night) being one of Drew's risk factors as it is to start integrating myself with 'the community that identifies as sighted', to quote my brother. He thinks being part of the group that calls themselves his victims/stalkees makes you more susceptible to 'psychological attack'. He's got one crackpot theory about 'Narrative Causality' that says the only reason all this stuff happened was because he made the blog and started talking about himself, but that can't be helped either way so I'm mostly just trying to minimize all the risks he's talking about so he'll get off my back. Also I might be a little scared of possibly opening up my mind further.

So sue me. I don't want to become one of Drew's 'colleagues', so I'm probably not going to post often, lest I give the 'subconscious plot being enforced by his memetic nature' an oppourtunity to turn me into a SupErCoolWRITingHALlowedDUde.

That doesn't spell anything, by the way. And if you want all those "The This", "The That" labels Drew, do it yourself. I can't be bothered. And I saw what you did to my about me section. Glad to see your 'job' didn't force you to grow up any.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Alright then

I can't say an awful lot, because James knows people who know the address of where we're staying at the moment and I'm not sure if he's still alive or if he's told somebody about the blog, but suffice to say I discovered some things yesterday that basically give us a week as of my arrival before we have to be out of here. To keep it simple I figure we'll be leaving Saturday night or the very first moment I see something I don't like. Fortunately my nocturnal habits have been paying off since Ben used to get up every morning at five for a jog. Insanity like that is inexcusable since there really shouldn't be a five in the morning, but it makes sleeping in shifts really, really easy since we're practically pre-programmed for it.

I'll tell you all about what happened once we've left.

Also all that worry about self-fulfilling prophecy was bullshit. "Ben is not safe anymore" was about right. I'll see if I can make Ben introduce himself tonight or tomorrow, but he's kind of absolutely terrified of making a blog becasue "whah, whah, whah posting makes it real like I'm admitting it or something whine, whine, whine. NO FACE!"

I might be taking the piss. But it is a whole lot more hilarious when you're here.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Ben's in his room, freaking the fuck out

Lots of swear words and "That is not allowed!" And, of course, "No face! Where the hell is his face!?"

On the plus side, he let me make him a contributor to the blog.

Edit: And I changed all your passwords Ben, since Andrew is about as stupid as Benjamin was for me, way back when. I also got you a nice little display pic that fits with my theme, because I'm OCD like that. Remind me to let you know what your password is, otherwise I'm going to forget.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

He punched me in the face

Opened the door, stood there for two minutes, punched me in the face, closed the door. That was literally it. I'll admit I probably should've thought of something to say, but - I mean - what do you say? I've taken up residence in a coffee shop up the street, and I'm considering sending him an email. I just don't know what to do now.

And yes, I really should've seen this coming too. Oh, and my neck fucking hurts like a bitch, if you'll forgive the language which incidentally doesn't capture even the slimmest fraction of the pain I'm in right now.

Just a thought

You do all know that by making plans, and joining groups, and identifying as people defined by how they relate to Him that you're making Him stronger, right? The worst part of this is the 'resurgence' (I use the word lightly, since the few instances I've seen hardly constitute a resurgence) of titles I've seen lately. I dunno, maybe it is a resurgence - it's starting small, but these sorts of things always do.

It's not like you even need the brackets to have a title, or we'd all be sweet since there's probably only about three people that still use them. In His world the symbol is the thing, but that doesn't stop the thing from also being the thing. The brackets make it the symbol, dress it up and make it easy to spot, turn it into something to cling to while your sanity slips away and you become His, but you still have a title when you give yourself a name and a corresponding role and let it define you and how you interact with everybody else. M said it best when he said that Taken are just shells filled with His Will following what few patterns are left from their old life, and a title is simply another pattern.

And let me let you all in on a secret - the more patterns you have, the easier it is for you to slip. Anything that you do 'just because' or out of habit or in an attempt to maintain an image is the kind of place He slips into, because you'll keep doing it without questioning it even if it's stopped helping you and started helping Him. The worst part is you don't even notice at first - it just kind of happens without your say. Dressing yourself up as something more than just a person being followed by a very poor impression of a person and all of His friends tends to backfire when He take a liking to your clothes.

If you want my advice, don't give yourself a job unless the very definition of it is 'keeping away from Him and staying alive'. Anything else has too much wiggle room, which is to say it has wiggle room in the first place. If your job is to collect information about Him, well, eventually He's going to convince you that there's more to collect on His side of the game. Hell, that's not even hard to do since it's the truth. If your job is to take risks so that you can protect and help teach and equip others with what you learn, then you've obviously never heard the term 'slippery slope'. You're either doing everything you can to keep sane and survive, or you're slowly but surely committing suicide of one form or another.

That's not to say you shouldn't wonder about how He works or not try to draw conclusions from what you've experienced. Not doing so would be stupid. Deliberately provoking Him to learn more just happens to be stupider. I've seen the aftermath one too many times. I used to look after them. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to understand Him to survive. You do have to be mad to understand Him. Which would you prefer?

Also the first person to mention myself as an exception gets a slap upside the head, because you're clearly missing the entire point of my little tantrum here. I'm the first to recommend begging for your life when He has you cornered, but not getting cornered works a whole lot better, especially if you've been aggravating Him from the moment you met Him just so you can understand Him better. Begging tends not to help by that point.

I never got you guys. Seriously.

Fricken Trains

Couldn't make it to Ben's.

I've been trying some rather obscure rituals in lieu of The Operator Symbol, which I drew half of to confirm the factor causing its failure is most likely me. None of the rituals that didn't involve the entrails of children stopped the growing sense of dread/calm (which is the strangest feeling I've ever experienced, on a side note) that started once I'd drawn the circle. I have a little problem with gutting children so for now at least I have to stick with staying awake, moving all night and sleeping on the train tomorrow. Bought a tonne of chocolate coated coffee beans so I'm not worried about keeping awake this time.

Anyway, it's damn cold sitting on the pavement out here so I'm going to go, but I might swing by later tonight since Starbucks keeps their internet running after they close (score!). I might write up some things that have been bugging me, now that I'm allowed to be helpful in my discourse. Expect a rant later tonight/tomorrow morning, if I can be bothered (or am forced) to leave the relative warmth of the train station and walk all the way back here.

Edit: Who likes my new theme, by the way? I figured given all this time off I've decided to take and the problems with The Operator Symbol I've encountered that's it's probably time for a change.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

I really should've seen this coming

I put The Operator Symbol up and He was there almost immediately. I could feel the pull in my chest as all my anxiety, worry and fear just ebbed away. I suddenly wasn't worried about whether I would be too late to save my brother or if I'd turn up to find him still as Blind as ever and be responsible for opening his eyes. I didn't care about the fact my whole body hurt too much to run anywhere and how much that would undermine my chances of survival. I felt safe.

Of course, regardless of how pleasant it all felt and how much I longed to just get off the roof for no reason, I still realised what was going on. It was a strange feeling, being incapable of terror, feeling so safe and warm when I knew objectively I should've been beyond terrified. The Operator Symbol doesn't work for me. Hell, it's worse than that - it lets Him in and draws Him closer whenever I draw it, unless by some fluke of circumstances this was an isolated incident. When I realised, I had a brief moment when I wanted to punch M in the face, but then I remembered he'd actually said - multiple times - that all he was doing was cataloging what worked for him in the hope it would help others, not offering any sort of guarantee. What's worse is my head doesn't hurt anymore and my nose has stopped bleeding when He's around, which I'm sure are all symptoms of Him trying to make the transition all the more comfortable and easy for me.

I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it to my brother, I don't know if I'm going to be too late and I don't know if my reaching him is going to be the reason he's no longer safe. What if this is all a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Oh, and before I forget, I really do appreciate the sentiment, but it's rather difficult for somebody who doesn't have a passport to travel internationally. Nor do I have the 100 points of ID necessary to get a passport, being that practically everything I own by the way of identification has expired since this all started. I actually wouldn't be surprised if I've been declared legally dead, seeing as the state my place was in when I 'disappeared' would've made abduction and/or murder a fairly logical conclusion, what with my blood all over my bedroom. Though I guess that's the kind of thing Ben would've told me (I think). Anyway, international travel is out for the moment, at least.

The train's leaving in ten minutes (third for the day), so I've got to go. If public transport is forgiving, I'll be at Ben's tomorrow, though weekends are never good for that so I guess we'll see.

It worked

Sidekick's dead. There's a tree where his stomach used to be.

Not so sure about James - he wasn't too visibly hurt so he might have just been unconscious. Didn't check too hard for a pulse because I had to get out of there before He showed up.

By the way, crashed the car (if you missed that). I think I might've bruised 90% of my body and I can no longer turn my head to the left at will. Picked a car where I was the only one with an airbag and thought I was being smart making sure it didn't hit me in the nose. Not so much. Otherwise I'm more or less good.

Left the laptop in the bag with all our clothes to give it some bounce, so it's fine. I'll be seeing my brother soon. It should only take a few days on trains and such to get there.

Going now. They're closing soon anyway, but I'm being overly cautious for the moment and I already feel like I've been staying in one place too long. I'll sleep tomorrow morning on the train, I guess.

Can you believe I used to love the night, after I'd gotten over 'those terrible dreams' and before all this went down? It's almost funny now.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I went to the Fireworks tonight because I had nothing better to do

He was there. Just standing there watching from way off in the distance under a lamp post, all alone. It wasn't too crowded where I was because I'd chosen a further away and higher up place to watch from than right in the middle of the action, but there was still plenty of people, and He was just standing there in the pool of light, all alone. He looked as human as I'd ever seen Him, though His arms were still far too long and just tapered off to a little curled point and He was almost too tall to fit under the light, but that wasn't even the worst part.

I could hear Him singing. That's not even the right word, but it's the closest you could get and it's what I'm going with. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you hear - I more felt it, but it was a kind of weird hum or a whine that makes your teeth hurt, only they just tingled instead and it wasn't actually doing anything to my teeth, if that makes sense.

Reading it back I don't know if that captures it properly, but it's the best I can do. There was a tune, too, kind of off-beat and low, though I know I'll never remember it properly.

The worst part, though, was that I wasn't scared. It felt like coming home listening to that song, like there was a pull in my chest dragging me towards Him, or down, or somewhere not quite on this plane of existence that I can only describe as one second ago and a little to the left, even if that makes absolutely no sense.

It's started - of that I'm sure. Today's the day I get offered a promotion, and regardless of my say in it, I doubt it will be long before I accept it. So, there are some obvious things I'm going to have to do.

James once said "Safety can Only be fOund in eterNal service.", and I think I know what he meant, listening to that song - I think he was referring to tonight and the events of the past few days, after which I'm sure there'll be little time for what's left of my sanity. I'm going to convince James to let me steal a car tomorrow, so we can complete our trip a little earlier and let us get back home quicker so I don't lose it somewhere unfamiliar.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Worst. 24. Hours. Ever.

I am going to kill James one day. He got me up at seven o'clock yesterday morning. Seven. I went to bed at three and he gets me up at seven so we can go chase after some two-bit Heretic who had gotten more than enough sleep for the night and didn't feel like his insides were desperately trying to become his outsides.

Needless to say, we didn't catch him right away because I started to get dizzy spells after about twenty seconds of running and then threw up, which surprisingly made me feel a whole lot better and really, really hungry. I've never been the greatest runner anyway, and the two empty bottles of vodka back at what passes for home base at the moment certainly weren't helping matters. Sidekick, of course, was charging through his hangover like a boss (the guy also drank me under the table last night, which is just so incredibly unfair) and saw fit to ignore both James and I when we told him to stop. I did so through/in between vomiting, so I guess it's possible he misheard me, but James was perfectly alright when he was saying it, if a little pissed off.

So once I was able to move and James had finished screaming at me about how much he'd like to kill me and how much trouble I was, being unfit for His touch and thus incapable of acting as I should, we set out to find Sidekick. James got that 'I know which way to go how scary am I?' look, and marched off to the train station, from where we caught a train. Luckily, there was time enough between trains to go get some food and some breath mints, because man was I hungry.

And, um, next comes the part you won't enjoy, because we found Sidekick, and Sidekick had obviously found the runner, because he had the look that Touched get when they've been around Him quite recently, and the runner was nowhere to be found.

But that of course is not the worst part, because what started all of this was my brother getting back from Europe. I may or may not have had a plan to stab Sidekick in the neck and James in the stomach all within perhaps five seconds of time while Sidekick was asleep so that I could go pick him up and get the hell out of dodge, but of course there's a faceless monstrosity that apparently has access to all of my thoughts, because He was there before I could even fold out my knife, and He was angry.

He knew. I haven't told anybody - I didn't even tell you guys I was planning on killing them and running as soon as my brother got back - and He knew.

So now I don't know If James was just being the usual lunatic when he kept dropping those hints, and I feel like there's something skittering around in the back of my head watching everything I do and I can't get the image of Him and all those branches eating the sky out of my head and I feel like I need to throw up again.

But I'm okay, I guess. For now. My brother's back home, at least, so I guess there'll probably be more emails from here on in and I guess if by some miracle I'm able to avoid the boss stepping in whenever I try to quit then at least he's a little closer. So um, yeah, that's pretty much it.

I kinda wish I had it in me to write that all up so it was better and more entertaining to read. I swear there must be something wrong with me.