Wednesday, April 13, 2011



…She’s…she’s dead.

I just heard….  They found her last night.  A farmer found her corpse on his property at around dusk.  Slumped over an upper branch of a tree, positioned so she wouldn’t fall to the ground.  Her stomach cut open and her entrails spilling out.

They…they said it was suicide.  There was a knife on the ground below the tree.  Covered in her blood.  Had her fingerprints on it.  She obviously did it herself.  But that’s only half the truth.  Someone made her.  SomeTHING made her.  Even if it was a conscious choice, she committed suicide because she couldn’t deal with running anymore.

Oh God…she…she’s really gone.  I can’t help her anymore.  I failed.

What kind of miserable fuck-up am I?  All I fucking wanted was to help people.  Give them advice that might help them survive.  Prepare them.  And then, when I finally get the chance to see how well my advice pays off, how does it work out?  Not at fucking all.  The one person I had a chance to actually help, and now she’s dead.  It’s my fault.  She died because of me.  Not even because of the Slender Man.  She was fucking fine until she mentioned Marble Hornets to me.  She was safe.  And I came in, infected her, watched her slowly become a remnant of the girl she was before, and watched helplessly as she died.

I may have loved her, and she thought she loved me back but she didn’t really.  She’s dead and I’m here and I don’t know what to do because I failed her and I failed myself and I failed all of you.  I’m a failure.  A worthless idiot.  A really bad joke.

Why won’t he just fucking stop?  Why doesn’t he just fucking kill me?  He could do it if he wanted to.  Why doesn’t he just fucking do it already?

Perhaps it is punishment of some sort.  Yeah, maybe it’s punishment.  He’s pissed at me and, consequently, he doles out punishments for my transgressions.  He means me no actual harm.

What the hell did I just say?  Of course he fucking means me harm.  The proxies.  The labyrinth.  Everything with Girl.  He’s trying to fucking hurt me in every way possible.

On the other hand, has he ever attempted to kill me?

Why would that even matter?  He’ll try eventually.  He fucking killed Girl.  Why wouldn’t he do the same to me?  If he seriously doesn’t mean me harm, why has he put me through hell without even allowing me the release of death?

But perhaps all those proxies are right.  Perhaps he is God.  God is vengeful, yes.  And yet, God is loving.  He forced the Israelites to wander in the desert for forty long years, yes, but only so that they would be prepared to enter the Promised Land.  It is, to use a term, “tough love.”

…okay, wait, what?  Tough love?  Seriously?  That is the furthest thing from tough love.  He’s evil.

But who came to that conclusion?  We did.  It is human nature to be terrified of something different.  Why did whites enslave blacks?  Why did the Nazis massacre Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals, among others?  Because they were different.  We fear what is different.  It is our human nature.  Perhaps, we just need to…embrace it.  After all, in some ways—a lot of ways—it is a beautiful creature.

…did I seriously just compare the Slender Man to the Holocaust?  And a “beautiful creature?”  What the fuck is wrong with me.  He kills people.  He killed Girl.  Remember that, Jekyll.

Or maybe he just kills us because we attack him.  He retaliates in fear.  In self-defense.

…What the hell am I fucking saying?

Girl’s dead.  She’s gone.  She’s fucking gone forever now.  She died, I’m going to die, you’re all going to fucking die and there’s not a single fucking thing I can do for you.  I started a blog hoping I could save some lives.  How many lives have I saved?  None.  The one time it was necessary, the one time I had the chance to make a difference, the person I was trying to protect went crazy and died less than two weeks after first seeing him.

M’s still alive.  I’m convinced by this point that he’s never going to die.  Go look to him for advice again.  Maybe he’ll actually fucking post something helpful.  Because I sure as hell won’t anymore.  I’m done here.  I’m gone.  I’m no use to anyone.  You want to convince me to continue.  Go ahead and fucking try.  It won’t work.  Because I had one fucking thing.  I had hope.  I was convinced that I could help people.  I was convinced I could do something.  Now, that hope has been taken away.  Crushed on the ground, raped to death with tentacles, and burnt to a crisp with pyrokinesis. 

I used to have hope, yeah.  But now I have nothing.  Fucking nothing.

Goodbye.  Good luck. 

Good riddance.


  1. Hey, it's your life. Do whatever the hell you want with it. Staying alive is pretty good, but I'm not here to convince you either way. You seemed like a sane human being and it's always a pity to lose sane people around here, but if you want to get the fuck out of dodge I'm not going to judge you.

    Good luck on whatever you end up doing.