First things first:  I'm sorry if I worried anyone.  Lucia, you warned me about going crazy after letting things bottle up, and...well, you get a point.  Lucia 1, Moral 0.

...right.  Second.  I think oh, fuck it.  I know I'm being followed.

On my way home from work (I'm thinking of quitting, seeing as how shit always seems to go down as I'm leaving the library), I came to the same intersection where the Blank killed and puppeteered a guy into a car crash oh so many moons ago.  Tonight, of course, it was bright.  No stars, no streetlights.  Actual sunlight.  Hooray for summer.

As I'm crossing, taking care not to step in any day-old horseshit (parade; don't ask), I came down with a minor headache.  Oh, and paralysis.  Nothing says 'fucked' like a headache and paralysis.  I swear, if I don't get my ass killed before I'm out of my house, I will buy as much aspirin as I can on my meager budget, just in case things get all 'Slendery' at college (which they probably will).

So I was standing still, in the middle of the intersection, waiting for a car to come down the street at thirty miles an hour and hit me, when I heard footsteps coming up behind me.  Heavy, crunching footsteps.  By the sound of him, he was twelve feet tall, six hundred pounds, and wearing Army boots.  Either that, or his footsteps were amplified.  I find that unlikely, as they would've had to been louder than a jet engine for me to hear them over the sound of my own heartbeat and the overwhelming cacophony of 'ohshitohshitohshitohshit' tearing through my mind.

That's about when I feel the razor-thin edge of a blade tickling my throat, right at that little dip in the collarbone (probably a technical name for it, but I don't care; I'm not a friggin' doctor) and a gloved hand at the back of my head.  Slowly, this guy circles around me, tracing my neck with the blade in a way that felt just plain wrong.  He certainly seemed to be getting his jollies off of it.  He gets in front of me, and cups my cheek with his hand.  And he was fucking grinning.

"Peek-a-boo, Little Lion."

And then he was gone.  Just like that.  Creepy-ass paralysis, creepy-ass knife-rape, creepy-ass grin, and creepy-ass whisper, all in one creepy-ass Proxy package.  Now you're thinking "Moral, he could've been any creepy-ass, knife-crazy spook out to get you.  That doesn't make him a Proxy!"

...I can't remember his face.  I looked straight at him, right into his eyes, and I can't remember a second of it.  The grin stuck with me because it was so...hollow.  Like he was wearing a mask, but I know he wasn't.  I don't know how I know; I just know, y'know?

Sorry, couldn't resist.  Tend to resort to stupid 'humor' when confronted with a creepy-ass kniferaper Proxy.  ...I think I just found his name.  Kniferaper.  Let me know if that name pops up on any Proxy circuits, alright?

The best evidence is what he said.  'Little Lion' is what the Proxy 'asmodeus' (yeah, without the capital 'a'; lord, I was a dork) called 'Nobody' in my fake blog, the one I'm pretty sure got me into this whole mess.  Numerous people must've read that blog, but for one of them to not only have found me and go through the trouble to put up a Perception Filter around his face?

Ladies and gents, it would seem I have my own personal Proxy.

Hoo-fucking-ray.

...something was outside.  Moved in the shadows outside the range of the kitchen light from the windows.  Couldn't see it clearly.  Too big to be a dog.  Too short to be Him no, can't capitalize.  Don't capitalize.  Shows submission to power.  Not submitting.  Not now.  Not ever.

Sleep...need to sleep.  Not healthy to stay awake so long.  But the nightmares...god have mercy, the nightmares...  Crows tearing, Lions ripping, and the spiders Spiders spiders all skittering about fangs glistening legs twitching eyes burning bodies bursting blood spurting people hurting demons laughing spirits passing women crying people dying children screaming NO MORE DREAMING

But he won't win no he won't win can't let him win have to fight

Why am I weak why why why why WHY WHY WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY









































































i have a headache

You'd think with only one-and-a-half days left of school, I'd be psyched and full of energy.

I'm dead tired.

I really don't know what's come over me.  For the last few nights, I've been waking up for no apparent reason.  Last night it was 4:15.  The night before, it was 3:33. 

I know that's a symptom of contact with the Operator, but why now?  I suffered no ill-effects from being close to him before.  Hell, he bitch-slapped me across the street, and I think I slept even longer than usual that night.  When I had 'Slendersickness,' I still wasn't getting up in the middle of the night.  Granted, it took a little longer to actually fall asleep, but that shouldn't rule out some sort of 'Slendersomnia,' should it?

What I'm more worried about is last night's dream. 

I was a lion.  An honest-to-goodness lion.  Mane, claws, tail tuft; the whole works.  I was wandering around a wasteland (kinda looked like...um...that other place that wasn't the Pridelands in Lion King II) with no obvious destination in mind.  As far as I could tell, I was alone until I came across the kitten.  There was some sort of twisted, blackened tribal arrow thrust through its heart, but it was still alive.  It just sat there, staring at the ground.  I wanted to get closer and help, but an overwhelming sense of despair and pain began to settle on me with every step I took.  I realized this kitten was fighting its own battle, and as much as I wanted to help, I could do nothing.  This was the job destined for...well, someone else.  So I continued on, under the impression that the wasteland was now a shit-ton darker and more foreboding.

At some point, I realized there was a bird on my back, pretty much just enjoying the ride.  I got the feeling it was an albino crow.  Yeah.  No obvious reference to my waking world there.  So the White Crow and I were chilling, enjoying our little wasteland journey, when every hair on my body stood on end.  Red flags were waving in my head like there was no tomorrow and, judging by the feeling I was getting, there wouldn't be a tomorrow, at least not for me.  I felt Whitecrow's claws digging into my back, heard a horrible screech and...and...

I woke up.  No cold sweat, no scream, no racing pulse.  Just a very calm, slow opening of my eyes to greet the darkness and the light of my phone telling me I was up three hours early.

So...blah.  It's late.  I need sleep.

Whitecrow, watch your back.  I've got a bad feeling that something's headed your way.

I have got to be the stupidest person alive.

My last post, I was pretty worked up.  I never really talked to Ryan much, being a little wary due to his being a Proxy and my being a Runner, but he was still someone I'd probably consider a friend, if only because of his bond to Lucia, who I have been talking to quite often.  So to hear that he'd been killed?  Rage fuel.

Granted, my 'rage' is pretty damn pathetic, but it is apparently enough to make me take a run at the fucking Operator.

...maybe I should back up a bit.

Saturday morning, when I found out, I made this post.  I was pissed.  None of what happened was even remotely close to fair.  I figured I could go do something about that.

Thankfully, I had some sense slapped (commented?) into me by Ben and Whitecrow.  Going to Pittsburgh would really only put one more person in harm's way:  me.  And since I never got my degree from Necromancer University and my Tardis doesn't work anymore, I can't do anything to 'fix' what's happened.  I'm no fighter.  I'm no healer.  I'm no Chronomancer.  I'm really just low-level cannon fodder, to put it bluntly.  I didn't want anyone to feel responsible if anything happened to me because I was too stupid to realize my limits.

But even though I knew what I planned was foolish, I was still angry.  Some of that anger was just directed at myself, for being weak.  Too.  Damn.  Weak.  Worst of all, I know that the time I'm spending screwing around in Skyrim or Saint's Row III could be spent fixing that problem.  I could be learning some martial art, or at least working out.  Godforbid I lift a few weights once in a while.

So when he showed up on my way to church on Sunday, acting all Slendery?  Well, it wasn't pretty.  Imagine the sequence in EverymanHYBRID where Evan charges the Slender Man with a baseball bat.  Now take away the baseball bat and imagine a girlishly long-haired, thin, scrawny, pale kid instead of...well, Evan.  Imagine said long-haired, thin, scrawny, pale kid in a vest and tie crumpling to the ground no fewer than ten feet away from the Operator.  All because of the fucking headache.  Finally, imagine the nearly-horizontal long-haired, thin, scrawny, pale kid actually trying to crawl toward the Operator, not away.  For shits and giggles, add in a few ponies fighting Godzilla in the background.

Yes, it was a fail of epic proportions.  And for some reason, the Blank didn't decide I was too stupid to live and simply stared at me, head cocked until I passed out.  I woke up at about noon, on my own front lawn, still wearing my vest and tie, with a little trickle of blood running out the corner of my mouth.  Upon further inspection once I got inside, I found my ears had bled, too.

So now I've calmed down considerably, and I've unpacked.  I really can't afford to make another stupid mistake like that.  The fact that I couldn't even get close to the lanky bastard is doing nothing for my self-image.  Again, though, I'm simply glad I'm no longer getting nauseous when in close proximity to the Slender Man.  The headaches are a lot more manageable, in my opinion.

I hate double-posting, but you know what?  Fuck it.

Shit went down last night.  Not here, not even remotely close distance-wise, but very close emotionally.  A friend of mine lost someone close.  You know where I was?  Just drifting off to sleep, judging by the timestamp on the post.  While I was safe and sound, dreaming of electric sheep, people were fighting, and an entire world shattered.

I'm done.  I'm done being the guy who hides out in his house while other people are fighting for their lives and dying to protect the people they love.  I'm done being content with where I am all while people I know are worrying for their own safety.  I'm leaving here.  Soon.

I'd planned to stick around a few weeks after graduating, but that just doesn't cut it anymore.  I'm out of here in less than two weeks.  Everything I think I'll need is packed and ready to go, underneath my bed.  Yeah, cliched place to stick it, but I don't care.  No one goes looking under there, anyways.  Too much crap crammed in such a small space.

I know exactly where I'm going first.

Pittsburgh.

So it's been more than a week since my last post.  No, I'm not done with all the work I'm supposed to finish before I go off and graduate.  In fact, I'm stalling for time on a set of 'thought-provoking questions' I'm supposed to write for my Psychology class right now.  Started it up and completely forgot where I was going on the last of four paragraphs.  Such is my luck.

I almost popped back on yesterday two days ago (Thursday) because...well, he's back.

I went to a local art show with my Art class (go figure) for an 'end of the year' field trip, and also as a 'get out of the last few periods of school' field trip.  The building was nice, and the acoustics were phenomenal.  I know I was there for art, but all I could actually think of was getting a choir in there because it would've sounded amazing.

Anyways, I saw a quaint little painting of a forest, and guess where my mind went first?  Yup.  Johnny the Faceless Weeping Willow.  So I did the whole paranoid 'window sweep,' got a few strange looks for it, and when I was sure he wasn't lurking around outside, I went back to admiring the various photographs, sculptures, paintings, and works of art using pretty much every medium available.  Sounds pretty mundane and safe, right?

Wrong.

The moment I stepped outside to get back on the bus, it felt like someone had pulled the pin on a grenade and stuck it right between the two halves of my brain.  'Splitting headache' doesn't begin to describe it.  The pain actually forced me to my knees.  I managed to look up, and I really shouldn't have to tell you who was standing on the boulevard a few yards away, 'staring' at me with his big, faceless head cocked slightly to the side.

I ended up ringed by my classmates, who were trying to figure out what was wrong.  They broke my line of sight on him long enough that he was able to disappear.  The headache lasted until I was 'safely' at home, some thirty minutes later.  I told everyone I'd lost my balance on the stairs, and that satisfied them.  Like I said, not the brightest school in the world.

So, in conclusion, my little respite from the big guy is over, my nausea alarm has shifted into a 'grenade-in-the-brain' headache (which is actually an improvement, in my opinion), and I'm almost completely surrounded by idiots.

Life is good.[/sarcasm]

I really should be working on my Prezi right now for class...  Bah.  I have until midnight to finish it anyways.  I'll be fine.

I feel that, after my post concerning Water Theory, I should make sure no one expects some kind of theory about the Blank's powers every time I post.  I'm no genius.  I'm not even really that smart.  Seriously.  I don't think I'm even in the top half of my class.  ...okay, that's a little harsh.  I'm in the top half; top fourth, though, is doubtful.  And we're not a very high-achieving school to begin with, academically.  Our wrestling team kicks ass, though.

Anyways, Water Theory is something I worked on for more than a few hours on a Sunday afternoon.  I've been considering the basis of Water Theory since I started the other blog at the beginning of the school year, and even now I haven't got all the kinks worked out.  Granted, I haven't labored over it every day since September, but the point still stands:  nine months have passed since I started to work on that theory, and it's not concrete at all.  Evidence could easily pop up that discredits it completely.  Hell, for all I know, I'll be the one who proves it wrong by getting killed on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

I'm still not completely satisfied with it.  I feel like there's something I'm missing, some big piece of evidence that could either make or break it.  But I have no idea what that missing piece could be.  I'm equally clueless on how I'd go about testing this theory.  I just have to watch and wait and see if any other Runners go out onto a boat, believing wholeheartedly that the ocean is safe, and end up having a close encounter with everyone's favorite Operator.

And that's exactly what worries me the most.  Someone who's already been Marked will run across this blog, read my theory, take it to heart, set out to sea, and end up Slenderchow.  I don't think I can take anymore blood on my hands.

On a completely different note, I don't know how much I'll be able to post in the next few weeks; time is getting short for course-work, and I'm officially out of here (school) on the 30th.  That means a lot of my free time will be spent doing the homework I've been neglecting in favor of Skyrim, Mass Effect 2, and blogging.  I also have a deadline coming up for a manuscript I've nearly finished, so I have to get my ass in gear on that, too.

...how do I keep getting myself into these situations?

Bah.  Onwards to Prezi.