Be Wary of These {Book 1, In Which A Gatherer Quits}

Quite simply put, it's time to put all (or most) of the cards on the table. I've been dangling hints and fucking around instead of coming out and telling the truth. Well, I'm tired of it. first off, the dreams? They're scrambled up memories, though not necessarily mine. Mine, yours, the kid next to you that just got sliced and diced, and hell, that favorite blogger that you like so much? theirs too. living someone else's life vicariously (especially the dead or soon to be dead ones) is enough to send someone a tad insane. It's because of this I won't be apologizing. I also won't be feeling guilty for the long absences, the lack of details about my houseguests, or about the amount of angst. Second, yes, my houseguests are gone. All of them. There's blood on the walls, broken glass, and a few suspicious burn marks on my property, all thanks to them. My computer has been returned, obviously, with a nice little post it note on the top, " Apologizi

Alright, it's time to explain a few things. The night we came home, we found Gallows and Graves standing outside, just goofing off. He held up my wallet,and something snapped. I was suddenly tired of them all. I brought home two to mend and heal, and what did I find? Two more! Proxies, asking me to do the same. Not because they needed it. But because they wanted to fuck with my head. Because they knew I couldn't tell them no. I've never been able to tell someone no if they needed me, even if they were lying about why. Well... I confess. I ranted, I raved, and I may have been a bit of a bitch. I stormed inside to cool off, and only re-emerged when i thought I'd be safe around knives and firearms. To my surprise, I found Josie had made an extremely late dinner, and everyone was sitting together, talking. Waiting for me, and getting along. Everyone was at least acting happy, with minimal stabbing attempts. I couldn't believe it. I think, honestly, i was

I'm looking into our living room, watching everyone sitting and living around me. Trouble is, the ghosts of my past are walking around them. Like a bad TV reception flickering on and off, I can see people walking and talking and passing through them, and no one is noticing . I see myself smiling and laughing and talking with these beloved ones, my ghosts no one saw as I held them and even... kissing them? Shady is staring at me, watching me as I stand stock still and pause mid-sentence. Oh, I see my love, my Collin, and I crumble. Tears begin to fall as I sink to the floor, my knees bruising from the fall, me caring not even a little. Everything is just... so fucking hard to deal with now. She's walking over to check on me, and I can't stop crying and the dead are flanking her on both sides. They're reaching for me, just as the insane did in that bizarre room of the Advocate's. There are no bars to stop these awful fucking specters. They're rea

My computer is missing. Gallows, Shady, whoever the fuck else has been in my house, you better pray I don't find out who it is before it's returned. I'll find my shotgun and pull a damn Red Queen on your asses. This stupid cell phone is NOT good enough. Off with your heads, bitches. Between SOMEONE trying to sneak into my bed every night, Josie learning how not to be such a pushover, and Shady twirling that fucking blue feather when she thinks no one's looking... (cold ass bitch), I'm about ready to say fuck it and start screaming off in the woods like Shady did the night we came home. Blogger hates me, for the record. None of my posts are showing up when they're supposed to. I can't even edit my past posts or comment on anyone's shit. I'll have to stick to stalking you all for a while, before I can explain what the fuck's been going on. Seriously, a shotgun to the face people. You only have to shoot once. ;) ......I want my fucking s

Well, my plans have somewhat been foiled. First of all, Free edited out some of our interview that was somewhat necessary to my explanation of Jesters Folly. Second, I still can't edit Jesters at all. I suppose you could say it isn't even my blog anymore. Thieving fucking bitch. Ahem. And the pink elephant in the room, the reason why my posting is so poorly formatted and I'm not explaining what happened at the party? Well, Advy's party didn't exactly go as planned. I've wound up with extensive burns, a migraine from hell and a minor case of smoke inhalation among some scrapes and other assorted bullshit. I am rather sullenly posting from a shitty cell phone in a fucking hospital gown so no one will freak out and think I died. That's right kiddies my ass got hauled to the hospital again. As far as I know, no one died at all. But... well, you'll have to see for yourselves. My posts are going to wait until I can get my thoughts together and out of this h

Before I show you all the transcript of Messi's interview, I have a few things to say. First of all, he's nearly as infuriating to interview as my former 'victims' have been, including Peter. I'll go ahead and admit that I used the oppurtunity to perv on yet another proxy, and I have no qualms saying so. With all of that mentioned, I'd also like to say that you have to read between the lines... quite a bit to salvage the purpose of this interview. I got what I wanted, and I know what I need to for the next step in my.. -ahem- work. Go ahead and have fun with this guys, I have some things I have to do. Messi: All right, I'm here. Happy now? Me: A little. It depends on what you have to say. Not to mention that I expected more of a fight. I live with people who legitimately belong in an asylum. I have more fights than I know what to do with. I just want to get this over with so you stop fucking nagging me about it. Fine, fine, jeez. You ought to treat your

What really frightens you? Are we all actually afraid? We've been fighting a battle against the proxies, thinking that will change something. It hasn't changed anything in the end. The fighting, I mean. We have a distraction from our nightmares, and it seems like we've forgotten our priorities. Our dead are still in their graves, and our living have been given false hope. It seems as though we have stopped our battle to actually defeat the Slenderman. What happened to the vaccine research, the experiments, the guinea pigs, the funding? Did we give up the first time we realized it hadn't worked? Did our fallen heroes really take away that much of our driving passion, our ability to look beyond defeat and realize... we still have so much potential left untapped? I believe so. I believe for all our talk of hope, and fighting, we changed our focus to things we thought we could fight and kill on a mass-scale. This is not what the war is about, people. These are merely the b

Not long after I started writing about the Chosen, I woke to a migraine I had never thought possible. I dragged myself out of bed, stumbling my happy ass to the bathroom to make the difficult decision from contacts and glasses. I splashed some water on face, brush my teeth, yadda yadda, and finally looked up in to the mirror to brush my hair. Instead of my glaring face staring back at me, I saw a pale,withdrawn figure with teeth like a shark's smiling at me and waving slowly. I screamed and scrambled backwards, tripping over the rug and falling backwards into the tub behind me. My tailbone ached like a motherfucker, and I drug myself back to my feet, looking around for the shark boy. No one is there. Everything is perfectly still. In fact, the entire bathroom shows no signs of my embarrassing little incident. I see nothing, and reassure myself to the fact that I've been sleeping too little and working too much. I go on. I used to write every few days, rarely going four days bet

I've made a few friends a few enemies and quite a few mistakes. I rave about the foolish, and commit the sins I condemn. I see it. I know it. I am a hypocrite. Officially, always, forever will be. Don't you see it, though? We're all made this way. We're imperfect, horrible, cruel, and are terribly selfish. Even our altruistic moments are caused by our own 'good' emotions, the ones that misfire in our brain and tell us what we're doing is right. All we've been is trained, to be and do and look and think a certain way. It's to be expected. We're only human, yes? I know all this. I see it every time I look in the mirror. But I ask you all a question, one I wonder if you can answer truthfully, even with yourself. Can you see your own sins? Can you see the pain and the destruction in your own life, and see where the lines blur between right and wrong and what's our fault and isn't? I'm normally a champion of love, hope and rain

The prejudices surrounding the two terms are many. To me, they're simply laughable. To be a Runner, you're supposed to be bright shiny and fight the good fight. To be unfailing in your quest for the truth and the betterment of mankind, blah blah blah. To be a Proxy, you need to be the root of all evil, and having mastered your laugh and torture techniques are definitely a plus. I'd like to go ahead and say, just these two generalizations are complete bullshit. Believing in these rules of thumb for dealing with the Slenderverse will get your ass killed, if not worse. What would be worse? Having to work for an abomination you hate, having your friends and loved ones stalked and destroyed from the inside out, having to watch as you inadvertently cause the deaths of the innocent. Fun, huh? I hate to dredge up bad memories, but what about Zero? What about Andromeda? What about Morningstar, and Messi, and countless others? These people on both sides of the 'good' fight co

It seems my reputation gets around. That's a nice surprise. I'm sorry that I haven't been around to help anyone lately, but the break has been much needed and appreciated. The chance to sit back and think, to ponder, to get away from everything and hope that the shadows will go away... it's been priceless. I can't promise I'll be back 'soon', but the break will be far shorter than I originally thought. So eventually, I will be coming back. I'm sorry that my absence has caused bickering, as well. I'm more than happy to get tips and help, as I haven't exactly been doing my research lately. I haven't looked at a blog since I last posted this, actually. It's helped. I'm more than happy to have people debate and speak among themselves. Those that would defend my state of mind are appreciated as well. I wanted people to gather together no matter the side or allegiance and be able to relax, if for only a few minutes. I regret that

For the record in case anyone's paying attention, I'm on a very long haitus. Since... earlier events... I've been a tad bipolar, to an extreme. I can't focus, and I have the oddest urge to stab anyone that comes near me. Not exactly healthy, especially when it comes to my friends. So it looks like you kiddies will have to do your own homework for a while, ya? Sorry for the inconvenience. I'm also rather ashamed of the fact that I can't seem to hold a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without acting like a complete nut job, like... right now for example. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing or saying. Another example. A couple of days ago I heard a certain Rihanna song on the radio on the way to the grocery store, and nearly crashed into a ditch. Not pleasant. I now have an extreme aversion to a huge list of songs, which is frankly fucking annoying. Also, obligatory hate-filled moment: FUCK YOU AND BURN IN HELL YOU GODDAMNED SOULL

Andromeda requested an interview, and I wasn't in the mood to be stabbed again, considering the circumstances.Peter's interview, I was a bit paranoid and only interacted with him through email. This time, I was a little less so. With people apparently finding me,  it doesn't really matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. We used a webcam session to 'film' our little interview, and well.. this is the result. Start of Interview Andromeda: (She appears on my screen. She looks like she hasn't been sleeping much. Her suit is slightly rumpled, tie loose and top button undone, skin pale with bags under her eyes behind her glasses. Her hair's coming out of its bun, adding to the frazzled look. She smiles at me, obviously tired.) Good evening, dear. Me: Good evening, Andromeda. Or, would you prefer to be called Constance? Andromeda: (quiet chuckle) I'm sticking with Andromeda for now. Me: Alright then, Andromeda. When you got ahold of me, you mentioned