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

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