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

I've tried to stay out of sight, I really have. I rarely comment, I mainly keep my irritating little rants to myself. My business stays mine, your business stays yours. The way it should be, right? Hell, I don't even whine about going insane anymore. I think I mostly have that dealt with... But that's neither here nor there. A few things have come to my attention that I can't really ignore this time. It's time to drag myself out of retirement for five minutes to talk about the past, it seems. Joy of joys, I get to talk about my life with virtual strangers! Okay, first of all, I just love how no one decided to warn me Gallows had been in my house . Not a single person. I had to find out through a fucking blog post, from a pair of psychotic proxies that NEVER FUCKING POST. Ugh. I'm so happy that the people that are supposed to be watching the house decided to 'leave' for those three days G&G decided to camp there. Sleep in my bed, and do.. whateve

My life is slowly coming together, here among the noise and the smog. My roommate knows more than she lets on, but we let each other pretend we don't have our secrets. I get to feel.. normal for a while. No posting about the death and mayhem that follows the Fossils. No Trackers giggling over knowing where I am. No Proxies thinking they have something to hold over my head because they've been in my home. Well, except for maybe one. But I'm not telling who. If you can't guess, you really don't need to know. I'm looking for a job, one that's a bit more flexible than the one I had before. I've put in plenty of applications, and I.. I have friends here that are willing to help me. Some of them new, most of them old. I can sit and watch Fight Club for the first time, and giggle over Marla and Bob's bitchtits. I can go to sleep from behind a locked door, and not have to worry about some fucktard with supernatural powers walking in and tying me to the be

So I've made it to my destination. Honestly, I've been here for a while now. I had a few friends help me get where I needed to go and keep under the radar for a while. Find a job, find a place to live, start unpacking my shit. I got all that done within a week. I haven't bothered posting, not because I've had nothing to say.. but because I couldn't stand the mythos as its been for the past few months. My followers had gotten whiny and demanding, and I was getting enough followers to rival the bigger name blogs. You know, the ones that actually ARE being chased by the Fears and have something to worry about. Namely, not me. But really,  let me repeat myself. I couldn't stand you fuckers. One minute you're telling me I'm being too whiny, the next minute you're telling me I don't open up enough. That there isn't enough "plot", like this is some goddamn made up story. Like I'm some protagonist for you to root for or boo at when

Look, I know what happens to the kiddos that keep playing with fate. The kids that keep having the bad guys storm the gate. Well, in this case, my gate's all broken. Everyone has a key, and damn it if my "castle" isn't on a fucking proxy mapquest by now. I'm just.. I'm tired of all of it. Being bitten for extending my hand (in the case of my houseguests in December), people passing out my address (everyone that's shown up at my doorstep, most notably David and Advy), and my interviewing people seemingly making no difference in all this. I wanted to help people, so I opened up my home. I wound up being slashed, burnt, dragged through glass and fire. My town's been set on fire, my friends and family killed, and ya know.. just when I thought I had a chance at things returning to normal, some fucker with a fascination with needles wound up showing up in my bedroom. I can't win for losing. I've been friends with the best and the worst of 'e

I opened the door to my house, dropped my keys on the table and kicked off my shoes as I in. I'd just had another long, thankless day at work with barely anything to show for it. The sun's rays filtering through the windows had started to weaken. I hadn't really noticed how late it was until the sun's setting reminded me. I rolled my neck, listening to its cracking with some satisfaction. Sleep had become less of a nightmare lately, and my life had finally started to settle down. I felt.. almost happy for once. I padded softly through the hallway to my room, unbuttoning my blouse and pulling my socks off as I went. I pulled the door open to my bedroom with a relieved sigh as I unbuttoned the last of the buttons, more than ready to lay down. I froze in the doorway as I caught sight of my bed. My shotgun was laying in pieces atop my bedspread. As I looked closer, I noticed a few of them were missing. A thought came to me, and I raised my head in horror to look around th

A lady contacted me a while back, one that needed help, specifically an interview.  (Of course, isn't that why everyone contacts me these days?) Scribe Sigma of the Archive wanted someone to talk to, and wanted it recorded. I was confused as to why someone would want to talk about the things she did, until I met her. Now it's painfully obvious. Without ado, the Scribe Sigma interview: Sigma left me a note to meet me at a park nearby my house. I'd like to pause here to swear a little bit. How do people keep finding out where I live? The timezone on my blog isn't even right! Anyway. I arrived to find her sitting on a park bench with a bottle of beer in her hands. If I had to guess, I'd say she was about thirty years old, with dishwater blonde hair falling just past her shoulders. She raised her head at my approach, the leaves crunching beneath my feet signaling that I was directly in front of her before she really even acknowledged me. Me: "Have you been wa