Saturday, October 6, 2012


I really don't want to talk about this.


I did decide, in my stupor, to write a message to our Mutual Tallish Friend. I suppose if I left it on that note, you'd probably think I'm being tortured to death.
Well... not physically at any rate.

The other day, your "Construct" showed up. Just stood in my yard, staring in through the window at me. Just like the first time.

I honestly don't know why the fella didn't just come in, surprise me in my doorway or whatever. Had to make some grand announcement. Or hey, if the theories are true about certain temporal anomalies, maybe it was all part of some stable time loop that I decided to dose myself up to get a migraine.

Can you guess why? Hard to think that way, mind stops racing because it just slams facefirst into a barrier, over and over, like a three-year old to a glass door.

I've had a while to think about my own death, I wasn't going to let myself be just another victory.
So I drugged myself to screw TPF over. Not like it's hard to find anything of that sort in my area, if you know the right people.

Felt like hours I was just sitting there waiting for the effects to kick in. Staring through the window into that pseudo-existential mass of sentient nightmare.
I blinked first.

Okay, that was a bad pun. Actually I don't know if there would be a staring contest, since the first symptom that took hold was the tunnel vision. It's hard to explain... the bugger was just sort of there in front of me when I tilted my head. The photo-sensitivity took over and the apertures to my soul shut.

So why am I still here?
Well, why would I ever think it would be that simple? That the engine of paranoia and despair would just let me die? Probably even knowing full-well that my death would have done more damage to the fella?

You know in those movies where the protagonist is facing some massive blind beast, and they're backed into a corner with the creature facing them down and smelling them, leading to the suspense of whether or not the beastie even knows our hero is there?
Well it was sort of like that, only nowhere near as epic. I'm no hero, and TPF certainly isn't... well...
Well TPF wasn't 3 stories high that day, alright?

Maybe TPF ran away because I wasn't worth the kill. Or maybe migraines are actually some kind of psychic forcefield from eldritch horrors. More likely though, it's probably dawned on him it the SOB that I haven't suffered enough yet. I guess I should look forward to being given a gentle nudge by hithe sick fuck down some stairs one of these days.

I don't even know anymore.

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