tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38144157625747694782024-02-08T01:21:27.075-05:00Lost In A DreamSometimes I feel like I'm living in a dream.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-53760209430368820732011-05-31T10:03:00.000-04:002011-05-31T10:03:32.094-04:00The Exception<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://mightyredpen.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/charlottes-web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://mightyredpen.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/charlottes-web.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
As I have already noted, the key difference between a<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Spider</span> and a<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Bat</span> is the cold, hard fact that a<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Bat</span> is <span style="color: #cc0000;">Blind</span> whilst a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> <span style="color: #cc0000;">Sees</span> all.<br />
<br />
Thus, I believe we should attempt to befriend the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span>.<br />
<br />
Yes, I am aware that they have attempted to<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Devour </span>our<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Brothers</span> and<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Sister</span> beforehand.<br />
<br />
Yes, the are indeed not to be trusted. <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span> never are.<br />
<br />
But like <span style="color: #cc0000;">Grandmother Spider</span>, the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Spiders </span>dressed in <span style="color: #cc0000;">Black</span> are far more capable of compassion then their<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Bat</span> companions. Indeed the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Spiders</span> are capable of saving those who will <span style="color: #cc0000;">Drown</span>, and spin <span style="color: #cc0000;">Charlotte's Web of Dreams</span> instead of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Lies</span>.<br />
<br />
<br />
With this <span style="color: #cc0000;">Web</span>, we can be<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Saved</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">The CPS have become the Spiders of Dreams, how about the FBI?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Consider it a possibility. One who Sees almost as much as the Eagle is a considerable Ally indeed.</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-3879201124887283002011-05-28T15:42:00.002-04:002011-05-28T17:03:44.965-04:00The Bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://seansturm.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/haasts-eagle.png?w=300&h=240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://seansturm.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/haasts-eagle.png?w=300&h=240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I will not cover much of the information concerning this <span style="color: #cc0000;">Enemy</span>, mainly because I don't feel the need to. Some of you know enough about the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Enemy</span> while the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Others</span> should <span style="color: #cc0000;">Not Learn <span style="background-color: black;">[The Curse of the Worms]</span></span> of it at all (this was my <span style="color: #cc0000;">Moth</span>'s first mistake).<br />
<br />
I refuse to.<br />
<br />
But let me share with you all a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Story</span>. It is the least I can do since most of you seem to have nothing better to do but threaten eachother's <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span>.<br />
<br />
Once upon a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Time</span> there was an <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eagle</span>. It was the largest <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eagle </span>in the world. But it had a<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Hunger</span>, a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hunger </span>for <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worms</span>.<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Legend</span> had it that it would come away at <span style="color: #cc0000;">Night</span> and snatch away <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worms</span>.<br />
<br />
It's<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Rival</span> was the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Hawk</span>.<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hawk</span> said it could reach the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Heavens</span>; The<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Eagle</span> said it could reach the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Heavens</span>.<br />
<br />
The<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Eagle</span> asked, "<span style="color: #cc0000;">What is your Sign?</span>"<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hawk</span> replied, "kei".<br />
<br />
Then the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hawk </span>asked, "<span style="color: #cc0000;">What is your Sign?</span>"<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eagle</span> replied, "<span style="color: #cc0000;">kÑ«ioiâ��hokYªý§� i1×� M</span>".<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;">These were their Words.</div><br />
They then flew and approached the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Heavens</span>. The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Winds</span> and the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Clouds</span> came. The<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Hawk</span> cried out "kei" and descended. It could go no further on account of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Winds</span> and the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Clouds</span>, but the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eagle</span> disappeared into the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Clouds</span>.<br />
<br />
Even though I am but a<span style="color: #cc0000;"> Butterfly</span>, with <span style="color: #cc0000;">Weak</span> and <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fragile Wings</span>. I intend to learn the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Secrets of the Eagle</span>, and fly into the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Clouds</span> after it, unlike its <span style="color: #cc0000;">Rival</span>, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hawk</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">I will do this and end the Curse of the Worms.</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-80627163384366976972011-05-25T09:49:00.002-04:002011-05-25T10:08:08.426-04:00The Bat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.pictureshunt.com/pics/v/vampire_bat-7690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220px" src="http://images.pictureshunt.com/pics/v/vampire_bat-7690.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
Both <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bats</span> AND <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span>, interestingly enough, are associated with the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Vampire</span>, <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bats</span> perhaps more so. The main difference between the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> and the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bat </span>is simply their <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eyes</span>.<br />
<br />
See the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bat</span> and it's <span style="color: #cc0000;">Blind Eyes</span>.<br />
<br />
See how different it is from the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eight Eyes</span> of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">The Spider Sees All.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">The Bat Sees Nothing.</span><br />
<br />
That is how you know the difference. But both are equally frightening. And both will equally suck away at your <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span> force. Both <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fear</span> the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span>.<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bat</span> is nocturnal.<br />
<br />
It relies on the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Night</span> for guidance. For <span style="color: #cc0000;">Food</span>.<br />
<br />
It <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worships</span> the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Night</span>. It only <span style="color: #cc0000;">Knows</span> the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Night</span>.<br />
<br />
Never will a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bat</span> fly in <span style="color: #cc0000;">Daylight</span>.<br />
<br />
It <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fears</span> the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Sun</span>.<br />
<br />
It <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fears</span> the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span>.<br />
<br />
But if you ever enter their domain, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Cave</span>. Beware. They will not hesitate in their attack. Do not be yolked with them. For a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bat</span>'s bite is lethal, and you will become one of them and lose your <span style="color: #cc0000;">Sight</span>. Do not listen to the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Words</span> of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Blind Fool</span>, for their <span style="color: #cc0000;">Words</span> are woven from the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span>'s <span style="color: #cc0000;">Web</span>. They speak only <span style="color: #cc0000;">Lies</span> and the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Teachings</span> of their <span style="color: #cc0000;">God</span>, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Night</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Beware the Bat for it is a Child of the Night.</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-25327701472865787442011-05-23T15:37:00.000-04:002011-05-23T15:37:31.323-04:00The Rat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.roofratsmemphis.com/RRattusv2-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://www.roofratsmemphis.com/RRattusv2-1.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Admit it.<br />
<br />
You dislike the sight of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Rats</span>.<br />
<br />
Whether in the house, on the streets, or in the sewers.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Rats</span> are naturally disliked creatures?<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Well, what's to like about them. They are disgusting, <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span> carrying creatures, which are found in the most disgusting places. It is only natural to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fear</span> them. Who doesn't fear the infestation of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span>. Especially if that <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span> hides behind every wall, under every floorboard.<br />
<br />
Historically, Rats have always been a bother to humanity. The most well known origin of the human fear of them, is the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Black Death</span>. According to textbooks, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Black Plague</span> spread with the help of this vile <span style="color: #cc0000;">Rodents</span>, who stowed away upon trade ships. With hardly anything to defend themselves, the people of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Dark Ages</span> quickly fell prey to this seemingly unstoppable <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span>. Horrifying artwork cropped up.<br />
<br />
Of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Death</span>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.viceland.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/nuremberg-chronicles-danceofdeath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://www.viceland.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/nuremberg-chronicles-danceofdeath.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/scary-bioweapon-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/scary-bioweapon-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zmescience.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/black-death-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.zmescience.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/black-death-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cache2.artprintimages.com/p/LRG/17/1733/CEC3D00Z/art-print/hans-burgkmair-victims-of-the-black-death.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://cache2.artprintimages.com/p/LRG/17/1733/CEC3D00Z/art-print/hans-burgkmair-victims-of-the-black-death.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QPwTdh9Cv8c/SK2LHAM_FOI/AAAAAAAAABA/hfxZcz1MP4Y/s320/BlackDeathArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QPwTdh9Cv8c/SK2LHAM_FOI/AAAAAAAAABA/hfxZcz1MP4Y/s320/BlackDeathArt.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cache2.artprintimages.com/p/LRG/37/3725/I8SAF00Z/art-print/victims-of-the-black-plague-being-buried-in-london-1665.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://cache2.artprintimages.com/p/LRG/37/3725/I8SAF00Z/art-print/victims-of-the-black-plague-being-buried-in-london-1665.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: #cc0000;">Despair</span>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lshs.leesummit.k12.mo.us/studentprojects/0910/spring/kross/Bubonicplaguekr/image/080428-black-death-02.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lshs.leesummit.k12.mo.us/studentprojects/0910/spring/kross/Bubonicplaguekr/image/080428-black-death-02.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.glogster.com/media/5/21/48/12/21481243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://www.glogster.com/media/5/21/48/12/21481243.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1746/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1746-2046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1746/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1746-2046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.medievalists.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/800px-Danse-macabre-chaise-dieu-panneau3-425x111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="83" src="http://www.medievalists.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/800px-Danse-macabre-chaise-dieu-panneau3-425x111.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> And <span style="color: #cc0000;">Horror</span>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pcs.org/assets/uploads/plague11%281%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.pcs.org/assets/uploads/plague11%281%29.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://fineartamerica.com/images-medium/the-plague-doctor-lucy-deane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>And all because of some <span style="color: #cc0000;">Rats</span>, and some species of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Insects</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Rats</span> amongst other things, continue to be the cause of many <span style="color: #cc0000;">Diseases</span>.<br />
<br />
They are among us now.<br />
<br />
They can be you.<br />
<br />
They can be me.<br />
<br />
They can me.<br />
<br />
They can even be your neighbor.<br />
<br />
And they all wear the guise of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Mouse</span>.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;">Beware the Rat who appears as a Mouse.</div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">For with Disease, Death surely shall follow.</div><div style="color: #cc0000;"></div><span style="color: #cc0000;">And the Reaper will come to collect your Soul.</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-60776269465962333752011-05-22T13:33:00.001-04:002011-05-22T21:10:52.464-04:00The Spider<div style="color: black;">We all heard of them.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Whether in movies.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.coverbrowser.com/image/horror-posters/12-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.coverbrowser.com/image/horror-posters/12-5.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br />
Books.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.sfx.co.uk/files/2010/04/120410crawlers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media.sfx.co.uk/files/2010/04/120410crawlers.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>Comics.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiUJCaEnwJjtMQwIskzJnpD-T9GdufHScPZLM40SgdWwg-1OUMXmcmqDskOdLNiHyv6CtvVp5ijQFao2gxxB79LtW2bYPFABOo8Z27YkRPhrdB_o0mqFE-NQnRriqotKbEk47lrqhDL1C/s1600/conan+barbarian+4+april+1971+giant+spider+barry+smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiUJCaEnwJjtMQwIskzJnpD-T9GdufHScPZLM40SgdWwg-1OUMXmcmqDskOdLNiHyv6CtvVp5ijQFao2gxxB79LtW2bYPFABOo8Z27YkRPhrdB_o0mqFE-NQnRriqotKbEk47lrqhDL1C/s320/conan+barbarian+4+april+1971+giant+spider+barry+smith.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><br />
And we see them in real <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.austinbug.com/larvalbugeye/argio10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.austinbug.com/larvalbugeye/argio10.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
For centuries <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span> have been the source of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fear</span>, knowledge, and inspiration, in our human culture. In some cultures it was depicted in deities which were the spinners and weavers of destiny. In African culture, and Lakota culture, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> is depicted as a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Trickster</span>. Interestingly enough, the Lakota incarnation of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span>, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Trickster</span> god Iktomi, has the ability to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Control</span> people with his silk. There is a legend that he would one day return to spread his <span style="color: #cc0000;">Web</span> all across the land. I believe he already has. On the opposite side of the spectrum, the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> can be a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Creator</span> rather than a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Trickster</span>, as depicted in the Navajo myth of Grandmother <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span>.<br />
<br />
But beware. <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span> are more or less, <span style="color: #cc0000;">Tricksters</span> and <span style="color: #cc0000;">Thieves</span>. In Japanese mythology we are given the tale of the Tsuchigum, an ethnic group who take on the visages of humans, and derogatory term for <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bandits</span>. The story of Minamoto no Raiko portrays some of his encounters with these human-<span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span>. The Jorōgumo is another variation of the Japanese shapeshifting <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> most common in the Edo period, the term literally meaning "<span style="color: #cc0000;">Spider</span> whore". As Edo legend had it, they would entice men into a shack playing beautiful <span style="color: #cc0000;">Music</span>, devouring the unaware <span style="color: #cc0000;">Victim</span> while they were too distracted by their <span style="color: #cc0000;">Song</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span> are oddly similar to the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Vampires</span> in their predatory nature. Both lure and ensnare their prey before sucking the life out of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Victim</span>.<br />
<br />
What I'm speaking of, however, are those who spin <span style="color: #cc0000;">Webs</span> of lies. Trapping us and the entire world in a warped version of the truth. These are the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</span> you need to be wearer of. For if they catch you, they will make sure you are silenced. I am sure you are already aware of one of them, the FBI agent known as Fisk. Him and those who are similar to him are like that of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">False Prophets</span>. They will continue to spin webs until they have captured a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>. Beware. Beware I say! They will say to you that the world has ended. They will say that the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Bird</span> does not exist. But <span style="color: #cc0000;">He</span> does, and <span style="color: #cc0000;">He</span> grows ever stronger still!<br />
<br />
The day that they cease to be Iktomi, and become protectors of the Jōren waterfall will be the day they descend from their <span style="color: #cc0000;">Webs</span>, and save those who are <span style="color: #cc0000;">Victims</span> from drowning, as we all will one day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;">Beware the Spider who spins Webs out of Lies instead of the Truth.</div>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-55122592978745014642011-05-21T00:02:00.001-04:002011-05-21T00:02:26.167-04:00Now Let's Get to the Heart of the Lesson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8rSsM2XhF5I?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-65519940640765757362011-05-20T05:43:00.001-04:002011-05-22T13:33:59.709-04:00What hunts Caterpillars?As cousins of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm</span>, a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span> has many natural <span style="color: #cc0000;">Enemies</span>.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Enemies</span> of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm </span>and a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span> can be the same.<br />
<br />
<ul><li style="color: #cc0000;">Rodents<span style="background-color: black;">(youknowwhoyouare)</span></li>
<li>reptiles</li>
<li><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="background-color: black;">[the]</span>Bat</span>(s)</li>
<li><span style="color: #cc0000;">Birds</span></li>
<li style="color: #cc0000;">Spiders</li>
<li>nematodes</li>
<li>and other insects</li>
</ul> <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillars</span> are also very susceptible to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Pathogens</span>, and dying from <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span>.<br />
<br />
Some of the most important pathogens are:<br />
<br />
<ul><li><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="background-color: black;">[the]</span>Virus</span>(es)</li>
<li>bacteria</li>
<li>protozoans</li>
<li>microsporidians</li>
<li>and fungi </li>
</ul>But they are not without <span style="color: #cc0000;">Defense</span>.<br />
<br />
<ul><li>stinging hairs </li>
<li style="color: #cc0000;">Camouflage</li>
<li><span style="color: #cc0000;">Hiding</span> in rolled leaves</li>
<li>storage of <span style="color: #cc0000;">bad tasting and poisonous</span> <span style="color: #cc0000;">Chemicals</span></li>
<li>glands that emit <span style="color: #cc0000;">repellent Chemicals</span></li>
<li>an ability to <span style="color: #cc0000;">enclose Foreign Bodies</span></li>
<li>flashing <span style="color: #cc0000;">bright Colors</span> to <span style="color: #cc0000;">startle Predators</span></li>
<li>spitting</li>
<li>and <span style="color: #cc0000;">feigning Death</span></li>
</ul>But <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worms</span> crawl.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zv9zDC5HaKs"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Is crawling not similar to Running?</span></a>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-30254073358225094692011-05-19T20:06:00.003-04:002011-05-19T20:10:51.452-04:00Mazel Tov<span style="color: #cc0000;">Congratulations</span> to our <a href="http://youandthestarsareone.blogspot.com/" style="color: #cc0000;">Three</a><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><a href="http://awandandaprayer.blogspot.com/" style="color: #cc0000;">Monarch</a><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><a href="http://recordsofanimpossibility.blogspot.com/" style="color: #cc0000;">Butterflies</a>. May you guide the next <span style="color: #cc0000;">Generation</span> of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillars</span> so that they too can successfully complete their eventual <span style="color: #cc0000;">Transformation</span>.<br />
<br />
Interestingly enough, the Hebrew phrase for "<span style="color: #cc0000;">Congratulations</span>" is Mazel Tov, a phrase often uttered at Jewish weddings.<br />
<br />
Symbolically, weddings are a step towards a new <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span>. A <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life </span>of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Unity</span>. <br />
<br />
But beware. Even the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Monarchy</span> falls prey to the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Eagle</span>.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-46013442527181558272011-05-19T06:32:00.000-04:002011-05-19T06:32:29.491-04:00Fate and TransformationEvery single one of us is a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm</span>.<br />
<br />
We deserve nothing but <span style="color: #cc0000;">Death</span> and torture.<br />
<br />
As <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm</span>s, we are to be associated with rot and <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span>.<br />
<br />
But there are those who can shed themselves of their <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span>.<br />
<br />
They are called <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span>s.<br />
<br />
Indistinguishable from the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm</span>, yet they are the only ones filled with <span style="color: #cc0000;">Disease</span> who can build for themselves a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Cocoon</span> and enter the Pupation period.<br />
<br />
Our daily ritual of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Sleep</span> is sometimes viewed as Pupation. When we <span style="color: #cc0000;">Dream</span>, our <span style="color: #cc0000;">Mind</span>s seem to roam <span style="color: #cc0000;">Free</span>, like that of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>.<br />
<br />
In Christianity the cycle is different.<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span>'s constant crawling and chewing is similar to normal earthly <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life </span>where people are often wholly preoccupied with physical needs. The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Cocoon</span> resembles a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Tomb</span> and emptiness, and can suggest the empty shroud left behind by Jesus. Thus, a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> represents the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Resurrection</span> into a new condition of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span> that is <span style="color: #cc0000;">Free</span> of any material concerns. <br />
<br />
But it can also mean:<br />
<ul style="color: #cc0000;"><li>Egg - Our Birth</li>
<li>Caterpillar - Our Life</li>
<li>Cocoon - Our Death</li>
<li>Butterfly - Our Rebirth</li>
</ul>We are all fated to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Die</span>. Some earlier then others. But sometimes it comes to us in the most devastating form. A Gnostic depiction of the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Angel of Death</span> shows him stepping on a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> underneath his heel. White <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterflies</span> were once believed to be the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Soul</span>s of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Dead</span> children in Ireland, and thus it was forbidden to crush them. The ancient Greeks depicted man's soul as a winged person.<br />
<br />
The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> represents the frailty of human <span style="color: #cc0000;">Life</span>.<br />
<br />
We can be here <span style="color: #cc0000;">Today</span> and gone <span style="color: #cc0000;">Tomorrow</span>.<br />
<br />
But in <span style="color: #cc0000;">Death</span> there can be <span style="color: #cc0000;">Change</span>.<br />
<br />
In mythology the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly </span>is rarely distinguished from the moth, so since the moth is naturally drawn to a flame, both are related to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span>. <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span> is the element of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Transformation</span>.<br />
<br />
In ancient Central America the god of cosmic <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span>, Xiutecutli, is symbolized by a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>.<br />
<br />
In Greek mythology Psyche<span style="color: #cc0000;"></span> (Greek for <span style="color: #cc0000;">Soul</span> or <span style="color: #cc0000;">Mind</span>), the bride of Cupid, is represented by a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>, who glimpsed the <span style="color: #cc0000;">True</span> nature of her mysterious <span style="color: #cc0000;">Sleep</span>ing lover using <span style="color: #cc0000;">Fire</span>light. This led to her eventual down<span style="color: #cc0000;">Fall</span>, and many <span style="color: #cc0000;">Trial</span>s, ending in her beautiful <span style="color: #cc0000;">Transformation</span>.<br />
<br />
From a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Worm</span>.<br />
<br />
To a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Do you understand?</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-52110947604791785262011-05-18T05:44:00.000-04:002011-05-18T05:44:24.426-04:00Butterflies are often symbols of transition in a person's life...A <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> starts it's life out as a tiny <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span> who knows nothing but <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hunger</span>. And for days it <span style="color: #cc0000;">Feeds</span> on plants, getting fatter and fatter, <span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000;">Shed</span>ding<span style="color: #cc0000;"></span> its skin whenever it finds that it is too tightly packed in its current one (during a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span>'s life they <span style="color: #cc0000;">Shed</span> their skin up to <span style="color: #cc0000;">Five</span> times.). A rather disgusting creature by most people's standards.<br />
<br />
In the middle of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Caterpillar</span>'s life they undergo something of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Metamorphosis</span> (which is Greek for <span style="color: #cc0000;">Transformation</span> or change in shape). They <span style="color: #cc0000;">Shed</span> their skin for the <span style="color: #cc0000;">last time</span>, creating for themselves a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Cocoon</span> in which they <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hibernate</span> for <span style="color: #cc0000;">nine</span> to fourteen <span style="color: #cc0000;">days</span>. After which a beautiful <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> emerges from the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Shell</span>.<br />
<br />
Usually that Butterfly lives for only a few weeks, sometimes even a couple <span style="color: #cc0000;">months</span> (those that <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hibernate</span> tend to live up to the latter).<br />
<br />
A <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> is also a symbol of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Faith</span>.<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">For they accept their changes and beg us to do the same. </span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-56488058027294417902011-05-17T11:30:00.000-04:002011-05-17T11:30:30.902-04:00<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Goodbye</span> black butterfly</i>.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">You can take those</span> perfect <span style="color: #cc0000;">wings into outer space.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">'Cause there's no place left in this</span> blood, <span style="color: #cc0000;">for your</span> <span style="color: #cc0000;">restless</span> fluttering, your sleepless <span style="color: #cc0000;">ways.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;"></span> Black butterfly, <span style="color: #cc0000;">flutter me by.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i>Kick a little bitter <span style="color: #cc0000;">into the night.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Spark of the stars leaving </span>on my heart. </i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Trying to be</span> good <span style="color: #cc0000;">by you, </span></i>alright alright.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Soft breeze, rose</span> city sunsets, the bats are <span style="color: #cc0000;">swinging around me</span> like drunken ships.</i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Ever-</span>evergreen <span style="color: #cc0000;">bows above me tower</span> singing, <span style="color: #cc0000;">quiet stories</span> 'bout forgiveness.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Black butterfly, <span style="color: #cc0000;">flutter me by.</span></i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Kick a little bitter <span style="color: #cc0000;">into the night.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Spark of the stars leaving </span>on my heart.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Trying to be</span> good <span style="color: #cc0000;">by you, </span></i>alright alright.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>I'll be good.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Alright alright.</i>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-23383864151319215002011-05-16T12:20:00.000-04:002011-05-16T12:20:41.844-04:00Edward Lorenz is known for delevoloping the Theory, "The Butterfly Effect"Even though the concept had a<span style="color: #cc0000;"></span>ppeared once before, in the book "The Sound of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Thunder</span>".<br />
<br />
"The Sound of Thunder" describes the journey of a hunter named Eckels back in time, to kill the almighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. He was told not to disturb anything in the past or else he would change the future.<br />
<br />
The encounter with the <span style="color: #cc0000;">King</span> of Dinosaurs was chaotic. He almost hadn't made it back to the present. But when he did everything had changed.<br />
<br />
But why?<br />
<br />
He didn't do anything wrong. Did he?<br />
<br />
Alas the encounter with the <span style="color: #cc0000;">King</span> was chaotic. His boot had gotten stuck in the mud as he stumbled off the <span style="color: #cc0000;">path</span> they were meant to take. Such a mistake can have dire consequences, can it?<br />
<br />
Underneath that muddy boot.<br />
<br />
My friends.<br />
<br />
Was a crushed <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>.<br />
<br />
According to the Chaos Theory, a slight flutter of a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>'s wing could be the cause of a violent <span style="color: #cc0000;">Typhoon</span> weeks later.<br />
<br />
In "The Sound of <span style="color: #cc0000;">Thunder</span>" a crushed <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span> rewrote the future.<br />
<br />
I am that <span style="color: #cc0000;">Butterfly</span>.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-73167332056053332042011-05-15T11:20:00.001-04:002011-05-15T11:21:09.650-04:00There once was a philosopher named Zhuangi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/eb/Zhuangzi-Butterfly-Dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/eb/Zhuangzi-Butterfly-Dream.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
One day Zhuangi had a dream, just like me.<br />
<br />
In that dream he dreamed that he was a butterfly fluttering around happily, doing whatever he wanted.<br />
<br />
Just like I did.<br />
<br />
He didn't know who he was until he woke up.<br />
<br />
Yet he wondered...<br />
<br />
Who was the dreamer?<br />
<br />
Him?<br />
<br />
Or the butterfly?<br />
<br />
Does HE dream of us?<br />
<br />
Did Hannah truly die?<br />
<br />
Was I dreaming the entire thing?<br />
<br />
Why do I feel like my heart was torn out of my breast?Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-69318198178764286452011-05-14T13:19:00.000-04:002011-05-14T13:19:52.388-04:00When I was little. My mother used to sing me a song.<i>Go to sleep</i><br />
<i>My dear sweet Stephanie</i><br />
<i>For Jesus is watching over you.</i><i></i><br />
<i>Don't be afraid</i><br />
<i>For Jesus</i><br />
<i>Jesus</i><br />
<i>Jesus is watching over you.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
According to Jewish tradition the origin of the word lullaby is "Lilith-abi".<br />
<br />
Lilith is a demon who stole the souls of children during their sleep.<br />
<br />
But most lullabies from medieval Britain were associated with Jesus.<br />
<br />
A child's soul was stolen away from me.<br />
<br />
I hope you understand Rebecca. You saw it yourself. I can't stay with you any longer.<br />
<br />
I killed myself.<br />
<br />
And I had no lullaby sung to me.<br />
<br />
Neither did I ever think to sing to Hannah. Now I regret it. I regret everything.<br />
<br />
He made me kill myself Rebecca.<br />
<br />
I am literally dead.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-38129182683601110412011-05-14T12:30:00.000-04:002011-05-14T12:30:14.512-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/T5bIFE6DdrQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-81005471328597039612011-05-13T15:32:00.006-04:002011-05-13T16:37:32.384-04:00Steph's backShe came here yesterday, saying that she wanted to see me before she went to live with her grandmother. I tried telling her about Mr. Hernandez's offer but she wouldn't listen to me, she said she didn't want to hear it. I think she's still cross with me. She refused to talk to me for the rest of the time she stayed. She didn't seem to have her dream journal with her...I'm beginning to believe she lost it in the fire, which she doesn't seem to think occurred. Or...she refuses to acknowledge that she no longer has a real home.<br />
<br />
She looked terrible. I've never seen her so skinny, or pale. I tried to convince her to come to the walk-a-thon at school today, but it seemed to insult her. The only reason she came, she told me, was to request that I give her some space. Then she just left.<br />
<br />
I don't know what I did, but I think something's wrong with her. Something changed. I want to know why, but I'm afraid she might turn on me if I press the issue too much. It must be Hannah's death...<br />
<br />
<br />
I think I'm going to refrain from speaking to her about Slenderman or her mother for the moment.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16225231162798710155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-60250990071994457572011-05-08T21:03:00.008-04:002011-05-10T15:51:13.072-04:00I arranged a meeting with Mr. Hernandez...Dr. Fitzpatrick was supposed to be there too, but he was attending a meeting of his own. I wonder, do doctors attend meetings? Do they all meet in a surgical room and just....talk? I've never really ventured far enough inside hospitals enough to see what happens behind the scenes. The most I see is nurses, standing around talking to each other while I waited to be pricked and probed. I hardly ever see my doctor...<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder why is it that Dr. Fitzpatrick spends so much time with Steph. I don't even know what he says to her, or what she says to them, but it's like I can always hear him in the background whenever I'm talking to Steph. Part of me thinks that he may be listening on our conversations, but another part of me trusts Dr. Fitzpatrick enough to know that it isn't true. It's sort of odd that a doctor would be spending more than a few minutes with a patient. Even dentists spend a larger span of time with their patients. Not that I'm complain of course. It's just...odd.<br /><br />I truly believe that Steph needs someone to be there for her. I'm just glad that it's someone like Dr. Fitzpatrick. Perhaps he's the one Mr. Hernandez was talking about. The guy who would act as Steph's psychologist through these tough times. He was her mother's psychologist after all.<br /><br />I still wish it could've been me.<br /><br />Hm, who knows? Perhaps he was just too busy. Doctors are naturally busy people.<br /><br />Anyways, Mr. Hernandez had assured me he was always open to talk. So I thought that I would take him up on that offer.<br /><br />Only now I wish I hadn't.<br /><br />We met at my house, as requested. He looked happy to see that I was okay, or so I believe.<br /><br />H: It's been awhile since we last met.<br /><br />R: Yes...it's been a little over a week.<br /><br />H: You've been considering my offer?<br /><br />R: ...Yes, and...I'm thinking I should take you up on that offer.<br /><br />H: Really.<br /><br />R: A couple of my friends and now Steph's sister died. I don't know who else to turn to. I can't turn to the police, who are no doubt trying to figure out Jeremy's and Frank's death. They might become suspicious.<br /><br />H: And why would that be?<br /><br />R: Umm...<br /><br />H: You see Rebecca, there is one thing you didn't think about during this entire mess. The police have been investigating these deaths from the beginning. It's only a matter of time before they come to your door.<br /><br />R: You mean...<br /><br />H: That you're a suspect? Afraid so.<br /><br />R: Oh gosh...what do I do?<br /><br />H: I wouldn't post about any more deaths, should they happen, if I were you.<br /><br />R: So what're you saying? That more people will die?!<br /><br />H: Seems so. Which brings me to something concerning the supposed number of deaths that have occurred. These people who have been stalking you and Steph seems to have miscalculated.<br /><br />R: What?!<br /><br />H: If you read their latest entry, it suggests that the number of people they killed has been four. You publicly posted the deaths of three people. That is unless your hiding something.<br /><br />R: I have no idea what you're talking about.<br /><br />H: Yes you do.<br /><br />R: What?!<br /><br />H: Think about it. Four minus three is one...<br /><br />R: So someone else is dead?<br /><br />H: Either that or somebody lied.<br /><br />R: B-but, I don't even know anything!<br /><br />H: Relax, we aren't suspicious of you, at least not yet. That is unless you know something that we don't.<br /><br />R: I don't know anything!<br /><br />H: Good. Then we can discuss other important matters. Such as your security, and a possible new home.<br /><br />R: You mean my home isn't good enough?<br /><br />H: For a safe, normal, growing child? Yes. For a Victim? No.<br /><br />R: I can't leave yet! I still have school!<br /><br />H: You can still go to school. We just need to relocate you in case something unconventional happens.<br /><br />R: Unconventional like what?<br /><br />H: Well, given the enemy's killing patterns, and the level of danger you're in. I'd say there's a chance of either you becoming brainwashed, or you dying.<br /><br />R: Where am I going to go?<br /><br />H: We had a nice fellow on Walter Street offer his services. He calls himself Melvin. I think you met him once..<br /><br />R: What?<br /><br />H: Middle aged man. Balding. Blonde hair. Glasses. I think you broke in one of the houses across from him.<br /><br />R: Steph's grandfather's apartment!<br /><br />H: What were you doing over there, anyways?<br /><br />R: Uh...it's nothing of importance.<br /><br />H: I read that you found some documents and a journal in there. Am I correct?<br /><br />R: Uhh...<br /><br />I handed him what was left of the journal. I didn't know what come over me. But he had this authoritative aura around him. I simply couldn't refuse. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have. Now he has all of those papers, and there's nothing I could do about it. I suppose I can find out where the VPA keeps all their information, but I have a feeling it might be downtown, in some uptight security office building. I'm not ready for that. I'm just glad that I have all of the coordinates on this blog. But I don't think they were interested in the coordinates.<br /><br />They must be collecting some sort of evidence. The question is, for what? Why?<br /><br />I may never understand these people.<br /><br />H: Thank you for your contribution to our cause.<br /><br />R: Is that what you do? Take whatever clues people might have of their loved ones?<br /><br />H: For the most part yes. We need to understand how the minds of the brainwashed work in order to understand how to save them.<br /><br />R: But how?!<br /><br />H: The same way you and your Runner friends are. By developing a cure.<br /><br />R: That won't work.<br /><br />H: And why's that.<br /><br />R: People have already tried developing a cure! Jay's acid, Jeff's cure! Jeff's cure won't even work now that he's dead! And I don't even know about Jay's acid! I don't even know how well it might work, or whether it'll work at all!<br /><br />H: We understand that.<br /><br />R: Then why?!<br /><br />H: Because we have waited idly for too long. The longer we wait, the more people will get affected.<br /><br />R: But what if it doesn't work?<br /><br />H: Then we continue doing what we've been doing. Saving the Victims.<br /><br />R: I don't understand anything.<br /><br />H: It's alright. You don't have to.<br /><br />R: First I learn that the FBI is trying to cover up his existence. And now you guys...<br /><br />H: I assure you, we are good.<br /><br />R: I believe you! It's just... I don't know. Why do I have to move.<br /><br />H: It's only until the end of the school year, just so you can focus on your studies. We will also be sending Steph to another safe haven after she takes her tests. After that you're free to do whatever you wish. Both you and Steph. We might recommend [REDACTED] (sorry, I can't risk too much)<br /><br />R: And I can be certain that you're trustworthy?<br /><br />H: Certainly.<br /><br />R: Alright. When will I be moving?<br /><br />H: Most likely by next week if we're lucky. We just need to convince your mother that we're not taking you away permanently.<br /><br />R: Oh...right...<br /><br />H: You will get through this. Both of you. Don't worry. The Victim Support Association only exists to help you guys. If anything happens to you, we're doing something wrong. And God damn it, if something does happen, I will scavenge the entire world until I find you two. Don't worry about the FBI. Don't worry about the government. They have no right to hide what's going on behind close doors. If the day comes when the entire world fights together to defeat this beast. Well...that would be a good day. Maybe my military experience would actually be useful for once.<br /><br />We started talking about Steph and Steph's mother after that. I told them I wanted to find Steph's mother and he seemed pretty interested in helping me. I'm sort of glad he didn't suggest enlisting the police's help. I'm sure the Police Force is great with this kind of stuff, but he and I both agreed that it would only lead to Steph's mother being on the FBI list of missing people. So that's a good sign.<br /><br />I forgot to tell him about the coordinates though (even though they'll probably figure it out themselves). I don't know, I guess a part of me wanted to do this alone. I mean, I appreciate their help but...I'm still a bit cautious about reeling people in. Here was this man who's own friend was captured by Slenderman, who seemed to be able to escape him for thirty four years. I don't know what would happen if Slenderman suddenly takes a new found interest in him. But I am still thankful for his help.<br /><br />Steph should be released from the hospital this weekend according Dr. Fitzpatrick. I hope she isn't too mad at me. Or won't be.<br /><br /><br />Keep holding on loves. <3<br /><br />I know you guys can do it.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16225231162798710155noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-86979441651956528822011-05-08T12:34:00.004-04:002011-05-08T22:10:38.469-04:00Concrete AngelsIf any of you watch Doctor Who then you might be familiar with the statue like aliens known as the Weeping Angels. If you haven't...you are lucky, because I can never visit cemeteries because of them. Why you may ask?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://img824.imageshack.us/img824/4379/1294693123123.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://img824.imageshack.us/img824/4379/1294693123123.gif" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 176px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 312px;" /></a>I...I rest my case.<br />
<br />
The cemetery I wept in was filled with statues. Not to mention there were statues on the roof of a church we passed by. It was...it was the worst. The area was a mostly Catholic center, <span style="font-style: italic;">the </span>Catholic center of Buffalo , New York (although, it's actually Lackawanna) So I suppose it's not all that surprising. But ever since I watched that episode of Doctor Who I can't look at a statue without feeling like it's coming after me. I suppose that one could feel the same way with the Slenderman. Sometimes I feel like that's the reason why I can't see him. It's probably not true at all, I mean, wouldn't it make M's theory about the Operator Symbol useless? ...But then again, it could be.<br />
<br />
What if the Operator symbol doesn't work. What if the reason some people can't see him until they take pictures of him or capture him on film is because we're watching him. He has to have some sort of cloaking ability, or glamour. I remember reading something about him being a fairy. I've never really believed in spirits, or angels, or anything of the like...I suppose it's an interesting theory but...<br />
<br />
I don't know, it's just a supposition. I want to understand Slenderman, and what he wants, but at the same time I'm afraid to. What if what I discover turns out to be something worse than anyone could imagine? What if Slenderman created himself? Sometimes I dream about things such as these. I see him in an ancient forest within a circle of fungi, and I find myself dancing against my will. I can almost see that twisted look on his face. I can almost hear his laughter. All his servants are gathered around, watching me behind plastic faces. I feel a slight tug at my limbs and I'm dancing the river dance. Then I hear a shrilly laughter, coming from above. I dared not look up, but there were times when I often did. I knew the person's face well, it was Steph, but there was something different about her. It was like looking through a cracked mirror.<br />
<br />
<strike>I like to think</strike> No. I <span style="font-style: italic;">want </span>to think that it is nothing. Even still I know what the dream means, and it frightens me. I am wondering, especially now as I'm typing this, "Is Steph dreaming. Right now? If so, what is she dreaming about? Is she dreaming about me? Am I pulling the strings?"<br />
<br />
Why do I worry so much about this? Steph's my friend, she would never betray me. Still, there is much doubt in my mind.<br />
<br />
Not even an angel can help quell my troubles. In fact, they only make them worse.<br />
<br />
There is one church in Lackawanna with a large statue of the angel on top the highest roof. The angel is shown raising a crucifix to the heavens, surrounded by many children. The church is called Our Lady of Victory Basilica, and it is one of the most beautiful churches I've ever seen in person. It is a shrine, first and foremost, commissioned by the late Father Baker.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMD_A05Szcya5G4H-g4mIUDvZBvD4-Vu0hq-JFVjaxnC7cdgOW5kfNzdDePHj69sL1HJYyNQHNS1dU1DxP6tRkkJSd3B7BXwf64hDEFou9uBqc-pV8hcwkfBzDlc_GSkGFw89OD2vQbs8/s400/father+baker+and+kids.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMD_A05Szcya5G4H-g4mIUDvZBvD4-Vu0hq-JFVjaxnC7cdgOW5kfNzdDePHj69sL1HJYyNQHNS1dU1DxP6tRkkJSd3B7BXwf64hDEFou9uBqc-pV8hcwkfBzDlc_GSkGFw89OD2vQbs8/s400/father+baker+and+kids.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.llbartlett.com/photos/p.basilica.front.SM.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.llbartlett.com/photos/p.basilica.front.SM.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 348px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px;" /></a><br />
<br />
I have never been inside the basilica before, but I am told it is just as beautiful. Maybe one day, but I have a feeling Steph would enjoy it much more than I. She always did love art. As for myself...I'm not sure what I would like to visit. But I always wanted to go to Ireland, just once. Or travel with actors on Broadway. Sometimes, I dream of dancing in Germany or Russia.<br />
<br />
Poor Hannah.<br />
<br />
Oh poor Hannah!<br />
<br />
To think, that I thought she was going to become a famous dancer herself! Truly, I did! I watched her dance all the time, I even danced with her. I can still see her, out of the corner of my eye. That little pixie girl, with a smile akin to an angel's. I miss her, so much. If I could just see that face again, maybe I wouldn't be having these nightmares. But she's gone. I saw them bury her ashes. She's gone. It's all over. The world has lost yet another potential talent, another star just waiting to burst in the sky. I feel sometimes, as if it is my fault that she's gone. Maybe, maybe Steph would trust me more, if I took better care of her. Every time I call her it's like she gets more and more angry with me. I haven't called her in three days. I'm worried. She might run away again, and never come back, and then I'll be alone again forever. That is, without a friend. I know, that Trickortreat would surely kill me then. Sometimes I even consider running away myself. Perhaps I would be better off by myself, perhaps Steph won't be bothered much by me. But then what would I do?<br />
<br />
But I must not think this way!<br />
<br />
I can't.<br />
<br />
Steph needs me right? She needs somebody? I really need to be there for her.<br />
<br />
I'm trying, I'm desperately trying to get ahold of myself. It's just I get these thoughts, they aren't good. They're not good at all. They scare me. I don't want to die, not yet, but sometimes...<br />
<br />
Ugh. Maybe I'm just overthinking things.<br />
<br />
Hannah's funeral was today, to put things in the simplest way possible I am more exhausted than anything. I can't even shed a tear anymore without hurting my eyes. I looked at myself in the mirror multiple times today, I look like a mess. I had no desire to look nice at little Hannah's funeral. I couldn't bring myself to. It was too tragic, far too much of a terrible thing. A child that young should not be dead. The place the buried her, Holy Cross Cemetery, which is mostly a cemetery for the Irish. For some particular reason the man who paid for her funeral and cremation wished for her to be buried there. I did see him at the funeral today. He was lean, and tall, a rather handsome man in his mid twenties. Who knew where he got the money for the expenses. He seemed to be a rather eccentric man. He didn't need to smile and you'd feel attracted towards him. I found myself believing that he generally cared about me, and I think Mr. Nord did too.<br />
<br />
Steph's father was more than happy to see me. I saw him talking to the strange benefactor as if he was an old friend. I tried to ignore his smile as I gave Mr. Nord my condolences.<br />
<br />
"You look terrible, Rebecca. What happened?"<br />
<br />
I didn't want to tell him that I blamed myself for his daughter's death. I didn't want to share with him the scene filled with flames that plagued my every thought. I did not want to talk about the monster underneath my bed. "I'm just tired. My AP Language Exam and AP US History Exam was last week."<br />
<br />
"You could have called me. I would have given you as much help as you needed. It's the least I could have done. You have been such good help in the past month."<br />
<br />
"Thanks, and sorry. I've just had a lot of things of my mind. I must have not been thinking."<br />
<br />
"It's quite alright, my dear. Absolutely no worries at all!" piped up the man standing next to Mr. Nord. With the look of his soft brown eyes, I wasn't sure what to think of him. "Mr. Nord here has told me that you are well learned in the subject of literature."<br />
<br />
"Well I do enjoy reading sir, but I'm not sure we should be discussing this right now..."<br />
<br />
"Oh?" his feigned surprised bothered me so much. "I see. But then, I suppose you've never heard of The Scarlet Letter?"<br />
<br />
"I have!" I exclaimed, thinking that everyone should have known about the book. "I read it a year ago in AP Literature."<br />
<br />
"Ah! Then I suppose you know about the character Pearl?"<br />
<br />
"Pearl? You mean the main character's daughter?" I asked.<br />
<br />
He frowned, but I do not understand what would lead him to wear such an expression. I hope I said nothing insulting. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Gift</span>", he insisted on those words. "I think, Mr. Nord and lady, that the deceased should be honored as a treasure today, finally buried to be uncovered in Heaven. I hope that one day, you both will see her there. My heart grieves, until that day. You know what else Mr. Nord told me, my dear?"<br />
<br />
His words confused me, and made my ears blushed. I really had no idea what he was saying, I still have the slightest idea. "What else did he say...?"<br />
<br />
"You have been a wonderful friend, to both of his daughters. I've heard word that dear Stephanie has been commited to the hospital in the past two weeks. You truly are a loyal person, I can't imagine how tough it is, for you to be watching all this happen to your friend and her family." Besides him, Mr. Nord was silently looking at a gravestone. If only I could have asked for his assistance then.<br />
<br />
"It is, a little bit."<br />
<br />
"And no doubt you want to help."<br />
<br />
"I do...But I'm confused. What is it that you want me to do...?"<br />
<br />
"All I'm saying, is that it should be you, not me, not the priest, not Hannah's father, but you that should be giving the eulogy today." He was looking at me straight in the eyes, in the same way a policeman would when probing you in a way masked by kindness and serenity. I felt, afraid, suddenly being given this option that was clearly out of the ordinary. "Why me?"<br />
<br />
"Because you, my dear, were her greatest friend. And afterwords if you need some closure, you, your mother, and Mr. Nord and his kids should all come to our church service. We meet every Sunday, and every Tuesday, and I'm certain you'd enjoy our youth services on Thursdays and young Joshua as well." I followed his eyes as he glanced towards one of Mr. Nord's two sons, who stood underneath a tree as far away from everyone as possible, staring at me without even looking. He was still mad at me, I know it.<br />
<br />
"I can't", I said to him. "I am not Christain, nor do I ever plan to be. I just want to be left alone, Mister. I can't bring myself to step inside a church, no matter how small it is." I looked towards the direction of the basilica, I was nervous at the time. I can't explain it, but churches scare me. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. I hope you understand..."<br />
<br />
My answer seemed to disappoint the man. He tried so hard to feign a smile. I almost regretted making my decision. "Sorry..." I whispered, apologizing a second time.<br />
<br />
"No, no! Don't be sorry!" He attempted to sound like he wasn't insulted. "I'm just letting you know, that the offer is always there, in case you are in need of a shoulder to lean on." He put his hand on my shoulder as if to prove this point. "In the end, if you have no one else to turn to, Father is always there, waiting with open arms." His voice grew serious, scary even. I think I was beginning to sweat uncomfortably. "All you need to do is accept Him." There was much emphasis on the "Him", and it seemed rather unnatural. It caused me to shiver, which didn't stop, not even after I left him.<br />
<br />
It was Mr. Nord who saved me from him. "Leave the girl alone Christopher, can't you see she's got enough on her mind?" I had to think him before I ran off to find a safe place to hide, that wasn't where I could see Josh clear as day. Mr. Nord may be a bit short tempered at times, but he is respectful of other people's space. That's what I like about him. He knows what it's like after dealing with people trying to invade his privacy for so long. Perhaps that's why I look up to him. You have to look up to someone like him, someone who is so strong, he doesn't let anything sway his opinion. I sometimes wish I was like that. This entire situation could be easier. Seeing Leon at the graveyard wouldn't have come off as a shock. I didn't see where he came from, he practically appeared out of nowhere and I was pretty sure this was a private cemetery.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing here?" I asked him.<br />
<br />
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm paying my respects!" Behind him was a girl I've never seen before. She was short, and appeared to be Puerto Rican.<br />
<br />
"Why? You've never even played with her? And who is that girl?" I demanded, "She doesn't look like Samantha!"<br />
<br />
"My name is Marangeles" the girl answered for herself. She was wearing on her head a newsboy hat, so there was no way I could determine what she was thinking. All I knew was that she took things in a completely calm matter, which made me respect her existence almost immediately. "I've heard you and your friend got yourselves into trouble. Congratulations. I thought you would've been dead by now. You haven't updated your friend's blog in a week."<br />
<br />
I was shocked. Here I was, being informed about the status of something nobody but me and my friend knew about, save for the tens of anonymous people on the internet. "How did you know?" I asked, even though I knew for certain, as much as I didn't like it, that she knew <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly </span>what we were going through.<br />
<br />
"I'm just like you, a victim of that damned monster's influence."<br />
<br />
"Marangeles saved me from almost being ripped to shreds by a supernatural monster", Leon explained, unrolling his sleeves to show me a rather nasty scar that almost covered his entire left arm. I found that I couldn't quite staring at it. It was horrible, it looked horrible. It was a wonder he could still move it. "There's also a pretty nasty burn on my stomach, but I don't feel like showing you that piece of art. Anyways, it was when I was at Nietzsche's with Steph. After I told her to make a run for it, I was attacked by the same guy these loonies who call themselves his servants told me time and time again about. They said I was going to be killed by him, and I believed them. It was no use fighting him off, I didn't even bother. He was far too powerful, for a guy that was skinnier than my grandmother. I honestly thought I was going to die. Then Marangeles came out of nowhere wielding a cheap looking taser and next thing I know I was raped by the sound of nails in my brain instead of tentacles."<br />
<br />
"I saved your life you jerk!"<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, and she also tried to hook up with me until I told her I already had a girlfriend."<br />
<br />
"I was healing your wounds!"<br />
<br />
"<span style="font-style: italic;">Attempting</span> to heal my wounds."<br />
<br />
As it turns out, Leon was forced to be hospitalized and was ordered under the threat of strict consequences to never share any information, which she did the same to me. Although I can share the information I just gave, plus the warning she gave me, "Do not try to be the hero. I know you feel worthless, it's only on every single blog you follow. We all do sweety, it's a normal emotion. But if you <span style="font-style: italic;">ever </span>think that it's okay for someone like you to go out and risk your life trying to solve a problem that is impossible for you to fix, then damn it I'm going to beat some sense into you. You're just too good for crap like that that! So do me a favor and GET OVER YOURSELF!"<br />
<br />
She yelled the last bit. I never felt so ashamed in my life. Her words are still sinking in, I don't think I'm ready to pull myself together yet. Not after the death of the sweetest girl I know. Here...here's what I said at the funeral.<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
I have never known a sweeter, more imaginative, happier girl then little Hannah. She was my friend whenever Stephanie, her sister, wasn't around. And she would always brighten up my day with a smile. If she were here today, she would be dancing like the little pixie she was. Everything would be like a dream, and I would be living it. It almost seemed like she was unreal, at times. I almost forgot she was human. Her appearance, was like that of an angel. Her heart, was that of perfection. No one could love like her. Passionate, was her motivation. Everything was new to her. Everything was meant to be loved.<br />
<br />
I loved her. I loved her almost as if she was my sister. And whenever I was with her, I felt like I was apart of the Nord family. When she went to sleep and never woke up, I realized that I wasn't dreaming at all. This little girl was real. Everything about her was real. She was probably the only real person I ever knew. If I could, I would join her, in that great flowery meadow in the sky. Maybe then I could teach her to dance. But I know, that Mr. Nord and his children need me here, to be like what Hannah was to me; a source of support and love. Which is why I choose to celebrate little Hannah's memory every day, so I could make sure that her purity lives on through good deeds and love.<br />
<br />
No child that pure should have to die. No eighteen year old should suffer the loss of family and friends. Ladies and gentlemen, I know how some of you think of Stephanie. Please, for Hannah's sake cast away these rumors. Stephanie is not a murderer, nor is she dangerous. She is just like you and me, and she is scared, as I am, of what tomorrow brings. Let us face tomorrow together, instead of living in shadows. Let us look forward to the future, for the sake of little Hannah's memory...<br />
<br />
I love you Hannah...<br />
<br />
Rest in Peace, little pearl of my dreams.<br />
<br />
</span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtNYA4pAGjI">Here is the song that was played...</a><br />
<br />
There are reasons as to why I never liked statues.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've also looked up some of the coordinates that I salvaged from the fire. As you see most of them are indeed set in New York, a remarkable number of them seem to be in Buffalo or near it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JoaHPVxtqdSViBAodCe394-kgBJJeFmSgznlr7ai0_WBBzdqU3ThEALh-ZZS30-IjA5UbwNmXcPGIl5op6xTceK_dtjzvOxQr1Ob63VI_GXBiPZqyjrTkqZ3vjFN7P_87Zc8iU27yvfR/s1600/Coordinates2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604041182602521394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JoaHPVxtqdSViBAodCe394-kgBJJeFmSgznlr7ai0_WBBzdqU3ThEALh-ZZS30-IjA5UbwNmXcPGIl5op6xTceK_dtjzvOxQr1Ob63VI_GXBiPZqyjrTkqZ3vjFN7P_87Zc8iU27yvfR/s320/Coordinates2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 157px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.850059,-78.799755<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9glMZyJ3Yi2w-MZT_-VyGrH2Sky4o1NbTpvpq4WgAF7_ADMb4wzroa73TFmjQUNCwEmhJ0QReRj_rFolOZLzghWPFCIJJU2t79kyLqAVmELxvtNZ5Daf4f4ACZXdbe7C_LUph1qzsl_x/s1600/Coordinates3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604048164894443426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9glMZyJ3Yi2w-MZT_-VyGrH2Sky4o1NbTpvpq4WgAF7_ADMb4wzroa73TFmjQUNCwEmhJ0QReRj_rFolOZLzghWPFCIJJU2t79kyLqAVmELxvtNZ5Daf4f4ACZXdbe7C_LUph1qzsl_x/s320/Coordinates3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 158px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>41.279924,-73.933474<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_FlgAl1SISgio72Fsl_y0LSxu6GGhTwcXErs-PJ5N2WYhYiJvCISl-nMEwf-Y5TTJ18a1I06Xbg0KWD0X4aSGugeQATgpbL6Wj54j232Xqf2wtsioZG_QMN2zS9-8PPk2wtJAk7wK4rA/s1600/Coordinates4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604064920176490946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_FlgAl1SISgio72Fsl_y0LSxu6GGhTwcXErs-PJ5N2WYhYiJvCISl-nMEwf-Y5TTJ18a1I06Xbg0KWD0X4aSGugeQATgpbL6Wj54j232Xqf2wtsioZG_QMN2zS9-8PPk2wtJAk7wK4rA/s320/Coordinates4.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 156px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.908442, -78.865689<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPe62CaZfuLuEQaBFtb_2RYHV3E-e4y5DLa6sGrhdrI-1bV6abELhm9P4s8DNx6GUq9sHaaqgAb8ZUtB98tfrx-zNxXxuFtFl4ebPa6ATlbnBeqbcqviVQHoZbUR9STZkoh6hkneb7jJp/s1600/Coordinates5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604068666363056162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPe62CaZfuLuEQaBFtb_2RYHV3E-e4y5DLa6sGrhdrI-1bV6abELhm9P4s8DNx6GUq9sHaaqgAb8ZUtB98tfrx-zNxXxuFtFl4ebPa6ATlbnBeqbcqviVQHoZbUR9STZkoh6hkneb7jJp/s320/Coordinates5.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 157px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.826148,-78.823360<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpFD9BlQpMFHlTAO87_YBUYV0Y6HdDxnQe9n7kX94DVl1eaORN_DSDNzYAn-PPI6pZMu_4HIhgFFJz7fphMdrkuNQ92Nf4F55-txqpIT1MiEo5izTv_iX4m5yxQnGNvvwA14idjJoiaFG/s1600/Coordinates9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604093708844112002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpFD9BlQpMFHlTAO87_YBUYV0Y6HdDxnQe9n7kX94DVl1eaORN_DSDNzYAn-PPI6pZMu_4HIhgFFJz7fphMdrkuNQ92Nf4F55-txqpIT1MiEo5izTv_iX4m5yxQnGNvvwA14idjJoiaFG/s320/Coordinates9.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 156px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>40.755986,-73.99822<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSgnhcu09kEMd70lLRBi4uUsyFlzSDDpaETHoWIJJeLiAxZGo5YdwBJzrMymEcI97478wvFicpPNVNknv6wSIqouTTOGQIKFaQwFI4QekoEhRL0AdihIg6cd_xnAAstiyY_D5CB1143vt/s1600/Coordinates10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604094169801467010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSgnhcu09kEMd70lLRBi4uUsyFlzSDDpaETHoWIJJeLiAxZGo5YdwBJzrMymEcI97478wvFicpPNVNknv6wSIqouTTOGQIKFaQwFI4QekoEhRL0AdihIg6cd_xnAAstiyY_D5CB1143vt/s320/Coordinates10.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 156px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.652579, -73.933474<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW5KL1rpDwfB2vI_M3Wr99S37vNjXykskrEYKtLtVyquZR6M0rASWvwssRxMYoX6Bzb7Jt5cUGuOh6gWV1SfFmaSKe_suIgm4AuEl3AeOu9PMl6F_TRjG9OI4B98BYQ4xbt4IPg41wyEa/s1600/Coordinates11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604098378878959426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW5KL1rpDwfB2vI_M3Wr99S37vNjXykskrEYKtLtVyquZR6M0rASWvwssRxMYoX6Bzb7Jt5cUGuOh6gWV1SfFmaSKe_suIgm4AuEl3AeOu9PMl6F_TRjG9OI4B98BYQ4xbt4IPg41wyEa/s320/Coordinates11.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 156px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.902614, -78.744572<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KyDxSJ6esIlfzEMaXHtjqZM1AsFV_3MWBCOmLTU9ZP7fYfbJyKouqVpqaAqPx_SUEEbW5yIpx1ZFPiTfj6DEeZ5R3swZeRNO8CjTh4FTr1ltA4Y-PYJShpBhA_SWwP4shB_KzzhcO53J/s1600/Coordinates12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604100754198963090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KyDxSJ6esIlfzEMaXHtjqZM1AsFV_3MWBCOmLTU9ZP7fYfbJyKouqVpqaAqPx_SUEEbW5yIpx1ZFPiTfj6DEeZ5R3swZeRNO8CjTh4FTr1ltA4Y-PYJShpBhA_SWwP4shB_KzzhcO53J/s320/Coordinates12.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 154px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>41.034526,-73.930055<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM98aPgovG4RvokqR96Afm8KJKGCG4vMlXpGZK7ZBcIupPViDI5sdpdLlmBpVPGc0oXjbm_08t7G7tvPX80NlK9ZjOw9e74NF9kaBZqTHl5ngI3gvF83bya4HCgte4SYWLMJFa8C8cIt7u/s1600/Coordinates13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604101655665759730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM98aPgovG4RvokqR96Afm8KJKGCG4vMlXpGZK7ZBcIupPViDI5sdpdLlmBpVPGc0oXjbm_08t7G7tvPX80NlK9ZjOw9e74NF9kaBZqTHl5ngI3gvF83bya4HCgte4SYWLMJFa8C8cIt7u/s320/Coordinates13.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 154px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>42.884216,-78.777332<br />
<br />
I'll try to see if I can visit some of the locations so I can get an idea of what they are.<br />
<br />
I saw the post that might have been made by Steph, but I'm fairly certain a Proxy posted it. Whoever posted it, Steph, a Proxy, whoever! I have to go visit these locations. Now that I have a lead, I'm following it through. Steph, I thought you wanted to find your mother. That used to be all you talked about. I have no idea what these "nice men in white" are. I don't even know how you posted. Didn't you say you were banned from the computer until further notice?<br />
<br />
But it doesn't matter because it's too late now. I'm doing this.<br />
<br />
Thank you.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16225231162798710155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-49160873716678856682011-05-08T09:14:00.000-04:002011-05-08T09:14:58.458-04:00Don't follow the coordinates.<br />
Stay away from the nice men dressed in white.<br />
<br />
They're trying to get to you.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: white;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_hUAjCvz14</span>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-37549392168320338602011-04-30T23:01:00.000-04:002011-04-30T23:01:00.746-04:00Lookit what I found~<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Dz7aA6WIfH4" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlblu2YYu9njsydx4Xoby-i0E2fsPTlfGahpnjKVS87L_9klYEQ9aPDQf129nrZ7rJnge-f-yDKi-boFuXhTru5n1Y-eVFQ9wxZ5Z3tvt73OLPTmZwl5i0BseYqLJDMhofy9-KNun7UYo/s1600/IMG_0292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlblu2YYu9njsydx4Xoby-i0E2fsPTlfGahpnjKVS87L_9klYEQ9aPDQf129nrZ7rJnge-f-yDKi-boFuXhTru5n1Y-eVFQ9wxZ5Z3tvt73OLPTmZwl5i0BseYqLJDMhofy9-KNun7UYo/s320/IMG_0292.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-14593034266475227052011-04-27T22:29:00.001-04:002011-04-27T22:31:15.430-04:00and weve only just begun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Jhrbzb5xlS0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
so many roads to choose<br />
<br />
make a wish and youre on your way <br />
<br />
and yes weve just begun<br />
<br />
sharing horizons that are new to us<br />
<br />
watching the signs along the way<br />
<br />
just the two of us<br />
<br />
together<br />
<br />
and when the evening comes<br />
<br />
youll smile<br />
<br />
so much of your life ahead<br />
<br />
well find a place for you to grow<br />
<br />
and yes weve just begun<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7XORfuh4Fvf93z4fcpvCTupNj_dzMiR7xffiYFQygGS-NySn08lzQ329zi-f82GLGo1tAr_iB62TPeHTgiCx7QJZ3Olo9RDAtvpvssUmYPolc-nRFDQ-P4x335zKC8_qyw0ABlWbPDTf/s1600/IMG_0289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7XORfuh4Fvf93z4fcpvCTupNj_dzMiR7xffiYFQygGS-NySn08lzQ329zi-f82GLGo1tAr_iB62TPeHTgiCx7QJZ3Olo9RDAtvpvssUmYPolc-nRFDQ-P4x335zKC8_qyw0ABlWbPDTf/s320/IMG_0289.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
four down. five to go.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-55216280708966645462011-04-25T05:59:00.022-04:002011-04-27T16:36:56.846-04:00Some Things Must Never Be WitnessedSteph's currently in the hospital with Dr. Fitzpatrick. He left a voice message on my phone explaining that she was currently unstable. The firefighters who came a few days beforehand found her struggling with the air, dressed in a strange blue shirt she claimed she never seen before. Beside her was her sister, and I know what they are saying... Everyone seems to think that Steph killed her own sister. I spoke with her earlier, and her account reveals something entirely different. Everyone is acting like Steph is mad. Even her own father... She reminds him too much of his wife, he says. It's almost as if he expects her to go missing too. Dr. Fitzpatrick assured me she was safe with him, and he'll make sure she'll stay with him as long as she needs to. I have to say I trust his judgment. More than anyone else right now. I'm not even sure I can trust myself right now. I truly do not know what I am doing. And while I am trying, it seems like the closer I get to some new discovery the further I get from what I'm actually searching for. It's like a never ending cycle of Cat and Mouse. Only in this game nobody wins. We are at a stalemate He and I. And I've seen Him more and more out of the corner of my eye. I didn't want to tell Steph this but I think I'm seeing him too. I often try my best to ignore him, so I can return to my research, but the temptation is too overwhelming.<br /><br />Apparently Mr. Nord has his own problems with the CPS. Now that Hannah is dead they are trying to take away Josh and Zach. I believe they already took Zach, because I haven't seen Mr. Nord with him. But the only person I've seen him with so far, was a bearded old man. So I could be wrong. Poor Mr. Nord. He has a lot to deal with right now. No home, no insurance, and they are trying to take away with children. He personally asked me when did everything go wrong. I wished I could answer him, but I was too busy staring at the flames. I remember thinking I saw a shadow in there. But then that shadow became four people. My memory is a bit blurred after that. In fact I don't remember anything at all. Just those four shadows, and one of them, the shadow of a girl, edging towards me, fast. I think I went inside to retrieve some papers, because all I have to retrieve from the fire are these.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dFqGIgC9X7csU12TX-hTvXjQeNAuK-3EctrBpJLFiW2hovon_EcGhjsrhYHUgrMpYzIp_Ag4shfu8qMF7vv8LXEThSfKrf3ELbLpAF9ymu_wMrVs7OPyvup4oiTKE2gXQa0DDtMFeJD0/s1600/IMG_0164.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdpBy4cowYO2JyGkyAcpGT6NNEHo1nUgcCXThx76fm_Q9fm0Yb-BJzPVrE9DEwqYiBa4XkI_jydwVDBsBulchJmmm_fOeazbAFyr0WBeSlSGpR0GisrXbyU-aUciT6er73wSnNRhFRK3A/s1600/IMG_0163.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdpBy4cowYO2JyGkyAcpGT6NNEHo1nUgcCXThx76fm_Q9fm0Yb-BJzPVrE9DEwqYiBa4XkI_jydwVDBsBulchJmmm_fOeazbAFyr0WBeSlSGpR0GisrXbyU-aUciT6er73wSnNRhFRK3A/s320/IMG_0163.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464113002891474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs3OxkcuQmYRYucL-Ufnu8h1O4rVbnAbw7Z85ErQUkaV-03klfAAGX8vxgmjoyyO-5I4XE_SGz-w9nbVq1GJkitM1BUnJorXBr8OshQxomn3jtHflnfb2O2XK8IJzmt_Cb6PWtYHIo15_/s1600/IMG_0162.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs3OxkcuQmYRYucL-Ufnu8h1O4rVbnAbw7Z85ErQUkaV-03klfAAGX8vxgmjoyyO-5I4XE_SGz-w9nbVq1GJkitM1BUnJorXBr8OshQxomn3jtHflnfb2O2XK8IJzmt_Cb6PWtYHIo15_/s320/IMG_0162.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464112473464466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv3NKoiEzuLPm_mB2afM-fTvTym_LEnqwvdhceZM8W63PpGR1ovXOEFJ28lL0Gb3WQn8h4K1v-fiS-IC_99SYpyGF-UqatjKZLefe1809zzEhyx0FHdm7OVbewiOR70exSQHk0nLw4_O9/s1600/IMG_0161.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv3NKoiEzuLPm_mB2afM-fTvTym_LEnqwvdhceZM8W63PpGR1ovXOEFJ28lL0Gb3WQn8h4K1v-fiS-IC_99SYpyGF-UqatjKZLefe1809zzEhyx0FHdm7OVbewiOR70exSQHk0nLw4_O9/s320/IMG_0161.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464110157833778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPvDH9xNnSzH6T3jRqelPLSJIooUxnO7aqcvJRQi6xQhYTJacP5cMMWemSLfIKriiA3k4G9y5NnxCZKaRxEBxX48IgvXoyezmIGc92WbO9qL8R3ju9xElSdeqTZ1budA9lbHCjVLvzoLX/s1600/IMG_0157.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPvDH9xNnSzH6T3jRqelPLSJIooUxnO7aqcvJRQi6xQhYTJacP5cMMWemSLfIKriiA3k4G9y5NnxCZKaRxEBxX48IgvXoyezmIGc92WbO9qL8R3ju9xElSdeqTZ1budA9lbHCjVLvzoLX/s320/IMG_0157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464104883218882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguUzQayPcPMg6nJuQILE0c-nxGaD5IycRyl71NKDQ1klznR2nY8H8iCaLHsgFAIFHeAn0h7N2zhKmv8EWg-B5LlmI0DTrZYoWN_VjHACg4ebdAksmksJxWsSWiZA6tKuGCFMso7rNfT0H/s1600/IMG_0167.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguUzQayPcPMg6nJuQILE0c-nxGaD5IycRyl71NKDQ1klznR2nY8H8iCaLHsgFAIFHeAn0h7N2zhKmv8EWg-B5LlmI0DTrZYoWN_VjHACg4ebdAksmksJxWsSWiZA6tKuGCFMso7rNfT0H/s320/IMG_0167.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464462829929970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5Q7pGEB0xIFAif7H1IEBrTsUZzRVGBtmFV57F5Aps8kDHvzyqKDuBO3Q_hnvHh8rXIzuztRo4bN8uKRIXJTPMRzUqEpcidTF_eqe2Fd2K7nZ489Mnt_cjAqbYJ7oO0lcKcggYsMgptzB/s1600/IMG_0166.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5Q7pGEB0xIFAif7H1IEBrTsUZzRVGBtmFV57F5Aps8kDHvzyqKDuBO3Q_hnvHh8rXIzuztRo4bN8uKRIXJTPMRzUqEpcidTF_eqe2Fd2K7nZ489Mnt_cjAqbYJ7oO0lcKcggYsMgptzB/s320/IMG_0166.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464456233249138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8c7RPyj2AMPbevlB-TFHzYqdJUPIMLyN4RqXn2x1GKh6sC6HH85XAQwneAOqBK928ZjHaw9Xdp00ZnuNKLE3WdkrT8ieHnjXic6xatSwEskr6cOVkaBV4ukq-TtlSK6LrnYtcgn79aav/s1600/IMG_0165.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8c7RPyj2AMPbevlB-TFHzYqdJUPIMLyN4RqXn2x1GKh6sC6HH85XAQwneAOqBK928ZjHaw9Xdp00ZnuNKLE3WdkrT8ieHnjXic6xatSwEskr6cOVkaBV4ukq-TtlSK6LrnYtcgn79aav/s320/IMG_0165.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599464453171230882" border="0" /></a><br />The mother and child, the face, the coordinates, and a couple of blank papers, all have been pretty singed in the fire. But luckily, they aren't bad burnt. I guess I managed to get to them before the fire could do some real damage. I can't find the rest of the journal anywhere. I'm certain it's nothing but ashes now. Along with Hannah's poor body. An anonymous person is paying for her funeral and everything. Nobody knows who he is, but he claimed that he was a member of a small church on Clinton. I think it's pretty nice of him. As far as I know, Steph won't be able to attend. Not that I think she wants to go. To be honest, I don't want to either. But I must, Steph's father wishes me to be there, and I think I should for Steph's sake, if anything else. Poor Zach is clueless. He just thinks his sister is lost. But Joshua, who asked to come over to my at my house, seeming a tad bit suspicious of Steph and I. Steph may not have noticed it, but he was looking at her weird for the entirety of Saturday. It's gotten to the point where he cornered me today and demanded some answers. And I was shocked. Usually he never talks, with anyone.<br /><br />"What's going on?" he asked me. I couldn't hear it at first. His voice is so soft, so quiet, like a whisper in the wind. And he knew I couldn't hear him at first, so he asked again, much louder this time. "What's going on?" It made me jump, hearing him talk to me for the first time. It didn't seem to faze him, he kept on staring at me as if accusing me of something. "What's going on?" he asked a third time. "What do you mean?" I asked back. "You know what I mean" he said knowingly. "Steph's been acting weird around the house, and you too. Something's happening." I was beginning to fear the worst, and life delivered. "She's seen him too, hasn't she?"<br /><div><br /></div><div>I was struck silent, I simply couldn't say anything. What this whole conversation implied, I had hoped it wasn't what I thought it was, but that look in his eyes told me otherwise. He knew. Oh he knew. And he wanted me to explain it to him. I refused, I had to. I couldn't just pull him into this, I couldn't let what happened to Steph happen to him. I had to protect him somehow. But he was persistent. "You're lying. You <i>knew</i> he was there. The entire time, you knew. Both of you did." "Please Josh, I have no idea what you're talking about." "The business man! She's seen him hasn't she? And you did too!" I could be honest about one thing, I have not yet seen him. But he seemed to think I did. I didn't know how I could explain myself to him. "He killed Hannah didn't he?" I felt a sudden sickness clutch on to my stomach, everything seemed to fall all around me, and Joshua continued to stare. "I want to know who he is." I couldn't answer him. I felt paralyzed, as if I was lost in a dream. A few inaudible sounds left my throat, but it wouldn't travel beyond my tongue. I felt like I was about to die right in front of Josh. I felt like I was about to be swallowed by the black hole in my stomach. But then something saved me.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"Joshua Nord?"<br /><br /></div><div>It was Mr. Hernandez, one of the two social workers from CPS in charge of the Steph's family's "case" as they call it. The one Steph constantly refers to as "Mr. Dick" and the one I recognize the easiest. And generally, he is the nice one. "Mrs. Velázquez wants to see you for a moment." I still couldn't shake that feeling that I got from Josh, who continued to stare at me even as he left. For a moment there I thought I was going to spill everything. My only hope is that he doesn't find this blog somehow. Once Josh was out of the way, Mr. Hernandez turned to me with a grave look on his face. "Rebecca, you and me will be having a talk, separate from your mother and Josh. We have some important things to discuss." "I don't wish to discuss Steph's condition right now." "This is not about Stephanie's condition, Rebecca...this is about survival."<br /><br />I lead him to my room, where we could talk privately, still dazed. Luckily, I cleaned my room earlier, so he had no reason to whisk me out of my home. He seemed impressed at least. "Dancer?" he asked, looking at some of my trophy's. I nodded, "That's wonderful. You must be proud of your talent." I shrugged, it did not matter much to me. I just wanted to get this over with. "Where do you see yourself going after the end of the school year?" Again, I shrugged. "I've been considering going into Psychology sir." "Psychology?" "Yes. I want to help people." I think I said something wrong. He looked at me with a look of concern. "Yes, Stephanie is in need of a psychologist right now. But you, I'm afraid to say, just won't cut it." My face fell, I was so confused, a part of me was heartbroken. "What do you mean?" Before I knew it I had a hand on my shoulder.<br /><br />"You're in danger Rebecca. Which is why I'm making you this offer. Let us help you."<br /><br />"I have no idea what you're talking about."<br /><br />"As you are already know, there is a number of people going missing across the nation, a majority of them children..."<br /><br />"What are y-"<br /><br />"...I believe you knew one of these children." At first, I gazed oddly at the man before me, trying to absorb the meaning behind his words. But then it dawned on me, that terrible light of truth. "You-" "Yes, I know about the slender creature." he said. I had to bite my tongue, in order to stop myself from correcting him. "We have made it our business to know. Ever since the year 1977." "What happened in 1977." "I assume your parents told you about the blizzard of '77."<br /><br />The Blizzard of '77. I vaguely remember my Earth Science teacher speaking about it in class when he was teaching us about weather patterns. It was declared a federal disaster, with over ten feet of snow from what I remember. My father told me about the cars trapped underneath heaps of snow that could pile as high as a two story house. The school buses were amongst those that were trapped, so my father told me about how he and his friends would spend the days after the wind died down outside making tunnels and climbing snow hills. He told me one of his friends once dared him to try and climb a streetlight. "It was crazy" he told me. "Yes, my father told me" I said.<br /><br />Mr. Hernandez nodded knowingly. "Over twenty people died during the course and aftermath of that storm. Radio reports came out every day, it was the only method of relaying official updates to the general public. While they saved a majority of victims using this method, some people reported to be stranded in their cars weren't there when laborers uncovered the vehicle. I happened to know one of those people."<br /><br />"And where does Slend- the creature, come in on all this?"<br /><br />"I saw him in a dream before I heard about my friend's disappearance during the storm. I suppose you can say that's when I became interested in its existence."<br /><br />"So, you think it took him."<br /><br />"Not at first, no. But when you've seen as much as I have, you start having doubts. And I've seen some strange things over the course of the last thirty years." I didn't wish to invade his personal history any longer than I have. It felt weird, hearing a social worker explain these things to you. Usually a social worker would be worried about your own sanity if you shared something as fantastical as this. I don't even think I could trust him, I mean... I wanted to trust him, but there was no way I could trust a complete stranger. Yes, he was a potential ally, that much I know now. I want him to be an ally. "Which begs the question of whether it was active during the October storm of 2006." I was awoken from my daydream, perhaps I looked confused. All I could remember was not having power for eight days, and school's being closed for two weeks...trees falling.... I tried to not pay much attention to what was going outside. I didn't like the snow as a kid. It reminded me of iced waters. "I wouldn't worry about it, most probable explanation I have is that the snow and massive amounts of people stacked up on top of each other probably helped in its hunt." He sounded really uncertain, "Enough of the past. Fact of the matter is...you need help, and I hope you start evaluating your situation and abilities if you want to survive." "What abilities? What can I do? I can't help anyone. The runners are better off by themselves. I feel like I'm only making things worse trying to do something, just one thing helpful. I-I'm like a messenger pigeon with this very important letter. And I can't get through the window glass until somebody comes and opens the window. But when they do I fly inside and make a mess, I can't do anything. I <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> no abilities." "And you believe that these 'runners' as you call them are better off than you? Don't you think they realize that they are just as powerless?" "I <span style="font-style: italic;">don't know</span>! I don't know! I just want to do something!" "Look at me!"<br /><br />I felt a strong, thick hand grab my chin and force my face so that it was eye level with the eyes of righteous anger. They frightened me, and for a moment I was about to scream, but then those eyes softened. "Listen to me. Do not try to help. Don't even pay attention to them unless you know you have something to contribute. Trust me on this it's not worth getting all worked up over strangers who probably have problems of their own. If you want to be friends with them, it's on you whether or not you're going to be safe. We'll be regulating your posts so we can judge them for ourselves, just in case. I'd advice you to choose who you reveal information to wisely. The world is not a safe world, neither is it a forgiving one. Look around you at all times, there is danger. It's not just protection from the average predator we're focusing on anymore."<br /><br />"We are the Victim Support Association. Our job is to protect the interests of those who have no defense, or are in desperately need of help but have no one else to turn to. When you're ready I want you to give us a call" His words implied that me and Steph were alone in this, and I believed him. But still...<br /><br />I can't even trust myself. How am I supposed to trust him? I mean he seems to be of well nature, he gave me a private number and smiled warmly before he left. But can't warm smiles be faked? I don't know...I'm a bit overwhelmed by this. As it turns out Josh wasn't staying with me as I hoped, but she was going to life with his grandmother on his mother's side. I don't know how Mr. Nord thinks about that, but it's my assumption that he is <span style="font-style: italic;">rather </span>upset.<br /><br />Well, I suppose that's it...nothing more to say...<br /><br />Keep holding on loves.<br /><br />Love you all.<br /></div>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16225231162798710155noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-53980338152780784062011-04-24T00:12:00.001-04:002011-04-24T00:13:51.037-04:00happy birthday my old friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/LxYXcvGBibc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
hope its one to die for.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-56675575740778595332011-04-23T12:29:00.006-04:002011-04-23T14:21:36.403-04:00The Journal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9MScPeK2Rz8-72apmbnVD7zkAL2GgQ_ZYJoNH8vH1_OFYH2EXcRy3Gk_PoIX0MzAMMTccj4R1uocZJ-kMAIJscqGNNKQMgjaObYuzBxzOEUDI0eKxnnjcyjVTXmsC4_wO1tGC2McJQMD/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG"><br /></a>Hello everyone. It's Rebecca....Sorry about being inactive for a while...<br /><br />I've been busy. Lately. And, I've been a bit scared. Steph's been mad at me, I think she still is. Especially now that I told her I went back to the apartment. It's a stupid move, I know. But nothing happen. No Slenderman. No strange noises in the night. Not even a Proxy. Nothing. But I was frightened. I cannot simply lie about that, not after Trickortreat.....<br /><br />Oh gosh.<br /><br />It was so long ago. I...I was so dumb. I couldn't...<br /><br />I'm going to try to make it up to everyone somehow. I'm going to try and become extra helpful. I'm going to try...to be brave, to be optimistic. To not complain. I'm going to try...<br /><br />I just don't know how well I can do it. I'm doing the best I can. I at least managed to find something at the apartment that Steph missed. That's a start right? I think it's important, it looks important enough. It's a journal. One of those journals I keep hearing about. Journals that those who become Hallowed write. I never thought I would find any of these things.<br /><br />Here's some of the pages, and what me and Steph think they mean. We've spent all night looking through them at Steph's house.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkWR8drb4LLy__J2knpYA0xoTi6C3bXt0jmu-8nRfARVPN2rcCSEhnfpIoUcUESCzSehKIHDuakECqfh3pW-Fri_elwrblRBGoJ-3W5C9D2I8IGw4FP_a-JQp3IuM77PS3S1B1jrifvz6/s1600/IMG_0126.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkWR8drb4LLy__J2knpYA0xoTi6C3bXt0jmu-8nRfARVPN2rcCSEhnfpIoUcUESCzSehKIHDuakECqfh3pW-Fri_elwrblRBGoJ-3W5C9D2I8IGw4FP_a-JQp3IuM77PS3S1B1jrifvz6/s320/IMG_0126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598833337162200770" border="0" /></a><br />A large list of numbers, all written as if it were a list. Both me and Steph think the same, that these numbers were forced to be written down. Eventually, it seems that Mrs. Nord got tired of writing, and started scribbling carelessly as the bottom numbers are so hard to read. Steph wouldn't even bother. A lot of numbers repeated themselves so I tried running through some programs to see if there's a pattern. But Steph, being the Earth Science geek she used to be, pointed out that they were coordinates. Specifically coordinates set in New York. Now that I think about it, coordinates with these numbers was on the Earth Science exam just last year. We looked some of them up on Google Maps, and we did get some results. All of them in different cities too. But we have no idea what they could mean, or where they lead. Steph doesn't really want to go and find out either. I can't say I can blame her...<br /><br />Still, this could be a lead. So we're going to try to figure something out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZZN4oIOm910v64YHlviIv40txCHxQ-a4BII8p0gbWEA6-oIidJLeU6XYxOXOTL7aduuujpno6LoZuNn2k_2e55C9ryjk9Flk1qHNle0bamhmE11qvtT590S_P3p2Xl_YoStqG2iQP55k/s1600/IMG_0127.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZZN4oIOm910v64YHlviIv40txCHxQ-a4BII8p0gbWEA6-oIidJLeU6XYxOXOTL7aduuujpno6LoZuNn2k_2e55C9ryjk9Flk1qHNle0bamhmE11qvtT590S_P3p2Xl_YoStqG2iQP55k/s320/IMG_0127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598833341585827058" border="0" /></a>Steph recognized this right away. Or at least, the first few words. It's from the musical Annie, and the song "It's a Hard Knock Life".<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qywUPkxlYpU" allowfullscreen="" width="480" frameborder="0" height="390"></iframe><br /><br />But why though?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtMRFNQ3sm-s4lTxvoDwpWLzCvvv8dKHbEsAm4pcW0vnVZVdySaze9krAnAFdwVMt1JDAWsuHWIHYY01GWPFxmO7_LwwoMJyy20PYx7dZCMvR5JuaiuO2sUaRoANpReaWhZk1QwKneZC0R/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtMRFNQ3sm-s4lTxvoDwpWLzCvvv8dKHbEsAm4pcW0vnVZVdySaze9krAnAFdwVMt1JDAWsuHWIHYY01GWPFxmO7_LwwoMJyy20PYx7dZCMvR5JuaiuO2sUaRoANpReaWhZk1QwKneZC0R/s320/IMG_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598833348214670258" border="0" /></a><br />Merely numbers. Steph insists that it's a code. I'm attempting to figure it out right now. I have a couple of plausible words so far, but I'm going to wait until I go through it all to see if I get enough to post or not. Some of the handwriting is messy, and hard to read. But the smile in the corner is...a bit disturbing. To say the least. It looks so much like a sad smile....I think this is the point where Mrs. Nord returns to drawing...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxN9aPm0qQ6kevoU1HA3EO53vy41Bac0OFXlyITK3NPH0VJ693rxMgBM9aQt2xEketUqNesDrP1faMCBZTeIBCrJ23Udq5nlQVMGFUMAGLrW_Mu0haF3imUwbwFASS0oraPdGfSNvWjtg/s1600/IMG_0128.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxN9aPm0qQ6kevoU1HA3EO53vy41Bac0OFXlyITK3NPH0VJ693rxMgBM9aQt2xEketUqNesDrP1faMCBZTeIBCrJ23Udq5nlQVMGFUMAGLrW_Mu0haF3imUwbwFASS0oraPdGfSNvWjtg/s320/IMG_0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598833347444329106" border="0" /></a><br />Steph and I both agree that this could be her mother and Hannah. With Steph's mother's face crossed out. I wonder why she would cross her face out like that though...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK_GTo1eXgqfQu74_qYiWV8RfVAI95qwaaXeVMmE-EVN1w-XwoBZYLvwogXLsa0IwqST9KRN6XJedxBIdv19o3KluFzV15wbmwspLTwAvPQ28rzWyUPGpA6_So9FWyZ15HEQvgs9fY_52/s1600/IMG_0131.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK_GTo1eXgqfQu74_qYiWV8RfVAI95qwaaXeVMmE-EVN1w-XwoBZYLvwogXLsa0IwqST9KRN6XJedxBIdv19o3KluFzV15wbmwspLTwAvPQ28rzWyUPGpA6_So9FWyZ15HEQvgs9fY_52/s320/IMG_0131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598834144441686562" border="0" /></a><br />I assume this is a reference to Slenderman right here, represented by a tree. Steph pointed out the people in there before I could spot them. So it may be some sort of commentary on those who flock to him? Steph says I look into things too much. "The point of the matter is my mom is insane". It's particularly obvious that she is...I just wish to know what she's thinking through all of this. And this may be our only chance to figure it out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0yyg_yA3fd4590V7_VDNWwMAgpJjBwMuNfDWKJpvobPu1GqCKzRjpV0D13h1sTaGsFCMDebLCOs4QEH7qiO843VX31JPKkl_GEx6XQKd6VELnaC7xF_1MQ4jQi9KVc_15-DML2m_ftuK/s1600/IMG_0125.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0yyg_yA3fd4590V7_VDNWwMAgpJjBwMuNfDWKJpvobPu1GqCKzRjpV0D13h1sTaGsFCMDebLCOs4QEH7qiO843VX31JPKkl_GEx6XQKd6VELnaC7xF_1MQ4jQi9KVc_15-DML2m_ftuK/s320/IMG_0125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598833332348900210" border="0" /></a>This was on the front. I'm not sure what it is. But it looks awfully similar to <a href="http://web420.com/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/crazy-bright-psychedelic-trip.jpg">psychedelic artwork</a>. Particularly the kind they use in therapy. My thoughts are either Steph's mother's was hallucinating, or they gave her drugs and made her draw this, or this drawing isn't hers. Steph seems to think they put her mother on some sort of drugs. I'm not sure what to think.<br /><br /><br /><br />Well that's it. I think there are some pages that are missing, since it seems like there were pages that were ripped out. But whatever they are, they are gone now. I really want to look into these more today, but Steph wants me to watch Doctor Who with her...and have some girl talk. Which seems silly coming from her. Usually I'm the one who suggests such things. It's funny how the table keeps turning. Steph has changed so much within the past month or two. I remember when she was still so shy and not confident... What happened? Or maybe...was she really shy at all?<br /><br />I should really be asking these sort of questions. But sometimes I can't help but wonder. I just can't help myself. I always wanted to be what Steph calls a "shrink". I have plans on going to Buffalo State and everything. No idea where Steph plans to go, or if she's going anywhere. She just talked to me about the Marines, and how it would be good for her in terms of survival. I read some of the comments. I suppose I have to agree with Steph, but I agree with Locked On as well. What if it does make him easier to catch Steph? What would happen then?<br /><br />Either way, I wish Steph luck on whatever she does. We're still going to be friends no matter what...at least...that's what I like to think.<br /><br />I hope we continue to be friends.<br /><br />Mr. Nord's calling me. The Nord family is currently coloring eggs right now, and little Hannah wants me to do one.<br /><br /><br />I'll see you all, I suppose.<br /><br />Tomorrow is Steph's birthday. I brought a book she may like. Or not.<br /><br />I'm going to try to make tomorrow wonderful for her.<br /><br />I just want her to be happy.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16225231162798710155noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814415762574769478.post-52629337977507320282011-04-21T14:44:00.001-04:002011-04-21T15:40:40.371-04:00My Testament to the city of Buffalo....and other stuff.Ya know what guys?<br />
<br />
Buffalo ain't such a bad place.<br />
<br />
Sure, we may be in a slump, taxes are high, people are dumb, and you spend every day wondering when things will get better.<br />
<br />
<br />
But it's not THAT bad. At least living here would be better than running across the country for the rest of your life, from some faceless businessman who specializes in the business of insanity. If ya know what I mean. I suppose a nice visit to the games last night made me realize that I will be missing so much once I'm out of here and into the world. I'm leaving so much behind, and tell ya what, you think I'm gonna be happy about this? Do I look happy to you?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FHZ88TsDZ-1t_EVcEhixd3_tjEd-Jbq98JrRI07uzK16Ep50gPnHQk3thd2mnLd6r2R_DI-q4QvrpH9woea31pZcvoyrgUWL2gABbZoi3JYeotM75APO-aKJ95EycWY0sOwt2yvVvCH_/s1600/IMG_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FHZ88TsDZ-1t_EVcEhixd3_tjEd-Jbq98JrRI07uzK16Ep50gPnHQk3thd2mnLd6r2R_DI-q4QvrpH9woea31pZcvoyrgUWL2gABbZoi3JYeotM75APO-aKJ95EycWY0sOwt2yvVvCH_/s320/IMG_0254.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>...<br />
Okay, whatever.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyways as I said before I went to the game last night in my hometown. You may be asking, "But Steph, <i>why</i> may I ask are you going to a Sabres game after yelling at the whole lot of us for taking part in some fuckward's game in order to save our friend we so dearly care about?" The reasoning is simple boys and girls, my father asked me if I wanted to go, and my birthday was coming up in a few days. So I thought, <i>why not? </i>I think I'm obligated to enjoy my life once in awhile don't you? I mean shouldn't we be all taking any chance we get to find some sort of bright spark in this whole fucked up darkness we're living in. Isn't that what sanity means? I'm sorry folks, but I <i>refuse</i> to let this thing win. I <i>refuse</i>. And if having one and living my days as a sunshiny person means beating the crap out of Slender Man. So be it.<br />
<br />
I suppose you can also call this my testament and will to Buffalo. Buffalo, wanna know what I reeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaally like about Buffalo? Underneath all that dirt and grim there's a bunch of flippin' history just <i>waiting</i> to be discovered. In the summer I see old people touring around all the time. Probably because most of them lived here during its hay day, or maybe because most of them just plain appreciate history enough to think <i>Oh what the hay, I'm sure we can set aside a few coins for this city</i>. Heh. Coins. Now, I'm not saying Buffalo ain't got its bad bits here and there. I fucking lived here ya know. I still do...kind of. Oh complications...oh running... But on the way to the game I passed by this big abandoned building with a copper neoclassical looking entrance. My dad pointed it out to me, while I was thinking <i>that place HAS to be haunted</i>. My dad told me it was probably a school at one point. Which makes sense when you think about it. It did look pretty scholastic. I just wish I took a picture of it so I could show you guys. But whatever...you snooze you loose right? (Just so you guys know, we had to take the bus)<br />
<br />
Downtown there was some sort of crime scene. NO IDEA what that was about, but they told us we had to take the train if we wanted to go to the stadium, there was even some guy on a megaphone blasting orders into our bloody ears, and some bastard told us we were wasting our money. Ya know, I know we're in an economic slump and all, but do you really have to be shitheaded enough to say that crap in public? Honestly. Motherfuckers. But yeah, the subways were PACKED by the way. To and fro. You know I don't usually go to games when I've never seen a packed subway before. But like I said before, think of this as a testament to my city. Which I will no longer be in very soon. I saw a battleship at the harbor, probably the same one I've seen before. The stadium's like right next to the Buffalo harbor. To think the harbor used to be such a busy place eh?<br />
<br />
Oh yeah, the battleship. I have a picture of it too.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-1vHx0d8Qko_-RlwT3TkJxdJde6X6dH2mYdWk94Xy5I1naNOPh8Y7yTZk84BmTs1NASbz6HvzsS74A9UM_pE2GiPxpsEKE8XoTnHEcfDXl5Hgpa5qMig9JPeyJD2_15gmu6KCZSi1T2P/s1600/IMG_0192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-1vHx0d8Qko_-RlwT3TkJxdJde6X6dH2mYdWk94Xy5I1naNOPh8Y7yTZk84BmTs1NASbz6HvzsS74A9UM_pE2GiPxpsEKE8XoTnHEcfDXl5Hgpa5qMig9JPeyJD2_15gmu6KCZSi1T2P/s320/IMG_0192.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>And here it is later at night.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3yzpInl1HFzfismITUVxeh9K240ixlW4qcOmRLdKOJpKb5Cm7OtClZnMjECAP1jSHjwrFgH-b7OLzr5qO15HwJPBKq695T979Y_jlgEFFzsMZ3PBoSZ1AZRjdnb5DaFIX6-rY6HY34P9/s1600/IMG_0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3yzpInl1HFzfismITUVxeh9K240ixlW4qcOmRLdKOJpKb5Cm7OtClZnMjECAP1jSHjwrFgH-b7OLzr5qO15HwJPBKq695T979Y_jlgEFFzsMZ3PBoSZ1AZRjdnb5DaFIX6-rY6HY34P9/s320/IMG_0268.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Pretty awesome right? I think they allow people to go inside, some sort of museum thing, but it's not like I'm gonna go inside it anytime soon. Would be pretty cool to be on the flipping deck of a battleship though. Seriously, for sho.<br />
<br />
...What, don't tell me none of you considered how badass it would be to be on a fucking battleship for God's sake. If anything, that's on my list of things to do before Faceless Businessman Dude kills me in my sleep (I'll go there tonight).<br />
<br />
...I'm not actually going to go there tonight, it's just...so...yeah...<br />
<br />
<br />
Moving on!<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
Guys...<br />
<br />
So you think you're gonna visit Buffalo (shuddap, you know some of you want to see that badass battleship I showed you)...<br />
<br />
WELL. IF YOU VISIT.<br />
<br />
I DEMAND.<br />
<br />
THAT YOU TRY.<br />
<br />
SOME OF OUR FINEST.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrJ0MSfa83iT1bOjkK5ENLmS1Sasc1tdLs4kH5Wr0tV09QnBlsNtPGkQwBLE3kCJXv9DjaNdcszhLGyKlIN94Yfkd1fBKTrW9kKX_cDMAoik6YIHGbUiVejRaFTgeL51A0mhXHRsTVsRK/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrJ0MSfa83iT1bOjkK5ENLmS1Sasc1tdLs4kH5Wr0tV09QnBlsNtPGkQwBLE3kCJXv9DjaNdcszhLGyKlIN94Yfkd1fBKTrW9kKX_cDMAoik6YIHGbUiVejRaFTgeL51A0mhXHRsTVsRK/s320/IMG_0195.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
BEEF ON FUCKING WECK.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gLhcqQgFIJ6wzInJFho354Yni0ti2DiJyYH6rdWX4-USCLpzzO40Q8K61nVJ-kYrCVZEn0_e8H-FbtbT6M5cbvEyWAjOXtSk8Z4InMlXIiz0yyvU5YfBNk2i_HgaIlOa9d34OhkH5XaV/s1600/csi_miami_yeah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gLhcqQgFIJ6wzInJFho354Yni0ti2DiJyYH6rdWX4-USCLpzzO40Q8K61nVJ-kYrCVZEn0_e8H-FbtbT6M5cbvEyWAjOXtSk8Z4InMlXIiz0yyvU5YfBNk2i_HgaIlOa9d34OhkH5XaV/s320/csi_miami_yeah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fuck Miami btw. Sorry, but just sayin'.<br />
<br />
(Don't kill me now.<br />
I mean, come on.)<br />
<br />
At least I can now call myself a real Buffalonian before I start running for real. Now I can randomly walk up to people in other cities and if they ask me where I'm from, I'll be like "I'm from fucking Buffalo!" And they'll be like "Buffalo?! Isn't that the city that's a dump, all the way up in Western New York? Hell no wonder you left. There's nothing good there!" And then I'll pull them down to my eyelevel (or up to my eyelevel, it depends), and I'll go, "Well if you DO come to Buffalo. (Which you will, trust me. You can't deny the awesomeness of Battleship.) I DEMAND. THAT YOU TRY. BEEF ON WECK. Just don't try the horseradish unless you can take the bitterness, 'kay?"<br />
<br />
And then they'll look at me like I'm crazy.<br />
<br />
And I'll be like "BETCH I'M RUNNING FROM A FREAKIN' FACELESS MAN OF COURSE I'M CRAZY."<br />
<br />
And then I'll disappear before they call the police.<br />
<br />
Yeah, that's totally my plan. Buffalo City represent. *poses*<br />
<br />
But enough polishing the crapsack that is my hometown. Game was cool. We won. Yay.<br />
<br />
But that's not important.<br />
<br />
I'll tell you what IS important.<br />
<br />
<br />
Here's the story of what happened AFTER the game:<br />
<br />
We won (how many times have I said this now? 3?), everybody was flippin' excited. HUGE crowds. I read somewhere that apparently Slender Man doesn't like big crowds (is this true?), so I guess even though I got separated from my father a couple of times (it's my own fault really, I get easily distracted sometimes :x), I felt somehow...safe? I mean, I saw a bunch of guys in suits (mostly media folk, my dad gave me an entire history lesson on this Ted guy. Apparently the box where announcers talk from is a memorial to him, and apparently he was the first announcer EVER for the Buffalo Sabres. Lucky bastards I say! Luck bastards!) Guy in suit=Slender Man. I'm sure you guys have this mindset as well. It doesn't help that there's an area downtown that's practically the fishing tank for business man, there are so many of them swimming around, it's not even funny. Especially around lunch time. Oh God, it's crazy. Funnily enough it's also the place where M&T Bank is based (Fun Fact: Did you know Buffalo is the HQ for the M&T bank?), so I guess that explains some things.<br />
<br />
...Damn bankers.<br />
<br />
But other than the folks in suits, the chaperons and shit, I felt somehow...at peace. There was a weird kind of happiness I felt there, maybe it was all the happy people around me...no worries, no death, no fucking Eldritch Abominations climbing through your windows. I felt like...I was that kind of person. I felt like I too, had absolutely nothing to worry about, that everything would be absolutely fine. No more deaths. No more running. Everything was okay, within those few seconds of serenity.<br />
<br />
And then, I heard somebody yell my last name.<br />
<br />
"Nord! Hey Nord!"<br />
<br />
It was some Italian looking guy, with a buzzcut hairdue. He seemed to know my dad because he was all like "You motherfucker!" Towards him. You know that one TVtrope? Vitriolic Best Buds or something? Apparently there are a whole lot of those in the military. I suppose that's where I get my attitude from :D<br />
<br />
Haha. Yeah, no.<br />
<br />
Anyways, my dad introduced this guy as Salvatore Buscaglia (yeah, totally Italian), and he seemed to be a pretty nice guy. They exchanged some best buddy buddy words like "How've you been ya bastard". That kind of stuff. I just sat there wondering what the heck was going on and who the hell was this guy. According to my father they were best buddies in the Marines. They did everything together. Including driving around on top of a flipping TANK in NORWAY, waving a fucking Marine flag around like a banner. For freakin' FIFTY MINUTES (or miles, I forget which). Needless to say, I was in awe for a couple of hours afterwords. He even gave me his blessing. Afterwords my dad was talking about how it must've been some sign of God that I met Buscaglia at a flipping Sabres game after they flipping won with our goalie actually doing something good for himself for a change. (Took him long enough.)<br />
<br />
"Seriously, you have GOT to go to bootcamp now that you've met fucking Buscaglia! There is no way you're getting yourself out of this one!"<br />
<br />
Let me explain. Ever since my mom first went off the deep end me and my dad have been talking about me potentially going into the Marines after highschool. I kind of forgot about it after this whole Slender Man business started, and I'm not too sure whether it'll work out or not, what with the whole runner thing and finding my mom.<br />
<br />
But I've been thinking, going in the military would probably give me some sort of advantage over normal civilians. Like, the whole traveling all over the world thing. As far as I'm concerned there is no chance Slender Man can get to me if I keep moving from place to place. Even if I am somehow forced to camp in a forest, at least I'll learn how to fucking take care of myself right? Ya know, <i>survive</i>? Isn't that what you Runners are about anyways? <i>Survival?</i> I might just do it, I'm really thinking about it. I just gotta figure out where my fucking mother is first. My dad said not to worry about it. Apparently the city of Buffalo ACTUALLY has a search party out looking for her. Wow, so my city is actually good for something! Told ya Buffalo ain't such a bad place after all. Bet you lot didn't believe me did ya? Well, to tell the truth I didn't believe me either.<br />
<br />
Suddenly the topic of my grandfather (the one that my mom and dad stayed with when I was a baby, remember? The whole apartment thing that was such a whole lot of fail?) came up. Apparently he was a Marine too. How about that? Being a Marine runs in my family! According to my father he fault in the Vietnam War (that poor soul). And before you guys bring up Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or whatever that kind of bullcrap people stereotype about military folk these days let me clue you in on a little secret:<br />
<br />
FIGHTING WARS DOES NOT MAKE YOU CRAZY.<br />
<br />
And whoever believes that is a fucking moron, who should probably try going to war themselves and see if they like people accuse you of being insane. No, insane is claiming that you grandfather was back from the grave and fucking possessing you. Being insane is looking in the mirror, and acting like there's someone or something there that isn't yourself. Like me, I'm insane. But I never went to war now did I? My dad is saner than me and he's a fucking marine. He watched people get fucking shot right before his eyes and is he in a mental institute right now? FUCK NO. My mom is. Or she's supposed to. That is until she was fucking stolen away from me. And we're going to fucking get her back. You can bet on it. This here is a message to all those Proxies out there. I <i>WILL</i> GET MY MOTHER BACK. NO EXCEPTIONS.<br />
<br />
If it means going through fucking bootcamp in order to do so then so be it. I'm not going to let that fucking thing win. I refuse to.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, turns out that entire trip to my grandfather's apartment was a big waste of my time. According to my dad he lives all the way in fucking Arizona right now. Fuck that. I'm not traveling all the way to Arizona all by myself. Luckily my dad's gonna try to contact him through the phone, I wish him luck on that. There are so many things I wish to ask him, it's not even funny.<br />
<br />
Speaking of the apartment apparently Rebecca found something important. She's going to come over tomorrow to show me what's the whole dealeo with that one. We may even have a sleepover since my birthday on Sunday.<br />
<br />
OH YEAH.<br />
<br />
GUYS.<br />
<br />
MY BIRTHDAY IS ON SUNDAY.<br />
<br />
SEND ME COOKIES K? CAUSE YA KNOW, THE CAKE IS A LIE AND STUFF.<br />
<br />
OH AND YOU PROXIES OR SLENDER DRONES OR HIS SERVANTS OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO BE CALLED. APPARENTLY YOU GUYS HAVE SOME SORT OF PARTY PLANNED?<br />
<br />
WILL THERE BE COOKIES? Y/N?<br />
<br />
OTHERWISE YOU CAN FUCK OFF. YEAH YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.<br />
<br />
In the meantime. I'm feelin' Hella Good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/QtTj4cramPM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Also: Fuck Vevo. I can post awesome music videos on my blog if I want.Butterflyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555250864636344938noreply@blogger.com10