Still Kicking

I've seen him a few more times outside the windows. I always ask for more shifts when he shows up. Hoping that he'll go away before I have to leave.

Nothing's happened like last time.

I can't believed he talked. Well, sort of talked. He's never done that before. Or at least I've never been there when he's done that. I've heard of him...doing things, but I always thought that he never talked. I wonder why. Why he doesn't just kill me.

Fuck.

Whatever. I can't worry about it. It'll happen or it won't. I'm not running anymore.

I'm going to try and live my life, until it's gone.

Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?

I was tired and my shift was almost over and I turned and looked out the window and there he was. He had his face, blank and white, nearly pressed against the window. Nearly gave me a heart attack.

I should have expected it, really. He always shows up when you least expect him to.

I was probably staring at him a bit too long, because one of my co-workers (Danielle) asked me what I was looking at. "Nothing," I said. "Nothing at all."

My shift ended and I walked outside. I didn't walk immediately to my car. Instead, I took out a cigarette (I know, it's a bad habit, but what the hell, I'm allowed to have them) and put it in my mouth, then lit it as I walked around the building.

I could see his silhouette as he followed me. For some reason, I wasn't scared. What, was he going kill me now? I couldn't stop that.

No, what I did was this:

I stopped abruptly and turned around. There he was, standing behind me, quite a bit taller than I was.

I took my cigarette out of my mouth.

And I blew smoke in that fucker's face. Or, well, his lack thereof.

"I'm not running," I said. "No matter how many times you show up, I'm not running. So just kill me now or leave me alone. Got it?"

It looked at me, as if he didn't comprehend what I was saying.

"What do you want?" I asked. "There is nothing important about me. Nothing at all. So why are you following me? What do you want me? Go fuck with someone else!"

He said nothing. As his silence continued, my anger rose. Until, eventually, I did something incredibly stupid. Well, stupider.

I put out my cigarette on his face. Right on his cheek. I just put it out. He didn't flinch or move, like he didn't feel a goddamn thing.

I gritted my teeth and threw the cigarette on the ground, then turned to walk away.

I felt a tentacle grab my arm. It burned through my sleeve and I felt a horrible sensation on my skin. I cried out and then felt another tentacle wrap around my neck and I though Oh god this is it, he's really going to kill me oh god.


But he didn't. He turned me around and brought me closer, as if he was studying me. As if I was a bug under a microscope.

He continued staring at me for a few seconds and I could feel the searing grip of his tentacles on my arm and neck. And then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed me, he let me go.

I fell to the ground and looked up. He loomed over me.

A word filled my head, filled my thoughts then. All of my mind was filled with just one word:

NO.


Was it an answer to my earlier statement? Was he telling me that he would never leave me alone? Or was he saying that I was important?

I didn't stick around to find out. I ran back to my car and drove off.

The last I saw of him was a pale silhouette in my rear view mirror.

grrrr

I forgot how much being a minimum wage slave sucks. Especially the customers that try to play grab-ass.

I've looked an evil faceless abomination in the face, you redneck fuckheads. I will not hesitate to break your fucking nose.

Well

I got a job. It doesn't pay much, but I have a little saved, so if I can find a cheap apartment, I can stay here for a bit. Until something finds me. Until I have to run again.

You are now addressing Peri, Server at the Local Denny's. (Not waitress - apparently, they don't like being called that.)

Yay.

How Long?

I've decided to stop for a bit. I'm applying for jobs now: barista, waitress, those things that don't require much in the way of skills or background checks.

I'm just...tired of running. I was tired before this, but now I just want to stop. Not forever, just for a bit. Take my time to build up some more money, get some rest.

But, of course, there's a voice in my head that is saying: how long?

How long until someone notices we're jumping at shadows or always looking behind us?

How long until the Slender Man finds me again?

How long until it's time to run again?

How long?

graaaaah

hangovers suck

Whatever

Fine, I'm doing this because...because I fucking want to do this. The Skeptic is dead, Mad Tom has fucked off to wherever the fuck, and I've been running for the past month alone. And even though I was against joining Skeptic's little war gang, I did it anyway because I fucking hate being alone.

Do you hear that, all you runners and proxies out there? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME, YOU SHITHEADS?

If you have a chance to not be alone, take it. Be with someone else. Run with someone else. Fight with someone else. It doesn't matter if you hate their guts, if they annoy the living shit out of you, if they killed your dog. Being alone is worse.

Now fuck off, I need to get drunk.