Late blog post today. All my stuff got stolen today and I tried to track it down. Didn't have much stuff but still. Now all I have are the clothes I was wearing. I have some money but not enough to buy new clothes and or anything like that. Food is more important.
Sometimes I wonder if this blog is all a waste and if really I'm loosing. I live on the street, I have no friends, I had to quit school, I don't know what I'm doing half the time. I don't know how I can help anybody. But at least I'm sane and still alive which is more then I can say for most people who have been in the same situation. I guess living on the street and roof tops is better then being dead.
New York is a pretty safe place to hide. Probably 1 of the stupider things people do when hiding from Slenderman is don't talk to anybody, or go out. You're safer around more people or in public. Slenderman doesn't really like to come out around other people. This doesn't mean that Slenderman won't get you if you have a buddy to hang out with you inside, or decide to live in a mall. A few months ago I met a boy named Sam Mark. Sam had the idea that if we stayed together at all times then Slenderman couldn't get us because he would only attack you 1 on 1 and somebody could always keep their eyes open. Sam and I got out into the woods at 1 point and I saw him get torn apart. This may have had something to do with the fact that Sam was already pretty far gone when I met him, and ran out into the wood yelling 1 afternoon, but still it was hard to see him flying through the air, his eyes wide and scared staring at me as he disappeared through the trees. He screamed for a long time. I ran and ran, but couldn't seem to find him, even though he had been pulled straight though the trees in front of me. The trees were like a maze, running under and through branches, cutting my face and hands. You can't keep your eyes open when you run through the forest like that. Only when you stop can you open them. There was blood everywhere. It was as if it had rained in the night, damp and smelling strongly of something not usually in the woods. The fallen leaves collected blood like cups. He hung on a tree branch, his limp body unmoving high up. The sun dappled his hair through the branches of the high trees. I got him down and buried him. He lived in a farm house and I buried him near the small work house near it, equally red and brick as the house. He had no family. I moved on and didn't take anything from his house. He gave me the watch I wear. He was the last on a long list of people I saw die.
That was a bad day.
Anyway staying near a bunch of people won't help you. If you don't know the rules then you're doomed. The buddy system doesn't always work just because Slenderman goes after kid. And He does go after kids. The stories are what He comes from and they all say He goes after kids.
All stories are true. Some are just more true then others. The narrator of each story is the only person you can count on to tell the story and you're the narrator of each of your stories.
I guess that's the lesson for today. You're the narrator. You can only count on yourself.