Flying

I've been moving a lot lately, so I haven't had a chance to update. Anyway, I said I'd elaborate more on my dream in my next post, but...I don't really remember it. I really should've posted it in the last post. This is why I need to update more often. I need to have this stuff documented in case I forget.

However, I don't have enough time to continue the story now. I'm boarding a plane to Ukraine. I still have a bit of the money from my Grandmother's death, assorted birthdays, jobs, holidays, allowances, and even some from my bank account/college savings. I was able to buy a pretty cheap ticket. I've lost the small period of ease that comes for the first few hours whenever I move. IT's catching up with me. Maybe if I get out of the country...FAR away...

I'm hoping it'll get better. But, knowing my luck, it probably won't.

~Writtor

Chapter Two: Fear

First off, I may need to write the whole last post over again, because the bad grammar's got my eye twitching like crazy. I was in a rush to get it all down and still watch the latest TribeTwelve and MarbleHornets entries. Don't judge. I find them pretty entertaining, especially since their experiences aren't that far from mine. Bravo, boys. You got a war veteran hooked on a water gun fight.

Secondly, I think I'm coming even closer to losing my marbles. I dreamed about him last night. I'll have to elaborate more in the next post, but...it was freakin creepy.

The first week back at school was Hell. Most of the popular kids saw a chance to kick me while I was down. I spent most days crying in the janitor's closet, and when I got home, I'd lock myself in my room and read. I swear I read my old beat up copy of Romeo and Juliet a thousand times, wishing I could be as courageous as Juliet when Romeo was supposedly dead. Did I not love him enough? Was life worth living without him? 

No, it wasn't. So, one night, I walked down to the old train tracks. I was ready to end this. I heard the train coming, waited until it's headlights were feet away, and jumped in front of it. I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came. I opened my eyes. I was on the train tracks, but the it was completely silent. There were no obvious sounds you'd expect from a train. In fact, there was nothing there, other than me, IT, and the little pet that always follows. 

IT stared at me, and I realized just how tall IT was. IT was about 12 feet tall, with those long arms that reached the ground.  IT's face that wasn't a face was paler than the moon. IT's suit was darker than night.

I walked towards IT, even though I didn't want to. Or did I? I felt safe and warm with each step I took towards IT. I wanted to be with IT. I wanted IT to protect me. 

I started running.  I was feet away from him. When something knocked me down onto the dirt. I blinked the dirt out of my eyes, and when I opened them, I was in my room.

I don't know how long I spent puking in the bathroom sink, or what time I fell asleep. The next day, I barely remembered the whole encounter.

Well, I gotta run. I've spent a bit too long here, and these pay computers are annoying me.

~Writtor

Chapter One: Eli

I managed to find a small town. There's a bookstore with those old computers where you insert fifty cents and get 30 minutes or whatever of internet. The owner lives upstairs. A lot of the buildings are rundown, but she has a cheap heater on her old balcony. I think I might try to sleep there. If not, I'll put up with the cold.

It all started that summer. I lived in a small Georgia town where everyone knew everyone, girls wore dresses, and southern hospitality was always present. I was the complete opposite of a social butterfly...as far as I was concerned, no one could satisfy me more than the characters in a book. So, I read. Eventually, reading led to writing. I could be bold and adventurous in stories. As soon as you threw me in a crowd, though, my "porcelain cheeks would go red as a cherry, and my sunny gold hair would cover every inch of my face", as my mother always said.

Then Eli came along. He was perfect, knotted black hair, glasses, always drawing such beautiful pictures in that sketchbook. We used to glance over at each other when we didn't think the other was looking. Eventually, we started talking, and he soon became the one person I could ever talk to. One day, I glanced over his shoulder while he was drawing. I'd never seen his actual art before, and was surprised to find that almost every page was covered with perfect drawings of me. 

We dated until ninth grade. That was the year things started going downhill. Eli was absent more than he was present, and he was distant when he was with me. Sometimes, I'd look at him, and he'd have this manic look in his eyes, like a madman. He started drawing more frequently, but the pictures weren't his perfect portrayals of the world. They were of some tall figure, and had weird words written in scratchy handwriting, like "CAN'T HIDE" or "HE SEES". 

But it didn't end until...the night in the forest. Eli was talking crazy when he rang my doorbell. He was going on and on about seeing some kind of path and serving a rightful leader. He walked off into the woods, and I followed him into the dark. I yelled after him, quickly losing myself in the night. Then I heard him scream. I ran towards the sound, yelling his name. I finally found his bloody body, strung to a tree. Underneath it, was the thing from the drawings.

I can't describe it very we'll. it was white, wearing black, and very tall. I couldn't make out any facial features.

I have trouble remembering things after that. All I remember is a growl, and waking up at the hospital with a bad head injury. Apparently, I'd fainted and hit my head on a few sharp rocks.

Soon after, Eli was pronounced dead. I couldn't go to the funeral. I was too heartbroken. 

I'm going to stop here and pick up later. The computer's almost out of time.

~Writtor

I'm Not Like The Others

When I say that, I mean...I guess I mean this is real. This isn't some stupid ARG . This isn't Marble Hornets or The Twelve Tribes or whatever. This isn't some exercise show gone bad. There is no script. There is no planned plot line. This isn't just to get attention or whatever. This is for my benefit only. Read along, if you want, but don't blame me when IT comes after you.  I don't have all the answers, like that M guy. All I know is how to run. All I have is my memories and my sanity, and I doubt I'll have those for long.

Which is why I'm writing in this blog. To store my memories and to keep my sanity.

My name is Writtor...or, at least, that's what you'll know me as. I used to be the ultimate fan girl. Books have always been more reliable than people. I used to be shy. I used to laugh at the popular kids. I used to be blonde. I used to have a brother and a family who I loved more than anything.

I used to write. I used to write beautiful stories. I used to write fantasies, horrors, romances, comedies, histories. 

Then IT came.

I abandoned my precious books when I left. I learned to fight, to survive. I dyed my hair black. I killed my family. I didn't even take my notebook.

I haven't written a story years.

I'm starting to lose it. I think writing is the only way to tie me down.

I'm going to write my story here. From beginning to end.

I'm not a survivor. I'm a runner. I haven't won. Yet.

~Writtor