All That's Left is Rage

Realizing I shouldn't be out in public.
I'm not fit for it.
I don't socialize well right now.
I'm not people friendly. I'm too busy yelling at the idiots.
I shouldn't be driving either.
Everything's a blur and I'm just so...
So...
So... pissed off.
The fucker took my baby girl.
The fucker took her.

Well, Now I'm Pissed

I just missed my...


Fuckshit. This fucking sucks. Give it a week. Calm the fuck down.


I'm fine.

A Note

Shaun left on Monday. We were sad to see him go, but I get that he feels he needs the space. Email me or call any time, man. We're moving on again.

Tia's still pretty quiet, but despite Sheppy-boy's post, she's a little better. Smiling a little easier.

Also:
Not that anyone's going to read this or even gives a care what I have to say, but since it's apparently International Jump on Elaine Logan's Case Week (Or so)
(Paraphrased from an email I sent her in response to all of this)
1.Elaine has never been anything but kind to me. That's got to count for something, because I'm not the most social sort. a
2. She does try to have at least some people's best interest in mind (though rarely fully her own) which is more than I can say for many of the people I've read about in these situations, much less met.
3. Yes, she has her rough edges, and can be, as some might say, a "bitch" to outsiders, to the people she does let in, she can be one of the most caring, loving, loyal (many might say stupidly so) people I have ever met.
4. She is trying to atone for her past. That is one of the of the hugest things to me. She wants to make things better, and she acts on it rather than sitting around with her thumb up hrr butt. She knows that she will never find personal retribution, and so she does what you can to fight for what you can grasp, what she can do to help others.
5.Yes, she screwed up and made bad decisions. She screwed up big time, she has hurt others, many others, but she is trying to fight past that. Maybe people will eventually try to forgive her or convince her that they do, but she's not going to forgive herself. She's beating herself up over things plenty without any help.

I could also go into the subject of bullies who kick people when they're down, but honestly, Gargoyle's not worth the time or energy.

None of us are perfect, so what right have we to judge, anyway?

Merry Merry merry

Compared to some I've been around
But I really tried so hard
That echo chorus lied to me with its
"Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on

He took her. He kidnapped Tia and stole my truck, stranding me and Shaun at the hotel. In the snow.  No. Nononono. 
Music. Breathe.

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
All of us under its spell.
We know that it's probably magic.
Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.

See, the thing is, Blake, sweetie, you want to protect her? You want to steal her away and keep her locked up to keep her safe because you love her? It doesn't work that way, buddy-boy, if it's against her will. You are not the dashing prince in this story, sweeping back in after going missing, to save the princess. You are, if anything, the witch keeping her in a tower. You made a mistake, turning her into the damsel in your head. But you know what? You want to play Ladderlocks, that's fine. Let's play pretend. Just keep in mind what happens to the prince, my dear. And I don't think her tears will heal you in this story. You've got worse things to worry about than anything else that might be coming out of the dark after you... If things haven't gone a certain way before I even get there. I'll probably regret saying this within ten or fifteen minutes of posting it anyway. I regret lots of things. Heh. I don't want you dead, don't worry. I just want you incapacitated. I want you incapacitated a lot. This is not something you do to someone you claim to love. This is not something you do to my best friend.

For life is quite absurd
and death's the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin.
Give the audience a grin.
Enjoy it. It's your last chance, anyhow.

She shouldn't have to make this choice. You have no right. Neither of you have any right to do this to her. Why? Why them? Why anyone? How much do people have to hurt and suffer? Shepherd, you're a dead man. No matter how long it takes, even if I have to go down, too. The second you touched them, you were dead. This is not a game, and even if it were, you are not the one controlling the pieces, sweetie. You never have been. You like to play pretend, though. That much, I've seen. You like to pretend that you're in control and manipulating things yourself. You make me laugh. Oh look, bravado. This should be amusing. Bit late for that though, isn't it? No. No, because you want me to want you dead. You want me to want to hurt you. I... No. Nothing doing. I

Sing for the bartender, sing for the janitor, sing
Sing for the cameras, sing for the animals, sing
Sing for the children shooting the children, sing
Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
Just sing

focus
Focus
FOCUS
Need to do something. Breathing is a good start.
...Have a very Merry Christmas, everyone. I know mine will be memorable.

watching me. watching me. watching me.

Tendrils Dark are Eating up the Light

Do you know that feeling, like when you don't know where to start a story? Like when you wish it was just a story and nothing real at all? Like when you're stuck thinking 'If this were just a story, it would be much, much easier to tell'? All the jumbles of words can't seem to coordinate themselves into a proper sentence and we're just stuck... staring into the dim light of your computer screen, asking yourself, repeatedly 'Where do I even start?'


That's where I am, right now.


...


So tell me, where do I start this story?


On a roller coaster. I start this story on a roller coaster. I'm going to openly proclaim right now I never want to ride a roller coaster again. I never want to see fair food or hear jingling key chains or see smears of spilled slushie on hot cement. I used to have fond memories of these things. I don't anymore.


Maybe it starts when we got off the roller coaster. When did the people start fading out? I'm not really sure when the park started emptying or the dark started settling in. When did the air go stale and still? I'm not sure where things started going wrong. It seemed like all of a sudden things just weren't what they were before and suddenly we three weren't together anymore.


They like leaving me alone in these places. They like having me run about and look for people in large empty spaces. They like giving my panic attacks because they can. I think in a cruel way, they like making me feel the need to release my lunch everywhere. You know, and then I actually do. It happens. Happened. A bit. Maybe more than a bit. I'm feeling a little prideful about it.


I kept a handle on it though. It wasn't so bad this time you know? No curling in on myself. No falling asleep and thinking 'well this is it'. None of that self-deprecation shit either. It's not my job, according to certain other members of the party.


I didn't sleep much over those days.
Couldn't.
Too full of energy.
Didn't eat much either.
Wasn't hungry.


So I looked. I looked hard and long. And I found what I was looking for, eventually. Blake was on one of those big swinging ships, strapped in, passed out. I had no idea how to operate the thing. It seemed to be operating on this infernal timed loop. Stop. Start. Go go go. Stop. Start. Go.


So I waited. Eventually it stopped again. And then I went and grabbed him quick as I could manage, before it started up again.


So now I had a passed out Blake on the loading dock of this swinging ship, and I'm crying and screaming at him to wake up, because I need him to wake up. I need him to wake up right then.


And by some miracle or magic choice of words, he does. He snaps his eyes open and he's there with me again. The rush of relief right then? Unspeakable.


After a time I manage to get him walking, and it's back to looking. I keep his hand in mine. I never let go.


We found Lissie in the fun house after what felt like a whole nother day of looking. She barely awake in the mirror room. I found her by her manic laughter. It stopped when we got into the room. Turned to a more sick gurgling. All the blood in her throat. It's a miracle she didn't choke on it.


Oh god that was a sight to see.


Zip-ties, curled in on herself, blood under her finger nails (not entirely sure that it was hers), nose a shambles, neck bruised and caked with dried blood, ribs broken - again. When we cut the ties off her, she could hardly stand on her own. We didn't make her.


She guided us out, she knew how to navigate it, someway or another. Maybe it was instincts in this place, maybe she's got a talent? I don't get any of it, but I'm practically dragging the two of them out, Lissie coughing out her guidance.


I still hadn't let go of Blake's hand.


He was right there with us. Right there. Next to me. He felt that first breath of fresh air. That life again. And then he was being dragged from my grip. Dragged. Clawed. He clung. I clung. I reached. He reached back for me. Everything was warped.


A face. There was a face behind him. Or the shape of a face. A warped image of a not-face. Seen it before. I couldn't hurt it. Never could. Couldn't sway it. Couldn't make it's grip on Blake loosen. Me? Just a non-consequential being. Powerless. Everything distorted in that moment. Suffocating. Somehow.


I couldn't pull Blake back. He was out of my grip. Then he was gone.


I'm getting him back. Don't you think for a second that I won't.

Dance, Fucker Dance.

It was a good night. And then it wasn't.


Shoulda stuck to drink'n lone. I didna know... bout... bout things. Not my place to say. M'sorry everybody. I did a bad thing.


And it all started cause a stupid anger. Stupid, stupid anger.



FUCK YOU
AND FUCK YOU
AND ESPECUA-
fuck that word righ now.
FUCK YOU A LOT.


Yea, you, you get a lot of fuck yous in the face. You know how many times... how many times making Lissie cry is too many? NO? Let me make it abundentally clear that you crossed that line fucker.


I am not happy bout it. Nosirree.


...olordy Lissie'll read thisinthemorniggg...


fuck it. ss'allready mornin.


m'really, really sorry.

Fine. Fine.

Fuck. You. Sheperd. Give him back. Givehimbackrightnow.


You son of a goddamn bitch. You give him back or I swear I will find you and break your little neck in half. First though, first I will make you regret ever coming near him. I will break so much of you and make you feel humiliated and angry and vengeful and incredibly goddamn stupid for messing with my man.


I'm not giving up here on my end, and I know he's not going to give into your little games either. I know him better than to think that he'd break just because you think you can break him.


Because you think you can break us. Fuck you Sheperd. He better be here at Hope before 4 PM or I swear, I will find you. Don't even think I'm joking.


Now I know he didn't just go. Now I know he's being held. And I will not tolerate your bullshit. I will not.


Also, we want Lissie's truck back. And if you tail him back to Hope, I will know. I will find you, and I will break you. I will break you harder than you could ever possibly imagine one girl could manage with only her hands.


That's the deal. 4 PM.