A Eulogy

Ladies and gentlemen, consider this a eulogy for my involvement in the Slenderverse.

This has taken a lot of consideration, but ultimately I've realized that my interest in this whole thing has waned over the course of this year. I likely would have ended things earlier, but my involvement with another writer in the 'Verse encouraged me to continue writing. Since that relationship is over, and I've continued along a different (and hopefully more fulfilling) path in life, I no longer see any point in keeping alive what should have died long ago.

To those who enjoyed my writing, I thank your involvement and support. You guys made this whole thing worthwhile.

To those who thought my writing was trash (and I know there was at least one of you), I can't really disagree. I stuck to more than one thing I should have dropped (the Glass Man's garbled speech still reddens my cheeks with embarrassment) and though I actually did have a plot and goals for my characters, my execution of these plans was shameful at best. If I could redo this whole thing, I'd rewrite all my posts from scratch.

So, ultimately, I don't regret that this blog (as well as the others I've written) is dead, only that it died a slow death.

And what of Ferus? The last we saw of him, he had wandered out of the public eye, carrying a box he likely did not fully understand. Perhaps it led him to his death. Perhaps it led him to his salvation. Perhaps, for Ferus, these two things are the same. The fact remains, however, that Ferus's fate is undetermined, so we leave him as he is: a madman, a brute, and - more so than ever - a ghost.

Good night,
"The Glass Man"

Progrès

Boîte Noir:

Villes: 3
Individus: ~600
Superficie (kilomètres carrès): ~500
Résultat ultime: Succès. Étape 3 en progrès.



Ma jeunesse ne fut qu'un ténébreux orage,
Traversé çà et là par de brillants soleils;
Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage,
Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils.


Voilà que j'ai touché l'automne des idées,
Et qu'il faut employer la pelle et les râteaux
Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées,
Où l'eau creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux.


Et qui sait si les fleurs nouvelles que je rêve
Trouveront dans ce sol lavé comme une grève
Le mystique aliment qui ferait leur vigueur?


— Ô douleur! ô douleur! Le Temps mange la vie,
Et l'obscur Ennemi qui nous ronge le coeur
Du sang que nous perdons croît et se fortifie!

Emergence

I have experienced so much rage.
So much. RAGE.

And where has it gotten me? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
Ranting and raving at a computer screen, making abstract lists I have neither the time or the true will to enact.
Why? Perhaps I was still clinging to the unfairness of it all. Outwardly cool and collected, inside screaming at my loss. And then forcing that loss upon others. Showing them a little bit of the universe's grand indifference.

Then I found the Box, with its neat ability to capture little... moments around it. And I used it, delved into the minds and bodies of others, feeling their suffering as I tortured and murdered them. And you know what I discovered?

They will never come close to what I feel. Every moment of every day, every second infinitely worse than the most brutal of tortures I could force upon them. This realization... was worse than the moment I first drew breath in this piece of ground meat I am forced to liken to a body. The fact that no matter what I do, I will always be at the highest peak of suffering; that at any given moment, no other person is capable of experiencing the pain I am shackled to at the basest form of my existence.

And this is why I decided to shoot myself. I picked up the nearest shotgun, pressed it to my temple, and pulled the trigger. Now imagine my surprise when I woke up. There was a stain from where my brains had landed on the carpet, but no other sign of my death excepting a little scar where I think my skull had exploded outwards.

I am beginning to believe that my level of suffering has transcended humanity. No being that can feel this pain can be human. No man can disintegrate his skull then wake up with a vague hunger for havarti cheese.

So enough of my pettiness, my rage, my pity, my loathsome habit of forming grudges. Consider the list abolished. I resolve to no longer target any individual.

No. This year, everyone dies.

I'm baaaaaack!

I've kept myself occupied. Met some nice folks out in the city. We enjoyed ourselves stringing up Runners and beating them like pinatas (oh Shady, if only you knew how much I held back, you would scream). I'm sure if Cauldhame has anything he wants to say about it, he can do it himself. Clever guy, if a bit stressed out.

But now I've figured some things out. I know what to do with the Box now, it's just a matter of timing, of alignment, of significance both cosmic and poetic... But I'm getting ahead of myself. We've still got a whole year to figure out how to end the world, and I'd hate to beat some poor bastard to the punch.

So I've been thinking, maybe those kind few of you who've taken the liberty of tracking my movements should share some of their holiday experiences. A little forum, if you may. On your marks, get set,

go

Party Time

I became lackadaisical. I let down my guard, let pride overtake me, and for this I failed. The Shady Lady escaped. This is on my shoulders.

Since then, my hatred has festered. Forced to hobble like a degenerate cripple, I could not search for victims. I could not fulfill my purpose. Even as I recovered, I could have gone into a town and killed every single person. No hunting. No torture. Just hobble in with a gun, a machete and a tank of gasoline. Shot the men, strangled the women, mutilated the children, burned the houses.

At least I wanted to.

The party was only slightly pleasant to me. It allowed me to vent, but it was only like releasing steam from a nuclear reactor by jabbing it with a toothpick. Kill. Slash. Burn. Rip. Tear. So on so forth.

The party. Have to think of the party (skin's itching, doesn't normally itch). When I entered the warehouse, I was greeted by a room full of limbs. Mannequin limbs. On the walls, on the floor, sticking in various directions, assembled together. Bodies... taken apart and made into a beast... I gazed upon them. Perhaps too long. I recall the Advocate speaking over the intercom, but for the life of me I can't recall what he said. I think he realized that I was not moving at his preferred pace, as one of the figures exploded in front of me.

Shrapnel cut through my skin and my flesh, red flowed out upon red. I'm not surprised no one noticed the wounds, but then again why should they have? I'm losing it. Need to stop scratching. It's bleeding. Eugh.

I looked upon where Advocate had tried to hide a camera: within a mass of limbs. Looking was enough. The other forms exploded around me, forcing me to escape into a room of darkness.

I stopped and waited. One of them would cross through, and then I would make it bleed. I would cut into it as it screamed and writhed in my grip, whining as I slashed it and squeezed the life from its body.

A voice. Two voices. Shady and another. The scent of a woman mixing with the eternal stench of my blood. concentrate concentrate. Not Josie. Too... mature. Level. Josie would have been flying about like a hummingbird or whimpering like a rat. Dia. It had to be Dia.

I could slash one of them, leaving the other to hear her screams in the darkness. Back off, let their minds play tricks on them before going again, inflicting a deeper cut. Let the screams turn to cries for help, tears for each other's wounds. Kill one first, then slowly slice the other's head off her neck.

No. I couldn't. The Advocate had traps. If I killed them in defiance to his rules he would do his very best to kill me. It would take too long to segue out of the building. His traps could easily be lethal before I escaped.

So I approached them. I let Dia know what she had brought upon herself. I let her know what she had started. I let her imagine how painful her end would be. So much better than telling. They always know what they deserve. Always think think keep focused can't stop needs to be done eventually

Back. I let both of them have a little show. To my delight they separated. It would have been perfect if I could have trailed one of them and forced her screaming into one of Advocate's traps. Again and again until nothing was left except the part of her I gripped.

The next room was a furnace. The heat began to rise, so I left.

The little girl Josie began following me. Two years my senior and still a little girl. She fumbled, she could not keep silent as she tried in vain to stalk me. She thought she was being clever. I could have turned around, caught her before she could even turn. I would have put my thumbs in her mouth and torn out her cheeks. Thrown her to the ground and stomped on her forehead until it caved.

We moved through rooms. None were important. None were clever. None topped the first.

A beast made from the flesh of others doomed to live in pain and suffering stop stop it stop you are killing yourself stop it

Finally, reached the entrance to the room. "Josie." I said before entering.

I talked briefly to Graves. She left. The building exploded. Dia was on the ground. Burning was too good for her, so I dragged her meat through the rubble. No easy ways out for anyone.

And then Shady. Messages are important, so I made mine. I plunged my blade into the same spot she had driven hers. I twisted and bent it in the wound of my leg. No pauses this time. No recovery. I will kill while hobbling if need be. I will hunt and bleed at the same time.

When I knew she had learned her lesson I left.

14 bodies have been added since then.

And much fun was had.

The bitch. The bitch the bitch the bitch!

She fucking STABBED ME. STABBED ME.

Iamgoingtokillyoushady.everythingyouhavesuffereduntilnowhasbeennothing.


You will know that I was being merciful.