Buzz buzz buzz buzz.
Constant buzzing.
Not sure where it's coming from.
But.
It's there.
Buzz buzz buzzing away.
Like bees.
A swarm of bees.
Sounds like it's coming from outsidebXkgd2luZG93LiBIZSdzIHRoZXJlLiAgVGhlIHdpbmRvdyBpcyBvcGVuLiAgUmlnaHQgdGhlcmUuICBCdXp6aW5nLiAgQnV6emluZy4=
2011/06/26
2011/06/04
The Kids
I went to the house that night when they were screaming. I was afraid. I was mad. I was upset. I wanted to do something. So I went.
The lights were all out, save for one flickering glow of the television through the front window. I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I jiggled the handle and heard the click of the mechanism working, then felt the door swing open almost on it's own. I watched it hit the wall and heard the hallow, echoing sound go through the house.
Empty.
The place was empty. Nothing was there. It was like they had picked up and left, leaving everything as it was. I walked through, holding on to the top of my left leg, because after all I had ran there, and did my best of looking around.
Going upstairs, which took some interesting movements, might I add, I looked everywhere. Nothing really stood out. No one was there, of course, and I just kept looking as if something would pop up and give me an idea.
So I went to the kid's room.
And I found something.
Him.
He was standing in the back of the room, near the window. I just kind of watched him, eyeballing him and trying to figure out what I could do. The kids were gone. He was standing there, staring at something on the floor. I couldn't tell what it was, but it got his attention pretty good.
Then he looked up.
And I jumped.
And he turned.
And I didn't move. More so, I couldn't move.
He walked forward a single step, and I walked back a single step. He moved again, and I didn't move. And I watched him. Observed him. His chest puffed and sank like he took a breath, a shallow, short breath. Then, he moved his arm.
And I ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Then hobbled.
And he didn't chase me.
I didn't come back for a good amount of days. I'm not going back there.
But.
I wish I knew what got his attention.
Adieu,
Will
The lights were all out, save for one flickering glow of the television through the front window. I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I jiggled the handle and heard the click of the mechanism working, then felt the door swing open almost on it's own. I watched it hit the wall and heard the hallow, echoing sound go through the house.
Empty.
The place was empty. Nothing was there. It was like they had picked up and left, leaving everything as it was. I walked through, holding on to the top of my left leg, because after all I had ran there, and did my best of looking around.
Going upstairs, which took some interesting movements, might I add, I looked everywhere. Nothing really stood out. No one was there, of course, and I just kept looking as if something would pop up and give me an idea.
So I went to the kid's room.
And I found something.
Him.
He was standing in the back of the room, near the window. I just kind of watched him, eyeballing him and trying to figure out what I could do. The kids were gone. He was standing there, staring at something on the floor. I couldn't tell what it was, but it got his attention pretty good.
Then he looked up.
And I jumped.
And he turned.
And I didn't move. More so, I couldn't move.
He walked forward a single step, and I walked back a single step. He moved again, and I didn't move. And I watched him. Observed him. His chest puffed and sank like he took a breath, a shallow, short breath. Then, he moved his arm.
And I ran.
And ran.
And ran.
Then hobbled.
And he didn't chase me.
I didn't come back for a good amount of days. I'm not going back there.
But.
I wish I knew what got his attention.
Adieu,
Will
2011/05/25
My Back Porch
It is currently 10 o'clock at night, darkness has fallen, I'm sitting on the back porch of my place with my laptop on a TV dinner stand. I've been out here for three hours. Watching. There is a string of lights on above me, my computer is illuminating my face, and I can see maybe ten feet in front of me before it hits complete and utter darkness. Until, of course, it reaches the alley. There is a faint light there, and there is a man.
Bob.
Or, more so, The Slender Man.
I'm tired of pretending. I do know who he is. I've known since I was a kid. He killed my brother. He killed my parents. And now, he's following me.
I don't give him the respect that other bloggers do by calling him "Him" or "HIM" or those who do not even say his name, like he's the equal to Voldemort from Harry Potter. I call him what he is. The Slender Man. He doesn't have a name. He's tall, faceless, slim. That's it. The Slender Man is a perfect fit.
He isn't moving.
Is it a he?
Any matter, we've been observing each other for the past three or four hours now. I've been out here doing some research on other victims. I'm both bemused and upset at the number of people infected by this guy.
I don't know how to kill him, and frankly, I don't care. I mean, come on. From everything that happened, from the numerous places he's been, there's not a way we can stop him.
I'm in Virginia. There's a few of us here. But I also know that there are people in New York, Chicago, somewhere in Alabama, California. He's everywhere. Every. Where.
I just looked up, and he's gone.
Gone to do what, I don't know.
Gone to infect more, probably.
Gone to stalk more, yeah.
Left me alone, no. Not at all.
I like to tell people I lost my leg in a car accident. There is some truth to that, but not all. I lost it in an intentional car crash. I worked for the FBI for the longest time. I'm in my late thirties, worked there since I was in my twenties, started low and worked to a pretty decent job. I'm not giving you all of the nitty gritty details. You don't need to know that. However, it was the day I was going in for the interview to see if I was getting a promotion. I took a cab because at the time, my narcolepsy was keeping me from getting a licence (since then I've gotten the proper drugs and pulled a few strings and kissed some ass and said 'Oh pretty pretty please' but that's totally besides the point) and I was shuffling around some papers in the back seat. The cabbie was talking and singing at the same time, which was a trip. Neither of us were really paying attention.
Then he stepped off of the curb and in to the road.
The cabbie freaked out, spun the wheel, launching the cab in to oncoming traffic where we met a firey death.
Okay, maybe not death.
The car died.
Ambulances were called, people rushed, someone tried to pull us out of the cab. It was a blur of red and numbness. They pried the cabbie out of the car, but I was lodged in pretty well. The jaws of life pried the shit out of that car door, and they pulled me out.
Without my leg.
There went my promotion. Right out the window.
...children down the street just screamed. I'm going to ignore them.
So without my leg, and a nice long stay in the hospital, I...
...the children keep screaming. Oh god. I can't. Why isn't anyone else...
Fuck this.
Bob.
Or, more so, The Slender Man.
I'm tired of pretending. I do know who he is. I've known since I was a kid. He killed my brother. He killed my parents. And now, he's following me.
I don't give him the respect that other bloggers do by calling him "Him" or "HIM" or those who do not even say his name, like he's the equal to Voldemort from Harry Potter. I call him what he is. The Slender Man. He doesn't have a name. He's tall, faceless, slim. That's it. The Slender Man is a perfect fit.
He isn't moving.
Is it a he?
Any matter, we've been observing each other for the past three or four hours now. I've been out here doing some research on other victims. I'm both bemused and upset at the number of people infected by this guy.
I don't know how to kill him, and frankly, I don't care. I mean, come on. From everything that happened, from the numerous places he's been, there's not a way we can stop him.
I'm in Virginia. There's a few of us here. But I also know that there are people in New York, Chicago, somewhere in Alabama, California. He's everywhere. Every. Where.
I just looked up, and he's gone.
Gone to do what, I don't know.
Gone to infect more, probably.
Gone to stalk more, yeah.
Left me alone, no. Not at all.
I like to tell people I lost my leg in a car accident. There is some truth to that, but not all. I lost it in an intentional car crash. I worked for the FBI for the longest time. I'm in my late thirties, worked there since I was in my twenties, started low and worked to a pretty decent job. I'm not giving you all of the nitty gritty details. You don't need to know that. However, it was the day I was going in for the interview to see if I was getting a promotion. I took a cab because at the time, my narcolepsy was keeping me from getting a licence (since then I've gotten the proper drugs and pulled a few strings and kissed some ass and said 'Oh pretty pretty please' but that's totally besides the point) and I was shuffling around some papers in the back seat. The cabbie was talking and singing at the same time, which was a trip. Neither of us were really paying attention.
Then he stepped off of the curb and in to the road.
The cabbie freaked out, spun the wheel, launching the cab in to oncoming traffic where we met a firey death.
Okay, maybe not death.
The car died.
Ambulances were called, people rushed, someone tried to pull us out of the cab. It was a blur of red and numbness. They pried the cabbie out of the car, but I was lodged in pretty well. The jaws of life pried the shit out of that car door, and they pulled me out.
Without my leg.
There went my promotion. Right out the window.
...children down the street just screamed. I'm going to ignore them.
So without my leg, and a nice long stay in the hospital, I...
...the children keep screaming. Oh god. I can't. Why isn't anyone else...
Fuck this.
2011/05/19
2011/05/08
I redid the layout of my blog. The old one was nice, but it was a little half assed. So I browsed around and BOOM, new layout.
So, now that I'm done geeking out.
Nothing really strange has been happening. It's quiet and normal and things are going good. My rent is paid, my internet is paid off for the month, my job is going well, and things are nice.
No, I haven't gotten the papers out of the attic. Work has me out all the time. And when I'm not at work, I'm in therapy, expressing my "feelings".
Only, there's been this man. He's tall and always wears the same old business suit. I've seen him before, and lately, he's always been in my field of vision. When I leave the bar, he's there. When I go to therapy, he's there. When I look out my window, he's walking past. When I do anything, he's right. there. all. the. time.
I've called the cops, and they came over a time or two, looked around, shrugged and said there was nothing they could do since he wasn't there. And they left. I've stopped calling it in, and they've stopped caring. Oh, but this man keeps right on creepin' around.
And I don't even know his name.
I think I'll call him... Bob. Bob is nice.
Bob isn't around. Maybe it's because he knows I'm talking about him.
But I swear. I've seen him before.
Like... a few months back when I was going to therapy. He went in to my therapist's office and I was pissed. But when I went in, he was gone. Strange way of disappearing there, Bobbo.
And.
In Germany. With my grandparents. The woods. Wait... there's no way...
No. Of course not. God, I must need sleep.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
So, now that I'm done geeking out.
Nothing really strange has been happening. It's quiet and normal and things are going good. My rent is paid, my internet is paid off for the month, my job is going well, and things are nice.
No, I haven't gotten the papers out of the attic. Work has me out all the time. And when I'm not at work, I'm in therapy, expressing my "feelings".
Only, there's been this man. He's tall and always wears the same old business suit. I've seen him before, and lately, he's always been in my field of vision. When I leave the bar, he's there. When I go to therapy, he's there. When I look out my window, he's walking past. When I do anything, he's right. there. all. the. time.
I've called the cops, and they came over a time or two, looked around, shrugged and said there was nothing they could do since he wasn't there. And they left. I've stopped calling it in, and they've stopped caring. Oh, but this man keeps right on creepin' around.
And I don't even know his name.
I think I'll call him... Bob. Bob is nice.
Bob isn't around. Maybe it's because he knows I'm talking about him.
But I swear. I've seen him before.
Like... a few months back when I was going to therapy. He went in to my therapist's office and I was pissed. But when I went in, he was gone. Strange way of disappearing there, Bobbo.
And.
In Germany. With my grandparents. The woods. Wait... there's no way...
No. Of course not. God, I must need sleep.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/04/29
In the Attic
I finally got around to snooping in the attic. There's a lot of boxes and crap around. Old baby toys, old clothes my mother used to wear. The works. Pictures, but nothing really of importance:
This was some crates of Charles'. His old uniform bag is behind them.
Another box and a suitcase (but I think he used it as a briefcase?)
I think these are the names of the people who used to live in this house. David and Freddy? Not sure about last names, and frankly, I don't care. Nothing really big. I just thought some pictures would help with the "broader spectrum" of the situation.
As I was up there taking pictures (with that lovely crap of a camera on my iPod), I kept hearing strange noises. I'd hear creaking and cracking and banging coming from down the stairs. Though I'm pretty sure the creaking and cracking was me walking on the squeaky wooden floors and stepping in some old, crunchy leaves or wood shavings, but the banging was not me. I know that for sure.
A chill ran down my spine everytime I passed Charles' uniform bag, too.
I'll get around to sorting through the one box with the papers in it soon.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
Edit: I just looked back at a previous post; the boxes that were taken are still missing. They didn't really look important anyways. That old camera and some of Charles' personal belongings, like some pictures and his wallet and knick-knacks like that.
2011/04/12
Another Day
Went to therapy. Went to work. Went home. Attempted the attic again. Passed out again. Woke up a few hours later (and not days, thank god). I'm going to have to get me some different amphetamines ("I'm on speeeeed." - Dr. Wilson, House) or something.
I'm a narcoleptic. It's odd, but hey. For those who do not know: Narcolepsy is a sleeping condition where the person falls asleep in random places, doing random things, at random times. So all of my passing out must be due to the lack of sleep I've been getting.
Or I've been sleepwalking. I've had a history of that, and during that whole episode, my spells came around more often. Possibly just my body reacting to the lack of sleep.
I'm for sure getting a good nights sleep tonight. I have the day off tomorrow. I'm free of work and therapy for one glorious day. Attic cleaning, here I come.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
I'm a narcoleptic. It's odd, but hey. For those who do not know: Narcolepsy is a sleeping condition where the person falls asleep in random places, doing random things, at random times. So all of my passing out must be due to the lack of sleep I've been getting.
Or I've been sleepwalking. I've had a history of that, and during that whole episode, my spells came around more often. Possibly just my body reacting to the lack of sleep.
I'm for sure getting a good nights sleep tonight. I have the day off tomorrow. I'm free of work and therapy for one glorious day. Attic cleaning, here I come.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/03/23
What...?
I woke up today thinking it was February 15th, 2011.
...it's not.
On the 11th, my Internet was cut off because I hadn't paid the bill. It's hard to pay things when you don't have much of a job to go to. So I sold some things (a bike, old computer parts, a lot of things in my garage, some old baby toys in the attic) and I paid my Internet off for the month. Then I went about getting a job.
I felt followed the entire time. Then again, who doesn't when that thing is present in your life.
The 12th. Went to therapy, had a nice talk, went job hunting, didn't have time to get up through those boxes in the attic yet. I know, it's been forever. I need to get up there and work on them, though.
The 13th. Found a job and managed to talk the manager in to letting me work that same day. I'm glad I still know how to mix drinks, yeah? Bartending isn't such a bad job.
The 14th. I remember waking up, going to the attic, opening the first box I saw and finding a camera. It was an old camera and it took actual film. So I opened it.
It was black.
No pictures were on it, I guess. So I put it back.
Then... nothing. I assumed that I just fell asleep. It happens a lot for me.
So when I woke up today laying on the floor of the attic, I figured it was just a new day, the 15th.
It's March 23rd.
A few boxes were gone. Some stuff was scattered, but I only noticed the boxes that were missing. The camera was gone, and everything in that box.
So I have call my work, explain what happened (as best as I can) and get my Internet turned back on (I'm stealing from a neighbor right now).
I'll try to keep updated.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
...it's not.
On the 11th, my Internet was cut off because I hadn't paid the bill. It's hard to pay things when you don't have much of a job to go to. So I sold some things (a bike, old computer parts, a lot of things in my garage, some old baby toys in the attic) and I paid my Internet off for the month. Then I went about getting a job.
I felt followed the entire time. Then again, who doesn't when that thing is present in your life.
The 12th. Went to therapy, had a nice talk, went job hunting, didn't have time to get up through those boxes in the attic yet. I know, it's been forever. I need to get up there and work on them, though.
The 13th. Found a job and managed to talk the manager in to letting me work that same day. I'm glad I still know how to mix drinks, yeah? Bartending isn't such a bad job.
The 14th. I remember waking up, going to the attic, opening the first box I saw and finding a camera. It was an old camera and it took actual film. So I opened it.
It was black.
No pictures were on it, I guess. So I put it back.
Then... nothing. I assumed that I just fell asleep. It happens a lot for me.
So when I woke up today laying on the floor of the attic, I figured it was just a new day, the 15th.
It's March 23rd.
A few boxes were gone. Some stuff was scattered, but I only noticed the boxes that were missing. The camera was gone, and everything in that box.
So I have call my work, explain what happened (as best as I can) and get my Internet turned back on (I'm stealing from a neighbor right now).
I'll try to keep updated.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/02/10
Number Two
Under my windshield wiper, again. Wet blood. Sharpie. Computer paper.
They're right handed, from the pen marks, the way the lines curve. That's all I have. I've asked around my circle of friends, and no one knows about any of thise.
This is getting old.
Who ever is doing this shit, you better stop before I fucking find you, or else you'll be living the rest of your short life within a tiny, pine box, a mighty dark plot, with a mightly long drop.
William
2011/02/07
Found this.
On my car. Under the windshield wipers. Folded up.
I was approaching my car after a meeting with my therapist, and I was kind of worried about getting a ticket because I had parked in a "No Parking after Blah Hours" zone (and I was well past "blah" hours). So I saw this paper folded up on my car tucked beneath the windshield wipers. I thought it was a ticket, so when I picked it up, I saw it was this.
I'm not sure what it means.
William
2011/01/30
I don't know what happened on the 19th. I don't ever remember posting that. Did I?
I've been holed up in this house, going through some of the old rooms, finding odd things, but none of them really mattered. The attic is next. I'm afraid of going up there, because I don't know what I'll find. I haven't been up there since Charles died.
I was seventeen. He was twenty-four. Since he was actually born in England, he was allowed to join the Royal Air Force. So he did. He always wanted to be a pilot. Something about getting up high and in the clouds, a place where no one could touch him. He loved it.
It was his ninth flight that week. I don't know why he was so anxious to get up high. His commanding Lieutenant, Stephen Richmond, told him not to fly that day. Turbulence, I think it was. Besides, Charles was tired. Very tired. I had talked to him on the phone the day before, and he just sounded fatigued. He needed to rest, but his mind wouldn't let him. He wanted to get up in the air. Where he was safe.
Later that day, my mum got a call from Lieutenant Richmond. I was sitting in the kitchen listening to them talk. She started out quiet. Then, she started crying, reeling in to hysterics. I got up and took the phone from her, guiding her to a chair so I could talk with the Lieutenant. Yeah, sad enough, I remember that call.
He told me of the arrangements for his remains to be shipped here to us, where we could give him a proper burial. My mum was distraught for a long time after that. Gregory... wasn't fazed.
I... Gregory wasn't really a great father. He had detachment issues, and though he didn't show it, he... had quite a way of showing it.
Any way, the attic. Tomorrow.
But I'm wondering...
Should I start running? Like M says?
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
I've been holed up in this house, going through some of the old rooms, finding odd things, but none of them really mattered. The attic is next. I'm afraid of going up there, because I don't know what I'll find. I haven't been up there since Charles died.
I was seventeen. He was twenty-four. Since he was actually born in England, he was allowed to join the Royal Air Force. So he did. He always wanted to be a pilot. Something about getting up high and in the clouds, a place where no one could touch him. He loved it.
It was his ninth flight that week. I don't know why he was so anxious to get up high. His commanding Lieutenant, Stephen Richmond, told him not to fly that day. Turbulence, I think it was. Besides, Charles was tired. Very tired. I had talked to him on the phone the day before, and he just sounded fatigued. He needed to rest, but his mind wouldn't let him. He wanted to get up in the air. Where he was safe.
Later that day, my mum got a call from Lieutenant Richmond. I was sitting in the kitchen listening to them talk. She started out quiet. Then, she started crying, reeling in to hysterics. I got up and took the phone from her, guiding her to a chair so I could talk with the Lieutenant. Yeah, sad enough, I remember that call.
Me: "Lieutenant? It's Will. We've talked before. What's going..."
Richmond: "Oh, yes. William. Charles' brother, yeah? You see, something terrible has happened."
Me: "What happened to him?"
Richmond: (he heaved a sigh) "We think Charles didn't check his plane before he took off in it. His gas was low and the landing gear needed some repairs. It was odd, because usually he was the best at making sure his plane was always inspected and in perfect condition for flight."
Me: "It couldn't have been his fault, was it?"
Richmond: "We also think his gauges were malfunctioning. It was just a bad day to go flying. Everything that would or could have gone wrong did. I... am terribly sorry for your loss."
He told me of the arrangements for his remains to be shipped here to us, where we could give him a proper burial. My mum was distraught for a long time after that. Gregory... wasn't fazed.
I... Gregory wasn't really a great father. He had detachment issues, and though he didn't show it, he... had quite a way of showing it.
Any way, the attic. Tomorrow.
But I'm wondering...
Should I start running? Like M says?
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/01/19
2011/01/15
Interesting
Last night I had this dream.
It started out like... I don't know how to explain it. It was like I was remembering something in my past. Something that I clearly remembered. It started out with myself and my brother Charles, who was seven years my elder, sitting in our room at my grandparent's house in Germany. His house was right beside a heavily wooded area which stretched for a few miles in all directions. I never knew the exact measurements. But myself and Charles were curled up in the quilts on my bed, hiding within the sheets in our own personal cave, complete with a flashlight and a few sticks to ward off the monsters.
Charles was telling me the story of "Das Großmann", a tall man with long, multiple arms, who would hunt down bad children who would run away from home or disobey their parents. Das Großmann, known also as "The Tall Man", was a big, urban legend in Germany to keep the children from misbehaving. It worked pretty well. It scared the shit out of me when I was that young.
Anyways, after Charles told me the story, I refused to come out from under the covers, no matter how much he told me it was only a story, and nothing more. Not real. Fake. But I stayed under that blanket. So Charles thew the blankets off of us and shouted, "There is no such thing as Das Großmann! And I am going to prove it!" With that statement, Charles opened the window, climbed out (the house was one floor with a furnished basement), and ran in to the woods, deep in to the darkness. I jumped up, went to the window, and screamed after him to come back.
The whole time, I stood there and screamed and screamed and cried. My parents didn't hear me. They were sleeping. My grandmother, who was still awake at the time, rushed to my side, whispering something like, "William, was ist unrecht?" ("William, what is wrong?") I choked out, "Das Großmann," a few times and pointing at the window. Her face warped from concern to fear. She muttered something about him being a myth, that there was nothing to worry about, that Charles would be back soon, and that he was just going for some air. She muttered it so fast, like she was really afraid. She quickly left me alone.
He didn't come back for two hours. When he stumbled in the window, his clothes were bloody, his face was scratched, he was panting and he looked very distant. I hung on to him, refusing to let him go due to the fear of losing him for another two hours. He tried to pry me off a few times, but when he did, he avoided my eyes and undressed down to his underwear before climbing into his own bed, wrapping up in his sheets, and shuddering. I watched him for a while before he told me to close the window and go to sleep.
I was six; Charles was thirteen. He was never the same again.
That was the dream. Like... a flashback. I woke up with tears streaming down my face, my hands cold, clammy, shaking, my shoulders quivering, and a blistering headache with a sharp pain in the middle of my spine. I haven't cried in years. It was awful.
Again, I seemed to have moved again. I fell asleep in my bed and woke up on the couch. Either I've developed some form of sleep walking, without my plastic leg, or something strange is going on.
I'm going to do a little research.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
It started out like... I don't know how to explain it. It was like I was remembering something in my past. Something that I clearly remembered. It started out with myself and my brother Charles, who was seven years my elder, sitting in our room at my grandparent's house in Germany. His house was right beside a heavily wooded area which stretched for a few miles in all directions. I never knew the exact measurements. But myself and Charles were curled up in the quilts on my bed, hiding within the sheets in our own personal cave, complete with a flashlight and a few sticks to ward off the monsters.
Charles was telling me the story of "Das Großmann", a tall man with long, multiple arms, who would hunt down bad children who would run away from home or disobey their parents. Das Großmann, known also as "The Tall Man", was a big, urban legend in Germany to keep the children from misbehaving. It worked pretty well. It scared the shit out of me when I was that young.
Anyways, after Charles told me the story, I refused to come out from under the covers, no matter how much he told me it was only a story, and nothing more. Not real. Fake. But I stayed under that blanket. So Charles thew the blankets off of us and shouted, "There is no such thing as Das Großmann! And I am going to prove it!" With that statement, Charles opened the window, climbed out (the house was one floor with a furnished basement), and ran in to the woods, deep in to the darkness. I jumped up, went to the window, and screamed after him to come back.
The whole time, I stood there and screamed and screamed and cried. My parents didn't hear me. They were sleeping. My grandmother, who was still awake at the time, rushed to my side, whispering something like, "William, was ist unrecht?" ("William, what is wrong?") I choked out, "Das Großmann," a few times and pointing at the window. Her face warped from concern to fear. She muttered something about him being a myth, that there was nothing to worry about, that Charles would be back soon, and that he was just going for some air. She muttered it so fast, like she was really afraid. She quickly left me alone.
He didn't come back for two hours. When he stumbled in the window, his clothes were bloody, his face was scratched, he was panting and he looked very distant. I hung on to him, refusing to let him go due to the fear of losing him for another two hours. He tried to pry me off a few times, but when he did, he avoided my eyes and undressed down to his underwear before climbing into his own bed, wrapping up in his sheets, and shuddering. I watched him for a while before he told me to close the window and go to sleep.
I was six; Charles was thirteen. He was never the same again.
That was the dream. Like... a flashback. I woke up with tears streaming down my face, my hands cold, clammy, shaking, my shoulders quivering, and a blistering headache with a sharp pain in the middle of my spine. I haven't cried in years. It was awful.
Again, I seemed to have moved again. I fell asleep in my bed and woke up on the couch. Either I've developed some form of sleep walking, without my plastic leg, or something strange is going on.
I'm going to do a little research.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/01/12
Sorry
My internet failed for a few days. I don't even know if anyone is reading this blog, but hey, it makes me feel better to think that someone is actually listening to my ranting. But the thing that got me was that I just got the internet installed not too long ago. Last week, I think. So there would be no reason for it to fail, right? I had tried daily to get online to post something about my day (whoop-de-do) and it never let me connect. Now that I think about it, I probably should have typed it up on a Word Document or written it down on a piece of paper in a real journal. I think my laziness got ahead of me.
So I've been meaning to explain about my leg, right? Well, I don't know if I should. I know exactly what happened. No one else needs to know. That is my business and mine alone.
...sorry. I'm admittedly a little irritated right now. I haven't really slept too well the past few nights. Something didn't quite feel right in the house. Or maybe it was just me starting to get used to the solitude that came living in a house alone.
Tomorrow, I have therapy first thing in the morning. If anything strange happens, I'll be sure to write it down. Like, another instance with the disappearing tall man, per say.
Why did he bother me so much? I felt like I knew him or something. He was very familiar.
Well, tomorrow is a new day. I'll continue cleaning the house when I get back and go through my parent's old room. It hasn't been touched since they left. I bet everything would be covered in dust and all sorts of crap.
Oh well. All in a day's work.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
So I've been meaning to explain about my leg, right? Well, I don't know if I should. I know exactly what happened. No one else needs to know. That is my business and mine alone.
...sorry. I'm admittedly a little irritated right now. I haven't really slept too well the past few nights. Something didn't quite feel right in the house. Or maybe it was just me starting to get used to the solitude that came living in a house alone.
Tomorrow, I have therapy first thing in the morning. If anything strange happens, I'll be sure to write it down. Like, another instance with the disappearing tall man, per say.
Why did he bother me so much? I felt like I knew him or something. He was very familiar.
Well, tomorrow is a new day. I'll continue cleaning the house when I get back and go through my parent's old room. It hasn't been touched since they left. I bet everything would be covered in dust and all sorts of crap.
Oh well. All in a day's work.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/01/07
Therapy
My therapist was acting a little weird today. As I was walking down the hall of her office building, a tall man (I mean really tall. He had to duck a little to go through the door) dressed in black was walking in to her office. That kind of ticked me off, because that was my time to see her. Not his. Nuh-huh. So when I barged in (like every good ticked off cripple), the man wasn't there. Just my therapist, who looked up at me with that "What the fuck?" look on her face. And of course I was left there, leaning like the Tower of Pisa on my lovely cane, blubbering like a fish thrown on the river bank.
After being scolded for lack of manners, we got to business. That was when I noticed she was acting a little off. This is basically what went down:
And that was that.
Now, it's time for dinner - turkey on white. I am living the big life!
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
After being scolded for lack of manners, we got to business. That was when I noticed she was acting a little off. This is basically what went down:
Me: "What's wrong with you?"
Doc: "What is that supposed to mean?"
Me: "You're... acting weird. Kind of disconnected. And believe me, I know what disconnected looks like."
Doc: "I have no idea what you're talking about." (That tone was very defensive)
Me: "Does my therapist need a therapist?"
Doc: "Drop it. You are getting off topic. Now, about your therapy..."
And that was that.
Now, it's time for dinner - turkey on white. I am living the big life!
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/01/06
Errands
A day out on the town. That is basically all this was today. Around nine in the morning, my biological clock woke me up, but it left me feeling exhausted. But by noon, I was out of the house taking care of unfinished business and buying food for the week. Just simple errands. Nothing too extravagant.
I made it home by three in the afternoon, at which point I promptly took an hour long nap, but it only felt like five minutes. And it was strange, because I swore I had fallen asleep on the couch, but I ended up in my bed on the second floor, without my plastic leg. I mean, I take it off before any nap or if I am going to bathe or something, and I was sure I took it off before falling asleep on the couch. After hobbling down the stairs, sure enough, my leg was resting on the coffee table, right where I remembered putting it.
Well, there was no use dwelling on that. There was more important things to do.
About this house. A few years ago, long after I had left the house in the first place, my parents just up and left without any prior notice. All in the same day, they canceled the electricity, the cable, everything that was needed to keep the house furnished. They left the house in my name, but since the house was long paid off, I had nothing to do to keep it in my possession. Since that day, I heard not a word from either of them. It was like they dropped off of the face of the Earth.
Jeeze, where has the time gone? I did not get to go over what I needed to, but tomorrow is always another day. Therapy tomorrow, then some house cleaning.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
I made it home by three in the afternoon, at which point I promptly took an hour long nap, but it only felt like five minutes. And it was strange, because I swore I had fallen asleep on the couch, but I ended up in my bed on the second floor, without my plastic leg. I mean, I take it off before any nap or if I am going to bathe or something, and I was sure I took it off before falling asleep on the couch. After hobbling down the stairs, sure enough, my leg was resting on the coffee table, right where I remembered putting it.
Well, there was no use dwelling on that. There was more important things to do.
About this house. A few years ago, long after I had left the house in the first place, my parents just up and left without any prior notice. All in the same day, they canceled the electricity, the cable, everything that was needed to keep the house furnished. They left the house in my name, but since the house was long paid off, I had nothing to do to keep it in my possession. Since that day, I heard not a word from either of them. It was like they dropped off of the face of the Earth.
Jeeze, where has the time gone? I did not get to go over what I needed to, but tomorrow is always another day. Therapy tomorrow, then some house cleaning.
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
2011/01/05
Home is where the heart is?
It has been so long since I set foot in this old, run down house, that I had to stop and remember where everything was. The living room was rearranged, but my room upstairs was left unattended. A thin layer of dust covered just about everything with a surface, making me sneeze when I flopped on to my old futon (beds are for rich people). The water in my fish bowl was dry, and the fish was... dead, for lack of a gruesome tale. I emptied it out as soon as I saw it, giving him a one flush salute. Adios, flesh and bone remains of Castor the goldfish. May you swim with all the other fish in the... sky?
All of the stairs in this house was killing my nub of a leg. Yeah, I am missing everything below my left knee. It was torn off in a car accident I had about a year ago. The whole thing was just a bloody mess, sending me in to a week long coma. However, the coma was gladly accepted when I woke up and noticed I was missing something very important below the belt (the gutters is no place for a dirty mind). At least they had the audacity and common knowledge to remove it while I was indisposed. Thank you, kind nurses and doctors. I still hate you and your fetish for jamming needles into my flesh and veins.
If you haven't noticed by now, I am jumpy when it comes to topics.
As for the point of this blog, my therapist recommended I kept a journal of some sorts to "aid in the healing process". I didn't understand what the healing process was for, but anything to keep her off my white ass. But I refused the journal and settled for a blog. Welcome to the twenty-first century, bitches.
Well, it is a quarter past eleven o'clock (give or take a few minutes) and I have to be up bright and early to run some errands. Tomorrow is a new day, maybe a bright and shiny new post, and the possibility that I will talk about my missing leg (because, you know, people stare).
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
All of the stairs in this house was killing my nub of a leg. Yeah, I am missing everything below my left knee. It was torn off in a car accident I had about a year ago. The whole thing was just a bloody mess, sending me in to a week long coma. However, the coma was gladly accepted when I woke up and noticed I was missing something very important below the belt (the gutters is no place for a dirty mind). At least they had the audacity and common knowledge to remove it while I was indisposed. Thank you, kind nurses and doctors. I still hate you and your fetish for jamming needles into my flesh and veins.
If you haven't noticed by now, I am jumpy when it comes to topics.
As for the point of this blog, my therapist recommended I kept a journal of some sorts to "aid in the healing process". I didn't understand what the healing process was for, but anything to keep her off my white ass. But I refused the journal and settled for a blog. Welcome to the twenty-first century, bitches.
Well, it is a quarter past eleven o'clock (give or take a few minutes) and I have to be up bright and early to run some errands. Tomorrow is a new day, maybe a bright and shiny new post, and the possibility that I will talk about my missing leg (because, you know, people stare).
Adieu,
William A. Gordon
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