I'm not sure what I'm to write about, I mean, I logged on to rant about an attempt to ruin the Nova (and kill me, of course) and I get the story of Zero vs Slenderman in a plethora of variations. That sentence is probably messed up, but I'm still shaken.
Anyway, two days ago, the goddamn Solstice that so many bloggers thought to be some grand event, I decided to play it as safe and possible and stay on the move through the entire night. I readied enough caffeine to make an elephant fly into space, and I mean caffeine, not coffee. I got a good night's sleep during the day, just in case. (At a college dorm. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to convince someone, that you were partying with them the night before).
Anyway I', driving through the middle of Nowhere (Nowhere, Illinois, I guess, but I could be wrong and it could be Nowhere, Missouri) and some guy on motorbikem not even a proper chopper, just a speeder-thing, drives onto the road in frot of me and stops. I break like crazy, and hear a cople of thunks on the floor behind me. I notice the old man's sledgehammer was hidden beneath the front seats, and it's head is covered with black stains. My mind goes immediately back to the idito on the road, his bike now facing me.
Then I hear two more, behind me, MX's I think. All three drove up slowly towards my car. I just knew they were the remaining "party poopers". What I did then was not nice.
I started up the car and accelerated, ramming the guy in front of me. The ones riding cross bikes sped towards me, so I pulled the handbrake. They flew and I never saw them before. As horrible as it is, they were the ones my conscience is reminding me less about.
I got out of the car, holding the hammer, ready to strike. I found him under his bike, cover in blood, eyes wide open, looking at me with eyes full of both hope and terror. He was from the party.
"I don't want to do what he says... I don't wanna..." he muttered. Tears mixed with blood on his face.
"End... me..." he asked.
I trembled. This one wasn't a threat. I had no need to strike, but that sad gaze of his had me glued to the spot. I just stood there, twitching, glancing in every direction, expecting to see Slendy, or the cops... or both. And this guy is there, under his stupid racing bike, begging me to terminate his existence.
I finally fixed my eyes on his face and I kept standing there, staring at him, wondering, was he Slendy's victim, or somehow mine.
And he begged me.
And I crushed his head on the pavement, immediately covering his corpse with puke.
I wrapped him up in some spare clothes and shoved him in the trunk. I drove around all day after that, buying a enough trash bags (or a big enough one) to contain the carcass and a shovel to bury it.
In the evening I finally got it. I drove to some lonely bit of road, drove off of it went a couple of miles and started to dig the grave. All the time I felt uneasy, but in a different way. When I finished digging and turned to the car to get the body, I understood.
The fucking Slenderman was standing next to the trunk, staring at it.
He noticed me and, I don't know, phased, I guess, to the other and of the car, still staring at where the corpse was.
I opened the trunk, took out the body, threw it in the hole and started filling it, casting glances in Slenderman's direction every now and then.
And he just stood there, watching.
Sad burial, really, just the two guys that killed him.
When I was done Slendy faced me. I gripped the shovel with all my strenght and he just disappeared.
I got in the Nova and drove out, rays of dawn hitting my windshield (or some other poetic shit). I dropped into a motel, fell asleep as soon as I entered the room and I woke up irregularily, if frequently, to cry my ass off and puke some more.
I hate bile.
And here I am.
I may begin to hate myself soon.