Attack

I always miss out on the fun.

The world spirals downwards towards hell, and I am treated as a sideshow. I read the blogs of others, and see the struggle, the fight, the glory, and what is the lot I receive? Slender Man does nothing but chill in the background. This annoys me. Rage is bubbling up inside of my soul, looking for some outlet that it can be released on. I am being treated as a simple victim; just another soul for Slender Man to break down and kill.
I wish I could shout my defiance towards him, and make some bold claim about my great feats fighting against him. But these great feats are nonexistent; all I have ever done was talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. I have talked about this monstrosity until I began to run out of words which I could use to speak of him.

Did he think that because of my words, I would be easy prey? That I was another weak chested fool who would immediately cave upon facing the reality of the things which I was spreading tales about? That I could be intimidated by just the threat of him?

I will be sure to rectify those mistakes he has made with all the speed I can muster.

The previous day, he appeared before me again. He stood across the street, next to a fountain covered by the shade of many trees. Of course my companions did not see his manifestation, and would express confusion at my actions, but their confusion can go and bugger itself. For this was the first time that Mr. Man had appeared close enough that I could attempt to make a throw at him, and view the results of my planned experiment. Since there tend to be very few “frickin’ huge rock(s)” in a downtown store’s parking lot, improvisation was needed. The trunk of my car was thrown open and its contents tossed aside so I could reach the tire iron located at the bottom. Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-


Déjà vu can be such an unpleasant feeling, can’t it?

The sixth time I grabbed the tire iron was when my mind finally pointed out the existence of the loop. Slender Man may have no face, but I could feel the smugness emanating off of him. With more force than I should have used, I returned the contents of my trunk and slammed it shut. When I looked back by the fountain, he was gone.


I don’t like being played with like this.

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