Smiting the Gods

I’m not going to say that I don’t remember making the last post. Or maybe I should, just to see your reactions. Something like, “OMG guyz, i dont remeber writing that some1 must have haxxored my blog!!!1”
Do you think that would go over well with the audience?

It’s not that I don’t remember writing that post; I certainly do. Only I was under the impression that writing it had been part of a dream, not an actual act that took place in the real world. Telling the difference between those two is becoming increasingly difficult. I’m living through a constant stream of disconnected images, shifting from one to another without pause or warning. Did I really watch him dismember my family in their rooms? But I saw them the next day, alive. Which was real? Am I just hallucinating them walking around the house, going about their day, or was their death the reality? Both seemed real, as real as the feeling of me typing on this computer does now.

I’m fairly certain that seeing him walking around my house, like some kind of prison guard on patrol, was real. I’m equally certain that the time where I looked into a mirror, and slowly started to peel my face off, was a dream. But so much lies in confusion…. I remember waking up, and finding myself lying in the branches of a massive tree, one so large that from my location, neither top nor bottom could be seen. I must have spent hours there, before waking up again at home. It was something impossible, but it felt realer than most else I have experienced. Like the forest…. I keep seeing it, over and over. Always at night. The moon hangs low above it, lighting a path for me. The path is all that is lit; everything else around me is dark. Sometimes I walk towards it, following the cheerful whispers which come from inside, but the scene always ends before I go inside. I haven’t tried going into those woods in reality; even in this tired and confused state, I’m not stupid enough to do something to incredibly suicidal.

Then there was another of the waking dreams…. I was on the front porch, having a stare down with Slendy. I don’t know how I ended up in that situation; most of my days pass by unremembered, only a few highlights remaining with me. Given Slender Man’s lack of eyelids (or eyes at all), my contest was doomed to failure, but dammit I was going to give it a shot. After a while, the landscape around me grew blurry, less detailed. Even Slender Man became indistinct then; just a black and white blur. Then I heard a voice, shouting from inside my head, “Come on, Raskolnikov, man up for once!”
It felt like I was physically pushed forward, towards Slender Man. He looked confused at my sudden audacity, what probably looked like me charging forward at him. The two of us shared an awkward moment, before I blacked out again. Looking back, that would have been the perfect opportunity to try something on him…. Why do I keep letting these slip by me….

And the date. My computer tells me that it is the 23rd of December. That can’t be possible. It can’t have only been three days since I went into the countryside. I have seen the sun rise and fall far more than three times. But every morning, I look at the calendar, and it hasn’t advanced beyond the 23rd….

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