First Day of Festival Week
12:31 AM
It's All About Grasping the Idea
Today was the first day of Festival Week in my hometown. All of the people come together in a sort of sad attempt to reclaim whatever it is they think they lost throughout the year; an entire state full of people back-peddling on their mistakes. It can be fun to watch in that twisted sort of way that sitting on a bench in a mall and chuckling to yourself as the huddled masses of over primped, over distracted teenagers desperately try to fit in with each other is fun.
I guess I can't really say that I was an exception to the rule a few years ago myself, but I have this very festival to thank for that.
Before I regale you with that tale though, let me take a step back and really get to the heart of things. You know, shit can be dark sometimes. Not the kind of dark where you are skulking along in car with all the lights shut off like you are trying to keep from being found in the midst of whatever unscrupulous act it is you do and you fail to see a dog as it darts out in front of your car and you cry for days after you hit it. Not that kind of dark, not any physical kind of dark. More like the metaphysical kind. The kind where you find yourself laughing like I do at the poor souls and their endless meandering. The kind of dark that he is. Now, when I say he, I am not really all too sure if he is any distinct gender or not, but we all seem fit to call him a he, some of us even call him father. I think you nice folks here on the internet have adopted a rather finely blunt name for him in "The Slender Man," or "Slenderman," or whichever side of that pointless argument you stand on.
Before I regale you with that tale though, let me take a step back and really get to the heart of things. You know, shit can be dark sometimes. Not the kind of dark where you are skulking along in car with all the lights shut off like you are trying to keep from being found in the midst of whatever unscrupulous act it is you do and you fail to see a dog as it darts out in front of your car and you cry for days after you hit it. Not that kind of dark, not any physical kind of dark. More like the metaphysical kind. The kind where you find yourself laughing like I do at the poor souls and their endless meandering. The kind of dark that he is. Now, when I say he, I am not really all too sure if he is any distinct gender or not, but we all seem fit to call him a he, some of us even call him father. I think you nice folks here on the internet have adopted a rather finely blunt name for him in "The Slender Man," or "Slenderman," or whichever side of that pointless argument you stand on.
It was a few years ago on the same day as today, and perhaps that makes my nice little date up there a bit pointless but that is up to you, and I was walking around the festival grounds smiling. I had just broken up with whatever flavor of the week I had called a girlfriend and I was free to enjoy myself however I pleased. I had a wad of cash and a plethora of gluttonous things to blow it on. It was a nice little stroll I was having, the sun was out, the sky was blue as a chemical fire and it was a crisp 40 degrees. It even took a long time for me to realize I was alone, and for me back then, that was quite the feat. I ambled around behind one of the various overstuffed buildings, hoping to regain my bearings. Right about the time I did, I looked up and noticed the sky was much darker than it had just been. It was as if I had been walking for ages, ages that all passed in a single instant.
In front of me was a long, grey street, much like the ones you see slapped together for intense shots in horror flicks, and at the end of it was this tall, dark figure. It wasn't all that startling to me at first until I realized its striking resemblance to some of the pictures I had seen online. I tried to scream but the vacuum of the darkness sucked it up. Before I could even muster the thought to attempt it again, an action I now seldom think would have worked anyway, I was enveloped in his grasp. It felt as though he had a million hands, all holding me down as the blankness of his face sunk deep into my memories, and my sanity slipped ever so slowly away from me. Like pulling teeth, every bit of the human aspect slipped away one painful thread at a time. As he let me go he fainted a smile, with whatever muscles reside behind the tight flesh I imagine.
Ever since then, I see him from time to time, we communicate in a way that I can not describe in ways that give it justice, and he asks me to lead people to him, or watch over them. I don't know why I listen to him, I feel as though I am compelled to, by what I have no idea.
Today was just a watching day though, so I did what I always did until he instructed me otherwise, I watched the poor people of this town like some kind of twisted hawk, a messenger of something... something that was not, as the idiom goes, peace.
I have a feeling I will be talking to him tomorrow.
I have a feeling I will be talking to him tomorrow.
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