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The Day the War Began Ch. 2 Pt. 2We spent a little while walking around the outskirts of the gorge, finding many paths into it; none of which were safe. "Alex, I'm tired. Can's we stop here for the night?" Sera complained. "No. We keep going," I answered over my shoulder. "Let's at least hike back to the rocky path." I heard Sera sigh and Seth chuckle. I walked the half-mile back around to the unsafe route down the smooth rock faces and sat, pondering the thought of how we were going to make it into Hell without killing ourselves. "I have nylon ropes in my pack." Ryan said after a while. I stood up and grabbed his pack off of his back. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" I huffed. Ryan shrugged and took his pack back from me, opening the side pocket and pulling out about a hundred feet of nylon climbing ropes. "This should work..." I thought aloud, looking down the rock face. "It won't hurt to try." Seth laughed. "Alright, then. Seth," I started. "We'll hold the rope taught, and you climb down first." I pushed
The SlendermanDon't speak...
He might hear you.
He might see you.
He might read you like an open book.
The man with no face; the tall, slender man that has been haunting me for years, and many more to come, has killed my family. He has taken my children, killed my wife...without reason. I vowed to get revenge on him, and now that day has come. I've sought him out, writhing black tendrils and all, to kill HIM. No, that's not what I'll do...I'll take away everything that was important to him, as I walk into the woods on a foggy, starless night. As these thoughts run rampant through my head, I get a glimpse at something running...something familiar. I turn around and see what no one man could live with: the man without a face. The slender man. The most horrifying sight though, was of the entity behind him: an entity without a face, one with the same black suit but smaller. Then I realized, "that's my son." The Slenderman took my son, and made him into a monster. I breathed
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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