First, music. It's a tune I'm sure you all know.
I'm writing this from the airport. I sold everything I own for a ticket. Getting past security was easy with no bags. I'm going back to England. I'm going home. I'm going back to the only thing I have left in the entire world.
My name is Jean Domremy. Last year I was a Freshman in college. I was taking classes, hanging out with friends, and living a blissfully ignorant life. Now I am nothing, I have nothing, and I'm only holding out for one person.
This last year I've seen most of my friends die. If they didn't die, they went crazy, or changed so much that they are no longer who they were. And I changed too. I'm far from the same person as I was a year ago. I had to change. My world has burned, just in time for the real world to follow.
There is nothing left in my life worth living for, but for Elsie. That's why I've got to stop this blogging shit. It's an addiction, it's a curse, and it spreads his name without doing anything for the writer. Sam's dead because of it. Kim's dead because of it. The Church doesn't have an agenda but for the Gentleman to win. And the Gentleman always wins. So I'm done with the blog. If I need to get a message out to you I'll find some other way to do it.
I miss the way it was. Even before everything went to hell it was almost kinda fun-- to be part of a group, discovering ~mysteries~. But looking back, I see how foolish I was. It was all part of a game. The masked men were only distracting themselves, having a little fun because they know the monster is coming. You can do whatever the hell you want, but it's only a distraction. It's always only a distraction. The monster has us where it wants us.
We lost Zero and Amelia, Ali and Nessa, Slice and Dice and Jekyll. We lost Schrodinger, and we lost Stella. I lost Fizzbomb and I lost Sam and I lost Kim. And Sam, I will find your mother. She will pay for everything she did to you, whatever little comfort that offers the dead. What little comfort is given by the blogs, even more is taken away. I lost friends at school and at home. I lost the family that took me in when I came to the United States. I lost friends I never got to meet.
I lost my mum and my dad and my brother.
See, what we don't see is that we've already lost. As they chip away at our lives and our relationships, they win more and more. We're going to be nothing, because all we have is each other. The Slender Man doesn't need people. It doesn't need anything to define it because we did that with only a name. Humans need villainy and friendship, kindness and cruelty, emotions, thoughts, feelings, to be close to the world, objects, relationships. And all he needs to win is a name. We gave him a plethora, and now we're drowning in his identity.
D'Arcis is right in what he does. He's got nothing to live for. He knows what happens after you die. It's worse than you can imagine.
Our lives belong to him. Our breath belongs to him. When we die, our spirit is his, and when we live, our fear is his. We run, and it pleases him. We are enveloped in his roots, speared on his trees, controlled by his strings. And we are screaming but he doesn't care. Why should he? We can't do anything to stop him, and the drums are getting closer and louder and faster. Why has he become more active? Destroying cities, killing more and more, spreading further?
The end is coming. He's bringing it to us. And he doesn't care about us. For him, it's as instinctual and habitual as crushing an ant or smacking a fly. He will break us, and he will kill us. He has broken me without having to kill me or even touch me. I am gone. I have no identity.
No. For this fleeting moment, it's not true. At this moment I don't belong to him. My life is my sister's life, and Sam's vengeance. At this moment, I am free. It doesn't matter, though. I'm not coming back to the blogs. It doesn't matter whether I rescue my sister or not, I can't watch anyone else die. I just can't. So I'm going to go back to England, and I'm going to try and rescue my sister. I'm going to find Sam's mother-- the monster-- and make some sort of revenge. Then I'll live until I die. That's all I can do.
So, my friends, I'm leaving. We'll meet again some day, if I need to contact you I'll be around. But I can't do this anymore.
So salvete, and valete, mi amicis.
Be strong and be safe.
I'll see you later.