No...it will never be goodbye. I know that someday I'll come back...whenever you need me, I'll come back.
But Tim and I...if Tim chooses to go, then we both will. I have a promise to myself. My sister is alive, somewhere out there, and I need to find her. I...ever since I saw my father again, I've told myself it was me. It was my fault that they're all gone. But if this is true...if she's alive, I have another chance. Maybe...maybe I can have a better life. Maybe I can escape from all this...maybe...
I don't want to leave my family behind. No, my heart stays with them. If anything happens, I will come back to protect them. Just, for now, I need to find out these things I've buried inside. I need to know myself before I try to figure out why this is all happening. Once I've figured things out...I can come back...But my sister...
I'm tired and I can't write much. I know how little I've said on this blog since last month. Things have worked slowly, recently...just taking care of Little Lullaby is what we've done. I've grown distant...the Voices have grown stronger. I think I know them all, now...Things I keep hidden from myself, I am becoming aware of. Maybe I've always known my sister was still out there somewhere...I'm still not sure. I still don't understand myself sometimes.
I've told them about this. But...I need to go...Someday I'll come back...I know I will.
It's not goodbye yet.
-Trinity
Friday, November 18, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
//second?\
That was my reaction. Gawd! Why should it be so important? I mean, he's home now, right? So why should something that happened years ago bug my now? Ugh...I wish he hadn't told me that. But at the same time, if I found out later he hadn't, I'd probably be more angry than I am now! Am I angry? GAH! You see now, Ike, what I mean by confused? I can't even understand my own feelings!
At first it was the kiss part that got me. But...then...they dated, didn't they? I asked where, and he said (Tim said), "This girl...from school. She came and visited me in the hospital, and I guess she kinda liked me." Of course...So early after. If I hadn't pushed him off that bridge, if I hadn't left him behind to fuck up my life, that stupid dumb girl wouldn't have showed up. Wouldn't have stolen Timmy.
But...why? I never...I never kissed anyone while he was gone. When my eye got ripped out, no one ever saw me getting visited by boys! No one ever saw me betraying Tim for someone else!
Ugh...If Tim reads this...What would you do, Ike? If you found out the one person you never stopped thinking about, never stopped loving, kissed another girl when you were gone? Replaced you? Is it fair...to say he replaced me?
At first it was the kiss part that got me. But...then...they dated, didn't they? I asked where, and he said (Tim said), "This girl...from school. She came and visited me in the hospital, and I guess she kinda liked me." Of course...So early after. If I hadn't pushed him off that bridge, if I hadn't left him behind to fuck up my life, that stupid dumb girl wouldn't have showed up. Wouldn't have stolen Timmy.
But...why? I never...I never kissed anyone while he was gone. When my eye got ripped out, no one ever saw me getting visited by boys! No one ever saw me betraying Tim for someone else!
Ugh...If Tim reads this...What would you do, Ike? If you found out the one person you never stopped thinking about, never stopped loving, kissed another girl when you were gone? Replaced you? Is it fair...to say he replaced me?
//Change\
Lots have changed since Ronald and I first got here, to the Haven. Back then, we didn't call it that. I had called it our "safehouse" or just the place that we sleep, I think. Some of my memories seem to be wiped, or maybe just blurred, since my head keeps getting stuffed with more and more - so much happens each day, I feel like I might suffocate under all the action. It seems like years since we last had a day where we could truly relax. Sometimes I remember those days when I would sit outside on the swings with Timmy, or just try to teach Lullaby (or Dollmaker? I don't know.) how to play Checkers. I summon up those images of the first days I lived here with my Ladies, and how ice creams were my first meal choice. I admit it now, that I was kind of stupid, and more than kind of sheltered. I couldn't handle a gun back then, nor did I ever fight back. I would always tell myself I would, but it never happened when those times came.
The day that Ron died was the day things started to shift for me. Days grew longer, and I grew distant. I mean, it mattered to me that Timothy was there, although part of me still believed it wasn't really true. It's a lot to take in, I guess, when the boy you almost killed four years ago comes back and actually forgives you. And on top of that, the only true family you've ever known gives his life for you, and you could do nothing but watch. I suppose in a way I feel like I've sort of made it up to him, but I know there's a lot more I still owe my Brother. Giving up his life to save mine wasn't the only thing he did for me. He was also my Father. I'm almost certain now that he really did remember those years, which are still unclear for me...those years with my Mom and Dad, and our other Siblings that I couldn't ever conjure from my mind. He knew what they looked like, our Parents, because I think I remember him saying something about it once...Or maybe that's just my mind filling in the gaps.
Before we arrived...I don't even think I clearly remember those days much either. It's Probably just that I don't want to remember those days. They were so distant...Although...I read a few of my first posts on this Blog, and the dates show that I wasn't too long ago at all. Just months, I think. I don't feel like checking back now, maybe I will later. But those moments, in that Cage, are about as faded as the days Tim and I spent as children. Of course, I still know a few, like the times we sat by the pond sharing Butterfingers, or when me and him first met...I think that was the day we met, anyway. I was so little. I went to school, though, and I was probably in Kindergarten. Timmy would've been in first grade, right? I was playing alone with a ball...it rolled across the pavement and hit a little boy's leg. He had dark auburn-colored hair and bright eyes, which were narrowed at me when he stooped over to pick of the ball. There were a few more boys, who seemed giant, towering over me - little me, who smiled at the beautiful boy, as if hoping he wanted to play too. But instead he started shouting. No, not shouting, just scolding. In a sharp, harsh voice. So I started to cry...I ran away again, and didn't go back for the ball. Instead, I stayed hidden around a corner near the fire escapes and cried until my entire face was red and my eyes were puffy.
Maybe the next day, maybe a week from then, I was playing outside again. Alone, again. Without a ball this time, just kicking a bit at the ground and pushing strands of blond hair from my face. Someone must have tapped my shoulder, I think. No one was there at first, or at least I thought, until I looked up and saw the boy again. He was holding the ball, but I wanted to run again and go cry by the fire escapes. But I also wanted the ball. The boy with the shaggy hair smiled and gave me the ball. Said something nice, maybe apologized. He had a Butterfingers in his hand, and he gave me a piece. I smiled, too.
It's hard to think that little boy with the shaggy auburn hair, and the bright eyes, and the red ball could be this boy - sleeping right next to me, with a Butterfingers bar on the little desk next to his head. That happened more than fours years ago, and yet it's the most vivid memory of us I have. I don't think of it often, but when I do, I get a weird feeling when I look at Tim. Is it because his hair is white now? Probably not, but I know it's something. Sometimes I think about it, maybe too much, trying to find the reasons why I can't seem to see that little boy in him now. But wait...I think I get it now. That little boy on the playground...who got angry when the ball bounced too far...How could he have searched four years? A simple piece of a Butterfinger or a shy apology couldn't have changed that - could it? I don't remember falling in love with that boy from the first grade. Maybe I was just too young to realize what love was. But if it is him...I'm certainly glad that ball slipped from my hands, and landed at his feet.
Lately, I've heard Jubilee singing, further down through the trees, where I don't bother to go. She hasn't come to the garden, or even come close enough for me to distinguish her petite figure. Just close enough so that I can hear the sound of her flute, or the strumming of a lute, or her childlike voice carried through the soft breeze that ruffles my hair - which has grown at least a few centimeters (maybe an inch) longer since Shady and Mystery cut it short. When Ron and I lived in Father's building, they never gave us hair cuts. Still, some of the Siblings' hair was short and choppy, but maybe that was just how long it had grown, or maybe, since they were a higher status than me, they got hair cuts. Sort of like a luxury, I guess.
I suppose I don't mind the MASC men so much now. They did bother me, though, when they treated my family the way they did, and how they tried to hurt Dollmaker's (Lullaby's?) child. They seemed so narrow-minded, but they don't really bother me. At least some of them welcomed me back (and by some I mean two), but mostly they are silent to me and Tim, mainly talking to one another with hushed voices, or just stand around...doing whatever it is they do. I don't mind it much anymore. I prefer to talk to my returned Prince, and guard him, because who knows what's coming next for us? For all I know, Candle could return tomorrow for revenge, but probably not, since that would be a stupid move. I mean, Kobold is dumb, but Candle doesn't seem too ignorant himself.
Usually after an attack, most people would post their own perspective on how the whole event happened, but Candle already posted about it, so I figured I might as well just link him, and save my writing for something else. Reflecting, I guess. On not only how things have changed, but also...What am I reflecting on? My feelings? What I think about this fucked up life we all live, here in this forest, with a bunch of men with guns and talking dogs and psychic women and children who grew up in cages? I tell myself in times like these, "How hard can it be to process your own thoughts?" And to tell you the truth, I don't even have an answer. When I say it like that, I truly start to believe it. How can it be so hard to understand myself when I'm me? But it just is. There's no other way to say it, or at least, no way I can think of how to make it make sense. To me, or anyway. To be truthful, I'm not organized with my thoughts, or even my own feelings. I don't understand myself. I don't understand why I sometimes used to spend what seemed like forever out back by Ron's burial place, or why I killed my family, or why I'm so sensitive to myself and others. I make friends so often, and sometimes I think it's because I trust people too easily. I mean, so far, it hasn't gotten me into trouble, but what about Ronald? What about the trust my Ladies put in him, and after all this, he tried to kill them? What if that happens to me?
Sometimes I just can't think properly without crying, like now. I'm glad Timmy isn't awake, or he'd be worried. He's kind of like me in that way. He worries too often, although I know I would be too if I saw him crying, or one of my Ladies or Lords were crying. But I know they wouldn't - not in front of me. They want to be strong for me. For us. The children. When I'm older, I'll be strong for them. For my niece, Lullaby, because she'll be child then, too, won't she? I'll be the grownup, who won't cry because I've got to be tough for her, for the little girl who looks up to me. I'll be her Lady, and I'll help protect her, alongside her Mommy and Daddy and the rest of her Aunts and Uncles. And if I make it far enough...If I have my own children, I know my family here at the Haven would do the same. Because that's what best friends do, right?
And one more thing. I had my first kiss today.
The day that Ron died was the day things started to shift for me. Days grew longer, and I grew distant. I mean, it mattered to me that Timothy was there, although part of me still believed it wasn't really true. It's a lot to take in, I guess, when the boy you almost killed four years ago comes back and actually forgives you. And on top of that, the only true family you've ever known gives his life for you, and you could do nothing but watch. I suppose in a way I feel like I've sort of made it up to him, but I know there's a lot more I still owe my Brother. Giving up his life to save mine wasn't the only thing he did for me. He was also my Father. I'm almost certain now that he really did remember those years, which are still unclear for me...those years with my Mom and Dad, and our other Siblings that I couldn't ever conjure from my mind. He knew what they looked like, our Parents, because I think I remember him saying something about it once...Or maybe that's just my mind filling in the gaps.
Before we arrived...I don't even think I clearly remember those days much either. It's Probably just that I don't want to remember those days. They were so distant...Although...I read a few of my first posts on this Blog, and the dates show that I wasn't too long ago at all. Just months, I think. I don't feel like checking back now, maybe I will later. But those moments, in that Cage, are about as faded as the days Tim and I spent as children. Of course, I still know a few, like the times we sat by the pond sharing Butterfingers, or when me and him first met...I think that was the day we met, anyway. I was so little. I went to school, though, and I was probably in Kindergarten. Timmy would've been in first grade, right? I was playing alone with a ball...it rolled across the pavement and hit a little boy's leg. He had dark auburn-colored hair and bright eyes, which were narrowed at me when he stooped over to pick of the ball. There were a few more boys, who seemed giant, towering over me - little me, who smiled at the beautiful boy, as if hoping he wanted to play too. But instead he started shouting. No, not shouting, just scolding. In a sharp, harsh voice. So I started to cry...I ran away again, and didn't go back for the ball. Instead, I stayed hidden around a corner near the fire escapes and cried until my entire face was red and my eyes were puffy.
Maybe the next day, maybe a week from then, I was playing outside again. Alone, again. Without a ball this time, just kicking a bit at the ground and pushing strands of blond hair from my face. Someone must have tapped my shoulder, I think. No one was there at first, or at least I thought, until I looked up and saw the boy again. He was holding the ball, but I wanted to run again and go cry by the fire escapes. But I also wanted the ball. The boy with the shaggy hair smiled and gave me the ball. Said something nice, maybe apologized. He had a Butterfingers in his hand, and he gave me a piece. I smiled, too.
It's hard to think that little boy with the shaggy auburn hair, and the bright eyes, and the red ball could be this boy - sleeping right next to me, with a Butterfingers bar on the little desk next to his head. That happened more than fours years ago, and yet it's the most vivid memory of us I have. I don't think of it often, but when I do, I get a weird feeling when I look at Tim. Is it because his hair is white now? Probably not, but I know it's something. Sometimes I think about it, maybe too much, trying to find the reasons why I can't seem to see that little boy in him now. But wait...I think I get it now. That little boy on the playground...who got angry when the ball bounced too far...How could he have searched four years? A simple piece of a Butterfinger or a shy apology couldn't have changed that - could it? I don't remember falling in love with that boy from the first grade. Maybe I was just too young to realize what love was. But if it is him...I'm certainly glad that ball slipped from my hands, and landed at his feet.
Lately, I've heard Jubilee singing, further down through the trees, where I don't bother to go. She hasn't come to the garden, or even come close enough for me to distinguish her petite figure. Just close enough so that I can hear the sound of her flute, or the strumming of a lute, or her childlike voice carried through the soft breeze that ruffles my hair - which has grown at least a few centimeters (maybe an inch) longer since Shady and Mystery cut it short. When Ron and I lived in Father's building, they never gave us hair cuts. Still, some of the Siblings' hair was short and choppy, but maybe that was just how long it had grown, or maybe, since they were a higher status than me, they got hair cuts. Sort of like a luxury, I guess.
I suppose I don't mind the MASC men so much now. They did bother me, though, when they treated my family the way they did, and how they tried to hurt Dollmaker's (Lullaby's?) child. They seemed so narrow-minded, but they don't really bother me. At least some of them welcomed me back (and by some I mean two), but mostly they are silent to me and Tim, mainly talking to one another with hushed voices, or just stand around...doing whatever it is they do. I don't mind it much anymore. I prefer to talk to my returned Prince, and guard him, because who knows what's coming next for us? For all I know, Candle could return tomorrow for revenge, but probably not, since that would be a stupid move. I mean, Kobold is dumb, but Candle doesn't seem too ignorant himself.
Usually after an attack, most people would post their own perspective on how the whole event happened, but Candle already posted about it, so I figured I might as well just link him, and save my writing for something else. Reflecting, I guess. On not only how things have changed, but also...What am I reflecting on? My feelings? What I think about this fucked up life we all live, here in this forest, with a bunch of men with guns and talking dogs and psychic women and children who grew up in cages? I tell myself in times like these, "How hard can it be to process your own thoughts?" And to tell you the truth, I don't even have an answer. When I say it like that, I truly start to believe it. How can it be so hard to understand myself when I'm me? But it just is. There's no other way to say it, or at least, no way I can think of how to make it make sense. To me, or anyway. To be truthful, I'm not organized with my thoughts, or even my own feelings. I don't understand myself. I don't understand why I sometimes used to spend what seemed like forever out back by Ron's burial place, or why I killed my family, or why I'm so sensitive to myself and others. I make friends so often, and sometimes I think it's because I trust people too easily. I mean, so far, it hasn't gotten me into trouble, but what about Ronald? What about the trust my Ladies put in him, and after all this, he tried to kill them? What if that happens to me?
Sometimes I just can't think properly without crying, like now. I'm glad Timmy isn't awake, or he'd be worried. He's kind of like me in that way. He worries too often, although I know I would be too if I saw him crying, or one of my Ladies or Lords were crying. But I know they wouldn't - not in front of me. They want to be strong for me. For us. The children. When I'm older, I'll be strong for them. For my niece, Lullaby, because she'll be child then, too, won't she? I'll be the grownup, who won't cry because I've got to be tough for her, for the little girl who looks up to me. I'll be her Lady, and I'll help protect her, alongside her Mommy and Daddy and the rest of her Aunts and Uncles. And if I make it far enough...If I have my own children, I know my family here at the Haven would do the same. Because that's what best friends do, right?
And one more thing. I had my first kiss today.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
//Update - Sir Thighpiece\
I apologize for my lack of posts. We've been a bit busy lately. Yes - we. I've made a...friend? I'm not really sure what to call him. And her. But never mind that...I'll explain it all later.
I want to start where I left off - right after the fight with Kobold. Pain gripped every inch of my body. I even thought a few bones had been broken from being flung against trees by that giant man-beast. He sort of reminds me of a dog...but not the cute kind. I mean more like those big bulky ones that won't stop barking and lunging at you. The ones that you back away from, even if they're behind a fence.
Anyway...After that...I just started to cry. I could hear Threnody saying something behind me, but her voice was soon replaced by another. Less low, groggy-sounding. This one was new - sharp like a prick of a thorn, sort of scraggy like an old woman's.
"Well, well. I guess it's my turn now, huh?"
At first it sounded like it was to my right...but as I listened carefully, I noticed that the sound was shifting in all different directions. Almost like Jubilee's did when she was bouncing around the garden, but not quite the same. My eye (eyes?) was blurry with tears, so as I looked about in search of this new voice, all I could really see was green blended with brown - blue blended with white, and bits of red here and there.
"My name is Sybil. Perhaps one of the others mentioned me?"
Yes. They certainly did. And now I could tell she wasn't like Jubilee, because as I wiped my eye, and finally caught sight of the raggedy ginger-headed woman, swinging her emaciated legs up in one of the trees, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. I knew she wasn't real, and so I started to doubt reality.
"They mentioned you, yes. So what are you, then?"
"What do you think, Carol?"
"You are me, I'm not stupid."
Sybil laughed like a maniac, then hopped down to circle me, as if examining me.
"I don't have much to work with here, do I? It's a shame...I was hoping you'd know less. The more to corrupt, hmm?"
"Insanity, I'm guessing. Just looking at you screams it at me. No wonder I'm feeling a bit crazed."
"Ohh! Feeling the crazies, Thatcher?! That's a good sign!"
"I know how to work with you. I've felt you before, when I was stupid. I'm not now, you know. I can work with your shit, and you can't do anything about it. You can't touch me, hurt me. Only if I let you."
After that, Sybil disappeared. I gotta say, I'm still quite proud of myself for that. I know I never could have done that before all this. I was actually expecting some Voice of Pride to show up, but thankfully, none did.
The feeling of accomplishment wore off, and again returned the frustration. I mean, I know I should've taken all the stress like a big girl and just pushed on...But no. I stayed and shot at some trees until I ran out of ammo and instead starting chucking rocks at the old shack.
Apparently I passed out after that. I can't really remember much after the rage fit, just waking up in soiled clothing and knotty hair. Figuring I should clean myself and at least eat something, I made myself get up and walk all the way back to the motel. People gave me some pretty weird looks on the street. I guess they just weren't accustomed to seeing little girls stumbling around like they're drunk, and looking like they've just been mugged.
When I got there, I expected the manager of the place to put up a better fight when I asked for a room. I don't know if it was just me, but would you really not question a twelve-year-old girl trying to rent her own room? Without an adult? Shouldn't there be a rule for that? But I guess it was good for me, though.
Took a shower, didn't bother washing my ripped, stained clothes, so I just threw them out, then flopped over on the bed and passed out.
"Good Morning!"
I woke up. And...oh my god. There. In my room. A giant Saint Bernard, TALKING. And on its back...is that FATHER?! In a casual get-up?! Oh, no, it's just some anorexic tongueless guy. This is definitely a dream.
Sorry, Trina, It's not.
I passed out again.
His name is Sir Thighpiece. I found that out when I woke up again. A tongueless emaciated man riding a giant talking dog is a lot to take in, right? Wouldn't you have fainted, too?
I decided to listen to what they had to say. The dog told me she merely "translated" for Thighpiece, since he couldn't speak. They were here to help.
"Okay. That's great, but can you explain to me why the hell you can speak? You're an animal, no offense..."
Apparently, neither of them know. Their memories were wiped. And what does that mean? No answers. But at least they were here to help!
The dog (I've decided on Betty) told me they were sure they knew where Candle had taken Timmy. Good news, I suppose. So we drove there, confirmed it, and decided on waiting until tomorrow to come get him.
So...Sorry for the blunt post. We've been working on a plan - Sir Thighpiece, Betty, and I. But I promise, when we get Timothy, there will be a story to tell. And an ice creams party to be had.
I want to start where I left off - right after the fight with Kobold. Pain gripped every inch of my body. I even thought a few bones had been broken from being flung against trees by that giant man-beast. He sort of reminds me of a dog...but not the cute kind. I mean more like those big bulky ones that won't stop barking and lunging at you. The ones that you back away from, even if they're behind a fence.
Anyway...After that...I just started to cry. I could hear Threnody saying something behind me, but her voice was soon replaced by another. Less low, groggy-sounding. This one was new - sharp like a prick of a thorn, sort of scraggy like an old woman's.
"Well, well. I guess it's my turn now, huh?"
At first it sounded like it was to my right...but as I listened carefully, I noticed that the sound was shifting in all different directions. Almost like Jubilee's did when she was bouncing around the garden, but not quite the same. My eye (eyes?) was blurry with tears, so as I looked about in search of this new voice, all I could really see was green blended with brown - blue blended with white, and bits of red here and there.
"My name is Sybil. Perhaps one of the others mentioned me?"
Yes. They certainly did. And now I could tell she wasn't like Jubilee, because as I wiped my eye, and finally caught sight of the raggedy ginger-headed woman, swinging her emaciated legs up in one of the trees, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. I knew she wasn't real, and so I started to doubt reality.
"They mentioned you, yes. So what are you, then?"
"What do you think, Carol?"
"You are me, I'm not stupid."
Sybil laughed like a maniac, then hopped down to circle me, as if examining me.
"I don't have much to work with here, do I? It's a shame...I was hoping you'd know less. The more to corrupt, hmm?"
"Insanity, I'm guessing. Just looking at you screams it at me. No wonder I'm feeling a bit crazed."
"Ohh! Feeling the crazies, Thatcher?! That's a good sign!"
"I know how to work with you. I've felt you before, when I was stupid. I'm not now, you know. I can work with your shit, and you can't do anything about it. You can't touch me, hurt me. Only if I let you."
After that, Sybil disappeared. I gotta say, I'm still quite proud of myself for that. I know I never could have done that before all this. I was actually expecting some Voice of Pride to show up, but thankfully, none did.
The feeling of accomplishment wore off, and again returned the frustration. I mean, I know I should've taken all the stress like a big girl and just pushed on...But no. I stayed and shot at some trees until I ran out of ammo and instead starting chucking rocks at the old shack.
Apparently I passed out after that. I can't really remember much after the rage fit, just waking up in soiled clothing and knotty hair. Figuring I should clean myself and at least eat something, I made myself get up and walk all the way back to the motel. People gave me some pretty weird looks on the street. I guess they just weren't accustomed to seeing little girls stumbling around like they're drunk, and looking like they've just been mugged.
When I got there, I expected the manager of the place to put up a better fight when I asked for a room. I don't know if it was just me, but would you really not question a twelve-year-old girl trying to rent her own room? Without an adult? Shouldn't there be a rule for that? But I guess it was good for me, though.
Took a shower, didn't bother washing my ripped, stained clothes, so I just threw them out, then flopped over on the bed and passed out.
"Good Morning!"
I woke up. And...oh my god. There. In my room. A giant Saint Bernard, TALKING. And on its back...is that FATHER?! In a casual get-up?! Oh, no, it's just some anorexic tongueless guy. This is definitely a dream.
Sorry, Trina, It's not.
I passed out again.
His name is Sir Thighpiece. I found that out when I woke up again. A tongueless emaciated man riding a giant talking dog is a lot to take in, right? Wouldn't you have fainted, too?
I decided to listen to what they had to say. The dog told me she merely "translated" for Thighpiece, since he couldn't speak. They were here to help.
"Okay. That's great, but can you explain to me why the hell you can speak? You're an animal, no offense..."
Apparently, neither of them know. Their memories were wiped. And what does that mean? No answers. But at least they were here to help!
The dog (I've decided on Betty) told me they were sure they knew where Candle had taken Timmy. Good news, I suppose. So we drove there, confirmed it, and decided on waiting until tomorrow to come get him.
So...Sorry for the blunt post. We've been working on a plan - Sir Thighpiece, Betty, and I. But I promise, when we get Timothy, there will be a story to tell. And an ice creams party to be had.
Monday, September 26, 2011
//fucked up\
That's what I did. I fucked up, big time.
There he was, I had him right there the whole entire time, and I let them get away - again, with Timothy. God, I don't know why I messed up like this. I shouldn't have messed up so badly!
I tracked them down to the motel. Apparently, they already checked out...Tim wasn't going to be there anyway, but I figured maybe I'd find some clue as to where this "safehouse" was going to be found. And I did. I couldn't get into their room...The guy at the desk kept eyeing me really weirdly, probably wondering what a little girl was doing roaming around the lobby, looking under desks and coaches, right up until the point where I was asked to leave. Damn, I thought that was going to be it.
But on my way out a saw a crunched up piece of paper, just around the corner of the building. It was written for a Kobolt - the man working with Candle. Or at least I assumed, seeming as it pretty much implied that with his name written at the top, like a homework paper or something (I've learned a lot; I'm not sheltered anymore.)It said something like, "Take this many steps to the right, this many to the east-" etc, etc, etc. I can't really look back to tell you the exact words, as I'd thrown it away as soon as I'd reached the broken down shack-like structure halfway in the middle of the woods. God, this guy must be huge, because I literally had to take three times the amount of steps this way and that to finally reach the place.
But when I saw it...I somehow just got this feeling I was right. I got out my gun, and slowly tiptoed inside, anticipation sending shutters through me until I was practically having convulsions of nervousness. No one was inside, and it was small, so I spent what seemed like forever searching the place for something - anything! And then I found it. A small trap door right underneath my foot. But I couldn't pry it open. Luckily there was a whole forest behind me, where I found one gigantic tree limb and pulled open the tiny wooden door, which led to a stairwell, and down to the figure of a man...and Tim.
I couldn't help it! I called down to him, distracting who I thought to be Kobolt, and pretty much lured him up onto the first floor of the safehouse. God...Timothy's hair is white! White! I didn't get it.
"What did you do to him?!" I screamed at the man, holding out the gun like I owned the place. "Why does he look old?!"
"An experiment or something," He replied. He probably knew it was me, so I started shooting at him.
He charged right back, full force, like some angry bull on one of those videos Ron showed me before. So strong, huge, compared to a tiny pre-teen like me. I got him in the arm once, the force of each shot making me want to topple over like a bowling pin. And when he knocked into me, just like a giant cannon, I was pushed up into a tree. My eyes strung - or rather, my eye - and the rest of me just plain hurt like hell.
And that's when he came. Candle. He knew he'd fucked up, just like me, leaving the man-bull with Timothy alone. He probably didn't find me to be such a huge threat to his idiotic "plan" when they started out. I keep thinking, "What do they want with him anyway?" But I still don't have an answer. And I didn't think right then was a good time to ask. So I kept shooting.
Then...I don't even know what the hell happened. They got away somehow. The throbbing in my...everything, distracted me. I have no idea how I let them get away with him. I didn't even get to say goodbye, no, nothing to him at all.
So Sybil came to visit. No wonder. I'm pretty fucking sure I've gone completely batshit crazy on this epic adventure anyway. But I don't really mind. I've changed a lot, haven't I? Looking back at my older posts...how small and unknown I was back then. I thought things were...so damn happy all the time. Well, they're not. And if I had the chance to go back in time and teach myself these things, I would.
Oh Ron. God, Ron, why can't you be here now?!
There he was, I had him right there the whole entire time, and I let them get away - again, with Timothy. God, I don't know why I messed up like this. I shouldn't have messed up so badly!
I tracked them down to the motel. Apparently, they already checked out...Tim wasn't going to be there anyway, but I figured maybe I'd find some clue as to where this "safehouse" was going to be found. And I did. I couldn't get into their room...The guy at the desk kept eyeing me really weirdly, probably wondering what a little girl was doing roaming around the lobby, looking under desks and coaches, right up until the point where I was asked to leave. Damn, I thought that was going to be it.
But on my way out a saw a crunched up piece of paper, just around the corner of the building. It was written for a Kobolt - the man working with Candle. Or at least I assumed, seeming as it pretty much implied that with his name written at the top, like a homework paper or something (I've learned a lot; I'm not sheltered anymore.)It said something like, "Take this many steps to the right, this many to the east-" etc, etc, etc. I can't really look back to tell you the exact words, as I'd thrown it away as soon as I'd reached the broken down shack-like structure halfway in the middle of the woods. God, this guy must be huge, because I literally had to take three times the amount of steps this way and that to finally reach the place.
But when I saw it...I somehow just got this feeling I was right. I got out my gun, and slowly tiptoed inside, anticipation sending shutters through me until I was practically having convulsions of nervousness. No one was inside, and it was small, so I spent what seemed like forever searching the place for something - anything! And then I found it. A small trap door right underneath my foot. But I couldn't pry it open. Luckily there was a whole forest behind me, where I found one gigantic tree limb and pulled open the tiny wooden door, which led to a stairwell, and down to the figure of a man...and Tim.
I couldn't help it! I called down to him, distracting who I thought to be Kobolt, and pretty much lured him up onto the first floor of the safehouse. God...Timothy's hair is white! White! I didn't get it.
"What did you do to him?!" I screamed at the man, holding out the gun like I owned the place. "Why does he look old?!"
"An experiment or something," He replied. He probably knew it was me, so I started shooting at him.
He charged right back, full force, like some angry bull on one of those videos Ron showed me before. So strong, huge, compared to a tiny pre-teen like me. I got him in the arm once, the force of each shot making me want to topple over like a bowling pin. And when he knocked into me, just like a giant cannon, I was pushed up into a tree. My eyes strung - or rather, my eye - and the rest of me just plain hurt like hell.
And that's when he came. Candle. He knew he'd fucked up, just like me, leaving the man-bull with Timothy alone. He probably didn't find me to be such a huge threat to his idiotic "plan" when they started out. I keep thinking, "What do they want with him anyway?" But I still don't have an answer. And I didn't think right then was a good time to ask. So I kept shooting.
Then...I don't even know what the hell happened. They got away somehow. The throbbing in my...everything, distracted me. I have no idea how I let them get away with him. I didn't even get to say goodbye, no, nothing to him at all.
So Sybil came to visit. No wonder. I'm pretty fucking sure I've gone completely batshit crazy on this epic adventure anyway. But I don't really mind. I've changed a lot, haven't I? Looking back at my older posts...how small and unknown I was back then. I thought things were...so damn happy all the time. Well, they're not. And if I had the chance to go back in time and teach myself these things, I would.
Oh Ron. God, Ron, why can't you be here now?!
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
//bye bye Haven\
I found him. No...no, I didn't find him. Not yet, at least. But I will, soon enough. I've been searching for him, for Timothy, and at last! I found it...A blog, belonging to someone named Candle...There it is, clear as day. It even mentions his name...
This is a message to you - Lucas, Shady, Mystery, Lullaby, Dia...all my Ladies, all my Siblings. I've left the Haven, but not forever. Well, maybe, if that's how long it takes to get Timmy back. Listen...you probably don't find my decisions very practical. Neither do I right. Not really. But Timothy spent four year, four whole years just trying to find me. Carol Thatcher. The one who tried to kill him. Well now it's time for me to find him. Because, like I always say, I hate feelings helpless.
Lullaby, you're probably wondering where your $30 went. Sorry, but I had to...um, borrow it, for a while. I promise I will pay you back once I return. Actually, though, at first I was thinking of only taking $20. You know, as a joke...But I figured that really wouldn't help much.
I hadn't told any of you this yet, but I've been hiding a gun in my room. It used to be Ron's. He taught me how to use it once, and told me only to take it when I really need it. I'm going to assume this counts.
So where am I going? Remember when I used to work for the Siblings, for Father? They called me a Coder; I hacked, downloaded information. I was pretty good at it. So it didn't take much time to track down what computer Candle's posts came from. Some motel, not far from here. That's my first destination. I'll look around the place - hell, I might even break into their room and rummage around in there for a while. I just hope I'll find something that might tell me where they're keeping Timmy.
My Ladies...expect phone calls, blog posts and messages to let you know I'm okay. Please don't let those MASC men come after me. I have to do this. I love Tim. More than anything. Dia...he is my Prince. The one who forgave me, came for me. Now, it's my turn to come for him.
This is a message to you - Lucas, Shady, Mystery, Lullaby, Dia...all my Ladies, all my Siblings. I've left the Haven, but not forever. Well, maybe, if that's how long it takes to get Timmy back. Listen...you probably don't find my decisions very practical. Neither do I right. Not really. But Timothy spent four year, four whole years just trying to find me. Carol Thatcher. The one who tried to kill him. Well now it's time for me to find him. Because, like I always say, I hate feelings helpless.
Lullaby, you're probably wondering where your $30 went. Sorry, but I had to...um, borrow it, for a while. I promise I will pay you back once I return. Actually, though, at first I was thinking of only taking $20. You know, as a joke...But I figured that really wouldn't help much.
I hadn't told any of you this yet, but I've been hiding a gun in my room. It used to be Ron's. He taught me how to use it once, and told me only to take it when I really need it. I'm going to assume this counts.
So where am I going? Remember when I used to work for the Siblings, for Father? They called me a Coder; I hacked, downloaded information. I was pretty good at it. So it didn't take much time to track down what computer Candle's posts came from. Some motel, not far from here. That's my first destination. I'll look around the place - hell, I might even break into their room and rummage around in there for a while. I just hope I'll find something that might tell me where they're keeping Timmy.
My Ladies...expect phone calls, blog posts and messages to let you know I'm okay. Please don't let those MASC men come after me. I have to do this. I love Tim. More than anything. Dia...he is my Prince. The one who forgave me, came for me. Now, it's my turn to come for him.
I love you all.
Wish me luck.
-Trina
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