So, Joey told you all then. I haven't been flushing the pills down the toilet. I've been selling them.
I know. I know. It was stupid of me. It was irresponsible... but do you have any idea how hard it is to just survive like this? I haven't been home in seven years. I've been running from a monster that can raise the fucking dead for seven years. Any money I had with me in the beginning ran out a long time ago.
Seven years ago, I never would have imagined that I'd be reduced to this. I've sold crack, I've stolen, I've prostituted myself... All so I can just make a bit of money. Enough for gas and food and rooms... When those pills started showing up, I realized that they were a goldmine. I had a full bottle for every hotel or motel we checked into, the high they give is a state of perfect peace, and they hook you with only one dose, but the withdrawal is over with within a week. It's the kind of drug I could easily make some money off.
In the end, it all came back to bite me in the ass. So now I'm sitting in some cheap-ass motel room with an amateur bandage wrapped around my leg-- a leg that's turning black and growing number with each passing hour. I can't go to a hospital. I'll get deported. They might even connect me with everything I've done over the years.
On the bright side, I've had lots of time to think. After everything that's happened, things are finally starting to make sense. We were going to die, but both the Slender Man and the Archangel intervened. Why?
It's obvious: they didn't want us dead. At least, not yet.
This is really the reason I'm on Joey's account right now. He asked me to type this. The story I told him: back in California, I was driving down a road when a hooded man in a gas mask suddenly leaped onto my windshield. He started banging his fist against the glass, and I slammed on the breaks, sending him tumbling off.
Then I floored it, and ran right over him. About five minutes later, I heard pounding on the car's roof. I slammed my breaks again, and once again Gas Mask tumbled off my vehicle.
When I got to LA, I stopped to inspect the damage. There was a message scratched into the paint: "you have been chosen." There was also a scrap of paper that had been duct taped there. This blog's URL was written on it.
That's how I found Joey's blog. The Archangel led me here.
When Joey was high, he ranted about how "we are all pieces." I understand now. Archangel and Slender Man are playing some sort of Grand Game against each other, and me and Joey are the pieces on their game board. We don't know the rules. We can't know the rules. No human can ever sit in the player's seat.
We are all pieces. Since this all began-- probably sooner than that-- we've been dancing to their tune.
...Judging by my leg, I won't be dancing much longer.