Sunday, July 10, 2011

Thirtieth Post.

Decided to take a walk back to the house to clear my head, found something again. Just starting on the shortcut I found a box just sitting there, a dull, stained, cardboard box. A crimson ribbon tied around it to dress it up as well. I kneeled down and unwrapped it, let me say this now... If you're squeamish you shouldn't read any further. I intend to describe to you the picture still burned within my mind.

This latest present from Prosper was alarming. I opened the lid and found it bare minus three things. Within the center of the box was a human tongue, kept in place by two pins that had red balls on the top of them. There isn't a doubt in my mind this thing was still considered fresh... Just a couple hours old. On each side of the tongue was a tooth, glue into the box to remain stationary. Canines from a person, same person most likely. The box was stained with blood, the tongue and canines even were covered still. I shuddered then and I shudder now writing this finding. Flipping the lid I found written in blood, "THIRD DEATH" and beneath was a smiley face, again. I brought back the box to the mansion and photographed it (No, I will NOT post these, I think I'll be banned for even trying), showed Mystery who was disgusted to put it mildly.

She offered to try and contact the deceased owner of these body parts (god that sounds awful), I appreciated the notion but honestly... If this is what Prosper did to whoever, it being most likely worse than what he left me, I doubt the deceased would want to come back. I think they'd want to be as far away from the living as long as he was walking around here. Didn't want to kick their grave after whatever they went through.

Saw Prosper's post too. I can't say I fully follow what he means, you know... Lack of a memory will do that to ya. But the victim I'm guessing is female by the poem he used, from what he has said ("Would you hurt for the one that hurt you?") I guess it's safe to assume this person played the role of a bully of sorts in my past. I don't really know how I feel about this other than confused and anxious. I can't feel hurt for someone that did me harm that I don't even remember, but I can't feel nothing for someone Prosper is killing while pointing the blame at me.

I've come to this conclusion: Prosper, I hate you. I hate your blurred face from my memory/dream, I hate your mask, I hate your voice, your everything. I hate you for being a pawn, for murdering people, for fucking with the people I care about. I hate you for fucking with my mind, for torturing my body. Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Prosper? I'm going to string you up and just leave you there. Not do a thing, because I'm better than what I must have been, surely by now. So I'll let you rot on your own time when I catch you, and you can do your dance in the hell you created for yourself.

On that note, I'm burrying this box in the garden, deep in the garden. Got the shovel and everything set up, going the whole six feet. Hopefully this burial will bring some peace to the victim.

I'm sorry, whoever you were.

Information is coming.
Can't stop me now.

Stay safe,


  1. Hate me
    Just makes this all the sweeter

  2. Composure,
    you are losing it.
    You have forgotten,
    does not mean you cannot yet adapt,
    become what you are once again,
    and then more.
    Losing it,
    you are losing it,
    you are losing your composure.


  3. You two are really pissing me off. Prosper, you've been at it for a while now already. But Road Runner, whatever your deal is make it known already. I am sick and tired of all this cryptic bullshit, and if someone doesn't start fucking talking I'm going to start popping kneecaps with the shotgun.

    Oh don't worry, I won't kill you. Doesn't mean you won't be wishing it, though.

    Answers. Now.