He was a prick and walking across a rickety bridge. He looked over the side so I flicked on a river full of bodies. He doesn't know who they are, never does, incapably of it, so he passively walks across. The highlight of this was one of the, erm, "bridge bits" snapping like they do in the movies. He did that by thinking it would. He was still a knob jockey by the time he'd got across so I opened one of the doors and scarpered back to my Room.
This isn't a friend's joke, he hasn't got any. This isn't a hacker's take over bid, who'd care about a blog with four followers? This is Anthroagast = Anthro[human-like] x agast [shock] + gast[spirit] = Anthroagast.
Thats what the Boy called the feeling of seeing a monster. That sick twisted feeling of seeing a mockery of humanity, that torn mental state of knowing you can not fight or take flight. Where you can only cower frightened because that's all it wants you to do. That feeling of your soul being sucked out through your senses. He loved to make up words, he named everything. The Boy was a genius! He's dead now. I didn't do enough.
Do you want to read a story?
Sure you do!
Once upon a time there was a Boy and he's dead now. I didn't do enough. But before that the Boy was chased by that horrible old fairy named Bonnywillow.
Bonnywillow chased the Boy all through the willow wood, until the Boy turned and cried, "Why do you stalk me day and night?"
"..." was the reply.
Bonnywillow chased the Boy all through the willow town, until the Boy turned and cried, "Why do you grasp at me with your many hands?"
"..." was the reply.
Bonnywillow chased the Boy all through the willow house, until the Boy turned and cried, "Why do you take those I love from me? I have done you no wrong!"
"..." was the reply.
So the Boy took to his willow crafted bed with a terrible illness, with only Bonnywillow for company. After many days without food or water the Boy began to see things that were not true, such as his long dead brothers, who would offer him goblin fruits, or his young love, masked by bandages and an uncanny look, writing sigils on his ceiling.
At last Bonnywillow entered the Boy's willow mind. The Boy ran! Ran and ran and laughed at that old fairy!
The Boy was smart, and knew that Bonnywillow would catch him soon enough, so as he ran he tore bits of himself off and molded them into little men. He called them his Shacklers. He set them to task as little builders of a labyrinth, each with as much material and means as they wanted, all they lacked was time. Many many Shacklers were made, many many were destroyed along with what they had built. Bonnywillow, at first, took these events in his stride, but soon his rage rocked the narrow passage-ways. The further he went into the labyrinth, the more he showed his true self, until he was more dragon than fairy. There was so little time!
The Boy sat at the centre of his mind, now a incomprehensible puzzle, and asked for his most favoured Shacklers to help him build a machine.
"This machine," announced the Boy, "will make a brand new me, who will not know the meaning of strange shapes, or the fear of cold water."
"But what of you? Where will you be then?" called out the first and most scarred Shackler, who's heart pumped flame.
"I will be here with you. I have no place outside." aired the Boy, smiling, but with a twinge of sadness.
This satisfied them all, so they set to work. With the best of the Shacklers occupied much of the labyrinth fell. The rumblings of Bonnywillow could be heard throughout, he was sure, so sure, that he was coming close to his illusive prey! His measured steps became a stride, his stride became a sprint, his sprint became many legged leaps!
But just as he came upon the gathering the machine fired up, whizzing and clanging! Out of it a new boy appeared, fresh and empty of any knowledge!
Bonnywillow looked about for the Boy, but saw no one. He grasped only his own head this time, lolling so it was, as if it were about to fall off! He stamped his feet and rolled across the floor, quietly cursing at everything there ever was, then up and vanished with a crackling pop!
It's said Bonnywillow is still out in the wider world, looking for the clever Boy, but he never found him. And that his how you can stop him, if you are so inclined. The Boy is dead now. I didn't do enough.
God damn it I'm writing too much, I've just never been able to do this. Take a smoke break.
The spineless wanker, who I will not grant a name, woke up and crawled down and into the kitchen, where he drank from the tap and ate whatever was left, weeks old cake mix, stuff like that. Shortly after the neighbours, who I can only guess where somehow blocked from the whole thing since they were an okay pair, turned up and rang for an ambulance, all that jazz. He was basically what you'd call a feral child, but being soft as washing he picked up talking, reading, writing etc. fairly well, but he never got around to body language and social cues. You might have noticed.
The parents of the Boy were somehow decided to be neglectful, oh yes, they'd definitely left this dumb kid on his own for months. I bet they were fraudsters and living it up in Spain! The brothers were hard on their mental cogs I bet, but since they were all sixteen and above they must of run off ages ago because of the bad treatment.
You've got to understand, I was fine with the prick running us into the ground. If the Boy was okay with this guy living a hermit's life, then so was I. But the Boy killed himself on November 5th. I didn't do enough, I should of made him more things, I should of made better things. I should of loved him more. He's dead now. I didn't do enough. So heres the deal, I'm going to run things now. I'm going to do things differently. The story didn't end happily, we're no where near the end, not any more. Hiding didn't save the Boy. So, I'm going to call the monster back for another round. I've had time to think, I have plans.
For now I can only take the helm when that empty headed ponce rolls a one, for one day, and even then only if I can make it to the door fast enough. But I will find other avenues, I am the eldest, I know this place better than them, I built most of it. They can't stop me.
This is Anthroagast.
