Looking back on my past few posts, it’s clear that some amount of that familiar inevitability from other blogs is creeping into my writing. To those who come after me, know that this is not me losing hope. This is me preparing for the worst.
I do not plan on dying this week. I do not plan on being taken. I am going to fight with every fiber of my being until I either end the Tall Man, or until I am ended by it.
I’ve already chosen my weapon. My father has an axe down in the shed for cutting firewood. I don’t know how well it will work against an unknowable being that mocks angels, but it will do.
That’s where I’m going to make my stand: at the place I know best, the place I love. The lake has been with me for as long as I can remember. I can think of no better place for my victory, or for my defeat.
Cassia just texted me. She just got out of church, and the others tormenting has only gotten worse since I stopped going. It’s taking all my willpower not to rush to her aid, but she has to be able to stand on her own, in case I’m gone forever after Saturday. I can’t help her.
Not until I finish this.