Thirty Pieces of Silver

I've been walking these same streets for hours.

And do you know what I've concluded after mulling my thoughts over and over and over again?




You.


Redlight.


My DEAREST "Master".


My Tormentor and Personal Devil.










You. Are a Fucking Coward.












How long has it been, sweetpea?


How long since our little dance began? How long since I stood up against your idiocy, and you drove Hell itself into my mind and soul? How long since you raked your nails against and clawed INTO the deepest parts of me? How long has it been... since I told you to stop? Since I BEGGED you to stop? How long now...? My, my. Time sure moves fast. But isn't it ironic how the world turns?




Now. You're the One In A Cage.


Caught like a cornered Stray in the Grove.




Oh, you can snap your teeth and put up your hackles all you like....




But in the end... what can you really do?


What are you WILLING to do?


In your cage - your little SPIT of reality - you are SAFE, aren't you? And you're so afraid to take even a single step out. Even just one. Petrified. Because, when it comes down to it... all you are is a child, aren't you? A bratty child throwing a tantrum. Still so scared of the dark. That's all you've ever BEEN. You rant and scream and smash things when you don't get your way... but, my DEAREST old friend, do look around you now.


What good is a tantrum with no one to bear witness?


What good is a threat when it comes second-hand?


What good is all that RAGE when the only skin you can claw into... is that of your own palms?



You are a Coward.



You were no match for me, way back when. You had to DESTROY my mind just to be able to puppet me around. And even then... how many times did you lose control over me? How many times did I break free from your PATHETIC network? Five? Ten? More?


Good God, it sickens me to even think I let you get the best of me.



You. A rabid STRAY and nothing more.



Incapable of being human. And just not good enough to play the role of Monster.


After all, this world is filled with Monsters, isn't it? And how do you, a freak in a hoodie with delusions of godhood, compare? Heh. The Valtiels are just WAITING for the opportunity to put you on your own leash. Teach you some tricks like you tried to teach me...

Will you beg THEM to stop, I wonder?

But lets move on, shall we? The Wonders of Fear do not stop at the Valtiels, after all! The Choir would probably be able to drive you mad in a matter of minutes. The Rake would render you useless. The Plague Doctor? You'd be just another lab rat to Him. How about the Wooden Girl, maybe? No, Her strings FAR exceed your own. Like comparing steel wire to sowing thread.



And to The Slender Man?



What do you think, my dear?

He's been Watching you. Always has been. You know it just as well as I do. Watching you rise. Watching you pretend to be such a special little snowflake...

How long do you think... until he impales you on a tree branch? Anchoring you and your delusions forever to the Earth with all His other little play things. You know He's merely biding His time. And He has all the time in the World. Our Father. Our Great Tall One. Our True God~

This has gone on for long enough, don't you think? And I've already taken the liberty of accepting thirty pieces of silver, You Mangy Mutt.

Personally...  I think it's about time we Nailed You Up.



Do you think you'd Rise again? Hmm?



Or will you just ROT?! Putrid and gut-wrenching. Just another Man. Nothing more than a HOBO with a magic act.




Your time is coming.


I'm here, you little Rat.


Your title has always been too good for you. And, deep down, you know it don't you?



Had to cheat to beat me. A mere human.


Have to hide in order to survive. Oh, so fearsome, indeed.


Have to rely on mindslaves and half-wits to run your errands. And the ones that aren't half-wits....



They're going to betray you, my dear.

 

You are going to feel that blade cut through your spine. And you'll feel it, ever so soon. They're using you as a shield. A dummy to test for traps before they reach your prize, standing on your corpse to do so.

Don't deny it, love. Even you are capable of seeing THAT aren't you? Or is it still the job of your old jester to point out the obvious for you?


Poor thing.


You really are lost without Writer pulling your strings for you, aren't you?



Now, now. Don't you fret.


Your little game of Hide and Seek is almost through.




After all, I came back for a reason.




I'm the one who'll write your final chapter, Storyteller.

Prove Me Wrong.