Not a Dream

I haven't posted anything lately, and I'm sorry. I just thought that maybe, just maybe, everyone else was right. Maybe Dom never existed, which means that she never disappeared, which in turn means that I never went crazy and ended up going to a mental institute where I escaped with the help of a very convenient fire.

But I saw him again. I know I said earlier that I couldn't see anything but a silhouette in the smoke, but I know that he's the same person that I saw yesterday morning. He certainly fits the height requirements.

He was just waiting across the street from the school, standing just inside the cover of the trees. By way of explanation, there's a forest across the street from our high school that connects to the city park and the golf course. The science teachers usually use it for all their nature-based lessons and labs.

I can't seem to recall his face, but I know that he stood out to me because he was wearing a full suit. Black jacket, black slacks, black tie, and a bright white shirt. And he was freakishly tall. I must've stared at him for a full minute before the teacher threw a book at me (a small paperback, not a full textbook). My fault, really; I hadn't answered the question he'd asked yet.

Anyways, I'm back on the investigative trail. Seeing this guy just standing there set off the urge to find Dom again. If I find anything out, I'll post it here.

Nobody, signing off.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Before I explain what's been going since Wednesday, you have to understand that I live in a relatively small town. We don't have a mental institution, so our hospital generally takes care of anyone with mental issues unless it's too severe to be handled without the help of a specialist from outside.

Anyways, after the little episode last Wednesday, I was taken to the hospital to see the doctor, and after their initial interrogation and check up, I ended up having to wait for a psychiatrist from a different clinic to arrive. When he did finally get there, he wasn't all that interested in me. He was much more interested in why I wanted to find Dom's journal.

Thinking back, I should've passed it off as a joke gone too far. The psychiatrist decided that I needed to be brought to his clinic, some two hours away, for some more serious evaluation throughout the weekend. By about nine that night, I was there in my own little room, no belt or shoelaces, wearing an itchy, papery white outfit.

The psychiatrist kept asking me the same questions throughout Thursday and Friday, all of them about the journal and who Dom was. I kept telling him the same thing, but he never seemed quite satisfied with what I had to say. I was told that I would need some medicine, or I'd be kept there indefinitely.

Which brings me to Saturday. I was given my first pills to take, and they must've figured that I'd be good and do as I was told. They didn't stay in the room and watch me take them, so I just copied the movies and hid them in a hole in my mattress. I was starting to look for a way out, because I was not going to sit in that room for the rest of my life and just take whatever they gave me like a fricking lab rat.

Turns out I didn't have to do much searching. At about eight o' clock (yeah, shortly after the post by 'asmodeus'), the fire alarms went off. All of the electric locks were released, so I was able to get out. It felt like I walked right into a wall of heat. With the smoke stinging my eyes, I couldn't really see much, and I was in too much of a panic to think to hit the ground. You see, I was on the second floor, and hadn't been paying much attention to where my room was in relation to the fire exits or stairwells.

I must've inhaled too much smoke, or something, because I rounded the corner and saw...well, I don't know what I saw, honestly. It was a silhouette of a man, had to be at least seven feet tall, and he was just standing there with his head cocked. I had the impression that he was looking at me, and I was overpowered by a feeling of intense nausea. As I started to wretch, the smoke must've been playing tricks on me: it almost looked like he had grown six spindly arms. Then I fainted.

I've tried to explain what happened next, but I just can't: I woke up at home, in my own bed, in my own clothes, and instead of smoke, I smelled like petrichor (rain falling on dry ground, I believe). I asked my parents about the fire and the clinic, but they just laughed it off as a nightmare. They'd forgotten the incident like everyone else had forgotten Dom.

Something really strange is at work here. Nobody, signing off.

..

Have a match,

Little Lion.

Don't look back.

I will only

Help you once;

Keep that in mind.

The next time

You end up caught,

You will be

Responsible

For your own

Escape efforts.

SHHEEWIASNATLSIHVEER
REHEVASNACUOY

Impossible

You're probably not going to believe me, but I've run into a very...interesting...problem in getting my hands on Dom's journal: no one seems to remember that she ever existed.

I talked to my teacher about getting the journal, and she just stared at me like I'd asked her what the average flight speed of an unladen swallow was. When I tried to remind her of the few occasions on which Dom had really stood out in class (adding accompaniment to poetry readings with her guitar, or when her phone went off during class, offensive ring tone and all), she started to look really worried. Eventually she called the counselor, and lo and behold, he didn't remember Dom either.

As you might guess, I was a little freaked out, so I just ran to her locker and tore it open. There was nothing there. No text books, no assignments, not even one of the pictures she had taped to the inside of the door. There was only a slip of paper inside.

I'll take a picture and upload it later; I've gotta go now. They still looking for me in the hallways.

Nobody, signing out.

No Luck Yet

Well, it seems this 'asmodeus' prick isn't saying any more. I don't know how he (or she?) hacked Dom's account, but if I ignore him/her/it, he/she/it should go away. I'm not going to let some stupid hacker distract me from finding Dom.

What could distract me, though, is sleep deprivation. For the past few nights I've been getting up at least once for no apparent reason, and then once more because of some dream that I can never remember come morning. Last night, for instance, I suddenly just popped awake at 3:33 (yes, specific time; it's a wierd semi-OCD thing I do) without any real cause. At 4:30 I was awake again, sweating and scared like I haven't been since I was little. If it happens again tonight, I'm going to write down the dream immediately, so I know what it is in the morning.

It occurs to me that Dom might've mentioned something in her English journal about why she left and where she was going. Not likely, I know, but I've got to check it out, just in case. As far as I know, she never picked it up after the last time she turned it in. I'll ask my English teacher if I can have it. In the meantime, please let me know if you see Dom or someone that looks like her.

Nobody, signing out.

.

You'd best run

Little Lion.

The Hunter

Is Watching you.

IDSOEMERYUONUS

Please Help

I've spent most of the weekend running around town asking anyone if they've seen Dom. According to both of her parents, she holed herself up in her room on Monday night, and they only thought to check and see if she was okay when I showed up and asked if she was there. A few things were missing from her room; a couple of blankets, her backpack, and a small picture of the two of us.

If anyone's seen her, please, let me know. She's about 5'5", Caucasian, blonde hair, and blue eyes. She was last seen wearing a red hoodie with an Operator symbol on the chest and hood. She'll probably have an overstuffed Death Note messenger bag with her. We've got the police looking for her now, but since it's been a week, she's probably long gone, so I'm really relying on anyone out there who might've seen her.

Any help is appreciated. Please, help me find her.

Day Four Out the Door

Three days of writing have passed, and I'm already behind schedule. I blame my plot.

It's a book about a guy who's got some sort of virus in him that's trying to take over, but he's coping with it by painting. Until the feds take his girlfriend, of course, because they think she'll have the virus, too (spoiler: she does), and they basically want to dissect her and figure out how it works. They don't go after the main character because he's either A) too strong, B) not there when they invade his house, or C) some combination of the two. Stereotypical 'save the girl' quest begins.

My problem is that I'm no good with the filler parts of the story. I want to get the plot going, get the story moving, but the last time I did that I was told that the pacing was way off and I needed to slow down, do some build up.

But, I digress. Still no word from Dom, and I'm starting to get a little worried. I'll go by her house later tonight (after I've got my words done) and see if she's sick or something.

Nobody, signing off.

November

It's finally November. Though I'm sad to see Halloween go, I'm anxious for the launch of Halo: Combat Evolved Anniversary. National Novel Writing Month has just started today, and I'm less anxious about it than suffering a sense of dread. The day is already half over and I haven't even written a single word, let alone started the Word document. ...this does not bode well.

Sadly, Dom isn't here to see me ripping my hair out; she's not in school, and hasn't been answering my texts. Apparently, she's taking it to extreme lengths to avoid me. Well, this post should get her attention, if she's still checking out the blogs: when we started it, she wanted me to refer to her in a gender-neutral fashion (part of that paranoia about the internet that I mentioned earlier), so outing her as a girl should get her either angry enough to bitch me out in person or at least delete the references to gender in this post. Here's hoping I know her as well as I think I do.

Nobody, signing off.