Friday, June 3, 2011

Well. It took longer than expected to get dear Seven to cough up the password to the blog, but I've got my ways. He'll be hurting for a while, but progress is progress.

It was too easy. He keeps a blog detailing his movements, lists his kills, and then over something as trivial as a mention that Jersey could use some help, off he goes, blowing the rest of his money on a first class ticket back home to NC.

The latter details, of course, were never posted here, but some basic detective work and a bit of torture got  that info out well enough.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Seven has been a fool. He fancied himself some sort of avenger, even if he was unwilling to claim a formal title in writing. Driven by grief and anger [which I say was little more than your everyday insanity] he embraced the life of a murderer, killing my kind for the "greater good" or whatever justice he was after.

He dared to dream that he could even go as far as to cut down the Tree.

Pride comes before the fall, children. Don't worry; I'll take good care of dear Seven.

He is, after all, still useful. Until I get ever last bit of information out of that pretty little brain of his, he'll be allowed to live. Terrible pain... but life.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Nothing yet. No requests, no tips, no "go here to meet your doom"s.
Waiting is shit. Even the proxies don't want to keep me company anymore.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Fallen

Is this really what we're reduced to, once He enters our lives? Killing, running, lashing out at anyone who tries to help; simply by being around those who are free from his grip we just endanger their lives.

Some little girl got killed just to strike out at Zero. An innocent in every sense of the word, booted rather abrubtly from this mortal coil just because some psychotic bitch wanted to hurt one of us. Us. That's a weird word right now...

Is there really an us, an Us? Sure, for the most part we're all fighting Him, but do we really have any allies? The last person who offered me help is now running around senselessly murdering people. Have we really fallen so far, that all we can do is kill and run? Seems like Zero's taking out those He has affected, part of some ploy to build a weapon... a tool? Meanwhile, dear Glassy has gone off the fucking deep end, and seems to be hunting down Zero, and anyone who so much as looks up to the guy.

And I... I don't even know anymore. I've only killed His, because they keep coming day and night, but at this point I don't see the line in the sand. How far of a step is it between killing one of them, and one of Us who marks me as an enemy? They all bleed the same.

I don't know the answer. I'm not even searching for it anymore. Maybe we're not supposed to kill the Slender Man. Maybe we're supposed to just mindfuck him out of existence by stopping to believe. Maybe if everyone who knows of Him dies, then he too shall vanish. Fuck, maybe if someone beats him in a game of chess he'll go off to sulk for a few centuries.

I don't fucking know. I don't really care. I don't have an Answer, but I've got a Path. I'll keep walking. I'll help when I can. If someone gets in the way, they'll be pushed aside. Failing that... they'll just be cut down. I've been wandering around SoCal lately, looking for a sign for where to go next. East seems obvious, but where is the mystery.

Someone send me a comment, an email, whatever. [My email is of course sleepingseven@gmail.com by the way] If you need help, I'll see what I can do. If you've got a tip, a destination, same deal.

In the meantime... I'll see what I can do to cut down on His influence on the area. See if I can dye the ground a nice shade of red for a bit... I don't have some fancy title. I'm no Warrior, or whatever. But as far as I'm concerned, this sword is Ex-fucking-calibur. That's really all I need.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

how long has it been? doesn't really matter I suppose.

not to sound whiny, but at this point nothing fucking matters.

it's gotten so easy, killing. a step to the side, an easy dodge, and the a jet of blood bursts into the air. it's like they're not even trying anymore.

and why should they? they got what they came for. took her away in a moment of carelessness. if that was their mission then it's no wonder the useless fucks can't manage to keep themselves alive. they've got nothing else to live for with the job complete.

so I'll do them a favor.

I'll keep hunting, drawing them out, cutting them down.

one.

by.

fucking.

one.

they'll all bleed.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

One more body lies upon the ground. They keep coming like cannon fodder, not caring if I was forced to take one of their allies in the nights before. I've killed twice now, and... I can't bring myself to regret doing it. I could have ran, but I didn't. Someone lost their life by my hand, and I don't really feel bad over it.

I'm changing, but for good or bad I can't tell.

--


I'm sticking around this town for a little while longer. I found someone; another Runner. She looks so scared, another person left adrift in a world of lies. If not for the fresh scarring of an operator symbol carved into her shoulder, I probably wouldn't have even noticed. My senses for spotting other Runners aren't that in tune, or so it seems.

I have to wonder, what goes on in someone's mind to bring them to the point of actually cutting that... thing... into their own flesh?

Monday, May 2, 2011

Another night, another attack.
I got away without a fight this time, but some part of me... just wanted to tear them apart.
What's happening to me?

Friday, April 29, 2011

I stopped to sleep at a small shelter just off the beach. Not like... a homeless shelter, so much as an open area with a roof. More of a shelter from the weather than from anything else. Not really enclosed, but like I said, I've felt safe since I found that blade.

I wasn't asleep for too long, but... fuck, they came out of nowhere. Three men with long coats, each carrying a blunt instrument of some kind; I saw a wooden bat and an iron pipe, I think the third might have had a hammer or something. Muggers I could have understood, but those fucking masks...

Thought I was safe from Him, but apparently not His.

Everything after that... it's a blur. The broken blade I was wearing under my shirt seemed to burn white-hot as they approached, almost begging to be set loose. I... I think I killed one of them. Everything happened so fast, one moment they were closing in and I was racing to get my stuff together and the next... hilt-deep in the chest of the man with the bat. I don't even remember moving, but at that range... looking over his shoulder, I could see the broken blade protruding from his back, already stained a deep crimson.

The sound of breath rattling through a ruined lung.. I don't think I'll ever be lucky enough to forget it. I tore the blade free and started running. I've never been good for endurance running so much as sprinting, but I swear I couldn't slow down until I'd covered what felt like miles. I don't think they followed me, but... this feeling I had at the time, just... just fucking joy. I was happy. The rush of combat, the feel of metal stabbing into someone's flesh, the almost surprised exhalation as the prey becomes the predator...

I don't know if it was me, I don't know if it was that broken blade, but I fucking loved it.

The Blade

Alright, I've... had some time to think, to try and understand what's happening, and what's happened.

Total understanding after reflection is of course nonexistent, but... anyway.

As one could guess from the last few updates, I've been omitting a detail, namely what I was talking about with the blood, and a second blade. The details... are questionable at best. I had a moment of... consciousness[?] during one of the blackouts. I don't remember typing that post, but I remember the situation it talks about. The blackout in question picked up a while after the post from the motel, not too clear on how long.

I remember leaving, trying to figure out where I was, but I'm positive I wasn't... conscious, if that's the word, whenever I properly left the area. I'd left all my stuff in the room, probably foolishly, but it was all with me when I came to.

When I came to... I was in the middle of a forest, I think. Not one of those patches of trees you see on the side of a highway, I'm talking about a right and proper forest. Thick trees; even with the light of the moon above it was almost pitch black there. When I came to I was on my knees, curled up around a broken blade. Dark hilt shaped like that of a medieval weapon, like a claymore, murky, rusted blade; a dagger's length, if you wanted to be gracious... complete and utter shit, by any standards. It had a...presence to it, though. Looking at it, I knew it was trash, but at the same kind, it was more than... what it was, if that makes any sense.

Coating the dulled edges of the blade was a dark liquid, somewhat like blood in consistency. Blood's generally red, though; even when clotted and thick in nature, it's not that dark. This stuff was... black, like ink, or oil. No real hint as to where it came from, though; I wasn't wounded, and... as far as I could see nothing else was nearby, let alone injured.

I've been carrying it around for a while, at first it was tucked into my bag, but lately I've fashioned a sort of strap for it so I could wear it under my shirt. I'm not.. really sure why. It's shitty as a weapon, it's... of a questionable nature at best, but... I feel safe with it, I guess.

I haven't seen Him since I found it. I've blacked out a few times, but... I haven't seen anything.
I...I think it wants more blood.
What the hell is this thing?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Where the hell...

Alright. Shit happened, I'll get into that in a minute.

Here's the important bit: I still have no idea where I am. I have a rough idea, and that rough idea scares the fuck out of me.

I stopped at a coffee shop by the beach. Nice waterfront view, wifi, a place to relax and feel safe for a little bit. I started browsing through my computer, since I finally had the time, and I found... messages. Memoirs. Guides, I don't know. 7 left me stuff, I think.

A bunch of links, some confusing rambling, becoming more clear at the end, ect. I've checked out a few of the links, and they all go to blogs like this one, talking about one "Slender Man".

Yeah, joy. I'm being hunted by a fucking memetic legend. I didn't even believe in Mr. Tall Dark and Scary, but He sure as hell believes in me.

So, I'm going through the files, reading one of the blogs, letting Marble Hornets buffer because really, I've nothing else to do in the daylight hours at the moment, when I saw something interesting. Sunset, over the water.

Sunset.

Over.

The.

Fucking.

Water.

I''m from the east coast. Sun rises over the water, sets over land. I found the beach, figured I'd gone north or south, sticking near the beach.

Nope.

Apparently, my blackouts had me moving west. California, I assume?

Just fucking wonderful.


---
As far as the blood goes... still working that one out. I'll go into detail when I can roughly figure out what happened.

I don't think I went and killed someone. You'd remember something like that, right?
Still alive.

Think I'm still sane.

Still no goddamn idea where I am. Not where I was before, for sure.

Weird... shit has happened, but I'll detail that in a proper post as soon as I can clear my head and try and work some of this out.

Monday, April 25, 2011

blood on the blade
not mine
too dark
black, like oil
His blood?
surely he can't bleed
one of His then
not even my blade
where am I?

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Don't know where I am. Been moving for... fuck, when was my last update?

Headed...north? South? I don't know, can't focus long enough to figure it out. Holed up in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere. Fucking miracle that they had wi-fi at all.

Memory has been going in and out. Don't remember getting here, just a few short bits in between whenever I left home and now. Would you believe that I brought the fucking sword? Yeah, I know... kinda weird. The hell is a sword useful for in this day and age?

Rundown of what I've got on me, mainly shit that was in the bag... "7" threw together. Back pocket with my laptop and some various cords; charger, charger for mandatory and semi-mandatory electronics, ect. Phone, mp3 player, a change of clothes, and my wallet, which was incidentally full of all the money I had saved up in the bank.

Yeah, 7 not only had access to my house, but to my bank account. Great.

Had... about $1,100 when I started out? Down to about... six, seven hundred. Don't remember spending any, and I don't have anything new on me...

"Inventory" ends with the striped hoodie I grabbed on my way out the door, and the katana I picked up at a convention sometime last year. Shitty $70 thing, but it's got a nice edge.

Anyway. I'm going to work on figuring out where I am. Then I'll keep moving. Update... whenever.





I'm alone out here, aren't I?

Saturday, April 16, 2011

he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
the shadows are everywhere nothing is right everything is wrong it's all his fault for leaving where did he go goddamitfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone
scared
nothing is the way it's supposed to be. woke up and the day was wrong, and now it's worse and it's all because he's gone and fuckfuckfuckfuck



I'm alone now, aren't I?



I don't know who "7" is... was... but he's gone. I know that much. He's gone and I'm alone.

Aside from... fuck.

Have to run. Don't know where. Don't know why. Just have to... run. Whoever 7 was, he had access to my house, my computer, my room... packed a bag, found it in my closet. Laptop, money, clothes, food, the essentials... scary that he could get in here, but I'm thankful.

the fuck was that... spot of light by the window...

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

have to go

running

fuck

Friday, April 15, 2011

Decision

I'm sorry.

Shitty opening to my final post, but... what's true is true. To the local Runners I should have reached out to, to those who I'm counting on to see Seven through the coming trial, to Seven himself; I'm sorry.

I've fought long and hard, but... it's not a fight anymore.

Maybe it never was.

I'm not fearless. I'm fucking terrified. I'm no martyr; what I intend to do won't bring about the end of the Slender Man who hunts us. At best I'll buy Seven a bit of time and get him to wake up and see things as they truly are.

I'm not a hero, nor the Hero. This is foolish, this is selfish, but... it's all I can do. I have to swallow my fear and act, because if I don't, it could very well be too late.

-To the Runners, and all those who resist His actions;
     It's a pity I never met any of you. I've followed the blogs, I've learned through your trials, your victories, your losses. I'll take what I know when I leave, but... knowing gives me strength. That I'm not alone, that Seven won't be alone; it's a comfort.

If any of you can find it within your hearts to do what you can, to at least encourage us... him... along the way, that's all I could ever ask. There might not be safety in numbers on the run, but... on here we're only as strong as those supporting us.

-To those who would act against the Runners;
     Shame I never met any of you either. Wouldn't have minded taking a few with me.

-To Him;
     Yeah, I can see you out there. Standing, watching, waiting. You know what's happening, don't you?
Give me a minute, and we can wrap this up...

-To Seven;
     When you can finally see this, this last message, or any of the others I've left here, for what it truly is, I hope you'll accept it as the truth. You're not going mad, not in the usual sense; to know Him is to know the truth that we're better off without; perhaps we're all more Sane than those who don't know that He exists at all.

I'm sorry I'm leaving you, even if you still don't know I exist. We've had a long run together, and there've been some close calls over the years. Once upon a time, you knew, but... well, you'll wake up soon enough if this works.

I do what I do for the future, for your future. Make no mistake, I don't wish for you to become some warrior; run, and survive. Live on, and in turn, help others as I have helped you. If you die before your time... wherever we end up afterwords, I'm kicking your ass.

-

This is it then. My final words, my will, whatever you would call it. He's getting impatient, perhaps even angry. I'm glad. Work for your reward, you faceless fuck.

I'm leaving my better half in the hands of any who would do what they can to help him. It's time I got this over with.

Goodbye, Seven.
Goodbye, fellow Runners.
Goodbye, pathetic Agents.

Avarus, nisi cum poritur, nil recte facit

Consider this me doing something right.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Fuck.

He's outside again. Just standing there, watching. As usual, Seven's asleep. He's taking this all... well. Locking the doors and window but then leaves the curtains wide open.

As secure as he is in here, maybe I can move some stuff around to try and get through to him when he wakes up. Apparently rolling over to see a fucking sword didn't get the message through that shit had hit the fan.

HE's staring. Can't see the eyes, but... well... anyone reading this, if anyone, probably understands.

I'm at a loss for plans. Time is running out, but I'm not seeing a solution. Reaching out to the other Runners might help, but... I've a bad habit for being cryptic with them, if not blatantly hostile. If this had all picked up before new year's I think we would have stood a better chance; they all seemed so more... open then. More hope, less... well, trust seemed more free. Maybe I can try and get a message out to Zeke before it all goes to hell, but... so many of them have their own problems.

Throwing Seven out into already stormy waters just seems like a bad move. At worst, he can't swim. Perhaps just as bad, there might not be any hands willing to pull him out when the time comes.

It's shit, but... what the hell else is there?

7

Sick

Entry Four.

Feeling sick today... skipping classes to just lay around for a while. It's been weird lately. Whenever I wake up there's a fair chance I'll be well rested, or as tired as if I'd skipped sleeping altogether. I think I've started sleepwalking, or something... my computer is on when I wake up, even if I'm positive I shut it down before bed. I've gone from knives under my pillow to waking up with a sheathed katana in bed with me.

Not the worst thing I've ever woken up next to, but...

It just... feels like something bad is going to happen.

Haven't seen the shadow yet today, though.

~Seven

Sunday, April 10, 2011

...

They were everywhere downtown. Operator Symbols, I mean. Spray painted on the walls, carved into the street... a back alley had one painted upon the walls in what I swear had to be blood. It would imply that there are Runners around, but... I didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. Seven didn't see them for what they were, but... I'm starting to worry. How can someone ignore the truth when it is plainly displayed before their very eyes?

There was an... incident. Seven's always been a bit of a wild one when he cuts loose, but.. hasn't been so bad recently. Around the right group of friends, however... my point is, he let HIM in. Hallucinogens... change things. I'm not sure how. he saw Him, then panicked, and I had to step in... morning came, however, and he doesn't seem to remember.

This is all too tiring. I'm worried.

7

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Truth

he won't listen. Won't accept that I am here, or that He is coming.
he views His shadow upon his wall, and sees it, but cannot see it for what it truly is.
he ignores the signs, the messages. Anything I write, he tears apart. Any accounts from the Runners that I leave open upon the screen, he closes with eyes unseeing. Knowing the strength of his rejection, his eyes will probably skip right across this entry.

I am no Redlight; I cannot hide the world from his view. I wouldn't dare, nor do I have to; he simply refuses to see, to accept.

Fighting... grows more difficult by the day. Without his assistance, without his slight acknowledgment that he is not alone and that I am here, I fight alone. I fight for one who will BE alone when I fall. How much longer can I resist Him? How long can I protect him?

A week. Maybe two. Some nights He comes not at all, but others... I have yet to see any of His, but He is here nonetheless.

You may call me 7, if a name is truly needed; I am he who fights alone. I am he who will fall.

I am no martyr, nor am I worthy of being one of the Titled, the Named.

I am simply... who I am. What I am.

The madness fades as I become more active, and he sleeps more often, but...

I grow weary. he grows weary.

He does not.

One week, and he will be alone. When I am gone... I hope someone is there. Someone who can guide him, if not protect him.

When I fall, Seven will fight alone.

7

That fucking tree.

Entry Three.

Was going to get an update up last night, but... yeah. Fell asleep again, apparently. Feel like I haven't slept in days, but... whatever.

It's faded as hell now, but I can still remember a bit of the "Trees" dream I was talking about. It starts off, as makes logical sense seeing that it's about a fucking tree, in a forest. Dark, very dark; kind of reminds me of where I used to live before moving to NC. Following the whole Inception theme, there is no real beginning; one minute I'm sitting down at my computer about to check my email, and next thing I know I'm walking down a path in this forest.

The path goes on for a while, and then there is no path. Not like... it ends, so much as when I turn around there never was a path. The trees are so close together and placed so that walking in a straight line would have been impossible, memories of a path be damned.

The whispering starts around this point; really low, to the point where it could almost be mistaken as wind through the leaves. It goes on and on and on, but I can't really make out what, if anything, is being said. While this goes on, I'm still just walking, even though I want to stop and listen. Walking, walking walking, and then that fucking tree.

All alone in a small clearing, this tree is fucking... different. A thin trunk, black as night. It goes up and up and up, with a small patch of white where a beam of moonlight is clearly focused on it; oddly enough, I hadn't even noticed a moon, let alone a light source of any kind. It hits the tree, and only the tree.

The branches just... they're everywhere. Ten, twenty, a hundred, I don't know. Every time I blink the number seems to change; at one point there might have been two, like twisted arms reaching out..

Looking back, the branches definitely remind me of arms, even when there were more... a hundred arms as black as night, stretching through the air, moving despite the lack of wind. Frozen, I keep watching, and I notice that beyond the arms, branches, whatever, there's another spot of white; a spherical shape, like the moon.

If that was the moon, however, then what was casting the white light on the trunk?

The branches, arms, whatever they were, seemed to be cought in a draft from above and behind, casting them in my direction, and then..nothing. I woke up.

The shadow was there again.

By the time I woke up next it was gone.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Trees

Entry Two.

Entry two is coming around much sooner than I expected. As I said in my comment on the introduction, last night was... odd. I've always been an insomniac, but something about it just seemed rather... well, I suppose I should explain instead of searching for words that I can't really find.

Given that I'm a bit of an insomniac, as I said, last  night was out of the ordinary. Yes, compared to a normal sleeper it took me a while to fall asleep, but my my standards I was asleep pretty fast. I remember laying in bed thinking that something was just... off. Something was strange, something was different. I can't really describe the feeling, but... imagine that for every day of your life you passed the same crowded mural on the way to wherever you were going. Now imagine that one day, a single figure was missing from it. You might not be able to tell HOW it was different, but you would likely know that it WAS different.

I both fell asleep and woke up in such a state of mind; something was strange, and I didn't know what. After taking time I really should have spent working in class to think about it [the time I didn't spend sleeping, anyway. I don't see how after going to bed early I could have been so exhausted], I think I've figured out what was different. It... actually creeps me out a bit.

I live on the first floor of a small apartment building; I suppose to be fair it's more of a condensed townhouse or something; the word apartment just brings to mind two-room clusterfucks of cramped living. It's a little roomy here, but I digress.

Until recently, there was a tall tree in the small yard area that my bedroom window looks out into. Keep in mind that I'm in coastal North Carolina; the kind of trees you find around here in the more suburban areas aren't your stocky evergreens so much as towering monstrosities with thin trunks, kept trim with no branches save for the very top. Supposed to keep local kids from climbing on them or something, I don't know. Due to the position of the tree, the location of the streetlights, and my habit to sleep with an open window, the tree would always cast a long shadow across my room, a slash of deep black through the dim light of the computer or television, whatever I had on at the time.

Somewhat recently, the tree was removed. Not clear on why, but I assume that the heavy rain and wind had weakened the base. Then again, seeing how long a tree would have to last to grow so tall, I'm probably wrong. Maybe the owner just hated seeing the damn thing. Point is, no tree, no shadow. Logically, that makes perfect sense.

That said, I can't explain why the shadow once more cut across my room last night. Over the time I've lived here I had gotten used to seeing it, so its return didn't really register in my conscious mind. I can only assume it hit my unconscious a little more clearly, hence the weird feeling. Upon coming home after class, I checked the yard through the window; nothing. No new tree, no in progress light or power poles, nothing hanging off my window. Everything looked the same way that it had every day since the tree's removal.

I've got no way to explain it. Maybe someone could have been standing out there, but... that doesn't really make much sense. For one, who would just stand in the yard for so long for no reason? Even a smoke break would at least have someone moving around instead of standing so still. Besides, to cast a shadow like that, a man would have to be fairly thin, and above all else, tall. Like, tall enough to make a professional basketball player look up.

I'm probably just seeing things, I don't know.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Introduction

Entry One.

Umn... hello there, internet. Blogosphere. Whatever term would be appropriate?
Hello myself, a likely audience of one? Hell if I know. Anyway, on the off chance that this won't just end up as me ranting to myself, I suppose an introduction is in order, as this post title... somewhat points out.

My name is Seven. Of course, that's obviously just a pseudonym; we all have our reasons for not owning up to our true names on the internet, do we not? Like... I suppose a fair portion of teenagers, I suppose I would say I have two "selves"; the surface, the college student who tries not to step on the toes of others and who does his best to simply get by without too much trouble, and... well, this side. The side that would be creating a blog at one in the morning for the sole purpose of... well, we'll get to that.

I believe that for simplicity's sake, offline life and online life have to be kept separate to some degree; I certainly don't want friends commenting on what's written here, let alone my professors.

Continuing past that small... rant, I suppose, the continuation of the introduction:
As I was saying, I am Seven. I am nineteen years old, and a late-start freshman at a small college in North Carolina, in a fair sized city located on the coast. It's a boring place, but for the time being, it's home. In the five years I've lived here, having moved down from Connecticut, the place has been fairly quiet and uneventful. Storms, fires, robberies and the like, but all in a detatched sort of way; stuff like that happens everywhere, and none of it happens to me.

If viewing the state of things in such an apathetic way makes me an asshole, then so be it.

Moving on.

The actual purpose of this blog is fairly simple; I intend to keep a record of my dreams, whenever I can remember them. I don't think it's too likely that I'll update much, if at all; I'm not exactly a dreamer. Psychologically speaking, I /DO/ dream; we all do, it's part of the sleep cycle. I simply can't recall mine.

This was highlighted rather clearly in a recent assignment from my psychology professor; for a period of two weeks, we were to keep a dream journal, a nightly [or perhaps morning? I for one don't believe I can write in my sleep] record of whatever flights of fancy might drift through our slumbering little minds. Two weeks later, and I handed in a pathetic mockery of the assignment; fourteen entries either made up on the spot or bastardized from dream accounts found across the internet.

Truth be told, it was rather embarrassing, to fail at so simple an assignment. Maybe keeping the blog will help, on the off chance that I might remember something for once. The laptop is always by my bed, with the desktop not so far away, so... I suppose only time will tell.

For the time being, however, I am going to bed. Class in the morning, and all that.


~Seven