Visitor for Christmas

I should have posted this a few days ago, but I decided it was probably in my best interest to go dark for the holiday if I didn't want outside interference. As I've mentioned before, I'm a sucker for a good Christmas, even one in such a bizarre scenario as my host, myself, and Picasso.

Moth, you don't have to worry, she's been here the whole time. Sunday afternoon I was in the park in town, trying to raise money for when I leave Hope again and need to pay for my own food. I wasn't having much luck, everyone was a bit busy to want to head in to the park but I wasn't allowed on the main street because of local rules.

Out of nowhere, Picasso appeared, presumably popping out of the Path by the look of it, clutching a puppy and a broom handle. She looked like she'd been through a meat grinder or something, from how badly she was torn up. The puppy was in much better shape, and seemed pretty happy in her arms.

"Merry Christmas" She told me with a grin, holding out the dog for me to take.

I took the dog, staring at her. "You came here just to give me a Christmas present?"

She nodded and handed me the broom handle too. "I am Slendyclaws! Blood soaked tidings are here."

"You're really serious about this making friends thing, aren't you?" I asked, taking it and noticing she'd carved the word 'friend' into the wood.


"That's what I keep telling myself."

"Well, thank you, I guess. Where'd you get him?" I reached out to tentatively pet the puppy.

"Shelter," she told me, sitting down and pulling out a sewing kit. "He was gonna get the ax " She then started stitching herself up with a grimace

I paused for a long moment. "Do you want help with that?"

"Sure."

"What happened, and what can I do?"

"There are bleeding holes in me that must be closed" She handed me another needle, already threaded and ready.

I took it, swallowing hard. I know how to sew, I decided it couldn't be too different. As long as I could ignore the blood.


She waited a moment to see that I was doing alright, then continued. "Monsters in the Path... angry. They can hear the screaming. They use it to find me."

"I didn't realize there were monsters in there. I thought it was supposed to just fry your brain, not attack you."

"Different monsters. TWISTED FREAKS! Twisted shapes of man!"

 "Ugh. Why use it, then?"

 "Faster... Took me an hour to get here from florida."

"I dunno that fast travel is worth getting mauled."

"Not with that attitude it isn't"

I laughed a little. "I guess not."

We talked while we stitched her up, talking about a lot of things that don't really matter. She was in even worse shape than I'd first realized, and so I decided I wouldn't leave her alone. She couldn't survive the Path in her current shape, and I didn't like the thought of leaving her on the street after she'd come all this way just for me. So I took her back to Hope, where our host was a lot less irritated than I'd expected.

She's been here since, and it's surprisingly peaceful (So long as I keep her distracted from thinking about Duckie). I'm not sure when she's leaving, but I'll be glad for her company as long as she stays. Who says people can't change?

Anticlimax

Despite people fussing and ominous associations, the world didn't end, we're all still here, and nothing has really changed. Can we go back to worrying about things that actually matter?

Relocated

So it looks like I'm not going to be spending my holiday on the street after all, though whether or not this is an improvement is something I'm not clear on yet. For the moment, I've got a bed and solid meals for the first time in years. I'm half expecting to be murdered in my sleep, because it feels much too good to be true.

About a week and a half ago I was at the little cafe again, trying to catch up on blogs and maybe write a new post, when a very posh looking British man approached my table. He said we had 'things' in common, and that I should come with him, because he wanted to help me. I was not convinced, and not buying it-whether he was a pervert or a murderer or a proxy, I didn't want anything to do with him.

He ended up conveying some of his meaning by doodling one of those symbols on a napkin and telling me that he was on the side of the runners.

Fourty five minutes or so of heated discussion, none of which I can put up here for various reasons, I found myself in a car with him, going to what he claims is the remains of Hope. It's certainly fortified well enough, though it is perhaps suspiciously not destroyed.

My host is... apparently an old friend of the old owner of this place. He's asked me not to reveal what he claims his identity is, and for now I figure it's best to not cause problems. In any event, it's nice to have a bed.

Tis the Season

I used to love this time of year, before I hit the streets. Back when I had a family and a job and my education meant something. My dad went crazy with the decorating and the lights and the dinner that was so large it took a week to polish off the leftovers. We didn't always have a lot of money for presents when I was a kid, but he always made sure that the few I got really meant something. The rest of the family kept trying to win me over with dolls and pretty dresses and other 'girly' things, but Dad always knew better. Sometimes I did get a doll or a stuffed animal or a dress, but only when they were things I actually wanted. He never had to ask me either, he just knew.

I always made him something from scratch in return-handmade paper ornaments and cards as a little kid, then cookies or a painting or a handmade shirt when I got old enough to make useful things. He kept all of them, and those horrible ornaments coated in glitter still held a place of honor on the tree every year up until he died.

It's never really felt like Christmas since. But it's still nice to hear the music everywhere. I just wish this wasn't going to be another Christmas alone on the street.

Just Keep Running

I'm a little surprised at the sheer number of people I've found that are on the monster's side. I was under the impression that people like that who could blog were uncommon. It feels as though the opposite is true. I'm not sure if that's because runners have been weeded out, or if it's because they've abandoned blogging as too dangerous, like I almost did.

Either way, it's surprisingly lonely to only find such a few. I had hoped to find a grand community like the older bloggers had. In all my reading, it had appeared that runners had come together, had made this place their own, and were standing strong.

Imagine my disappointment to discover that one by one, they fell. The only hint of what came before is one solitary blogger left to remember and keep fighting, because it's all he can do now.

I have offered my help to a kid stuck in a tree, but the odds are high that we're too far apart for the offer to do any good. I probably shouldn't have, it's a big risk and likely to be a trap. I'm just tired of being alone.

I am back in a city for a while. There's plenty of tall buildings here (and lots of hills to help with the elevation), and it's warm enough to allow me to avoid shelters for the time being. I needed to replenish my funds anyway, this seems as good a place as any to do it.

Gamechanger

If anyone's still reading this blog, you have probably noticed  that several months worth of posts have gone live over the past two days. After much thought, I have decided that I am going to start using this again. All of my drafted posts that I'd decided not to post have been combed through, and all of the most relevant ones have been posted.

I am going to start using this, despite my better judgement, because no matter how dangerous blogging seems to be to runners, I'm going to completely lose my mind if I can't find some form of friendly interaction. From this point on, I fully intend to read and comment on other people's blogs as well as updating my own.

Another Dream

I dreamed of Sam again last night. We held each other and kissed and touched, and it was so nice to see him again. I've missed him so badly. All I wanted to do was pretend that nothing had happened, that he was still alive and we were happy.

But it couldn't last. My shoulder still hasn't quite healed from that last attack in the City. And Sam found it fast.

"What is it?" He asked, concern in his sweet hazel eyes.

I looked away and pulled my shirt to the side so he could see the wound. I didn't really know what to say.

Sam went pale. "Who did this?"

"These two assholes cornered me in an alley."

"Oh." He looked relieved, hoping blindly that I hadn't yet been pulled in for real.

"Sam, who were you running from?" I asked him firmly

His face crumpled and he shook his head. "No. It's not safe. Even here."

"Sam. Who were you running from? It's important. I don't know if I'm going crazy, or..."

He still shook his head and refused to answer, though I could see him grow paler still.

I took a deep breath. "Tall man. Wears a suit. Arms are too long, sometimes too many of them." He hugged me tightly as I spoke. "And he has no face."

"You did your research." He tells me quietly.

I shook my head. "I saw him."

He broke down crying and apologizing. I pulled him into my arms and kissed him and rubbed his back. Anything I could think of to comfort him, I did. Eventually he relaxed in my arms and started hugging  me back, trying to comfort me in return.

"What is he?" I asked gently, hoping he could give me some answers.

"He's a monster." He replied automatically. "And he's old. Don't let them convince you otherwise. He's this old... thing, that took the form of something some guy came up with."

I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself in his arms.

"As soon as you can, get up high. You'll be safer there."

I laughed weakly. "I know. I found the Tutorial. Now I know why you did the stuff you did."

He laughed with me, more out of a need to release some tension than out of any real humor in the situation. "I don't know that there's really any way to escape him. I think maybe he lets you think so, then comes to get you when he's bored."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I kissed him. I never expected to make it to thirty anyway, living on the street. I'd almost rather it were a monster to do it instead of some random person killing a nigger for kicks.

"You'll be alright. You're strong. Stronger than I ever was. Just stay good." He smiled at me, and for a moment I could almost forget what we were talking about.

I smiled back. "You're stronger than you ever realized."

"You're still stronger than me. You'll be alright."

"I love you, Sam."

"I love you too. I'm so sorry."

"You did everything you could."

He curled up in pain, abruptly crying out and sobbing helplessly. "Wake up."

"What?"

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Lils, you have to wake up!"

I kissed him, then let myself be pulled back into the waking world. Before I was even fully awake, I'd grabbed my weapon and jumped to my feet.

It would have been fantastic if what had invaded my camp hadn't been the monster himself.

I grabbed what I could and ran for it. I was lucky he didn't follow.

I'm in a larger city now, sitting in a rooftop cafe and trying to figure out what to do next. At least now I know that the dreams are real.

Alone

It is perhaps a cruel irony that the woods is the least safe place to be in. I'm well versed in survivalist skills. I could live quite comfortably in them almost indefinitely. But the monster forces me to retreat to cities, which are far less kind to someone of limited means. When I chose to live in the City before, I had hoped to rely on safety net programs that are supposedly all over. I wanted to believe that it was only temporary, and that I would come out the other side and go back to school.

I did not account for the level of discrimination I faced while seeking that kind of help. A black man without a job is not to be trusted-a genderfluid person is too sinful, a homeless woman of my color is obviously a whore. Aid was denied me again and again, but somehow in the City I never really felt alone.

From what I'm reading, there used to be a sense of community among those the monster chose for his prey. I   wish there still was, as I have never felt more alone. If I were actually planning on posting this, I would take this opportunity to plea for aid or companionship.

Instead, I simply have to realize I've lost the only thing I had left.

Answers or More Questions?

I was wrong. There's no other way to say this. I was wrong in the worst way possible. Applying logic and reason to this was a mistake. I know that now. I know why Sam was so afraid, and why he was torn apart and why that girl was insane and why all those people were so scared.

I found the answer online, but I didn't want to believe it. I'm still not completely convinced I haven't just gone insane, or been drugged or something. But it all fits. I don't feel mad, it's all so rational, if you can ignore the monster aspect.

Ⓧ is the sign of the Slender Man. Sam had been running from him for... a while. He was a blogger-I'm discovering that there are many blogs written by those chased by or working for him. I knew he had a blog, but this explains why he didn't want me to see it. Apparently the easiest way to draw the monster's attention is to learn about him. Even knowing his title is dangerous. Or, in my case, knowing his symbol and getting too close to someone who knew more.

Sam was always so scared of telling me even the slightest bit of his recent past, moreso than seemed reasonable to be scared of an organization. He always said it was too dangerous for me to know. Now I know why.

His death, as well, fits perfectly. The stories say that the Slender Man likes to tear people apart and leave the remains in trash bags. Normally those bags end up in trees, but I guess here in the City there's a bit of a shortage of trees isolated enough for that purpose.

From what I've read, the Slender Man uses people he's driven mad to torment those he's stalking. Which would explain my stalker and the woman in the mask.

And the reason I'm so sure of all of this? I saw him.

I saw the monster late last night, on a train.

I was on a flatbed for the night, huddled up among some boxes for warmth. I thought I'd fallen asleep at first,   because seeing him I knew that he didn't quite belong in this world. There's an off quality about him that is hard to describe.

The first thing I realized was that I'd seen him before. A 'tall guy in a suit', I believe I've described him in the past. The night I got mugged, he was there. And in the warehouse where Sam died. Both times I was out of it enough to be able to convince myself that I'd imagined how unsettling he was. After all, a man in a suit is nothing unusual in the City.

But this time I couldn't delude myself into disbelieving. He was a little bit too tall, and his arms were too long. I couldn't see his hands at all, and as much as I wanted to believe it was just the dark night and his dark skin, I couldn't see his face because he didn't have one.

He stood there watching me for few nerve wracking minutes where I didn't dare look away or try to move for fear of what he'd do. Rightly so, as it turns out, because when I did glance away to try to find an escape route, he appeared right in front of me, with too many arms all reaching out to grab me.

His touch hurt so badly I passed out, and then I woke up in some random town, with burns on my arms where he touched me and with no idea where I was or how I'd gotten there. There is no train yard here, so I'm going to have to walk down a highway and hope I can find a town with more prospects. I've been getting too many weird looks here in this tiny little lily white town.

Stereotypical Hobo

I made it out of the city in one piece. I didn't have enough money to buy a ticket, so I hopped on a freight train like a hobo from an old movie. It worked pretty well, though, especially since it's not quite getting cold enough to be more than vaguely uncomfortable.

I'm not even sure where I am-I've been hopping off to find food whenever we come to a trainyard in a town big enough to look promising, then hopping the next train I can. I'm always a little scared I'll get caught and get in trouble, but I guess they don't really care too much as long as I don't muck up the cargo and I stay hidden. I'm stuck here overnight, which is why I'm finally taking the time to update this blog.

I haven't had any time to chase any leads, I'm just trying to survive.

Symbols

I've been doing some research on the side. I used to be pretty good at it, during my academic days. That woman said that the symbol was her boss' mark. It's my only clue, so I started quietly asking around. Homeless people tend to be everywhere and see everything, especially when it comes to the criminal element, so I was certain it would turn up somewhere.

I got a whole lot of nothing. The only people who knew anything denied any knowledge-except for poor Tyler, who hasn't been doing well off his meds. Unfortunately, a schizophrenic's rantings about curses and demons can't be taken seriously, so I'm back at square one. All I know is that anyone who recognizes the symbol tends to fit the drifter type. Mid to late teens, usually, and the type who doesn't stay in town for long. And they all refuse to talk about whatever it is.

Just like Sam.

As a last resort, I tried plugging it in to Google, on the off chance that something would come up. I got plenty of information online, just nothing that makes any sense. I might as well go back and listen to Tyler, it's pretty thematically similar. It's a mathematical symbol, it's a Japanese police station, it's the planetary seal of Jupiter, or it's the symbol for an imaginary creature called the "Slender Man", who seems to be a pretty standard boogyman type, that steals children and kills meddling adults.  None of this makes any sense in my case.

I don't know why I thought the symbol of a clearly very secretive organization would show up on Google. I guess I'm just desperate.

I'm being followed again. I leave tonight. And I still don't know what I'm running from.

I've been saving up what little I can-if I hit the right street corners and skimp on eating I can make a decent amount in a day busking, in addition to what I can pull together working for the employers who like to hire homeless folk as 'contract workers' to do some heavy lifting and such. There are places like that all over the City if you know where to work.

I haven't seen anything else, but I want to be gone by the time the cold weather starts. And I need a small chunk of change to make that happen.

Not Dead, Just Hiding

Apparently people are reading this now. I have comments. That's new. I'm glad you're reading this, I'm glad someone's reading Sam's story. Even if I have been derailing things with my own life. I'd be hesitant, but now I'm certain that all of this is connected. And I know Sam wouldn't want me to cut myself off when I so badly need an outlet of some kind.

As much as I'd like to deny that, I do. I'm scared. There's something going on here I'm not quite getting. What could Sam have possibly done to bring this much attention on himself? That would bring down this level of shit on me, just for knowing him? This isn't some simple gang shit. No gang would chase me across territory like this guy has. And no gang I've heard of would act the way these guys act.

This is something huge. A mafia family maybe? Or government types? I don't know, now I just sound crazy. All I really have are hunches and intuition and things that just don't make sense. All I really know is that Sam definitely wasn't just a fan of the X-Men.

A few days ago my stalker decided that just following me around wasn't enough anymore. I was trying to lose him for the third time that day when he charged me out of nowhere. I had no choice but to duck into the nearest alley to try to get away. It was blocked off, and... decorated. With what must have been a hundred of those symbols drawn all over in what looked like blood.

Normally my reflexes are what save me in dangerous situations, but I admit to being a bit too stunned to react properly. I lunged for the closest thing to a weapon I could find-a broom handle sticking out of a garbage can. What I didn't do was appropriately keep an eye on my surroundings. I watched my stalker pull out his knife and clean it threateningly.

And then a small angry woman with what looked like broken bits of a porcelain mask stuck to her face dropped from a fire escape and kicked my head. I struck out with the broom handle, trying to keep her at bay, but she seemed to only be amused by my efforts.

"Oh look, it has some training" She cooed too cheerfully at me.

I glared back at her. "I'm not an 'it'. Who are you and what do you want from me?"

I didn't get an answer. Instead she charged me, I struck her, and my stalker managed to grab me from behind. My attempts to kick back and get free were stopped by the masked woman's knife pressing into my chest. "What do you want?" I repeated, trying very hard not to show any of the fear I felt.

She smiled, and it was unsettling in a way she didn't intend. It was obviously supposed to be intimidating, but what scared me far worse was the madness behind it. Whatever else she was doing, it was clear to me in that moment that she was insane and being used by someone who used that to their advantage. Not a good sign at all, really. If a person is willing to use the mentally ill to get to you, they probably don't care what happens to you. Or they're terrifying enough to scare them into submission. Either way, not a good sign.

After a moment that felt like a lifetime, she spoke. "We're just... marking what belongs to our boss. Which is a shame to do to something so pretty." My stalker took that opportunity to carve a symbol into my shoulder. At that moment I didn't know what it was, just that it hurt like hell.

I bit back a curse. "Who is your boss and what does he want with me?"

She looked pleased with me, which made me question whether asking questions was a good idea. "Good question. You'll just have to find out."

At this point she did something that made my stomach roll. She sliced herself and pressed the cut to the wound in my shoulder. I'm not sure what the point of that was. Was she trying to infect me with something? I wish I could find out, but I can't exactly afford to get tested. "What are you doing?" I shouted, squirming away instinctively.

"Something personal."

She punched me in the gut at the same time my stalker let me go, which dropped me to my knees. "What is going ON?"

"You'll just have to find out, cutie" She giggled, like she was flirting with me, and started walking away, pulling my stalker with her. "Come on you masky wannabe. I think we're done here."

At this point I was confused, frightened, but most of all frustrated with the secrets and the uncertainty and the lack of information. "You're just going to LEAVE?" I asked, almost irritated

"Aww, what's wrong? Wanted more answers? Maybe a better beating? Maybe some sneakers?" The woman replied, looking thoroughly amused. My stalker looked less so, and he punched her. That devolved into a one sided argument-something about a reference I didn't understand and still don't.

"Answers, yes. Or even more questions so I know what to look for." The woman was crazy, I was hoping she might let something slip.

She didn't. "If you aren't finding questions, then maybe you aren't looking for them?" My stalker punched her again. "Dammit, I don't need your crap right now, I'm busy!" She turned back to me and pulled two throwing axes. "Fine, you want a fucking question? How about how well can I throw?"

I dove for cover and they left, the woman complaining to my stalker the whole way.

I discovered  later that what they carved into my shoulder was the same symbol Sam used to spray paint everywhere. The circle with the X through it that he claimed was the Xmen symbol. It's clearly not. Which makes me wonder why he used it. If it's the symbol of the man he was running from, shouldn't he have been trying to avoid it?

Was he trying to throw people off his trail by putting the mark places so that people would think that it was that guy's territory and that Sam couldn't have been there?  I don't understand, and he's not around to ask. I have no answers, no real clues, nothing to go on but one of the vaguest symbols possible.

I don't know what to do. I just know it's not safe to stay here anymore.

I Dislike Consistency in my Stalkers

At this point instead of a series of silent, masked stalkers, I've now got one consistent one. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not. He doesn't seem to want to do anything other than follow me for the moment, so I've decided that all I can do is let him follow-I can't shake him for anything, and it's been days.

I don't know how someone with a mask like that-just plain white-can get away with being in public like he has, but he does it. If I'm someplace /too/ public he'll melt away, but he shows back up again soon enough.

Big tall guy in a flannel shirt and jeans. White boy-probably country. And he has the coldest green eyes I've ever seen.
If I get another steady stalker I'll keep this updated. For now I'd best go-it's not safe to have the laptop out for long.

Still After Me

I've exhausted Sam's story, and so by all rights this blog should be over. This wasn't supposed to be about me, it's supposed to be about him.

But what I'm discovering is that the nights wear on a body when they're all spent alone, and days busking on the corner or doing odd jobs become strangely lonesome when you're used to sharing them with someone else. Especially when that someone else was your Someone Else.

I don't think he'd mind me coming here just to talk, since I can't talk to him anymore. He'd probably laugh at the idea of me feeling guilty and tell me he just wanted me to be happy.

As though that's possible anymore.

Nothing much has happened here since I got mugged. I've been dodging more masked bastards, but they don't know the city as well as I do, and they haven't come out in droves again yet. It's honestly almost like they're waiting for something.

If only I knew what.

One Last Story

I almost didn't post this. I was so tempted to leave the story as it stood, to leave it with Sam's life, and not end it with his death. I don't like thinking about that morning. It was horrifying and heartbreaking and makes me want to cry and throw up all at once when I think about it.

But this isn't for me. This is for Sam. This is so people know what happened to him.

The morning after that night on the fire escape I showed up at the warehouse bright and early. I was so excited to see him, the man I loved so much. We were finally together and my heart was singing at the thought of being with him again.

And then I arrived and all I saw was blood. My first, illogical thought, was to wonder why Sam had been throwing around paint.  He was nowhere to be found, just the sticky, thick redness that looks fake after so many gorey movies and tv shows. People always say our generation is jaded against blood and gore, and I would have agreed with them before that day.

It was everywhere-the floor, the walls, the ceiling... streaks and sprays in an impossible show that if I'd had training I could've read like a book. All I could see was the pain and death of the man I loved so very much.

There was no sign of him or his body at first, which gave me some small hope. The faintest dream that maybe he'd gotten away, that it wasn't his blood, that he was in the hospital and gloriously alive.

And then I saw the pooling blood under a small pile of plain black trash bags. Completely normal and unassuming things. I stepped over to peer inside and nearly vomited at the gore that greeted me. He'd been... disassembled. Almost liquefied. But I recognized the bloodstained clothing I found floating in the first bag, and in the third was what was left of his face.

I think I screamed then, I'm not sure. I think I probably passed out, because I remember the world going sideways and a strange man in a suit peering in the doorway at me. Then, nothing.

Next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor and there were five cops running around the warehouse peering at bloodstains and glaring at me. They almost arrested me right then and there, it was only my incoherent pleading and gibbering that convinced them of my innocence. I was lucky that they decided they didn't want anything to do me and sent me on my way.

Mugged

I'm sorry for the lack of posting. I was mugged a little less than a month ago and I've been lying low and trying not to use the computer, since there's no other reason anyone would want to mug a homeless person. Someone must've seen Sam's computer and figured I'd be an easy mark.

It's strange, though. I didn't recognize the gang. By now I know all the gangs in my area with territory that's more than a couple blocks, but these guys were new. Their sign was a mask. Any mask, it didn't seem to matter which one, so there was an array of masks that ranged from a ninja turtles mask to a hand-painted one done in abstract reds and blacks that was surprisingly intimidating.

They never said a word, and they were surprisingly good at stealth. I'm not exactly a slouch, but I didn't even know they were there until I was surrounded. I never really had a chance against six big burly men who'd blocked off all means of escape.

It was... bad. I honestly thought I wasn't going to survive. Two of them had baseball bats, two were very good with their fists, and the last... he had a knife.

I woke up in the emergency room. I'd needed stitches in three different places, and I had a concussion and two broken ribs. According to the doctor that dealt with me, I was lucky-it was almost as though they'd been deliberately trying to not kill me.

That was about as much interest as I got. There was a bit of a fuss about me being a girl from one of the nurses, but even the police that came to make a report since I'd obviously been attacked didn't give a shit. I'm homeless after all, therefore even in the hospital I'm invisible.

Unsurprisingly, the cops decided that it was inter-gang violence and blew off my protests about being mugged and not having anything to do with that bullshit. Instead of offering protection they threatened to arrest me.

Dad would've been furious. He always said that cops owe /everyone/ their protection. Unfortunately these big city cops only protect the people that make them look good. No one cares about a grubby imitation boy.

So I was released two days later and have spent my time since then hiding-I can't defend myself or flee in this kind of shape. If they catch up with me again, I'll be killed.

And they will be looking for me. Because it wasn't just the masked men. There was a tall guy in a suit that only came out when I was passing out. I couldn't see him very well, my vision was all blurry, but I'd bet money that it's the same guy I saw when I found Sam.

Last Moments

I've been delaying this post a lot, and for that, I apologize. I wish I could say I had some reason-trouble finding a hot spot or having to hide the laptop. There's a million reasons that could explain away my absence, but they would all be lies, and the one thing I never want to do on this blog is lie. This blog is in his memory, and I don't want to dishonor it with lies or excuses.

The truth is, this blog is all I have left of Sam. Each story shares him with all of you, but also makes the loss more final. I know he's gone. I was the one who found his body, though that's a story for another post. I know that he is dead, and he's never coming back. These stories are all I have, and as much as I want to share them, a part of me wants so badly to hold tight to them and to his memory and never speak of it again, to cling tight to all that is left of the man I loved so much.

I can't do that, it won't change anything, only ensure that the only one who remembers him is a bum on the street corner. He always did deserve so much better.

So today you get the story of his last night on earth. I think he knew, too. Though he wouldn't tell me that, didn't want to worry me. But he was quiet and scared and a lot huggier than usual, as we sat that night on the fire escape in the cold, sharing the warmth of the blanket we'd managed to get. Doing so wasn't exactly unusual-considering the lack of properly warm places we could go, oftentimes we would spend the entire night asleep together under a pile of blanket and newspapers and whatever else we could get to help.  Last winter was mild, yes, but still potentially dangerous to a man alone outside all night.

The two of us had been talking for hours, about anything and everything, the kind of easy conversation that you only get with someone you've really connected with. And considering we'd both been alone so long, that alone was worth reveling in.

But he was fidgety and nervous, and eventually he turned to me, and because of how close we were huddled together our faces were inches apart, and he blushed and I swallowed hard and tried not to think too hard about it. "Lils, I've been thinking a lot, lately. About... stuff." He cleared his throat, then continued. "About what I'd regret most, if they caught up to me right now."

I shook my head fiercely. "They won't, they won't, you're safe, I won't let them hurt you!" If only...

"Maybe." He replied patiently, though it was obvious as always that he didn't think I could help. "But that's not the point. The point is, I've been thinking, and if I were to die tonight, I know exactly what I'd regret, and I want to fix it." A faint smile lit up his face.

"What's that?" I replied quietly.

He paused, took a deep breath like he was psyching himself up to say something. "Lils, I love you."

I gaped at him. "What? But you're gay!"

Sam shook his head. "I am. But I'm in love with you anyway. I don't care what you are, I'm completely in love with you and I have been for a while."

"Do. Do you really mean that?  You really love me both ways?" I think I teared up a little from the impossibility of it all.

He wiped a tear off my cheek, beaming at me. "I do. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

I leaned in to kiss him then, overwhelmed by all those feelings I'd been suppressing. "I love you too"

When we pulled apart, he was crying, so I held him close and kissed his temple, fear quickly overtaking the joy. "What's wrong, Sam? What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter. Not important. Just. Lys, you're the best person I've ever met, and I want you to promise me something."

"Anything"

"No matter what happens to me, stay good."

"What?"

He shifted to look me in the eye, his expression deadly serious. "After everything you've been through, you're still so good and kind and noble, and I'm scared that if something were to happen that'd change. So, promise me you'll stay good."

"What could happen? We're together and safe." It was denial, of course, but I'd just gotten here and I didn't want to entertain ever losing him.

"Promise me." He insisted

I swallowed hard and nodded "Alright. I promise. For you and Dad both."

Sam relaxed and kissed me again. "Thank you."

I attempted to find out what this was all about, but he wouldn't say. We held each other for a while longer that night before Sam announced that he needed to do something and I couldn't come with him. He told me to meet him in one of his usual sleeping spots, the next morning. He promised me that he'd be there, safe and sound, and so I let him go. I refused to entertain the thought that I might not find him alive and whole, and so I let him go.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

A Dream

I can't sleep tonight. Fell asleep early, managed to get a spot on a roof of some office building with wifi. I've been trying so hard to keep writing, to keep sharing the story, but now I'm drawing to it's close and all I can think of is his body, chopped into bits and stuffed in trash bags... It was the most horrific thing I'd ever seen in my life. My guess is whoever did it was trying to dispose of the body and got scared away...

But tonight I dreamt of Sam. Standing there on the roof, same as always, crying and hugging me and telling me how much he loves me and how much he misses me. It was beautiful and wonderful and everything I could've wanted.

It felt so real! He was so firm with me, telling me I had to keep going, that I have to find something to live for, since he's not there with me anymore.

I woke up crying.

One more post left of his life.

I'll be getting back on that soon.

Telling Secrets

Apparently I have followers now. I wasn't expecting that, I kind of figured I'd tell Sam's story in silence. I mean, he definitely deserves to have people reading this. Poor guy deserves to have everyone in the world remember him. He was an amazing man. So, welcome, I suppose.

Secondly, in the spirit of this post, I'd like to draw all of your attention to this. Both because it's important /and/ because it's a story that hits close to home for me-as you're all about to find out. I actually went into a book store and dealt with the glares while I read the entire article-I was so shocked, and thrilled, and... Well, I guess I have a bit of a new hero. She's got guts.

The story I want to tell, as I said, is related to that. The next big landmark between us happened one night sitting around chatting on a rooftop, as had quickly become our habit. He always preferred being up high, and as I had no objection, that became our standard.

For the life of me I can't remember what we were talking about. Something random, probably pointless except for entertaining us for a little while. But we'd ended up sitting close together and leaning in talking about it... and next thing I knew, we were kissing.

It was cheesy, cliched, and so stereotypically Hollywood. Or at least it would've been, if it weren't two dirty, unkempt homeless 'men'. The kiss was sweet and loving and so very, very eager on both sides. But I pulled away. Because I wasn't being honest with him.

"Sam, there's something you should know."

He flinched, thinking that I hadn't wanted the kiss. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

I shook my head. "No, I wanted it. But. I'm not quite what you think I am..." At Sam's look of confusion, I continued. "I'm not exactly a man..."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard the term 'genderfluid'?"

"No..."

"Sometimes, I am a man. Sometimes, I am a woman. But, biologically, I'm female, and I know that's not what you're into."

It took him a minute to process. "So. What were you when we kissed? A man, or a woman? Because. That's all that really matters. Biology's not important."

I couldn't look him in the eye. "I was a woman. I /am/ a woman tonight."

"... We can stay friends, right?" He looked about as heartbroken as I felt.

I attempted a smile, for his sake. "Of course."

"... What should I call you? When you're a woman, I mean."

I paused, uncertain. "Lily. My dad named me Lily."

"Well, then, Lily. You'll always be my friend. Man or woman."

After that, he offered to help me steal some clothes so that I could be a girl when we were alone and the mood struck me, but I knew it wasn't safe. A woman on the street is at risk of a whole category of things that a man never has to worry about. That's why I stay a man, these days. At least outwardly. I don't have enough curves for anyone to be able to tell what's underneath.

He tried to give me the clothes anyway, because that's just how sweet he really was. He was so sad for me, that I couldn't be who I want to be.

Things were awkward for a few days, but we really only had each other, so we got over it quick. A failed romance was far less important than having someone we could count on.

Friendship

When I saw him again, it was in this one little coffee shop that managed to survive in spite of the army of Starbucks and the like. It was known among the homeless folk for having donuts and kolaches for under a dollar-a pretty sweet deal for us. Even the worst busker could make that much in a day.

Sam hadn't figured out that much yet, he just knew they didn't shoo him out for not ordering anything and they had free wifi and outlets for laptops. Which is why I ended up giving him half of my donut. Only food I had all day, but seeing the heartbroken way he eyed the thing-and how baggy his clothes were-I couldn't hardly eat the whole thing in front of him. And the way his eyes lit up... I'll never forget it as long as I live.

I think even more than the donut itself he was so excited to have someone being nice to him. He always said he had problems making friends, even moreso than most of us. Probably because he was a little bit crazy, as he proved that day. We decided to go to the comic shop nearby. I'd never been but apparently it was one of his favorite hangouts and I really liked the idea, it'd been a while since I'd done something just for fun like that.

We got about halfway there before he got quiet and scared, staring off into the distance before apologizing and telling me he needed to head to a roof. Sam was so jittery and scared, and there was nothing there. But he was far more comfortable on the roof, so we went and spent a couple hours talking up there.

It was really nice, having a friend, even if he was a bit certifiable.

Meeting Sam

We never would've met if I weren't a nosy little fucker sometimes. I've lived in the City for years, I know all the gang signs, the taggers, the showoffs. Some people go to school to learn how to dissect 'fine' art, but I've got an unused degree and a desire to do anything to prevent mental stagnation, so I started doing the same with the graffiti.

Call it a stupid hobby, but even a bum has to have something to do, right? I don't spend all my time busking or doing odd jobs any more than you do. So when I noticed a new sign showing up, over and over, in this certain shade of turquoise blue, and always on buildings with accessible roofs, I got curious. I mean sure, I've seen it occasionally before, at random,  always done by scared runaways, but this was /methodical/. Like hobo sign, which I'm passingly familiar with, but one I've never seen.

So I started looking for whoever was doing it. Hard to find a good tagger, really, their work depends on secrecy, but the homeless around here keep their eyes open. People never think we see anything, we're just part of the furniture. But we do. We see everything.  So I heard about the sweet looking blond kid. One of us, in fact. Though he did have a laptop-no one was sure if it really ran. But the kid is pretty much only ever seen on rooftops, which isn't a bad strategy for a  homeless kid, the gangs don't bother you up there  unless you owe them something.

From there, it was just finding the right rooftop. And there he was, with the laptop out, though he stashed it when I came through the door. I wish I could remember exactly what was said, but that was a year ago and my memory's not that good. But I introduced myself, got his name, and asked about the tags.

He got scared then, I remember that specifically. I think he thought I was a cop or something, there to arrest him for vandalism. Sam was so scared, so outrageously skittish. Very secretive, even after I'd known him for as long as I did. Even after... well, that's another story.

As it turned out, they were X-Men symbols. He'd been trying out tagging as an outlet, but he wasn't actually any good, so that was about the best he could do. But it got us started talking-nerds of a feather and all. It'd been a long time since I'd had someone I could have a conversation about comics and the like with. It was nice.

For Sam

Don't expect much from this blog. This isn't something fancy, don't expect grand stories or daring adventures. I'm not here to deliver cutting commentary on the world or to share you useful advice on life. I'm just here because my friend Sam died, and I love him, and if I don't do something no one will even know he ever existed.

That's what happens when you're homeless, after all, and being in no better state myself, all I can do is tell stories about him on the internet. I couldn't afford to give him a burial or anything, couldn't even get too close when they were looking into what happened for fear of being accused. No one really cares what happens to us, after all. At least the police care about doing their jobs.

Sam really loved the blogs. His prized posession was this tiny beat to shit laptop that looks like it shouldn't even run anymore, and he used that to write a blog I was never allowed to see. He always said he was a writer, and he was too embarrassed to let me see his stories.

I've inherited the laptop, so I suppose it's really all I can do  to tell his story to all of you. Or at least the bits I know.