Mike has been in bed all day. He refuses to take any medicine. Nothing has really changed. (Here comes the rant)
This fucking sucks. This fucking sucks. This fucking sucks.
Since the DAY he got here, it's been nothing but constantly watching him and wondering what the fuck is happening. It's not fair. We were supposed to go to the beach, hang out, play some games, all that shit. Now i'm just sitting here reading something about an urban legend called "Slender Man" and how he is making Mike sick. This is what I have reduced to. Reading fiction.
Yet...every since I read about him...it...whatever, for the first time yesterday (thanks proxiehunter<---sarcasm), I've realized that I have been checking my back more often then I should. Deep down, am I scared of it? No. I'm not.