Tenth Post

I've been on the run. My mother tried to have me put back in the hospital. I am not going back there. They'll make my children stop screaming to me and I won't stop listening to them, I won't! I still haven't been able to find out what the faceless mask is though. I just know that they want me to.

Ninth Post

When is a face not a face? When it's a mask. When is a mask not a mask? When it's a face. The two aren't the same. They aren't.

They scream quieter when I try to think about a faceless mask. They want me to do something, but how can I know what if they won't tell me. 

Lullaby, and good night,
You're your mother's delight,
Shining angels beside
My darling abide.

If I find out what they want will that make them stop screaming?

Eighth Post

I failed. Again I failed. I hear them crying all the time. Mommy Mommy please make it better. So I went after her because it's all her fault once she pays the price they won't cry and they won't hurt anymore. But I failed and they are screaming in so much pain and they are telling me Mommy look harder Mommy you're looking in the wrong place. There should have been fire, so much fire, but I did it wrong, I don't know what I did wrong.

People have faces. The pictures had no face, but people have faces. Maybe it was a mask. But why did he use a mask with no face? And how did my children know that he was stalking their godmother? And if they knew he was bad, why didn't they scream when he came to take them?

Why can't I make them stop crying?

Seventh Post

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Sixth Post

I told her. I told her what she deserves and I told her what she will get for what she did to my children and she hung up on me, the bitch hung up on me after what she did she had the nerve to hang up on me she should have listened why doesn't she hate herself as much as I do she said she loved them if she loved them then she hate herself for what she did to them.

Sometimes I hear my children whispering to me. They're crying and I sing to them hush little baby don't say a word but they keep crying and I know that they won't stop crying until everyone responsible for hurting them has aid. Its funny though. The only time I hear them crying is when I dream about a man with no face. Just like their pictures.

Fifth Post

Well, back to this. I just spent 2 weeks in the hospital. And not the regular hospital.

My mother did it. She called the doctors and told them I had stopped eating. And so they came and took me away. Pumped me full of drugs. Drugs that make you stop feeling. I told the doctors I would keep taking them after I left the hospital, that I felt so much better while on them. It was partially true. I do feel better with the drugs. It doesn't hurt.  And that just can't happen. If I stop hurting then I'll forget about them. The doctors told me I need to stop blaming myself and that if I'm not ready to move on, I at least need to place blame properly. That part I can agree with.

I used to have a best friend.  She stopped taking my phone calls even before my babies were killed. The kids loved her so much. I used to tell her that she was almost as much of a mother to them as I was. And then she abandoned us. Didn't even give a reason. But then later, we found out the reason. And then my babies were murdered. That fucker murdered my babies because of her.They drew those pictures, said it was her and the man. She knew he was hunting her and didn't go to police. She brought him into their lives.

She needs to pay.

Fourth Post

Why do I even bother looking at this? Who cares what the damn doctor thinks, it's not helping. There is nothing that can possibly help. The bastard that killed my babies is dead and that doesn't help. The woman who led him to them stays away from me and that doesn't help. Their waste of a father doesn't bother me anymore and that doesn't help.

I'm running out of reasons to keep going. Sometimes all I can do is sit and stare at those pictures they drew. They called him the man. It's odd. He doesn't look like the man who killed them. The man in the pictures was bald.

I asked them once why the man in their pictures didn't have a face. They said cause he doesn't have one Mommy. And they laughed like they were telling me a joke. But then when I asked why he had arms like a spider's legs they didn't laugh. They just cried and curled up in my lap.

Is it my fault for not taking the pictures more seriously?