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Creepypasta: It Never EndsCreepypasta: It Never Ends
I ask you a question, what is right and what is wrong? You might say something like murder is wrong, and dying for a just cause is right. But in the end, how are the two different? They each involve death. Which brings me to my main point: all life depends upon the ending of another’s to exist. Even humans must eat plants and usually animals, and in some odd cases other humans as well. Life could best be portrayed as an endless staircase, constantly turning back in on itself in a quantum Mobius strip. Remember that all life exists solely because it caused another life pain at some point, which in turn had inflicted pain to life before it. That is a central theme in the story I will tell you.
First, proper introductions are in order. I am Sin, with a capital S. I could best be described as the abstract concept of violating the natural order that we call sin, given sentience and a semblance of form. I make my presence felt every day in the life of every m
innocencelast night, i dreamt the devil
tried to slaughter me with a
train. the tracks began at the
back hall and ended at the front
door, pouring outside. how these
things appeared in my home, i cannot
he was not the caricature you may be
imagining; oh, no. he was perhaps
as old as the boy who died this winter,
roughly twenty five summers. ebony
curls sat wickedly on his ears, and his
eyes were two lumps of coal and fire,
sharp enough to paralyze.
i locked him in the garden, eventually.
he found a way back in, of course
(being the devil must have perks).
i retrieved the pocket knife the colour
of motor oil from my nightstand
and stabbed him three times, in the belly.
he bled out all over, staining the picture
frame, the carpet, the wallpaper. i imagined
it was sin, not blood; that i was healing, not
but it was blood; he was human, after all.
as they took him away to the hospital, i watched
him grimace in pain. guilt seeped through my
skin like coffee th
Creepypasta: Mirror, MirrorCreepypasta: Mirror, Mirror
Humans are vain, self-absorbed creatures. If I, once a trusted angel and now a Daemon of myth, am aware of that, then surely they know it on at least some basic level too. My eventual corruption and fall from grace should come as no surprise; I suspect Adonai himself always had his doubts in my purity. I am after all in a prime position to see them at their most selfish and otiose as well. You see, I am a shapeshifter who dwells in the space between the mirror and the reflection.
In my newfound role I stalk my chosen victim through the reflective surfaces in his or her abode. I imitate their every movement as they preen in front of my chosen mirror. I look on from the polished surface with disgust as they bitch and moan under their breath about first-world problems. And just when I can’t stand them any longer, that is when I start to have my fun.
I begin to purposely put flaws in my imitation, and as they look at me thinking they see their own reflecti
MonsterSince you were a child
you have been checking your wardrobes and under your beds for monsters
But what you don't know that there already is a monster in your life
Always following you
Always with you
Until you die
I guess you don't know what I'm talking about right now
We humans forget that there's a monster inside all of us
Locked in a cage in your head
For the right moment for you to snap and break open the cage for it so it can take control
That monster is our insanity
A raging beast that is inside of us all
But one day cage will break
And the beast will be released for it to rampage
Creepypasta: Pretty Little ThingsCreepypasta: Pretty Little Things
Isn’t it funny how the things that tickle our imaginations as children seem terrifying in perspective when we grow, and vice versa? Even time itself, which seems naught but a blessing to a child, appears increasingly ravaging and crippling to an adult through its bastard offspring, “age”. Eventually it is so akin to the grim specter of Death itself that it turns our bones to ash and, except in extraordinary cases, erases all memory we ever lived. But I am above such things. I have lived for all times and for all ages, and all because of Theresa.
Theresa is a doll of the porcelain variety, although that is like saying that the revolver which was used to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand and kicked off World War I was .32 in calibre. What I’m trying to say is that just thinking of Theresa as a doll is to miss the underlying subtext of what she represents. To illustrate my point, I found Theresa in my bathtub when I was filling it wit
What Comes Out of the Shadows I was always afraid of the basement.
My parents chalked it up to what they called “post-moving paranoia” or something like that. I could only remember that the basement of the new house we moved to filled me with a chilling, dark feeling. I never knew why it bothered me so much.
Even my parents never really went down there. The previous owners had left a ton of stuff down there, and if it had been any other house I’d have been down there searching for anything interesting. I couldn’t go into the basement here though. Not in this house. The basement seemed like its own territory, and you didn’t want to trespass on its territory.
The house itself was nice. My room was small and there was a dent in the wall, but it was nice. My parents had a room that connected to a bathroom, and the kitchen was near their room while the living room was closer to mine. It was a small, cozy house, but
Creepypasta: Bloody MaryCreepypasta: Bloody Mary
The Bloody Mary ritual is probably the most popular method of summoning a spirit among casual ghost hunters. No one really believes in it, and when someone does see something odd after the incantation is performed it is attributed to the sensory deprivation of being in a darkened room. But maybe if I explain the origins of the story you will be a bit more receptive to the truth.
Mary was a waif of a 16 year-old girl who lived in the countryside of Scotland during the Wars of Scottish Independence which occurred in the tail end of the 1200s. Mary saw none of the war however, and for that matter barely ever saw the world outside her family’s shamble of a dwelling except when she was allowed to. You see, her parents were obsessively worried for Mary’s safety. She was their only child, and because they loved her more than life itself, they forbade her from living a normal life so as to keep her protected. They just never wanted to lose her. Ironically,
Because I askedThe fingers were now black, stained with blood. I sighed as I curled them back into a fist. I’m inside The Black Forest Asylum, hiding in one of the many janitorial closets. My arm’s bleeding profusely, due to its recently impaling, thanks to the demonic little girl I just met a couple of minutes ago. I place my hand back on the wound, trying to apply pressure.
Why? Just why? Why can’t I have an easy day? Just once!
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” I hear the girl’s playful, yet sadistic, voice.
I groan, Please…give me five minutes! I keep quiet, hoping that maybe she’ll walk past the room where the closet I’m currently hiding is in, but I already know that’s asking for too much.
I hear the door open shortly followed by footsteps, enter the room. I hold my breath, trying my best not to make a sound. As I do, I silently curse The Sender for bringing me here.
“I can smell your fear…” I hear
Creepypasta: LogicLara sat upside down on the sofa. Her long, curly black hair was hanging down, brushing up against the hardwood floor.
“Lara, your mom doesn’t like you sitting like that.” Her father said, looking up from his book.
Lara had to struggle to get to a normal position. She wasn’t quite used to missing half of her left arm yet. “So…” She started, shifting on the leather couch to find a comfortable position. “When is she going to get here?” Lara’s mom had left to pick up a new child. Literally. After the long and tedious adoption process, it was time to pick her up.
“Should be soon…” He replied, glancing down at his watch. “Remember what we told you. Don’t-“
“-ask about the scar. I’m nine, I remember things Daddy.”
The bolt lock on the front door clicked and the door swung open. “I don’t want you see you tracking dirt in the house- I’ve heard you’re pretty
RD4 - Ashley's Crappy Rescue 13
Bursting into the camp, he yelled, "GRAB ALL OF OUR CRAP, WE'VE GOTTA MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE! Zombies are after me!" Luis woke with a start. "Whaddya do this time..." He asked, slightly drowsy. "I ACCIDENTALLY SNIPED ONE WHILE I WAS TARGET PRACTICING TO GET MY MIND OFF OF DESTROYING THINGS AND AAAAAAAGH" Leon choked as a zombie grabbed him from behind. Luis sat and watched his friend, laughing. God, was this Spaniard stupid. "Haha, Leon, I think that zombie likes you!"
"Are you having your 'evil issues' again?"
"Oh, OH! CRAP, LEON, THERE'S A ZOMBIE CHOKING YOU!"
Luis pulled out his gun and shot the zombie. Both Leon and the zombie fell to the ground, except Leon was breathing heavily and rubbing his neck. More zombies started appearing down the path by the time Leon recovered, but he recovered in about 10 seconds. These zombies were moving pretty fast. "Ugh, okay... LETS GO! DON'T FORGET THE STUPID PIZZA, LUIS! Ahem, ugh, okay. Good. NOW
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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