LogFAQs > #928011605

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Topic	Part 1 of my horror story in honor of Halloween
maoriwarrior 09/27/19 6:32:34 AM #1:	Part 1 It was a paralyzing conundrum, to be conceived with fantasies of happiness, but then be tortured by imaginary fallacies that plagues ones self. But that was the average daily life of Timothy. Timothy was your standard seventeen year old. A brittle young man with frail like characteristics, Brown hair that waived at the ends, piercing blue eyes, and a defined jawline. His interests varied, from video games to soccer. Nothing necessarily stood out about Timothy, but he was indeed extraordinary. What was so extraordinary about Timothy you ask? The plague. The plague of thoughts that defined who he was. The idea, the very simple notion that if he did indeed step on a crack, his mother just would not crack her back, but she would have a gulp of water, which would then lodge in her throat. As the gulp progressed down her throat she would then gasp and flail for air like a fish out of water. Then she would collapse onto the floor grasping for any ounce of life she could. As she screams out in terrorizing agony she would then notice her son glaring at her, completely debilitated by the scene in front of him. The woman who had single handedly raised him, working sixty hours a week at a diner. She would come home with bruises on her feet, exhausted from carrying Timothys younger brother in her six month term. The woman who had invested so much time into curating and creating her idea of an outstanding young man, one built with honor, morals, and genuine care. But, if Timothy would attempt to save her, then he had failed himself. You see, the voice inside of Timothys head had deemed him unworthy and by definition a character of evil intentions, an individual who must pay for every single imperfection with great monstrosities. All because he stepped on the crack. Of course, this scene did not actually occur. Timothy was beckened by the fact that he was always living in a pre-ordained nightmare. An entire reality that was tantalizingly outside of his control. But what was inside of Timothys control, was his desire to not HAVE to tap on the front door five times, or to avoid having a single reason that because he did not pray to god for the second time that day that his masturbation on Tuesday would cause the next rapture. Every single step Timothy took, was one closer to death. --- PSN: NihilismKills <cite>maoriwarrior posted [p:928011605] in Part 1 of ... [t:78045254]...</cite> <quote>Part 1 It was a paralyzing conundrum, to be conceived with fantasies of happiness, but then be tortured by imaginary fallacies that plagues ones self. But that was the average daily life of Timothy. Timothy was your standard seventeen year old. A brittle young man with frail like characteristics, Brown hair that waived at the ends, piercing blue eyes, and a defined jawline. His interests varied, from video games to soccer. Nothing necessarily stood out about Timothy, but he was indeed extraordinary. What was so extraordinary about Timothy you ask? The plague. The plague of thoughts that defined who he was. The idea, the very simple notion that if he did indeed step on a crack, his mother just would not crack her back, but she would have a gulp of water, which would then lodge in her throat. As the gulp progressed down her throat she would then gasp and flail for air like a fish out of water. Then she would collapse onto the floor grasping for any ounce of life she could. As she screams out in terrorizing agony she would then notice her son glaring at her, completely debilitated by the scene in front of him. The woman who had single handedly raised him, working sixty hours a week at a diner. She would come home with bruises on her feet, exhausted from carrying Timothys younger brother in her six month term. The woman who had invested so much time into curating and creating her idea of an outstanding young man, one built with honor, morals, and genuine care. But, if Timothy would attempt to save her, then he had failed himself. You see, the voice inside of Timothys head had deemed him unworthy and by definition a character of evil intentions, an individual who must pay for every single imperfection with great monstrosities. All because he stepped on the crack. Of course, this scene did not actually occur. Timothy was beckened by the fact that he was always living in a pre-ordained nightmare. An entire reality that was tantalizingly outside of his control. But what was inside of Timothys control, was his desire to not HAVE to tap on the front door five times, or to avoid having a single reason that because he did not pray to god for the second time that day that his masturbation on Tuesday would cause the next rapture. Every single step Timothy took, was one closer to death. --- PSN: NihilismKills</quote> ... Copied to Clipboard!
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