Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29164101-20160719174208

First off, I don’t typically talk about my teen years for two reasons. The first is because of how I looked, we all look back and cringe at who we were. But the second was because of my friends. Back in highschool, I was the unpopular kid, but to be more specific, I was a goth. Now I went to highschool around ‘99-’00, so we were all pariahs thanks to Columbine. There was me, the long haired kid with eyeliner, choker, the whole shabang. Then there was John and Sean. John was the most average looking of all of us, he didn’t look goth, but he was much more misanthropic than all of us combined, and he always was more cold than any of us. John just started a random conversation with me during health and the rest is history. And Sean, Sean was a misfit. He never fit in with any other groups, but me and him became friends in freshmen year. He was the more nerdy type, striped polo, thick rim glasses, basically the stereotypical nerd incarnate.

    John, Sean, and I were the typical teens that kept bad habits. We drank, we smoked, etc. We didn’t care to put it bluntly. But during those smoke sessions, we talked about the most vile things. Now sure, guys talk about gross things, but the topics brought up would basically make any sane person throw up. We enjoyed it. John was always the one to be fascinated the most with these topics. But one day really started a shit storm that I’ll never forget. So, It was the typical session with my friends and I, and we were at our “Troll Hole.” Our typical spot was under this bridge near a freeway, so it was relatively large. We all start smoking, but I noticed something different. I brought my own gram, but Sean had to split with John. I knew off the bat something was up when Sean lit that gram, I could smell it. That was flag number one, but I brushed it off, maybe John bought it from a different dealer. But John was sort of half listening throughout all the conversation, he was just staring at Sean, like he was waiting for something to happen. I was really starting to get freaked out, so I said to him

“Hey man, something on your mind?”

“No” he replied, almost trying to not start any conversation

    Then, Sean started to cough like crazy. But he wasn’t new to pot at all, he was a chain smoker, so I knew something was wrong. He was short for air and he started wailing in pain. I tried to ask him what’s wrong, and he yanks my shirt, looking me dead in the eyes with this look of agonizing pain and fear

“It burns!” he yells with this teary tone of voice

Just as he yells at me, I feel a hard thud against my head, and I was out cold. I wake up around two hours later and neither John or Sean are there. I start to panic and think what to do. I run back to my house to call the police. I told the operator the whole story, and cops were sent. They question me, but I couldn’t give them much. I felt like an awful friend. I tell them how John gave Sean the weed, so they decide to search his house. Turns out the night prior, John killed both his mother and father, slitting their throats ear to ear. But sadly, they weren’t his only victims. Johnny thought all of this out in advance, and once his room door opened, the body count tripled. Turns out he rigged his room with explosives. But not all of his previous belongings were destroyed. After the explosion, the cops searched his room and found hundreds of photos of him posing with mutilated animals, including a few missing neighbor cats, and my dog. The more and more that came up, the less and less I wanted to see. But the most prominent thing was what he carved on the floor

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;">7/15/99

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;">It was June 6th when the investigation ended, so people became paranoid thinking what was going to happen that day. Each and every day leading up to that date was full of curiosity and fear. Turns out that was meant to throw us off. On July 7th,1999, 17 people were shot dead after a young man opened fire on innocent civilians in a local grocery store. Among those 17 people, was my mother and my 3 year old sister. I was sitting in the car as it all unfolded. I heard the first gunshot and I rushed to the window and I see John, laughing as he unloads slugs unto every passer by. But he turns around and looks directly at me. I was completely shocked, I just stood there. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses. They were Sean’s. He looked at me and just started laughing, almost in a mocking tone. He lifts up his gun and just when I thought he was going to aim for me, he pulls it all the way back up to his chin and gives me a smile. I never thought you could stop being able to recognize someone after a few seconds, but I was wrong. Once I saw him pull the trigger, all I could see was a spray of angst and disgust. What I saw after that bullet went through his head wasn’t John. What I saw was a coward and a monster. <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;">

<span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;">    <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;">They found Sean’s body a week later a few miles away from the grocery store. His mother had to identify him, and since then she’s become a shut-in. Rumors began to spread on what she saw. The most popular of them say that there were bite marks along where his stomach and diaphragm would be, and lacerations along both his neck and genitals. Honestly, I knew that John was a freak, but I underestimated him. I thought he was cold, but he was worse than heartless. The last time I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see frustration or fear. I saw a void. A black-hole of where his emotions were supposed to be. But they were never there in the first place. He was never my friend. <ac_metadata title="This is my first creepy pasta, I was wondering how it looked (Possible title: The Gift from the Friendless)"> </ac_metadata>