Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-30692969-20161216144215

So this is something short I write in a full school period. I was bored, so I thought I'd write something that I have no idea whether it'd be NSFW or not. So yeah, I got a hell of a story for you.

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I fell to the ground, my hands covering my ears. The voices were back. They’ve returned.They were telling me things, things that I should do.

“End yourself. Just do it you little rat.”

I tried to resist the urge to break something, failing as I dragged myself to my feet as I put my fist through the bathroom mirror. Blood covered my hand, glass shards sticking out everywhere. I pulled the shards out, frantically looking in the cabinets for gauze. I couldn’t find anything, my hand bleeding much worse now that the shards were out. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my hand, tying a tight knot at the bottom. I screamed as the voices came back, my sudden adrenaline rush pushing them out for mere moments. I fell back to the ground, the voices becoming louder and louder. My head felt like it was being crushed. The pressure built up more and more, my head aching to the point I could only scream. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my vocal chords being torn apart. I kept screaming louder and louder, hoping to drown the voices out.

“It’s all useless. You might as well give up.”

I beat my head on the tile floor until blood started spraying the ground.

“You’re a mess. Clean this up before someone sees.”

I stood up, my legs shaky. I felt like I was going to vomit. I fell to the ground once more, throwing up all over the floor.

“This idiot can’t even keep it to himself. You’re useless, I hope you know that. Just kill yourself. Just end it.”

I tried standing up, but I was out of energy. I crawled over to the closed and reached in, looking for a mop.

“Don’t reach for the mop, grab the shotgun. It’ll be of more use to you.”

I pulled myself up on the knob, forcing myself to reach up for the shotgun. I grabbed a box of buckshot and pocketed it. I took the gun off safety and went outside. Vomit still covered the front of my sweatshirt.

“So. I see you’re following our directions. Well? What are you waiting for? You know what you need to do.”

I walked over to my neighbours house, standing at the front door. I reached for the doorbell, but decided against it. I loaded the shotgun and knocked on the door. The wife opened the door. She wore a white apron. I raised the shotgun. She screamed. Startled, I pulled the trigger, sending her flying back into the house. Her body smashed through their glass coffee table, glass stabbing her in the back. I continued into the house to see the husband struggling to put bullets in his handgun. I turned the shotgun on him. He looked up at me, a look of pure terror painted on his face. I pulled the trigger. His body smashed up against the wall. I left the house, moving on to the next.

I knocked on the front door. No one answered, probably having heard the shotgun. I waited a second, reloading the two missing shots. I kicked the door in, breaking the hinges from the wall. I proceeded into the house. There was a landing above me with a person hiding behind the bars. They tried to crawl to one of the rooms, being stopped by the sudden shot of the gun. The bars broke, their body falling from the landing. I laughed as their body smashed on the ground, blood splashing everywhere. A man ran in holding a rifle. He fired, hitting the vase next to me. I was sprayed with the shrapnel. He pulled back the bolt and put another shot in. I pulled the trigger to the shotgun. His body fell backwards, the rifle falling next to him. I heard police sirens in the background.

Then, I realized it was the only thing I could hear. The voices were gone. They were gone, but I knew their final wish.

I raised the barrel of the shotgun to my chin and pulled the trigger. 