Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27905100-20160505171337

So here's my next pasta, written to take a break from a very long one that I'm writing (It's currently at more than 11 pages, and I just finished a part of the inciting incident), but this is one that I made just for fun. It's very, VERY short at about 420 words, but I think it's pretty decent.

Just a note before you read this: This is based off of something that I myself experience, although I have exaggerated it to no end. What I experience is just blood going through my eye in the veins, creating an illusion of seeing spots. My brain then takes those spots and morphs them into a face. It's scary, sure, but I can deal with it. This narrator experiences something much, much worse, but know that this is based off of experience.

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Every night, I see them.

Every. Single. Night.

I don’t have a condition or anything, at least not that I know of, except possibly mild synesthesia; but that shouldn’t make this happen, should it?

As a young man of my early twenties, I sleep alone in an apartment not far off-campus of my college. I don’t smoke, and that includes weed, and I only drink at parties. I’m not particularly dim, but I won’t say I’m the sharpest. I just get by. I don’t do any drugs, except some over-the-counter Benadryl for my mild seasonal allergies, and I don’t get sick often; when I do it’s simply the common cold or the flu. I don’t know. I honestly don’t.

Sometimes, before all of this, I used to get night-terrors, and I can’t really fathom why. I never dreamt, and when I did, I remembered them. I think that it might have something to do with this? I… I can’t tell you. I guess it’s just the way I work. I hope that this is normal. I can’t honestly say if I’m sure about that, though.

I sleep uneasily, and some nights I don’t get to sleep at all. It’s the things. They stay still when I look at them, the shadowy faces, and I stare at them, hoping they won’t come closer than they are, but then I blink. When I blink they’re nearer. Not by much, but I can tell they’re ever-so-slightly nearer. They… I feel like they want something, and I think I know what.

Their menacing faces, shady as they are, for the dark, they are still there, preventing me from getting to sleep. I know if I look away, they’ll come straight for me, and I know if I shut my eyes, I won’t open them again. I don’t want any of this. Why’d it happen to me? Why?

They’ve gotten close now, and I can make out every feature. The gaping holes where their eyes and faces should be. The long, slender arms, contrasting with the short body, and the bony fingers reaching out towards me. Either way, tonight they’ll get me tonight, and I know what will happen then. I’m holding the knife and writing this down right now, and I know what will happen once they know I’m gone. They’ll come looking for another, another who knows about them. Pray to God, Satan, anyone that it’s not you. I’m signing off for the last time, and hoping that this ends it all. 