Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27601436-20160123194604

Please let me know how this it! I'd really appreciate any help I can get! :D

Blank Pages written by: APi3ceofTo4st

It was around ten am when I came across this notebook. It looked rather old and torn up. I opened it to the first page, and as it turned out, it had names written on it. I didn't bother to count them out, but I read the first five of them. John, Jacob, Jimmy, Heather, and Amber. There wasn't the last names of anyone, just pictures of them all. After studying the pictures of the people who I believe previously used this notebook, I flipped through the next few pages and expected writing or some kind of journal entry from everyone. As it turned out, they were blank, it was at this point I thought that they skipped the first few for more names. Even the pages ahead were blank as well. It seemed off and really odd that only the first page had names, but the rest of the notebook pages were blank. At around this time, I decided I'd get off my ass to go see if the librarian had any kind of pen or pencil. He looked at me and gave me a jar of ink, and a fountain pen. He didn't seem like he was in the mood to chat, but he had this grin on his face. It was like he knew exactly what I was going to do. But, without hesitation, I took the ink and pen and went back to where I was sitting. The last page I had the note book opened to were a few blank pages after the names. When I sat back down, the pages flipped back to the first page. There was no breeze, or even a fan in the room. Just, the librarian with his creepy grin sorting and entering the returned books. Out of a gut instinct, I took the pen, opened the ink jar, and began to write my name in the notebook, Mark. It seemed as if I was scratching my name into someones flesh. The black ink became a dark red and bled through the page. I looked back up at the librarian who was standing right in front of the table where I was sitting. He just, starred at me with that grin on his face still. I didn't bother to write my name because of this bastard. My body felt paralyzed, and all I could do was stare back at the librarian. "What are you going to write Mark? All the others were too scared to even write a simple question." I couldn't bare to look at him any longer, but I couldn't look away. "I, I don't know alright? What the hell are you doing to me?!" I yelled back at him and he didn't even respond. Just kept starring at me, grinning. "Well, what is you're going to write Mark?" The same fucking question for hours. I couldn't take his raspy, creepy voice anymore. So I picked up the pen after the pages flipped to half way into the notebook. The pages had turned into human flesh, and I began scratching in what I wanted, what I truly wanted. I wanted to know everything. "Good. Now, look at your arm Mark." I looked at my left arm, and what I had scratched into the human flesh page, was scratched into my arm. Bleeding, slowly. "The others are dead Mark. You will be too. Soon enough." 