Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-14341590-20150727202712

'''Just thought I'd share with you all. It's a Creepypasta that I wrote while on a train home.''' I see them through the cracks in the walls, the people with their tall coats. Their coats falling to the side of their hips, covering whatever it is that looks to be the size of a combat stick. I always see the upside to the secrets hidden by the hips, the silver lining that you may only see on rare occasions and even then I was unlucky to see such a thing.

The performances that go on outside the tents are what really catch my interest. I roll my hands down my legs, over my knees and I’m always coming to a stop. My fingertips just can’t help but feel cold and my nails don’t show the pinkness that they used to. They’d call it hard labour for those that were forced to scrub the walls. I’d call it hiding a scene, hiding what nobody should ever see. Ever.

A night from now is when I will see it again, the silver line going down the tall coat. The anger within the hoods, I can’t see the faces but I know they’re up to no good. My sister left behind, daughter thrown aside and I still can’t see what is right in front of me. The anger within their eyes are just people inside my mind. The eyes stare and I stare back, but in reality. I'm staring at a wall, and I come round full circle to find myself back at the front door.

I knew it was going to happen, the same night occurred before. The people dropped their daggers and I also watched them claw. Always the brutal side of them, always the ones that fall. I’m staring right at the mirror, through the windows and back to the front door. No more, no more, will I tell her that I was the one to see it all.

The music soon begins, just as she enters through the wall. I watch her come through, she whispers to me and I listen to the calm carnival music that keeps on going round and round throughout the forests nearby. Her hand is placed on silver plate and the hooded civilians all strike at once at her hips, her legs, her torso… until there is no more. I washed my hands outside the tent, where the man stared at me like I was the monster. Did he not see what I just saw? I got to see it all. The clawing, the stabbing, the pain and the agony she was inflicted with. They gave her twice more than they gave my daughter, and even then, I was lucky to be not be in the slaughter.

Clouds look down at me, went side to side and my mind falls back thanks to gravity. The face that I saw was the last one I had wanted to see. She looked at me and I looked at her and even then I was startled by what I would see. Her heart no longer in place and her mind more broken than her face. It truly is a sight to behold, a sight that I can’t hold back from. *Sigh*

The music continued throughout that night and I was given the edge of what should’ve been more of a fright. The silver lines down their tall thick coats, and their moans and groans just made me want to cut their throats. I wouldn’t have thought such horrible thoughts but if it wasn’t for them, I’d be nothing at all. They taught me my body movements, my mind flows and how everything grows and grows. Until there is no more, my daughter, my sister and the people who are lambs to the slaughter. Nobody is disrespected, except me. My heart no longer intact thanks to seeing such violence. You see her once and you think you’ve seen it all, but really I’ve just suffered the end of it all.

The Carnival Theme continues to play and my mother tells me that I should really stay. Her face covered in a thick red paint, and her arms smothered in toxic waste. I swear, I swear if it wasn’t for her, I’d be lying down at the end of the show. And then I’d see what I monster I can be, and she would tell me that quite possibly… that I am the brother, the brother of those who hate to play. A knife, a scalpel, and I really have to say; that no matter what I do, no matter what I try. She’ll always find me and oh sweet mother, how cruel she can be. You just don’t see it like I see it now, she comes at me with fury and anger to tell. I swear to you that if I find a way to get out of this madness, I would’ve stayed with you and not painted like my father. You could tell me that I’ve been a bad, bad boy. But we both know that you and I are together, and together we shall be. As we paint and paint to make our world times by three.

Forever or after, I have no feelings for this Earth.

(Thanks for reading. I just hope you have some Constructive Criticism for me) 