Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26112985-20150728001331

"Mortality" is a creepypasta about a regular man who is stalked by Death his entire life. Though it is unfinished, the beggining can be found here. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

The Pasta:

Death was always there, in my childhood, my adolescence, and today also. As I sit in this room of padded walls and await my imminent demise, I consider my past, my thoughts probing through the memories one by one.

I saw Death for the first time when I was no less than three years old. As a matter of fact, he was one of my first ever memories. He used to linger over my crib for hours on end, looking down on me with an expression of unconditional grandfatherly love. He was old, about sixty or seventy from the looks of it, and that has never changed with all the time that I have known him. His complexion was smooth, without a single liver spot or blemish, which would have been strange for a man of his age, if he was a man at all.

He would smile with his whitened incisors and lean down to get a closer look at me. Some of his long black hair fell out from underneath his hood and I giggled as it tickled my belly, reaching out with my fat hands to grab the delightful face of my new friend. He let out a kindly chuckle and extended a single finger, allowing me to grasp it in my tiny digits.

“What a beautiful, special little boy you are Wesley. You’re going to do great things. I just know it.”

He always told me that in his suave calm voice of his, and, although I didn’t know what it meant at first, the words stuck in my head. I grew up with the knowledge that, somehow, in some way, I was special. One day the world would know my name.

I can’t tell you how I knew he was Death. I just did, and I always have. Basic instinct might be the best way to describe it. It’s the same way you know that your mother is your mother and your father is your father. Death was like that. The first time I saw him, inclined over my crib, looking down over me tenderly, his name was just there in my mind, Death.

I was the only one who could see him. When I was five years old my parents always referred to him as my “imaginary friend,” although I always knew he was very much real. I honestly think that they didn’t really know what to make of me making up a fictitious person named Death, especially since they had not taught me what death was quite yet. In the end, they decided that, even though it was macabre, I had probably just picked it up from some of my friends and that sooner or later it would wear off.

I used to get so upset because nobody else ever acknowledged him. I would stamp my feet and yell at my mother and father, trying to make them understand without any results. With all this going on Death was always there, usually standing in a corner and laughing quietly to himself. I would take my mother by the arm and tell her to put her hand in the corner, telling her that she would be able to feel him. If only to humor me more than anything else, she always would, and her hand would pass right through his midnight black cloak, as if it truly was not there at all. She would turn to me then, smiling in the sweet way only a mother can and  saying, “Honey, there’s nothing in the corner, now you know that there isn’t anything there too right?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">My mom and dad started to grow concerned when I was six and still had not given up on the presence of Death. They sat me down and had a serious talk with me about just what death really was, and how it could offend some people, intentionally or not, if I were to keep insisting on his existence.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I persisted, not intending to act as if I was blatantly lying to my parents when in fact I was only telling them what I saw. I would make an extra lunch and sit it down on the table for Death to eat, smartly thinking that my parents would have to believe me if they saw food disappearing into thin air. Death himself simply looked down upon me kindly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I’m sorry Wesley” he would whisper to me “but you know I can’t eat your food. Remember? We talked about this before.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was true, me and Death used to stay up all night, getting to know each other a little better each time. I had many questions to ask, and he had many answers, if not cryptic ones at that.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Who are you?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I am Death, Wesley. You know that.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“But what do you do?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I follow the instructions of our almighty God.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“What does God tell you to do?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“God tells me to do several things Wesley, too many to count.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Why can’t my parents see you?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“They can’t see you because they aren’t special. You are very special Wesley.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“How am I special?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“You’ll find out when you’re older.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">We would carry on like this all night, and there were often times were my mother questioned why I was so lethargic in the morning. Every time, just like the honest boy I had always been, I responded, “I was talking with Death all night.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">My mother especially became very fretful and she begged me to stop with my imaginary character. But I would not. It was one late night before my tenth birthday in August that I went was eavesdropping in on my mother and father’s bedroom. My mother was practically in tears over all the trouble that my imaginary friend had caused, and she was saying to my father that maybe we should take me to a doctor. It was only then when it registered in my mind that I would have to keep Death from my mother and father, loving as they might be.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I just don’t know what to do, he’s being so adamant about this person being real, it scares me Bruce.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">My father calms her in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry about it sweetheart. We all had imaginary friends growing up didn’t we? I did, you did, and we all did. There’s no reason to overreact here.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Between sobs my mother replied “But he’s nearly seven years old now and he won’t stop… Bruce I think we’d better take him to a doctor.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Alright, Helen, listen to me, we can compromise on this. If he doesn’t stop by the end of the month, we’ll take him to a doctor no questions asked. Is that okay?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I slowly receded from my spot by the door, making it as far as the doorframe to the living room before running to my room on my tiptoes. Death was waiting for me, standing in the corner.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Death, are you real?” I asked him, slowly and uncertainly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“You of all people should know,” he said, his red eyes flashing in the lamplight, “That I am very real Wesley, why even suggest that I am not?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“My parents don’t think that you’re real, and I think they might be right.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Then he smiled at me, and offered his hand, “Come forth child, I’ll show you how real I am.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I came forward and took his hand. As usual, I was able to grasp it, whilst my parents were not. His skin was warm to the touch, and I felt the warmth spreading through my own fingertips, making its way up my arm and chest, until my body was filled with a kindhearted glow that eased my tiny little soul.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Now,” said Death, his blue eyes shimmering. I blinked in confusion, hadn’t his eyes been red just a second ago? No, impossible, they had always been blue, since the very first time I had seen him he had had blue eyes.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I never doubted Death ever again.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Over the years I grew very close to my parents. I came to respect them and their policies. I had realized, when I hit my teenage years, that they were actually very good parents in comparison to all of my friends. They actually listened to what I had to say when it came to making the household better. Not only that, but they respected me in return; something that I knew could be a rarity in terms of parenthood. Not only did they respect me, but they genuinely loved me as well, with all their hearts, and they loved each other. Many of my peers were in constant fear of divorce, but I had a mother and father who adored each other, and were not afraid to show it. I learned to become thankful of my wonderful parents.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Things were definitely looking up for me in terms of schoolwork too. Death’s words kept reverberating around in my head. I was steadfast and determined. I was going to do great things, special things, I knew it. The first step forward was doing well in school, which I excelled at. My parents fawned over the superb report cards that I brought home time and time again, things couldn’t have been going better.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Then there came the night that my mother died of an overdose of sleeping pills.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I woke up in the middle of the night to the most terrible sound imaginable. It was almost like ice being cracked, but magnified. It made you want to grit your teeth and squeeze your hands together like you had wet sand in your mouth that crunches every time you close your mouth.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was coming from my parent’s bedroom. I tiptoed out of my bed, wincing every time I heard it, which was often since it was continuous. I stopped in the doorway and gradually poked my head in through the door.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Death was standing over the bed of my mother and father. But there was something that was wrong… something different. I stayed completely still, suddenly frightened. The cracking noise continued until it reached a high point. I covered my ears in pain, but my parents both kept sleeping soundlessly, oblivious to the terrible grating resonance.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I took a step inside the bedroom.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Death…?” I inquired in a loud whisper. I couldn’t see his face, which was hidden in the dark cloth of his hood. He didn’t appear to hear me. He just looked down upon the sleeping form of my mother, rocking back and forth slightly

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Then he lifted his hands and threw back his hood.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">From the moonlight streaming in through the window, I saw his face… or what had become of his face. I choked back a scream and my legs went weak as I stared, wanting to tear my eyes away but wanting to see at the same time.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">His eyes, normally blue, had turned a sinister shade of blood red. Black veins were creeping, literally slithering, into his face like a mass of giant dark worms were crawling underneath his skin. Every time they moved there was a crack as another black line snaked its way into his grim countenance.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">My stomach had started to flutter, and at this point I was backing out of the room.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">That’s when Death leisurely leaned down, and, with crumpled lips, kissed my mother’s forehead.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> I ran into my bedroom, slammed the door shut behind me, locked the door, and jumped into bed, still looking fearfully at the entryway to my room, now terrified of one who I had always considered my friend. <ac_metadata title="&quot;Mortality&quot; Creepypasta (Unfinished) Please Review if you have the time."> </ac_metadata>