Post by soberdwarf on Jun 30, 2016 16:42:45 GMT -6
(This is a fanfic response to a question that David asked for in a Undercooked Analysis at some point and I felt inspired. It's not good, intentionally (if you want to see my actual work, see my post "Channel One") but if fit the theme of this and I figured would get a laugh.)
Most people tell you to be careful what you wish for; As if life was some cruel genie waiting to fuck you over at any given notice... They're probably right. But that didn't stop me from wishing though. Just like every other person in the world, I wanted to be a famous youtuber. Not for the reasons you'd might expect. I wasn't really wanting the money, but rather I enjoyed making the videos themselves. It was an outlet for me, a chance to talk about all the things that were going through my mind. The extra cash would have been nice, if only so I could quit my day job and spend more time doing other things, including making more videos. So I constantly wished for some semblence of success.
Well, "wished" is a understated term. I feel I worked for every subscriber I got. But even then, there are things I regret. This lifestyle taught me things about humanity that I never wanted to see. I'm not talking about the comments section either. I know it's a cesspool but it's definitely something I've dealt with. No... I'm talking about the monsters that youtube creates.
It was a time when I was most desperate for views. I just broke my first 100 subscribers, and I knew I could get more. Unfortunately for me, I was terrible at self-advertising. I posted some things on reddit, but I was worried about being too aggressive and pushing people away, or attracting the wrong crowds. So I tried to do more collaborative efforts with other smaller youtubers in a effort to show others that I existed. However, most of the time people were getting views off of my work rather than the other way around.
However, one of the people I had worked with, Dead Palette, was the co-host for a somewhat famous podcast called "Midnight Marinara". Midnight Marinara was a creepypasta radio play podcast that was gaining traction. It wasn't exactly what I did with my own channel, but I figured the audience might be at least interested. Hell, even a couple of more subscribers would have made it worth it, so I figured I could convince Dead Palette to at least try to squeeze me in as a guest.
At first, I tried to ask in subtle ways, talking about chatting with him and the host, David King, about video games, figuring I could network that way... but Dead Palette was either not amused by my coy efforts or simply was playing too much Overwatch to care. Then I finally just asked him outright.
"Hey, Dead Palette," I typed in the open chat window. He was marked as away, so I figured this avoided any awkwardness of an actual conversation. "I was wondering, do you think David King wants any new guest, possibly to talk about video game related creepypasta? I got a few stories that I like and I think it would be awesome if we could do a bit of collaborative action between all our channels."
It wasn't long before I got a response, not even enough time for me to change my status to offline. "No." He responded. Again, I'm not sure if he wasn't amused with my begging or if I caught him between kill streaks. Talking to him always made me nervous, even though we've had several pleasant conversations before.
"Alright, no problem. Just figured I would ask." I said. Admittedly, I was a bit crestfallen, but I always tried to take it in stride. I always knew of the possiblity of rejection, but I would be lying if I said I didn't wish that Dead Palette would be a bit more empathetic. After that, I simply went back to doing more research for the next video I was working on, just trying to pretend like nothing happened.
So it was strange when I got another message from him probably about 30 minutes later. "David said ok, but only if you're available tonight. We're recording in a hour. Pick a story to cover for UCA, be on skype."
"Wait, are you serious?" is what I tried to convey before he went offline, my chat window assuring me he'd see it the next time he got online.
Fuck me.
I wasn't sure if I was excited, confused or nervous as hell hearing that. I wasn't really sure what I was expecting, but definitely not this. I had no time to mentally prepare myself for a completely cold skype call, let alone be on his podcast. I had a strange gut feeling that Dead Palette was just fucking with me, but I also wanted to assume that he pulled quite a few strings to get me on the show, so I was especially not wanting to fuck this up. I quickly looked through an entire wiki's worth of shitty gaming creepypasta just to find the ones I remembered liking. I brushed up on terms and storytelling techniques just to not have myself sound like a total dumbass. All the while watching skype like a vulture waiting for a wounded animal to die.
It wasn't long after I heard the familiar skype jingle telling me about an incoming call from Dead Palette. I let it sit for about 5 seconds while I took a deep breath and answered.
"Hey, Dead Palette how's it-"
"Listen, Sober..." Dead Palette's voice cut through mine. "I'm only doing this so you'll quit begging me like a fucking scrub youtuber. You get once chance at this. You fuck this up for me and we're done, and you can kiss your videos goodbye, you understand me?"
I sat there, completely dumbfounded by the hatred in Dead Palette's voice. I always already having second thoughts, but this only caused them to multiply over and over again. What did he even mean by "kiss my videos goodbye"? I didn't even realize how long I was silent until I heard another voice laughing on the call.
"That's great! Oh my god" the voice stopped to laugh a bit more. "I think he actually believed that."
A nervous chuckle came from Dead Palette. "Hey Sober, we're just fucking with you. David is on the call."
I let out a nervous chuckle as well. I certainly felt the hostility and hatred in his voice, but the logic in my mind faltered due to social pressure. "Yeah, you really did get me. That was pretty good though." I waited for the laughter of David to subside before I introduced myself, but it seemed to go uncomfortably long. I eventually interrupted, "So what's up? How's everyone doing?"
David's laughter quickly died down to silence, before stating "We're doing alright. I put Dead Palette up to that. I wanted to do something different for the cold opening."
I felt my blood froze white. I barely stammered out "Oh, you're... recording this?"
"Yeah, haven't you ever watched the show? We always open with a cold intro. I thought you said you listened to the show?" Davids words became more suspicious and accusatory in tone, which did nothing to make me feel comfortable.
"Oh, yeah, I was... am just suprised, that's all. I figured it would be after we started talking a bit more. Is this going to be in it?" I could feel the nerves of my stomach clench into butterflies as my face blushed with embarrassment.
"David edits these shows. Don't worry. You won't believe some of the stuff we cut out." Dead Palette quickly covered for David.
I was in a mid sigh of relief before David followed with "Yeah, like my girlfriend's screaming." before he started with another maniacal laughter fit.
Again, I was completely taken aback, but at this point I realized that this was quickly becoming a boys club, so I bolstered some false confidence in order not to show my fear. "Yeah, sometimes you just get some unprofessional people on these podcasts."
Silence. David's laughter stopped entirely at the end of my word. Dead Palette was absolutely quiet as well.
"You're not judging my taste in character for people I have on the show, are you, Sober?" I sensed a malicious and sadistic tone in David's voice, which was so disconcerting coming from his youthful voice.
I stood there silent as my mind raced to think of a comeback. "Well..." I held back a nervous laugh. "you have me on it."
Laughter. As mentally torturous as that laughter was, I was thankful to hear it. "You know, Sober. You're not a third as bad as Dead Palette told me you were." I attempted to join in with the laughter, but Dead Palette seemed incredibly silent, like as if his microphone was muted.
"Well, I guess that's a good as place to start as any. Today we have SoberDwarf, someone you probably heard mentioned a few times, and today we're going to be covering a popular gaming creepypasta, Pokemon Black." David's spiel continued on, with me giving token agreements mindlessly. I distracted myself in the conversation between myself, David and Dead Palette for awhile, but the back of my mind was raising some serious red flags at this point. Something was seriously bothering me.
I didn't tell them the story I chose was Pokemon Black. But here it was, on the other monitor, a text document with my own personal notes hastily typed in, regarding Pokemon Black.
I didn't want to ask or bring it up, especially if we were live. Part of me worried that I was just going to make myself sound stupid, that I absent-mindedly told them that I picked the story before I got distracted, but I felt almost positive that I didn't.
"So, Sober, would you care to start us off?" David asked, almost through his teeth is sounded like.
"Oh, uhh, sure." I started reading the first paragraph, getting through the details and glancing at my notes of what I thought about how the story set itself up.
Almost as expected, as soon as I finished the last sentence, David chimed in. "Oh man, that's fucking terrible."
Dead Palette wasn't soon after. "That's got to be the worst thing I've heard on the show yet."
I was confused. I read over the paragraph again as David and Dead Palette talked among themselves about how it quite possibly the worst thing they have ever heard. I had am entirely different opinion in my notes, but now I was second guessing myself again. Was it something I missed? Was I wrong? Two parts of my mind were fighting with each other, one telling me to tell them my real opinion and try to justify it, the other telling me to bash it with them in order not to... offend them.
"Sober, you have to have the worst voice I ever heard on this show. You sound like a muppet that ate a car alarm." David's words cut me deep, to the point where I could feel tears pooling in my eyes. It wasn't the story they were talking about, it was me.
"See? I told you? He's like the ugly friend you bring to a bar." Dead Palette added his vocal knife as well. I had no idea whether they were just fucking with me again or not, and I wasn't even sure if I should be hurt or angry. I muted my mic and took a deep breath, David's laughter echoing in my ears as I tried to regain my composure and play it off. I unmuted my mic.
"Yeah, you're right. It does sound like that. But the good thing is this is a podcast so everyone else doesn't have to see me. That would be REALLY bad." I started laughing myself, barely able to contain the tears in my own voice, but I wasn't going to let them fuck with me. If nothing else I was going to show I could hang with them and take it. At this point, I realized this wasn't going to be aired, this was just a hazing.
David and DP fell silent. I guess they weren't expecting me to take it... actually, I wasn't sure what they were expecting. I just had a hard time comprehending their motives, other than just being sadistic jerks.
"Well, I guess... I'll take the next line, and then you can have it Dead Palette." There was disdain in David's voice, which I took as a boost of confidence as a victory spoil. David finished his paragraph, with Dead Palette starting his. I waited for my paragraph next, but as soon as Dead Palette finished, David immediately started reading mine, then Dead Palette, then David again.
They were... ignoring me now. I awkwardly stood in silence, my mic muted as I heard the two talk read the story. Occassionally, I would hear them change the words to spite me.
"The implication was that SoberDwarf died." said Dead Palette.
"the spot SoberDwarf had been would be replaced with a tombstone like the ones in Lavender Tower." added David.
I sat then with my palms in my eyes, gripping my forehead as they continued to read. It was the sound of a chat bubble in skype that broke me away from my thoughts. A picture sent in the chat by Dead Palette. It was dark and grainy, to the point where it reminded me of Smile.jpg. Curious, and figuring it was going to come into play, I clicked on it to see it in a bigger view.
I wish I hadn't. Almost immediately I had known where Dead Palette got the inspiration for the "Marshmallow Family". It was... I almost don't want to describe it but like hell I want to give him any more views. It looked like a deformed baby, instead of limbs it had what seemed like... melting blood sausages, being eaten by maggots and mold. I always considered myself having a strong stomach, but, the sight of made bile hit the back of my throat. I immediately closed the picture, only to see that David had posted one of his own.
The thumbnail was of a room, its entire floor and upwards to half the walls covered in a dark, rustic red color, the rest of the room in a dirty, puke green being eaten away by age. I could only faintly make out a figure in the corner of the room. Well, partly. It looked like a human from the waist up... there was no waist down, only the glare of liquid on the floor from whatever camera took the picture. I knew what it was, and knew not to click on it. Dead Palette replied with "Hyper Realistic Blood, lol" to show his approval.
Another beep, another picture, both of them passing back and forth grotesque picture after picture between pargraphs, almost forgetting that I existed. That I was just a voyeur in this sick, twisted podcast that no one knew what was going on behind the scenes. Whether this was a hazing or not, I was done.
"What the fuck are you guys doing?! Are you seriously this fucking twisted?" I yelled after unmuting my mic.
There was silence, complete and dead silence for a good minute, before I yelled again. "Seriously, guys, what the fuck are you doing? This isn't funny."
"You tell me." Dead Palette answered. His voice was as completely deadpan and serious as it always was, but even through that I could hear his disdain.
"What?" I reflexively demanded. My anger was controlling the conversation. Not me.
"In the first couple of paragraphs, you've already established that this is a recollection, not something that you are experiencing you go along." Dead Palette explained. "You already know what's going on, but all you're doing is wasting our fucking time by trying to explain it like a present tense story for 'dramatic' purposes." his voice went from a expositionary tone to a mocking, whiny voice.
David added. "Yeah, and don't you think that starting with the whole "be careful what you wish for" is very cliche? You already have pointless gore and cartoonishly one-dimensional bullies. You might as well have had a paragraph telling everyone how "this really happened." Also, fucking "purple prose".
Then Slimebeast, came out of nowhere and added: "Also, were you going to have Dead Palette come in as ask you if you wanted to see his head come off? Because all you're doing is making a creepypasta that is stealing off of my work. This story is exactly like one I wrote before."
"Face it, Sober." a voice called out from behind me. I turned around to see myself, starting right at me, looking at me with a disgusted snarl on... 'my' face. "You had no idea how to end this, did you? You had no motive, no reason. You're just a fanboy." I could hear his.... my voice get lower, almost in a sadisitc snarl, turning into a whisper. "All you want is Senpai to notice you. Is that it?"
I just sat there, accusing eyes and voice all around me, looking at me, as if waiting for an answer I had no awareness of. I was terrified, frightened, afraid, kinda weirded out. I had no idea how to respond, or even if there was a response. I struggled to think of words. It was then, that I knew what I had to do.
THE END
Most people tell you to be careful what you wish for; As if life was some cruel genie waiting to fuck you over at any given notice... They're probably right. But that didn't stop me from wishing though. Just like every other person in the world, I wanted to be a famous youtuber. Not for the reasons you'd might expect. I wasn't really wanting the money, but rather I enjoyed making the videos themselves. It was an outlet for me, a chance to talk about all the things that were going through my mind. The extra cash would have been nice, if only so I could quit my day job and spend more time doing other things, including making more videos. So I constantly wished for some semblence of success.
Well, "wished" is a understated term. I feel I worked for every subscriber I got. But even then, there are things I regret. This lifestyle taught me things about humanity that I never wanted to see. I'm not talking about the comments section either. I know it's a cesspool but it's definitely something I've dealt with. No... I'm talking about the monsters that youtube creates.
It was a time when I was most desperate for views. I just broke my first 100 subscribers, and I knew I could get more. Unfortunately for me, I was terrible at self-advertising. I posted some things on reddit, but I was worried about being too aggressive and pushing people away, or attracting the wrong crowds. So I tried to do more collaborative efforts with other smaller youtubers in a effort to show others that I existed. However, most of the time people were getting views off of my work rather than the other way around.
However, one of the people I had worked with, Dead Palette, was the co-host for a somewhat famous podcast called "Midnight Marinara". Midnight Marinara was a creepypasta radio play podcast that was gaining traction. It wasn't exactly what I did with my own channel, but I figured the audience might be at least interested. Hell, even a couple of more subscribers would have made it worth it, so I figured I could convince Dead Palette to at least try to squeeze me in as a guest.
At first, I tried to ask in subtle ways, talking about chatting with him and the host, David King, about video games, figuring I could network that way... but Dead Palette was either not amused by my coy efforts or simply was playing too much Overwatch to care. Then I finally just asked him outright.
"Hey, Dead Palette," I typed in the open chat window. He was marked as away, so I figured this avoided any awkwardness of an actual conversation. "I was wondering, do you think David King wants any new guest, possibly to talk about video game related creepypasta? I got a few stories that I like and I think it would be awesome if we could do a bit of collaborative action between all our channels."
It wasn't long before I got a response, not even enough time for me to change my status to offline. "No." He responded. Again, I'm not sure if he wasn't amused with my begging or if I caught him between kill streaks. Talking to him always made me nervous, even though we've had several pleasant conversations before.
"Alright, no problem. Just figured I would ask." I said. Admittedly, I was a bit crestfallen, but I always tried to take it in stride. I always knew of the possiblity of rejection, but I would be lying if I said I didn't wish that Dead Palette would be a bit more empathetic. After that, I simply went back to doing more research for the next video I was working on, just trying to pretend like nothing happened.
So it was strange when I got another message from him probably about 30 minutes later. "David said ok, but only if you're available tonight. We're recording in a hour. Pick a story to cover for UCA, be on skype."
"Wait, are you serious?" is what I tried to convey before he went offline, my chat window assuring me he'd see it the next time he got online.
Fuck me.
I wasn't sure if I was excited, confused or nervous as hell hearing that. I wasn't really sure what I was expecting, but definitely not this. I had no time to mentally prepare myself for a completely cold skype call, let alone be on his podcast. I had a strange gut feeling that Dead Palette was just fucking with me, but I also wanted to assume that he pulled quite a few strings to get me on the show, so I was especially not wanting to fuck this up. I quickly looked through an entire wiki's worth of shitty gaming creepypasta just to find the ones I remembered liking. I brushed up on terms and storytelling techniques just to not have myself sound like a total dumbass. All the while watching skype like a vulture waiting for a wounded animal to die.
It wasn't long after I heard the familiar skype jingle telling me about an incoming call from Dead Palette. I let it sit for about 5 seconds while I took a deep breath and answered.
"Hey, Dead Palette how's it-"
"Listen, Sober..." Dead Palette's voice cut through mine. "I'm only doing this so you'll quit begging me like a fucking scrub youtuber. You get once chance at this. You fuck this up for me and we're done, and you can kiss your videos goodbye, you understand me?"
I sat there, completely dumbfounded by the hatred in Dead Palette's voice. I always already having second thoughts, but this only caused them to multiply over and over again. What did he even mean by "kiss my videos goodbye"? I didn't even realize how long I was silent until I heard another voice laughing on the call.
"That's great! Oh my god" the voice stopped to laugh a bit more. "I think he actually believed that."
A nervous chuckle came from Dead Palette. "Hey Sober, we're just fucking with you. David is on the call."
I let out a nervous chuckle as well. I certainly felt the hostility and hatred in his voice, but the logic in my mind faltered due to social pressure. "Yeah, you really did get me. That was pretty good though." I waited for the laughter of David to subside before I introduced myself, but it seemed to go uncomfortably long. I eventually interrupted, "So what's up? How's everyone doing?"
David's laughter quickly died down to silence, before stating "We're doing alright. I put Dead Palette up to that. I wanted to do something different for the cold opening."
I felt my blood froze white. I barely stammered out "Oh, you're... recording this?"
"Yeah, haven't you ever watched the show? We always open with a cold intro. I thought you said you listened to the show?" Davids words became more suspicious and accusatory in tone, which did nothing to make me feel comfortable.
"Oh, yeah, I was... am just suprised, that's all. I figured it would be after we started talking a bit more. Is this going to be in it?" I could feel the nerves of my stomach clench into butterflies as my face blushed with embarrassment.
"David edits these shows. Don't worry. You won't believe some of the stuff we cut out." Dead Palette quickly covered for David.
I was in a mid sigh of relief before David followed with "Yeah, like my girlfriend's screaming." before he started with another maniacal laughter fit.
Again, I was completely taken aback, but at this point I realized that this was quickly becoming a boys club, so I bolstered some false confidence in order not to show my fear. "Yeah, sometimes you just get some unprofessional people on these podcasts."
Silence. David's laughter stopped entirely at the end of my word. Dead Palette was absolutely quiet as well.
"You're not judging my taste in character for people I have on the show, are you, Sober?" I sensed a malicious and sadistic tone in David's voice, which was so disconcerting coming from his youthful voice.
I stood there silent as my mind raced to think of a comeback. "Well..." I held back a nervous laugh. "you have me on it."
Laughter. As mentally torturous as that laughter was, I was thankful to hear it. "You know, Sober. You're not a third as bad as Dead Palette told me you were." I attempted to join in with the laughter, but Dead Palette seemed incredibly silent, like as if his microphone was muted.
"Well, I guess that's a good as place to start as any. Today we have SoberDwarf, someone you probably heard mentioned a few times, and today we're going to be covering a popular gaming creepypasta, Pokemon Black." David's spiel continued on, with me giving token agreements mindlessly. I distracted myself in the conversation between myself, David and Dead Palette for awhile, but the back of my mind was raising some serious red flags at this point. Something was seriously bothering me.
I didn't tell them the story I chose was Pokemon Black. But here it was, on the other monitor, a text document with my own personal notes hastily typed in, regarding Pokemon Black.
I didn't want to ask or bring it up, especially if we were live. Part of me worried that I was just going to make myself sound stupid, that I absent-mindedly told them that I picked the story before I got distracted, but I felt almost positive that I didn't.
"So, Sober, would you care to start us off?" David asked, almost through his teeth is sounded like.
"Oh, uhh, sure." I started reading the first paragraph, getting through the details and glancing at my notes of what I thought about how the story set itself up.
Almost as expected, as soon as I finished the last sentence, David chimed in. "Oh man, that's fucking terrible."
Dead Palette wasn't soon after. "That's got to be the worst thing I've heard on the show yet."
I was confused. I read over the paragraph again as David and Dead Palette talked among themselves about how it quite possibly the worst thing they have ever heard. I had am entirely different opinion in my notes, but now I was second guessing myself again. Was it something I missed? Was I wrong? Two parts of my mind were fighting with each other, one telling me to tell them my real opinion and try to justify it, the other telling me to bash it with them in order not to... offend them.
"Sober, you have to have the worst voice I ever heard on this show. You sound like a muppet that ate a car alarm." David's words cut me deep, to the point where I could feel tears pooling in my eyes. It wasn't the story they were talking about, it was me.
"See? I told you? He's like the ugly friend you bring to a bar." Dead Palette added his vocal knife as well. I had no idea whether they were just fucking with me again or not, and I wasn't even sure if I should be hurt or angry. I muted my mic and took a deep breath, David's laughter echoing in my ears as I tried to regain my composure and play it off. I unmuted my mic.
"Yeah, you're right. It does sound like that. But the good thing is this is a podcast so everyone else doesn't have to see me. That would be REALLY bad." I started laughing myself, barely able to contain the tears in my own voice, but I wasn't going to let them fuck with me. If nothing else I was going to show I could hang with them and take it. At this point, I realized this wasn't going to be aired, this was just a hazing.
David and DP fell silent. I guess they weren't expecting me to take it... actually, I wasn't sure what they were expecting. I just had a hard time comprehending their motives, other than just being sadistic jerks.
"Well, I guess... I'll take the next line, and then you can have it Dead Palette." There was disdain in David's voice, which I took as a boost of confidence as a victory spoil. David finished his paragraph, with Dead Palette starting his. I waited for my paragraph next, but as soon as Dead Palette finished, David immediately started reading mine, then Dead Palette, then David again.
They were... ignoring me now. I awkwardly stood in silence, my mic muted as I heard the two talk read the story. Occassionally, I would hear them change the words to spite me.
"The implication was that SoberDwarf died." said Dead Palette.
"the spot SoberDwarf had been would be replaced with a tombstone like the ones in Lavender Tower." added David.
I sat then with my palms in my eyes, gripping my forehead as they continued to read. It was the sound of a chat bubble in skype that broke me away from my thoughts. A picture sent in the chat by Dead Palette. It was dark and grainy, to the point where it reminded me of Smile.jpg. Curious, and figuring it was going to come into play, I clicked on it to see it in a bigger view.
I wish I hadn't. Almost immediately I had known where Dead Palette got the inspiration for the "Marshmallow Family". It was... I almost don't want to describe it but like hell I want to give him any more views. It looked like a deformed baby, instead of limbs it had what seemed like... melting blood sausages, being eaten by maggots and mold. I always considered myself having a strong stomach, but, the sight of made bile hit the back of my throat. I immediately closed the picture, only to see that David had posted one of his own.
The thumbnail was of a room, its entire floor and upwards to half the walls covered in a dark, rustic red color, the rest of the room in a dirty, puke green being eaten away by age. I could only faintly make out a figure in the corner of the room. Well, partly. It looked like a human from the waist up... there was no waist down, only the glare of liquid on the floor from whatever camera took the picture. I knew what it was, and knew not to click on it. Dead Palette replied with "Hyper Realistic Blood, lol" to show his approval.
Another beep, another picture, both of them passing back and forth grotesque picture after picture between pargraphs, almost forgetting that I existed. That I was just a voyeur in this sick, twisted podcast that no one knew what was going on behind the scenes. Whether this was a hazing or not, I was done.
"What the fuck are you guys doing?! Are you seriously this fucking twisted?" I yelled after unmuting my mic.
There was silence, complete and dead silence for a good minute, before I yelled again. "Seriously, guys, what the fuck are you doing? This isn't funny."
"You tell me." Dead Palette answered. His voice was as completely deadpan and serious as it always was, but even through that I could hear his disdain.
"What?" I reflexively demanded. My anger was controlling the conversation. Not me.
"In the first couple of paragraphs, you've already established that this is a recollection, not something that you are experiencing you go along." Dead Palette explained. "You already know what's going on, but all you're doing is wasting our fucking time by trying to explain it like a present tense story for 'dramatic' purposes." his voice went from a expositionary tone to a mocking, whiny voice.
David added. "Yeah, and don't you think that starting with the whole "be careful what you wish for" is very cliche? You already have pointless gore and cartoonishly one-dimensional bullies. You might as well have had a paragraph telling everyone how "this really happened." Also, fucking "purple prose".
Then Slimebeast, came out of nowhere and added: "Also, were you going to have Dead Palette come in as ask you if you wanted to see his head come off? Because all you're doing is making a creepypasta that is stealing off of my work. This story is exactly like one I wrote before."
"Face it, Sober." a voice called out from behind me. I turned around to see myself, starting right at me, looking at me with a disgusted snarl on... 'my' face. "You had no idea how to end this, did you? You had no motive, no reason. You're just a fanboy." I could hear his.... my voice get lower, almost in a sadisitc snarl, turning into a whisper. "All you want is Senpai to notice you. Is that it?"
I just sat there, accusing eyes and voice all around me, looking at me, as if waiting for an answer I had no awareness of. I was terrified, frightened, afraid, kinda weirded out. I had no idea how to respond, or even if there was a response. I struggled to think of words. It was then, that I knew what I had to do.
THE END
