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It was a dare, and I took it. You know how people get when being pressured by their friends, being clucked at like a chicken and calling you a scaredy cat. Well, they were my friends... yup, friends.

It was an old broken down mine shaft. Cliche, I know. It had caved in during a mine blast that went wrong, and many miners were injured. Luckily, no one died... that is, until a young girl was curious enough to explore the ruins. The mine was, and still is, unstable.

The girl's name was Aida, but her last name was never released for unknown reasons. She was ten when she crawled in to look around, hoping to find some little treasures to take home. She was very adventurous. Unfortunately, part of the ceiling fell down and crushed her to death. She wasn't found until a week later when they discovered her footsteps in the mud leading to the mine. Her body was carefully recovered, and there was a closed casket funeral.

Well, years later, stories were made and rumors were spread that Aida still haunts the mine. And of course, my friends pressured me to go in. "You're afraid of her ghost," they were saying. I assured them that I was more afraid of meeting the same fate as the little girl, but... I dunno, I gave in because their taunts really hurt.

Equipped with nothing but a flashlight, I carefully made my way into the unstable mine. There were a few cracks where the sun shown through, but it wasn't enough light to really see. I had to be careful not to bump any rocks or fixtures so as to not cause another cave in.

I didn't believe there was a ghost, but when I reached the area poor Aida had died, I indeed found myself scared. There was a large rock, and it, as well as the ground, was still stained with her blood. I could see a small fragment of cloth that must've ripped off of her clothes.

Disturbed, I continued forward. I should've just turned around, but curiosity kept me going. Malicious thoughts about sending my friends in here ran through my head. Bet they'd be too scared... I thought to myself.

Just then, I ran the beam of my flashlight over a wall not too far from the bloody rock, and I had to double take when I thought I saw something move.

"H... hello?" I said tentatively. There was no answer. I slowly stepped closer, watching the wall carefully. Just then, I heard very soft crying coming from just ahead of me. My heart was pounding. "H-h-hello...?" I squeaked.

"Leave... me... alone..." said the disembodied voice. I froze on the spot. I wanted to scream and run away, but I couldn't budge. A figure of a small girl stepped through the wall. I felt like I couldn't breath; it was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced in my life.

The ghost girl had long blonde hair that was matted with dried blood and dirt, and it fell over her pale face. Oh god, her face... Her eyes were wide and sunken in, and her skin was scratched and bloody. The rest of her body was just as scraped up, and blood covered her ripped, dirty dress. Her right arm bent at a weird angle, looking like it had been broken.

The ghost of Aida was crying dark tears, as if the water had been mixed with soot. She tilted her head at me, and her joints cracked as she moved. I felt like I'd die from fear.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" she shrieked, the sound of her distorted voice sending ice cold chills through my body. I wanted to run away, but I still couldn't move. Aida didn't scream again, just continued to cry. "Why won't you leave me alone?" she whimpered. "Everyone else leaves me alone..." My tense body relaxed a bit, and again, I considered running. However, I was struck with sudden bravery.

"Why... do you... want to be... alone...?" I asked in a shaky voice. Aida stared at me with her haunting eyes. They seemed less menacing now, and more distraught.

"Everybody screams at me and runs away," she sniffled. "I'm all alone because no one likes me anymore..." She wiped her eyes, smearing more dirt and dried blood across her face.

"Well..." I said softly, still full of fear. "You're... a ghost... and people are afraid of ghosts..."

"But I'm just a little girl..." she replied, taking an unnaturally shaky step forward. When she moved, it looked like she was in a stop motion film. I tensed again.

"I kn-know..." I breathed.

"You're scared of me too..." said Aida, still moving closer.

"Y-yes..." I admitted. "But... weren't you afraid of ghosts when you were alive?"

"Yea," she replied, finally reaching me and looking up into my face with those dead eyes. "But I'm not scary... I'm just a little girl..." I didn't have the heart to tell her how scary she really was, but she saw it on my face. She fell to her knees and wailed, sobbing hysterically. "Everyone hates me!" I don't know what made me do it. Maybe I remembered that she was indeed just a little girl. She was robbed of her life, of friends, of boyfriends, and developing talents. I knelt in front of her and gently set my hands on her shoulders. I was surprised that I could touch her, though she was ice cold.

"Everyone doesn't hate you," I whispered, and she looked up at me. "We just don't understand. We're afraid of death, and we're afraid that the dead will come to kill us too."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," said Aida, still sniffling. "I always come out when people come in here, but they scream and run away. They all leave, so I should just be alone... but I don't want to be alone..."

"I'll be your friend," I said without thinking. Her haunting eyes suddenly became a little brighter, more lifelike. I could see a hint of blue in them.

"Really?" Aida whispered. "You're not scared?"

"I'm not going to lie," I said, trying not to tremble as I took her hand and helped her to her feet. "I am terrified. But you don't deserve to be alone. I'm willing to try and overcome my fears to help you."

"What's you name?" she asked, and I could hear her childlike excitement in her hoarse voice.

"Catherine," I replied. "But my friends call me Cat." Aida giggled, holding onto my hand tightly.

"Can I call you Kitty?" My heart calmed down a bit.

"Of course." We walked carefully through the mine toward the entrance. However, I stopped a few yards away from it.

"What's wrong?" Aida said.

"Can I ask a favor from you?"


"My friends dared me to come in here. They made fun of me for being scared, not caring that I could get crushed just like you did. Do you mind giving them a little scare?" Aida thought for a moment, and then smiled, revealing bloody teeth.

"Scare meanie friends? Okay." So together, we formulated a plan before leaving the mine...

"Do you think she's okay?" asked Mitch.

"She's fine," said Patty. "She's probably just sitting in a corner and crying."

"What if the ghost girl got her?" asked Flora in a hushed whisper.

"Don't be thick," Patty replied. "There's no ghost girl."

"I hope she didn't get crushed by something," said Mitch. "Do you realize that'd be all our fault?"

"She's fi--" began Patty, but there was suddenly a blood curdling scream from inside the mine. The three teenagers watched the entrance in horror, and gasped as Cat staggered out and fell forward into the mud. Her eyes were wide, lips parted slightly...

"Oh god..." Flora squeaked. "Oh god! She's dead! SHE'S DEAD!!"

"Shit!" said Patty urgently. "We need to get out of here!"

"We can't just leave her!" Mitch shouted. Just then, they heard soft humming from just inside the mine, echoing eerily.

"Is... is that... 'Ring Around the Rosie...?'" whispered Flora in a high pitched voice. The three of them watched in horror as the humming got closer and closer...

"Would you like to play a game?" said a childish voice as the ghost of a young girl stepped out from the mine. "Let's play..." Mitch, Patty, and Flora screamed bloody murder and tore down the dirt road toward the town.

Cat let out a snort and sat up, laughing. Aida started giggling as well, watching Cat get back to her feet.

"That'll teach them," she said, flicking mud off her hands. "I can't wait to see their faces when I go back to school."

"They were so mean!" said Aida. "Why were you friends with them?"

"They weren't always like that," Cat replied. "But I assure you, I'm not their friend anymore. Anyway, wanna come home with me?"

"Yes," said Aida with a bloody smile.

"How're we gonna transport you?" asked Cat suddenly. "I think it'd be quite a sight to be walking down the street with a ghost." Aida walked behind Cat to the backpack she was wearing, opened it, and flew inside as a wisp of smoke. Cat laughed. "I can't wait to see what other ghostly stuff you can do." There was a muffled giggle, and Cat walked home.

"Cat!" Flora exclaimed when Cat walked into math class. "What... how..."

"We saw you die!" Patty exclaimed. The other students were listening intently, having been told the whole story.

"Die?" Cat asked, feigning ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

"Yesterday, we dared you to go into the haunted mine shaft!" said Patty. "You staggered out and fell dead right in front of us! And we saw the ghost girl!"

"Wow," said Cat. "You'll say anything to get attention, won't you?" Her three former friends were silent. "Why don't you tell the class the truth. That I dared you to go into the mine, but you were too scared of the ghost girl." The class suddenly shot evil looks at Mitch, Patty, and Flora.

"What?" said Mitch. "She's... she's lying!"

"Who are you going to believe, me? Or the ones who claimed to see me die?" And just like that, those three became the most hated kids in school.

Cat was sitting against the wall next to her backpack, eating a sandwich and watching other students conversing with friends and throwing their own lunches at people. She sighed contently and suddenly felt an ice cold hand on her forearm.

"Hey," Cat whispered to her backpack. "What have you been doing in there?"

"Sleeping," Aida replied, her dead little eyes peaking through the opening of the bag as she retracted her hand.

"Ghosts sleep?" Cat asked, brow furrowed.

"Sorta," said Aida. "It's hard to explain."

"Can you eat?" said Cat, holding up her sandwich.

"No," Aida replied sadly. "But it's okay. Just another downside to being dead."

"Are you cramped in there?" said Cat. "Do I need to get a bigger backpack?"

"No," said Aida again. "It's cozy."

"Just let me know if you're ever uncomfortable."

"Hey Kitty?" said Aida, and Cat smiled.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm glad you're my friend." Cat laughed and reached her hand inside the bag to touch her stone cold face.

"I'm glad you're my friend too."
i dunno if this should go on the creepypasta wiki cause it's also kinda humorous and heart warming. probably not huh?


......... i cannot believe i did that..... i switched from first person to third person! i NEVER do that!!! how the fu... maybe cause i wrote it in the morning? did i? i don't remember! OH MY GOD! ignore that please... i could fix it, but guess what, i already narrated it! WHOO! god dammit reitanna, first you burn nail polish and now this. what next? zip lining? SHAKA BRA!!
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I am a photographer.

People hate my work. You may ask why, but when you see my shots, you'll understand. My work is very controversial. I am sadly proud of my photos, for I may be the only one who's adopted this style.

I capture photos of suicide.

No matter where I go, I carry my camera with me, ready to shoot anything that may happen. There's surprisingly a lot of suicides in this city and the next city over. I've gotten beautiful shots.

The most common ones are those of people jumping from buildings. Of course, there's usually a crowd of people pleading for the person to come down, so I know right away what I am about to get. I stand to get a good perspective, hold up my camera, and snap the photo right as the person plunges to their demise. I take a couple one after the other so I make sure to get the perfect shot. People surrounding me shout at me and call me heartless.

On the contrary, I am more caring than them. That person wanted to end their life, so they had a perfect reason to make that decision. I'm showing them support and kindness by capturing their last moments.

However, I don't remember the last time I smiled.

I have a splendid dark room to develope my photos, which I pin to the walls in my house. I have pictures of jumpers, people shooting themselves, taking pills or cyanide, jumping in front of a train, people stabbing themselves, and even some more unothodox methods.

It's funny. I can see the idea form in their heads by looking into their eyes or reading their body language. For most of the most spontanious ones, like the shooters or the train jumpers, I kindly approach them, explain that I'm not going to stop them, but if I could take a picture as they commit suicide. I've never had someone say no. The model will even wait for my cue. I have them point the gun to their head, and give them the signal to shoot. I wait until the train is close enough as they stand there, preparing to jump, and I give them the go.

Some even give me their names so that I can attend the funeral and visit their grave. They ask me for a copy of the photo. I oblige, but I lock the photo in a box so no one takes it away. From below the earth, I can almost hear the faint "thank you" coming from the coffin.

I couldn't make money off my hobby. No one wanted to show my art. But I think I've found someone who will...

It's a suicide cult. I let them know what I do, and that I myself don't want to end my life, but they are awed by what I do. As their cult grows, so does my gallery, for now we have scheduled photo shoots. We have our own art gallery for people fascinated with suicide. I've even had a few non-suicidal people come in just to admire the horror.

I'm making money now. Capturing suicides is now my career.

Here's my card. Call me to schedule an appointment.
i've had this idea in my head since i was like....... 17? 18? i dunno. i wanted it to be a full story, but i think it works better short.

this has not been proofread, so don't hark.
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A good friend will be there for you when you cry.
A best friend will be there crying with you.

A good friend will keep your secret if you murder someone.
A best friend will have been your accomplice.

A good friend will let you commit suicide.
A best friend will be holding your hand as they jump in front of a train with you.

A good friend will mourn for you if you die before them.
A best friend will follow you.

A good friend will be at your execution to say goodbye.
A best friend will be in a second electric chair right next to you.

A good friend will say it's not a good idea to throw that explosive into the powerplant that's destroying natural habitat.
A best friend will count down to three, giving you the signal to throw it.

A good friend will ignore the fact that you kidnapped someone to torture.
A best friend will provide the chloroform.

A good friend will yell at your ex for breaking up with you.
A best friend will murder them.

A good friend will accept it when you hurt yourself.
A best friend will be sitting next to you to mop up the blood.

A good friend will cry with you if someone kills your puppy.
A best friend will help you track the bastard down and beat the shit out of him.

A good friend will be crying and waving goodbye to you as you board the Euthnasia Coaster.
A best friend will be sitting in the cart right next to you, excited and saying, "this is gonna be AWESOME!"

A good friend won't stop you from holding a gun to your head.
A best friend will be the one holding the gun to your head.

A good friend would read this and not say anything about it, but feel kinda disturbed on the inside.
A best friend would laugh and say, "these are hilarious."
I NO WAY DO I BELIEVE ANY OF THIS IS TRUE. i just wanted to make sure you know that. it's just a morbidly funny thing i thought of when i remembered an icon that said

A good friend will bail you out of jail.
A best friend will be sitting next to you and say, "man, we fucked up. but that shit was funny!"

i just thought it's be disturbingly ironic, ya know? XD so if i murder someone, turn me in okay? well, if i don't turn myself in first.

love ya sempai XD
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I lost my glasses.

I thought I left them on the table, but I checked and nothing was there except something sharp. I have terrible vision; everything is so blurry, I can't make out shapes.

I move through the house, feeling around. My wife must be painting the walls. I see dark shapes on them, and they're wet to the touch. It's so quiet it the house...

I step on something wet and squishy. I really wish the kids would not bring the pool toys in the house.

I look in the kids' bedroom and say, "girls, have you seen my glasses?" No response, but I can see a lump under each of their blankets. They must be sleeping.

I check the bathroom, but the lightbulb went out. I feel around, and my hand touches the counter. I hate it when the kids splash water all over the place. It's thicker though... soap?

I go into the bedroom and see my wife standing near the window. Of course I could only see her blurry shape cause of my terrible eyesight. I'm getting old.

"Hunny, have you seen my glasses?" She didn't reply, just stood there. I approached her and touched her shoulder. She shifted slighty.

"Hun?" Her shirt was wet. She must've spilled something on it. "Hun, are you okay?" Still no answer.

I gave her a little nudge, and she shifted away from me, but then came back and bumped into my chest. I felt for her face. She had her mouth open.

"Did you lose your voice?" Her face was wet. I touched at her throat and felt a thick, scratchy choker. She must've gon shopping, but... something didn't feel right.

I reached for her hand and felt her clutching my glasses. It took a little effort to pry them out cause she was holding them so tight, but I got them.

I put on my glasses...

I wish I had never found them.
i'm always misplacing my glasses. for some reason it inspired this.
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I could be executed for writing this. Hell, they'd probably throw me in prison just for catching me with a pen and paper. But I have to get this down... I know it's only a matter of time before they realize that I'm a free thinker... and then they'll make sure I never existed.

Ten years ago, the entire world changed. They had been building up to this point, and they were incredibly successful. I saw it comiand I tried my best to tell people that this isn't how we want to live. We don't want to be controlled... but they were already brainwashed.

The government showed their true colors. Libraries and theatres were torn down, artwork and historical artifacts were burned to ashes, and the world's most renowned musicians were gunned down like animals. Oh yea... the animals... you'd be lucky to even find a picture of one, let alone a real one.

Anyone caught with any sort of art, music, unorthodox clothing, stuffed animals, books, religious practice... anything that made someone individual... were considered criminals... and were severely punished. They... they took my children away when they were seen picking up a burnt teddy bear from a sewer grate... they won't even tell me what they've done with them.

Our homes are video and audio monitored. I don't know how I managed to find this blind spot, but I'm taking advantage of it. I don't even know who will find this or if anyone manages to read it before it's destroyed... but I'm desperate.

Our leader is known as the Protector, for he "protects" us from such dangers as emotions and free thoughts. He thinks for us, he feels for us, and he tells how to live our lives for "our own safety." We're forced to keep our televisions on from dawn til dusk to listen to the Protector's inpirational lectures. Then, as we sleep, he have headphones that feed our brains with binaural frequencies to ensure that we don't succomb to our "primitive behaviors."

I've found a way to block them, however. I take a shower before I go to bed, and when I get out to clean my ears with a cotton swab, I manage to very carefully and very discreetly leave the cotton in my ears. It takes two per ear to do the trick. But this combined with putting the headphones on backward keeps my mind open.

They say that there is a resistance in the undergrounds of New London, but this may just be a myth. I want to find them, but I don't know how to get passed the wall. I don't think I'll even live long enough to try and escape.

Idividuality is a crime, independant thought is forbidden, speaking out is blasphemy... but it's our fault. We let this happen. All those decades being forced to fear voicing our opinions, falling into fads to prevent being an outcast, not standing up for our beliefs because we were afraid to suffer the cruelty of our peers... if we had just fought against them, this could've been avoided. But fear made us slave to the morons who made us think it was wrong to be honest and share our opinions, no matter how controversial they were.

The American Flag is now the official flag for every contry in the world. The part that once was blue is now black, the fifty stars were replaced by one big star, the white stripes remain white, but the red ones are a dark grey. "Freedom" is no longer a word in the dictionary.

If anyone manages to read this, please... please come to your senses. They can't control us if they're outnumbered. I want to live my own life, I want to be able to tell someone if I don't like something, I want to be able to defend my thoughts and opinions without being prosecuted...

Everyone needs to stand up for what they believe in and not be afraid to rise above those idiots who dare to tell you to hold your tongue when speaking your mind. Fight them. FIGHT THEM.

They found me... I can hear them trying to knock down the locked door. I will fight. This pen will be my weapon. I don't know how long I'll last, but better to die fighting than live in this shit hole we call a world. I hope a sensible person finds this notebook.

Please... bring peace back to our lives... restore our world. Bring the Protector down.
this is what we're going to become, but we have the power to stop it.
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I've looked forward to this day since the ride opened. I've always loved roller coasters, but I'm afraid of heights, so I never went on the ones with loops. I slowly started riding bigger coasters and... well, when this opened, I knew it was time.

It's the biggest roller coaster in the world, and this is the only park it's been built at. I had to travel from the United States to the United Kingdom, and it took all my life savings, but... I won't be needing that money anymore. I told myself I'd ride this coaster without second thought, no matter what the cost.

It's not for everybody. In fact, many are horrified by it. Hell, when I saw the scale model of it, my heart leapt into my throat and was struck by excitement and fear. I never thought it'd be built in my lifetime... it's time to face many things; my fear of heights, my fear of loops, and most of all... it's time to face death.

The Euthanasia Coaster begins with a 1600 top, and the ride up is extremely steep. It's so steep, you'd feel like you were about to fall backward right off the track. It takes approximately two minutes to reach the top. Then... it drops... it drops 1600 feet at 220 MPH... the thrill of a life time.

No time to reconsider. Here are the loops, which I have never gone through on any coaster. There are seven of them, one immediately after the other, each slightly smaller in diameter. The G-force of ten... will kill you. The first loop would make you brain dead, and the other loops are there just to make sure you don't survive.

But this isn't painful. If anything, it will be the most (and last) thrilling and euphoric experience of your life. You'd gray out, experience tunnel vision, and at last, blackout before you die. How does the soul carry on after such happiness at your last moment?

I'm here because I'm depressed. And it's not just that I'm feeling this way for a few days or so, no... I've felt this way nearly my whole life. I wasn't meant to be here; my birth was a mistake. When I told my family what I was doing, I told each of them how I felt about them. Some of them were in the crowd... most of them crying, and the rest just looking shocked and... sort of lifeless.

There's my grandmother on my father's side. It was hard to read her expression, so I wasn't sure how she felt. I told her she was a crazy old hag who couldn't even love enough for her own damn children. I blamed her for my father's irresponsible nature, and I screamed at her about how she always said that I'd never succeed and I'd have to ask her for money. I even slapped her hard across the face, and told her I hated her.

Then there was my father. He was one of the ones sobbing the hardest. I told him I loved him and that, even though he was never a good parent, it wasn't his fault. I always knew that he loved me, he just... never tried to help himself. I suspected he was probably manic depressive too. But I said, "daddy, I love you, and you will always be my father and my friend. Someday, I hope, we'll meet on the other side.

Two of my aunts were there. They had refused to bring their children, even though one of them, my aunt's daughter, looked up to me like an older sister. These two had caused me so much hurt. They feigned kindness, and the aforementioned aunt screamed at me... exactly how she used to scream at me. I... I didn't see my aunt in front of me that day. I didn't even know where I was. I saw her.

The other aunt kindly waited until I returned home a few states away to email me and pour her hateful little heart out. She told me I was selfish because I didn't help financially support the family when I couldn't even support myself. The money I had was earned specifically for those two months of vacation, and I'm not going to help out a family whose mother and father are filthy rich. She also told me I was going nowhere.

There's one aunt that didn't show up who reminded me even more of her, for she hit her children as well as screamed at them. I hope she knows I hate her and I wanted so badly to shout at her when I saw her hit her daughters. I could see me in one of their eyes... and it killed me inside.

Then there's my aunt on her side of the family, the one who actually saved me from her, but at the same time, nearly sent me to a mental hospital when I was too young to understand what was going on with my head. I don't hate her, but I don't love her either. She's... an acquaintance.

My brother is also sobbing hard. I love my brother. We have different fathers, but we both knew how it felt to be raised by... well, he was the only one who understood me, and the only one I considered family. He also left his daughter at home with her mother, which I'm sort of glad about. She didn't know me too well. I let my brother know exactly how much I appreciated him, even though we spent most of our lives apart, and he never saw the worst side of her. I love him. I saved him from committing suicide, but I told him he couldn't do the same for me.

My grandmother on her side of the family... I hated her since I was nine, when I first met her (or at least as far as I can remember.) She made a good chunk of my life miserable and hard to handle. Even now, I'm simply pretending to get along with her. My medication keeps me from losing my patience, though sometimes I have to close my eyes and keep myself from blowing up. I've always felt she was an idiot, inconsiderate, selfish, irresponsible, and close minded. Of course I told her all of this, and I even said, "you should get on the coaster with me."

Then there's her... oh, I saved the best for last. She's the one who gave birth to me, whose blood I hold in my body, whose face I share almost identically... the whore that made me who I am and made my life literally hell. It took hours for me to spill out everything I've wanted to say to her for the passed eight years. She's not my mother. She gave me life, but no scum such as her can be considered a mother. I wanted to stay alive long enough to watch her die, but I changed my mind. I told her to live. I told her to live with the memory that her only daughter voluntarily rode to her own demise. I couldn't even think of words to describe how much I hated her, because "hate" wasn't strong enough. I told her what happens to my mind when I think of her, when I remember her and the things she's done... and I told her she'll never change. She has everyone fooled... but not her children. Now that I'm older, I know why she got her tubes tied; so she can sleep with random scum bags without accidentally having another child to torture and abandon.

However, my friends are there too. My loved ones who begged me to stay and say they needed me. This is my only regret. In truth, I didn't want to leave them behind, but... I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't rely on them to take care of me, it wasn't fair. I love them more than anything. Do they believe me after this? I don't know. They're in the crowd right now shouting at me to change my mind before it's too late. It's hard to look at them...

I'm in line right now as I record this with my handheld tape recorder. When I'm on, I have a strap that I'll use to strap it onto my chest. This way, my thoughts will be recorded and go down in history. What does a person think about before such a way to leave this world? Now the living will be able to know.

There's only five others in line with me, though the cars seat twenty-four. Their families are in the huge audience surrounding the gates. Some are crying with utter sadness, but some are crying and waving, as if to say, "farewell, my dear, we love you..." I see faces of disgust, expressions of horror, and some just bursting with excitement.

In front of me is a little girl. She's about eight, and she has no hair. She was diagnosed with cancer a long time ago, and is expected to die in about two weeks. She didn't want to die by something so unfair, so she begged and pleaded with her family and doctors to let her die when she wanted to. There were tears, oh yes, but after a long and impressive speech from the eight year old, whose innocence was taken by nature's secret weapon, they conceded.

In front of her is an old man in a wheel chair. He's a quadraplegic, and he's only able to move the muscles in his face. He's not depressed; he's had a great life. But he's just... bored. What more is there to do besides be a burden on your family, raising their medical bills, making it so they can't work because they have to care for him... and just laying in bed all day? I'd die from the boredom itself! His children and their children are in the crowd, wishing him a happy journey. They understand that he just wants to go. They are such a wonderful and caring family... the younger ones don't exactly understand, but they will in due time. Grandpa's just on his ride to Heaven.

There's a man behind me in an orange prison suit. He's very gaunt and his eyes lack lustre, as if his life had already been taken, but his soul remains. He had spent twenty years on Death Row for raping and killing 15 young children. I was disgusted when hearing his story, but... I saw regret in his eyes now, and he knew that he deserved this. He asked the court, "if I must be put to death, can I ride the Euthanasia Coaster?" They obliged. He was ready to die for the horrible things he's done... which may be more than what he was charged for.

Behind him is a man around my age. I think he said he was about twenty-three or so, I don't remember. I was too busy admiring his gorgeous face. He's just a little taller than me, with semi-long, colored maroon hair, and striking blue eyes. His facial shape is absolutely perfect, and he had this... just... incredibly sexy English accent... he was dressed in a long sleeved black button up shirt and black skinny jeans. His shoes were simple black Airwalks, but nonetheless... I fell in love with him physically. I hope I can convince him to sit next to me, and maybe steal the last kiss of both our lives. Apparently, he's just as depressed as I am, having almost the same number of cuts on his body as me. And this day, he said he's never felt so happy. I agree.

And lastly, a woman in about her forties stood at the end of the line. She had two black eyes and bruises anywhere you could see. She sported dark scrapes, and her hair was ripped out in places. Her husband, who beat her, stood in the audience with an expression that clearly said, "oh dear Lord, what have I done?" He was holding a sobbing four year old who had a suspicious bruise on her cheek.

We all refused to give our real names so that we didn't become attached to each other in this life. The girl was called Hope, the old man was Limbs, the criminal was Knives, that oh so attractive boy was Toy, the beaten woman was Pain, and I was Smiles. We all came together and held hands, saying our goodbyes and reasons to be happy.

Hope said her soul would be free of disease and pain. Limbs laughed, excited to be able to walk and move his arms again. He said, "maybe they'll have Ping Pong in Heaven." Knives was crying softly as he said he was sorry to all of his victims, their families, and everyone else he's hurt. He knew he was going to Hell, but was begging to at least see all those children to beg forgiveness, though he didn't think it'd do any good. Knives wasn't sure if he'd find happiness, but maybe he shouldn't be happy anyway. Toy said he'd be happy to finally be free of ridicule and physical torture from peers. He'd create the life he had wanted to live, and manage to smile truly for the first time. Pain prayed that her husband would stop beating their daughter, and she'll be happy when she's free of marks and free of despair.

I expressed my happiness to escape undeserved pain, to escape failure, and to laugh at the tears streaming from most of my family's eyes. Maybe I'd see all my lost pets, and I'd finally see what Heaven was. Would I even go to Heaven? Meh, who knows. Anywhere's better than this place though. And I will patiently wait for my loved ones to arrive.

At last, they've opened the gate. It's not like we had a long line, they just had to make sure everything was ready and good to go. It's a big coaster, you know?

"Toy, will you join me in the first car?"

"Heh, the first car, huh? You really wanna get all you can outta this, don't ya?"

"Of course. Gotta live life to it's fullest."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"I'm still recording, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

Toy takes my hand and we step into the car. I'm so scared and excited for the climb to the top. I might have to close my eyes to keep myself from panicking. Not afraid of death, but still afraid of heights. Ironic.

[Toy laughs. Silence except for the cars starting to travel along the tracks. About a minute passes by.]

"I think you're cute"

"I don't wanna sound vain, but I get that a lot."

"Do you wanna share a last kiss?"

"Don't think of it as a last kiss, but the final kiss of life. I'm sure even angels find love."

"It's a shame that someone as smart and beautiful as you won't live to pass on those traits to your child."

"Smiles, I wouldn't bring another child into this world."

"Good point. I didn't want children either."

[Sound of a kiss. Another thirty seconds pass by.]

We're nearing the top. Oh, we're so high up... talking to Toy definitely kept my mind off of my acrophobia.

"Happy to help... oh my God... I'm smiling..."

"It's a beautiful smile... bye everyone! Maybe we'll meet again someday!"


Oh jeez... we're about to drop... oh my god we're so high up... this is... terrifying, but... wonderful! This is amazing! This is--

[Screaming. After about a minute they start to fade. Two and a half minutes of silence except for the sounds of the coaster. The sounds slow, and at last come to a stop.]

"Check their pulses."

[Thirty seconds of silence.]

"They've passed."

"Oh good, I was really afraid someone might survive."

"Nah, Urbonas knew what he was doing."

"Let's get them on the stretchers so their families can see them one last time if they want.

"Wait a second..."

[Sound of the tape recorder being dislodged from its strap and picked up.]

"No way... this girl was recording the whole thing...

"That's... actually brilliant. We'll have to send the tape to Urbonas. I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear the experience she had."


[Tape ends.]
don't worry, writing this doesn't mean i'm gonna leave. this is just what i imagined the experience might be like.

this was proof read once, so if there are more mistakes, just ignore them.
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Her name was Penelope,
And she wasn't quite right.
Her life was unhappy
And a constant battle to fight.
Only at the age of twelve,
Poor Penny was alone.
In this world she did dwell,
But craved a world of her own.
The story of Penny
Is a sad one indeed,
For her mind was uncanny
And was in dire need
Of jubilance and cheer
In which she did not hold,
But strived to engineer
With imagination so bold.

Dear Penny was young
And was too shy to make friends,
So she invented the one
Who she'd use to make amends.
The internet is perfect
For hiding who you are,
And many would disrespect
Other users from afar.
So Penny became the person
She so wished to be,
Having no idea it'd worsen
Her sadness and misery.
Hanging out in sites and chats,
She quickly gained the trust
Of those who believed her stats,
Which were secretly robust.

Penny, oh sweet Penny,
How she went so very far
Was extraordinarily uncanny,
Why hide who you truly are?
She posted random pictures
And claimed they were her own,
She avoided harsh stricture,
Her thievery she did condone.
But her number of cohorts
Was not nearly enough,
So she created fake supports
Increasing her ludicrous guff.
Many friends that praised the dame
Were really Penny in disguise.
Even her "boyfriend" was the same;
Nothing more than her lies.

But all good things must end,
And dear Penny was not exempt.
Real owners of the pics did scend,
And held her in contempt.
Penny tried hard to fight,
Her "friends" by her side,
But everyone saw through her plight
Knowing full well that she lied.
Though she was given a second chance,
Dear Penny refused to take it,
Continuing to try and enhance
The illusion that she acquit.
"That's it," they did say,
And reported her accounts.
She was shortly chased away
By the admins' string of doubts.

She seemed so pathetic
By her awful behavior,
Her personality was synthetic,
Her actions not in her favor.
But when I think about poor Penny,
I come to the realization
That she was just one of many
Who couldn't find salvation.
Though her deeds were unjust and wrong,
We simply can't help but wonder...
Perhaps her heart was not yet strong
Enough to avoid such a blunder.
My only hope is that she learns
How to deal with her own woes,
Instead of taking what she didn't earn,
But paying back what she owes.
this was actually inspired by the encounter with a young art thief on DA. I began to get a sad suspicion about why she did what she did, and whether it was true or not, I figured it'd make a good story. THEN, I decided, why not write a poem? it's been awhile. I know I'm not great at rhythm, and I hope the vocabulary is okay. that's why I always count it as free verse because it's not really following a proper format. anyway, hope you like it. again, take it with a grain of salt because I wrote it as fiction, don't actually come to the conclusion that it's a true story. 
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Simon says hop on one foot.

Simon says wave both hands above your head.

Touch your nose.

Oop, I didn't Simon says! Okay, let's try again.

Simon says take one step forward.

Simon says jump three times.

Spin around.

I didn't say Simon says!

Okay, Simon says to crouch down.

Simon says jump back up.

Simon says take a step to your right.

Simon says go "woo! woo! woo!

Simon says act like a chicken.

Kill yourself.

*sigh* Tsk tsk tsk. I didn't say Simon says!
i dunno where i got this idea
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I have a friend. He's pretty impressive, I show him off all the time. People must be super jealous though, cause they either run away screaming or faint.

My friend is much taller than me and very skinny. I tell him I envy him because I have to be careful to keep my weight where I want it. He's always dressed so nicely too! In a black suit and tie, he always looks like he's going to a business meeting.

It's very hard to tell how my friend is feeling because... well, this may sound weird but... he has no facial features. His skin is snow white and just has a... completely blank face. He has no mouth either, so he can't talk. He usually just writes me messy little notes.

He's a weird dude, obviously. But he's super fun. He can duplicate his arms as much as he wants, and they can also stretch far distances. He can also change his height, but he never goes below eight feet. I don't think he's able to.

He keeps to himself when it comes to personal stuff. I tried to ask him where he's from and what he was like when he was young, but he just writes a note to me saying, "I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT." He must've been kind of sad when he was little.

My friend comes and goes as he pleases. He'll just show up sometimes without even opening a door or window. I'll be doing my homework, and all of a sudden he's looking over my shoulder to see what I'm working on. It startles me when I notice him, but I welcome him. Sometimes he helps me with my math. Uh... he's not very good at it...

Surprisingly, he never gets bored when I go about my day. He never sits down, just stands and watches me. Sometimes I get sort of a headache when he's near, but then one of his hands pats my head lightly to let me know he doesn't mean it. It's just something that happens to people when he's around.

A couple nights ago, I was on my computer, checking my Deviant Art. I'm subscribed to a group that submits fanart of my friend! They call him Slender Man, and apparently he's very popular. He tells me via notes that he finds it annoying, but he deals with it. Anyway, when I was checking the club's latest deviations, I nearly vomited. I covered my eyes yelling, "NOPE!! No no no no no!! UGH!!" My friend, "Slender Man," teleports over behind me and bends over to see the screen. I clicked on the deviation to enlarge it, and suddenly his longs arms flail and he teleports to the furthest corner in my room.

The picture was... oh, I'm sick just thinking about it... of someone's OC being... romantic with Slender Man! He couldn't make sounds, but when I looked at him, many of his arms were wrapped around his faceless head. Out of... curiosity... I did a little searching and found romantic drawings and erotic stories involving him! I turned off my monitor and approached my friend.

"Are you okay?" I asked. Slender Man uncovered his head, retracting all but two of his arms. He quickly went to my desk and scribbled a note. He handed it to me and I read it.


"I know, I know!" I said, patting his hand to get him to relax. "I think it's gross too! I mean... you're like the last person to have... romantic... stuff..." He started writing feverishly.


"I don't know!" I replied desperately. "It's disgusting! I mean, you don't even like people except me... I don't even know why you like me!"


"Aw, that's nice," I said with a smile. "Yea, you don't really want friends do you? I'm an exception?"


"Meh, good enough." I glanced at my computer. "But still... I think those people took it too far..."


"So what are you gonna do?" He hesitated, and then continued writing.


"They'll be so excited to meet you!" I said excitedly.

"THEY WON'T BE EXCITED FOR LONG." And just like that, he was gone. I sighed and went back to my computer, closing the windows with the Slender Man erotica in them. Instead I watched some videos on Youtube about subliminal messages in kid's movies. Finally, I got tired and went to bed.

I woke up briefly at about 3:30 in the morning to see Slender Man standing in the corner. I yawned and curled up next to my fluffy teddy bear and fell back asleep. He was gone again when I woke up at around 8 or so. It was Saturday so I didn't have school. I saw a note stuck to my computer monitor.


He wrote vague notes like this sometimes, usually when he's in a hurry. Whenever he does, there are reports of missing people. Sure enough, there was a long list of missing people on the news that morning and the next. I didn't see him until Monday afternoon when I got home from school. He was in the corner again; he really likes to stand in corners.

"What have you been up to?" I asked. Going back to my desk, he wrote another note, then handed it to me.

"SAME OLD THING." I smiled at him and got to work on my homework. I never asked him what he actually did because I don't think he wanted to tell me. I'm guessing though, with all the people going missing, he probably scares them so bad they flee the city and go into hiding. He's a good friend, but really doesn't like this weird fanbase that's growing. He's told me he hates people and wants to do bad things to them, but he's discouraged by some of these fantasies. I tell him to stand up for himself when he's being harrassed, so he does.

Sometimes Slender Man calls me a "very innocent and naive little girl." He's so funny when he jokes like that! He's my bestest friend... always and forever.
i had this funny idea. i'm so sick and tired of people making slender man "sexy" or pretending he's boyfriend material. of course this story is sorta ironic because of the friendship, but this is a comedy, and i wanted to show slendy being freaked out. ever read that trollpasta about the boy sexually obsessed with slender man and like... wears a sailor moon mini skirt and tries to track him down? it's disturbingly hilarious, obviously not meant to be serious, but... i'll just say there ARE serious fanfictions like this... uh... slenderbone. that's all.
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I want to be perfect. I just want to be perfect. But so much is getting in my way... I hate my ugly body. This horrible skin with all of its imperfections. It's driving me mad.

I look in the mirror and see a blemish on my cheek. It's not quite ready to go yet, but I feel it! I feel it! It's there, and I don't want it to be. I want it gone.

I push at it, trying to get the defect out, but it won't surface. All I managed to accomplish was two deep nail marks in my face. I get frustrated and I scratch at it, trying to get the skin off to open the pore. It bleeds a little bit. I try squeezing again, but nothing. The nail marks break the skin slightly.

I grab a sewing needle. They say not to do this, but I'm desperate. I try to gently tear open the blemish. I really don't want to scar my face, so I have to be careful. But even after that, it won't come out! I scratch vigorously at it until there's a large, bleeding scrape on my cheek. I don't pay much attention to that, for I see the pocket from the bacteria's infection. I try to get it out, but it won't budge! WHY WON'T IT JUST GET OUT OF MY FACE?!

I take my tweezers and try to pull it out, digging even further into the skin. I can't grab it. Eventually the wound is bleeding so much, I give up for now. I press a tissue to stop the bleeding and leave the bathroom.

The next morning, I return to the mirror. There's a big, dark scab where the blemish was, still hiding the infection. I start obsessively searching my face for other imperfections. I found a couple small ones that people probably wouldn't have noticed, but I noticed them. I attack them like I did the one from yesterday. More scrapes, more torn skin, more blood. But there's still the scab from yesterday...

I tear it open to try to clear the infection again. I dig with my nails, then with my tweezers, and then I take the needle and stick it in the pore to try and dig out the pocket. It's bleeding so much, so I try to dab at it with a tissue so I could see what I was doing. The pain never bothers me; I'm too concerned with the battle against my skin.

Giving up again, I have little bits of tissue stuck to each wound to stop the bleeding. I watch television. I idly scratch my arm and feel a bump. Another imperfection. I don't even know what it is. Probably not a blemish. I scratch at it anyway, and it bleeds. I start obsessively searching my body.

I scratch at my back at more blemishes and previous scabs. I inspect my legs and arms, and even my abdomen. I find a spot behind my knee and scratch it off, only to find out it was just a birthmark. I began tearing at more freckles, reopening old scabs, even ones that were nearly healed. I stop after a long while...

To the mirror again the very next day. Reopen the wounds, tear at spots I missed, even on my scalp where not even I could see until I searched thoroughly for them. There's a milia on my eyelid. Those usually have to be removed by a dermatologist. However, I take my needle and dig it off, severely damaging my eyelid.

My neck, shoulder, chest, arms, legs, pelvis, back... covered in scabs... just more imperfections to get rid of... I constantly rip them open to get rid of them... I'm covered in scars and scabs. I try to heal scars with bio oil, but they just don't heal fast enough.

I find myself tearing at my face at night when I'm trying to fall asleep, but doing this keeps me awake. I pick, scrape, dig, peel...

The next day my friend came over. She was horrified at what she saw. I had torn my face off. I kept digging at my arms, back, and anywhere else, taking huge chunks of flesh off my body. More... imperfections... they had to go! THEY HAD TO GO!

My friend tied my hands behind my back and drove me to a hospital as I bled. I struggled, trying to free myself so I could dig at my wounds, but it was no use.

Urgent Care did what they could with the gashes, which they still had to keep me from scratching. After, however, they suggested sending me to an institution. I was put in a straight jacket for the soul purpose of keeping my hands secure.

I'm so ashamed... I'm so horribly scarred... I just wanted to be pretty... just like everyone else...
this is an exaggerated story of what i do to my skin. obviously, i don't tear my face off or chunks of flesh, but i'm had so many wounds on my face, i kept picking at them to get rid of them. i know it doesn't work that way, but those of you with dermatillomania will know what it's like. when i was fifteen, i finally managed to get the milia off my eyelid. i had it since i was a little kid, but i took a needly and got it. fortunately, unlike the character in this story, i was completely unharmed. however, if you were to see my back... well, let's just say you don't want to see my back.

*sigh* i also have trichotillomania. but... let's not get into that.
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