So I just recently, and I mean just a few minutes ago, finished writing a small part of a sort of CreepyPasta, not sure if I did well on it, though, so I'm just going to post it here to get some feedback. You'll probably recognize the two characters in the story so far, if you're familiar with creepy pastas.
My name is… well, that doesn't matter very much, does it? As far as I know, I’m already all over the news. No, I’m not some presidential assassin, or psychotic Flash Mober, not at all. I’m just a simple little fifteen-year-old, living in a scruffy old house in a quaint little suburb. I experienced the day that changed everything, and tore the love and kindness out of my soul. I was a normal child, living innocently, until the man in the hoodie, with the skin stretched across his face in a permanent smile, his soulless eyes reflecting the blackness of his heart. He came and stuck the knife that murdered every sliver of innocence and the belief that the world was a shining gem… into the necks of my parents. I watched as they struggled against his merciless grip, not a single shred of remorse for the horrendous crime he had committed.
Nothing I have ever experienced in life had terrified me more than this sight. I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't move a muscle. I could do NOTHING as he laughed and stabbed them, over and over again, even when they breathed no more. The man hunkered out of the house, blood dripping from his knife and clothes. But he never noticed me in his drunken rage, fueled by blood lust. I sat in the closet I hid inside. Dumbstruck. Nothing had ever been so horrifying as to be possible to happen, how this man could, in such a way, murder innocent people, leaving a child orphaned and scarred for the remainder of his miserable life. I was brought to a foster home as the police left the scene. I sat down on the shag carpet, and laid my head down on it, slowly and steadily sobbing my miseries onto the floor.
And then, in came a woman, her face marred by the raven black hair, her pale skin barely visible. She extended a hand, and said, “ You've been harmed. I can help you,” With a voice as smooth as silk, that warmed my very soul. I slowly stood up, in wonder at what this woman would know of the pain I had experienced. As I regained my ground, she swept back her hair, revealing the gems of jet resting in her eye sockets. I stood there, staring into the void that was her gaze. She had felt the same pain as I. I could tell by merely a glance, the pain that had seared away at the very core of a person, mauling it and tossing it aside like rotting carrion. I asked her, in a scratchy voice, “Who are you? Why have you come for me?” For a while, she stood still, still with her hand held, waiting for me to clasp it. She said, oh so gracefully and eloquent, I could listen to that voice for hours, “You want revenge. I can see it in your eyes. I can help you get it.”
At this, I raised my shaky hand, and clasping her hand rather tightly, we slowly walked out of the foster home, paying no mind to the perturbed assistants trying to stop us. I looked into the dark and dreary night, contemplating the gruesome demise of the one who had tortured my being.
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