This Happened, This Happened, and This Happened Too
The frame of a tale, such as this one, usually goes like this. Opening the book, the reader is asking, 'What happened?' to which the writer answers: 'This happened, then this happened, and this happened, too.' 
- — Stephen King
I read that before writing this small narrative, and I would like to thank King for his inspiring work. (Part of the story.)
Hello, reader. My name is Scott Watson, born in the great—Well, exceptional – United States of America. I am a heavy reader, and have now decided to write my own story. It will, in short, be a sort of diary—Yet, that sounds like something you'd hear in some amateur scary story. All I am doing is simply writing...a biography. Yes, perfect.
My apologies, for I'm rambling. Back to the story. Today is—Hell if you care, right? For all I know, you're reading this many years later. I guess nothing else is happening today.
I woke up in the night. I heard a rustling. Dammit, King, you've got me paranoid. I'm going to take a nap.
I had a nightmare, waking in a cold sweat. I'll tell about it soon enough. I'm still so tired. I guess I'm going back to bed, now. Good night, di—biography.
—
I can't sleep anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see the...thing...from the nightmare. It...I can't describe it. It pains me to think of it. I just hope it will stop soon. The thought of it brings a chill down my spine. Back to bed, where I probably won't even sleep.
—
Oh, God. Another nightmare. It spoke to me. It stared at me, for what seemed like forever, before saying in this horrible voice..."What happened?" Why does that sound familiar? Why do I feel like I could answer that question?
—
Stephen King. This happened. And this, too. Now please, just please, go away make it STOP I can't take it!
—
Soon, I won't be able to stand it. It came to me again. "And what happened then? You're learning, Scott." Why is it doing this to me? Why is it torturing me, why?! I don't understand anymore. I can't take it any longer.
—
This happened, too. It came to me for a third time, asking what happened next. You probably think this is bullshit, but that's what I answered. This happened, too. I'm waiting. These aren't dreams.
—
It came to me, for what I think is the last time. It told me my story is over. Good.
—
KFIIQ, RF^BFr. My name is—Oh, God. STOP IT. WHY ARE YOU DOING—
—
I read the news today. Stephen King died. He has been tormenting me, I've realized. But not tormenting. Teaching. Teaching me how to write. How to....live.
—
He did the story right so I taught him how to do better than that to make it come true. There was no plot though so his story is over. No plot? Why would you because I said stop it you could live this wa
—
Scott Watson was found dead, with this written in his notebook on his bedside table. It seems to have been a suicide, his pen stabbed into his throat. Apparently, Stephen King manipulated him, even though he's dead.. Nobody is completely sure what drove him to do this—There surely must be a reasonable answer to this, rather than the man simply going insane. What happened to him? There was one last sentence—I don't think it was in red pen.
This happened, and this happened, and then this happened, too.
Credited to Fuipui
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