Widward's Suicide
Author's note: This pasta was written as a homage/mockery to Widward and his notoriously bad blogs and rants he wrote over on Creepypasta Wiki.
His teeth gritting, Widward stared at the screen, where his latest blog has been bashed into a bloody pulp by what was certainly one single greatest group of stupid morons (that were also excessively mean).
Completely angry (because that's what 12-yo's are) he stormed off from the wiki, and decided to rant about unfairness on Tumblr, where he was also shamed and ridiculed (because that's what Tumblr society does to 12-yo's).
More angry than ever, Widward swore that he would have his revenge. That night he laid down a large sheet of paper on the table, and started to draw: elaborate traps, thorny whips, scalding iron, spiked baseball bats. All those things were sure to strike terror and pain into those evil pricks on Creepypasta Wiki. Considering for a moment, he added a job application to the list, before bursting into a maniac cackle.
But as the night went on, Widward felt himself more and more tired. Eventually, not being able to keep his eyes open anymore, he slumped on his incredibly elaborate (but poorly drawn) plan, and passed out.
In his dreams, Widward found himself in a desert. Only thing that grew there was short, mostly already dead grass. The great range of mountains enclosed the desert (making it a valley, I guess), looking very intimidating to Widward's young mind. Giant orange sun hung on the horizon, dyeing the entire world in a sick shade of goldenrod. The only discernible thing in this desert was a long railroad, spanning seemingly the entire length of the valley.
Before long, Widward caught a glimpse of something moving on horizon. In a few minutes, it became clear what it was: a large steam locomotive, made out of forged black iron, but splattered in all teh blod. The train stopped abruptly before Widward, and the doors on the locomotive opened.
From that black gaping entrance no tiger-fanged beast or demon, of solid flesh and blood leaped forth. But a fearful stench flowed out in billowing, almost tangible waves and in one brain-shattering, ravening rush. Then, a large, middle-aged man stumbled out and promptly planted himself face-first in the ground. A very tired looking chap came out after him, and upon witnessing the sorry state of his compatriot, sighed deeply. Widward realized that the first one was the train driver, but the second one was doing all the actual work, due to first one being far too sloshed to actually do anything. But there was no time to be in awe, as the carriage doors opened one by one, and some of the most peculiar characters that Widward ever saw came pouring out.
Among the first was a young, olive-skinned man with long unkempt hair and shaggy beard. He wore a white t-shirt with inverted cross painted on, and neon green letters that stated "NOT SATANIST, JUST AUSTRALIAN"
Another one was a young African-American man that constantly exhaled mist, and had a pair of brass knuckles on either hand.
There were many more: a short dude with an unnervingly sharpened stake and a dictionary that stood on the very edge of railroad, a 30-something fat Jesus in a wolf furry costume, a transvestite with a cup of coffee, a guy that sought and punched people that played/listened soul, a dude that couldn't've been more than 13 and wore Swedish Corpse Paint. And many more.
But the greatest horror came out of one carriage what was orange instead of black. First came out a tall man, dressed in a creepy combination of cleric's robes and rabbi outfit. After him, came out an elderly man that looked like he ate shrapnels for breakfast (with no milk). Then a tall Greek dude sporting Hitler mustache and a cowl made from fresh dolphin skin, and carrying what appeared to be an inebriated skeleton.
Looking up, Widward's horror grew as he spotted a 20-something dude dressed in all Adidas squatting on top of the orange carriage, wrapped in wings that looked like an acid trip.
Averting his eyes from this unholy scene, Widward gazed downwards just in time to see one last person exiting the orange carriage: a dude that appeared to be a mild-mannered college student, and was obviously the only one here who wasn't a loony.
They all stood around Widward forming a circle; a circle that grew ever smaller. As they enclosed him more and more, the African-American dude started clicking his tongue, unnerving Widward even further.
When there was only about a meter of circle around Widward, they stopped. This, however, did little to ease the troubled mind of young Widward. All of a sudden, the elderly man stepped out, embraced Widward, and whispered in his ear these haunting words:
"Jeff the Killer 2015 was amazing!"
Widward yanked out of his nightmare, screaming the most foulmouthed scream that any screamer ever screamed since screaming was a thing. He ran out to his parents' bedroom, rummaged their wardrobe for a good 6 minutes before finding his dad's shotgun.
Without a moment of hesitation, he placed it in his mouth (it felt strangely familiar) and pulled the trigger.
Sometime later, Widward awoke to a ray of sun hitting his face. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, observing his surroundings: he stood at the base of what appeared to be that hill from Windows XP. The air was pleasantly chilly, the sky was blue, the Sun was familiar yellow.
Maybe this afterlife wasn't so bad after all.
Suddenly, Widward heard something in the distance behind him: it sounded like a war cry of Cherokee. Only, it was the single worst war cry that Widward (or anyone else, for that matter) ever heard.
As he turned around, Widward was confronted with the source of the noise: it was a 30-something, balding guy with glasses, riding a pig and wielding a large warhammer. As he approached Widward, he readied his weapon and swung it at him with amazing force.
The last thing young Widward saw before departing for hellish after-afterlife, was a business end of a warhammer rushing to his face, with the word "BANNED!" engraved deep into metal.
| Comments • 1 |
Loading comments...
|
