Widward's Suicide: Difference between revisions
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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
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.
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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
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.
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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
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
Looking up,
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
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.
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"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
Without a moment of hesitation, he placed it in his mouth (it felt strangely familiar) and pulled the trigger.
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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
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.
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