Yesterday Was Beautiful

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About a week into my summer holidays, I decided to stop sitting around doing nothing, and started going through the files on my laptop in the hopes of coming across something amusing from my MySpace past. We've all got one. I found a folder with some old photos, old chat logs and school assignments I never bothered re-reading. I found a folder with a number of attempted short stories, and I smiled to myself as I prepared to go through them to see if any of them were worth finishing.

I wish I hadn't.

I found an MS Word document file named 'unpublished', and for some reason that sounded odd to me so I opened it up. I read through it a couple of times and remembered it was the first creepypasta I ever wrote, that I had been meaning to post on this site but apparently didn't. Despite it being purely fictional, the things I wrote scared me a little. Nevertheless, I fixed it up, published it here and thought nothing more of it. The reason I'm telling you all this is because publishing that story changed my life, in the worst possible way. Initially I deleted it but I'm putting it back up here because it could happen to you.

That stupid fucking radio, playing those stupid fucking songs. 'I wanted to smash it into bits but I couldn't. 'I hate the fact that I depended on it, because without it the silence would be unbearable. The phone would ring at ungodly hours. It always seemed to ring just when I managed to fall asleep. Stupid thing, I wish I could break that too. My mum came in and had a go at me for skipping class. Again. I couldn't care less about school, the stupid bitch. My dad would leave early in the morning, and come back late at night. On a good day he'd say a few words to us, but usually he didn't speak to us at all. The bastard. Every night he'd come in and the house would start to reek of cheap booze. Sometimes he'd come up to my room, stroke my arms, and leave. He used to do that a lot when I was younger. I couldn't stand him. I had a little sister, she was alright. She'd keep to herself, play with her stupid toys. She made the mistake of asking me to join in once, but that was ages ago.

"Such a troubled girl" I overheard my mum saying to someone on the phone once. Troubled? Me? Not at all. I heard her say things like " it's just a phase" and "not healthy". It's kind of sad in a way, how she thought she knew me so well. 'It' was not a phase, I can tell you that. I have always hated everyone, and I still do. The mere sight of people walking around everyday minding their own business, wastes of space. Makes my skin crawl. The dumbfucks in my class that don't realise how pathetic they are, the teachers that know nothing. Can you blame me for dropping out?

I stay in my room mostly. I try and avoid my family as much as possible. Humans make me sick. One day, when I went downstairs to get a glass of water, mum came out of nowhere and sat me down. Said she was worried about me, I wasn't eating properly, I was losing weight, I stopped going to school and my teachers were worried. I told mum they can all go to hell. She said she found my diary when she was cleaning. Like hell she did. I told her I didn't have a diary, and that she was pathetic. She kept insisting that it wasn't healthy for a girl of my age to be this hateful, that I was being a bad example to my sister. She didn't say it but I knew she was thinking it: I regret having you. Anyway, I told her to fuck off and leave me alone. I stood up, and was about to go up to my room when she grabbed my arm and slapped me. Oh man, I can't begin to describe the feeling that went through me, it was like a jolt of electricity. I swung my arm around and hit her in the head. Damn near took her head off. The sound of her neck breaking was beautiful. I shuddered a little from the pleasure. This must be what an orgasm feels like. After all, I wouldn't know. She lay there on the floor, dead. I wasn't sure what to do, so I drank my water slowly, put the glass in the kitchen, then dragged her limp body to the sofa, and propped her up on a seat. There, she could stay there. I turned the TV on, just for a laugh. I sat down opposite her, thinking about what to do next. My sister was at the neighbour's for tea, she'd be back any minute and I couldn't have the kid running around screaming. I knew what I had to do, and I went upstairs to fill the bathtub up. Shame, she was alright. When my father came home that night, he was too drunk to notice what had happened to his beloved family, and was too drunk to notice the cleaver in his back. Even bigger shame, I didn't get much pleasure out of that one. I dragged my sister to the sofa too, and sat her down next to mum, and managed to drag dad beside my sister. There, the perfect fucking family. And then I waited.

I felt bad for publishing it but I was bored, and my other stories seemed to get good feedback. A few days had passed since this went up on this site, and life was pretty normal. It was after the 6th day that the police showed up at our door, saying there was an accident and my mum was dead. I had forgotten about my story completely, and the news pushed everything else to the back of my mind. She was driving home from work when her car collided with a drunk driver. She was pronounced dead at the scene. Cause of death? Broken neck. Me, my dad and my sister were shaken up. My sister and I took a few days off school, and my dad took a few days off work. When he started work again, he'd come home late. I could smell the alcohol on him, but I took it as his way of coping. 6 weeks after mum died, police showed up at our door again. I refused to believe it. He had gotten into a drunken fight that night, and was found face down in an alley. Cause of death? He was stabbed in the back.

My mum's sister, who lived about an hour away, drove down and picked me and my sister up. We were to live with her, and I was okay with that. I didn't want to be alone, and I don't think my sister did either. I think the shock of what had happened kept me from breaking down, and it felt like life was almost returning to normal. My sister made new friends at the new school she went to, and I had my own new set of friends to hang out with. I managed to get decent grades, started learning how to play the guitar. Anything to keep my mind off what happened to my parents.

6 months after dad died, I was talking to a friend about what had happened. I was with her, just down the street from my aunt's house when I saw two police officers walk up to my aunt's door. I expected the worse, and I started panicking as I thought about where my sister was. Fuck, I thought. She was at a friend's birthday party. Fuck fuck fuck. I left my friend and ran up to the house. My aunt's face was pale, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

My sister fell into the pool at her friend's house, and drowned before anyone could get to her.

I still live with my aunt, but we don't talk much. I just turned 21, and I'm planning on moving out soon. I think she blames me for what happened. She must be wondering why I'm still alive when the rest of my family died. I just hope she doesn't read this.



Credited to AWildZeebraAppears

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