They are always there. Always calling to me, at school, at parties, and even with my closest friends.
“Come on babe,” they’ll say, “just grab that pair of scissors from your backpack, go to the bathroom, and we can play around for a little while.” I try to remain focused on whatever the task is at hand, but they continue to seduce me.
“You know you want to,” they’ll say. I tell them to wait until tonight to ease them, and as the stern voice weakens to murmurs, I can still hear them.
I continue through my day, soothing the cries with the phrase “just wait until tonight.” My long sleeve itches my arm, but I must hide all evidence of the presence of these monsters.
At the end of the day, after spending time with family, and as everyone begins to settle down for a long deserved rest, the voices begin to unease. “You promised us. Don’t forget that, or you’ll be sorry.”
My parents tuck me in, wishing me a good nights rest, and as they slowly shut my door, those voices rejoice with delight. I, myself, fill with a bit of joy as I climb out of the covers, crouch down, and pull the small box out from under my bed. They go silent, waiting in anticipation.
I climb back in bed and set down the box. I pull off the lid to be greeted by the same sight as the night before. The dim light from my lamps glimmers off the blade inside. I pull it out, set it beside me, and roll up my sleeves, staring at the carnage. They begin to unease, and whisper all sorts of things. “You are so worthless.” “You deserve this.” “No one cares, just do it!”
These cascading cries continue as I reach for the blade. So small and beautiful, I slowly pick it up between my thumb and middle finger. The cries begin to contort into whimpers as I press the sharp edge against my wrist. I begin to go to work, carving line after line. As the blood begins to run down my arm, they sigh with a sense of relief. I do this for a while, until my arm is full of red lines of all lengths and sizes.
I set the blade down, as they say “you did good.” A tear rolls down my cheek, as I once again realize how addicted I really am.
I struggle with the same thing, so this story really touched me, thank you
cool story!
This story shouldn’t be on this site. It isn’t a creepypasta. This is a story about a suicidal child being persuaded by their addiction to go and self harm. This is a real scenario and it sucks, but it’s true. This should not be on this site!
Hi,
check out my interpretation of this story here:
https://youtu.be/o2nT2fjxhbA
Now he could easily take it the other way and make him psycho, like Chucky.
Dear Author, this is a very good story. There’s spatial error at the end of the fourth sentence but other than that, nothing bad. More imagery and description would be swell. I hope you continue writing and wish you good luck.
For anyone who thinks this story shouldn’t be on this website, I cannot agree. Different people find different subjects creepy. That is all.
I hear voices, is that normal? I’ve managed not to listen to most. A few are good, however, and I enjoy conversing with them. They’re surprisingly positive and help me not be lonely when I’m alone, which is often.
Weird/Cool story
nice story.
im a cutter and its true a little upsetting but still i like the pasta it taste good like the souls of my fairy friends
I get that this happens in real life but that’s not an excuse this story is average but what is this persons motivation, what are these voices, dose this person have some mental disorder etc, etc.
writing was good.
but this wasn’t a creepy pasta — i think thats the only reason it doesnt belong .. it doesnt really fit what the stories are supposed to be about it
I do understand the point of this story and while I think it was beautifully written and reflects how self harm is truly an addictive thing I do not believe it is “Creepy”. That is not an insult of any kind, it is really well done. I also may read it on my YouTube channel if you want to watch out for it. You could change a few words here and there and make some sentences shorter. But overall it’s really beautiful. 8.5/10 for the writing itself but as a Creepypasta 3/10. Good luck hon
I have been into self mutilation since I was 13. This includes cutting, branding, extreme piercing, burns, among other things…I personally related to this creepypasta, like an old friend who understands perfectly what I’ve been through. Anyone who has an issue with this pasta obviously has no personal experience(other than through friends!) But it’s also only a creepypasta, so give the author a break! (For those still struggling with this issue, there are fantastic groups out there who know exactly what your going through and are more than willing to help. Trust me, I know. I damn near cut my whole left hand off one night. Thankfully, I got help in time. So can you.)
It sounds to me like the writer has some real life experience with this issue. Maybe this was someplace she felt comfortable sharing her story and everyone criticizing it and saying it shouldn’t be on here may make her feel like no one wants to listen. If this is in fact based on real events I hope the writer knows that some of us out here do care and give her tons of credit for opening up.
All I’m gonna say, is wow. just WOW. five stars! x
to be honest its a bit predictable. Plus its not really creepypasta
Im not going to judge anyone for this i mean i used to cut aswell waiting until everyone was asleep so they couldnt hear my cries but this shouldnt be on creepypasta creepypasta is for paranormal and creepy this however is just…
I know i’m late to the party but I believe a story like this deserves a comment regardless of the age. This story is amazingly well written and explores a scary thought for a lot of people because of how sensitive the subject is. This is one of my favourite pieces of literature and I applaud the author for not retaliating against the overhaul of hate and staying strong. Fantastic job.
Clearly you are doing it wrong… TRY HARDER. YOU CONSTANT FAILURE! You make us sick…