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About Literature / Hobbyist Ely Leslie17/Male/United States Group :iconanything-you-can: Anything-you-can
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I have written everything. I've got fan fiction, purely original fiction, combinations of the two, romance, adventure, sci-fi, gore--you name it, I have it. I also have crappy drawings, if you're interested. XD Welcome to the gallery of a true Leuchovius.


These are my favourites. I liked them, and so will you.


Sombralicious by Ruf1oh-Horuss

I appreciate the idea that you're giving off, man. It's kind of confident, and strong, especially when the character says, "Ain't no ot...


Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore)

    I stared at him, horrified. What was he? How was he? My heartbeat was skyrocketing again. This wasn’t possible. I had believed all my life that spirits were fictional. This was still the case. Wasn’t it? What could logically explain was happening? I raced for answers in my head, pumped with adrenaline. It was… a figment of my own mind. That was the only thing that made any sort of logical sense. I could see it, but not touch it… It had to have been a visual hallucination.

    I was losing all sense of sanity that I had. This old man that was standing before me was some sort of twisted result of stress and ache in my own psyche. I began breathing heavily, beyond my own control. “You’re not real,” I said quietly. I took a step back, staring at the beast of my sickened consciousness who gazed back at me with those same eyes. They were surrounded by signs of decay, and seemed to delve deep into the depths of my own soul.

    I ripped myself out of the exchange of glances and spun around to run away. “You’re not real!” I repeated, shouting out of blind fear. I bolted down the darkened hallways, past the once-eerie paintings, which now possessed a sort of comfort that I longed for in comparison to the devil that I had seen. I burst out the doors, my girlfriend still standing outside.

    Christiana flinched, startled by my sudden appearance.

    I leaned my back against the wall for a moment, struggling to catch my breath.

    My girlfriend’s eyes were filled with worry. She knew that I would never normally behave like this. I wasn’t the type to just randomly have a panic attack. “Ezekiel, what’s the matter?”

    I looked back at her, my fear-stricken facial expression instantly showing her how I felt. But as to why, remained a mystery, one which I would rather keep concealed from her. Christiana would never believe me if I told her what I saw. The chances are that she would probably think that I was a madman… and I already thought that about myself as it was.

    Instead of being dishonest enough to lie to the one I loved, more than anything in the world—or even keep the truth from her—I fled from her altogether. I couldn’t tell Christiana. I couldn’t risk ruining the reputation I had with her.

    “Zeke!” she called after me, hoping that I would slow down and heed to her beckoning. But I never would. As I ran, I felt the beating organ in my chest perform a sped up concerto, pounding as if on drums. I didn’t care about the physical strain I put on myself. I had to get away from that place, where the elderly freak would most certainly reside, no matter what the cost.

    Sacrificing the opportunity to see the play that I once valued with all my soul, I took off back to the parking lot, where I saw my old vehicle. I flung the door to my car wide open, and desperately shoved myself in. I realized immediately that the key wasn’t in ignition. My hands shakily dug themselves into either of my pockets, where I felt the metal solution.

    Just as I had, I saw Christiana rushing after me from outside my car window. She was shouting, but her voice was muffled, blocked out by the windows. My eyes widened. I didn’t want to make this any more painful than it already was for the both of us. I ripped my keys out of my pocket. My hands clumsily stumbled as they fought to get the key into ignition. She was nearly at the window now, and I didn’t want to converse with her about this, or about anything else. I couldn’t bear to see the look on her face that would come of me missing her play that she had spent so long preparing for.

    Once it was finally in, I turned the key to start the vehicle. The engine coughed, but soon came to life afterwards. As fast as my feet would allow me, I slammed my foot down on the gas. Tires screeched, and smoke rose from the asphalt below as my car met my hastily given demands. Christiana was lost in the white, fog-like gas. I quickly fled the area like a mouse scurrying to a hiding place to avoid a deadly feline.

    I somehow managed to maintain enough mental capacity to avoid the traffic of the other cars coming from all around. My eyes held a cold gaze on the road ahead.

    What had I just done? I had left the most precious thing to my girlfriend, completely abandoned a project that the both of us were infinitely excited for. And why? Because I had gotten scared and decided to book it? By attempting to avoid stirring a conflict with social interaction, I had proven my efforts to be counterproductive. I’d made everything a billion times worse than they were when they originally started. I felt a lump form in my throat as regret began to break through the dam that was my emotional state. Tears coloured my eyes with a rueful glimmer. The consequences for my misbehavior would be severe. But, then again, what more was a madman like me worthy of?

                When I got to my house, I messily stopped my car at the front yard. It was parked at an angle, leaving an unkempt display of my gaucheness for all my neighbors to see. But what was the point in worrying about how neat everything looked when you were on the verge of giving into a lunacy that you had never possibly foreseen?

                I sat in my car for a little while, and heaved out an exhausted sigh. I wasn’t even considering going back inside my house yet. I needed some time to gather my thoughts before I could even do so much as get something to eat. I found my hands randomly touching my head, before my fingers streamed down my face as I leaned forward, resting my skull against the steering wheel.

    I let out a groan as I questioned my grasp on reality. I was losing my mind, I knew it to be true. No ordinary man would have seen a projection of an elder from their crazed inner self. It was all my apparent mental illness to be blamed. I had to see a doctor of some sort, or maybe save myself the money and do some research myself. I knew pretty easily what mental disorder included seeing things that weren’t actually there: schizophrenia. Everyone knows about that, because those who are cruel use that disability to stereotype other disorders which include hearing voices. So now I knew what exactly I was meant to commit my research to.

    I decided to finally get out of my car. I had calmed myself for now by assigning my mind with an objective. Most notably, a distraction from the horrible things that I had just recently done to my girlfriend. I headed indoors, which opened with a creek. I walked up the green carpeted staircase, at the very top of which was the door to my room. I opened it, and immediately glued myself to my desktop computer on the other side of the area.

                I pressed the power button, and the computer monitor lit my face with a white glow, paling my skin tone. The screen loaded up, and displayed many options, most of which consisted of pointless games that I had downloaded from online. They weren’t the concern, though. I opened up Google, and started researching schizophrenia.

                That’s what everyone does when they don’t understand whatever concerns them: they Google it. And that’s just what I did. “Informative Articles of Schizophrenia,” was the exact phrase that I typed into the search engine. I was provided with a variety of links.

                I intently researched every one of them, craving the affirmation as to what I might have had to categorize my sudden lack of sanity. But every single piece of information that’d been shown to me listed symptoms that I’d never had. I hadn’t heard voices that had given any sort of demands, nor had I felt any form of paranoia in the past. None of it seemed to line up. The only sign of schizophrenia that I had was the fact that I saw that old man, staring at me in the hallway with those massive, moon-like eyes, painted with anguish.

                Perhaps I was schizophrenic, but I only held one symptom of such? I buried my face onto my desk, and sighed heavily. This couldn’t be happening to me. I had left my girlfriend to get away, to find solace that was supposed to bring my head to a leveled state of mind, but I just couldn’t find that sense of peace. I had given so much, and gotten so little back.

                To break me out of my trance of negative thinking, I heard the house groan, floors creaking beneath me. At once, a spontaneous coldness to crawl up from my feet and rise throughout the rest of the air delivered a new friend to my grief and self-loathing: panic. My eyes widened. I recognized that chill in the air. The hallway that I had been walking down was at the same temperature now as it was when I had seen the old man in the theatre. I tensed up. Oh, God, not again, I thought to myself.

    It felt as though he was within inches from me. I held my breath for fear that he would hear my steady inhale and exhale. I waited fearfully. I didn’t move my head from its place in my arms. I knew that if I were to turn around, I would see him once more—the second time in one night. I couldn’t bear to witness the very definition of death itself: old, decayed and sad.

    Then I heard a mechanical hum in the background, coming from the ventilation system installed in my house. It clicked in my mind. The source of the chill was merely the air conditioner. I let out a relieved sigh. Perhaps I was showing more signs of schizophrenia than I thought. I was certainly developing a great deal of paranoia, after all.

    I rubbed my eyes with my pointer finger and thumb, groaning at how silly I could have been to think that the air conditioner was some kind of supernatural force. Where was the logical man that I had once been? Perhaps it was just because it was dark outside. I decided that it would be best to think about this later on in the morning, when I had more time and energy to think. I was just getting tired/

    I crawled into my bed, which was adjacent to the door. I snuggled underneath the covers and closed my eyes, so I could at least try and embrace slumber. Despite the fact that I was newly aware of my unnecessary fears, I didn’t get any sleep that night. I understood that the cold feeling was only because of the air conditioner, but there were many other things that kept me awake. The creeks and groans of the house sounded as though an invisible force was walking around my house, just like when the floor was groaning when the air conditioning was running. The whispers of the wind outdoors reminded me of what the old man might have sounded like, taunting me with the idea that I would one day be just as alone and pathetic as he. Above all, the guilt of not being able to see my girlfriend’s play fueled my insomnia like gasoline to a flame. For what I had done to her, I deserved every last bit of what I was experience.

    While the sun moved to arise into the sky, my eyes lacked any movement at all, fixed intently on the ceiling. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself, utterly appalled. This powerful self-hatred combined with the levels of fear I was experiencing, waiting for the old man to come again to haunt me, was a brew for trauma and madness.

    I’d been terrified throughout all the night, and had stayed up until early in the morning. It obviously wasn’t healthy to be this frightened over something, or anything at all. I needed to calm down. I decided I would attempt to relax and take a shower. Maybe that would finally ease my nerves down. I drowsily got out of my bed, and stumbled over to act out my decision. Opening the door to the bathroom, there was a massive mirror coating the entirety of the right side of the room. The left side consisted of the closet, filled with dirty clothes, and the actual shower itself. I sighed as I was about to take off my shirt, looking at myself in the mirror as I did so.

    But I was frozen halfway throughout the action when my weary mind processed what images the mirror held. Overwhelming dread struck my heart like a boulder falling upon the head of a child. In the reflection stood the same figure from the other night, the very one that had driven me to this level of desperation and had potentially cost me the love of my life. It was the teary-eyed old man, gazing at me from behind.

    I didn’t move. Not a muscle in my body so much dared to twitch while that monster was in my presence. I was utterly paralyzed with a horror that far surpassed every scarring incident that my life had to offer. I wanted to ask the old man why he was following me. What had I done to deserve this torment of him stalking me, torturing me, ruining my life with his massive, sad eyes in only a matter of days? But I could only manage to stare back at him through the reflection, voiceless, breathless, and expressionless.

    The elderly man slowly reached out to me, and clenched my shoulder in his rotten hand, yellow fingernails digging into my shirt. I yelped, and fearfully squinted my eyes tight, locked away from the horrors that this fiend would inflict upon me. When I could no longer see him, I heard the sound of multiple voices, all whispering amongst each other, speaking utterances I simply couldn’t understand. It was as if to remind me that there was no escape. I could close my eyes for as long as I wanted, but the ancient figure would still be there to torment me with auditory illusions of death to make me feel the level of sorrow that he felt.

    I felt tears squeeze from my shut eyes like juice from lemons. I let out another sound, a distorted wail as my I reached the pinnacle of my damnation. It was as though one was having a dreadful nightmare that they were screaming themselves awake from. But this wasn’t as sweet as a nightmare. I knew that I could never, ever wake up.

    I couldn’t bear this heart-racing anxiety. I fell to my knees in desperation, and clung to my thighs tightly in a fetal position. I barely managed to speak in an understandable tone as I said to him, “L-Leave me alone!”

                The whispers denied my plea, only increasing in volume. I heard a pulsating, high-pitched ringing noise to add to the cacophony of a broken psyche. “You’re not real!” I shouted. “Leave me alone! Please! Leave me alone!”

                Once again, it was to no avail. It only grew. I heard my heart boom over all else, another instrument of torture. My own pulse was being used against me. The whispering chimed like a demon’s choir, and the ringing noise singed my mind through every passing second. Louder, louder, louder! I hollered at the top of my lungs in sheer madness and slammed my head against my kneecaps. I felt the agony rise, and the tears continued to fall. I had to stop this hell! I had to, but I couldn’t!

                I timidly opened my eyes, building my courage to confront the culprit behind this horrendous noise. He was still there, but his facial expression had been changed. His eyes were widened, and rolled back into his head, the band of insanity playing all the while. Out of instinct, my fear led me to violence. I blindly reached for the nearest object, my shaving razor, and threw it at the menace.

    The white-eyed old man suddenly snapped his head to the side. The razor stopped midair just before it could meet his face, dangling by nothing. Without warning, the razor was hurled back in my direction with superhuman force. I tried to catch it in time, but the blades scraped off a thick line of flesh through either of my hands, leaving dark-red blood in its wake. The razor zoomed past my grip and jammed itself deep inside of my neck. I gagged, and slowly fell back to the ground as I felt more of the red liquids ooze out from my wound. I had a lifeless look in my eyes as I stared directly at my killer. Surely I would die here.

    My voice was gurgling with blood as I felt myself begin to lose all sight of the environment around. Despite how realistic all of this seemed to be… I finally choked, “You’re… not… real…”

Insanity: Part 2

This is awesome. I don't know why, but I'm feeling super proud of this. Maybe it's because I actually took the time to edit it, unlike the previous part. If you're still reading this, despite the fact that there were some typos in the last one, glad to see that you could show some tolerance. I hope that you guys enjoy this! Tell me what you think. Is horror my thing, or should I just forget about it and stop attempting to write what's not in my league?


Part 1:…

Finally! I've posted something original, creative and new! What's even better than that, I'll be getting a microphone, which I'll be using to help me narrate my own stories. This should be fun.

    Have you seen those horror movies recently? Or those classic documentaries on the television such as The Haunting that are only there to run a chill up your spine? I have as well… countless times in the past, but I still find all of it to be pointless garbage. There is no feasible way that the dead could have any sort of contact with the living. Souls don’t just find some attachment to something that they endeared while they were alive, and then animate that object with the very essence of their spirits. No, not at all. They just move on. Either these spirits happen to stroll across the light of salvation or they find eternal damnation. That’s the end of it. It’s not supposed to be anyone else’s problem.

    Do you know what I do believe in? I believe in mental illness. There are madmen in the mental hospitals who will mumble to themselves about how they have so obviously seen a spirit haunting them in their room, just before they go to sleep. Right, that’s believable. Such a thing could have happened from sleep paralysis as well.  And, if there were schizophrenics who would have happened to hallucinate some weird image, it would have to be caused by those blasted documentaries that they would have seen on TV, thus making them believe that they had seen a spirit, only because they had known what it looked like. Thus, their brain was able to manipulate that memory in a frenzy, as if it were a dream, and project the mental image of whatever it is they might have seen.

    Now, let’s move on to another subject. What I am about to tell you will seem completely off topic to the subject. This is my honest interpretation of myself; I’m not trying to be prideful or smug. It is the genuine truth that I am a good person. Despite my slightly rude behaviors and attitudes which only come around when I know someone is incorrect, I have been told by countless different people that I’m kind and highly virtuous. I stand by this opinion, as I notice that I show multiple signs of that on a frequent basis. My family, for example, will be able to tell you how I can be a little too charitable to those who I feel are in need. I will often save up my money, and try to blow it all off on charity services or the homeless… My parents would always be there to stop me before I could actually go about it, though, so I never spent a penny, even if I really wanted to.

    Now that I feel like you have a decent understanding of who I genuinely am as a human being, it’s time to get down to business. I haven’t come here simply to brag or to complain about television or madmen. The tale that I have includes all three of these factors: spooks, insanity and kindness.

    It all started on a Saturday. I was texting at the time, my back cushioned by the soft touch of my bed, arm skyward, restlessly sending messages to my girlfriend. It was the big day for me, or, more specifically, for her. She was an actress, who finally had a performance tonight. She had been preparing for this moment with her coworkers for sixth solid months. Half of the time was spent devising the script itself from scratch, putting their heads together to come up with something original, while the other half of the time was devoted to actually memorizing all of what they had written down, after it had been revised two dozen times over. We were both incredibly excited. And I—being the loyal boyfriend—was going to do all I could to attend.

    I loved my girlfriend, as I still do. I would give anything in the world to see her beautiful smile, to make her happy, so watching the play that she would star in was automatically a priority. It was called Dinner Fears. She told me that it was a horrific murder mystery, about a woman named Sally May who had to defend herself from both the killer and those who thought she had committed the crime. I wasn’t told that much else, because I told her not to. I hate spoilers. From what I had heard, it seemed pretty well thought out. I was proud of her for being able to come up with the idea, even if it had been with the help of other people.

    Suddenly, I got another text message from my girlfriend. It read, “The play should start in about an hour, my love.”

    What? Already? The time seemed to have slipped through my fingers. I immediately shot up from the bed, stuffing my cellphone in my pocket. I knew from past experiences that the site was about forty-five minutes away, and I wanted at least fifteen minutes of time to find my seat and buy popcorn and sodas before it actually began.

    I quickly ran around the house in a spastic attempt to groom myself. I stumbled into the wardrobe where I fought to get out of my clothes, scrambling for the finest attire available to instantly replace them. I nearly strangled myself trying to put on a black suit with a red tie. Once I had fulfilled this task, I sprinted over to the restroom and grabbed a comb. I haphazardly ran it through my hair as I reached into my pocket with my remaining hand, pulling out a mint which I awkwardly stuffed into my mouth to make my breath smell more pleasant. There wasn’t enough time to brush teeth.

    I threw the comb down and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was still slightly bush-like from when I had put on the suit, and only half of it had been tended to when I had used the comb. The suit was filled with wrinkles, and the tie was on crooked. I was a mess. I almost didn’t want to leave quite yet, as I didn’t think that a scruffy figure such as myself who just attempted to look fancy was worthy of being in the glory of my girlfriend’s play, but there was no time to refine; this would have to do.

    I bolted outside, towards my car. It was blue, and covered with dents and signs with collision, as I had never been a careful driver. I was always the clumsy sort of person, but not this time. I had to get to my girlfriend’s play as soon as possible, I couldn’t afford any accidents. I threw myself inside my vehicle, and turned on the ignition, slamming my foot on the gas pedal. Tires screeched in efforts to fulfill my impatient demands, and the car slowly met my expectations as it increased in its speed by the second. I was not planning on being late.

    Once I hit the highway, it was a shock that I wasn’t pulled over for a speeding ticket. I’m quite thankful that I wasn’t, otherwise I surely would have hated myself for missing the only opportunity that I had to see my love’s play. Knowing how I am, the shame would have poisoned my heart until it killed me, no matter how many times she would have reassured me that I would have been forgiven for my heinous crime.

    I spotted the massive theatre up ahead. I looked at the clock that had been installed into my vehicle, the digits glowing a mechanical green color to give slight illumination. It had only been thirty minutes. I made it on time. My car zoomed over to it, and, in no time, I was there. I swerved into the parking lot, and chose the space that was closest to me, rigorously shoving my foot on the breaks. The car, once again, screeched, and I clumsily hurried out. I tripped while attempting to escape from my transportation, and nearly fell face first on the ground. I quickly caught myself, though, and saved my cranium from the pain. I stood up properly once more, and ran after the entryway.

    There was a figure, I noticed, standing in front of the double-doors. The closer I got, the more the details of this figure became less of an enigma to me. Surprisingly, I saw a familiar woman with long, blonde hair, slightly curled. Her body was layered with a black fabric, and atop this fabric was an equally darkened dress, which would have exposed her legs more, had it not been for the clothing underneath. It was my girlfriend. She always had a peculiar sense in fashion, but I encouraged it, and told her that she would always look glorious, no matter what outfit she decided to put on.

    Whether or not she looked hypnotic was beside the point, however. My eyebrows wrinkled just as my suit as confusion littered my thoughts. Panting, I shouted her name. “Christiana!”

    Hearing me calling her name, she turned to face me. Then she gave me an equally confused look. “Sweetie, what are you doing here? You look like you were just assaulted by a family of rabid squirrels.”

    At this moment I felt utterly flabbergasted, and it wasn’t because she had insulted my clearly unkempt appearance. “Wh… what? Did you not say that you had a play to attend to in about an hour? It’s been thirty minutes, so I figured that I would be here on time. Besides, I could ask you the same thing. Why are you here, outside, and not preparing to perform?”

    Christiana held her arms behind her back as she looked upwards, letting out a thoughtful little hum. I always thought that it was the cutest sound, even during the most puzzling of circumstances, like now.

    “Did you not get my other text?” she asked.

    That was when I remembered: I left my cellphone in my other pants. I stuffed them in my jeans before I changed into my suit, which required putting on a different pair of pants to match up with the jacket. I scowled at myself for my own stupidity, and told her the truth. “I left it at home, I’m afraid. I must have gotten in the car before I got the chance to read it.”

    My girlfriend giggled. “I told you that there had been a change in plans. Due to some technical difficulties with the power, the show has been postponed for another hour. We haven’t really figured it out yet, but I’m confident that we’ll fix everything in time.”

    “Could I be of any help?” I asked. I was always interested to give a little assistance every now and then. That was just a standardized trait of mine. But when it came to her, that instinct was magnified by at least tenfold; therefore, I wanted to help her around every single puddle of rain by throwing myself on top of it so she could use my back as a bridge. I would do anything for Christiana.

    Christiana spoke with a reluctant tone in her voice, like she didn’t want to tell me something for fear that it would hurt my feelings. “No, my love,” she told me, “I’m afraid that you can’t do anything to help us this time around. Nobody’s allowed to work with the electricity except the paid professionals. Besides, you know how clumsy you are. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you while you’re working with the lights…”

    I understood exactly where she was coming from. There went my only chances of helping her, and my chances of speeding up the process a little bit by adding one more worker to the equation. I let out a sigh, my gaze falling to the asphalt ground. “Alright, fine.”

    That’s when I felt her hand upon my cheek. Christiana guided my face to stare directly at hers, our eyes connecting as though there were some sort of an invisible force bonding the two together. She had a smile that could reach into the most unknown parts of my mind and unleash potential that I never knew I had. Softly, she spoke to me. “You can’t help with the electricity, but if you want, you can go inside. Just make sure that you don’t touch anything important, alright? I’m sure that it would be much more comfortable than just sitting around out here in the dark.”

    I returned her smile with one of my own. My girlfriend was always the kindest person to me, just as I was the nicest to her. When two souls of purity merge together with love… there is nothing that can go wrong.

    I took the opportunity to give her a hug. “Thank you,” I remember saying to her.

    “Don’t mention it,” she said, patting my back. “Now, in you go.”

    I nodded, and energetically took a step away from her. “I’ll see you in about an hour.” I cheerily walked past her, and into the large theatrical area. This was going to be the greatest play that I had ever seen.

    When I had stepped foot into the place, I realized immediately how eerie it all seemed to be without its lights turned on. It was cold, like in the movies. When a spirit was in the room, the whole place would drop in temperature immediately. There was a ticket booth up ahead, unoccupied by anyone, next to which had been a stand where a buyer could purchase their popcorn and candy. Past that were three hallways, two diagonal, pointing in opposite directions, and one going straight down the center.

    I looked to the door again, thinking of what my girlfriend had said to me. So I couldn’t do anything with the electronics… but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t explore. It’s not that I was curious about my environment—no, not that silly cliché. It’s just that I was energetic, and a lively sort of person. There was no way that I could stand in one place without beginning to pace, fidget with my fingers, or pointlessly wander around. I had to be doing something.

    Without thinking of how creepy this place was, or considering the alternative of getting my girlfriend to come along with me—which probably would have been the wisest option—I walked down the hallway which curved to the left. I stared at the wall, to find that there were several advertisements to future plays that would occur in two-thousand fifteen. I remember my eyes falling upon one play in particular. It read, “PLAYGROUND PANIC” in large, whitened text which covered the skies of the photo. Below which were two children, holding hands in an awkward position. It looked like they had just been stopped in the middle of skipping around each other in a circle. Creeping towards them was an eerie, shadowy figure, plants dying behind his every footstep.

    It was strange. The two ideas of children playing and an object of death and destruction were so contrasting that putting them together in a single photograph was out of place. But it gave a dreadful foreshadowing of the demise of the children, should the evil figure capture them. Since death followed every step it took, perhaps all it needed to do was touch them, and then the kids would immediately begin to die, like speeding up the rate at which a corpse rots. I shuddered, trying my best to stop thinking about it, and kept walking.

    I tried my best to focus on the idea that was supposed to be obvious to me: this was the site of my girlfriend’s performance. Sure, it might be unsettling when I look at it now, but all I needed to do was keep my eyes on the events to come to remain positive. This was going to be a very positive experience when I actually got to see her act onstage, and when her show had finally come to a conclusion, I would bathe her in my love to reward her after a hard night’s work. It would be glorious. With this in mind, I felt my shoulders ease down, and my heart rate slow from its pace of panic. I had calmed down.

    Suddenly, I noticed a figure standing off in the distance. It was too dark to see him as more than anything but a silhouette, motionlessly facing me. I wasn’t particularly surprised by the presence of this figure. After all, my girlfriend had mentioned that there would be some technicians indoors working to fix the lights.

    I continued to walk forwards. I don’t know why. I had nothing to gain by doing this. It was most likely out of boredom, at the time, to roam about the hallways aimlessly. Either that or to get my head in the clouds so I could use my imagination to distract myself from the morbid plays—with definitely morbid advertisements—around me.

    As I approached him, his image became clearer to me. He had a head of gray hair. He was bald in the middle, two bits of his hair pointing upwards like horns. His skin was wrinkly and crumpled, like a demolished homework assignment.

    The elderly man stood across the hallway from me, staring in my direction with saddened, hollow eyes. His facial expression was filled with heartbreak and sorrow, almost some sort of remorse. I took pity on his soul. Nobody should experience any sort of sadness, especially not those who are so close to their final moments in life.

    I met the depressed, aged man before me. “Excuse me, sir, are you alright?” I asked. There came no reply. He merely continued to stare at me with that same look, permanently drawn on his face, frozen on his mysterious lamentation. “Sir?” I said again, trying to capture his attention.

    He seemed so saddened and unmoving that it seemed as though time itself had come to a complete stop around him. Perhaps he was just in a trance. I knew that some old men had a tendency to do that. I waved my hand in front of his face to try and snap him out of it. But, I forgot about how clumsy of a man I was.

    I would have smacked him in the face, under normal conditions, but then the oddest thing happened… which made me question my sanity. My hand… faded straight through his skin.

Insanity: Part 1
This is all inspiration from a CreepyPasta. I couldn't possibly tell you which one it is. All I remember is that I learned a new word from that specific YouTube video, which read aloud the CreepyPasta. That word was...  Phantasm. It was a new word to me. I didn't realize what it meant, but apparently it's a different word for... Ghost. From this word, I instantly struck inspiration as to a brilliantly disturbing tale of my own. I hope that you all enjoy~


Part 2 (End) :…
I have literally no idea when on earth I'm actually going to post another deviation.
But no worries. I've got another one in the makings. It's over two-thousand words long. Oh. Whoa. Places to go.
I'm not going to lie to you, I kind of saw someone else doing this a couple of days ago. But then I got curious. I was wondering what the big deal was about hosting a Chatzy party, so I decided that I would see if I could... you know, Host one myself, and have a whole bunch of people to talk to at once. It would probably help me practice my socialization skills a little bit, while also surrounding me with hopefully a little familiar faces.

Please, don't be rude.
If someone has a different opinion from you, and you dislike it, then my recommendation is to leave the chatroom before you lose control.
If someone is bullying you, and they do not stop, then leave the chatroom as well in order to avoid pain. Walk away calmly, and do not support their rage.
Most important, number one rule: Have fun, everybody!
I'm not going to lie to you, I kind of saw someone else doing this a couple of days ago. But then I got curious. I was wondering what the big deal was about hosting a Chatzy party, so I decided that I would see if I could... you know, Host one myself, and have a whole bunch of people to talk to at once. It would probably help me practice my socialization skills a little bit, while also surrounding me with hopefully a little familiar faces.

Please, don't be rude.
If someone has a different opinion from you, and you dislike it, then my recommendation is to leave the chatroom before you lose control.
If someone is bullying you, and they do not stop, then leave the chatroom as well in order to avoid pain. Walk away calmly, and do not support their rage.
Most important, number one rule: Have fun, everybody!


GoWeegie's Profile Picture
Ely Leslie
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
You see, I'm a very kind person in general. You hate me, I forgive ya. You want to be my friend, you're welcome! You can be my friend if you want. Feeling a wee bit lonely? Heck, I'm here for you. Feel like nobody cares about you? I'm here for you! Feel like you're alone in the world? You guessed it. I'm here for ya. Oh, and, while I'm speaking about myself, I should probably tell you that I belong in the Christian religion. However, I'm a non-judgemental Christian, which is (sadly) a rarity. You come to me, you're accepted, no matter who/what you are. Do you belong in the gay sexuality? I'm here for ya, man. Are you lesbian? I'm here for ya, too! Bisexual? Same! I'm here for any and everybody that's around here in this civilization. So long as you're willing to be a friendly neighbor to me, I'm gonna be there for you to the best of my abilities, heheh.

That's enough about you all! Now it's-a time to tell you something about myself. As you can tell, I'm a rather nice person in general (and arrogant). I have to take my medication in order to write anything legitimate, though. Since you can clearly see that I need my medication to write things, my time in which I devote myself to my literature is relatively short. Therefore... I don't get much done in one sitting, unless I take a thirty milligram dosage--one of the big guys. I don't feel very comfortable in taking such a strong amount of my medication on a daily basis simply for the sake of being able to complete a hobby of mine, but if the times in which I do these sorts of things are quite rare, then there should be little to no problem with that. You see, my medication happens to be a stimulant, but my body reacts differently to most stimulants that you'll find. When I'm introduced to stimulants, I begin to calm down drastically. Then my brain begins to act on a "superhuman" level, releasing my full potential. However, this is merely for a short period of time; I have a lot to do with little time to do it. Since this is the case, if I'm trying to write something really long, it takes me more than one sitting to do it, which, therefore, would mean that it would take more than one days' amount of time. However, if I just want it to be done, or if it's not that important, I'll just slam something together, heheh. Oh, and, about my romantic life, I should probably tell you that, currently, I'm taken by a wonderful lady. I'm not going to brag of how much I love her, or anything like that, rather I'll simply let you have the awareness of the fact that I'm romantically taken, therefore you cannot honestly flirt with me. If you try, I will protest strongly. In all honesty, you wouldn't want to be in a relationship with me anyways. Don't get me wrong, I'm a nice person, it's just... well, there's only a select few who can actually manage to tolerate my madness. There's no putting it gently. I'm a batshit crazy basket case. Under this calm and polite personality is a... a goofball, really. Either way though, whether I'm an intellectual gentleman or a "silly little nugget," I can assure you that I'm a friendly guy to hang around. I might be a little strange every now and then, but all of my strangeness is going to be displayed in an innocent and friendly manner, just as I am an innocent and friendly person. Hope you have a nice time talking with me(*cough cough* I also hope you think twice about flirting with me, if it's something you're thinking about. I know that I'm handsome and all, but please, keep your hands to yourself)!

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RosaPretty Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2015
Happy birthday!!
fritz532 Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2015  Professional
Happy birthday :iconhixplz:
PxlCobit Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2015
fritz532 Featured By Owner Feb 19, 2015  Professional
you seem cool, i like your writing 
Huntinsnake Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hey there! Thank you so so much for the fantastic fave! Glad you liked it ^^
GoWeegie Featured By Owner Dec 15, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're quite welcome, friend! It's always a pleasure to behold other peoples' artwork! Seriously, what people like you can come up with sometimes is just absolutely amazing. You could make money off of this sort of imagination one day. Keep it up!
Huntinsnake Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks once again! :D
invadertanuki Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2014
LavenderHyuuga Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2014  Student Writer
GoWeegie Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hello there, madam! I'm terribly sorry if I don't respond as soon as you would probably prefer, but I'm doing multiple things at one period of time at the moment, which has never been my forte. XD Wish me luck...

Anyways, it's a pleasure to be able to converse with you once more, miss. What would you like to do~?
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