Creepypastas

That feeling.

The ripping and the tearing at your flesh. It sends pain through your body. The oozing of the warm liquid is calming in a way, relieving, but the pain in itself is to tremendous for you to bear. You utter a cry of pain, each time a new rip appears at your back. A howling issues forth from your mouth, guttural cries emanating from that dry mouth that shouldn't be able to cry any longer.

Your legs are growing weaker. You've been standing on them this whole time, keeps most of your blood in... Most.

Muscle failure is setting in at this point. Your legs buckle, slamming your knees into the small puddle forming between your legs.

Another outburst of dislike echoes through the room, bellowing out lyrics of pain and anguish. These sounds dance through the stagnant air, filling the dark room with a colorful white noise. You briefly wonder if someone will come to your rescue. This thought is dismissed. Of course no one will.

Another four streaks appear on your back. The burning of the new wounds snakes through your body, traveling down every little nervous system and soon afterward forced out through your mouth. The words that fill your mind are those of sadness, but yet, also of understanding.

Your shouting has now turned into a pitiful whimpering as knew markings leave their damage. No longer do you have the strength necessary to keep making those sounds that had been such a great background. The only background you need.

You feel that now is the best time to stop. You remove your bloodied fingers from your back, and begin climbing the stairs and up onto the first floor of your house. You feel happier now, like most of your tension is gone. But now, with the strength you still have, you travel up to the second floor, and get your shower. After that, you go to bed. A weekly routine, every Wednesday. It's made your life so much better. You just want to come out of your shell. You want to be yourself. And you will keep trying until you reach that goal.