Spectral Paradox
- LECTURAS 362
- Votos 11
- Partes 4
He didnt know what was happening.His torture was never a curse.
He can't be freed.
I'ts his fate.
He knows this.
He knows..that his life can never be normal.He knows....that it always ends with an oblvious doom.
Only to start all over again.
well....as they say
...History repeats itself.
His Torture, can
never
ever
end.
Todos los derechos reservados
#405
badluck
Únete a la comunidad narrativa más grandeObtén recomendaciones personalizadas de historias, guarda tus favoritas en tu biblioteca, y comenta y vota para hacer crecer tu comunidad.
Quizás también te guste
It sings of Death
"NO!!!!! You have no idea, do you!!!? Do you!!!? You have absolutely no idea what it's like to have your heart pounding every time you wake up!!! IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!! It's not fair". Bic for long as he can remember has been tormented by horrific dreams to the point that he dreads falling asleep every night with no hope of a cure. His waking life despite having the stresses of high school is his escape from the nightly horror but all that changes when a mysterious record is found in the woods. When horrible music is played and it is unbearable for the living to hear but the ill and dying love it, it's so beautiful that they seek death, and the dead rise to listen to it. Reality has become one of Bic nightmares one he cannot escape from and one only he can stop.Concluida
Good Luck! // Creepypasta x lucky reader
The curse of Luck, the ability to never fail, to never suffer, but is that not suffering in itself? I'm bored of living, bored of lying. If I cant end it myself, I'll get a monster to do it for me. -------------------------------------------------------- ill try to make this as gender natural as possible. WARNING- this story makes light of heavy topics. #1 creepypastaxreader /2023-05-04 #1 goodluck /2022-01-19 #1 proxies /2022-03-07Concluida
Can You Hear Them Calling
Enter the shoes of a man who experienced the fullness of life and death to an extent which none even him could never comprehend, but all knew even him who thought that he understood---was a call from whom? He doesn't know, from what? He doesn't know. What truly is certain of him is that everything that he knew was a mere empty space in a larger picture of life, death, and in what he presumes is called "reality" for he slowly realized that reality is only a reflection of his own human nature. Experience reality in its entirety. Discover what your own reality means and why it calls you for.Concluida
Losing Game
(TWs: gore, abuse, sexual abuse, cursing) Why does he still breathe? Why is he kept alive in this shadowed purgatory where time has no meaning, and screams are swallowed by the walls? His cell is a cage, his life a cruel experiment, and his mind a battlefield. Questions claw at him relentlessly: Who is he? What is he? Why does this torment exist? The walls bleed stories of others-lost souls whose cries still linger, haunting the air. His own voice has grown hoarse from endless screams, his body a canvas of scars, a map of suffering that tells no answers, only pain. Every day is a ritual of degradation, where faceless captors toy with his humanity, stripping him of it piece by agonizing piece. The only constant is the endless cycle of questions. Why him? Why the torture? What is their purpose? He clings to the faintest memories of a time before-fleeting images of warmth, love, a face he cannot quite recall. But even those are slipping away, devoured by the void growing inside him. In this relentless, suffocating darkness, where hope is a distant memory, only one question remains: When will the game end, and what will be left of him when it does?
Beastly || Andy Biersack
"You only care about yourself." I snapped. His face softened. "That's not true." Such a lie. He had no shame in lying to my face, nor did he have shame in his behavior or actions towards me. He was selfish. He only cared about himself and no one around him. The games he played with my head. The things he said to my face. Everything he's done to me has broken me more than I already was, so why was I still here? Why was I here with him? Why was I thinking about him and thinking of his feelings instead of my own? "I care about one thing." "What's that?" I asked gently. "You."Concluida
A Moment To Touch
A nightmare. A piece of my imagination. A game of my mind. It was all just that and nothing else. Yet it feels as if it I know this for decades. Or years. I don't know. What I do know is this isn't going to repeat and play again and again like a clip. I wish it never does. I am already haunted by that thing and don't want to be more terrified. This is all I want. But looks like whatever is going on... It will haunt me. What feels to be the obsession of a black magician and the Devil himself? A Moment To Touch- # Book2 of GOD OF CURSES
Pautas de Contenido