User blog:CZHouzit/Creepypasta 1 - "Stairs, Stairs, and More Stairs"

Note
You can steal this pasta. The creator gave up on storytelling many months ago.

Quote
"A writer is a world trapped in a person."

-Victor Hugo

Stealable Pasta
The grass glistened at the colors of dew. The moon was set up in the sky in the misty clouds. To many, Minecraft was a place of war and amusement, but to me, it was a wonderland nobody realizes. I wished that people would understand it in a better way.

I begged my friends to see it properly, but they didn't listen. They just did their barbaric plays by killing other players by pushing them off the edge, or fighting with diamond swords that pierce through their digital skin.

I saw Minecraft as a world of my own. It was the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. When I ride a horse, I can feel the breeze touching my face. It reminded me so much of my mother. She would kindly hug me and allow me to take great adventures like it was worth living your lives. But it wasn't.

She died shortly in an accident by falling off the stairs with her face being gruesomely stabbed by nails left by my father. Everybody's grim expressions filled the room as her coffin was slowly taken away. The last time I visited her grave, I couldn't help but burst into tears. My father tried getting rid of the pain by watching TV. He wouldn't go to sleep unless it was 9:00 AM. But he would wake up thirty minutes afterwards and just lament so much about it.

My mother's death left a scar on my family. However, Minecraft always was there for me when I felt blue. It's beautiful scenery reminded me of the places she would bring me to. The adventures and zombies reminded me of how my mother would help me fight my troubles. And the extreme creativity reminded me of how my mom would always tell me to persue my dreams as an architect.

I played on Multi-Player with my cousin. He had brown hair with freckles and braces on him. He was constantly called a nerd, but I did not mind nerds. I was always a fan of them ever since I was a kid.

"Cole?" he asked on one occasion.

"Yeah, John?"

My cousin hesitated before answering. "What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... your mom, and since your dad got fired..."

The silence that played was long. I didn't want to answer this question.

But I had to.

"My mother never wanted me to sulk. I wanted to be a brave kid like she asked me to be!" However, I was an adamant and stupid little brat when I said that. I regretted it when we played together one day.

"Cole! There's a kid who's stealing my emeralds!"

I jerked. "What?!"

I quickly went on the computer to see what was happening.

Someone mistook their gems as their own, and thought that my cousin was threatening him. As the stranger disliked the threats he sent, he quickly dashed somewhere else and hid in the PvP arena.

"After him!" I said like a little pirate.

When we did a small wild goose chase around the arena, we finally cornered him and I stepped forward.

"Give us back the gems!" I mentioned.

"Never, you bullies!!!!!!" he typed.

My cousin got impatient and tried attacking him for it. It took me a second to realize that I was in a battlefield, despite the area being so large and different from the lobby. Eventually, he was slain in the carnage, and so was I.

"Damn!" he screamt and threw the keyboard on the floor.

He stomped downstairs in anger.

But it happened again.

He tripped downstairs and cracked his bone.

I could still hear his cries till this day. I remember hysterically sobbing at his disjointed body, with my father begging people to help him.

But tommorow, I just lie down on my bed. Why did my mother die? Did she really love me? Why did it happen two times in a row? Why was I cursed to live like this? But mostly... What happens to people when they die?

Then something struck me.

A memory.

I remember standing somewhere with my father, in front of my grandmother. She fell down as well, with her nails pushed on her face, like how my mom died.

A sudden urge was felt in me. It went through my veins. It blinded me. My father walked upstairs, worrying about me.

"Tony," he said. "Why are you crying?"

I didn't care. I grabbed his arm, and pushed him down the stairs.

Nobody lives anymore.