Writing a Creepy Pasta

Well that's another two hours down the drain. I tossed my laptop on my bed and slumped back into my chair. It was infuriating! Every time I tried writing a damn creepy pasta I couldn't think of anything.

I love to write more then anything in the world, ever since I was a kid it was my thing. I would write little stories for the class, and everyone would be so excited.

"Oh! Ashley wrote a story! Let's read it!" They would all say.

Now mind you, it was probably to miss class time, but it would make me feel good.

If you would look at me, you wouldn't expect that I would love to do this. I'm captain of the cheer leading squad, long brown hair, hot boyfriend, all the other girls WISH they were like me. I just wish I had a damn brain.

I love Mutahar, I have seen all of his videos. And it's my dream to write a creepy pasta for his show, and he'll tell me how much he loves it, and everything will be perfect. I know its a long shot but I can do it I know! I just gotta keep writing.

I grabbed my laptop and locked myself in the bathroom. All I had so far was a creepy pasta about making a scary movie, but that's garbage so I gave that to this guy Jake.

I was in the bathroom so long, and I had still written nothing! I finally started talking to myself.

"Why can't I write anything? I feel like a fucking idiot! I know I'm smarter then this! Right? I can do so much but I just want to write one good story! Is that too much to ask? Just a story that Mutahar will love! I know I can do it! I'll do anything! I'll show my damn tits to him just put me on his fucking show! I want it! I want to be on his show now! Now now now now! I can do it! We can do it!"

I was screaming so loud, yet nobody could hear me. I felt like I was alone in the world. I went through my kitchen, and looked for something to eat. But all I saw were words. White pages with words.

I didn't see a knife. I saw the word, knife. I didn't see a sink. I saw a bunch of the word, sink.

"Words... Words..." I began saying to myself

"Why can't I write anything!"

I punched the air, expecting to feel some satisfaction... It didn't work.

I couldn't eat. I needed to write. I couldn't sleep. I needed to write. But I couldn't think. Please give me an idea... All I want is one idea!!! Please give me an idea!!! I need to finish!!

Why am I talking to myself? Why am I saying this out loud? I explained this all to my mom before I rushed off the phone.

I think I remember her saying the word... schizophrenia.