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You know when people say that a human’s own mind is the most dangerous place to be? That’s what I used to describe my living hell.
It all began when I was in fifth grade, I was the kid who never listened to the teacher when she said no drawing in class, the kid who always had his thought show up on paper. One day, I decided to draw a little alien named Zork, he was just a simple drawing, a head with spikes at the back of his head, two different sized ovals for eyes, no mouth and a small curved rectangle for a body. I was proud of him at first, but over time he was becoming less and less appealing to me, so I went and did what I felt an artist should do, have him suffer a bit. Every time I drew him he was either being insulted, hurt, attacked, or ignored, I felt that the artist was in control of their characters and could do whatever they wanted. But by the peak of sixth grade, I decided to just leave him scrapped.
In seventh grade I had already made fourteen characters, each based on my personalities that I draw with. I had a psycho, prick, loser, jerk, genius, depressed, and evil character, the rest were just neutral characters with made up personalities. Then came the day I needed an antagonist for my little world, but I was fresh out of ideas, so I went through little doodles from my past, starting from third grade. Nothing in third or fourth, then, fifth grade came along and I found Zork, standing there alone on notebook paper, ink smudged around him. “This is the one, he’s going to be my villain,” I kept saying that as I redrew him again and again.
He came out obese with a clown mask the first time, tall and skinny with no hair the second time, and the third time… well I have my reasons to not describe it. However, the fourth time was the charm. I made him humanoid, with a casual hoodie and jeans appearance, and a head similar to his previous one with two round, blank white eyes and a wicked toothy smile across his face, no matter how he felt he was completely black, with the exception of a white, toothy smile that almost glowed. To top it off, he had strange blob-like matter dripping off him and slowly falling as if it was in its own gravitational pull. I finally had a villain, and I loved him more than ever.
Now, you may be thinking, "Well when are you gonna start talking about how it went wrong?" I’ll get to that, just wait. I had to place him in a new personality now, not the cheery reject he was before. I had to make him sound like a villain, so I made him seek the perfect world he wanted by changing the people he disagreed with to satisfy himself and whoever created him. He was the Slenderman of my world, having even the bravest character look behind them when they close the door at night.
My life in school was always a pain, bullies on my left, loser friends on my right, and anyone who didn’t care in front of me. For example, the Wednesday after I made Zork (Who I now named Grand Rebel), the bully from B hall kept pestering me and making random marks on the concept art sheet of Grand Rebel during class. I got so sick of it I just grabbed his hand and pinched his bony palm to the point where he almost screamed. Well, that got me sent to the counselors room. After a long talk about “violence” and how I should make peace with my enemies, I told him that sometimes the only way I can make peace is if the dick changed for once. That got me a tracker for “Irrelevant Persistence,” if that even meant anything.
Back in art class I was supposed to say sorry to that prick, but being bilingual in a mainly white school and light skinned gave me the upper hand, so I called him a faggot in Spanish, which I later translated as “Sorry” to the teacher.
A few days later, the same bully was on the news where he was found in his bed with his spine missing and the wound lazily sewn closed with a G in the center of his back, muttering a strange sentence in Latin. I was shocked, satisfied, and inspired by this, so I quickly wrote down a story of Grand Rebel’s past. I put it below for you to read, which I hope you do, since its critical to you being able to avoid him.
Grand Rebel was originally a puppet made by an amateur puppeteer in France. He appeared in the puppeteer’s TV show as the hero of the day who didn’t care about consequences as long as the antagonist was punished. He left his mark with a “Zorro” style G sewn in random parts of his target. The viewers loved it, and the puppeteer soon reached success. However, Grand Rebel was slowly pushed back as the newer characters took stage. He remained the main character, but was never acknowledged by the viewers the same way.
Many years later, the puppeteer made a spinoff, in which Grand Rebel was never seen again. He was forgotten by even his biggest fan. Eventually, a secret nuclear war sparked between France and Russia, Russia being the victor. Half of the town’s population perished, the puppeteer being one of them as he was packing up things so he could escape to Rome. The media claimed everything he owned was destroyed, but Grand Rebel being in an iron box was merely scratched. The only time Grand Rebel acknowledged again was a short poem the puppeteer’s followers made in his honor, due to him being the puppeteer’s first creation.
Oh Grand Rebel, lost in a box. Your creator left you to rot.
Oh Grand Rebel, decayed by ticks and tocks. The war took you from us, but from our hearts, it will not.
The magic from that poem fused with the toxins from the air and created a black, blob-like material that quickly squirmed its way to his box like an inky tidal wave and broke into it. He was engulfed by it, and later emerged from the box, his puppet strings serving as his string-like tail, and whatever was left of his box formed a hook shaped like a G that served as a needle. Nobody was aware that he was brought to life, and havoc was brought to the little French town as revenge for leaving him to suffer alone. The first victim being sewn to her bed, nude, with a G sewn into her arms and legs. The irony of this is that the victim was known for prostituting herself for men with odd fetishes for feet and armpits but later drugging them to make her look as if she was raped.
The news spread across the town and it was instantly received as a cruel, heartless joke someone was making to mock the puppeteer’s work. But later that week eight people were found dead, two being hung by a thick layer of string wrapped around their necks repeatedly and having more G’s on their back, and the rest just simply having their spines ripped out with a string connected to their brains and lower column instead and the wound sewn with a G.
This terrified the townspeople, and they all fled, leaving Grand Rebel alone in the ghost town. Later on a few Russian soldiers made it back to the town to clean up and loot anything they could, only to find nine people stacked at the town’s gates, all dead with the words “I’m in control now” written like a web across the pile. Two of the soldiers returned, claiming that they saw the bodies reanimate and speak in a calm young voice, who later attacked the other three by having hooks fly out of their mouth and piercing their necks, instantly killing them. Later that month the soldiers were found on the roof with the word “Revenge” across their backs, dead.
Grand Rebel’s whereabouts are unknown, but recently he has killed the general who made the orders to bomb the town with “satisfied” written on his back, with a question mark later found on his lower back centered above the pelvis in an X-Ray. People claim that Grand Rebel has been so accustomed to killing, he doesn’t know why he kills people anymore ever since he killed his main target..
The rest of his story just talks about how this affects my characters, but overall, I had a great story to work with. Or at least that’s how I saw it, since my art club rejected it saying it’s like a zombie movie but instead of a virus it’s a radioactive “blob puppet” with strings. I wished that people would just change.
Four months later, I finally graduated seventh grade. Over the summer I had nothing to do, so I just went online a lot. YouTube was like my “home base” for jokes and ponies, but I always had that one asshole hating on me being a Brony. MontrealExpos1969 was a perfect example, he even had a Brony holocaust planned, to be honest, I wanted him DEAD. Later, my wishes were made as if I had control over life, on the news, they reported a twenty-five year old man from Canada found dead in his room, which was later searched and had Neo-Nazi symbols in his notebooks and a plan to attack BroNYcon that year.
I knew something out there was doing this, serving me in a way. Whoever I wanted dead, died. But I needed proof it was me giving the orders, so I pictured five terrorist militias all being slain and hung in the same room.
I had to keep this hidden though, and I had to find out why this was happening. I eventually forgot the research part and focused more on using my new power wisely. More and more villains in my world kept dying. I was god, I was bringing the change in the world that nobody could get with mortal powers. But then, it all went wrong.
I had a fight with my mom near the end of summer, she was complaining about my attitude being bad and stuff, it was so annoying, I imagined my life if she died. We made up later that day, but at night I heard a noise like glass breaking from my mom’s room. I went to see what happened, and before my eyes was Grand Rebel hunched over my mom as she stared helplessly into his eyes. I yelled at him, telling him to get off. He noticed me and ran out the window with his string trailing behind him, I followed with a rod we used for the fireplace. His hook caught onto a rock and he fell, tangled in his string. I caught up and took about three whacks until a ghost-like voice came into my head, begging for mercy.
I was caught off guard and Grand Rebel swiped at my legs with his hook and retracted his string until it was about the length of a tail again, and ran off into the dark. I vowed to never speak of this again. My mother was in the hospital for about four weeks due to the incredible amounts of string found in her intestines and her lips sewn shut. I prayed to god Grand Rebel would just go away, that this was all a cruel joke and it would all go away. Well, my prayers didn’t work, six people were found dead like in Grand Rebel’s story, hung by the neck or just dead with words sewn into them. I thought about telling the police that I made Grand Rebel and he was the one doing this, but a jail cell wasn’t any different than a nuthouse at this point, so Grand Rebel runs free not only in my mind but in real life as well.
School started up again, and I had no ways of being able to forget that night. What made it worse is that bullies teased my tragedy over and over, but I still didn’t wish them dead. Later that night, I had a dream where I talked with Grand Rebel. I couldn't really call it a talk, since Grand Rebel was talking the most. He said that what he's been through hasn't left him satisfied, how he always does what I say but he never seems to be recognized anymore. He wanted me to be proud of him when he did what he was imagined for. He later approached me, his tail behind him flailing like a cat stalking its prey. He looped the hook into my back and around my spine. Then he came right into my face, his glowing eyes filling my head.
"I'm in control now," were his final words to me, then I saw his string thrust back and I felt my back burn. Then, I woke up, panting, checking to see if my back was intact. After that, I had to break my promise to myself, I wanted someone dead again.
Ironically enough, the only thing I want dead is immune to my wish.