Hey. Dunderhead. This isn't really a story. It's a creative approach to my inner conflict SO SHUT UP OKAY.
"Huh? Who's there?"
It's me. Your brain.
This always seemed to happen. Even in the absolute solitude of my room, surrounded by nothing but my computer and empty packages of ramen noodles, my subconscious found a way to sneak up from behind and pester the living hell out of me.
Sam, you need to write another pasta. It's been... what, five months? Stop being so lazy. Have you even attempted to write something, anything, since Hanging Man Hill?
"Of course I have! It's just... they always seem to get bad reviews, and so I never actually post them on the wiki. They just slowly rot and become forgotten in the Writer's Workshop board."
Sam, you're not going to get better at writing if you don't actually attempt something and go with it. In fact, I'm going to try and give you a deadline. If you don't finish a story by... say, the end of July, I'll end you.
"Fine. I'll... I'll come up with something."
And thus, I allowed myself to dwell on the darker side of humanity. I was going to make another pasta.
I was ready.