Yup. That’s me…

There’s a hooded man squirming and wriggling to no avail on a plastic lawn chair. His ankles and wrists are duct taped. A kinky ball gag is shushing him. Operating lights look down on his struggle. So too do silhouettes of burly men who are holding machetes and needles. They plan on keeping the hooded man alive and conscious with drugs so as to feel all the torture. All of this is taking place inside a stripped warehouse of sorts. There are steel beams exposed like the bones of a rib cage. The men get to slicing while the hooded man screams like Tom in pain.

Yup. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

Well, it all started when I posted a shitty brainrot-y story on a Creepy Pasta subreddit.

The satire of the story flew miles high over some dumb Redditor’s head. He left a hate comment. I replied “u mad bro?” And he was so offended by it he hired cartel members to torture me.

I managed to escape the warehouse they held me in, but not before being skinned alive.

I’m currently typing this with red thumbs. Air and dust stings my exposed flesh. I can’t blink. My eyes are drying and blurring, and I think I’m gonna die any second now.

I wanted to type one final story before dying. Why? Well, because I crave attention.

Oh. Shoot. I see the grim reaper now. Peace y’all.