DORKPOOL and INDOMETUS are in a room.
Dorkpool: -leaning in close to Indo- Hail Hydra.
Indo is shocked.
THE BRIDGE OF THE CHEESE DOODLE:
Dorkpool: I don’t believe in a no-win scenario.
Mirror: What do you believe in?
Dorkpool: The power of love.
Huey Lewis starts playing.
SOME RANDOM CAVE:
Dorkpool, Mirror, and VORIX are in a cave, with some weird IDOL behind Vorix. Dorkpool is holding a bow and arrow, while Mirror holds a gun.
Vorix: With the deaths of all those people in that town I nuked, I’m unstoppable!
Dorkpool: Not I can help it!
Dorkpool fires an arrow. It bounces off Vorix’s armor.
Vorix: …you do realize I have metal armor, right?
Mirror: Yeah, seriously, dude, you should’ve thought of that.
Dorkpool: I’m honestly still amazed that this is somehow less ridiculous here than it was in Arrow.
Everyone nods in agreement.
MIRROR’S ROOM ON THE CHEESE DOODLE:
We see Mirror from behind, talking to some UNSEEN PERSON.
Mirror: So. You’ve returned. I thought we put you down a long time ago.
We turn to see Mirror’s talking to PLUSH RUBY.
THE BRIDGE OF THE CHEESE DOODLE:
Dorkpool: We’re going down!
Sylvia: Heh. That’s what she said.
AND NOW... PART 2
Mirror: Remember a couple of days ago when we Riffed “The Puppeteer?”
Sylvia: Let me see…was that the one with the oxygen tank?
Mirror: No, that was “Tanks For the Exhilaration.”
Sylvia: Was it the one with Tommy Wiseau?
Mirror: No, that was “The Room.”
Sylvia: Was it –
Mirror: Ok, let me stop you right there, or we’ll be here all day. “The Puppeteer” was the story about a depressed girl who’s kind of a dick who considers suicide and is helped along by some schmuck called “The Puppeteer.”
Sylvia: Ohhhhh…that one. Sorry, it was so boring, it kind of fell out of my head.
Mirror: I completely understand. Anyway, there’s a sequel to that.
Mirror: I don’t know. Why is there a sequel to Independence Day?
Sylvia: Because studios are realizing that people will pay money to see sequels/prequels/reboots to things that were around a while ago, mainly because of nostalgia?
Mirror: Ok, good point. Doesn’t explain this sequel.
Mirror: Yep. Anyway, this story is called “The Puppeteer 2: Motherly Love.”
Sylvia: Motherly Love? What is this, Psycho?
Mirror: If it is, can’t be worse than the remake with Vince Vaughn.
Sylvia: Well, you’re not wrong.
Mirror: I know. Anyway, let’s deal with alcoholic parents, and Riff this bitch.
It all began when I started to notice quick changes in my mother.
Mirror: You mean retcons?
No, it began way earlier than that when I really think about it.
Sylvia: If that’s the case, then that first sentence was…?
Mirror: Completely pointless.
Years. Maybe even before I could remember the difference between right and wrong, which is a pretty long time ago.
Mirror: You thought posting this story was a good idea, so I’m going to guess you still don’t have a handle on that.
I had always been one of the two brothers in my family. Our mother was single, she always had been ever since I could remember. Our father had bailed out on us when the news about me had arrived. We loved our mother, we really did. She bought us nice clothes even though she couldn't afford it, providing necessary food and making a good home for us. Everything was great, my mom just had some issues with drinking.
Sylvia: Wait, the dad isn’t the alcoholic here? What is this madness?
It wasn't just a problem, it was a big problem. She stayed single even though she tried to meet others. It would always go well in the beginning until she would change her mind and show the next man out the door. Always the same story with her.
Mirror: Same story, huh? Don’t you just hate formulaic storytelling?
I felt very…alone. My brother wasn't very interested in playing with me, seeing he was about five years older and he always thought of me as the annoying little sibling. But all I wanted was company.
Sylvia: (Narrator): So I started kidnapping people.
I didn't find any success in making friends in school or during my spare time. I just spent every moment alone.
Mirror: (Narrator): And this was how I discovered the joys of masturbation.
My mom didn't care, of course. She was too busy trying to finish up her work, so she could spend the last hours at home drinking her evenings away.
But I guess every single second of loneliness brought something out of me. I started to…daydream. A lot. Making imaginary friends was one of my favorite hobbies. Yes, a hobby.
Sylvia: Thank you for that unnecessary clarification.
I made new ones so often it was hard to keep up - even for me.
Mirror: Wow, it’s like trying to keep track of characters in X-Men: Apocalypse.
You see, there was this particular imaginary friend.
He wasn't like the others.
Sylvia: (Narrator): For one thing, he was a three-headed orange elephant with an umbrella sticking out of his anus.
This was the only one who gave me more peace than anything. He'd play with me, of course, but he only came around night time. Then we'd talk and fool around making super sure my mom didn't hear my cheerful giggling. He was an expert on many things,
Mirror: (Narrator): He taught me how to kill a man using only my pinkie and a quarter.
but he was the best at crafting and making me puppets. Every day he'd turn up with a new doll, in any design I wanted it to be.
Sylvia: (Narrator): No matter how creepy or nude the design was.
That was his thing.
The Puppet Man.
Mirror: That’s kind of a meh superhero name.
I always managed to escape the fact that I had imaginary friends, but with him…It was hard to deny he was actually there. Because I knew he was. Every night when he said I had to sleep, he stood by for another hour just to watch and make sure that I was actually falling asleep.
Sylvia: Oh, it’s Slender Man.
His golden, glowing eyes observing me from afar in the darkness. I stared back at him. His grey face was keeping me calm as he kept smiling towards me.
Sylvia: Oh, it’s a Slender Man knockoff.
I fell asleep every night.
But I couldn't talk to anyone about the creature visiting me every night.
Time went on as it should've.
Mirror: (Narrator): My experiments involving time travel didn’t really affect the timestream in any way.
I grew up, so did my brother. Only thing that seemed to stay the same was mom’s drinking habits. My brother moved out around the age of 18, he couldn’t put up with her anymore. I was only 12 at the time
and I wouldn't get out of my home for a long, long time. I was waiting patiently though, I suppose that was the only thing I could do when being so…alone.
Sylvia: Running away is an option.
My imaginary friend never left however, and it started to become a problem. He continued to visit me every single evening, keeping me company. I started to ignore him, I was mad… had to be.
Mirror: (Narrator): But whatever. No biggie.
At 12 years old the whole imaginary friend deal was ridiculous. I had other things to do anyway.
Sylvia: (Narrator): Like implying I had sex with people’s mothers and using racial slurs while playing CoD.
Homework, playing on my playstation 2. I was…content. Not happy. Just neutral. I didn't feel lonely, I left that thought a long time ago.
Mirror: You said, after saying that you were alone quite a bit.
Yet there he was…staring at me with his face hidden beneath the shadows of my room, glowing eyes studying me. Another year passed.
I eventually got tired of everything.
Sylvia: Great, you’re going to be an angsty 13 year old. Wheee.
School was being a downer and my mom got worse with her drinking. Even to that point where she started to self harm.
Sylvia: Wait, doesn’t the depressed/angsty person self harm? I’m confused.
Mirror: We’re gonna get so much shit for this one…
She refused to talk to me, even when I tried to. She lost her job, eventually. It was it was something I had wanted to see happen for a long time, it always seemed like something that might help her realize she had a problem...
Mirror: And leave you without any source of income, which means no food, house, electricity, etc.
But no, after that my mom wouldn't do anything but sit there…drinking all her problems away. She became angrier with time, everyone noticed so. Everyone who was…well, me.
Sylvia: So literally only you.
I did everything I could do not stay at home - sleeping over at my aunt's place or even trying to contact my brother. But there was certain nights I had to stay home and it was hell on earth.
Every single day she would scold me for nothing. It was such stupid, simple things. Forgetting to buy milk on the way home, forgetting to cook dinner…What could I do?
Mirror: Buy milk and cook dinner.
I was 13. My mom couldn't even tell me how sorry she was. She just kept on…And one night, she just lost it.
I remember it clearly.
It was something about the dishes. I had to clean after dinner like always and this time I accidentally dropped a plate. It fell to the floor hitting hard, and shattered into tiny pieces. My mom was of course furious with me. I could understand her at some point, get why she was upset with me… but now I blamed her for everything that happened.
Sylvia: (Narrator): This includes the Hindenburg, the temporary popularity of Limp Bizkit, and Fant4stic.
But this time she didn't just scream in my face for a minute or two. This time she was acting out violently, throwing a chair across the room. She screamed at me for not being the perfect son, how she'd lost everything because of me and my brother…Everything was our fault.
Mirror: (Narrator): She even blamed us for being born.
A slap to the face. And then…she was done.
I ran and locked up myself in my room.
And there he was, waiting for me. It was evening after all. And for the first time in almost two years, I spoke to him. He was the only soul I could talk to. Even though he was imaginary, even though I was basically talking to myself. I didn't care. I desperately needed it.
And for the first time…He spoke to me.
Sylvia: (Puppeteer): Hail Hydra.
He was more calm than I thought he'd be.
"Your mom…she's evil."
I disagreed. She wasn't evil…Or was she? She had ruined my life, she hated me but still I shook my head. "Don't cry,"
Mirror: When was he crying?
He spoke to me. "Big boys don't cry…
Sylvia: No, big girls don’t cry. Get your songs right, writer.
So calm down, I'll go talk to your mom. Now go to sleep…
Mirror: Are you taking from Slender Man or Jeff the Killer? Seriously, make up your mind.
You'll need it."
I did as he said. No questions, I went to bed. My heart was pounding and my head spinning. My mom never checked up on me…She would probably leave anyway. That's the only thing she ever did. Giving up on us, on everything…On life. It didn't take me long to fall asleep that night. In the morning I would just return to school like nothing had happened and find my same pathetic alcoholic mother the next day.
But…there was never meant to be another day.
Sylvia: Hey! Spoiler alert!
I woke up again. It was completely dark around me, the apartment had been lost of all it's power. I didn't wake up all by myself though,
Mirror: (Narrator): I’m not that independent.
there was some kind of noise outside of my bedroom. Warily and insecure, I stepped up from my bed and moved out to the hall. It was a cracking noise. Like someone stepping on ice or on broken glass but it was far more dull than that. My curiosity took over and I continued until I found the source of the breaking and snapping sound. It was my mother's bedroom.
Sylvia: Wow, those 12 years olds on Xbox really will fuck your mother. Go figure.
What was going on in there? My mom was supposed to be sleeping at this hour…I came closer, the noise appeared louder. After a minute of listening outside of the room, I decided to go in. I pushed the wooden door and stumbled to my knees. What I saw…No one was supposed to see such a thing.
Sylvia: Wait, I was joking. Please don’t do this.
My mom had been thrown towards the floor. Her face was bloody, and her nose seemed broken.
Sylvia: Oh, good, it’s pain, not sex.
Mirror: Hey, the story’s not over yet.
Sylvia: Would you not?
She was kneeling down with her arms extended backwards in an unnatural position, hands cramping out of pain. She looked like she was screaming but only coughed out, wheezing hard. She saw me. And that's when I lost it.
I tried to scream, but I couldn't. I only crawled up towards the bedside, clutching unto it like It was the only thing to save me at that point.
Mirror: (Narrator): Help me, bed post. You’re my only hope.
My mother's arms were breaking in front of my face, by something I couldn't see or hear. I could only see her, my mother. Scared for her life.
And then he slowly appeared before me. His grey hands and face, emerging from the shadows. His golden eyes were completely focused on her, and then I could see what he was doing. With one foot on her back, His fingertips wept golden threads that had tied themselves to her arms. He was breaking my mother's arms in two.
My Puppet Man.
Sylvia: (Narrator): My senpai.
Then her bones wouldn't hold it anymore. They eventually broke, snapping in a horrible trail of sounds. I tried to scream again but everything was once again muted by my own fright. I tried to calm down, tried to realize I was only imagining everything. But it was real. My own friend, imaginary friend was killing my mom.
Mirror: So, would he be a good or bad friend?
And I did nothing to stop him.
He wasn't pleased, I tried to call to him, tried to beg for him to stop. But he just wouldn't listen. He only continued to hurt my mother further. He'd take his time, and seemed to slowly break every bone in her body. He forced me to sit there, made me watch as he broke my mother apart. He told me he was getting rid of evil.
Sylvia: He’s getting rid of FOX News?
I wanted to believe him…but I just couldn't. He broke her legs, ribs…even fingers. Bones turning every direction they shouldn't. I screamed and screamed. No one heard me. His golden eyes turned to look at me as he hushed me for one final time.
Then, he strangled her. Beautiful golden glowing strings of death wrapped around her neck, squeezing out the last glimpse of life I could see in my mother's eyes. And it was the last thing I could remember before it went dark, I passed out on the floor by the bedside.
Our neighbors had heard my screaming and had called the police. Everyone pitied the orphan who had seen his mother die in front of her eyes.
Mirror: So…is this a new version of Batman’s origin or something?
Sylvia: I’m more curious about why the narrator changed genders in the middle of that sentence.
But according to them, my mother hadn't been murdered. She had been found in the middle of the room, with a noose around her neck. The rope hadn't been able to carry her body after a while and had bursted in two, causing my mother's corpse to fall down on the floor.
I never spoke about her death ever again, neither did I say another word about my imaginary friend. Maybe it had all been horrible dream, and he was always just in my head…
Even at my mom's funeral, I was completely alone. My brother didn't even bother showing up. Only my aunt and uncle was there.
Sylvia: So you weren’t alone.
Everyone saw this coming somehow. Everyone but me. And I spent hours waiting for him to come and pick me up. The only one who had listened to me all this time. Held me company. Comforted me when I needed it the most.
And when I was standing alone by her coffin, I suddenly felt someone grabbing my hand.
Mirror: Cue the “Careless Whisper.”
Sylvia: -starts playing the intro to “Careless Whisper.”
Mirror: Wait, where did you get that?
Sylvia: The sax? I just have it on me.
Mirror: You just carry a saxophone around with you?
Sylvia: Well, yeah.
And I smiled. His grey hand on my shoulder.
"I never thought you'd come back."
Sylvia: (Puppeteer): Of course I’d be back. It is my story, after all.
Mirror: This story isn’t as bad as the first one, but it’s not very good.
Sylvia: I’m sensing a theme with these stories: crappy lives and depressed people. I guess that’s the point, but it gets a bit boring. The thing about this story is that it’s a bit bland, oddly enough. And, hell, with some minor changes could easily turn into a Jeff OC. Maybe it’s just that a lot of these Creepypasta OC stories follow the same path (main character is depressed teen, someone dies) and we’re getting tired of it. Why not take a different route? Why not focus on the bully or whoever’s making our depressed teen depressed, and see things from their point of view? Understand them a bit, and then watch as they die? That might be an interesting twist. The story that we have right now isn’t awful, it’s just a bit boring. And that’s really a problem. Some stories you remember for being good, others for being downright terrible. And there are some in that middle category of “meh;” not terrible, or just a sort of bland terrible. This is in the meh category. It’s a bland story, with some minor grammar errors.
Mirror: But, as was previously stated, it’s not a bad story per se. The main character isn’t too whiny or annoying. At the very least, his depression is understandable. And, giving a bit of credit here, at least the father isn’t the alcoholic here. So, equality! Remember, it’s not equality until everyone, regardless of race, gender, or religion, is depicted as an asshole. But other than that, it’s still a pretty bland and meh story. But that’s what we think. What do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish we’d be insulted by underage racists while playing CoD? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.