Posted in the poor areas of Royal Road...
Within chalkboard black, threads sprout like weeds. Yet they are the color of concrete that weeds sprout so stubbornly from.
A trembling cocoon forms, pulsing and bobbing. Reminiscent of a butterfly! So colorful!
Ignore the shadows clinging disgustingly to the threads.
*SPLIT*
A seam opens down the cocoon, with a simple doll clambering out of the backpack.
"?ebgnreP ,ybbupf ebs rzvG" The toy has a dumb, warbling voice. With clumsy abandon, it falls out onto a strange floor, its SHINY knife falling out its paw.
The child of the Creator and the Stars is born into this new, confusing place. Unsurety falls on its slumped shoulders, puzzling on what to do as it mindlessly puts the reminder of its parents back into its hand. A gleam of SILVER shines in the dark.
Button eyes blink into thin rectangles. Somehow, the hard plastic of memory-loss changes shape as if there is an eyelid to make a distinctly human expression of thoughtfulness on a distinctly inhuman pup. The Monotone Puppet's button eyes are strange, indeed.
Though the strangeness of the surroundings is far more important to it.
But as with most round things on sloped surfaces, unsurety rolls off its slouched self and it promptly perks up. It wants to explore EVERYTHING!
First thing it notices is it is "in the dark." Soft mittens pat around the smokey-dark glass floor, green lines of code crawling under the surface. It turns its head to the big thing hovering in its vision, quirking its head to the side in confusion.
It couldn't really comprehend it.
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"!lnq gfevs ahs n fv fvuG" it shouted. The many things in the dark, crying spittle and lashed to the floor in chains, could do nothing but shudder. They did not understand it, but the meaning went into their head nonetheless. It creeped them out.
The doll jumps around the screen, trying to puzzle out the screen with question marks in its eyes.
*sproing*
*sproing*
*sproing*
That is the sound it made as it zips around the screen. Blurred lines extend behind it as it peers curiously at the screen from every angle. It raises its two paws to its mouth, giggling like a little gremlin. The symbols were very funny to it.
"?ebybp jra n ro fvug qyhbP" It asks another question in its incomprehensible gibberish ", the meaning downloading to the homeless beggars wandering these grounds. The abandoned souls moaned in the clicking of writers, a specific style special to all of them. Wild kaleidoscopes of zombies rattle their jaws in unison as their empty heads/chapter drafts were filled with "Could this be a new color?"
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
The doll quickly toddles off, rounded shoes silent and bouncy.
The Stars peer at the doll's clumsy sprinting as it heads off in... no direction in particular, to be honest.
"WwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIWWWWOOOOOOOOOOO BOOM!!!!" An enormous square slams right in front of the puppet, just narrowly missing the tiny toy. The strange noise was the whistling of its fall, sharp glass shards spiraling away like wheels of dark smoke. If any of the anthropomorphized, abandoned stories knew, or if the puppet knew, what fireworks sounded like, then it would have sounded much like the fiery celebration incendiaries exploding.
The square's fall had been dangerously near the Monotone Puppet, new life that it is. The infantile toy is unfazed, due to innocence that has yet to have tasted the fruit of knowledge. It still leans forward, curious, black button eyes reflecting the light of the four-sided ad that nearly smushed it.
On the imitation of a meteor, the screen has a picture of a girl smiling just a little too large, hair flowing all around her in seas of silver. The backdrop left the looking-up girl, blinded by her own smile, appearing a dynamic spectacle of emergence from an ocean of human keratin, hungry.
Far from dissuading the puppet from pressing the ad, it is obvious this girl's emotions instead drew the creature to pressing the ad. The Monotone Puppet grins widely, frayed stitches straining against the blank white cloth making up its raised cheeks.
Whatever its strange sight saw made it jump up in the air, splaying all limbs outward with so much joy it hurt its face. One could tell of the pain from the way it pats the leather-like folds of chalky white that made up its contorted expression of fascination and beaming smiles. Smoothly, it lands back on the ground, its carbon-black dreadlocks wiggling behind it.
It falls flat on its face, a Bambi yet to find its footing. For all of its prompt purpose in life, it is still a newborn.
The happiness builds up in its face, a pressure that leaves it feeling ready to burst.
It starts marching in place, trembling with naïve excitement. It makes a 'hut 2, 3, 4' march right to the square. Like a wee, animated nutcracker, the puppet pumps its arms and legs up high and down, before halting - at attention - in front of the screen.
Bombastically, it leans forward with its entire small cotton body behind it. A tiny two-fingered paw "punches" the screen with all the strength it could muster, which is not much, right on the maniacally grinning face in the picture.
"You have pressed the link to "Title of fiction."
Beams illuminate the Royal Road subviews, a flashlight with rainbow shapes spotting the brilliant white light. The dull-looking puppet becomes a silhouette. Only the grey of its patchwork quilt poncho and the rags is visible in the outpouring.
Far from the poor areas of Royal Road...
A puppet stumbles out of another screen into dim shadow. With an awed - and perhaps overblown expression with mittens clasped to the sides of its faces - parting of lips under its loose stitches, it looks up, up, up at the towering house. It is a crooked Seussian structure, with many chimneys clattering with plastic shark heads exhaling smoke. The windows and door all turn down at the edges, making a moaning face.
It is a caricature.
Of what, the puppet did not know, but what it did know was this:
"Wonder upon wonders!!! So colorful!!!" it shouts up to the gloomy structure. Its button eyes bug out, spinning on the strings keeping them attached to its face like a kid's helicopter hat.
Q: How does the puppet dance on its string of want for color?
A: It does so from the Gallows
*silent laughter*
That is why the Stars decide for their kid to be a Creepypasta until it grows up.