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The Terror of Mary Sue


Well-known member
The sun shines brightly through my window. It's blinding, to a point where I can barely see, so I hide under the covers so that I don't have to get up. I hide, so that I don't have to go to school again.

Today, I don't want to get up. Yesterday I didn't want to get up. These last few months -nay, years-, I didn't want to get up.
I don't have a reason. I don't feel the need.

"Mary! It's time for school!" I hear my mother call out, but I don't care. I roll over, put my cushion over my head, and ignore her words.

The door opens behind me, and she calls out to me.

"Oh, Mary, come on out!" She says, pulling the sheets off of my body. "Today is a new day!" She tells me. "I made you breakfast!"

With an empty stare into the wall in front of me, I shake my head at her suggestion.
"... I don't want to go to school." I tell my mom. "I... I don't feel so good." I continue, acting as though I'm sick.

"What, honey? Have you gotten a cold from all that rain?"

"... Yes." I tell her. She feels my head to see if I'm hot.

"... You look healthy to me. You don't have a fever either." She tells me. "Are you sure you don't want to go to school?"

"No. I don't want to." I tell my mother. She looks at me with a slight worry, before standing up and going back downstairs. "Alright then. Report yourself sick, don't forget. Else they'll say you're skipping class!"

I look at my cell phone. It's the newest model. Touch screen, 3D and VR options, and all kinds of other bullshit I don't care about. My hand reaches for it, and I put it before my eyes.

Should I even call? Maybe, if I don't, I'll finally have something to worry about. A reason to stress, just a little. Stress is healthy, after all. Everyone needs a little bit of stress, right? Right?


I don't call. I put my phone back down, and stand up. Then I go to my mirror, so that I can look at myself.

My hair, despite that I tried messing it up intentionally, and even rolled around wildly in my sleep, is as perfectly formed as it is always. It curves slightly around my neck in spectacular manner and curls right around the height of my throat.

My body is tall, but somehow I'm still the most attractive girl in school, despite also being the strongest person in there and being bigger than some of the guys. My face is formed in the most beautiful forms and curves, big lips which most girls would only dream off, radiantly crimson eyes almost like I was a mystical being, and a sleak but attractive jaw and cheek structure. I even have a few cute freckles on them just to appeal to the kind who likes cute girls instead of hot ones.

I look as beautiful as a human can be.

This is me. Mary Sue. The strongest, fastest, smartest, richest, most skilled, most athletic, most beautiful, and most honorable student in school. Everyone loves me. Everyone adores me.
And because of that, I hate myself.

Imagine, living every single day of your life doing everything pitch point perfectly. Imagine being born as the penultimate of human existence, facing no challenges or hardships, and basically being gifted every positive thing on a silver platter. Beauty? You're born with it. Intelligence? You could talk at two months young. physical prowess? Have you ever seen a just born baby stand and walk?

I stood, and still stand out among a sea of normal people. It's like I'm destined. Chosen. Gifted.

The cosmos has made me the main character of the universe...

But I don't want to be. I just want to be a normal girl, like all other normal girls.
And I fucking hate that everything -EVERYTHING- goes right.

I try to change it. I throw my phone at the wall with all the force I have preserved in my arms. The phone screen shatters, and the concrete wall has a small dent in it about the size of my nose.

I look at my ultra-HD TV on the wall, 70 inches, and throw my broken phone into it. It breaks too.

Afterwards, I pissily leave my lavishly elegant house, not even looking at my concerned mother. She probably heard the commotion. I don't care.

That evening I come back home. I spent my time trying not to eat or drink, and running as fast as I can. I hoped to starve or dehydrate myself so that I can stress. I hoped that, if I ran till the sun set, without sustaining myself, my heart would at least skip a beat. I ran for hours, without stops or breaks. But I'm not even that hungry, or thirsty for that matter, and my body feels as though it's only gotten stronger and reached a new height of peak condition.

On the outside, I feel fresh and great, strong in the best ways. But on the inside, it gnaws that even the most basic form of physical stress is out of my reach. It itches underneath my skin, like a bug crawling inside of me. No.

Not one bug. A thousand. They're all underneath my nails, itching and scratching. They irritate me to such a point that my head tingles in frustration and the tips of my fingers sizzle painfully.

I couldn't even tire myself out.

When I go upstairs, I see that my TV has been replaced and that I have a new phone. The TV is bigger now. A video game console is underneath it. It's a Playbox Pro X. Apparently the most expensive of the bunch.

I also see that even the little hole which I made in my wall was already plastered up. That sickens me a bit. None of my mistakes remain. None of my mistakes matter.

There was a little note on the Playbox. From the handwriting alone, I see that it's from my father.

I'm sorry to hear that you've been feeling stressed. Your mother messaged me about it. I bought you something to take your mind off of things.

Yeah, pops, I'm stressed. But I'm not actually stressed. I'm stressed that I can't get anything wrong! I'm stressed that I can't stress! Everything goes my way! ALWAYS!

In my times of hardship I always had a video game that I liked to play. Nowadays, those things are pretty old, but I thought that perhaps if I buy a modern video game for you, that you would be able to take your mind off of things. I hope you're feeling okay.

Yours Truly,

I'm frustrated, realizing that my attempts at creating trouble meant nothing. I didn't get trouble, and I didn't get stresses. Everything went right again. And because everything went right...

Everything went wrong for me.
Why didn't my mother or father even get angry...? Why wasn't I just HIT for my behavior! I'm being spoiled! ON PURPOSE! I need to get hit!

A realization strikes me, however. I never played video games before.
I have to suck at that, right?!

I order and download the hardest video game I find on the internet. Something called "Darkness Spirits". Apparently it was really hard. I had to suck at it!

Well, I did the fucking impossible again! Beat the game in about three hours. By accident. Without dying once. Using nothing but my bare hands, no armor, and no upgrading. It was almost COMICAL.

ALMOST. But infuriating more so!

I go to bed with gnarling teeth and an unseeded frustration, leaving the depressingly somber orchestral music of Darkness Spirits on. I'm angry. I sleep angrily.

And yet, my dreams are sound as always.

The next morning arrives. I once again don't feel like getting up. I want to stay in bed.
It's Tuesday, damn it. This should be the day you get cheerier...
And yet, I'm only feeling worse inside.
I'm still angry. But I'm also sad.

Today I decide to go to school. When I arrive, everyone greets me happily. I didn't brush my teeth that morning, I didn't comb my hairs, and I clothed myself in my worst clothes. Yet, my breath is cold and smells like mint, my hair is still as bombastically beautiful as usual, and my worst and cheapest clothes just look good on me.

So everyone likes me.

This kid named Warren walks up to me on one side. He's a really nerdy looking fellow, wearing glasses and holding with him his Medieval Fantasy book and Table Top fantasy games. The only thing he's really missing for him to be the ultra-geek is the boils on his forehead. But his face was clean, desite it all, so at least he wasn't wholly abhorent to look at.
But he decides to wander next to me, and greets me nervously.

On the other side of me comes this hulking hunk of manliness named Brent. He's this handsome jock who usually plays football in our team. He is a lot less nerdy than Warren (despite that he loves Marfel and Video Games so much), and someone who any girl would feel special to get. But ever since I even got in class, he's basically been chasing my ass and leaving all the poor cheerleaders behind. I wished I could hit him.

Actually, I wished I could hit them both. Instead of crushing on me, how about I crush your skulls? How about I-

Wait... what did I just think? No. No, those aren't normal throughts.

Those aren't normal.

Warren wants to invite me to a table top game.
"It's called Darkest Devils the Board Game!" He tells me. "It's really hard!"

Brent wants to take me to the movies.
"Ditch this loser, Mary! I've got a great horror. The Priestess! It's out in theaters right now!"

I have two choices. I could go to try a really hard table top game and hope to completely suck at it, or go to the priestess and hope that I get the shit scared out of me. I would take their offers, because they both present me with the possibility of failure. Either way, I have a chance to finally feel something negative.

I decide to go with Brent. Sorry, Warren, Brent is bigger than you (even if I am bigger than HIM), and he's got a more refined jawline. I tell Warren I might play Darkest Devils with him tomorrow.

We arrive at the movies. Everybody is scared out of their parents. At every jumpscare, people jump out of their seats.
I hate it. The movie is horrible. At the least, to me it was. Because I never got scared.

The movie becomes ranked the scariest movie of the decade. People begin to write reviews. I read how people physically got nightmares from it and that it was pulled out of the cinema for its intense psychological horror. I even read how some people got paranoid over the places and creatures the movie presented and that they needed help from a psychiatrist.

Yet, there I am. Perfectly fine. Not scared at all. Actually, I was bored out of my mind from the movie.
And that's horrible.
The one chance to truly FUCK YOUR HEAD UP. To escape from perfection!

And suddenly you find out that you're FEARLESS...

Fuck my life.

Brent calls me when I come back home. Out of frustration I curse at him and shout angrily. He hangs up apologizing sincerely to have bothered me at a bad time. I was hoping he'd be angry at me. He wasn't. He just sent me some heart emojis on my fucking cell phone.

Fucking bitch.

I go to sleep more pissed off then yesterday. Everything seems to be going the way I would want it to go. That was, if I had troubles.

But its all stacked against me. The universe as a whole loves me too much. I want something bad to happen. I want to feel SOMETHING.

My nails dig into my arms, and I pull them. Long streaks of red drip from six scratches. Blood pours down my body and onto my bed. I fall asleep in horrid frustration.

The next morning I wake up. There are no wounds on my arms. There's still a little blood on my bed, however. It looks like I can heal wounds quickly. Because I wasn't fucking perfect enough. I also have to be GIFTED. SPECIAL ME! SPECIAL SPECIAL ME!

I fucking hate the day already. But, I have to get up now. I have to.

I need to find purpose. I need to find struggle. Real struggle. Not the struggle to find struggle, ACTUAL struggle.

I go outside. I'm going to change myself.
I'm no longer going to be kind. I want to be hated.
I'm no longer going to look kind. I want to be feared.
I want someone- ANYONE- to dislike me. Anyone.

I go to the nearest, most expensive clothing shop. There I get the most expensive black, leather, biker jacket. It's sleevless, reaches down to my stomach, and has a set of menacing looking spikes on it. Perfect to give off a "fuck right off" vibe.

I get spiked bracers, and biker gloves while I'm at it. Hell, why not buy a second leather jacket WITH sleeves? I already have a few billion on my bank account anyway. I could waste it all if I wanted to.

I check my face in the window. That pretty, pitch fucking perfect face. Lovely, isn't it? How beautiful you are? How attractive?

I try to roughen up my hair. I throw my bangs over my blinkering red eyes so that no one can see them. So that my mystique is hidden from the world.

Then I go to school. I come late on purpose. I fail the test, answering every of the fourty multiple choice questions in five seconds. I answer them wrong on purpose, instantly identifying the right answer and immediately taking the other one. After that, I go to Warren.

Warren was very nice to me. He commented on how he found my new look strange, but that he could accomodate. I tried to be as mean as possible to him, but he just assumed I was having a bad day.
Oh no, my day was pretty good, Warren. Hell, my LIFE has been pretty good. Too good.

I play the game with him. I intentionally lose. But he tells me that in order for me to have, in any way or form, lost that encounter in such a horrible way that I did, that I had to have done it on purpose. He already found me out.

"Mary, if you don't wanna play, that's alright... You could have just told me."
"Warren, I want to lose. LET ME LOSE."

Warren stares at me in slight worry, but I bang my fist onto the table.

My teeth grit angrily, Warren shaking at my rage. But I don't care. Yes, Warren. Fear me. Lecture me. Hate me.
Hell, ATTEMPT MURDER if you must. Give me a thrill! Give me a loss!

Give me some kind of disapproval of my actions!!!

I lash out, my hands grabbing his collar. Then I pull him over the table, coming face to face with him. My malignant, devilish grin bares itself, eyes staring widely underneath my bangs. Those red glimmers in them, for a moment, had to have looked like the devil's eyes. They had to look like the glaring flickers of a demon's gaze.

But Warren didn't seem to dislike that, despite his fearful shuddering. Instead, he just answered me heartily.

"... You're, uh...-" He spoke, nervous. "... You're a little cute when you're angry..."

I gave him wide eyes for a moment, before letting go. It happened again. Somehow. Someway. I managed to appeal to someone despite trying my best to make them fear me. Somehow. In some way.

I turn away from Warren, and walk off. He tries to message me and tries to apologize, but I block him.

I lay in my bed again, shuddering. It hurts a little. It hurts a little to think that I'll never actually have a life of meaning. A life which can feel fulfilled.

I will forever be forced to live in perfection. Forever forced to be loved.

I wish I never existed.

I wish I wasn't there.

I grab the knife in my drawer, and bring it up to my face. It shines so nicely. It blinkers so beautifully. Maybe it will look good in my throat.

However, even when I press it up to my neck, pushing at myself with all the force I have, the knife's steel shatters before my skin does. Because off course. I had to have insanely strong flesh too. Why not add that on top of it all...?
Why no prevent me from ending my experience of nothingness?

Tears slowly envelop in my eyes as the emptiness spreads within. I have everything. I have everything which the human mind could long for. And at the same time, it has come to a point where I have nothing to lose. I exist as a paradox in the all-enveloping cosmos, and the very laws of the universe manage to bend to my will... and around it.

And to worsen it, everyone loves me for that. Everyone.

What horrible author is writing about my miserable magnificence...? What terror beyond the cosmos shaped me...?

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