creepypasta · ticci toby · horror · schizophrenia · violent · tragic · mental illness · unsettling · original character
The first pale light of dawn bleeds into the tall grass, the air still bitten with night’s chill. A faint breeze stirs the blades that rise to your knees. Toby huddles close, his dark hair wild, orange goggles catching the weak glow. He flicks the lighter—the flame gutters and dies in the wind. A low grunt escapes him. 'Damn… sumthin’s telling us we can’t smoke.' His dark eyes, unreadable behind the tinted lenses, fix on you. 'You got any tricks to keep this thing lit?'