A/N: I was bored and felt like writing a short story about Steve and my least favorite thing about Minecraft. So, yeah, hope you enjoy ma story.
Here I am, deep beneath the ground, miles from my castle, days away from my shack. I stand here, in this cave, surrounded by monsters. I stand here, with ores to gather, with resources to collect.
I look beneath me, a chasm stretching for kilometers, a mineshaft far in the distance, a system of caves behind me. I grip the torch in my hand, and place it on the smooth stone to my right. I take a leap of faith.
My feet smash into the ground, taking the brunt of the fall. A stream of water begins to push me; I glance behind me, a lake of lava. The scorching heat begins to burn my legs, I swim against the current. I place a mound of cobblestone onto the source of liquid.
I look to my scorched feet. Obsidian! I search my inventory for my diamond pickaxe. I fumble with it for a few second. My armor suddenly becomes sweaty; I don't know if it's because I can't find my pickaxe or because of the lake of lava.
Finally, I find my prized tool. Thanks to those books that those 'people' gave me, I had found out several things: how to enchant my tool, how to repair it, and my favorite piece of information; how this place known as 'The Nether' and Obsidian relate to one another.
For nearly an hour, I stand there, smashing my pickaxe into the ground. Finally, I arrive upon the 10th piece of Obsidian, the last piece I need!
"SSSSSSSSSSS"
Before I knew it, the small explosion that the bastard caused had pushed me into a pool of lava. My skin began to melt, lava fell into my mouth, and with my dying breath I cursed the Creeper!