“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree! How lovely are thy branches…” My kidnapper sang as he sliced off my brothers arm to add to the tree, as he cried out. My father had lost his legs and his arms, and my mother the same, though her head was the star. My father weeped as he looked at his wife. My arms and legs were complete, tho not for long.
“Not only green in summer’s heat, but also winter’s snow and sleet!” He grinned as he chopped off my brother last leg, adding it to the tree as he turned to me, my father breathing his last breaths as my brother hyperventilated. I screamed.
The Christmas tree was complete.
“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches!” The murderer smiled as he dusted off his hands, looking at the dismembered body parts as branches on the tree, and the head with a light stuffed in through the throat, ignoring the family he had brutally killed.
Some people, when faced with certain doom, would think; ‘If these are my last moments, let them be the best.’ Facing a pack of hungry wolves in the middle of nowhere, I did not relate to that. All I was thinking was— “OH MY FREAKING AGHHHHHHHHH—-“ Yeah. Pretty much a slightly different quote from Magnus Chase, who died. I did NOT want to be like Magnus Chase. Unfortunately, I would die at the hands of a wolf, the thing he hated. Ironic, huh? You must think I’m calm for someone on the brink of death. No. I’m not. The wolves are edging towards me, growling, as I talk to people in my head. That’s crazy, not calm. Oh no. That wolf looks hungry. Whats he doin- AAAAAAH
So that’s what fangs ripping through my organs feels like.
I flicked on a camera, as my stream began. In an instant, hundreds of thousands of my followers came flooding in, excited. What they didn’t expect was the stream to be on a roof, on a phone camera. I began to speak.
“You know, I thought the devil was a horned creature, with a silver tongue. One who all despised. In reality, the devil was people. They kill. They hurt. They laze. They—“ I cut off, anger and venom seething into my voice as my followers fretted. “All of you nonetheless. I saw what you say about me. I know what my husband did to me— which you all knew as well, and laughed about behind my back.” I let out a cruel and harsh laugh, the chat being filled with people apologizing. “Here I am; talking with the devil.” I hissed. “It doesn’t matter. Soon, I will never have to see you all again!” I said gleefully, walking closer to the edge, as people begged me to stop. “Oops.” I said as I jumped, phone in hand, facing my face and the ground.
“Damn you all.”
Splat.
Before I begin, I’d like to say I’m not ashamed in any way. They deserved it, and it’s done wonders for the restaurant I’m a head chef in.
Allow me to explain.
About a month ago, my sister, my wonderful, wonderful sister, was kidnapped. We were called by the kidnapper with a ransom of 3,000,000 dollars. We didn’t have the money, so obviously, as a kidnapper would do, he sent us a video of him shooting her dead. And in turn, as a big brother would do, I found his house and murdered him, turning him into fillet o kidnapper. I’m not joking.
I brought it into work the next day and fed it to a critic; because who wouldn’t? After all, as head chef, no one would question me!
The critic loved it, apparently, and I was asked again and again to make it. Thankfully, there are a lot more kidnappers, and molesters, and just downright horrible people in this horrible excuse for a world.
And so I cooked.
Deep. Deep. Deep. That was all I could think as water swirled around me. My lungs felt like exploding. I had already surrendered on flailing a few seconds ago, settling for floating. Down. Down. Down. I couldn’t see anything anymore. No light, no laughing faces as my campmates thought I was a breath-holding champion, nothing. I had boastfully claimed that I could swim back up with a brick tied to my back, and the girl I had tried to impress so bashfully told me to do it. It was obvious it was a joke, but my heart told me to do it. Not my brain. Not my reason. My heart. That was my fatal mistake. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My eyes started to hurt. My lungs were on the point of bursting. I had to breathe. BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE. I made a desperate attempt to untie my brick, but to no avail. I was basically dead. My cat. My mom. My dad. My sister. I’d never see them again.
I closed my eyes, and I prayed. ‘God, forgive my sins. Let me be with Your Son Jesus in paradise.’
And then I took a breath.
Deep. Deep. Deep.
I have one more story of this, so I made one more entry//
I really want to be a writer! Like J.R.R Tolkien, or Rick Riordan! Making stories is so much fun…
My friend said my stories are great! It’s only 11,000 characters… Well, I mean, not including spaces! Yay! I’m a writer!!
I’d love to be a writer. One who opens worlds for others. Someone who makes universes out of words is who I want to be!
My neighbor/best friend said she was inspired by my writing, and she wants to write now! I’m so proud of her. I love her stories.
I like writing! Even if my eyes hurt… I have 20 short stories now! I’m so happy!
My best friend made other friends who want to write too. They’re forcing me to write for them since they think I’m good. I’m so tired. Just let me focus on my novel. She told me to write a full-length story based on our ocs from Soman Chainani’s ‘School of Good and Evil’. Does she think it’s that easy? Can’t she do it herself? Doesn’t she know I’m my own author? I’m not her ghostwriter.
I guess writing is fun. Not when people make me do it. I like writing though.
…But do I really want to be a writer?
I really want to be an Architect! The buildings are so beautiful. I want to make my own!
My classmate said girls can’t be Architects. They can only be princesses. Is that true? Why can’t I make my own pretty buildings?
I want to be an Architect. I want to build the biggest tower in the world right here in Bicol! I’m going to make my whole family houses!
My teacher said I’m too ambitious. Why can’t I dream big? I just want to make houses.
I want to be an Architect! I found this game called Minecraft, it helps me design. I’ve made so many houses! Nothing can stop me!
My mom said it’s hard. She says I’m no good at drawing. Why does that matter?
I want to be an Architect.. But everyone says I can’t do it. I want to build homes. I want to help people without shelter. But after so much doubt…
…Do I really want to become an Architect?
A man was in the rain in front of my house. I never saw him in my neighborhood, so I called out to him.
“How can I help you, sir?”
He looked up at me, and I saw his face. It had been covered with a cloth from the mouth down, and his head was irregularly shaped. His eyes were dull, shaped similarly to a moon. Except, of course, the moon had no light on it, and was significantly darker. I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Who was this? Why was he in my neighborhood? More importantly… Why was he walking toward my house?
“Sir, this is private property, I’ll have to ask you to- to get off.” My voice wavered, as he kept on walking.
He disappeared into my porch, and my face paled. I locked my door tightly, along with my window. Moments later, I heard steps on the stairs. One knock. Two knock. Three knock. And then nothing.
I stayed in my room that night. But I woke up to a small stomping noise. My eyes blinked open, and I saw two hollow eyes, standing above me. I screamed loudly.
And then I was gone.
*This is my first ever poem :)
When does a lover become a fighter? When does joy become grief? When does love become hatred? When does anger become acceptance?
When does a man mature? Is it when he first works, Or is it when he takes responsibility of faults? When does he truly grow?
When does a boy, full of hatred and grief, become a man? When does a man realize the mistakes made to him? When does a man take action?
When does a man become a monster?
Lilith Greengrass was a young girl, just like many of you. She had dreams; she had goals. Everyday she would help her father, Jason Greengrass, at the farm they owned. Everyday, she would pluck the weeds, check the crops, water the crops, feed the cows, feed the chickens, and more. But every time she did, her father would warn her sternly. “Do not venture past the fence line— I will take care of that.” There was a fence at the edge of the cornfield, leading into more fields full of strawberries and more. She usually would have obeyed her father, as she was an obedient daughter. However, today was an exception. Her faithful dog, Bucky, had barked at the fence, and ran through. She yelled after him, and started to chase him while laughing. By the time she reached the fence, Bucky had already passed it.
“Bucky!” Lilith called, looking at the fence. It was painted red, and smelled rather strange. Bucky continued to sniff around before looking up at her. “Oh, Bucky, you know da will get mad at us!” She scolded her dog. She hesitated, but walked past the fence. Bucky walked closer to her, before yelping suddenly and disappearing. “Bucky!” She yelled, running faster to where she saw Bucky. There he was, on the ground, whimpering. “Bucky, what’s wrong-?” She screamed suddenly as she was brought down as well. Something… Something invisible. Something was pulling her down. What it was? By God, if she knew, she wouldn’t be dead now. “Bucky!” She yelled as she looked at her dog, who was now closer to the ground. “DAD! DAD!” She screamed. No one could hear her- she was too far. Bucky was suddenly pulled beneath the Earth, and seconds later came back up. Dead. Lilith screamed. “Bucky!” She cried, touching his head. Suddenly she felt a tug at her leg. She screamed. And then she was under.
Under the ground, Lilith could feel something touching her. Worms, hands, ants, who knows what. She could feel everything; the pain, the panic, and the feeling of being unable to breathe. And, well, the latter was of course because she couldn’t breathe at all. Her screams came our muffled, as her skin felt as thought it was being torn off, ripped right off the muscle. She closed her eyes, and a moment later, she returned to the surface. But by then, her body was practically dead. Her mind knew it was alive; but her body would no longer react. Her heart was not beating, neither was she breathing. She looked at the sun as her arms laid out in the muddy grass. She let out a small croak, before she felt something in her leg. Something was moving inside. At this point, she could no longer do anything. Something was wiggling in her leg. She grimaced.
Days later, her father, Jason, had filed a missing persons report. But after a while, he realized he hadn’t checked on his ‘childhood project’ in quite a while. It was quite good at decomposing dead cows and chickens. He walked past the fence, and stopped. A hand. He saw a hand wearing a golden bracelet, and a black and white dog by her side. He screamed and fell to his knees in despair. His daughter and his dog were dead. He should have never tried this. He should have known it wouldn’t work.
That was when he felt a slight tugging at his leg.