I opened the door to my bathroom, and the small creak of the old wooden door could be heard. Now that I'm thinking about it, my house could probably be in a museum. I'm not even sure how my parents got their hands on this house; it feels like an old antique store. The entire house has the same dusty, musty feel to it. Anyone visiting could easily spot the mold markings on the wooden floor, not jus... » Continue Reading
Dread—my life has been reduced to one single word: dread. From the very day of my birth until this very moment, I have been plagued by an overwhelming sense of dread. How did my life spiral into this state? Why have I found myself committing such heinous crimes? It all seems inexplicable. There was no discernible reason for me to have carried out those terrible acts. None at all. So, why did I d... » Continue Reading