Darkness

Just like any four or five year old kid, you would always get afraid of the dark. You would scream and shout when the lights go out. You would shiver and tremble of the sounds when the trees would scramble, and you would hide like a rat from turbulent storms. When you grow up, you forget those problems, and you would sleep in the clouds like any other teenager, but for me, I still have those problems.
 I’m not as scared as I was before (because I used to be terrified by the sight of darkness,) today, for me, darkness means something else- gruesome, despicable and electrifying.

But with a bit of light, It can wash it all away. When I was young I would think light was supposed to disintegrate vampires, burn lost souls and keep zombies away from my room (I still hate zombies, just from thinking about them walking around the city with me as the only survivor freaks me out.) But the real reason that the light is there. It’s to shine my night. And I still do it today, now the light is not only to shine my night but it’s also there for me to read at night. Instead of my just reading a bit and forcing me to read, I just read till I fall asleep.

I washed my hands

Because

I was frightened.

Because.

I could feel the bug’s, slowly crawling in my hand.

Because.

I was shaking in fear

Because.

I have touched the floor.

My hands brought me to the sink. Like they were my masters.

The masters made me turn the tab. So they can wash their troubles away.

I felt better, safer, and Healthier.

The steam of the hot water blew onto my face, while it drowned and burned the bugs off my hands.

Since that day on, every time I would touch something despicable, my furious masters would make me wash them.

It was like this nonstop, I would be exhausting.

I would take hours and hours of precious time washing my hands.

I was their slaves, not to be able to do touch anything.

Until one day.

I decided to stop.

My hands were dying.

I had just touched a part of my wall.

They were begging me.

Making me wash them.

But all I did.

Was ignore them.

Then they died.

I was free!

Then I had never washed my hands, only when I’m supposed to.

Not when I’m forced to.

The Scream In The Night

the witness point of view




It was late at night; I was reading “Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of the Crypt”. I was falling asleep; almost ready to close my eyes and enter the magical world of dreams. Suddenly, the gruesome scream of my next door neighbor electrified me in many ways. What happened? Was it a murderer? Was it a cry of a cat? Would it come after me? So many questions flying across my head. But the main one that caught my attention was; is he alright? I surmise that it was just a heart attack, but the sound was so real; I wasn’t sure if I was right.



I made a cursory search for my black coat and made my way out of the door ; at about 3 a clock at night, alone, clad in a my favorite coat, running to corroborate the scream. I tip toed gingerly towards the old man’s house like a black knight. the room was so dark I could'int derive what I was seeing, I chould only see  gruesome shadow standing next to the showdow was a man in the bed, sleeping with a dark pillow on top of him, he had succumbed. I ran as fast as I could to the nearest police station, leaving tears everywhere as I ran.

When I got there, I was completely dehydrated, I could feel the abrasion on my throat from breathing hard. I told the story to the police man, and I could see they were trying to corroborate it. I talked, almost out of breath; I told them that I had derived who the mysterious shadow was-- my psycho friend who would always stare at the old man’s eye, and grimace as if he wanted to take it away, he stared at the eye like he was a mad man. It was four o'clock at night, I made an endeavor attemped to build up courage, but I finally magaed to show them the house. I hid myself  close to the window, so I could see what was going on. I was confused, they were talking! he had brought chairs and everything and they were having a nice little chat.I chouldint belive it, they were having fun while I stand here, scared to death, dehydrated  to know what will happen next. But then I realized something, we was getting pale. VERY pale. he started to talk faster, looking down at every word. Then it happend. He lifted his chair and strugled to take out one of the planks. I fell down when I heard, "Villans!", "dissemble no more!" I admit the deed! here, here, it is the beating of this hideous heart!" And then I knew. I knew I was right

My first kiss

My first kiss


I had never experienced this in my life. It’s a disgusting and horrible story to tell. But here it is. I was 5 to 6 years old. I had just come back from my amazing trip to Las Vegas. One of my friends (who was a girl), would always come after me, and hug me to death. Many kids at that time used to think that me and jannel (that was her name) used to love each other. Well. Maybe she did, but I didn’t, because for me, she was just a big fat ugly lady (even though we were friends). So one day, when recess was over, when we all went to class.

I was getting to the door, when suddenly, I feel a light push behind me, and I find my lips. Touching. The soft and squishy of another, it was her. I don’t remember her reaction after that, all I could hear was the sound of laughter of the kids around us, and me, trying to take that awful saliva taste off my mouth. It was awful. Beside all of the laughter, I couldn’t take imagined that I kissed a fat person! I rather kiss a cute girl as my first kiss instead of having that thing for it. Then, saw him, the person who caused all of this, my worst enemy. John. Standing, pointing, making fun of me. Now he’s still my worst enemy, but I’m glad that his far, far away from here, in the small island. Of the Bahamas.

my new life

I was 3 years old, Sao Paulo, Brazil, coming back from a great day at school. I used to love school. Three years old, no home work, only a full day playing with your best friends, with no tests and nothing to get worried about. I also liked Brazil; I always used to think it was the best place in the world, with no problems and that every day was a good day. But it all changed, the time I got home. My mom got a call from my dad, as usual; I would just ignore it and keep doing what I was doing. But this time, it was important.


My mom came in the room with a sad look at her face. I was worried, I thought somebody got injured or DIED or something, but I was wrong. She looked at me, “Danny”, she said, “Were going to live in the Bahamas”. From that point my life changed forever. This meant I had to make new friends, learn a new language, and might mean more work. I felt sick, I never rode on an airplane before, and I almost never left my house. I was going to miss all of this, my life was over, I was done. I’m moving to an island, one that nobody even knows about, this was excrutienting for me.

It was the last day, I said bye to my friends, by to my home, and bye to my whole life. We left a day after my birthday. The airport was amazing. I never saw anything like it. There were planes everywhere, and there were lots of places to eat too. We finally got on, it was like a big straight hallway, filled with chair. But was surprised me the most was that there were even TV’s on the plane. This was the life. When we got there, it was like a paradise. There were beaches on every part of the island, no more 8 hour drive to the nearest beach. And our house was amazing, it was big, and the beach was just like 2 steps away.

I never saw a place like this. At school, I didn’t know how to say a WORD in English. So I pretty much just walked around saying hi to everyone I saw. But as time passed by, I started to understand it more, and i could say new words like, what, where, here, this, that, and so on. I had a blast! I learned a new language, and now I could speak to anyone I see. Also I can also have a better future, because more job’s require English speaking people. And now, I’m not afraid to go to new places, like England, America, Canada, and now, panama! I love this new life, and I never want it change.

messed up words

Every time i wirte, it looks like it was hit by a hurricane. the words are all out of order. Some would be flying out of the line, but the others would be standing perfictly still.

Other words would look like it has been steped on over and over, making them all cracked up and out of place. Some words would even look like other words or even numbers. Some are just illegable.

This year I hope to work on my writing. When people look at my writing the always think about the oppisite about me, and it also makes them care even less about my stories, when they see it. to prove it, just look at one of my sotries on my book, and you'll see all thouse flying, borken up, small little words.