The Zodiac Killer

These days, I've been really interested in the psychology of serial killers. The Zodiac Killer is a cold case from around the time of Ted Bundy. He took many lives but left ciphers for the police at every crime scene. It was almost like this was a game to him. He demanded that the ciphers be published in the newspapers the following day, or he threatened more killings. His ciphers have still never been cracked. 

 The Zodiac Killer 

I laughed at their vain attempts,

Blindly groping through the darkness,

Through the night I crept,

Taking lives while making my own,

To this day, I remain unknown.

I was winning at this crooked game,

They writhed in pain and begged for answers,

I should be feeling nothing but shame,

But I couldn’t suppress my joy,

While watching the blood run down my sharp, silver toy.

No handcuff encircled my wrists,

Though I’m easy to catch,

They’ll look the other way,

As I disappear into the mist.

Real life haunted house

 I pass this house every day on the way to school. I hope you enjoy the story. 😈

Every tree around the house was pointed inward, towards it. It was on a road in the countryside that was seldom used. The door was battered and worn out. It had scratches decorating the outside, and a large chunk of wood was missing. The door’s dark shade stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house, which was once a marvelous magenta reduced to a faint cream hue. An old, blue semi-truck stood in its driveway, with two of its tires missing. The second floor of the house had two windows, each covered with overgrown poison oak. I'm sure the place was beautiful in its time, but now, it looked straight out of a horror movie

It was a Tuesday and rain was slowly misting down. It drooled down my bus window from ominous clouds that surely preceded a dangerous storm. Our bus had managed to catch every red light that day. 

I sighed as I pulled an earbud from my ear to listen to the crawling drizzle and winced as the first crack of thunder shook the sky. We screeched to a stop at the fifth red light we had encountered today. My eyes aimlessly drifted toward the structure that seemed to be waiting for me. I see it almost every day, yet today the house seemed particularly chilling. Something was different about it. 

I soon realized the reason for this notion. One of the windows on the top floor was emitting a strange glow. A yellowish light was coming out of the room. Something moved inside. I craned my neck to get a better look and instantly regretted doing that. A dark figure was stationary in front of the glass. I couldn't quite make it out but it seemed human.

As the traffic light turned green and we drove away. I could swear I heard a screechy laugh, lost in the wind.

Skellig review

 Recently, I read a book called Skellig by David Almond. This book is realistic with a touch of fantasy. 

The story starts with Micheal, a ten-year-old boy who just moved to a new house. Micheal's baby sister is very sick and they moved so she would have better access to a doctor. Their new house is crumbly and seems like it could fall down with one touch. Micheal ventures into the dark and dusty garage and finds a mysterious being down there. Together, Micheal and his new friend Mina sought to help the creature. 

I really enjoyed reading this book because this is one of the few books I've seen that starts off like realistic fiction and slowly morphs into fantasy at the end. This book isn't a thriller or unputdownable but it is short and sweet. 

I would describe this book as a break from all the adrenaline that reading a full fantasy creates. I would definitely rate this book a 5/5. 

Where do I start? A poem about writer's block

Where do I start?

Thousands of thoughts are running through my mind,

While I'm working on this art,

It feels like options make me more confined,

Where do I start?

Do I write about the luminous night,

Where there's a tale therein

Or about a bird that's just taken flight,

How, oh, how do I begin?

I play it off as good ole' writer's block,

But I've had it for a long time

There's a story inside which I have unlock,

Wen can I begin my climb

How, where, and when do I begin,

I'm back to where I started 

In an incomprehensible labyrinth,

That I still haven't out-smarted.

I'm at the dead end of a maze,

Oh the places I've been,

But something has changed in these many days,

And now, finally, I know where to begin

Hunger

Hunger

A man was astray on a cold winter night. 

He had to come out for food that had to be given to his poor hungry children. 

He couldn't bear to look at them with those cold and dead eyes. 

Their stomachs were small. 

Their faces were hollow. 

Their once-chubby cheeks had sunken into nothingness. 

His whole family was hungry but his children suffered most.

 I just hope he gets food for his children and himself.

The Salem Witch Trials

 They wander through the world in the form of humans... they can turn you into a doorknob if you get on the wrong side of them. But who are these terrifying enchantresses?

Witches are known to be ancient harbingers of doom. They have always been feared and this fear came to a tipping point in the 1600s in Salem, (colonial) Masechutes. At that time, hundreds of innocent people were accused and executed for practicing witchcraft. 

Tensions began to rise in Salem when two little girls started having strange fits at home. A doctor thought it was the devil's work so they started accusing people of being under the influence of Satin. Mostly, the people accused were "outcasts" of the Purtian soiceity. 
And thus started the craziest witch hunt ever done. 

Many innocent people were hung and a couple were even burned to death, all because they plead their case of not being a Satinist.

A memorial in Salem was made for the people who lost their lives to the paranoia and irrational fear that the Purtians had.

Drowning: A poem about what we are doing to the sea

Hi! This is a new poem that my friend and I came up with. This is a SLAM poem, meaning that it is meant to be performed. 

 Drowning

Drowning on land, as the tide runs too close, 

The abyss of the ocean engulfs the shore,

Deep inland, the sea breeze blows,

The ocean creeps quietly, easy to ignore,

Mankind, blinded by their pointless affairs,

Don’t notice the sea sneaking in,

Until it comes and takes the land that the people thought was theirs.

An island of trash drifts on the beautiful, briny blue, 

It floats with the waves, up and down, a display of damage we couldn’t subdue,

It traps the creatures of the deep in its waste,

The giants of the ocean choke on something so minuscule it could’ve been misplaced,

Drowning in their home, the animals gasp for a breath,

A small mistake, that can be fixed, could inevitably lead to their death.

Blue turned to a black web, spreading across the deep,

The tainted water unfurls, deep into the sea,

Leaving the creatures forever asleep,

Succumbing to something that can be so simply solved,

Their home turned dark from an act so small,

Their habitat dying from an oil haul,

Drowning in the depths of the Stygian sea,

This is their last and final plea.

 Entangled in the nets, entwined with the rope,

A perfect reason to give up all hope,

Plucked from the ocean, from their sapphire expanse,

They could have had a wonderful life if only we gave them the chance. 

Drowning in the ties, the cuffs of the traps, 

Drowning in their home, the animals gasp for a breath,

Drowning on land, as the tide runs too close, 

Drowning in the depths of the Stygian sea.

Drowning