Category: Junior Literary

This is another continuation of my series The Radiated Zone

Day 68- Ok so I want to cry the team landed and the creature immediately slaughtered them the second they pulled out weaponry. I am starting to think that I should leave this base. Not to become some weird sacrifice hopefully but because number one I have no food other than a low supply of military grade MRE’s and the fact that for some call of the wild shit I don’t think this human mass will hurt me. I’ve been analyzing it and pouring over any books about cryptids or strange and unnatural things. I am now eternally grateful to Danny and his weird obsession for these types of things otherwise I’d have no fucking idea what I’m dealing with. He was a cunt that made fun of me for praying but now that I’ve found his book on Lucifer and small alter, I get it he was just projecting sadly. But other than that terrifying book I think these people are just angry because their death was unjustified because none of my co-workers respected them none of them but me.  

Day 70- So, taking down barriers is very confusing and so fucking loud for no reason. So, the human mass saw or heard me immediately! It was terrifying to see dead people ranging from twelve to twenty lurching towards you. I just played in my head what all those creepy ass books had said it said to play it cool, so I walked towards it while trying not to piss myself out of fear. And just like that it slowed immediately it was like it understood I was a scrawny unarmed five, six man. They made sounds at me it was very uncomforting, but I could tell they were just trying to communicate with me. So, I did what any sane person would do of course and started crying. I hate my stupid empathy, I can’t help it, and Charles, and they were right, I cry at everything. I couldn’t help it though they looked so sad and desperate once I got done crying, I pulled my notepad out of the pockets of my hazmat suit and laid it out in front of them along with my stupid sparkly pen that at least the kids took delight in.  

Day 73- “find a cure for the poison that plagues us” is what they wrote which is only slightly terrifying. I understand what they want now though and that is all that is necessary to know. Macy was who oversaw working with radiation poisoning and trying to find some sort of cure. I’m sure if I read her logs, I will be able to pick up where she left off or find something? 

I remember going on a boat for the first time. The sun was barely over the horizon when we got all packed up to leave for the adventure, my eyes still crusted shut from the lack of sleep I had received the night before. My dad handed me an ice-cold chocolate milk which woke up my vocal cords, allowing me to speak and ask a million questions—bad choice on his part. My 4-year-old brain was scattered as I was concerned about how fast the boat would go or how deep the water would be. My brother, who is not much older than me, was not worried. He asked me to be quiet many times, and I happily told him no. I waited for my dad to answer all the questions that kept pouring out of my mouth rapidly. It was just us three in the car since my mom was at work like usual. We met up with my godparents who had the boat and they surprised my brother and me with our fishing poles. Mine was pink with princesses on it and my brother’s was red with Lightning Mcqueen. I was secretly jealous of him because I was not a fan of princesses, instead, I loved Cars and Toy Story just like he did. 

We eventually made it to the boat launch where we had to carefully back the boat into the water.  My dad and godfather loaded the boat with ice chests and supplies while my godmother put lifejackets on my brother and me to ensure our safety. I was terrified at first, but I soon got used to the rocking of the boat. That was until my godfather started driving. I remember screaming because we went “too fast” for me. I was taught how to cast a line and the basics of fishing. I never caught anything but the feeling of throwing the line over my head was so exhilarating. By the time lunch rolled around, my small stomach began to roar with hunger. I remember eating ham and cheese sandwiches while sitting toward the back of the small boat with my dad. We relaxed while my older brother was pretending to be the captain. While I had not caught anything that fishing trip, my godfather did catch some trout that we took home and he fried for dinner. When we eventually did get back home that night and the adults were cooking, my older brother and I took our fishing poles to the small dinghy in the yard. We practiced casting our lines and fishing until dinner time.

I am a horror enthusiast. I have been ever since I was young. Things that scared me ultimately lured me in. The elements of mystery and fear piqued my interest. When I was young, I would purposefully watch scary movies, but if it became too much I would hold my hand in front of the screen so I could only see parts of it. I would pick scary books to read, but I would have to read a few words at a time before putting the book down for a few seconds. 

I don’t know where this initial love of being scared came from. Growing up, I was always afraid. I lived in constant fear. When I lived in Indonesia, I lived in a relatively dangerous place, I was left alone with sketchy adults and I am just now realizing how awful that sounds. 

I’ve always been afraid of being alone. When I lived in Indonesia, I had my own bedroom, but it was always empty because I refused to sleep alone, even if it was just a few feet away from my dad. So he built me a little tent on my side of the bed we shared, the side closest to the wall. I remember having a terrible nightmare where I came home and a zombie McDonalds worker (I’m so serious) jumped out of the bathroom at me. You know the thing where you can’t run in your dreams? That started happening to me, so I had to crawl away but the rug I was crawling on kept moving with me so I was going nowhere. I called out to my dad and he didn’t do anything to help. That was before I could differentiate dreams from reality so when I woke up, I was really angry at him and never told him why because I thought it was real. I still feel bad for that – I should’ve told him. It’s really funny to look back on that now, though.

When I moved to America, I felt safe for the first time. I actually lived in a house, I finally had friends and trusted adults around me, I had 3 meals a day promised to me. This was such a stark contrast to everything I had known, the fear that I had grown so familiar with. I started having terrible nightmares almost every night. I don’t remember any of these, but my great aunt would always ask me if I remembered. I would hide under the bed and wouldn’t come out. I would wake up screaming and crying in the middle of the night. I would claim to see things that no one else could see. I don’t remember any of this but my great aunt would tell me these things and I would keep repeating “I don’t remember doing that.”

When we moved houses, things seemed fine. I still slept with my dad, but the nightmares fizzled out. Then, I got my own bedroom. It was cute and pink and I had all of my stuffed animals in there and a bed crown with a curtain! I wonder where that thing went because I miss it. Anyways, things started to look up. I was able to sleep on my own (at the ripe age of 6) and I wasn’t having nightmares. I was content and happy for once. Then I started developing insomnia. I would lay awake in bed for hours in a dimly lit, completely silent room all alone. To combat this, my great aunt gave me a bulky radio to put on my tiny little nightstand because she knew I loved music. We’d set it on the pop music station and it didn’t really work, but it definitely cheered me up. Now, I would just sit in a dimly lit room all alone with Timber by Pitbull and Kesha playing in the background. It got to a point where I would memorize all of the commercials that would play on the radio. Then I started seeing shapes in the shadows of my room. Not like an insane creepy way, in a way like when you see shapes in the clouds. Sometimes these shapes would scare me though and I would start crying. 

Eventually, I had the worst nightmare that an 8 year old could ever conjure that I still think of to this day. It started off as if it was a point and click adventure game. I didn’t see any arrows or a mouse or anything like that but the way the point of view moved so slowly and robotically, that was the only way I could describe it. The nightmare started off with me entering the house and walking straight to my room, again, like a point and click game. Then I opened the door to my bedroom and it was literally filled with a bunch of dead bodies. It feels kind of silly talking about this now after so many years but imagine a scared little 8 year old having this nightmare while sleeping in that very bedroom. There wasn’t a single surface that wasn’t covered in blood or corpses. The point of view went into the room and to my connected bathroom and there were even more bodies in there. I hope to never relive that memory or feel that kind of fear again in my life. After that, I refused to even go in my room for 2 years and it was a rough process of getting me to sleep alone again.

I meant to focus this blog on my love for the horror genre but I felt like it was important to explain my history with the feeling of fear and why I love it so much now as a 16 year old. 

I don’t remember the last time I’ve had a nightmare (knock on wood) and I’m so grateful for that. Nightmares are literally the worst thing imaginable. Being at complete mercy of the horrors your brain has created until your body decides to wake you up again is a terrifying idea.

As I’ve mentioned, I loved horror as a little girl. I watched scary movies, read scary stories, watched other people play scary games because I couldn’t. It’s no surprise that I haven’t changed. Horror is my favorite genre in everything. Movies, shows, books, Tik Toks, …Pinterest??? Yeah, I have a horror board on Pinterest and then I get upset when I’m jump scared on my feed when I’m looking for craft projects at 2 AM – nothing new. 

One thing that is still also present in 16 year old me now, is the fact that I don’t like to be alone. Typing this out now has made me realize that I have not changed much from the scared, sad little girl I used to be. I still love scary things and I’m still afraid of being alone. I’ve just gotten a little bit taller. And hopefully a little bit prettier and skinnier.

I still like horror, but I like to have someone there with me. I don’t like to enjoy horror content by myself so I would rather have someone tell me the story along with their input and opinions and how they enjoyed it. Some people might think that’s silly or lazy, even. I’ll admit, it’s not something I’m proud of but it’s true and that’s okay. This blog was meant to talk about how I had a void in my enjoyment of horror. Most things I was interested in as a kid never really connected to me specifically. I couldn’t find anything that really resonated with me and I think that’s what makes an amazing story. Obviously, it resonated with other people – just not me and that’s perfectly fine. 

A few years after I decided I wanted to be an author in the 6th grade, I wondered about what I wanted to write. I knew I could write whatever genre felt right for the story, but that just didn’t feel right. I wanted something I would be known for. I wanted something I knew I would enjoy, and something other people would enjoy. I thought about my childhood and how much I loved horror, but I felt like there was a void in what I really found joy in. I remember reading this series in the 4th grade called “You’re Invited to a Creepover” but I just remembered it as “Creepover.” It was basically scary stories about/for young girls. I loved that series. I felt like I could relate to it, I found joy in the stories and they were also really scary to me.

That’s exactly what I wanted to make as an author. Horror stories for weird teenage girls. Horror stories that will embrace femininity and make real people, real young girls, feel like they’ve been heard. I want teenage girls to find something that they enjoy rather than just having to deal with creative media created by boys for boys. Of course, horror should be for everyone. But growing up, I never had an outlet that represents my femininity and love for scary things and that’s what I want to be for teenage girls. I want to grow into a creative idol that younger me would adore.

In my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I did theatre. My old school had a Dramatic criticism class where we acted and memorized speeches for a grade. I loved it. At first, I was skeptical about public speaking and memorizing speeches or essays that went as long as 5 pages, then saying it out loud. It sounded like it was too much. But really, some of my best lessons were in my drama class. I learned how to deal with showtime anxiety, how to analyze essays/plays/speeches to deliver lines with emotion, and I learned more about my individual memorization process. It was nice. We studied plays like Hamilton, New summer jersey and Romeo & Juliet. But my favorite play was called The Show that Goes Wrong. My drama teacher introduced it to us near the end of the semester, when we weren’t doing anything related to theatre and I still watch it sometimes.

The Show that Goes Wrong is a show that has purposeful tech problems and line complications. It includes any thinkable mistakes that can happen in a show. The main protagonists, an expecting couple, are taken on a house tour without knowing the house is haunted with ghosts. As the husband and wife notice that something strange is going on, the wife’s belly pops to reveal a red balloon. The actors all share an abrupt pause before they continue, which is my fav part. Another one of my favorite scenes is when the angry ghost comes through a hidden door to pay the couple a visit. The ghost is on a stair lift that transports it up and down the stairs because ghosts can’t walk. After the ghost scares the couple, it encounters a visible malfunction with the stair lift and literally stands up to push the stairlift up the stairs. Meanwhile, the whole cast must visibly ignore the scene and continue to the next part of the play.

                What I think makes this play more entertaining and memorable than any other is the look on the actor’s face when something goes wrong. I know they probably rehearse it along with the other mistakes, but the effort of conveying shock/struggle is so funny. And it feels real in this show. If I didn’t have any background about the play, then I would’ve believed the mistakes were real. And it teaches us to embrace our mistakes and find humor in them. Theatre is kind of brutal when you approach it with such a frigid mentality.

Anyways, this is my favorite show and I’m so glad I remembered to blog about it.

This is a show I started watching around January or February of this year. I had heard about it so many times on the internet and because of being such an iconic show. I knew slightly what it was about. Old guy cooks meth with some younger guy and lives a double life. Thats about all I knew before watching it. It wasn’t until I started watching it that I found out that it’s so much more than that.

It starts off introducing the main character and his life. He lives a normal life with his family. But, due to a shortage on money, he takes up the mantle of the best meth cook past the border of Mexico. He does this job with an old student of his that went down a very bad path in life. The show if full of suspense and thrilling missions and always kept me on the edge of the seat. It was really fast paced for the first two seasons. I was hooked to the show. I could not stop watching because I had to know what was going to happen next. It seemed really realistic and well written.

Near the end of season three, the show does slow down a lot and takes a little bit to pick up again. This is the moment where I find that many people lose interest in the show and abandon it for a while. That is something that I did too. Eventually, I went back to the show to finish it. I didn’t have much left, so I finished it up pretty fast. I am so glad I made that decision, because now I can call that show one of my favorite shows of all time.

The last two seasons do pick up the pace again and really help you see how twisted the characters have become and how much better some have become since the beginning of the show. The ending was really unique, sad, and amazing all at the same time. I felt like that was a very appropriate ending to the show. Some may be upset by it, but I feel as if it really made sense for how the story went.

I really enjoyed watching this and I definitely will be getting into the spin-off shows shortly. I recommend this show to anybody who hasn’t watched it yet. It may seem like a basic recommendation, but there is a reason people always recommend it.

For those who know what the term “Inpatient” means I today will be discussing my experiences while in facilities. For those who do not know what inpatient means it is when someone goes into a facility to hold them due to their mental health. I was one of those individuals and today I am going to speak on my experiences as inpatient facilities and how they are run are often overlooked.

The first time I was admitted to a facility I couldn’t have been older than eleven. I remember being terrified as I was worried what the room, I was put in would be like, how the staff would treat me, and most importantly how the other patients would act. I failed to realize that I would end up being one of the most out of it patients there and wouldn’t have much to fear. The facility I stayed at is part of UMMC and it is known as 3 Circle and is only for adolescents twelve and under. There I had a small room with hospital grade sheets and one pillow which felt similar to concrete. I honestly got no help there other than the different medicines they tried on me. I also was introduced to psychiatrists there and doctors who made me realize in the medical world some people view others as only a test rat and a statistic. At a very young age I was told I would never be able to hold down a job, have a family, or ever be successful. As many can see that is not true as I am now at an art school writing for the world to see. This however would not be my last encounter with doctors and psychiatrists like this and it would be far from my last time being hospitalized and having to stay in facilities.

My second stay in a facility was when I was around twelve to thirteen it’s hard to remember exact dates and ages from that part of my life. I was admitted to UMMC first due to some of my symptoms that had started to manifest at a rate quicker than which my medicine could keep up with.  I was told then that I had aged out of three circle and now would need to go inpatient somewhere else. I then was admitted to the place that I would go on to visit two more times. Also known as Brentwood. My first stay there was when I truly had my eyes opened to others struggles and when I also learned how bad my condition truly was. I was put on a concoction of different medications which only dug my grave deeper. All the while though I learned the stories of other patients. I learned that CPS is a cruel and twisted system I learned social workers could make or break a child’s life. I learned the world is not white and black and there are many individuals who no matter how hard they try the world is just not on their side. I stayed in Brentwood for fourteen days and my psychiatrist tried to send me to a long-term facility and told me daily that my illness wasn’t real and that I was simply faking. I then learned how powerful mania is and that you should not tell a drugged up thirteen-year-old girl she is faking symptoms. That led me to get my first “dog shot” and be put in a solitary room with only a small window to provide light. I learned that day what true dehumanization was.

My second stay was at most two months later. I had overdosed and was a threat to myself and others. By now I was severely overweight due to the medications I was on and running off of adrenaline and mania all the time. I had no been inpatient for even a week when I decided to pull the fire alarm in order to unlock all of the facility’s doors. Fun fact there is a huge wooden fence which surrounds Brentwood. So, I truly did not get far before I was manhandled back inside and given a shot to “mellow me out” and also thrown into the solitary room once again to prevent me from further escapes.

My third time in Brentwood was the first time I can truly say I got better. I was put with a different psychiatrist and luckily, he was one who listened. He put me on different medications that truly helped and kept a close eye on any side effects they had on me. Of course, like many inpatient psychiatrists he was not the nicest but all that mattered is that he got me on the right track. My most recent stay though I was subject to the most harassment I had ever delt with. Though harassment is sadly common in most inpatient facilities. But I have worked past it and accepted it is something that I can use to make myself stronger. Through all of this I have learned and recommend that absolutely no one unless in dire condition should go inpatient. Always try extensive therapy or outside psychiatrist because nine times out of ten if you land inpatient the only way they will help you is with medication. So, stay safe y’all! 

This year, Halloween is very different for me. Usually on this spooky holiday, I am surrounded by loved ones. We typically decorate cookies and gather around to watch horror movies. My favorite part is taking my younger brothers (4 & 7) Trick or Treating, all dressed in our costumes. Unfortunately this year, my family is spread apart. My older brother is 45 minutes away from my younger brothers and I am 2 hours and 52 minutes away from all of them. Instead of being upset about the distance, I’d rather reminisce on the times we were together for this holiday. 

When I was younger, I remember always wanting to match my older brother. Whether it was in first grade with the neon Nike shoes or our Halloween costumes, I always wanted to be like him. I eventually grew out of that because now I’m his biggest hater, yet his biggest supporter. We would have our costumes correlate so they weren’t exactly alike. One year we were both vampires, but we used different makeup and cloaks so we weren’t identical. Another year, we were Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. I remember wanting to be Woody, but that did not work in my favor. In the picture, I look a tad demonic. I was young and I had just thrown my purple glow stick, so cut young me some slack. I’ve noticed that matching is a common aspect among siblings who are close in age just by watching my younger brothers grow up. They do it as well when it comes to clothes and costumes. 

During Halloween time, we would bake cookies and decorate them. My mom had a collection of cookie cutters for all holidays. She also had a recipe for edible paint that we would use to color and decorate the cookies. I remember vividly one year watching Spookley the Square Pumpkin/other seasonal children’s movies and decorating these cookies. 

We had one neighborhood we would go to for Trick or Treating. It was very big and gave out tons of candy. The walking always wore me out by the end of the night but I always had fun with it. I remember getting scared by the inanimate decorations outside of people’s homes. A couple of years back, I got scared half to death by a man simply sitting in his chair handing out candy. I refused to walk up to him like a toddler (in my defense, he had terrifying makeup on that made him look like he was straight out of a horror film). Although I was 13, it was still embarrassingly frightening.

 I love Halloween (spooky season) and cannot wait for October 31st. This was a new type of blogging style, getting more personal. I enjoyed it a lot more than the other kinds that I have been doing, so expect a lot more 🙂