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Journal Entry #1
February 13th, 1998
Just want to jot down some thoughts today. This is the first entry in my brand new journal. A slick leather bound, I got for my birthday. Mercy wants to have me over for dinner to meet her parents. I don't know how I feel about it. I mean, I like her, and I don't mind being around her, but meeting her parents? Dinner? This all seems a bit serious. I can't say I am too excited. What I am excited about, Mercy got me a job down at the movie theater with her. I will be doing a bunch of different jobs, but most importantly, I will finally be getting paid. I start Monday.
Pokazywanie postów oznaczonych etykietą eng. Pokaż wszystkie posty
Pokazywanie postów oznaczonych etykietą eng. Pokaż wszystkie posty
10 paź 2015
29 lip 2015
Radio silence
36,400,000. That is the expected number of intelligent civilizations in our galaxy, according to Drake’s famous equation. For the last 78 years, we had been broadcasting everything about us – our radio, our television, our history, our greatest discoveries – to the rest of the galaxy. We had been shouting our existence at the top of our lungs to the rest of the universe, wondering if we were alone. 36 million civilizations, yet in almost a century of listening, we hadn’t heard a thing. We were alone.
That was, until about 5 minutes ago.
22 maj 2015
11 miles
Do you have something that you truly, relentlessly desire? Despite your state of life, is there something else that you would go completely to the end of the world to get? Well lucky for you, there's a way to achieve what you're looking for, and you won't need to go to the end of the world to get it. But you will need to go somewhere, and the place may be too out of reach for some. It's not far away, closer than one may believe but there're requirements that some individuals may not meet.
First, whatever it is that you seek, know that you must seriously desire what you want. In your eyes, it should be something you need. If you begin the journey without the correct state of mind, you will surely fail, as it will be near impossible to turn back once the journey starts. The second requirement is that you will need a vehicle of sorts. Most use a car, as it's the most comfortable choice. There have been a select few that have used small motorized vehicle, such as an ATV or motorcycle, but this has proven to be quite difficult, as the conditions of the journey can prove to be too bothersome.
First, whatever it is that you seek, know that you must seriously desire what you want. In your eyes, it should be something you need. If you begin the journey without the correct state of mind, you will surely fail, as it will be near impossible to turn back once the journey starts. The second requirement is that you will need a vehicle of sorts. Most use a car, as it's the most comfortable choice. There have been a select few that have used small motorized vehicle, such as an ATV or motorcycle, but this has proven to be quite difficult, as the conditions of the journey can prove to be too bothersome.
6 maj 2015
Pokémon Lost Silver
You see, I am a simple college student living alone in an apartment. I was very enthusiastic about the release of Pokémon HeartGold/SoulSilver here in the states. I have purposely locked myself out of all media and the Internet aside for school purposes. That means no 4chan, no /v/, no Bulbapedia, etc.
As I was busy with the school year and being poor at the time, I wasn't able to buy SoulSilver on its launch date. After my school year ended, I ordered SoulSilver on Amazon. However, it would take a week for it to arrive. I decided that during that time, I would replay my Crystal version on my Gameboy Color.
However, I realized that long ago, my mom threw it away because I told her the save went dead, and I was very upset about it then. She also threw away my Silver version, so all I have is my Gameboy Color. As such, I set out to Gamestop and bought a used Silver version, as it's the only Pokémon game left that they have for the GBC. Ten dollars – fairly cheap.
As I was busy with the school year and being poor at the time, I wasn't able to buy SoulSilver on its launch date. After my school year ended, I ordered SoulSilver on Amazon. However, it would take a week for it to arrive. I decided that during that time, I would replay my Crystal version on my Gameboy Color.
However, I realized that long ago, my mom threw it away because I told her the save went dead, and I was very upset about it then. She also threw away my Silver version, so all I have is my Gameboy Color. As such, I set out to Gamestop and bought a used Silver version, as it's the only Pokémon game left that they have for the GBC. Ten dollars – fairly cheap.
25 lut 2014
Abandoned by Disney
Some of you may have heard that the Disney corporation is responsible for at least one real, "live" Ghost Town.
Disney built the "Treasure Island" resort in Baker's Bay in the Bahamas. It didn't START as a ghost town! Disney's cruise ships would actually stop at the resort and leave tourists there to relax in luxury.
This is a FACT. Look it up.
Disney blew $30,000,000 on the place... yes, thirty million dollars.
Then they abandoned it.
Disney blamed the shallow waters (too shallow for their ships to safely operate) and there was even blame cast on the workers, saying that since they were from the Bahamas, they were too lazy to work a regular schedule.
That's where the factual nature of their story ends. It wasn't because of sand, and it obviously wasn't because "foreigners are lazy". Both are convenient excuses.
No, I sincerely doubt those reasons were legitimate. Why don't I buy the official story?
Because of Mowgli's Palace.
Disney built the "Treasure Island" resort in Baker's Bay in the Bahamas. It didn't START as a ghost town! Disney's cruise ships would actually stop at the resort and leave tourists there to relax in luxury.
This is a FACT. Look it up.
Disney blew $30,000,000 on the place... yes, thirty million dollars.
Then they abandoned it.
Disney blamed the shallow waters (too shallow for their ships to safely operate) and there was even blame cast on the workers, saying that since they were from the Bahamas, they were too lazy to work a regular schedule.
That's where the factual nature of their story ends. It wasn't because of sand, and it obviously wasn't because "foreigners are lazy". Both are convenient excuses.
No, I sincerely doubt those reasons were legitimate. Why don't I buy the official story?
Because of Mowgli's Palace.
23 paź 2013
The Showers
Every area in all parts of the world has those area-specific Urban Legends that just refuse to die. Whether the stories are about a haunted asylum on the outskirts of the city, a creature that lives in the nearby woods, or a ghost that haunts a lonely stretch of road outside of town, there is always a common thread within the tales; no one has ever been to these places, seen the creatures, or witnessed any hauntings with their own eyes.
There are members of every generation who will proclaim that they “know someone whose brother’s best friend’s sister went to that haunted house with thirteen floors that used real blood and snakes and spiders and is so scary that no one has ever made it all the way through.” Those same people will swear by these stories without ever being able to provide a shred of evidence or a name of someone who could provide proof of the claims simply because “everyone around here knows that it’s a true story. The storytellers eventually pass the tales onto their children, who modify them just enough to keep up with changing times, and the cycle continues.
There are members of every generation who will proclaim that they “know someone whose brother’s best friend’s sister went to that haunted house with thirteen floors that used real blood and snakes and spiders and is so scary that no one has ever made it all the way through.” Those same people will swear by these stories without ever being able to provide a shred of evidence or a name of someone who could provide proof of the claims simply because “everyone around here knows that it’s a true story. The storytellers eventually pass the tales onto their children, who modify them just enough to keep up with changing times, and the cycle continues.
3 paź 2013
Ash's coma
Have you ever noticed that the pacing, tone, and story development of Pokémon changes after Ash is hit by lightning in the early episodes? How Ash and his world are relatively normal until after that incident? I have a theory.
The accident with the bike put Ash into a coma. Days later, he was found and hurried to the hospital and treated with heavy medications. This is why Team Rocket became less menacing. The medication took effect and stabilized his coma dreams so that, instead of being terrifying, they became idyllic. They allowed him to live out his Pokémon Master fantasies.
After the beginning episodes, the series is the result of Ash’s subconscious mind fulfilling his desires as well as attempting to escape reality. Should Ash realize he’s in a coma, he would wake up and suffer brain damage, so he must take down all of his mental barriers one by one.
If he can do that, he can come to grips with who he is and escape his coma. Further evidence comes from the realization that even though his journeys take him vast distances, he never usually travels by bike due to having developed a phobia of them.
The accident with the bike put Ash into a coma. Days later, he was found and hurried to the hospital and treated with heavy medications. This is why Team Rocket became less menacing. The medication took effect and stabilized his coma dreams so that, instead of being terrifying, they became idyllic. They allowed him to live out his Pokémon Master fantasies.
After the beginning episodes, the series is the result of Ash’s subconscious mind fulfilling his desires as well as attempting to escape reality. Should Ash realize he’s in a coma, he would wake up and suffer brain damage, so he must take down all of his mental barriers one by one.
If he can do that, he can come to grips with who he is and escape his coma. Further evidence comes from the realization that even though his journeys take him vast distances, he never usually travels by bike due to having developed a phobia of them.
15 wrz 2013
22 sie 2013
Born dead
On my sixteenth birthday, just after I had blown out the candles on a fairy cake, my mother told me that I was born dead.
“I’m so happy that you made it,” she said.
I pulled the fork out of my mouth.
“What?”
“Oh,” she said. “I guess we never told you. If not for aunt Kirah you wouldn’t even have made it through your first day.”
Aunt Kirah. Nurse Kirah.
My mother’s contractions started in her lunch break, two months early. She was at the hospital twenty minutes later and another hour after that she pushed my head out of her body.
Like most babies, I didn’t breathe. The doctor gave me a light slap, like for all babies. Another light slap, like for some babies. Then a stronger slap.
“I’m so happy that you made it,” she said.
I pulled the fork out of my mouth.
“What?”
“Oh,” she said. “I guess we never told you. If not for aunt Kirah you wouldn’t even have made it through your first day.”
Aunt Kirah. Nurse Kirah.
My mother’s contractions started in her lunch break, two months early. She was at the hospital twenty minutes later and another hour after that she pushed my head out of her body.
Like most babies, I didn’t breathe. The doctor gave me a light slap, like for all babies. Another light slap, like for some babies. Then a stronger slap.
22 maj 2013
What is the deepest you have gone in the internet?
Everybody knows that if you surf the web long enough, you’ll see some pretty sick shit. This is especially true if you intentionally dwell into the dark underbelly of the internet. I’ve seen quite a few things I d on’t care to admit to, but one thing that I’ll always remember is a site called “normalpornfornormalpeople.com”. The first strange thing about the site was that I didn’t find it by actually looking for it. It was e-mailed to me by someone I didn’t know. The e-mail was as follows:
“Hi there found this site is very nice thought u might like normalpornfornormalpeople.com pass it on, for the good of mankind” Pretty standard issue chain letter, although the url and the last remark really piqued my curiosity. I was having a very boring day when I got this, so I made sure my anti-virus was working and then I clicked on it. It was a very average, very generic looking site. It gave the impression that the creators just BARELY gave a shit about making it look professional. The author seemed to have a very tenuous grasp on English, and on the front page was a long, boring, and incoherent rant that I don’t remember or have saved.
“Hi there found this site is very nice thought u might like normalpornfornormalpeople.com pass it on, for the good of mankind” Pretty standard issue chain letter, although the url and the last remark really piqued my curiosity. I was having a very boring day when I got this, so I made sure my anti-virus was working and then I clicked on it. It was a very average, very generic looking site. It gave the impression that the creators just BARELY gave a shit about making it look professional. The author seemed to have a very tenuous grasp on English, and on the front page was a long, boring, and incoherent rant that I don’t remember or have saved.
16 maj 2013
Minecraft stalker
I love playing Minecraft. I don’t join servers to play the RPGs, zombie survival games, or to build cities with friends – I like to just play on my own and explore infinitely unique terrain. So lately I’ve been trying to find a fortress and reach The End, and this means building satellite houses far away from my own to expand my search radius.
The second house I built is in a mountainous region covered in depressing bluish grass. One day I started killing a few cows for food in preparation for a trek back to my primary home. After I gathered the cow hide and raw beef, I saw a skeleton archer under a large oak, staring at me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but its head followed me wherever I walked for a solid minute. The tree it stood under was right on top of my underground home, and when I went inside I kept hearing the clinking of the skeleton’s bones as it walked around. I didn’t make anything of this until I realized that wherever I walked, the clinking was right over my head. I chalked it up to a glitch.
I returned to my original home for more mining, but after a few days I went back to my home in the drab hills for some redecorating. As soon as I opened the door, something felt wrong. Everything looked like it was in the right place, but the walls just seemed off. The only thing I could think of was that the paintings might have changed around. I rearranged them and made a mental note of which ones I had placed and where they were positioned. Even if they had changed, I thought, it was probably some kind of loading bug.
The second house I built is in a mountainous region covered in depressing bluish grass. One day I started killing a few cows for food in preparation for a trek back to my primary home. After I gathered the cow hide and raw beef, I saw a skeleton archer under a large oak, staring at me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but its head followed me wherever I walked for a solid minute. The tree it stood under was right on top of my underground home, and when I went inside I kept hearing the clinking of the skeleton’s bones as it walked around. I didn’t make anything of this until I realized that wherever I walked, the clinking was right over my head. I chalked it up to a glitch.
I returned to my original home for more mining, but after a few days I went back to my home in the drab hills for some redecorating. As soon as I opened the door, something felt wrong. Everything looked like it was in the right place, but the walls just seemed off. The only thing I could think of was that the paintings might have changed around. I rearranged them and made a mental note of which ones I had placed and where they were positioned. Even if they had changed, I thought, it was probably some kind of loading bug.
14 maj 2013
rigby.avi
11 maj 2013
The Family Portrait
Recently at the art gallery I work at they had a new exhibition for local artists. It was the usual sort of thing; substandard paintings that only got a shoo-in because they were from the local community, paintings of local people and places and so forth. It was my job to decide which paintings got put on display, which entailed me sorting through around a hundred of these awful excuses for art. There was one, though, that really caught my attention. Unlike the others it was not of a local scene or a local person; it was of a family. A father in a suit sitting in a chair, his dutiful wife behind him and his young son and daughter at his feet.
By the looks of their clothes they were from the 19th century, typically dressed for a middle class family of that period. Two things struck me about the painting; firstly the attention to detail and the quality of the artwork was impeccable (almost photogenic) and secondly was the shiver it sent down my spine. The people in the portrait had this eerie, gaunt look to them, and expressions that were so blank they looked almost dead. The painting had no artists name attached to it, and Molly from reception had said that she couldn't recall anybody sending it in. I decided then that instead of putting the painting on display I would take it home with me; after all it had no name attached to it so nobody was going to miss it were they?
16 kwi 2013
Never again.
I was seventeen when she came. I’d been living with my abusive mother for seventeen long, painful years. It was around midnight, and my mother was already asleep, so when the three soft raps at the front door came it was me who answered. An odd looking little girl stood there, with cheeks pale and colorless, blonde hair in braided pigtails, pink dress torn a little at the hem, feet bare and turning slightly blue from the cold of winter, and black eyes. Fathomless, deep black eyes. I quickly let her in, thinking of how horridly underdressed she was. It wasn’t until later I’d wonder why she’d not been shivering, or even question as to why she was here in the first place. I got her into the living room, wrapping her little form in a thick afgan my grandmother knitted. She held it, though it didn’t seem to affect her, and I smiled.
“What’s your name, sweety?”
A long silence passed, in which she stared at me. I was beginning to be discomforted by her black gaze when she parted her lips and spoke in a soft voice.
“Lacy Morgan.”
I nodded, smiling again.
“What’s your name, sweety?”
A long silence passed, in which she stared at me. I was beginning to be discomforted by her black gaze when she parted her lips and spoke in a soft voice.
“Lacy Morgan.”
I nodded, smiling again.
5 mar 2013
comics
The Abimor is the world's most prominent serial killer. He chooses his victims throughout the centuries, and before he kills them, he forces them to tell his biography. All who ear the story are ones to die, and they too are forced to tell the story. His last known kill was in 1889. A woman's voice was heard over an early telephone. The conversation was transcribed, and the last words were "He made me tell you." both the woman and the man transcribing her story were murdered. In 1600, Abimor's biography was made into a play. The playwright was found dead, and the last line of the play he was working on was "He doth forced me to share his tale." In ancient Egypt, they found the first mention of him. He was described as immortal and narcissistic. The last hyroglyphic was an apology of sorts, but by then it was too degraded to be fully translate. His identity remains unknown to this day. But as sure as ther are people to victimize, he will be there.
Sorry for the shitty quality of my storytelling, as i am on my phoneMy friend told me this story a few days ago. He sent me a text yesterday apologizing for telling me the story. He was found murdered with his whole family today. My mind's all over the place, and I can barely think right now with the loss of my friend. I must leave, but I feel like I should tell you one more thing...
I was forced to post this under his constraint. I'm sorry.
13 maj 2012
Dance, dance
There was a girl who had an illness and was bed-ridden for the majority of her life. She was recently diagnosed to die within the next couple of months so her parents decided to spend as much time with her as they could before her time came. They decided that the best thing was to go camping at a local site for a little bit since the daughter was stuck in the hospital for so long.
On their way there, the girl was quiet as usual and laid in the back while the parents talked amongst themselves. When they finally reached their destination, they pitched the tent, unpacked everything and started a campfire. The mother was constantly filming the area and her daughter while the father went out for more firewood. It was getting dark when he came back, but he suddenly heard the mother scream so he rushed over to discover that his daughter was standing on her feet and was doing a wild, erratic ‘dance’ before she suddenly dropped dead.
After all the funeral processions and grieving subsided, the parents wanted to see the video the mother recorded on that very night. They put the tape in the player and began to watch. At first it just showed the mother looking at the scenery and random animals that passed by in the distance, but as the time frame skipped, it jumped to when she was inside the tent with the daughter as she stood up and began to jerk around. But there was something wrong. It first was in the corner of their eyes but as they replayed the scene, their horror became more and more real.
The entire time the daughter was ‘dancing’, there was a ghastly white hand latched onto the top of her head.
On their way there, the girl was quiet as usual and laid in the back while the parents talked amongst themselves. When they finally reached their destination, they pitched the tent, unpacked everything and started a campfire. The mother was constantly filming the area and her daughter while the father went out for more firewood. It was getting dark when he came back, but he suddenly heard the mother scream so he rushed over to discover that his daughter was standing on her feet and was doing a wild, erratic ‘dance’ before she suddenly dropped dead.
After all the funeral processions and grieving subsided, the parents wanted to see the video the mother recorded on that very night. They put the tape in the player and began to watch. At first it just showed the mother looking at the scenery and random animals that passed by in the distance, but as the time frame skipped, it jumped to when she was inside the tent with the daughter as she stood up and began to jerk around. But there was something wrong. It first was in the corner of their eyes but as they replayed the scene, their horror became more and more real.
The entire time the daughter was ‘dancing’, there was a ghastly white hand latched onto the top of her head.
11 mar 2012
The Hidden Things
The black light in my hand told me things I should have never known, word by word over a month’s grim fascination.
It had been three days, and not a word from the man in room 304. Not a single cent for his stay, either. I made my way to his room that morning, intending to collect. When he hadn’t answered to my knocks and demands to open the door, I let myself in with the spare key. The lights were off, and…it was strange. The room was darker than it should have been on such a cloudless day. As I stepped through the door, I was met with a gasp of stale air, the stink of wet, rotten meat.
Then I saw the twisted thing in the corner, a thing that used to be the occupant of 304 before he died a clearly unclean, unnatural death. I won’t describe how it looked; I can’t even stomach the mental picture for long. But I will say that…the human body shouldn’t be able to…bend…like that.
The police taped off the doorway, and I wasn’t allowed in, of course. But as they escorted me away, I saw one last thing through the lit doorframe. The walls. They were covered in writing that I couldn’t quite make out. Not penned, but…painted. Painted in an all too familiar, tell-tale red.
It was a few days before I could force myself to return to the room, but it needed a turndown and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I’d told myself to just file it away in the old mental archives, out of sight out of mind. Just do your job, business as always, and keep out of other people’s affairs. That’s how you keep your sanity in this business. I’d been running that hotel for quite a few years, and that wasn’t the first crazy thing I’d seen. Though, admittedly…it was the most unsettling.
I tried to keep my head down, just focus on cleaning and getting out as quickly as I could, but my curiosity got the best of me on my way out. As I turned out the lights, in the pale mid-afternoon sunlight pouring through the door left ajar, I saw a slight residue where the writing used to be. Just a few words, and I could barely make them out.
The….hidden things…
It had been three days, and not a word from the man in room 304. Not a single cent for his stay, either. I made my way to his room that morning, intending to collect. When he hadn’t answered to my knocks and demands to open the door, I let myself in with the spare key. The lights were off, and…it was strange. The room was darker than it should have been on such a cloudless day. As I stepped through the door, I was met with a gasp of stale air, the stink of wet, rotten meat.
Then I saw the twisted thing in the corner, a thing that used to be the occupant of 304 before he died a clearly unclean, unnatural death. I won’t describe how it looked; I can’t even stomach the mental picture for long. But I will say that…the human body shouldn’t be able to…bend…like that.
The police taped off the doorway, and I wasn’t allowed in, of course. But as they escorted me away, I saw one last thing through the lit doorframe. The walls. They were covered in writing that I couldn’t quite make out. Not penned, but…painted. Painted in an all too familiar, tell-tale red.
It was a few days before I could force myself to return to the room, but it needed a turndown and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I’d told myself to just file it away in the old mental archives, out of sight out of mind. Just do your job, business as always, and keep out of other people’s affairs. That’s how you keep your sanity in this business. I’d been running that hotel for quite a few years, and that wasn’t the first crazy thing I’d seen. Though, admittedly…it was the most unsettling.
I tried to keep my head down, just focus on cleaning and getting out as quickly as I could, but my curiosity got the best of me on my way out. As I turned out the lights, in the pale mid-afternoon sunlight pouring through the door left ajar, I saw a slight residue where the writing used to be. Just a few words, and I could barely make them out.
The….hidden things…
31 sty 2012
Midnight Train
In my old age I’ve seen a lot of things. Some things I’m a little more proud of than others. As a boy there wasn’t a damn thing that could sate my appetite for the world around me. Everything in reach I had to get my hands on, take it apart and study it. My natural curiosity is what got me into the many scraps and situations of my youth.
I remember when I wasn’t any older than six, it was the fall of nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, me and several of the local boys were out playing a game of hide-and-seek. Denny Louis was the seeker, and a damned good one at that, so I took it upon myself to find a damned good hiding place. I remembered the hayloft out in our barn, and figured I could hide myself among the many bales of hay up there, maybe even push some of those bales around like I had times before when I wanted to build a fort, and get myself a perfect hiding space. Denny started counting out loud from a hundred and I took off a running to the barn, the breeze tickling my cheeks and smelling like the harvest.
I ran through those big red doors and my eyes fell on Denny Louis’ mama laying on the ground, straw in her hair and her dress hiked up, with my Daddy laying on top of her, looking like he was trying to pick himself up, but he seemed to be having trouble. I had no idea what I was seeing, but I would later learn all about what my Daddy was doing when I was fourteen when me and Sandra Hannigan made our way up into the same hayloft that I had hid so many times, and made so many forts in, to get out of the rain. She shook the water from that beautiful blazing, red hair of hers and noticed my eyes stuck on her nipples poking out like little buttons in the cold, wet air. She hiked up that flowery yellow dress she liked to wear and spread her creamy white, freckled legs, revealing her sweet fire peach. There in the smell of spring rain and old horse shit I made love for the first time. Beautiful girl, she was.
“Daddy?” my little voice rung out, echoing off the dusty, wooden walls. My old man turned and stared at me, like he’d been caught dipping his hand into the honey pot, and for lack of better words, that’s exactly what he was doing. He hoisted himself off of Mrs. Louis and made his way over to me.
I remember when I wasn’t any older than six, it was the fall of nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, me and several of the local boys were out playing a game of hide-and-seek. Denny Louis was the seeker, and a damned good one at that, so I took it upon myself to find a damned good hiding place. I remembered the hayloft out in our barn, and figured I could hide myself among the many bales of hay up there, maybe even push some of those bales around like I had times before when I wanted to build a fort, and get myself a perfect hiding space. Denny started counting out loud from a hundred and I took off a running to the barn, the breeze tickling my cheeks and smelling like the harvest.
I ran through those big red doors and my eyes fell on Denny Louis’ mama laying on the ground, straw in her hair and her dress hiked up, with my Daddy laying on top of her, looking like he was trying to pick himself up, but he seemed to be having trouble. I had no idea what I was seeing, but I would later learn all about what my Daddy was doing when I was fourteen when me and Sandra Hannigan made our way up into the same hayloft that I had hid so many times, and made so many forts in, to get out of the rain. She shook the water from that beautiful blazing, red hair of hers and noticed my eyes stuck on her nipples poking out like little buttons in the cold, wet air. She hiked up that flowery yellow dress she liked to wear and spread her creamy white, freckled legs, revealing her sweet fire peach. There in the smell of spring rain and old horse shit I made love for the first time. Beautiful girl, she was.
“Daddy?” my little voice rung out, echoing off the dusty, wooden walls. My old man turned and stared at me, like he’d been caught dipping his hand into the honey pot, and for lack of better words, that’s exactly what he was doing. He hoisted himself off of Mrs. Louis and made his way over to me.
30 sty 2012
Unbranded Laptop
My brother moved out of the house back in 2002 once he got his job as a Computer technician, and he recently went missing. When I went to his house, it was locked, with 3 sheets of printer paper taped to the front door.
"While coming home from work one day, I noticed someone had left their damaged grey laptop laying in the middle of my driveway one day. I got out of my car to examine it more carefully.
The LCD definitely showed signs of user related damage, as there was a large hole on the left side of the screen that fit a standard Phillips Head screwdriver perfectly. There was a webcam above the display as well, and it was also destroyed with the same screwdriver. Other than those, however, everything else on the computer showed minor signs of wear, like almost all of the keyboards keys were faded, but nothing to the extent that it could be considered unusable. I looked at the back of the display to find out what brand it is, and yet, I couldn't find anything. I looked at the entire laptop's shell and there was no text or logo stating what brand it is. In fact, there was no warranty sticker, no "Proof of licence" sticker on the bottom, no text whatsoever. What's even more odd was the fact that the only ports on the laptop was a VGA port for connecting an external display and a USB port. How long could this laptop have possibly run without a charging port to recharge the battery? It must have been a very low end laptop where you had to remove the battery pack and put it into it's own charging dock. Why did it exactly have a web cam, though?
"While coming home from work one day, I noticed someone had left their damaged grey laptop laying in the middle of my driveway one day. I got out of my car to examine it more carefully.
The LCD definitely showed signs of user related damage, as there was a large hole on the left side of the screen that fit a standard Phillips Head screwdriver perfectly. There was a webcam above the display as well, and it was also destroyed with the same screwdriver. Other than those, however, everything else on the computer showed minor signs of wear, like almost all of the keyboards keys were faded, but nothing to the extent that it could be considered unusable. I looked at the back of the display to find out what brand it is, and yet, I couldn't find anything. I looked at the entire laptop's shell and there was no text or logo stating what brand it is. In fact, there was no warranty sticker, no "Proof of licence" sticker on the bottom, no text whatsoever. What's even more odd was the fact that the only ports on the laptop was a VGA port for connecting an external display and a USB port. How long could this laptop have possibly run without a charging port to recharge the battery? It must have been a very low end laptop where you had to remove the battery pack and put it into it's own charging dock. Why did it exactly have a web cam, though?
28 sty 2012
The Cabin and the Dolls
I don't know what to do anymore. I’m so scared and I can't trust anyone. I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school. For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we‘re pretty much used to anything you‘d encounter out there. It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it’s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other's lives. We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.
Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn't put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he’d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.
Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn't put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he’d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.
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