So we had a nasty STD slideshow that showed pictures of gonorrhea, public lice, and the such. So I took the initiative and free wrote a little story I'm sorry If it isn't that good (it was like a half hour class ) Critique is alwaaaaays welcome Honesty is better than a kiss in the ass.
I've honestly been really interested in psychology for some time now (my sister's a psychology major), so I've been snooping in my sister's textbooks. So I guess that might have put some influence in some of my righting (I'm a big fan of symbolism)
It happened again. Really, it always does. A recurrent dream. A nightmare. I’m in a white room. It has no shape, except for an endless chrome floor. I see a girl with black hair and pale skin, similar to a porcelain doll. She wears a white dress; completely devoid of all flaws. She seems perfect, with a slim body and silky looking hair. I can’t see her face at all, though I always hear a baby crying. Her face is facing downwards, and finally, she points at me. The baby crying becomes louder and louder, until it’s almost unbearable. She becomes bloodied, splotches of blood appearing on her dress. Blood splashes from all around. It turns into a sea of red blood. The room fills up and drowns both of us. And once I die, I wake up. This dream, this nightmare, has always freaked me out, but I’ve oddly gotten used to the traumatic thoughts in my mind. Now, it feels only like a tedious routine, but I must oblige. I’ve read that dreams almost always have some meaning to them, but this one always fazes me. My parents tell me not to worry. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream, but it feels different, for some reason. But I choose to ignore it. It’s just a dream
As I rise up, I pop my neck. I observe my surroundings. I’m in my room, of course. Golden sunlight partially pours into my room, allowing some of it to be shown. My room is painted sky blue, my floors being aged wood. My eyes feel itchy. I rub them very gently as I get up. My dresser is at the right part of my room, opposite from the entrance. My desk, decorated with many knicks and knacks, faces my bed. A little stuffed rabbit marches near my many collections of classical books. There’s a picture of my friend, Ezra Chase, and I in a small picture frame. I change; a white polo and black jeans. I walk to the bathroom and freshen up. I exit the bathroom and walk out to the hallways. *It’s dark; almost pitch black, but the rising sun’s rays start to fill the room. Soon enough, the whole house is filled with only sunlight. I walk to the kitchen. I eat a toaster chocolate blueberry waffle, and flush it down with cold strawberry milk. Light enters from all openings. *For some reason, I feel extremely comfortable when it’s bright, though the sunlight feels so surreal. The dark scares me. Though the dark feels more...real.
I hear the door to the living room open. By then, I was just relaxing. It’s a Saturday. I hear a tired voice say, “Hello Cain, goodmorning honey.”
“Hi mom, how was work?” I ask. My mother, Dolores, works extremely hard and has a long night shift. But she still has the time to care for me and to support me. I really her for that.
“It was fine, how was your night? Did you have breakfast?”
“Good, fine, I had a dream again, and yes, waffles.”
“That’s good,” she nods, “Tell you dad I brought breakfast for him.”
“Okay,” I acknowledge, “Please get some sleep, Mom.”
“Yes honey.” she hugs me and leans back to my ear. Suddenly, I feel dazed. The hairs on my neck stand up. I get goosebumps on my arm. The temperature and pressure around me drops down. She whispers, “Remember...it’s all a dream.”
“Okay.” I mutter, “Good night.” She smiles and leaves the room. I smile. I love my mom. I love my parents. They’re the type of parents you know that they love you, no matter what happens or how upset they are at you. Soon enough, my fathers, Tristan, goes into the kitchen and has the to-go crepe my mother had bought for him.
“Do you want to go anywhere today, Cain?” he asks, his mouth full of food.
“No it’s fine.” I sigh, “I need to study.”
“Well,” he gargle-says, his breath smelling like a strawberry and chocolate sundae, “We love you very much.”
“I know,” I reply, feeling my cheeks warm up, “I love you too.”
“No problem bud.” he pats me on the back. Maybe it was too hard, but I feel the love either way. I grin, even though no one can see. I walk back to my room. I clear of my desk and put my books on. I start to study, my eyelids suddenly becoming heavy. Right before I close my eyes, a cockroach lands on my computer monitor. I gasp and smack the monitor. Where did it come from? Where is it? I’m now wide awake, looking for the critter. The monster. I have an intense fear of insects. I hate them. There’s no sign of it. Where is it? Where is it? My heart rate increases tenfold, my body seemingly enters an extreme type of stress response. Sweat drops from my forehead. That thing can not be in my room. No. No. I sigh heavily, glancing towards the windows. I respire, trying to relax and catch my breath. Another things catches my eyes.
My neighborhood is generally wealthy. However, the neighborhood’s association is a terrible, yet amusing joke. Anyone can enter anyone can leave, deeming it a “danger to the community” (which in my opinion, is correct). But it is still a beautiful neighborhood. The Daily Budget newspaper itself calls our town, Falschen, Pennsylvania, the “apple of all eyes”, and it really deserves that name. Our town corresponds with the seasons, which I think is beautiful. During Summer and Spring, the town is adorned with luscious green trees. All of the lawns are a deep green. We launch fireworks once in a while, to add to the summer spirit. During the winter, it snows, making the town a winter wonderland. Sure, the blizzards get annoying once in a while, but the hot cocoa and snuggling next to the hearth beats anything. Currently, it is the autumn season. Auriferous maple trees beautify the streets. It looks especially surreal when the sky is bright blue. It just adds to the magic. But at the moment, something seems...off.
Standing at the intersection is an old man, looking straight at me. He looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t put my tongue on it. On his face is a smug smile, which suddenly fills me with many things. Hate. Love. Sorrow. Confusion. Who is this man. Why is he staring at me? All he wears is a black trench coat and black dress pants. Looking at him makes me feel out of place. Disorientated. His mouth moves, as though he is saying something. He is saying something. What is he saying? What is he saying? My heart rate increases once again. I turn around, like how most people would do when a some creep stares at you. I try to remember I I even know this guy. It’s hard to do so. I quickly realize, for some reason, my brain chose to completely forget about my childhood. It’s been like this for a long time. I haven’t forgotten my WHOLE childhood, but there are definitely some “plot holes”. Why can’t I remember? My body temperature rises again, and I find it hard to breath. I peek through my window. To my luck, he isn’t there anymore. Instantly, I shut the windows and lower the blinds. Light no longer enters my room. I half sigh and half cry. That man is the reason I’m like this, I reassure myself.
So we had a nasty STD slideshow that showed pictures of gonorrhea, public lice, and the such. So I took the initiative and free wrote a little story
I'm sorry If it isn't that good (it was like a half hour class 
) Critique is alwaaaaays welcome 
Honesty is better than a kiss in the ass.
I've honestly been really interested in psychology for some time now (my sister's a psychology major), so I've been snooping in my sister's textbooks. So I guess that might have put some influence in some of my righting (I'm a big fan of symbolism)
It happened again. Really, it always does. A recurrent dream. A nightmare. I’m in a white room. It has no shape, except for an endless chrome floor. I see a girl with black hair and pale skin, similar to a porcelain doll. She wears a white dress; completely devoid of all flaws. She seems perfect, with a slim body and silky looking hair. I can’t see her face at all, though I always hear a baby crying. Her face is facing downwards, and finally, she points at me. The baby crying becomes louder and louder, until it’s almost unbearable. She becomes bloodied, splotches of blood appearing on her dress. Blood splashes from all around. It turns into a sea of red blood. The room fills up and drowns both of us. And once I die, I wake up. This dream, this nightmare, has always freaked me out, but I’ve oddly gotten used to the traumatic thoughts in my mind. Now, it feels only like a tedious routine, but I must oblige. I’ve read that dreams almost always have some meaning to them, but this one always fazes me. My parents tell me not to worry. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream, but it feels different, for some reason. But I choose to ignore it. It’s just a dream
As I rise up, I pop my neck. I observe my surroundings. I’m in my room, of course. Golden sunlight partially pours into my room, allowing some of it to be shown. My room is painted sky blue, my floors being aged wood. My eyes feel itchy. I rub them very gently as I get up. My dresser is at the right part of my room, opposite from the entrance. My desk, decorated with many knicks and knacks, faces my bed. A little stuffed rabbit marches near my many collections of classical books. There’s a picture of my friend, Ezra Chase, and I in a small picture frame. I change; a white polo and black jeans. I walk to the bathroom and freshen up. I exit the bathroom and walk out to the hallways. *It’s dark; almost pitch black, but the rising sun’s rays start to fill the room. Soon enough, the whole house is filled with only sunlight. I walk to the kitchen. I eat a toaster chocolate blueberry waffle, and flush it down with cold strawberry milk. Light enters from all openings. *For some reason, I feel extremely comfortable when it’s bright, though the sunlight feels so surreal. The dark scares me. Though the dark feels more...real.
I hear the door to the living room open. By then, I was just relaxing. It’s a Saturday. I hear a tired voice say, “Hello Cain, goodmorning honey.”
“Hi mom, how was work?” I ask. My mother, Dolores, works extremely hard and has a long night shift. But she still has the time to care for me and to support me. I really her for that.
“It was fine, how was your night? Did you have breakfast?”
“Good, fine, I had a dream again, and yes, waffles.”
“That’s good,” she nods, “Tell you dad I brought breakfast for him.”
“Okay,” I acknowledge, “Please get some sleep, Mom.”
“Yes honey.” she hugs me and leans back to my ear. Suddenly, I feel dazed. The hairs on my neck stand up. I get goosebumps on my arm. The temperature and pressure around me drops down. She whispers, “Remember...it’s all a dream.”
“Okay.” I mutter, “Good night.” She smiles and leaves the room. I smile. I love my mom. I love my parents. They’re the type of parents you know that they love you, no matter what happens or how upset they are at you. Soon enough, my fathers, Tristan, goes into the kitchen and has the to-go crepe my mother had bought for him.
“Do you want to go anywhere today, Cain?” he asks, his mouth full of food.
“No it’s fine.” I sigh, “I need to study.”
“Well,” he gargle-says, his breath smelling like a strawberry and chocolate sundae, “We love you very much.”
“I know,” I reply, feeling my cheeks warm up, “I love you too.”
“No problem bud.” he pats me on the back. Maybe it was too hard, but I feel the love either way. I grin, even though no one can see. I walk back to my room. I clear of my desk and put my books on. I start to study, my eyelids suddenly becoming heavy. Right before I close my eyes, a cockroach lands on my computer monitor. I gasp and smack the monitor. Where did it come from? Where is it? I’m now wide awake, looking for the critter. The monster. I have an intense fear of insects. I hate them. There’s no sign of it. Where is it? Where is it? My heart rate increases tenfold, my body seemingly enters an extreme type of stress response. Sweat drops from my forehead. That thing can not be in my room. No. No. I sigh heavily, glancing towards the windows. I respire, trying to relax and catch my breath. Another things catches my eyes.
My neighborhood is generally wealthy. However, the neighborhood’s association is a terrible, yet amusing joke. Anyone can enter anyone can leave, deeming it a “danger to the community” (which in my opinion, is correct). But it is still a beautiful neighborhood. The Daily Budget newspaper itself calls our town, Falschen, Pennsylvania, the “apple of all eyes”, and it really deserves that name. Our town corresponds with the seasons, which I think is beautiful. During Summer and Spring, the town is adorned with luscious green trees. All of the lawns are a deep green. We launch fireworks once in a while, to add to the summer spirit. During the winter, it snows, making the town a winter wonderland. Sure, the blizzards get annoying once in a while, but the hot cocoa and snuggling next to the hearth beats anything. Currently, it is the autumn season. Auriferous maple trees beautify the streets. It looks especially surreal when the sky is bright blue. It just adds to the magic. But at the moment, something seems...off.
Standing at the intersection is an old man, looking straight at me. He looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t put my tongue on it. On his face is a smug smile, which suddenly fills me with many things. Hate. Love. Sorrow. Confusion. Who is this man. Why is he staring at me? All he wears is a black trench coat and black dress pants. Looking at him makes me feel out of place. Disorientated. His mouth moves, as though he is saying something. He is saying something. What is he saying? What is he saying? My heart rate increases once again. I turn around, like how most people would do when a some creep stares at you. I try to remember I I even know this guy. It’s hard to do so. I quickly realize, for some reason, my brain chose to completely forget about my childhood. It’s been like this for a long time. I haven’t forgotten my WHOLE childhood, but there are definitely some “plot holes”. Why can’t I remember? My body temperature rises again, and I find it hard to breath. I peek through my window. To my luck, he isn’t there anymore. Instantly, I shut the windows and lower the blinds. Light no longer enters my room. I half sigh and half cry. That man is the reason I’m like this, I reassure myself.