Math, The Constant Tool
By Scott Watson
Although it can be hard to see how math is used in everyday life, it’s actually one of the few tools that a person will employ their entire life span. Cooking, construction, and taking medicines all include mathematics. Some forms of math are much more common then others. For example, addition and subtraction are used much more than complex algebraic equations. But this does not mean that any form of math is more important than another. All branches of mathematics are equally important, each having it’s own job. I believe in my future I will constantly be doing mental math, obviously I will employ mathematics for the rest of my education, but even when it finishes, I’m still going to need it. Aristotle once said, “There are things which seem incredible to most men who have not studied mathematics.” Truly, one who is not well versed in math is bound to be stumped by simple quotients and equations, but someone who is educated will see opportunities instead of problems. Not only do I want to be prepared for the future and it’s trials, I expect myself not only to be able to answer them, but to exceed. Only through mathematics will I achieve my goal.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Violent Video Games in Society
Scott Watson
Mrs. Henderson
English Honors 1
May 8, 2011
Violent Video Games in Society:
A Teenage Gamer’s Experience
At school two children are playing on the playground. The two start talking bout their favorite video game and soon, are acting out their favorite parts of it. An adult sees their behavior, misinterpreting their actions for fighting, and they are both disciplined for it. Upon explaining their actions, the video game is immediately put into question as to whether or not it has taught the children inappropriate behavior and also if they should be allowed access to it. The ESRB (Electronic Software Review Board) would restrict children from playing violent video games, but I however oppose this. I say that many violent video games not only educates children, but also invokes creativity within a child’s mind.
To begin with, many violent video games can educate a child in different ways. Various World War 2 theme video games teach children about the conditions the US Military went through in the early 1940’s, as well as demonstrating the geographic differences between Europe and the Pacific. Some games teach the importance of teamwork, such as in Left 4 Dead, a zombie theme video game where several players much and support each other and by doing so ultimately lead the team as a whole to survival. But on the flip side, it also shows the consequences of lack of teamwork, showing the chaos and destruction that can befall them. The ESRB would oppose my views and say that video games based on war train and teach children how to kill another human being, as well as glorifying was as a whole. They would also say that children do not recognize the teamwork involved in video games due to the amount of violence they contain, as well as a general lack of maturity in the average child. I argue these claims, I believe that the observant of military coordination and action benefits children by teaching them basic self-defense with a weapon, but also showing how grueling taking another’s life. It’s been demonstrated time and time again that anyone who has acted out violently and blamed video games for their actions usually have psychological problems. When this is the case, video games are in no solely to blame. To the ESRB’s other claim, I believe that although it may be difficult for children to recognize teamwork at times, teamwork is constantly a major factor of their gaming experience. Without it, they would never be able to succeed and achieve their goals within the game. Even with a large lack of maturity, a child will realize the benefits of teamwork through trial and error, eventually realizing that without it, they are bound to fail.
My second argument is that different video games can promote creativity within a child’s mind. Half Life 2, a sci-fi theme video game with violent elements mixed into it faces the player with constant environmental and psychological puzzles. Only through straining their minds can a player pass these trials. In Fable 3, a video game in which the play must rise up and conduct a military Coup d’état to overthrow a tyrannical kind, the player must balance how he rules his kingdom after the coup is successful. Sometimes, improvising and stretching the kingdom’s gold reserve is the only way to keep the kingdom afloat. Failure to do so results in the downward spiral of the country. The ESRB claims that children are unable to benefit from puzzles within violent video games, explaining that violence shrouds and destroys any benefits that mind could gain. In opposition to this, I claim that while violence is occasionally the dominant them in puzzle oriented games, the violence itself cannot dissipate the benefits from solving puzzles. More often than not, situations that require the player to solve a problem include no violence. Taking a break from it, the game then allows the player time to solve the puzzles without being preoccupied with violence.
In conclusion, the benefits of violent video games have been demonstrated time and time gain. Regardless of age, young players to elderly players can be educated and have their creativity tested, often both of these happening at the same time. I predict that within ten years, any regard given to the ESRB will be discarded and will become considered obsolete due to irrelevant standards. To end, i ask all those who feel that the ESRB lack the ability to rate video games in a relevant and helpful way should not only ignore them, but also to tell other’s your beliefs. Children today are exposed to so much, video games can be on of the only beneficial things to them. Who has the right to take that away?
Mrs. Henderson
English Honors 1
May 8, 2011
Violent Video Games in Society:
A Teenage Gamer’s Experience
At school two children are playing on the playground. The two start talking bout their favorite video game and soon, are acting out their favorite parts of it. An adult sees their behavior, misinterpreting their actions for fighting, and they are both disciplined for it. Upon explaining their actions, the video game is immediately put into question as to whether or not it has taught the children inappropriate behavior and also if they should be allowed access to it. The ESRB (Electronic Software Review Board) would restrict children from playing violent video games, but I however oppose this. I say that many violent video games not only educates children, but also invokes creativity within a child’s mind.
To begin with, many violent video games can educate a child in different ways. Various World War 2 theme video games teach children about the conditions the US Military went through in the early 1940’s, as well as demonstrating the geographic differences between Europe and the Pacific. Some games teach the importance of teamwork, such as in Left 4 Dead, a zombie theme video game where several players much and support each other and by doing so ultimately lead the team as a whole to survival. But on the flip side, it also shows the consequences of lack of teamwork, showing the chaos and destruction that can befall them. The ESRB would oppose my views and say that video games based on war train and teach children how to kill another human being, as well as glorifying was as a whole. They would also say that children do not recognize the teamwork involved in video games due to the amount of violence they contain, as well as a general lack of maturity in the average child. I argue these claims, I believe that the observant of military coordination and action benefits children by teaching them basic self-defense with a weapon, but also showing how grueling taking another’s life. It’s been demonstrated time and time again that anyone who has acted out violently and blamed video games for their actions usually have psychological problems. When this is the case, video games are in no solely to blame. To the ESRB’s other claim, I believe that although it may be difficult for children to recognize teamwork at times, teamwork is constantly a major factor of their gaming experience. Without it, they would never be able to succeed and achieve their goals within the game. Even with a large lack of maturity, a child will realize the benefits of teamwork through trial and error, eventually realizing that without it, they are bound to fail.
My second argument is that different video games can promote creativity within a child’s mind. Half Life 2, a sci-fi theme video game with violent elements mixed into it faces the player with constant environmental and psychological puzzles. Only through straining their minds can a player pass these trials. In Fable 3, a video game in which the play must rise up and conduct a military Coup d’état to overthrow a tyrannical kind, the player must balance how he rules his kingdom after the coup is successful. Sometimes, improvising and stretching the kingdom’s gold reserve is the only way to keep the kingdom afloat. Failure to do so results in the downward spiral of the country. The ESRB claims that children are unable to benefit from puzzles within violent video games, explaining that violence shrouds and destroys any benefits that mind could gain. In opposition to this, I claim that while violence is occasionally the dominant them in puzzle oriented games, the violence itself cannot dissipate the benefits from solving puzzles. More often than not, situations that require the player to solve a problem include no violence. Taking a break from it, the game then allows the player time to solve the puzzles without being preoccupied with violence.
In conclusion, the benefits of violent video games have been demonstrated time and time gain. Regardless of age, young players to elderly players can be educated and have their creativity tested, often both of these happening at the same time. I predict that within ten years, any regard given to the ESRB will be discarded and will become considered obsolete due to irrelevant standards. To end, i ask all those who feel that the ESRB lack the ability to rate video games in a relevant and helpful way should not only ignore them, but also to tell other’s your beliefs. Children today are exposed to so much, video games can be on of the only beneficial things to them. Who has the right to take that away?
Saturday, May 7, 2011
A Chilling Wind
Unfinished, mildly edited.
A Chilling Wind
by Scott Watson
I remember that week, that unforgettable week. No, there was no remarkable occasion that occurred, nor some amazing event. No, that week was something much more, but yet much quieter, for no one else has experienced the hell that I endured. That week changed me, molded me in ways that I cannot describe, to try would be futile. Thinking of it now sickens me and makes my mind throb. My palms moisten, heart pumps. Oh that week, abysmal hell.
The day before I was introduced to the house, I was shoveling snow from my driveway. A most particular Winter was occurring, record breaking snow fall fell from the heavens. Beautiful at first, but soon I realized how gray the world was around me. One moment a person could enjoy the sight of falling flakes, the next they were being oppressed by speeding hail and cutting ice. Soon I was cursing the skies. As the snow began to pile on the sides of my personal drive, a small Jeep pulled in front of me. Peering out from under my hood, I recognized the owner. Dakota had been a friend of mine since college many years ago. Approaching me, I offered a handshake.
”Dakota! What are you doing out in this snow, the plows haven’t even got out yet.” I inquired.
”You speak as if they’re going to come, funny.” he laughingly replied. With a smile I asked,
“What brings you around?”
“Simple, work.” As I look back on those works now, I nearly laugh at my naive joy. House construction was a temporary job. There usually was never a constant stream of work then, but I’m sure it’s still the same today. I left the field long ago. If only I had left sooner.
I had quit my attempts at a suitable driveway and soon we were both driving to 604 Rosewood Manor, a two story house with extensive termite damage. Bad for the owners, cash for my pocket. Over a set course of one week, we were both to tear out the walls and ceilings of five rooms, failure to do so would result in a loss of a bonus check that Dakota and I planned on splitting. At thirty-five dollars an hour, the loss of the bonus check wouldn’t be that big of a pain. Arriving in the front of the home, it glowed in the evening sun. Although work wouldn’t start for another day, I entered the house with Dakota behind me. Through the door there was a hall way, rooms on both sides. Some were open, others had closed doors. As I walked by each one I peeked inside, various forms of furniture were in each, but all seemed to come from the same style and age. Entering the kitchen we sat down, warming ourselves from the stinging outside freeze which had become characteristic. He and I began to chat about missed time. Dakota had worked with me for a long time on house work, but for a time we hadn’t seen each other. If I’m incorrect, I believe when he pulled up in front of my house that day, it was the first time I saw him in a little over seven months. After an hour or so he stood and said,
“The upstairs is the same layout Ruben, go ahead and check it out. I’m going to give the owner a call.” Leaving the kitchen and continuing to the end of the hall way, I ascended the spiral staircase which led upwards. At the top the scene lain out before me was a pitiful sight. The exact layout which I had such seen prior downstairs was maintained, but instead of having walls containing the rooms, giving each its’ own privacy, the walls were eaten away. Carved, eaten, chipped, and splintered away. Dry wall littered the floor, plaster cast dust up in the air, and wall paper hung from nearly all the walls. The sun shone in from the windows, showering the scene in receding sunlight. Soon it would set, and the Winter cold would assault the home. Examine the roof, I noticed an attic door with a string hanging down. Curiosity creeping in my mind, I pulled on the string, but to no avail. What would I have found on that first day? What wonders or horrors would I have beheld? Sadly, or perhaps for my own good Dakota shouted from below that we should leave before it darkness set in.
The next day I awoke to see outside that snow was once again falling fast from the sky. Going into my kitchen I ignored the bills which laid on the table. With the randomness of home construction and repair, I sometimes had trouble getting by. However, with that new opportunity, I would easily be able to pay those bills which were constantly being flung in my face. I was getting fed up with them. After taking my daily pills, I decided to call Dakota, what problem was there in starting early? The snow wouldn’t be a problem, it was light compared to the previous snows that we had endured. The phone rang and rang. It rang and rang. Going to voicemail, I hung up instead of taking the alternative of leaving a message. I would try later.
I attempted to call him seven times. By this time it was three in the evening. Walking outside to get in my Ford, I nearly slipped on the inch of ice which had formed over night. Gaining my balance, I looked at the ground where I had nearly slipped. What I saw nearly took my breath away. My hearing dulled as if a sonic boom had occurred near my ears, all that sounded was a small ringing in my ear which quickly became a loud piercing whistle. For an instant, an unfathomable quick second, the snow was a hue of red, a grotesque color of blood. It was in a pool, a meter wide, a meter long. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I was horrified, disturbed. Today I’m still able to understand it, what happened. The ringing in my ears lessened and soon was nothing. Although I could hear the normal sounds of the wind, the occasional thud of snow falling from roofs, my mind stayed in a state of paralysis. I stared at the ground. The sudden wail of a car’s horn rushing by shook me out of my trance.
As I drove to the house, the constant fear of spontaneous visions put me in a state of anxiousness and fear. What next would I see? Demons? Angels? The thought of being put at the mercy of some random event disturbed my mind. The trees that I drove by suddenly had a new slight sense of suspicion about them. Which one would smash my car? Although still slightly scared, logical think soon began to roll. I was prescribed a certain brand of pills because I was plagued by a back injury while on the job. An accident of course but none the less I still was hurt. I started to make excuse up, but they made sense to me. Those pills had some side effects, probably some that I wasn’t even told about. Hallucinations happened all the time to people, it was bound to happen to me sooner or later. As I pulled up to the house though, I knew I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw Dakota’s vehicle in the driveway. That Jeep, poor vehicle. The thought of sends a slight chill up my spine. The snow was piled on top of the hood and roof. How long had it been there?
Entering the house, nothing had changed. I shouted,
”Dakota! Where are you?”
There was no reply, the only response was small bits of dust that fell on my from the ceiling. Taking the same course as last time, I peeked from room to room. The kitchen as well. Dakota was no where. Heading upstairs I expected to see him picking away at the walls.
“Come on you greedy bastard, is it that big of a deal if I get some working hours in too?” As the spiral staircase finally ended and I reached the top, the recently familiar joy of sudden hallucination grasped my conscience and the sight which I now saw truly horrified my being. All around me, the walls had indescribable hieroglyphics and symbols strewn across them, overlapping each, and worst of all, constantly moving left to right. An ever confusing mess of ancient horror unspoken flung in all directions. A scream, a never ending scream escaped my lungs. My mind was instantly besieged by a sensory overload, my temple pounding. The very thought of this alien spectacle makes my pulse increase, and breath quicken. The description given cannot possibly describe the true situation. With a blink of an eye, the symbols disappeared, but also oddly the Sun as well. The light which had previously shown through the windows was instantly snuffed away by the horror lettering. The sudden change in the environment put me in a state of primal fear, fight-or-flight took over. Turning around to face the stair, I stepped down on the first step in a frenzied state. Midway between the step is the last thing i can remember.
Awoken by the sound of a blizzard outside, I was at the bottom of the stairs. I was sore. I couldn’t remember what had happened after I turned for the stairs. Arising from my crumpled state, I pulled myself up using the wall for support. Leaning against the wall, my forehead laying on it, I let out a sigh. Raising my right hand above my head, I began to try to recollect my thoughts. As some time passed, I began to remember the feeling of being pushed, as if by someone. I continued to think when my train of thought was broken. Something had dropped on my head, most likely a leak from the snow outside. Raising my head from the wall, the wall was streaked with blood. A stream was coming down, constant. Looking up, I saw the source.
My thumb had been ripped off, the nub was bleeding profusely. The adrenaline which had been flowing through my veins made me feel no pain. I began to feel lightheaded, the room was spinning. The furniture around me suddenly took on a sinister light. The house itself became a prison to me, it’s walls keeping me in. I keeled over and vomited, I had looked at the floor fresh with my own gore. Over the course of the next few minutes I began to put myself together, but as much as I tried I was unable to control myself. I was alone in this house, outside was a raging blizzard. In my state I noticed that no sunlight was coming through the windows, it couldn’t have been long since I had fallen. I begin to think of ways that my new handicap could be fixed. Childish thoughts began to take over. Getting my phone out with my unwounded hand, I dialed Dakota’s number. Why didn’t I call the police? An ambulance? Why did I have to call Dakota? How would my character today have been effected? Fearing that I would get no signal because of the blizzard, I was happy to hear it ring.
But I was equally disturbed when I heard a ringing come from within the house.
The ringing wailed sharply in the air, the volume was comparable to that of a fog horn. I began to walk throughout the house in a search for the source. Every corner held a new amount of suspicion, every shadow contained an intensity to it. It became obvious that the sound was coming from upstairs, there could be no doubt. Everything in me told me not to go up that dread stair case. My inner being told me of scenarios that could play out with me getting out of the situation by simply avoiding the upstairs. Nothing seemed right about that upper layer. But I denied my own wishes, denied my conscience’s warnings and ignored my inner being’s promises. I have no idea why on that night I denied the logical, instead diving head first into the unknown, the dreaded upper layer. But little did I know of what truly was waiting for me. The shadows fell on corners of the stairs, no light afforded to touch them. I began to ascend the stairs, preparing myself for the onslaught of crippling illusions. My blood streaking the stairwell handles, I stepped to the top of the stairs. The ringing stopped.
Looking around, I saw nothing. A horrendous fog of dust was rising off the floor, the dry wall was deep enough that I was unable to see my own feet. Insulation from the walls covered my shoes. Where was the source of the ringing? From what nonexistent area did it originate? Without taking care to avoid using my crippled hang, I hastily dialed Dakota’s number again. Pushing the buttons as quickly as I could, blood soon covered my phone, drops fell to the floor. I waited for the ringing. How much time passed? A second? Thirty? I waited, the shadows cast from the littered floor sprung unimaginable horrors and malicious beasts all around. I awaited for one of them to strike me down. For my torment to stop, nothing could be worse then the onslaught of fear which besieged me. I had to find Dakota. My heart dropped when I heard the piercing ring. But it didn’t come from within the room. Listening carefully, I realized it was coming from the attic.
I saw the attic door which only the previous day I attempted to open. It hadn’t changed except the string was gone. The ringing continued. The blizzard outside continue to blow in unmatched intensity. Ice formed on the windows, I was truly imprisoned. Looking around, I found a crowbar. How ironic, I was supposed to be working on a house that day. Instead I was using it to find my friend. Why had I not turned back? Why did I continue? Hell has a voice, but you don’t just hear it, you see it. Using the crow bar I slammed it into the door, piercing it and getting a hold of it. Ripping downwards, it folded outward. The ladder was a covered in a disgusting mold, the wood itself rotted away. A deteriorating stench escaped the attic, a feeling of ancient horror swept over my mortal body. The previous wail of the ring now blasted forth from above. My scenes heightened, I was truly horrified. Unwillingly, against my body, I put a hand on the ladder. The wood creaked. I began to climb. Blood dripped downwards, the pitter patter of it splattering against rock was audible. As I reached the top, I was astonished by the unparalleled darkness. I saw nothingness. I saw a perfect glimpse of the abyss, that of which few mortals will be cursed to peer. The ringing had stopped. Using my phone as a small flashlight, I shown it all around me, but to no avail. For a final time I dialed Dakota’s number. If there is a God, why did he not save me? Was there truly nothing in this world that could have stopped from dialing his number? Why? The fear that I experienced as the source of the ringing became apparent was on a whole new tier of what I had felt earlier. The darkest horrors within nightmares are unable to compare to what I saw. The walls themselves peeled apart. Visions of hell, eternal damnation. Streaks of hellfire were all falling all around me, a hellish landscape. A lake of fire, Judas swallowed by the multi-headed beast described in Revelation. Demons flew at me, screaming an ancient and dead language. All around me, the dread hieroglyphics were being spelt out by an invisible hand. But the center of all this, the most abominable sight of all, a monstrous being, giant beyond measure. I stood there, silent in eternal horrifying silence. The being’s eyes glanced at me, and I felt death touch me, cold among the wildfire around me. My skin. My soul. This is the final destination of humanity, the end. The being said in an voice, comparable only to an inferno like death, “HEIL, SERVAO’A.” The monstrous vision haunts me, during the day, at night, in my dreams. In the shadows, at work, in diners. When I day dream, when I think. I am not safe, I have been scared. Where is Dakota?
Dakota’s phone rang, the light of it shined forth. Surrounding it was a pentagram of gore. The walls were covered in a stagnant nonmoving version of the dread language, dripping in blood. A chilling wind came from the entrance to the attic, from below. Where was Dakota?
But the one thing that I can still visualize was the string hanging down from the ceiling.
Tied at the end,
a severed thumb.
END
A Chilling Wind
by Scott Watson
I remember that week, that unforgettable week. No, there was no remarkable occasion that occurred, nor some amazing event. No, that week was something much more, but yet much quieter, for no one else has experienced the hell that I endured. That week changed me, molded me in ways that I cannot describe, to try would be futile. Thinking of it now sickens me and makes my mind throb. My palms moisten, heart pumps. Oh that week, abysmal hell.
The day before I was introduced to the house, I was shoveling snow from my driveway. A most particular Winter was occurring, record breaking snow fall fell from the heavens. Beautiful at first, but soon I realized how gray the world was around me. One moment a person could enjoy the sight of falling flakes, the next they were being oppressed by speeding hail and cutting ice. Soon I was cursing the skies. As the snow began to pile on the sides of my personal drive, a small Jeep pulled in front of me. Peering out from under my hood, I recognized the owner. Dakota had been a friend of mine since college many years ago. Approaching me, I offered a handshake.
”Dakota! What are you doing out in this snow, the plows haven’t even got out yet.” I inquired.
”You speak as if they’re going to come, funny.” he laughingly replied. With a smile I asked,
“What brings you around?”
“Simple, work.” As I look back on those works now, I nearly laugh at my naive joy. House construction was a temporary job. There usually was never a constant stream of work then, but I’m sure it’s still the same today. I left the field long ago. If only I had left sooner.
I had quit my attempts at a suitable driveway and soon we were both driving to 604 Rosewood Manor, a two story house with extensive termite damage. Bad for the owners, cash for my pocket. Over a set course of one week, we were both to tear out the walls and ceilings of five rooms, failure to do so would result in a loss of a bonus check that Dakota and I planned on splitting. At thirty-five dollars an hour, the loss of the bonus check wouldn’t be that big of a pain. Arriving in the front of the home, it glowed in the evening sun. Although work wouldn’t start for another day, I entered the house with Dakota behind me. Through the door there was a hall way, rooms on both sides. Some were open, others had closed doors. As I walked by each one I peeked inside, various forms of furniture were in each, but all seemed to come from the same style and age. Entering the kitchen we sat down, warming ourselves from the stinging outside freeze which had become characteristic. He and I began to chat about missed time. Dakota had worked with me for a long time on house work, but for a time we hadn’t seen each other. If I’m incorrect, I believe when he pulled up in front of my house that day, it was the first time I saw him in a little over seven months. After an hour or so he stood and said,
“The upstairs is the same layout Ruben, go ahead and check it out. I’m going to give the owner a call.” Leaving the kitchen and continuing to the end of the hall way, I ascended the spiral staircase which led upwards. At the top the scene lain out before me was a pitiful sight. The exact layout which I had such seen prior downstairs was maintained, but instead of having walls containing the rooms, giving each its’ own privacy, the walls were eaten away. Carved, eaten, chipped, and splintered away. Dry wall littered the floor, plaster cast dust up in the air, and wall paper hung from nearly all the walls. The sun shone in from the windows, showering the scene in receding sunlight. Soon it would set, and the Winter cold would assault the home. Examine the roof, I noticed an attic door with a string hanging down. Curiosity creeping in my mind, I pulled on the string, but to no avail. What would I have found on that first day? What wonders or horrors would I have beheld? Sadly, or perhaps for my own good Dakota shouted from below that we should leave before it darkness set in.
The next day I awoke to see outside that snow was once again falling fast from the sky. Going into my kitchen I ignored the bills which laid on the table. With the randomness of home construction and repair, I sometimes had trouble getting by. However, with that new opportunity, I would easily be able to pay those bills which were constantly being flung in my face. I was getting fed up with them. After taking my daily pills, I decided to call Dakota, what problem was there in starting early? The snow wouldn’t be a problem, it was light compared to the previous snows that we had endured. The phone rang and rang. It rang and rang. Going to voicemail, I hung up instead of taking the alternative of leaving a message. I would try later.
I attempted to call him seven times. By this time it was three in the evening. Walking outside to get in my Ford, I nearly slipped on the inch of ice which had formed over night. Gaining my balance, I looked at the ground where I had nearly slipped. What I saw nearly took my breath away. My hearing dulled as if a sonic boom had occurred near my ears, all that sounded was a small ringing in my ear which quickly became a loud piercing whistle. For an instant, an unfathomable quick second, the snow was a hue of red, a grotesque color of blood. It was in a pool, a meter wide, a meter long. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I was horrified, disturbed. Today I’m still able to understand it, what happened. The ringing in my ears lessened and soon was nothing. Although I could hear the normal sounds of the wind, the occasional thud of snow falling from roofs, my mind stayed in a state of paralysis. I stared at the ground. The sudden wail of a car’s horn rushing by shook me out of my trance.
As I drove to the house, the constant fear of spontaneous visions put me in a state of anxiousness and fear. What next would I see? Demons? Angels? The thought of being put at the mercy of some random event disturbed my mind. The trees that I drove by suddenly had a new slight sense of suspicion about them. Which one would smash my car? Although still slightly scared, logical think soon began to roll. I was prescribed a certain brand of pills because I was plagued by a back injury while on the job. An accident of course but none the less I still was hurt. I started to make excuse up, but they made sense to me. Those pills had some side effects, probably some that I wasn’t even told about. Hallucinations happened all the time to people, it was bound to happen to me sooner or later. As I pulled up to the house though, I knew I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw Dakota’s vehicle in the driveway. That Jeep, poor vehicle. The thought of sends a slight chill up my spine. The snow was piled on top of the hood and roof. How long had it been there?
Entering the house, nothing had changed. I shouted,
”Dakota! Where are you?”
There was no reply, the only response was small bits of dust that fell on my from the ceiling. Taking the same course as last time, I peeked from room to room. The kitchen as well. Dakota was no where. Heading upstairs I expected to see him picking away at the walls.
“Come on you greedy bastard, is it that big of a deal if I get some working hours in too?” As the spiral staircase finally ended and I reached the top, the recently familiar joy of sudden hallucination grasped my conscience and the sight which I now saw truly horrified my being. All around me, the walls had indescribable hieroglyphics and symbols strewn across them, overlapping each, and worst of all, constantly moving left to right. An ever confusing mess of ancient horror unspoken flung in all directions. A scream, a never ending scream escaped my lungs. My mind was instantly besieged by a sensory overload, my temple pounding. The very thought of this alien spectacle makes my pulse increase, and breath quicken. The description given cannot possibly describe the true situation. With a blink of an eye, the symbols disappeared, but also oddly the Sun as well. The light which had previously shown through the windows was instantly snuffed away by the horror lettering. The sudden change in the environment put me in a state of primal fear, fight-or-flight took over. Turning around to face the stair, I stepped down on the first step in a frenzied state. Midway between the step is the last thing i can remember.
Awoken by the sound of a blizzard outside, I was at the bottom of the stairs. I was sore. I couldn’t remember what had happened after I turned for the stairs. Arising from my crumpled state, I pulled myself up using the wall for support. Leaning against the wall, my forehead laying on it, I let out a sigh. Raising my right hand above my head, I began to try to recollect my thoughts. As some time passed, I began to remember the feeling of being pushed, as if by someone. I continued to think when my train of thought was broken. Something had dropped on my head, most likely a leak from the snow outside. Raising my head from the wall, the wall was streaked with blood. A stream was coming down, constant. Looking up, I saw the source.
My thumb had been ripped off, the nub was bleeding profusely. The adrenaline which had been flowing through my veins made me feel no pain. I began to feel lightheaded, the room was spinning. The furniture around me suddenly took on a sinister light. The house itself became a prison to me, it’s walls keeping me in. I keeled over and vomited, I had looked at the floor fresh with my own gore. Over the course of the next few minutes I began to put myself together, but as much as I tried I was unable to control myself. I was alone in this house, outside was a raging blizzard. In my state I noticed that no sunlight was coming through the windows, it couldn’t have been long since I had fallen. I begin to think of ways that my new handicap could be fixed. Childish thoughts began to take over. Getting my phone out with my unwounded hand, I dialed Dakota’s number. Why didn’t I call the police? An ambulance? Why did I have to call Dakota? How would my character today have been effected? Fearing that I would get no signal because of the blizzard, I was happy to hear it ring.
But I was equally disturbed when I heard a ringing come from within the house.
The ringing wailed sharply in the air, the volume was comparable to that of a fog horn. I began to walk throughout the house in a search for the source. Every corner held a new amount of suspicion, every shadow contained an intensity to it. It became obvious that the sound was coming from upstairs, there could be no doubt. Everything in me told me not to go up that dread stair case. My inner being told me of scenarios that could play out with me getting out of the situation by simply avoiding the upstairs. Nothing seemed right about that upper layer. But I denied my own wishes, denied my conscience’s warnings and ignored my inner being’s promises. I have no idea why on that night I denied the logical, instead diving head first into the unknown, the dreaded upper layer. But little did I know of what truly was waiting for me. The shadows fell on corners of the stairs, no light afforded to touch them. I began to ascend the stairs, preparing myself for the onslaught of crippling illusions. My blood streaking the stairwell handles, I stepped to the top of the stairs. The ringing stopped.
Looking around, I saw nothing. A horrendous fog of dust was rising off the floor, the dry wall was deep enough that I was unable to see my own feet. Insulation from the walls covered my shoes. Where was the source of the ringing? From what nonexistent area did it originate? Without taking care to avoid using my crippled hang, I hastily dialed Dakota’s number again. Pushing the buttons as quickly as I could, blood soon covered my phone, drops fell to the floor. I waited for the ringing. How much time passed? A second? Thirty? I waited, the shadows cast from the littered floor sprung unimaginable horrors and malicious beasts all around. I awaited for one of them to strike me down. For my torment to stop, nothing could be worse then the onslaught of fear which besieged me. I had to find Dakota. My heart dropped when I heard the piercing ring. But it didn’t come from within the room. Listening carefully, I realized it was coming from the attic.
I saw the attic door which only the previous day I attempted to open. It hadn’t changed except the string was gone. The ringing continued. The blizzard outside continue to blow in unmatched intensity. Ice formed on the windows, I was truly imprisoned. Looking around, I found a crowbar. How ironic, I was supposed to be working on a house that day. Instead I was using it to find my friend. Why had I not turned back? Why did I continue? Hell has a voice, but you don’t just hear it, you see it. Using the crow bar I slammed it into the door, piercing it and getting a hold of it. Ripping downwards, it folded outward. The ladder was a covered in a disgusting mold, the wood itself rotted away. A deteriorating stench escaped the attic, a feeling of ancient horror swept over my mortal body. The previous wail of the ring now blasted forth from above. My scenes heightened, I was truly horrified. Unwillingly, against my body, I put a hand on the ladder. The wood creaked. I began to climb. Blood dripped downwards, the pitter patter of it splattering against rock was audible. As I reached the top, I was astonished by the unparalleled darkness. I saw nothingness. I saw a perfect glimpse of the abyss, that of which few mortals will be cursed to peer. The ringing had stopped. Using my phone as a small flashlight, I shown it all around me, but to no avail. For a final time I dialed Dakota’s number. If there is a God, why did he not save me? Was there truly nothing in this world that could have stopped from dialing his number? Why? The fear that I experienced as the source of the ringing became apparent was on a whole new tier of what I had felt earlier. The darkest horrors within nightmares are unable to compare to what I saw. The walls themselves peeled apart. Visions of hell, eternal damnation. Streaks of hellfire were all falling all around me, a hellish landscape. A lake of fire, Judas swallowed by the multi-headed beast described in Revelation. Demons flew at me, screaming an ancient and dead language. All around me, the dread hieroglyphics were being spelt out by an invisible hand. But the center of all this, the most abominable sight of all, a monstrous being, giant beyond measure. I stood there, silent in eternal horrifying silence. The being’s eyes glanced at me, and I felt death touch me, cold among the wildfire around me. My skin. My soul. This is the final destination of humanity, the end. The being said in an voice, comparable only to an inferno like death, “HEIL, SERVAO’A.” The monstrous vision haunts me, during the day, at night, in my dreams. In the shadows, at work, in diners. When I day dream, when I think. I am not safe, I have been scared. Where is Dakota?
Dakota’s phone rang, the light of it shined forth. Surrounding it was a pentagram of gore. The walls were covered in a stagnant nonmoving version of the dread language, dripping in blood. A chilling wind came from the entrance to the attic, from below. Where was Dakota?
But the one thing that I can still visualize was the string hanging down from the ceiling.
Tied at the end,
a severed thumb.
END
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