Tag Archives: Literature


21 Oct


It was a strange feeling. Weirder than the anticipation you get right before taking the picture for the yearbook, or having your first kiss – on a scale, they are about the same. She looked at the boy with peculiar hair and different clothes about five feet from her. He was entertained with some activity, which she could not distinguish for only his back was visible, and although she had never noticed before, that boy had a grace in his movements. His hands smoothly fell on the floor, where he would choose pieces of something.

He had a strange feeling too. Awkwardly looking back, from the corner of his eyes, he could see she was watched all of his moves. What reason did she have to do so? It certainly should be his bright green t-shirt, or maybe the orange pants. No, maybe it was his blue shoes that he had been wearing everyday for the last two years. He wasn’t allowed to have any more. Somewhere in that same room was a camera. And watching that camera was some man or woman recording it in video. This video would then be taken to a third person, who would analyze it, and make notations. If that boy got a new pair of shoes, all the experiments would be ruined, and six years of work would go down the drain. He had to complete the task alone.

The girl suddenly realized he had been watching her too. She freezed, thought on what to do, and dread came over to her mind. Should she stay or should she leave? What would he do? She started to slowly walk backwards, when they boy took the courage to talk.

“Hey, want to help me?” he asked, as he motioned for her to come forward.
“What are you doing?” she asked back.
“Doing a life size puzzle”
“Of what?” she was now closer.
He thought about the question for a second, and then answered. “The whole universe”.



18 Jul

Tick tock. The clock stopped at 12. The night in its most frightening hour devoured the sky outside. Time seemed to slow itself. He couldn’t sleep. The pale face of the man hid beneath the darkness. Darkness meant he would be safe, but only for a couple of hours. It would be back. It always came back, and, as long as it wasn’t dark, it would stay. There were no lights around. He was safe. The man kept looking outside, wishing that 6AM never came. Morning would bring It to life, and It would follow the man, It would try to take his life. It had tried before, and It would try again.

It could not bear being only the shadow. It wanted a life of its own, but as long as the man was alive, It – the shadow – would have to follow. It was the order of things. Humans live, shadows follow. Continue reading

The Tell-Tale Heart

30 Jun

The Tell-Tale Heart

by Edgar Allan Poe

TRUE! –nervous –very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses –not destroyed –not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily –how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees –very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it –oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly –very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously –cautiously (for the hinges creaked) –I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights –every night just at midnight –but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Continue reading