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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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ARTICLE

INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

We see kids, and we immediately assume that they’re innocent -- but why is this so? Why do we think that they’re incapable of any harm? My article explores the life of Mary Bell, a child criminal convicted of murder. It also focuses on a separate case of two 10-year-old boys murdering a two year old boy named James Bulger. In both cases, adults had the opportunity to stop these criminals earlier but gave these children the benefit of the doubt.

Bad Parenting: How Grave are the Consequences?

It’s particularly easy for people to shame parents for their child’s destructive behaviour. There’s no doubt that we tend to blame the parents whenever something goes wrong involving the child. People are generally harsh on parents, but why is that so? What influential roles do parents exactly have in their children’s development? What is bad parenting imposed to good parenting?

Mary Bell was born in May 26, 1957. Her mother, Betty, was a prostitute and had a lack of presence at home, due to travelling for her occupation. Her mother was known to be mentally unstable. Mary never knew who her biological father was, but she believed it was Billy Bell — a criminal charged for armed robbery who married her mother some time after Mary’s birth. It was reported by various family members that Betty attempted to kill Mary and frame it as an accident. Her family became suspicious when Mary had apparently “fallen” from a window and “accidentally” consumed sleeping pills. Mary had admitted that she was subjected to sexual abuse from her mother, as she was forced to have sex with men beginning from the age of five. As she grew up, she attacked other children at school, vandalized and committed theft. She would also occasionally voice her desire to kill others. (Blanco)

The day before her 11th birthday, Mary strangled a four year old child named Martin Brown. After that homicide, it was believed that she broke into a nursery along with a friend named Norma Bell and left notes claiming responsibility for the killing. However, it was dismissed as a prank and no investigations were undergone. On July 31 1968, the two girls kidnapped a three year old child named Brian Howe. Similarly to her previous murder, Mary had also strangled Brian Howe to death. It was also reported that Mary mutilated the body and carved an “N” on Brian’s stomach with a razor. Additionally, she had also used a pair of scissors to cut his hair, scratch his legs and mutilate his penis. Mary was convicted of manslaughter on December 17, 1968 and was sentenced to jail. (Blanco)

In a different case, a two year old child named James Bulger was murdered by two ten year old boys; Jon Venables and Robert Thompson. The two boys were skipping school and shop-lifted various items from stores. Based off of mall security tapes, it was shown that they were casually watching children with intentions of selecting a victim. James Bulger was with his mother, Denise, in the New Strand Shopping Centre. Her mother had entered the butcher’s shop at 3:40pm, and very soon after realized her son had disappeared. The boys had approached Bulger, grabbed him by the hand and left the vicinity. That very moment was captured on security tape at 3:42pm. (Blanco)

The boys lead their victim on a four kilometre walk and stopped at the Leeds and Liverpool Canal where they dropped the two year old on his head and inflicted injuries to his face. Fearful of the witnesses around them, they continued on to walk until they found a better place to begin the murder. Strangers saw the two year old crying with a bump on his head, but all assumed they were merely siblings. Eventually they arrived at a railway line where they began the torture. They started kicking him and throwing bricks, stones and a 22-pound iron bar. They had also threw paint in his left eye. Reports say that his foreskin has been mutilated which lead police to suspect sexual assault was involved. The boy was dead at this point. To cover up the murder to look like an accident, they laid the boy on the train tracks. Soon, a train arrived and cut his body in half. His body was discovered two days later. The boys were charged with murder on February 20, 1993. (Blanco) Soon after, the mothers of Jon Venables and Robert Thompson were harshly condemned by the public for not having raised their sons better. They blamed the mothers for the murder of the two year old boy. People believed that it was lack of care, love, and firm parental control that culminated into the murder of an innocent life. Further research was conducted about the family history of the two boys and it was discovered that both children had separated parents. They had also grown up skipping class, had trouble in school, shoplifted and were generally violent — some of which may consider signs of bad parenting. It was reported that Ann Thompson, the mother of Robert, was an alcoholic after being deserted by her husband five years prior to the murder of James Bulger. She would go to the bar and neglect her children back in their chaotic home. Her sons grew up biting, hammering battering and torturing each other. There was a case where Ann had to take one of her sons to the police station for threatening another son with a knife. As for the mother of Jon Venables, Susan Venables, she allegedly had a serious depressive problem that made her suicidal. Police were called to her home because she left her three children at home alone for hours. It was noted that Susan was a harsh person. In both cases, it seems that there was a problem of neglect in the family and that lead the public to point fingers at the mothers. (The Guardian, 2000)

Humans are very easily influenced by their environment and other people. Parents have a tough responsibility of making sure their children grow up with decency and respect for other beings. Although it is ultimately one’s own conscious and decision making between committing acts of good or evil — it is the parent’s job to be involved their children’s lives in a positive manner.

Works Cited List

Blanco, Juan Ignacio. “Jon Venables | Murderpedia, the Encyclopedia of Murderers." Jon Venables. Murderpedia, n.d. Web. 05 Jan. 2017.

Blanco, Juan Ignacio. "Mary Bell | Murderpedia, the Encyclopedia of Murderers." Mary Bell. Murderpedia, n.d. Web. 05 Jan. 2017.

The Guardian. “Did bad parenting turn Thompson and Venables into killers?” The Guardian. Guardian News and Media. 01 Nov. 2000. Web. 05 Jan. 2017.

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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POEM

INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

This piece was inspired by my mother. On a daily basis, my mother calls me every single day just to remind me of simple tasks. Most days, she reminds me the exact same thing. It really bugs me whenever she calls and I’m forced to hear the phone ring. I’ve also realized that I’ve been annoyed by my mother for so many things over the years. However, I remembered that it’s truly a blessing to have a healthy and loving mother in your life. Despite all that you know, one thing that’s not up for discussion is that your parents will die. I refuse to live a life where I regret not showing more love to my mom. I refuse to sit down in that same chair one day and wait for a call that’s never going to come again.

Forever

My mother calls me every day To give me daily reminders I’m sitting here feeling gray Waiting so I can answer

I hated it when she called It made me want to go bald “Feed your brother, catch your bus” I get it mom, stop making a fuss!

All my life she’s been spinning my head Like when I was six and she made me hold her hand Or when I was ten and she told me to do my bed And when I was thirteen she bought me no brand

Then at sixteen she caught me cutting with a knife And at nineteen she said I wasn’t serious about life And at twenty five she dragged me along to go shop But then at thirty she came to a full and complete stop

Now I’m six years old again And all I want to do is hold her hand But there’s nothing to hold but pain And I wish life just went as planned

So here I sit, feeling gray Waiting for the call out of vain The phone rings, but it’s not her A voice whispers, “She wasn’t forever.”

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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MEMOIR

INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

It’s always hard talking about grade nine. It was the year when my top secret of being gay was shamelessly exposed to the public. It was a secret I held to myself for years, and I hated myself for it. I hated being gay, and for it to be thrown out there was terrible. I felt so powerless for a good portion of grade nine. I met so many backstabbers and experienced the worst type of betrayals. I was pushed around and hurt by the people I would never expect. Throughout all this, I made a really good friend which is why I named the memoir “A Rose Among the Thorns”.

A Rose Among the Thorns

I met these girls in freshman year. Their names were Samantha, Christina, and Alexis. We became close a month into high school, so I decided to tell them my secret. At this point in time, I considered myself depressed. I fell into a deep infatuation with this boy named Kyle, and he led me on to believe that he liked me back. We spent four days at a camp together. Every moment there, I fell harder for him and had all the more reasons to think I had a chance at love. He’d discretely touch me and even danced with me in a way other boys wouldn’t have. He would casually compliment my looks and tell me I was adorable. We would stay up into the early hours and talk about our lives. He took such a big interest in me, and I wasn’t used to it. I never had any guy friends, so I didn’t know how to react. It’s different for gay people like me. Others have an endless sea of options waiting for them. I have a small puddle, and within that small puddle – there’s no one for me. That’s why it was such a big deal when I thought my feelings were returned for once. It wasn’t the case, though. About two weeks after camp, he started dating a girl named Rachael. During that relationship with Rachael, he told me he knew I liked him and kindly apologized for making it seem like he was also gay. I spiralled out of control. My feelings had the best of me. The mere thought of him made me cry in the middle of class. I’d just sit there and cry. It’s ridiculous looking back how much I cared about him, but maybe it wasn’t. He was the only guy who gave me the sort of attention no other would have; he was special. I ended up hating Rachael with a passion. Every day at school I’d see them hold hands and it tainted me with malicious thoughts. He had so much emotional control over me, and I hated it. I would stay up at night, and cut myself with razor blades. My eyes would water as I experienced chest pains. I was hurting in more ways than one, and he knew it too. He reached out to me regularly and tried to make sure I was okay. He wanted me to know he cared, but it didn’t help me get over him. I wanted to talk to someone. I had only told Kyle and a couple other friends about my depression. The rest of the school was still unaware that I was gay, and I wanted it to keep that way. I decided that I wasn’t okay and needed to talk about my feelings to more people. I trusted those three girls: Samantha, Christina, and Alexis. I told them that I was gay, and how depressed I was over Kyle. From that point on, they took me in and we stuck together as a group. They would listen to all my personal problems and offer their words of advice. Out of the three girls, I found that it was Samantha that was the most passionate about helping me feel better. She would always joke about how fat Rachael was and that she’d crush her with her own weight someday. Even now, I’m smiling at the jokes she would make to help me feel better. At other times she’d tell me how great of a person I was and that I deserved the whole world. I really couldn’t stop feeling grateful about the friends I made. I learned so much about these girls in the course of a couple of weeks. These girls had their own problems too. Christina was bullied in middle school for being “ugly”, and she never completely got over it. It was crazy though, because it wasn’t true. I’d always tell her how pretty her hair was, and that I loved her tan skin. Alexis had also fallen deep for a boy in our school, but he turned her down because she was black. I told her that her skin was beautiful and it didn’t matter what any other boy thought. I told her to stay confident until she met a boy who would be able to love her dark ebony skin that always smelled like cocoa butter. We had our own support system and promised each other that we’d always be there for each other. They were my favourite people to be around. Everything went well until I first heard the rumours. I was in gym class, by myself because I didn’t have any friends. I never liked to admit it out loud, but I was such a loner in that class. I hated going to gym. No one ever thought I was worth talking to. It wasn’t until that day when a boy walked up to me in class and asked me: “Is it true you’re gay?” I’ll never forget how my heart sank as I struggled to find an answer. I tried to shake my head, but the lack of response confirmed his question. The boys in that class would whisper behind my back, and constantly give me strange looks. I felt like a complete outcast. I was trying to cope with how I’ve been exposed, but I heard more rumours. Kyle had been telling people that he warned me that he was straight, and that he didn’t know what I wanted from him. He called me a freak and said he made it clear he wanted his distance. I was so angry. I started to think about all the times he complimented me, and danced with me that night. I started thinking about the time he said we’d make a cute couple. It was already bad enough, but then I was told that it was Samantha who exposed my secret to the entire school. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that the one girl who truly helped me through my depression was the same girl who stabbed my back. When I confronted Samantha, she tried to lie about it. She flipped the tables on me and got mad at me for accusing her. Soon, I had a fallout with the whole group because they chose Samantha over me. I was in the dark again. We started the swimming unit in gym class, which I soon became to dread. Our first class ended,We were all in the change room, changing out of our regular school outfits into swimming attire. There were no changing stalls; we had to change in the open. I was really embarrassed, so I sat down on a bench and waited for everyone to leave. That was when a boy shouted out, “Hey, he’s watching us!” I was in fact looking at the floor, but no one cared. That boy, Connor, really hated me for some reason. A lot of the boys were homophobic, but no one really hated me. They just made expressions at me or ignored me completely. Connor was another story. He slowly advanced towards me, and I felt so scared. I had never been in any physical altercations, so I didn’t know how to react. He started insulting me and calling me hurtful words. Everyone was crowding us and I felt pressured to say something back. I started to stand up, but he pulled my shirt and threw me on the ground. All I remember was everyone in the change room going crazy. The boys were shouting as if they wanted the whole thing to go on. I felt powerless and humiliated. At that point, a boy named Matthew stepped forward and punched Connor. They started to get in a big fight, but were separated quickly. Connor was bleeding from his nose but Matthew was completely unharmed. I was a little offended that no one decided to stop Connor when he attacked me but I was grateful that the whole thing stopped. I remember leaving that change room with the biggest grin on my face. The teacher had asked me if there was a fight in the change room and I proudly lied to his face. Matthew ran out and caught up to me. He told me that Samantha had told Connor that I had a crush on him and that’s why he especially hated me. All the guys were teasing Connor because of me. I didn’t even know what to say at that point, but Matthew promised that he had my back. I might have been stabbed in the back a couple times, but I was glad I made my first friend in gym class. Sometimes it might seem like you’re in the complete dark, but if you try hard enough you’ll find a light. A light that keeps you from burning out and dying. I found my light.

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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The Devil is real. And he's not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful.

AHS

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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ARTICLE

INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

I always found the story of Albert Fish fascinating although extremely frightening at the same time. It made me wonder what went through the minds of people like him. How can someone perform cannibalism like it’s nothing? It only takes a monster to consider eating the flesh of another human. What amazes me is that throughout his life, Albert repeatedly pretended to be a kind being in many different situations. When his victims fall for his lies, it’s already been too late. It goes to show that you really can’t trust people unless you know exactly who they are. It’s easy to fool people. It’s even easier to be fooled.

Stranger Danger

Kids are encouraged from the very start to avoid talking to people they don’t know. It’s taught in TV shows, schools, and at home — but how many of these kids actually understand the concept of “stranger danger”? Everyone has seen the memes of creepy vans offering free candy — holding innuendoes of pedophilia and kidnapping. Whether or not this may be common in the real world, the internet makes a joke out of this and undermines the dangers of kidnapping. As a result, both children and parents may be more unwary and unsuspecting of the worst case scenario and therefore be more prone to be subjected to child abduction.

Albert Fish was a notorious serial killer known as America’s boogeyman. He was born in Washington, D.C. in 1795 and had three living siblings. His family had a history of mental illnesses; many of his relatives suffered from conditions such as religious mania, aural hallucination and visual hallucination. Having his father die from a heart attack in 1870, his mother later put him in an orphanage years later in 1875. He was subjected to beatings and physical abuse, but later realized he experienced pleasure from it. By 1879, his mother had found a government job and was therefore able to care for him — but the damage has been done. In 1982, he engaged in a relationship with another boy at the age of 12. The boy influenced him to participate in the act of drinking urine and consuming excrement. He also began visiting public baths so he could witness young boys undressing themselves on a weekly basis. In 1890, he had moved to New York City and began raping young boys, despite being in an arranged marriage with another woman. In 1898, he worked as a house painter and claimed to continue molesting young children at that point in time. His wife left him in 1917 for another man, which lead to Fish hearing voices in his head. He committed his first attack upon a child named Thomas Bedden in 1910. He had also stabbed a mentally disabled boy in 1919. He claimed to have targeted “mentally retarded” or African-American people because he assumed they would not be missed. In 1924, he attempted to lure an eight-year-old girl named Beatrice from her family’s own farm. Offering her money to assist him in looking for rhubarb, she attempted to leave the farm when her mother chased Fish away. He returned but was chased away for the second time. (Blanco) His twisted path culminated into one final wicked act. On May 25, 1928 Fish spotted an ad in the New York World newspaper that requested job opportunities for 18 year old Edward Budd. Three days later, Fish visited the Budd family in New York City acting as if he was going to hire Budd. He posed as a farmer and claimed he needed workers to help around in the farm. During his time at the Budd’s home, he met 10 year old Grace Budd. Promising Edward Budd that he’d get back to him about the possibility of being hired, he left and later returned days after. On his second visit, he agreed to hire Budd. At the same time, he asked the parents of the family if he could take Grace to a birthday party that evening at his sister’s home. The parents unsuspectingly agreed. Fish left with Grace and never returned. (Blanco)

Seven years later, Fish sent the Budd family an anonymous letter. He described having lunch with Grace; that she sat on his lap and kissed him. Afterwards, he fooled her into thinking they were going to a party. He lead her to an empty house and told her to wait outside. He undressed himself in a room, called her from the window, and hid in a closet. As she made her way into the room, he jumped out naked. She cried and attempted to escape the room but to know avail. Fish claimed that she resisted; biting, kicking, and scratching him — but he strangled her to death. Once she was deceased, he cut her in small pieces and cooked her. He described how “sweet and tender” she was. It took nine days for him to eat the entire body. (Blanco)

The letter lead the police right to Fish. He was taken to the police headquarters where he fully confessed to killing Grace Budd. He claimed he initially intended to kill Edward Budd instead, but changed his mind when he met Grace. He was put on trial on March 11, 1935 and executed on January 16, 1936. (Blanco) There’s no telling what sort of vile and malicious intentions lies behind a friendly face. Albert Fish successfully tricked many people into thinking he was a benevolent being which costed the lives of many. A lot of these victims had a lack of supervision or wrongfully trusted a stranger. The best way to avoid trouble is to take precautions and enforce safety rules upon not only the children, but oneself as well. The most dangerous thing one can do to oneself is to assume worst case scenarios will never happen. As Suzy Kassem once said, “If the devil decided to run for President, do you think he/she would put on their horns and wicked grin, or a suit with an angelic smile… Salt and sugar look exactly the same but taste very different.”

Work Cited List

Blanco, Juan Ignacio. "Albert Fish | Murderpedia, the Encyclopedia of Murderers." Albert Fish. Murderpedia, n.d. Web. 05 Jan. 2017.

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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SHORT STORY

INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

This story was inspired from personal experience, but in a much more exaggerated form. The title refers to when a silver blade “kisses” your skin and leaves a trail of red. This story opens with a boy named Noah who’s trying to describe his surroundings during a suicide attempt. We learn that his home life is a disaster and he sought for escape at school. However, he’s betrayed by his best friend when she exposes his sexuality. Time passes on and he finds a boyfriend, whom later on cheats on him. He decides that the life he has is one that he no longer wanted. The story reverts back to the first scene and he finally dies. The story brings out a powerful message about being careful about who you trust, and that life in general may be hard for absolutely no reason. You don’t have any control of your life. Sometimes it might seem like the entire world’s against you, but that’s just how things are. The only thing you can control is how you react to it.

Silver Kisses Red

I don’t really know where I am right now. I think I hear water running. Yes, that’s water running in the bathtub, and I’m in it. The water’s slowly rising up and it’s fading into a slight shade of crimson red. It’s warm in here, but I’m feeling faint and a sense of disorientation is getting the best of me. There are razor blades, all smothered and stained with blood — scattered across the tile floor. My mother’s bottle of newly prescribed sleeping pills is laying on the sink, opened and half emptied. Blood is quickly seeping out the gashes patterned across my arms and legs. My body’s discretely swaying back and forth, like an old rocking chair that’s been abandoned in a dark attic — forgotten. I’m trying to get ahold of my consciousness but it’s slowly slipping from my grasp. You’re probably wondering how I ended up like this, so I’ll begin my story.

My name’s Noah Abraham Johnson. My middle name came from my dad’s first name, Abraham Johnson. He’s a retired lieutenant from the military and had been overseas for half of my life. I remember meeting him for the first time at the age of eight. It was hard seeing this tall, buff and scary man as a fatherly figure. I knew he existed all this time though because I always received these birthday cards every year from someone named “Dad”. I never thought that he’d actually come home one day. My mom, Sophia Johnson, is a marriage and family therapist — which is a bit ironic considering how messed up our family is. My father lost an arm from fighting in Iraq and developed PTSD from accidentally bombing a shelter home filled with innocent civilians. The military turned a blind eye towards the whole situation but he never recovered from it. He gets worse everyday; drinking away his problems in an attempt to forget everything. When he realizes he can’t forget, he gets angry and takes out his frustration on my mother and I. Despite losing an arm, he still has another one and isn’t afraid to use it — even on his own family. My parents are always fighting; there’s never a quiet moment in this house. Lately, my mom has been working more hours and been coming home later than usual. My dad began to suspect that my mom’s been having an affair. One day she came home late, and he was waiting for her at the door. Almost immediately, they began to scream at each other. I made the mistake of getting in between the crossfire and went to sleep that night with bruises on my face. I’d spend the next few years lying about a few dozen bruises and a couple black eyes to suspecting teachers. Sometimes, I wish my dad had never come home from the military. I always hated school, but it became my escape from home ever since my dad returned. There was one good thing about school though, and it was my best friend Winnie. I met her in the second grade, and we’ve been inseparable. I loved being around her; she was sweet, kind, and caring. She was very much into gossip though, but so was I. We would talk endlessly all day and we would never get tired of it. Everything was good until we reached middle school. I started to learn more about myself, and I realized I liked boys. I told Winnie because I trusted her with everything, or at least I thought I could. She took the opportunity to fit in with the other kids and outed me out to the entire school. I was an outcast for the next three years. No one wanted to be my friend. Winnie would strut the halls with the popular kids and walk past me like she didn’t know who I was. It was like our friendship never existed. I never understood how someone could be so vile to another person they used to call “best friend”. Time passed on and everything was simply reduced to bad memories. Apparently everyone got over their homophobic phase because having a gay best friend was the new trend. I didn’t complain though, because I went from rock bottom to the top of the social pyramid. It was weird seeing the same people who hated me suddenly sucking up to me. I took this opportunity and spent freshman year getting back at Winnie. She was still somewhat popular from middle school, but not enough to save herself. I spread countless rumours about her, and told everyone the secrets she used to tell me when we were still friends. Half her friends turned against her and her reputation was trashed. I was aware I was doing a terrible thing, but my judgment was clouded by anger. She ruined my life for three years.

I met Luke during sophomore year. We landed in the same English class and he sat down next to me. I was really excited because I found him so attractive. Over the year, we started bonding over things outside of class, and it escalated into a great friendship. He’d ask me how my day was and I’d enthusiastically tell him. It was hard concentrating in class. I couldn’t help but fall in love with his chestnut brown hair. His eyes were of similar colours; comforting and warm like hot chocolate during the coldest winter.

One day, he took me out to a cafe — just the two of us. We started talking about life and what we wanted out of it. He started talking to me about his goals; his aspirations. He told me he wanted to be an environmentalist scientist. It started when he went on a vacation to Mexico. The water was crystal blue and the skies were clear. He walked across the sandy beach, feeling every grain of life beneath his feet. A sea turtle was struggling nearby shore, trapped in a six-pack plastic ring that would normally be used to package bottles of coke. His heart dropped, and he rushed to save the turtle immediately. After sending the turtle back into the ocean, he realized that there were millions of other animals suffering from similar environmental issues. He realized he wanted to save the animals, and the earth. He finished his story, and sipped his caramel latte. I couldn’t help but be speechless. It wasn’t just about his eyes that possessed the colour of the earth kissed by spring rain and shone from warm sun rays — radiating a vibrant hue. It wasn’t just about his dark lustrous hair that had a sheen like fine hardwood. I fell in love with his words. I fell in love with his passion. I wanted to know more about him; I was craving to know what went through his mind. I forced myself to utter something out, but all I managed to say was “wow”. He chuckled, and put his hand over mine. He told me he was also gay, and he wanted to be with me. I’ll never forget the signature grin he flashed when he realized he completely had me. The next few months following that day were the best I ever had. We spent every moment we had with each other. My home situation was still bad, though. I came to school with new bruises every week. Luke would kiss them and everything would be okay. I couldn’t help but be so grateful to have someone so loving in my life, especially with everything I had to deal with.

On our six month anniversary, we planned to go back to the same cafe that started it all. I waited at the same table we sat, but he never showed up. I was really confused and hurt because I didn’t know what was going on. I left the cafe with a bunch of questions in my head, and decided to walk around. After just a couple minutes, all my questions were answered. Tears streamed down my face as I walked closer to what I saw. Winnie and Luke were kissing passionately behind a building near the cafe. I looked on as she grasped his face and came into contact with his mouth. I couldn’t watch for another second. I turned around, and that’s when they saw me.

Winnie called for me, and I stood in place. She began to laugh, and explained how my whole relationship with Luke was never real. It was just an elaborate plan to crush me in the end. Luke lied about being gay; he was bisexual this whole time and had been sneaking around with Winnie right from the beginning. This was her way of getting back at me. She knew exactly how to destroy me. Luke couldn’t look at me in the eye. He looked rather ashamed, but I didn’t care. I stormed off and went home.

I’m still in the bath tub, and everything’s getting blurry. I’m dizzy from the blood loss, and it’s hard to stay awake. I hear my parents shouting from somewhere in the house, but I can’t make anything out of it. I think they’re fighting again. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel regret. I don’t know if this was the right choice, but I’m tired. My vision’s fading out, and I only see dark now. I can’t see how scarlet red the bath water is anymore. I can’t see the cuts and bruises on my damaged body. I can’t see how much of a mess I am. I can only see dark. There’s loud banging on the door, and my parents are yelling for me to open it. Their voices are fading out, and I’m beginning to see a bit of light now. My name’s Noah Abraham Johnson, and I’m free.

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.

André Malraux

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oliviarodrigobutwithnolicense · 8 years ago

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SHORT STORY INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH:

This story is dark and gruesome, but I find that it really shows how well people mask their dark side and true intentions. It also shows how cruel and gory human nature can really be. Some people exist just to cause havoc. The plot follows a woman named Caroline who is an aspiring nurse. She had just graduated from college and struggles to find a job at a hospital. After receiving no replies, a strange hospital which she had no memory of applying to offers her a job. Caroline accepts the job offer and works at a nurse at St.Martin’s Health Care Centre. After noticing peculiar things, she slowly starts discovering the secrets that remain hidden in the hospital.

The Aryan Incubators

My name’s Caroline Hoffman, and I had just graduated college with an Associate Degree in Nursing. I always knew I wanted to go into nursing. There was something about the world of medicine and science that truly amazed me. I also had a passion for helping people, so I figured nursing was my true calling. After applying to many hospitals, I was finally offered a job placement at St. Martin’s Health Care Centre. Strangely enough, I didn’t seem to remember applying to that hospital. In fact, I didn't recall ever hearing about that hospital at all. I figured I must have accidentally applied there while I was submitting online applications. Regardless, it was still a hospital, so I excitedly took the job offer.

I arrived just on time for my first day. The hospital was located on the outskirts of the city, which explained why I didn't recognize it. The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by overly joyous staff, whom which were all very welcoming. A tall man dressed as a nurse stepped forward, and introduced himself to me: "Hey there! The name's Kevin." He shook my hand and offered a tour. We visited each floor in the hospital. Every door leading to each room were labelled based off of numbers. I had a chance to see most of the rooms, and even greeted some of the patients in the wards. I was intrigued by the advanced technology the hospital had to offer. I wanted nothing more than to participate and contribute with the skills I had. The tour went well, until the very end.

On our last stop, we visited the nursery room. I was really adorn with all the babies. I always had a soft spot for cute little infants. However, as I looked around the room, I suddenly realized that all the babies were really similar. They were all of fair skin, had blonde hair and possessed blue eyes. I happened to carry all these traits too, but it's not very common when you live in a place like Jersey City. The city's known for it's diversity and the fact that all these babies shared such particular traits seemed very suspicious. I didn't bring myself to ask any questions though, because I didn't want to send any wrong messages. I also didn't want to lose what could be potentially the only job offer I'll ever get. I shut my mouth, and carried on. As we took the elevator back to the main floor, I noticed there were five floors in the hospital. We were only on the fourth. I asked Kevin about the fifth floor, and he gave me a stern look. He shifted uncomfortably, "That's restricted area." I nodded awkwardly and kept silent until the elevator stopped. As I walked out, I was greeted by the same group of people who welcomed me in. “So, do you like the place?” asked one of the staff members. I nodded vigorously and forced a smile, but something was bothering me in the back of my head. All the nurses and doctors seemed to be white, with the exact same traits as the babies in the nursery room. I was really beginning to think something was up. “Welcome to the team!” another doctor exclaimed, as he gave me a high five. “Thank you.” I uttered out, flashing the brightest grin I could possibly force.

I went home that night feeling very paranoid. Why did each and every single one of the staff members look exactly the same? Why did the babies look exactly the same? I shook my head and muttered to myself that it was just a weird coincidence. Maybe it was some sort of family owned hospital and everyone happened to carry the same traits from genetics. Of course, that would only explain the staff members and not the babies. The whole situation was eating my brains out and I convinced myself I should just be grateful that I even got a job offer.

I spent the next couple weeks at that hospital fulfilling my duties as a nurse. I administered medications, monitored the conditions of patients, maintained records and assisted the doctors when they needed help performing difficult tasks. Everyone was really friendly. It wasn’t long before I started having inside jokes with some of the nurses and doctors. It was a cozy environment, and I loved working there. However, there were a few things that bothered me for a while. I was never assigned to the nursery room or the delivery room, even though I was completely capable of nursing infants and delivering babies. Another thing is, I had never seen the surrogate mothers leave the hospital after the baby had been delivered. I mean, I didn’t see them around the hospital afterwards, but I never actually witnessed any of them physically leave the hospital. Furthermore, hardly any of the surrogate mothers had blond hair or blue eyes. I purposely passed by the nursery room often to have a quick glance, and sure enough — all the babies were blond haired and blue eyed. I was so puzzled. Every now and then, I’d ask about the babies but no one would acknowledge how strange it was. I would always get the same response, “I don’t know.” They would either change the topic quickly, or act as if they had some crucial task to tend to. Lastly, there was still the matter of the mysterious fifth floor. It’s been an entire month, and I still wasn’t allowed to access it. I would receive dirty looks or clueless faces whenever I’d ask why it was still restricted to me, considering I was a working staff member. All these things stuck in the back of my head, and it was giving me a migraine. I was eventually assigned my first night shift. I heard hectic rumours about night shifts ruining your sleeping pattern, but I was all up for it — for the wrong reasons, though. I was determined to have all my questions answered — starting with the fifth floor. Out of the entire team, Kevin seemed to be the most touchiest when I mustered up the courage to ask him any questions about the fifth floor. When I found out he wouldn’t be working the night shift with me, I realized it was an opportunity to solve some questions.

The hospital looked exactly the same at night, but I still felt a little more intimidated. There were a lot of people who were working that night whom I haven’t worked with before, but it was a good thing because they wouldn’t realize what I’d be up to. They all had this strange custom to be extra friendly, but it made me feel like they were hiding something. I mean, no one can be that happy all the time, right? Nonetheless, I checked up on all the patients I was assigned to and completed my tasks. After what seemed like a while, a nurse entered the ward I was in and called me on break. Nodding at her, I left the ward and made my way down the hallway. Making it seem like I was heading to the staff break room, I sharply turned at the end of the hallway and waited there for a couple minutes. When I made sure it was safe, I sneaked back across the hallway to the opposite end, and entered the elevator. My heart pounded as I pressed the fifth floor. I don’t know why I was so scared. It was just a hospital. The elevator opened and I made my way out.

The fifth floor looked entirely different to the other floors. For one thing, there weren’t a lot of hallways like the other floors — there was only one big hallway with doors leading to many different rooms on the sides. The hallway lead to what looked like a final door. None of the doors were labelled with numbers. They weren’t labelled at all. The strangest thing about this floor was that I heard slight sounds of wailing and screaming from the end of the hallway, like mothers struggling to deliver their babies. It was odd though, because all of the delivery and nursery rooms were located on the third floor, and the third floor only. I figured there was more to it, because it wouldn’t be restricted access if it was just a nursery floor. I walked down the hallway and examined the doors on the sides. They weren’t like the doors from the other floors. Each door required a card to access the room. Furthermore, all the doors seemed to have a soundproof door-sweep covering the gap that existed between the door and the floor. It seemed odd that they would need to soundproof a door. It made me wonder what they were hiding. I realized I could never open the doors on my own, so I made my way back to the elevator. To my horror, someone had come up the elevator. The unsuspecting nurse stepped out the elevator, “Hey, are you new? Are you suppose to be up here?” Making the conscious effort to stay calm, I replied: “No, I lost my card. I don’t know what to do.” She looked at me in pity, “Here, you can borrow my card. I didn’t want to do the deed anyways.” She handed me a pair of latex gloves and a dozen trash bags. I sighed in relief and thanked her, “You’re a life saver!” She smiled and made her way back to the elevator. As soon as she was gone, I started wondering what she meant by “the deed”.

My heart started racing as I swiped the first door with the card. A wave of nausea took over my body when I encountered the smell. There were corpses of mothers and newborns lying in a heap; all seemed to be rotting and months old. I didn’t want to take another step forward, but I knew I had to. I noticed that all the corpses belonged to people of African descent. Each mother corpse had a face of pure terror, as if they were screeching at something. There were signs of struggle on the bodies; cuts, bruises, gashes. My stomach started to hurl, and I backed out the room immediately. I questioned my sanity and was in a state of shock. What if the deed was to dispose all those corpses?

I was terrified, but I somehow managed to push myself to continue on and open the second door. There were more dead bodies; this time with Asian descent. The corpses in that room were lined up and hung with meat hooks; the same way animals are hung in butcher shops. Their eyes were gouged out and nails ripped off. Dry blood stained their rotten flesh. There was a big waste bin located in the corner of the room. I walked over and looked inside: a mixture of guts, eyeballs, and blood was sitting in the bin.

There were more corpses varying of all ethnicities lying behind the other doors. Every corpse was mutilated in some sort of horrific way. One door had rows of hispanic bodies cut completely open. Their bodies laid on a big table, and looked like victims of human dissection. Another room had Afghan corpses. Each corpse was drilled onto the walls with nails. Dried up trails of gruesome blood streamed down the walls. The other rooms were no exception.

Eventually, I made my way down to the final door. The screams of terror were getting louder as I advanced towards it. I was shaking at this point, and was terrified to know what was going on. I bit my tongue, and swiped the access card. The door opened, and I immediately regretted my decision of going to the fifth floor. There were dozens of beds laid side by side. Each bed had a woman going through a different stage of pregnancy. There were no doctors around to help. I rushed towards them and was horrified. Each woman had blonde hair and blue eyes — but that wasn’t the scary part. They had both their arms and legs amputated. All hooked up to an IV; tubes of fluids and nutrients forced them to stay barely alive. One of them spotted me and immediately begged, “Please, help us! You have to help us!” I didn’t know how to respond. My head wasn’t in it’s right mind. Another woman shouted from her bed, “You need to leave and call the police. You’ll be next.” I began to turn around, but paused: “What do you mean I’ll be next?” The woman looked at me in sorrow, “Look at yourself. You look just like us. Are you a new nurse?” I nodded without saying anything. “We were all new nurses. None of us applied to this hospital, but we accepted their offer unsuspectingly. They wait for one of us to die, and then they replace us with a new woman. You’re the replacement.” My jaw dropped. “I’ve survived here the longest. They stole three years of my life. These people aren’t real nurses or doctors. They come from a long linage of nazis.” My eyes widened as she continued. “They kill and torture all the unsuspecting surrogate mothers and their newborns. They also lure women like us and trap us here. Their goal is to bring back the aryan race.” The other women were still moaning and shrieking from pain. The woman spoke to me again, “Please, leave while you still can and send help.” I nodded as tears surfaced from my eyes. Right at that moment, the door behind me slid open.

“Caroline, your break is over.”

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