Writing has been a passion of mine since before I was 8 years old. I’ve evolved my stories in various ways since, and I only want to write for people to enjoy my stories. I don’t like to typically stay within a specific genre.
When Life Loses Composure
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. If it weren't for Daddy’s frequent naps, she'd never be able to experience the sliver of reality that was only visible through the small rectangular hole in the wall. His naps were frequent, but not long, so she had to move quickly if she wanted to look outside. However, as if he had a spy in the room, like a mouse that told on her each time she sneaked a peak, he seemed to always know when she had looked. He would wake up and storm to her room, his frustration evident, but suppressed, as he warned her for the second or third time that day not to look at the outside world. This warning would lead to an argument where she would plead to know why. Daddy would never answer, not directly. His explanations seemed to be nothing more than excuses, and sometimes, he would simply reiterate his authority as Daddy.
A Fate Worst of All
Perhaps it was the sudden temperature drop from the previous days or the clear night sky allowing the moon to shine brightly across the city, but Detective Finely knew she would be approaching something sinister that night. Driving through the bright and busy streets of downtown she began to notice less and less vehicles as she entered the darker side of town where the lights were dim and everyone asleep. The only light that shined bright was the flashing of red and blue lights. She gulped as her vehicle approached the scene, noticing not a single officer moving. They were all surrounding something in the entrance of an alleyway, between two apartment buildings. A few people had their heads hanging out their window, others were out on their fire escapes, just to see what was going on.
Ribbed Maniac Tossed
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when I realized that the bump protruding from my left forearm was moving. Though it had only been a year since I detected the bump, it had grown exponentially. Before I knew it, I was accepting the bump as part of myself, whether it was grown from me or inside me. Suddenly, my arm began splitting in the middle as if there was an invisible seam from the inside of my elbow to my wrist. The sound of my skin ripping apart normally would've likely made me sick, but I understood that I was finally greeted with an audience with the bump in my arm. As the blood from my arm began to thin from the opening, my skin slid down the sides of the bump, revealing that it was not just a bump.
A Review of 'In Response to "I regret it"'
In August of 2022, a story was posted online called "I regret it". An obvious short story meant to spark perhaps creepy pastas or to just circulate the internet to scare little kids, similar to many other stories and pictures carelessly posted. It failed, however, not that it has been out very long, but immediately no one was reading it. It wasn't circulating, it wasn't being commented on, it's just there. Strangely enough, a "response", if you can call it that, was posted later that same month. A person claiming to be a Daniel Montoya wrote an extended "article", if you can call it that, very heavily criticizing the short story. The "article" was named "In Response to 'I regret it'" and it was supposed to describe the many ways why the story was fake, ridiculous attempt at a horror story, and additionally was able to somehow find the anonymous writer? I ended that sentence with a question mark because Mr. Montoya, or so they claim to be, I'll be referring to that later in my review, they leave more questions unanswered than they started with. I will begin with why I don't believe that this is actually Daniel Montoya writing it.
In Response to 'I regret it'
My name is Daniel Montoya, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida, currently attending University of Southern California, in Los Angeles. This is my initial response to the short statement done by an anonymous source called "I regret it". Over the course of this response, I will offer my opinion and review of the statement. I have also reached out to the anonymous source and have secured a time to interview him. Our conversation will be the second part of this. At the end, I will give my conclusion to what I have discovered and learned from this source.
I regret it
I've decided to explore other worlds. I don't know whether the accurate term world be worlds, but as I see it, I've chosen to explore a dimension I do not exist in. Maybe a version of me does, but not me, myself, the on who supposedly writes this here. It was a decision based purely on illogical means. It could've been the new story that's been circulating the nation in regards of a mass shooting. It could've been the realization that after five years, I haven't moved forward by any means, except in this so called "Time". It could've been the fact that as I sit, writing out this decisive note, fully aware how insane I sound, I feel more free than I have in my entire life.
Army of Ants
It was summer again. Barry didn't hate the summer because of the heat, he didn't particularly enjoy how hot it would get, it wasn't what bothered him the most. It was the bugs. Summer brought out the worst bugs and insects. Anything from ants to cockroaches to an infestation of flies. Barry wasn't afraid of these insects and bugs, but he truly hated the pests because he had to deal with them. They were gross and carried plenty of diseases.
A Late Realization
It was an hour past midnight, even after Ben promised his wife he wouldn't stay up yet again, but there he was, sitting on the living room couch watching his second horror movie that night. Ben loved horror movies, but it was the last thing his wife wanted to watch, so he waited until she went to bed to watch them. They were entertaining and fun for him. His night halted when he heard a noise from the kitchen.
I Don’t Know What to Tell You
I started drinking at 9 A.M. this morning. You’d think it would take longer for a day to drive someone to drinking, but sometimes it’s not that day, nor the day before. What was a cup of coffee with a little whiskey to someone who worked from home anyways? Sure, there was a sip before the shot went into the mug, but it wasn’t like I had anywhere to go.