I love crayons! Seriously they are amazing, there are so many colors and using crayons and coloring with them is just way more fun and magical then colored pencils. I hate colored pencils with a passion. Just coloring with colored pencils is horrid. I hate the way that they look and most of the time they only look good if you color with an intense amount of pressure or you buy mega expensive colored pencils. Personal opinion though. Even though I may have polled people with my best friend Jude to see who would chose colored pencils or crayons. It brought to our attention that crayons are non toxic. It just made crayons way more amazing to me. Like what if you were starving and were trapped in a car and only had your crayons? You could survive if you had crayons man, seriously.
Maybe my love of crayons started because I never really had a proper or amazing childhood. I come off as an innocent child at the age of 17. Like my love of stickers, crayons, stuffed animals, candy, magic, fairytales, coloring, singing whenever and dancing whenever without a care, as examples. Of course it's because I find all these things amazing because I was too busy being raised too fast and being taught things most people don't ever imagine even when they're in their 70's or morbidly depressed. To be straight forward, I kill people.
I kill people I don't even know or plan to kill, I kill people I want to kill. I'm not sure how it works but I can draw out a scene and it'll happen. I can think of it intensely and they'll die. When I dream of it, someone is dying the exact why I'm dreaming it. My mind comes up with the way people die and it'll happen. I make it happen. I'm not a psychic I know that. The best that I could come up with is that I'm the channel between fate and reality. I'm the outlet of fate, I'm in a way the conscience and confidant fate has. The diary of deaths. Almost every moment of everyday I witness the before and after of deaths around the world. I write them down, I draw them out, I keep it all in a binder. Well binders. Of course I control some things too. I made a few people I utterly despise die. I planned it out thoroughly too.
After all this I guess I don't feel guilt. In all my 17 years I have only personally killed four people of my down physical demeanor. The rest I didn't do. I just watched in my mind.
I color in my princess coloring book as English class commences. I don't talk too much in that class only when called upon. Most days English consists of class discussions that I just listen to idly and never really partake in. I'm just in my own world. Plus I don't like to exert the energy to raise my hand. I like to call out instead. My hand raised never attracts attention which just wastes more energy on my part.
English is my last class of the day so when I exit the door a huge sigh just escapes my lips. I'm exhausted. It's time to go home and sleep.
I used to hate sleeping when I was younger because the worst scenarios would happen while I slept. The horrible nightmares at age four were…scarring to say the least. There's one that I can vividly remember and it reoccurs a lot.
I'd see a door. A clean off white door with a window that was just screaming the words average. A curtain was covering the window from the inside. All things peaceful but too quiet for my taste except for the sound of bugs except that it started to die down. It creeped me out. Honestly it was a time where you could tell that something bad was afoot. But right when things seemed normal and like nothing was going to happen a body is shoved against the door. You could see only darkness and the outline and the loud sound it made when the body and wood made contact scared me shitless. You just hear the pounding of flesh and wood and glass. God you could hear things being thrown and metal. Splattering. Then you'd hear the sound of something, anything piercing through flesh, the sound ripped through your ears to the bone and you could vividly feel it as a chill ran down your skin that is already covered in goose bumps. Nothing could move except what was in the house and man you just felt so horrified. Most people run or are frozen in place by the shock but at the moment I couldn't chose. I had to stay and watch as if I was tied down. I felt tied down. The personnel in the house was moving. Steps in a way frigid and demanding get closer to the door. I could hear it but I couldn't move. I felt like screaming and I wanted to run till I couldn't breathe. I couldn't though.
It all snapped back into reality after that. I was just lucky because most dreams and observations aren't as kind. Most of the time it's multiple seeings at a time except when it was as I slept. Which was another reason why I feared sleep. One was far more frightening then multiple because it was more vivid and real, it was the only focus and I couldn't think of anything else it just made me so tremendously horrified because I didn't have an escape unless I woke up.