:D

My best friend Shannon is sleeping over. Our plans are too color ponies like crazy and have random dance parties while my parents aren't home. LET THE FUN BEGIN!!!!!!

Gone Crazy....I Think Not

This weekend was very upsetting. I have been alone most of my weekends this year mostly beacause I had basketball practice and I wanted "time for myself." Well all of my friends know that basketball ended on Thursday (which I find tragic). So I asked my friends if they wanted to hang out this weekend. All of them are busy, have plans with my other friends I wasn't invited to, or aren't even home. My best friends lives really far away so I can't even hang out with her. This is torture. I would just like to say thank you for incliding me guys. Thanks a lot.

Well that is not what this blog is about. This blog is about what I did to make...nevermind more like FORCE myself to be happy this weekend.

1. I used up a lot of the only ink we have in my printer (black) to print out Pokemon coloring pages I can add to my Pokemon window. Yes, I am going to tape them to my window...all 11 of them...

2. I listened to my ALL CAPS and Ministry of Magic (plus whatever other bands Kristina Horner and Luke Conard are involved in). I listened to it for....7 and a half HOURS.

3. I am currently subscribed to Kristina Horner's Youtube Channel (italktosnakes). I keep up with her new vlogs she posts and everything, but I only found out about her awesomeness a few months ago. I decided to watch every single one of her vlogs she has done. I am STILL watching them. I plan on when I am done with her channel to move onto Luke Conard's channel, ALL CAPS Channel, and FiveAwesomeGirls Channel. People might say I'm obsessed...but I'm not. I'm just looking for my mood to be lifted and watching these videos does that for me.

4. Last night, I made a blanket fort. I named my room Wombat Base (I <3 Wombats) so I made a sign that I was the Alpha Leader and I was not to be disturbed. I heard my parents walk into my room to wake me up. They laughed and walked away. Signs fricken work.

Well that's how I have forced myself to be happy....for the time being.

The Last Day...

Today was kind of sad. I realize a lot of my blogs have been depressing, but I am not a sad person; just for the past 2months really. Well today was the last day of basketball practice this season. We do still have one more game left to play (tomorrow) but I feel like I'm sort of losing my family. I've grown so close to the girls on the team that I feel like the end of the season is like saying goodbye. I know that I'm going to see them in school and everything, but I'll never get to hang out with them all together (different "social classes"). I'm going to miss them. At least I still have another year with the same group and another one after that.

Today is also the 1yr anniversary of my Grandma's death. I hadn't realized it's been a year already....This loss really hit me hard. She practically helped raise me when my parents, brother, and I lived with her. I was always around her and we used to play all the time. She would always be singing and brightening everyone's mood. So I'm dedicating the Blog post to her: Thanks for caring so much Gramma. We still really miss you and you will never leave your family's heart. I appriciate you doing everything in your power to help my family. Thank you. Love you!

Thanks for listening everyone. Comment me. See you next time

The Mind of A Serial Killer

So I am in the process of writing a book/novel. The title is still being debated but I figured I should post it. Comment and tell me what you think :)

                This is a story about my life. I decided I’d better tell it now considering the factor that I might be dead soon. Who knows anymore? I certainly don’t believe some prophet could’ve told me this was going to happen.

                My name is Emma Luna Colton. I know, not the kind of name that people now associate with the words “psychopath, lunatic, serial killer, murderer” and say phrases like “get the men in the white coats!” or “lock her up ‘til she rots!” If you haven’t guessed by now, I kill people. Well, at least I used to. Something changed….I am still trying to figure out exactly what did.

                So here I am, sitting at my computer in Salem, Oregon, typing what I think the world should know about me. First, I would like to clear this up. I am not mad. I don’t mean angry mad, I mean mad like the Mad-Hatter in Alice in Wonderland. I’m not the kind of person that needs a therapist to listen to my problems. They would probably just call the police or the SWAT team and have me arrested.

                I have killed 128 people. It used to be that I would kill 1 person a month and I have been killing for 9 years (ever since I was 13). The excuse the police, judges, jury, and therapists would give me for my killing a bunch of people was because I had “a mess up childhood and I’m taking my issues out on other people.” That’s not true. Sure most serial killers are completely messed up and it’s because something traumatic happened to them when they were young, but that’s not always the case.

                I will admit that something traumatic did happen to me when I was 11. My father, Rick Colton, was a drunk. A terrible abusive drunk. Most Friday and Saturday nights, he would come home and yell at my mom, Stacy Colton. Sometimes he would even hit her. He even hit me once, but my mother refused to file for child abuse and spousal abuse. My dad had a high paying job and we needed his money to stay alive and in our house. My brother, Christian, and I shared a room. He is 5 years older than me. When I was 6, he told me about what my dad did Fridays and Saturdays. He would hide me in the closet when my dad came home so he wouldn’t hit me again. Chris always protected me. It was okay that he did especially since my dad never touched my brother. Chris was like Dad’s best friend. Obviously, my birth was a mistake in his eyes. Nevertheless, my mother and Chris loved me and that’s all I really needed so I wouldn’t scream in fear every day.

                One day, Chris was sleeping over a friend’s house. This time just so happened to be from Friday to Saturday. My dad came home drunker than usual I guess. I was asleep when he came home. I woke up to my mother screaming at him and to my dad screaming he was going to kill her. I heard my dad walk into my living room, grab some metal thing, and heard beating sounds. When I heard my mom scream in pain I felt like I had to go to her and help her. I ran in and saw my father beating my mom with a fire poker. He heard me run in. He sat me on their bed and told me to watch closely.

                “If you ever talk to me the way Mommy does, then this will be your punishment as well,” he told me with the gentlest voice he could speak in. His breath smelled terrible, like I could smell his decaying liver in his throat. I didn’t know what to do so I just nodded and watched as he beat my mother to death with the fire poker, silently crying more tears than I thought possible so shed. I didn’t even recognize her by the time he left to get a beer from the fridge and stepped outside. He killed my mother, one of the only people who truly loved me, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t tell anyone except Chris when he came home Saturday morning. Even he didn’t know what to do about me. I stared into space for the next 2 weeks. I dreamt about it, I watched it happen over and over in my mind thinking I could have saved her even though I was just kidding myself.

                Eventually the nightmares went away and I lived my life in silence for the next 2 years. Chris was a senior in high school but he made me a promise that he wouldn’t leave the house until I moved out. He never wanted me alone in the house with Dad. I was so grateful to him.

                On the 2 year anniversary of my mother’s death, I did something…wrong. In my mind I thought it was right. To this day I still believe I did the right thing. My dad came home. Chris was out with his girlfriend, Amy. When my dad fell asleep on the couch, I packed a bag of clothes and food for my brother and me and hid them in the bushes in our front yard. We lived on such a quiet street no one noticed I was out. I grabbed all of the gasoline cans I could find and dumped them around my father and the house. I even dumped some down his throat. I lit a match at my front door and ran. I ran all the way to the park and hid in a hollow tree my brother and I used to play in. While I waited for him to arrive, I don’t know why, but I started to cry. I think it was either for my mom, knowing that her death had been avenged, or that I had just killed my father.

                Hiding the bags in the tree, I climbed a nearby pine tree as high as I could and watched my house burn. The neighbors must have called the fire department because they were trying very hard to get the hungry flames under control. I had to have watched them for a good half an hour. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful site. Then I heard Chris calling my name. I knew he would find me.

                “Chris!” I screamed to him as I got out of the tree. We hugged and I told him what I did. He understood and continued to swear he’d keep me safe.

                Later that year, we moved out of Utah and into Idaho. We figured a fresh start would be best. Chris and I lived in some old apartment where the rent was low and in close relation to a school. This was about a month later. Our lives were quiet. Chris got a job at a local hardware store repairing cars and whatever else came into the shop. I continued school. I tried not to make friends. A lot of kids tried to be nice to me but I just shut them out. I didn’t want them knowing my life.

                One day, when I was walking home from school, this mean kid in my grade, Travis O’Connor, smacked my books out of my hands and threw them in this giant mud puddle from the rainstorm earlier that day. He kicked them and they got even more destroyed. I really hated him. After he was done he laughed and ran off in the direction of a forest nearby. I don’t know what came over me, but I followed him as if I was in a dream. I knew what I was doing and where I was going, but I had no control over my body. When I entered the woods, I grabbed the sharpest stick I could find and followed his footprints until I caught up with him. I pushed him on the ground. He looked so terrified, but I didn’t care. I stabbed him over and over again. The last puncture I made sure went through his heart. He bled out and screamed and kicked but he was pinned to the ground through his chest. He couldn’t do anything to me. I was untouchable. I watched as his eyes glazed over and his face pale. I ran away terrified.

                When I got home, Chris was still at work. I had the whole place to myself. I paced back and forth through the living room talking to myself with my thoughts scattering everywhere. I ended up tiring myself out and passed out on my couch. Like the nightmares I used to have about my father murdering my mother, I had them again, but this time I saw it as if I was my dad; like I was killing my mother. I have never been so terrified in my life.

                Chris woke me up. I was screaming my head off. It was about seven o’clock at night. The sun was already down. Chris noticed I had blood on my forehead. I hadn’t noticed.

                “Em,” Chris said with a concerned voice, “what happened to your head?”

                “I guess i-,” I stammered as I tried to whip the blood away. “I guess I fell on my way home and smacked it off a branch. I forgot about it.” I got up quickly, which was a bad idea because I suddenly got very dizzy, and went to the bathroom cleaning my forehead off. I felt like I was about to collapse.

                When I was done washing up, I grabbed some peanut butter crackers and went to bed. I didn’t sleep that night. All I kept doing was watching me kill Travis over and over again. Endless rivers of blood flowed through my mind, the source was my hands. It was like I was Hades; creating a River of Death.

                I found that killing was easy now. It became my addiction, like nicotine or heroin to me. I felt as if I needed to kill. My brother was so dumb. He never thought for one second that I would kill again; that killing Dad was just a spur of the moment kind of thing. I was slowly getting better at killing. I was becoming neater, though I did start to crave the pleasing sight of blood even in my dreams. I studied the human body, learning where every major and minor artery was, each vein. By the time I was 16, killing became a hobby for me rather than addiction. Sure I felt like I had to kill A LOT, but I didn’t exactly need to as much. It is true that when a month went past I started getting fidgety. So I went by a nice routine: kill once a month. My craving of blood was sedated, for the most part. 38 people died by my hand so far.

                Since both Chris and I had jobs, we paid our rent on time every time and still had money to spare. I decided to take up 3 martial arts classes: jiu-jitsu, kick-boxing, and taekwondo. Although I was almost a black-belt in each art, I owned a few handguns (illegally of course) just in case. I used to use my guns once or twice killing, but shooting people wasn’t my style. I preferred stabbing, fire, and breaking necks (after breaking some other bones first of course). Sometimes I would eve fight my victims. It was such a great thrill; all of that power. I never killed for that feeling. I killed because…..well….it was fun.

                A memorable date, that I think is worth going in this story, was April 21^st, when I was 17. So far, 42 people dead. My last kill before I got the call of my life was Joanne Fieldsman. No, she wasn’t some old lady. I never killed old people or children, except for Travis. Yes, me who thought killing people was fun thought it was just cruel to kill old people and children. I would feel so guilty if I did, and I never felt guilty. Anyways, Joanne was just a person I found late at night on a Saturday obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was 11:45pm and she was just going for a late night jog. So was I, in a way. It became that time when I was really fidgety, having nightmares, and doodling gory images. When I drew while I was fidgety, I would often sharpen pencils with a knife instead of using our pencil sharpener or just spend hours in my room, not making a sound. Chris said he was concerned, but I told him not to worry about me, I was just thinking. About what, he didn’t know.

                I was walking though the park with a single pencil twirling though my fingers and my favorite knife, a squared blade. The only way I know how to describe it is like the katanas in Ultraviolet in a mini version. It’s just this long rectangle with the blade on both sides so that when I stab my victims, I can turn the blade easily so the weapon cannot be found. It also helps that my knife is custom made. No one else in the world owns a knife like mine.

                When I spotted Joanne, she was some yards away. I decided to hide in a nearby pine grove I knew she would pass if she stayed on the current trail she was on. Waiting for only 10 minutes, I leaped in front of her just before she passed me. I obviously startled her because she ran right into me. Big mistake. My knife was already in my hand as she smacked into me, the square blade was forced into her abdomen which I would imagine is quite painful. My knife, Bowie I like to call him, doesn’t come to a point at all. It has a completely flat edge. Imagine having a metal hardback book cover shoved into your stomach. Hurts doesn’t it? At least Joanne had a running start going into the blade. Once I just sat next to a person whose leg I broke and shoved it into their skin very slowly. Those screams echoed in my head for days. This is really the first time I ever thought back about how I used to kill when I was a teenager.

                With Joanne’s blood dripping over my hands and onto the sidewalk, I tossed her into the woods- more like directly into a pine tree, but same thing. She conveniently smacked her head off of the tough fir’s bark and was having trouble regaining her balance. I approached her slowly; my uneasiness growing more and more as the seconds passed by I wasn’t killing. The only time I saw Joanne’s face was when I assaulted her. I didn’t see the terror in her face nor did I sense it. All I could sense was my need to watch her blood spill.

                I was planning on cutting her up a little bit but reconsidered when I heard footsteps following the path Joanne was just forced off of. I decided to make her death quick by slicing her jugular, carotid, and the auricular (right temple) artery. She bled out in a matter of minutes. While I watched her blood spill out on the ground, I listened for the footsteps. Nothing. I did, however, hear a voice.

                “Emma,” Chris gasped. “Wha-what have you done?”

**********

                I didn’t speak to Chris at first. I just gave him a look of disgust for following me. But who really deserved the look of disgust? He just stared at me while I disposed of Joanne’s body. I put her in a tarp and loaded her into a nearby dumpster. I took the liberty of taking half of the trash out so she wouldn’t be right on top for everyone to see but not so when the dumpster flipped into the truck she would end up on top. I also dug a hole in the ground and put the blood soaked dirt in the hole and covered it back up. After doing all of this, Chris was still looking at me with a horrid expression on his face.

                “I don’t understand, Em,” he whispered to me. I realized that he was in shock. Anyone would be if they just watched their 17 year old sister slice open 3 arteries of an innocent woman. “I thought you only killed Dad to get revenge on him for killing Mom?”

                I ignored his questions. I didn’t want to say anything outside where anyone could be listening. “You brought your truck right?” He nodded. “Then let’s just get home now and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

                Chris just nodded the whole time I spoke. We started walking away to the truck. He walked in a complete daze. I walked as quiet as ever listening for anybody who might’ve heard what Chris said.

                When we entered our apartment, Chris exploded. Not literally, he just let out this sparking cloud of rage in my direction. He was yelling so loud I thought he might wake up the neighbors.

                “What the hell is going on, Emma?! You told me dad was just a onetime thing. What you did back there was horrifying! Three arteries! That’s just sickening. I don’t even know you anymore. You are not my sister. My sister would never walk around with a knife and kill an innocent woman. Never!” I just let him cool off. He just kept swearing silently to himself about how I was a stranger to him. What he didn’t realize was that during his rant, I was silently weeping to myself. My brother just told me I don’t exist to him; the only person still alive who always looked after me. “Explain yourself right now,” he finished.

                So I told him. I told him everything. I made it clear to him I was dangerous. As much as I loved him, I wanted him to be afraid of me. If he was afraid of me, he would push me away. I deserved to be pushed away. I couldn’t risk getting caught and have him tied up in my bloody mess as my accomplice. “The woman I just killed, Joanne Fieldsman, was number 39. I’ve been killing people since I killed Dad. You remember Travis died whenever we moved here? And how you noticed the blood on my forehead? Well it was his. I killed him. He was just such a bully to me, so I chased him and watched him die.”

                I watched him sit there taking in all of this tragic information. he only said one thing to me. It was the last thing I ever heard him say. “I want you out. Grab everything you have, including money, and leave.”

                I was on my way out the door when I stopped dead. Chris was still sitting on the couch staring at the hardwood floors. “You know,” I said to him, “I was never going to hurt you. That’s why I left all of the time. You are the person who always protected me. I’m going to miss you, Chris. If we don’t see each other again, just know I love you, big brother.” Before I turned away, I saw a single tear drop fall from his cheek and splash on the floor.

Well then....Sugarplums?

Honestly, I have absolutely nothing to blog about. I feel so....boring. My life is so boring right now. I wish ZombieFest was back again. Or if my parents let me go to Tekko. I wish it was here now. Don't you just hate it when there's nothing exciting going on? I do have 1 awesome announcement: I got Katy Perry tickets! BUT her concert isn't until the 23rd./..OF JUNE! Gee I really hope something exciting happens soon. This was a very pointless blog and if you just wasted your time reading this, I'm sorry. You're never going to get that time back. So TTFN world. And enjoy the rest of your boring Saturday.

My Heart Problems

So today something bad happened. It's only noon and something bad happened. If you have read my 1st post, you would know that I have a nasty heart problem no one can figure out. Well we had a 2hour delay today for school. As soon as I got there in my Jazz Band class we only had for half an hour, it started again. I decided to wait and see if it would go away because it is completely random so after I played 1 song, it didn't go away. So I called my mom and she rushed me over to my doctors. I sat in the waiting room and of course, it went away 30secs before they called me back to check on me. Of course it happened like that. That's my luck. Goodish news, my blood work came back normal.

This is really starting to scare me. This pain is happening more and more frequently. I need a Cariologist....and a miracle