So when I was in 4th grade I started rewriting scenes and endings to stories that I really loved. I wanted to be able to change them to how I thought they should go and for the longest time I thought I was really weird for wanting to do that. Then I found out about websites like this and I was so happy. So here I am, for better or worse.

I have to put out there that if anybody ever needs to talk something out with a complete stranger who won't judge them, and knows what it feels like to be depressed and suicidal I am always there to listen. I promise that if you leave me a PM needing to talk about something serious or embarrassing I will be there for you and help you out without judging you or thinking worse of you for anything. I know that I would have given anything to have someone to talk to who wouldn't judge me, especially when I reached the point where I didn't see anyway out. Please talk to me if you ever feel like there are no options. On that same note, if you just need someone to talk to about everyday life, be it college or highschool issues or advice, I'm here.

Short Horror Story:

It happened my third year of college on a dark night. I was working as an actor at haunted house like I did every year. Staff and attractions changed every year but the one thing that never changed was me and my forest attraction. My general costume was that of a ghost girl, and I don’t mean some corny fake blood and black rings around my eyes ghost, I mean a legitimate ghost look, pallid skin, gaunt face, ratted hair, and a torn, old-fashioned night dress. There were, of course, the obligatory wounds, scars, and dark, blood-soaked spots on my abdomen where I had been stabbed. All in all it was a spectacular costume that had the people who saw me screaming in terror, especially when they saw me in the forest where the legends say a girl was found brutally stabbed after being snatched from her locked bedroom one night.
Like any other night, I was wandering the “haunted trail” eerily singing the lullaby that my grandmother’s music box used to play. So far I had managed to make at least a dozen people scream in terror and at least five people ran away crying. About halfway through the night I heard the sobs of a child echoing down the path. Not wanting to make matters worse and scare the little one more, I hid in the trees and watched as a young boy, maybe five or six years old, wandered into sight. When I realized there were no adults accompanying him, I stepped out onto the path, pausing when I saw him tense and fresh tears begin to well from his eyes. Slowly I knelt to the ground, trying to be as unthreatening as possible.
“Hey there little guy. Are you lost?”
He looked at me with terrified eyes and nodded hesitantly. I reached for him slowly and he skittered back a few steps, visibly shaking.
“Hey it’s ok. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get you somewhere safe. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt anywhere?”
I had been scooting closer to him as I talked and once again he backed up a few steps. He opened his mouth and spoke in a small voice.
“I’m lost and the ghosts are scary. I wanna go home.” With that he broke into fresh sobs.
“Hey now, it’s ok. I’ll help you find your parents. Don’t be afraid of me.” I reached forward, and, when he didn’t back away, gathered him into a hug, rocking him gently in an attempt to calm him down. “See? I’m not a scary ghost at all.”
As his cries quieted, I picked him up, frowning at how cold he was, and started back down the path. “What’s your name”
“J-Johnny”
“Well Johnny, do you remember where you last saw your parents?”
He nodded. “It was in the room with all the lights and beeping machines. They looked sad, but they didn’t hear me when I asked why. They didn’t even see me when I stood up.”
There was a “spooky arcade” here as well as other attractions and I figured that’s what he meant by room with lights and beeping machines.
“Why did you leave the arcade without your parents, Johnny? It’s dangerous to go places without them and they’re probably really scared for you right now.”
I felt the boy huddle a little closer to me as he spoke. “I got scared. Mommy and Daddy didn’t see me and I was scared of the ghosts.”
I knew there weren’t any actors in the arcade, it was one of the advertised “safe zones” for the kids that got a little too scared. “What do you mean by ghosts, Johnny? People who were dressed up?”
“No, the ones that walked through me without noticing me."
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I looked down at the little boy in my arms. Just as I was about to question him further I heard voices coming from down the trail. A few seconds later a group of bored looking teenagers came into view. Now I was used to being ignored by the more “mature” kids who didn’t believe in ghosts and weren’t scared by that kind of thing anymore, but I figured that the sight of a young child on this path would catch their attention. When they continued to walk right past me I got a little angry.
“Seriously?! How rude can you get? Can none of you see that there’s a scared little boy here?” I poked the tallest boy in the chest. “What kind of dick just walks past a little boy?”
The boy that I poked just shivered a little and looked around a little nervously. I looked back at Johnny, noticing that he had begun to cry again. I gathered him up into my arms again and began to hum my lullaby, figuring that it would calm him. He looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes.
“Why doesn’t anybody ever see me” he asked in a broken voice.
“It’s alright, little one. I see. Shhhh. It’s ok. I see you.” I whispered to him before continuing to hum my lullaby. Suddenly I was pissed at these teenagers. How dare they ignore this precious little boy and make him cry. The angrier I got, the more the wind seemed to howl through the trees and the air grew colder. I didn’t notice the terrified gazes on me until one of the teens whimpered. I fixed them with a cold glare.
“Get out” I snarled in a glacial tone before turning my attention back to the little boy who had fallen asleep in my arms. I started humming once more as I silently promised to watch out for this sweet little boy. I didn’t look up from the child’s slumbering face even as one of the fleeing teen’s arms passed through us both. I just kept on singing my lullaby.

The Last Battle Author Unknown

If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this -- the last battle -- can't be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn't want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they'll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don't grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We've been so close -- we two -- these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.