Well, I've been out of photos since that jazz thing and none of my 3D projects are gunna be finished most likely. I, however, finally got one photo today which I will post after writing this journal. I also have started writing a story, which I ask you to read and tell me if I should continue with it. A warning it's purely demented as a result of me watching way too many horror movies this past month.
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They say nothing is written in stone, but as a little girl stares at the dark, wet walls of the cellar, a different view is expressed. She knows what is going to happen. She is as sure about it as she is about the sun rising and setting. The man next door each week promised her a dollar to come help him with his gardening, and each week he would request she go down into the cellar to grab some working gloves. The little girl knew the sound of the cellar door slamming, locking, and the footsteps following as well as her own heart beat.
The smell of the dark prison surrounding her reeked of age and dampness resulting from the many floods the low lying property had experienced. A single small window in the far corner of the room was the only source of illumination of the room. The little girl had to strain her vision to make out the many jars and boxes stored here, or the figure approaching her from the stairs.
She wasn't scared.
She had no reason to fear this neighbourly creature who had been so kind to her for so long. Her mother worked double shifts at her minimum wage jobs and her father was near non existent as a Marine stationed in South America. No one knew that she is missing, and no one knows that she viewed this man as her closest thing to a father. Nor that when he asked her to come to him she, instead of fleeing as far away as possible, ran to him with arms spread wide and mouth parted in a smile that could light up a room. Unfortunately, the smile was left unnoticed in the darkness of the stale cellar, however, the cries and tears could be heard in the deepest trenches of the underworld.
The girl's memory must have been blocked out to that of a goldfish to have let him molest her so many times. When he did finally decide to kill her it's reasonable to assume she was near soulless. Reports will state that the child had gone mute a few weeks before the murder, but anyone near the cellar would know the truth.
“Mr.Hammott, “, cooed the adolescent voice ,”I can't find your gwoves.”.
“That's alright my Teddy Bear, just grab my camera from over on that shelf.”. The wooden floor cracked and groined under the pairs weight, the foundation of which is sure to be mostly eaten by invertebrates and erosion.
“Mr. Hammott, are we gunna play that game again?”
“Yes, Teddy Bear.”
“Oh, Mr.Hammott. I don't wike the game, you scare me.. and hurt me.. Please can you take me home?”, the little girl pleaded.
“Shhhh, Teddy.. and listen to your father.”, The man reached into his pocket grabbing a dirt stained handkerchief and reached toward his face and wiped the blood that streaked down his cheeks. his eyes shined the darkest crimson and leaked onto the floor.


Detective Erickson's queasiness got the best of him as he ran up the 17 stairs up to the living room of Joseph Hammott, a 74 year old retiree on 5831 Carlton Avenue. The scene in the basement so heart wrenching that they had to call in a favour for a coroner in place of theirs who had burst into a fit of bile and tears.
Though all the emergency workers and detectives had seen worse, the site of of little Elizabeth Mayfield plastered to the wall was too much for most. Elizabeth had been stripped clear of clothes, a nail in each hand kept her hanging a foot off the ground. A camera sat on a table near the wall, beside it several developed photos of the young girls body intact and in sickening poses. The dates written on the back of each photo shows the molestations spread across 2 months.
While cuts riddled the young girls body, very little blood seemed present. Some cuts had even been stitched up and sterilized.


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Writing is a lot more work than I like to do so I'll need more than one person to persuade me to write more, XD.