Accessing the Evil

Author's Note: This piece is a  different form of poetry that I have decided to try. It is called an acrostic poem, and is where the first letter of each line combine to spell out a phrase... see if you can find the message. Basically, this poem is just kind of a wrap-up of the whole message of the novella. I was inspired by the quote, "I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two" (104). I wanted to portray how every man has the choice of natures. Society  suppresses the evil, yet when man gives into the hidden desire the evil can grow and take over, as it did to Jekyll and thus Hyde. 

Millions of people desire that which they cannot have

And some of these people do not even know that which they want

Not knowing allows society to continue on, guarding us from ourselves

Deep down within every being lives a new identity

Enticing, yet a nature that is too evil to dream of

Silently waiting to come and manifest itself
It lives in the solitude of our soul

Resting and waiting for the moment when man falls week to the temptation

Enveloping the poor soul that caves into desire

Seeking for that perfect moment

The moment where the thoughts of evil creeps into every thought

Holding a place of prominence in the mind

Acting upon the weakness that this being has

Taking hostage the once good nature

While the evil begins to consume the once good nature

Halos wage a war amongst the demons within the soul

Ideally the good would win, but the evil has become too strong

Controlling the brain and tarnishing a name

Havoc has taken over this weak-minded being

If only mankind would not indulge in temptation

Society usually abstains, but some do give in to their dual nature

Every person has a decision to make

Vanish the evil from themselves, and do what it is accepted

If that doesn’t happen then the other nature wins

Life is about choices, and choosing the good or the evil happens to be one of them

Knowledge Can Kill

Author's Note: This is a creative short story for response number three to Jekyll and Hyde. I have already done a poem and a passage on my thoughts so I wanted to try another writing style. This is basically about how knowing to much can be torment to the beholder of the knowledge. I was inspired by Chapter 9 and how Lanyon died for what he knew. Even though in this short story I do not say what my character knows, I decided to keep it a mystery and play on the idea of curiosity. This is the quote I was inspired by, "My life is shaken to its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror sits by me at all hours of the day and night; I feel that my days are numbered, and that I must die; and yet I shall die incredulous" (102).

3.14 equals Pi…

Thomas Hobbes believed man was evil…

Gravity of Earth is 9.81 m/s²…

I can never stop these thoughts. All day long information, facts, and statistics plague my mind. There is so much knowledge, in such a short time.

Cats sleep 18 to 16 hours a day..

There it goes again, I don’t even care about cats, and I just don’t get it. At a young age I loved to learn. I wanted to know everything and anything that was out in the universe. Knowledge was an addiction.

People that need Algebra: 1 of 3,053,567,422,456…

All of this information has taken over the center of my brain. I am filled with information, and some information that not even I should know. Ever since that one day, that one day that should not be named.

A man named Ed Peterson is the inventor of the Egg McMuffin…

I had stumbled upon something, something nobody understands. Ever since then, my brain has been on overload. I do not know what to do with what I know, I cannot reasonably decide how to precede.

Elephants are the only mammals that can't jump…

Even with all the knowledge I have accumulated over the years, knowing what to do is a whole different story. I slowly feel my brain crumpling and folding trying to figure out what to do with this unmentionable information.

Stressed is Desserts spelled backwards…

This knowledge has become too much, I will have to pay the price for what I know. Malformation has taken over, and I can no longer think. So many facts rushing into my brain, I feel as if my circuits are frying.

Number of deaths currently: 1

Decisions after Death

Author's Note: Well, this is the first piece of poetry that I have written in a very long time. I really struggle with poetry, and decided I needed to leave my comfort zone and give it a try. I really enjoyed in chapter 6 the mystery and torn spirit that surrounded Mr. Utterson since he was left with a letter only to be opened after the death of Lanyon and then Dr. Jekyll. Since Lanyon died in this chapter Utterson discovered he would have to wait for another death to behold its contents. I was inspired by the quote, "The night after the funeral, at which he had been sadly affected, Utterson locked the door of his business room, and sitting there by the light of a melancholy candle, drew out and set before him an envelope addressed by the hand and sealed with the seal of his dead friend" (58). The other quote that I got my inspiration from was, "It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it may be doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson desired the society of his surviving friend with the same eagerness" (59). So, through this piece I hope to have illustrated effectively the spot that Mr. Utterson is in.

Mourn the death
Cry away the tears
Release the sorrow
Let go of the fears

Everyone dies
It’s a fact of life
Something is always left behind
Leaving a family in strife

Whether a letter or a will
Remnants of prior days
These reminders do not fade
Relationships are frayed

What should be done?
What is this letter?
How should this be handled?
If only the days were better

Torn between two paths
Read the letter or obey the dead
Fulfill curiosity
Or let it remain unread

Fleeting Moments
Restless Nights
Outstretched Days
Mindless Fights

Loath the dead
Curse there name
No matter what though
Decision time remains

Mourn the death
Cry away the tears
Release the sorrow
Let go of the fears

The Darkest Thoughts

Author's Note: I decided to write about Mr. Enfield's very creepy dream from the second chapter Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I wanted this piece to be not so clinical and like school, so I decided to do more of a conversation tone. I struggled with this because I like structure in my assignments, once I got past that concept I just wrote what came to my mind. So, this is the ending product in which I decided to delve into the world of darkness that man is fascinated by but tries to deny.


Society in today’s times has taken on a whole new entity. Fast paced is the order of today and taking time to relax never finds its way onto anyone’s agenda. In the midst of all this seemingly endless chaos a person must find peace. Sleep is the peace that keeps the world from utter destruction. However, in those few moments of seclusion where a person lays awake on the verge of slipping into dreamland, thoughts of peace do not fill the mind. In those moments though the gruesome, deadly, dark, and evil invade the tranquility, the peace is disquieted. The human conscious is programmed to focus on the things that we never see, but deep down inside have a slight inclination and desire to behold.


Mr. Utterson was a man that had not seen but heard about what every person somehow wishes to, evil. The harsh yet tempting uttering’s of his friend Mr. Enfield circulated within his ears. This story unraveled as the trampling of a small child only feet away from bystanders by a much smaller yet growingly ominous figure. This callous figure had no regard for others, yet Mr. Utterson relished at the story. Once his ears had welcomed this tale his mind could not leave this dark topic. Needless to say, he was fixated, and at that who wouldn’t be?

Many people will try to deny the fact the evil aspects of life do not fascinate them, but in the end these people are nothing but liars. For Mr. Utterson, “…his imagination was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield’s tale went before his mind a scroll of lighted pictures” (48). Mr. Utterson is a human being, it is perfectly normal for him to try and imagine this horrific event. Even though Mr. Utterson can imagine this scene in many different ways and forms, the true evil is never known. This rings true for all of us, we can try to imagine evil all we want, but to put a face to it, to know the contours of the skin, to understand the coldness that lurks in the eyes is something that not even the darkest places in our minds can envision.

I often wonder to myself, does true evil have a face? There is always the classic response that the face of Satan is true evil, and though I do agree, I believe that evil exists within the faces of earthly humans. Even though, I myself can never pin a face to this topic, imagining it alone is dark enough. The dark black eyes that when stared into send chills through the spine, the gaunt face that could only be imagined as that of the Grim Reeper, the pointy nose that only a wicked witch could posses. In today’s rapid society the evil and darkness is unaccepted in the eyes of the public. However, these same eyes that belittle the weird also imagine the evil amidst their own solitude. True evil, it will always be that topic that scares us to the cores of our bones and yet it will always be that same topic that fascinates us in the midst of our peace.

Final Short Story

Author's Note: This is a piece that I was assigned to do in class. It was the creative short story piece. It honestly took me so much time to try and write this. I am not a very creative person, and to have to write such a creative piece was difficult. In this, the goal was to mimc an author and insert a defense mechanism that the character used. My character exhibits rationalization and denial, and I chose to mimic Ambrose Bierce. The main character is in the midst of his own torment, believeing he is being held captive by terrorists. However this is not the case.

Trapped in the Mind

Drip…

                           Drop…

                                                       Drip…

                                                                                     Drop…

the sound that haunts my mind, it fills the inner crevices and never stops with its monotonous and continuous drop. I’m not sure how I have arrived in this place. It is dark and dreary, no light and not even a single window to peer out of. It has become harder each and every day to take comfort in my one inch thick, hard as a rock mattress. I can never find peace in this place; all I ever hear is the drip and drop. 1I await every drop with annoyance and – and for some reason – resentment. How have I arrived in such a miserable situation?

I should have known better, signing up to work with the government couldn’t have ever been a good idea. I’m sorry Stacy I hope you can forgive me. Lulu and Skip, I pray every night that you know Daddy misses you. Finally, another hour passes in this noisome cell. I have come to the realization that every 1,967th drop marks the passing of an hour. Even though that irritable drop will tip me over the edge of insanity, sadly it has become my only lifeline.

Come on now, I need to think, what was I doing before I arrived here? Oh that’s right, I was walking somewhere and I felt a shock of pain pierce my body. It ripped through my flesh and tore me from the inside out, as if a savage beast was attacking me. The rest is a blur. That same day my advisor had given me some sensitive information about terrorist cells and potential raids. I was supposed to deliver it to someone, which must be why I was walking outside; I was on my way to meet this person.

Although things look bleak, I just know that somehow I can get out of this. I have prayed, I’ve gone to church, I do what is right most of the time, doesn’t that mean that the greater being in the sky is going to save me? Who cares anymore, this is my own fault. I risked my life just to get the feeling of heroism when in actuality I am nothing more than a loser for leaving my family. I need to stop thinking like this, but how, how can I overcome this lapse of judgment? Throwing a pity party isn’t the answer, but I have been lying on this mattress for days, I cannot get up for some reason. I try to stretch my left arm and something tugs on it. Fortunately, my right arm is free and moves around with joy and ease. 2The movement of flailing fingers keeps my focus and my eye ensues it across the darkness. My arm and the drop are the only motion within my chamber.

Breaking free of this place is my only way to survive. If my own ability at the moment will not allow me to escape, I must be cunning. Outsmart the enemy, outsmart the torture, and in the end outsmart myself. Though the movement has been taken away from me by a mysterious force, I can survive, and I must survive. My family needs me, but not as much as I actually need them. There goes the drop again, why will it never cease? Being abused would mean far less pain than this solitary drop.

Maybe, I could tear up my mattress and use the stuffing as a way of lulling this incessant drop. Maybe, I could hit my capturers with my right arm when they advance upon me. Maybe, I should have just not been such an oaf, and worked behind a desk like every other middle-aged man. Maybe, this whole situation will just disappear as if it had only been a nightmare. Maybe… just maybe.

Who cares anymore? I am only delaying the inevitable. I will die in this dark place, alone, and with no one to comfort my ever-increasing sorrow. Stop it! I cannot think like this, but as time continues to tick away my mind wanders farther down the path of despair. The only way to conquer the lurking pessimist is to think. Think with the brain that the government sought to have on their side. 3Rising from my thoughts of my deep despair were drops I could not bear or accept, a clear, precise, cacophonous melody like the whipping of a percussionist’s hand on the triangle; it possessed the same irritable nature.

The drop continues, I should really know by now that the drop will never cease, its existence will end once the end for me has come. The sound fades away, and all is at peace. Why is my heart rate increasing? It’s pumping faster and faster. It feels as if I am trying to tug a semi-truck along my arteries. The heave and gasp that accompanies every breath will not cease. The drip and drop that haunted me for what has felt like years is replaced by an even more bothersome beep. I hear nothing but beeps, so many beeps. Why can I not breathe? I gasp and nothing fills the empty lungs that ache for an occupant. Then, I open my eyes and rays of light come pooling into my darkened body. Fluorescent lights keep hitting my corneas, my eyes burn into my head. I am paralyzed: all movement, sound, and light cease to exist.



Beep…

                                     Beep…

                                                                     Beep…

                                                                                                  ∧_∧__∧_________




Mimic Lines


1) “He awaited each stroke with impatience and – he knew not why – apprehension.”

2) “A piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the current.”

3) Striking through the thought of his dear ones was a sound which her could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of a blacksmith’s hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing quality.”

A Short Story (Open to Suggestions)

Drip…

Drop…

Drip…

Drop…

 the sound that haunts my mind, it fills the inner crevices and never stops with its monotonous and continuous drop. I’m not sure how I have arrived in this place. It is dark and dreary, no light and not even a single window to peer out of. It has become harder each and every day to take comfort in my one inch thick, hard as a rock mattress. I can never find peace in this place, all I ever hear is the drip and drop, and that harsh creaking sound that vibrates the room. How have I arrived in such a miserable situation?

            I should have known better, signing up to work with government couldn’t have ever been a good idea. I’m sorry Stacy I hope you can forgive me. Lulu and Skip, I pray every night that you know Daddy misses you. Finally, the bucket has enough water for my thirst to be quenched. I have come to the realization that every 1,967^th drop I can take a sip that lasts approximately 5 seconds. Even though that irritable drop will tip me over the edge of insanity, sadly it has become my only lifeline. Come on now, I need to think, what was I doing before I arrived here? Oh, that’s right I was walking somewhere and I felt a shock of pain pierce my body, the rest is a blur. That same day my advisor had given me some sensitive information about terrorist cells and potential raids. I was supposed to deliver it to someone, which must be why I was walking outside; I was on my way to meet this person.

            Although things look bleak, I just know that somehow I can get out of this. I have prayed, I’ve gone to church, I do what is right most of the time, doesn’t that mean that the greater being in the sky is going to save me? Who cares anymore, this is my own fault. I risked my life just to get the feeling of heroism when in actuality I am nothing more than a loser for leaving my family. I need to stop thinking like this, but how, how can I overcome this lapse of judgment? Throwing a pity party isn’t the answer, but I have been lying on this mattress for days, I cannot get up for some reason. I try to stretch my left arm and something tugs on it. Fortunately the bucket is to the right of me and I can stretch my right arm out every 1,967^th drop and take a sip.

            If my own ability at the moment will not allow me to escape, I must be cunning. Outsmart the enemy, outsmart the torture, and in the end outsmart myself. Though the movement has been taken away from me by a mysterious force I can survive, and I must survive. My family needs me but not as much as I actually need them. There goes the drop again, why will it never cease? Being abused would mean far less pain than this solitary drop.

            Maybe, I can tear up my mattress and use the stuffing as a way of lulling this incessant drop. Maybe, I could hit my capturers with the bucket when they advance upon me. Maybe, I should have just not been such an oaf, and worked behind a desk like every other middle-aged man. Maybe, this whole situation will just disappear as if it had only been a nightmare. Maybe… just maybe.

            Who cares anymore? I am only delaying the inevitable. I will die in this dark place, alone and with no one to comfort my ever-increasing sorrow. Stop it! I cannot think like this, but as time continues to tick away my mind wanders farther down the path of despair. The only way to conquer the lurking pessimist is think. Think with the brain that the government sought to have on their side. Rising from my thoughts of my deep despair was drops I could not bare or accept, a clear, precise, cacophonous melody like the whipping of a percussionist’s hand on the triangle; it possessed the same irritable nature.

            The drop continues, but in an instance, I start to gasp, as if a valve had been pulled and I began to deflate.  My eyes bulge out of my head and the veil of darkness is lifted. Where am I?

WAIT… what is happening? I see Stacy? I don’t understand how could this be? White coats, children, and monitors none of this makes sense. Words refuse to escape my chapped lips. Why am I precariously rising? I am above everyone, as if my soul is leaving. I don’t understand my lungs ache for breath to enter. I’m sorry Stacy.  

Beep…

                                    Beep…

                                                                        Beep…

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        ∧_∧__∧_________

Cycle of Life

Cycle of life

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Authors Note: In the stanza talking about first days of school, I am really sorry it is not supposed to say "Gays" but rather Days. I am truly sorry for this error so I hope you all can read past it. Thank you :)