I hold your secrets and memories. I hold them in darkness. They cannot escape unless you search for them. So come. Come into my depths. Relive. Rediscover. Remember.
What lurks in the basement? No boogie mans, or apocalyptic screams. Only twisted dreams. Visions of manipulation, of conscience. Memories of unwanted faces that are all too desired. The tears of a child. The screams of the wounded, deserted in the wild. SHAHGHSGSAfasd
We lived on the front porch when I was a kid, but the real memories were in the basement. Stolen kisses in the middle of the night when he would sneak in and we would sit in the dark, staring like owls because we couldn’t see. Only feel the other person there.
In the basement he would face his worst fears. He stood at the top of the stairs and stared down into the abyss from which his father would emerge each night with fear and anger in his eyes. It never turned out well for James, and now he would discover the cesspool of evil that his father spent his evenings in for the better part of James’ childhood.
We stood in my basemtn thnking about all of the things we had said. I kissed him. Hard. He kissed me back and we stopped thinking for a moment. Then we started remembering. I pulled away. Hard. He stared.
I have a basement. It’s dark and creepy and I get scared when I go down there. It’s not finished. My cat sleeps down there sometimes. I sound like an idiot typing about a basement. I don’t know what else to say about BASEMENT. BASEMENTTTTTTTTTTT.
The first thing I thought of was LOLCAT’s Basement Kitty. WTH? I don’t have a basement in my house… When I was a kid I would confuse basements and garages.
in my basement i often day dream. it was a place of reference when i was younger, but now all i see is the pain of the present. if i could g back, would i? i honestly dont know. shouldnt i move forward? some things i jsut dont understand. just get out of my head i need to be rid of you. please, if u care.
It was scary. It was dark. It was sad. My basement was one that didn’t get visitors. My basement was lonely. It was heartbroken. It was eager for more.
I sit deep in my basement, tape over my mouth and a blindfold over my eyes. I put them there myself. I’m trapped in the basement, blind and mute, but I want to be there. When I first found myself in the basement, I was terrified; as time went on, I decided I was protecting myself by locking the door from the inside, by shielding my eyes, by shutting myself up. I remain barricaded in the basement, not really trapped, but safe. Safer than I would be upstairs with the rest of the world.
The basement was where it all started. It was never supposed to go as far as it did. It was just a joke. But then she got really into it. She started getting the rest of us into it, too. There was really nothing we could do about it after that. Even my brother was under her spell. How could he not be? She was beautiful, intimidating.
The darkness choked me and made me feel not alone – something has to be lurking in that basement. I’d watched far too many scary movies to be in a deserted space. It absolutely had to be waiting to grab me in the shadows.
its dark and scary and thats where the monster hide. i don’t like going there because it smells funny and I’m scared I wont be able to get out again. It’s the origin of all my childhood nightmares and the hiding place for all my adoloescent secrets.
Oops, I already did this. Here, let me be more obvious this time…
HEY TRAVIS. I LIKE YOUR BASEMENT. I LIKE YOU.
And by like…I mean love. Most of the time. Stop living so far away, okay? Deal?
I walked down the dusty stairs into the basement. Damn light never seemed to work. Step after step, going cautiously. *Crash!* My foot had slipped through one of the stairs. A cloud of smoke puffed up from the ground and filled my nostrils with the stale smell of forgotten things.
I live in a basement. No, not my parents. It was empty when I first moved in. A bit scary actually. Now it’s filled with pieces of my life, layers and layers of it even. And lately, it looks a bit cluttered. But what can I do. I’m sure you all know how hard it is to de-clutter a basement. And I live in a basement.
I’ve always wanted a basement in my house. It kind of sucks that no one in Texas has one, really. But then again, every movie I’ve seen that involves a basement also involves murder or ghosts. So maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have one. But still, it’d be pretty badass. I think.
the basement is where the rats dwell.I go down there sometimes to think. It is a place where nothing else in the world matters other than avoiding being bitten. I keep my soul in the basement for little feet to trample on… I love it there.
the dreary basement looked more like a dungeon. Will could hardly believe they would ever hold hostages in such an unpleasant place, were they TRYING to ask for war? these things could not be taken lightly, and if they didn’t watch themselves, they could end up down here next.
I live in a basement. Not the kind you think… And it isn’t my parents. It’s actually quite nice. Walk in closet and all. When I first lived in it, it was empty, and a bit scary. Now it filled with my life. And honestly, a bit cluttered. It’s hard to de-clutter a basement though, don’t you know?
In the basement, he faced his fears. For years he had stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the abyss where his father retreated to every night, coming up later in the evening with fear and anger in his eyes, and it never ended well for James. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and took the first step. How bad could it be?
They hid together in the basement, trying not to breathe too loudly even though their hearts were thudding in their ribcages. She squeezed his hand like a vice and he let her, and when they heard the footsteps on the staircase, he leaned down and gave her a brief but firm kiss on the forehead. This was it.
basement is the bottom of everything. it’s where our secrets are kept and where we hide the skeletons we wish for no one to see. we hide our souls in our basements. and heaven forbid anyone open the door to our basement, they would see into our the fabric of our consciousness.
My ego is in the basement, because really…this is not alright. Just took a practice euro ap test. got a 1. last year…took a apush ap test…got a 5. Something is drastically wrong here.
Oh my, what a terrible free-write. I guess ego-crushage stifles creativity.
I never had a basement growing up, my house is 200 years old so the only basement was the crawlspace under the house we would go to when the weather was bad enough and dad thought the huge oaks in the yard might fall on the house. That is, until I moved in with my mom. We then had two houses, one with really unfinished basement with river rocks and one with a basement I’m pretty sure vampires live in.
His mind was a mess, cluttered with lonely thoughts and anxious eyes. It was full of old skeletons and forgotten ghouls, like Bluebeard’s basement in cerebral form.
the basement was dark, cold, eerie. the air was damp with condensation. the footsteps behind me became louder…closer. my heart raced. my eyes searched for an escape from this nightmare.
I sleep in the basement, among the bugs and the rust. I feel them crawl and nibble at the wood. They are always there always watching and crawling. I can feel them. On my face and my hands. I can’t get rid of them. I stand up and realize they aren’t even there. It’s a basement full of tricks.
Dark space closed in around him, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. He could make out a few thin slits at head height, which he guessed was the bottom of a door. So, a basement then. He checked his limbs. It felt like everything was still where it should be.
Base-dot a room where my imagination took wing with my brother and neightbors filled with toys and worlds and kitchens and Egypt and India and Israel filled with the different ways could escape with plastic food that turned into feasts and small pieces of furniture that furnished mansions and castles and my world.
I wish I had a house with a basement. I would refinish it and have a big TV down there. Maybe I would have a pool table too.
I hold your secrets and memories. I hold them in darkness. They cannot escape unless you search for them. So come. Come into my depths. Relive. Rediscover. Remember.
What lurks in the basement? No boogie mans, or apocalyptic screams. Only twisted dreams. Visions of manipulation, of conscience. Memories of unwanted faces that are all too desired. The tears of a child. The screams of the wounded, deserted in the wild. SHAHGHSGSAfasd
Children were not meant to live in basements. That’s where spiders live and Grandmothers.
Children are not meant to live in the basement. That’s where spiders live. Well, spiders and grandmothers… among other scary things.
We lived on the front porch when I was a kid, but the real memories were in the basement. Stolen kisses in the middle of the night when he would sneak in and we would sit in the dark, staring like owls because we couldn’t see. Only feel the other person there.
In the basement he would face his worst fears. He stood at the top of the stairs and stared down into the abyss from which his father would emerge each night with fear and anger in his eyes. It never turned out well for James, and now he would discover the cesspool of evil that his father spent his evenings in for the better part of James’ childhood.
We stood in my basemtn thnking about all of the things we had said. I kissed him. Hard. He kissed me back and we stopped thinking for a moment. Then we started remembering. I pulled away. Hard. He stared.
I have a basement. It’s dark and creepy and I get scared when I go down there. It’s not finished. My cat sleeps down there sometimes. I sound like an idiot typing about a basement. I don’t know what else to say about BASEMENT. BASEMENTTTTTTTTTTT.
The first thing I thought of was LOLCAT’s Basement Kitty. WTH? I don’t have a basement in my house… When I was a kid I would confuse basements and garages.
in my basement i often day dream. it was a place of reference when i was younger, but now all i see is the pain of the present. if i could g back, would i? i honestly dont know. shouldnt i move forward? some things i jsut dont understand. just get out of my head i need to be rid of you. please, if u care.
stepping down slipping steeply stepping sockless cement damp and chalky a walking windowless wonderland.
It was scary. It was dark. It was sad. My basement was one that didn’t get visitors. My basement was lonely. It was heartbroken. It was eager for more.
I sit deep in my basement, tape over my mouth and a blindfold over my eyes. I put them there myself. I’m trapped in the basement, blind and mute, but I want to be there. When I first found myself in the basement, I was terrified; as time went on, I decided I was protecting myself by locking the door from the inside, by shielding my eyes, by shutting myself up. I remain barricaded in the basement, not really trapped, but safe. Safer than I would be upstairs with the rest of the world.
Before:
And she spoke words of wisdom
To the basement, people, to the basement
Many surprises await you
After:
You can’t escape now
I’ve got you locked inside this room
You know I tip good, and soon you will love me too
*So dance for the camera, my pretty little toys. There’s glitter in the gutter.*
The basement was where it all started. It was never supposed to go as far as it did. It was just a joke. But then she got really into it. She started getting the rest of us into it, too. There was really nothing we could do about it after that. Even my brother was under her spell. How could he not be? She was beautiful, intimidating.
The darkness choked me and made me feel not alone – something has to be lurking in that basement. I’d watched far too many scary movies to be in a deserted space. It absolutely had to be waiting to grab me in the shadows.
its dark and scary and thats where the monster hide. i don’t like going there because it smells funny and I’m scared I wont be able to get out again. It’s the origin of all my childhood nightmares and the hiding place for all my adoloescent secrets.
Oops, I already did this. Here, let me be more obvious this time…
HEY TRAVIS. I LIKE YOUR BASEMENT. I LIKE YOU.
And by like…I mean love. Most of the time. Stop living so far away, okay? Deal?
I walked down the dusty stairs into the basement. Damn light never seemed to work. Step after step, going cautiously. *Crash!* My foot had slipped through one of the stairs. A cloud of smoke puffed up from the ground and filled my nostrils with the stale smell of forgotten things.
I live in a basement. No, not my parents. It was empty when I first moved in. A bit scary actually. Now it’s filled with pieces of my life, layers and layers of it even. And lately, it looks a bit cluttered. But what can I do. I’m sure you all know how hard it is to de-clutter a basement. And I live in a basement.
I’ve always wanted a basement in my house. It kind of sucks that no one in Texas has one, really. But then again, every movie I’ve seen that involves a basement also involves murder or ghosts. So maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have one. But still, it’d be pretty badass. I think.
the basement is where the rats dwell.I go down there sometimes to think. It is a place where nothing else in the world matters other than avoiding being bitten. I keep my soul in the basement for little feet to trample on… I love it there.
the dreary basement looked more like a dungeon. Will could hardly believe they would ever hold hostages in such an unpleasant place, were they TRYING to ask for war? these things could not be taken lightly, and if they didn’t watch themselves, they could end up down here next.
I live in a basement. Not the kind you think… And it isn’t my parents. It’s actually quite nice. Walk in closet and all. When I first lived in it, it was empty, and a bit scary. Now it filled with my life. And honestly, a bit cluttered. It’s hard to de-clutter a basement though, don’t you know?
In the basement, he faced his fears. For years he had stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the abyss where his father retreated to every night, coming up later in the evening with fear and anger in his eyes, and it never ended well for James. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and took the first step. How bad could it be?
They hid together in the basement, trying not to breathe too loudly even though their hearts were thudding in their ribcages. She squeezed his hand like a vice and he let her, and when they heard the footsteps on the staircase, he leaned down and gave her a brief but firm kiss on the forehead. This was it.
basement is the bottom of everything. it’s where our secrets are kept and where we hide the skeletons we wish for no one to see. we hide our souls in our basements. and heaven forbid anyone open the door to our basement, they would see into our the fabric of our consciousness.
My ego is in the basement, because really…this is not alright. Just took a practice euro ap test. got a 1. last year…took a apush ap test…got a 5. Something is drastically wrong here.
Oh my, what a terrible free-write. I guess ego-crushage stifles creativity.
I never had a basement growing up, my house is 200 years old so the only basement was the crawlspace under the house we would go to when the weather was bad enough and dad thought the huge oaks in the yard might fall on the house. That is, until I moved in with my mom. We then had two houses, one with really unfinished basement with river rocks and one with a basement I’m pretty sure vampires live in.
His mind was a mess, cluttered with lonely thoughts and anxious eyes. It was full of old skeletons and forgotten ghouls, like Bluebeard’s basement in cerebral form.
the basement was dark, cold, eerie. the air was damp with condensation. the footsteps behind me became louder…closer. my heart raced. my eyes searched for an escape from this nightmare.
It’s where we keep our skeletons now that the closet’s overflowing with bones.
I sleep in the basement, among the bugs and the rust. I feel them crawl and nibble at the wood. They are always there always watching and crawling. I can feel them. On my face and my hands. I can’t get rid of them. I stand up and realize they aren’t even there. It’s a basement full of tricks.
I used to fear the basement as a child with all it’s darkness, dampness and cobwebs. They still send chills of those childhood memories.
Dark space closed in around him, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. He could make out a few thin slits at head height, which he guessed was the bottom of a door. So, a basement then. He checked his limbs. It felt like everything was still where it should be.
Basement Bargin shopping; hunched over old women with puff lilac colored coats shakily fingering an owl shaped salt and pepper shaker.
Later, in the dark, we can play with your heart in the corner. Pick Up Sticks?
Dreary. Invested. Laundry. Moldy. schmutzig. Wood. Overheated. We ARE thinking about remodeling. it’s sort of a process
Base-dot a room where my imagination took wing with my brother and neightbors filled with toys and worlds and kitchens and Egypt and India and Israel filled with the different ways could escape with plastic food that turned into feasts and small pieces of furniture that furnished mansions and castles and my world.