This feels a little like cheating, but I’ve found another creative writing selection from my 16-year-old self and was vaguely amused. Plus, in keeping in the spirit of October and all things creepy, I figured it could be relevant. Again, I will resist the urge to correct any errors, grammatical or otherwise, and present to you in all it’s original unedited glory:
“Don’t Open It!”
She slowly picked it up. Her fingers touched only what was necessary, for whatever was in there might rip the lid off and slowly ooze up her arms. She held the yellow-orange Tupperware bowl up to the light, trying to look through the plastic sides to see what it was without having to actually open the top. All that could be seen were dark blotches. The thought of it made her want to drop the container, but she ventured further to see if she could possibly find out what this formerly consumable substance could be. She cautiously lowered the small bowl onto the table so that it wouldn’t be dropped on the floor once she saw what was actually in it. She leaned back and turned her head, having only her eyes facing the bowl. Her fingers reached out and peeled back the ridged top. She leaned forward slowly, her eyes ready to shut and her tensed body ready to run.
As she caught her first glimpse of dark green mold, she crumbled with disgust. Her face shriveled into a horror-stricken grimace as more and more of the fuzzy green fungus came into view. She finally found the courage to lean way over on her tip-toes and look completely into the bowl. Her teeth still clenched in a grimace; a groan of disgust escaped from her throat. She closed her eyes and let go of the container. She walked a safe distance away and stared at the plastic bowl, wondering what she should do with it. She certainly didn’t want to clean it; she could hardly go near it.
She carefully walked over to the table and picked up the cover. She put the cover on and gently pushed down on the center until she heard the small pop that told her it was sealed. She opened the refrigerator and placed the container back in the spot where she had found it, behind the jar of pickle relish and next to the half-empty can of spaghetti sauce, neither of which had been touched in months. Someone else would have to find it later. She didn’t know how long it would be there or how long it had been there. All she knew was that she wouldn’t be the one to open it next time, if there was a next time.