I want to write something other than paranormal horror. A violent drama, born from the place where I grew up. Because that voice in my head won’t stop screaming. I don't know if it's asking for help or if—only now, as an adult—I finally understand what it was... and it makes me want to cry.
I was 14, maybe 15. We were kids. Just kids, used to violence, laughing at death. The blood, the dead... they were always there. How was that normal?
We were just kids.














