The normally beautiful and alert face grows dim and sagged. Bright eyes, once a cacophony of brown and green, turn gray and dark. The lips become pursed and tight, signifying that speech is no longer and interest of pursuit. Eyebrows lowered, a more intense state of mind is active and thought is what engages her mind. Purple hues dress the upper cheekbones, just below the eyes, a detail of the human dimension. Hair usually long and curled is now held together in a tight, elastic band, no longer in attempts to flaunt beauty. Yet, within this tired being, one can still obviously notice how the face is beautiful, just in desperate need of sleep to refresh the soul.
I opened the glass doors of my apartment, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, entering the bustling streets of New York City. It was an uncomfortably hot July day and everyone was already out and about. Lights glared, noises screeched and hissed. People stared and yelled at each other on the street corners, buying street meat and tourist trash, all alive and eccentric. A barrage of smells hit like a wave, some enticing, others vile.
Pushing myself through the rush hour crowd, I hurried toward my favorite, and most convenient, coffee shop. It was busier than usual, many people waited impatiently to receive their order and rush to work. Men in trimmed, single-breasted suits chatted loudly on cell phones, discussing Wall Street and politics.
I reached the line and ran through my order and exact dialogue I would say to the barista approximately ten times. Still tired, the smell of coffee made its way to my senses and immediately perked my interest. Pop music blared, almost as a mind-control method to persuade the customer to make a thoughtless purchase. Looking through the small glass, I glanced at the pastries designed to make you drool. Coffee cakes, muffins, and cinnamon buns stared back at me, tempting my stomach to seduce my brain.
Moving forward towards the counter, a worker returned from the back carrying a tray of more pastries to further my internal clawing desire for sugary indulgence. Wafting through the air was a familiar smell that seeped into every fiber of my being. I began to stare at the tray and realized that croissants littered the tray in aesthetically neat rows, presented to appear quite satisfying. I could taste the buttery flake of the pastry, crunch in between my teeth, and feel the softness of the crust graze my tongue.
Immediately, I saw myself as a nine-year-old, eating croissants and drinking hot chocolate at Hyde Park in London, England, every morning for a cold, June week. Without a care in the world, I simply ate the pastry and people-watched within the foreign country, denoting each person with a different, eccentric personality.
The croissant represented a sort of innocence. The absolute innocence of my whole being during that time. My mom taught me to bake, in efforts to create a pastry masterpiece, the rest of my family supported my interest in the culinary arts. I would eat my croissants regularly as a child, indulging in their soft flakes that mirrored a cloud. Of course, that could never be the case now, lest I wanted to be on the heavier side.
At eighteen years old, I remember the distinct smell wafting through the heavy air, baked by my grandmother, following the sudden death of my father. He was a 9/11 First Responder, very close to every member of his family and, quite honestly, anyone he spoke to. Strong-willed and intelligent, he was a prominent member in our New York community. He also particularly enjoyed croissants and would share them with my brother and I if we wanted.
The smell of the pastry distracted me from the broken sobs and horror of the wake and funeral, saving me from the total corruption of adulthood. This moment would forever engrain the sight, taste, and smell of croissants into my soul, signifying its fall from grace, reminding me of the tragedies of my teenage years.
Finally, my last croissant was eaten at my wedding, 3 years ago, to the love of my life. An artist, he was kind and funny. Interested in the art of portrait painting, he would enjoy sitting in his studio with friends and painting beautiful, realistic portraits, rivaling the likes of Michelangelo. Both very social and into sports, we met at one of our college football games when he, “slightly” intoxicated, spilled his drink all over me. I am still so glad I was in a good mood.
Relegated to happiness, the croissant was again remembered as a happy treat, not affiliated with death. It seemed that the croissant was my signature pastry. It gave me child-like joy and signified the renewal of my happiness and the onset of my long and everlasting life with my future family.
Last year, my husband was stabbed by a drug addict, certain that he was his dealer who was holding.
Croissants were not at the funeral.
It pains me to remember. The croissant was a conduit for both my innocence and my despair. The beginning and the end. What could such a little pastry do to have such a monumental power over my soul? Somehow, they were there at each significant moment in my life. I felt my wedding ring on my left index finger. Cold and hard, I promised myself I would never take it off. The bad moments overpowered the good, too strong to let go. My life flashed through my eyes, replaying every important conversation, feeling every emotion, remembering every heartbreak. A symphony of memories slapped me in the face and breached my heart. It felt as if my entire being was being ripped apart by existential entities, fit to kill a Titan.
Glazed over and hazy, I heard a murmur.
“Ma'am... Ma’am, can you please order?”
I snapped back into it. The barista looked at me with a slight annoyance. People chittered impatiently behind me. Groaning and sighing. Some even nudged me a little. I turned the hot tears in my eyes into a shine and collected my thoughts. Smiling.
My breath began to escape me as I quickly realized the full extent of my situation. The claustrophobic tunnels felt like they were moving in on me, sucking out all of the oxygen in the world. The rock walls felt moist and cold, reminding me of the lack of sunlight that I had been deprived of for the past six hours. I glanced down at my Fitbit, it read to be almost midnight, however, you would never be able to tell down here. The Paris Catacombs are notorious for its eerie history and is frequently a site for tourism. Why I accepted to venture into the historical “Empire of Death” is beyond me. I am frightened by most anything, so this is most certainly a death wish, especially since the adventure would be seven hours.
I began to walk faster so I could catch up with tourists ahead of me. I glanced over to see if they were friendly enough to speak to. The tallest guy in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts was most certainly American, so I decided I would try to make a friend in this death maze.
“You’d think we’d have seen enough human remains after six hours of walking.” The American just kept walking forward, as if I hadn’t just tried to strike up a conversation with him. I cleared my throat. No response. I began to slow down so I wasn’t walking next to this guy anymore. Suddenly I fell to the solid ground screaming. I immediately realized I wasn’t in control of my body when my arms and legs began flailing violently. A sharp, piercing screech rang in my ears, causing me to vomit all over myself. I began to fight against the force placed on my entire body, burning tears beginning to invade my eyes. I tried to scream, but nothing came out, only dead air. It took everything in me to strain my eyes to see the tourists I was just with not only 5 seconds ago. My heart dropped into my stomach when I discovered they were gone. Not even a scuff on the ground was left from the large group. My throat began to tighten and suffocate me, not allowing for a breath of stale air. I began to see spots clouding my vision, and life abandon my body when suddenly I regained control.
I rolled over on my side and began to cry. I pushed myself up on shaky arms and quickly held on to the wall for balance. I wiped the tears from my eyes and grabbed at my throat, desperately trying to find air to breathe.
“Wha the hel-” I hopelessly tried to utter, but all that came out was fractured weezing. I looked around for any signs of people. I began to limp forward to search for the group previously in front of me. I gradually gained speed and saw a person turn a dark corner. I tried to scream but instead began to choke. I saw the group of men I tried to speak to and threw my body at them. Rather than smacking into solid bodies, I felt my head slam into the rock floor. My hand twitched, and my eyes slowly turned to black as I felt blood pour from my forehead.
Blinding white light burned my senses as I slowly became sentient. A violent headache turned my vision into a hellish carousel. “WhaAERE am Iii?” My mouth tasted of silver and cotton. Suddenly, a figure began to shape into view next to me. I realized that the person had been trying to communicate with me for a while now. A piercing ring still buzzed in my ear.
“Sir. Sir, it's alright. You’re okay now. You’re being taken care of.” The voice belonged to a middle-aged, dark-haired, doctor. I couldn’t speak, but let him explain to me what was going on. “You had a nasty convulsion on your tour of the catacombs, I'm sorry to say. You were found twelve hours after you passed out on the floor of the tunnels. A trip into the catacombs alone is very dangerous sir and is highly advised against. You are very lucky to be alive.”
I was perplexed. What the doctor just told me to hurt my head. Alone? Did he say I was alone because I wasn’t, I was with a group?
“I wassn’t allonne.” The sentence tumbled out in a delirium. The doctor stared hard as if mentally diagnosing me.
“Records of the catacombs are acutely calculated with each and every tourist and is updated every hour to keep track of the capacity. For the seven-hour deep catacomb excursion, the only name listed is yours. No one else.”
I began to shrink. I spoke to someone down there, I knew I did.
“However, we did recover your camera and look through the photos you took, sorry for the lack of permission, and we did find this particular image of interest.
I pulled my head down to grasp the image on the camera. The wind was knocked out of me when I realized that in the picture taken during the trip, three men appeared at the turn of a tunnel. The tallest I recognized, the Hawaiian Shirt Guy. I moaned, trying to shout that I spoke to them, that they were on the tour, that I threw my body at them, but the doctor shrugged.
“No worries sir, we’ll fix you right up in no time. The mental ward is an esteemed medical treatment wing in our facility. We’ll be glad to admit you.”
I was confused. Mental Ward? Me? Just because I saw men in the tunnels, and I have proof they appeared in the photo? But then I realized that I had been screaming bloody murder for the past couple minutes. Clawing at my throat and eyes, lashing out at the doctor.
“THEY WERE THERE. I knOWW THEy Y WHErE!!” The doctor restrained my arms as two nurses strapped them down to the bed. Blood filled my mouth as I discovered I bit my tongue. The doctor showed me the photograph once more.
“Sir, I don’t know what you’re seeing, but there are no men in this photo, only writing and blood.”
I looked at the picture again, expecting to see the men when this time seeing something truly horrific. Dark red blood carefully painted on the wall as if on a canvas. A slashed wrist exposed in the photo seemed to be the source of the blood. The writing on the wall was expressed as such, “They are here, they will avenge, they will kill.” Terrified to understand what was happening, I looked down at my left arm only to discover a long bandage vertically placed with care.
“NOOOooOoOoOoooOOOOOO.” I shrieked as the nurses wheeled me down the hall. I thrashed my legs and chest, screaming for someone to help me. I opened my eyes and scanned the rooms. For a fleeting moment I stopped everything, I slowly looked to my right and saw a tall man in a Hawaiian shirt smiling. Laughing at me, and just standing there, like an Angel of Death. One tear slid down my cheek. I blinked, and he was gone, but his smile burned in my head forever. The nurses wheeled me away to my fate.
It’s like you finally feel happy for a while, but the same stuff that originally caused you to fall into despair slowly creps back, and you remember why you wanted to depart from the world again.
Evita, released in 1996, was a fantastically produced movie-musical that received a mixture of either adoring or critical response. The film began in 1952, in which a motion picture is shown suddenly shuts off, followed by an announcement that Eva Peron, “spiritual leader of the nation,” reached immortality. This lower class, B-rate actress rose to become one the strongest female leaders, not only in Argentina but as one of the most influential women in South American history. The musical, artistically directed by Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber, appeared on the Broadway stage first in 1979 with legend Patti LuPone originating the role of Eva. With people either loving the movie adaption, starring controversial star Madonna, or contrasting to hating it with Argentines asking people to not see the movie as it poorly portrayed the late first lady. Although Evita was based on a real person and events between 1926 to 1952 with worldly connections, the movie adaption, however, had inaccuracies that plagued the true history throughout.
Evita took place during that of very prevalent global events. With the movie beginning in 1952, one can perceive that this is just after WWII, and set in Buenos Aires. Before Eva Peron had the chance to speak and influence the people of Argentina, the economic and social class was in shambles. It simply was the very rich and upper class and the devastatingly poor lower class. Eva was born with a caring mother, yet her father died when she was very young as seen in the movie, and she was illegitimate as her parents were not married. The exclusion of her from her father’s family caused her to have disdain for the disparate middle class. Yet with this, irony can be formed as it is widely accepted that Eva herself single-handedly constructed the middle class for Argentina. With the adoration of Juan Peron and his wife, hatred and antagonism were also directed to the two. With the Peronist political party and Peron’s way of governing, many compared him to a fascist, specifically Italy’s Benito Mussolini. This is seen in the “Rainbow Tour” segment of Eva’s Europe tour. It is notable to understand that Peron himself allowed for possibly hundreds of ex-Nazis into South America. Citizens sometimes referred to Juan as “The Dictator” due to his way of governing Argentina. This was accurately represented in the movie, however not to such the extent that real Argentines described him.
This historical movie-musical integrated various worldly connections. Almost all of the lead characters were actual political figures from the time period, most of whom directly affected Eva. Beginning the film just a few years after the first World War, with the poor lower class having relatively nothing. Then years ahead in which WWII was in the midst, which ultimately did affect Argentina, however, it was not sharply directed as too how much in the movie. When Juan Peron achieved presidency, it was 1944, one year before WWII would end. It was his actions after the war that are notorious, again, completely overlooked in the movie. Eva Peron was a real woman who truly affected her people and Latin American history. It may be perceived that the people adored Evita more than her husband. This can be theorized as Peron was ultimately overthrown a year after his wife had died, so it was quite possible that it was his wife who kept him in his position. The movie really did accumulate the sense of global affairs in the film, and the sake of Argentina’s social class that was altered by Eva herself, yet with every movie, there are historical inaccuracies.
This modern historical film did perceive the true events quite well, yet not to such an extent that it was perfect. The most prominent inaccuracy would be the portrayal of Evita herself. While it may have been an awkward choice to choose Madonna, a singer of whom wasn’t highly regarded, to play such a powerful figure in history, it may also have just been the direction the film chose to take. Yes, it did make prominent Eva’s achievements, specifically her foundation, yet it did almost paint her to be a deceitful and devious person. This is something many Argentines have argued against, that Hollywood just wanted to produce a film that would appeal to society, not actually include the political works that made Eva a role model. As previously mentioned, Juan Peron wasn’t the saint the movie painted him to be. It is historically proven that Juanharbored ex-Nazis in South America, specifically to save them from the Nuremberg Trials. This was obviously not shown in the film but left the audiences deceived. It also never went into details about the aftermath of Eva Peron’s body which was hidden for seventeen years, due to the fascist view of her husband, and political party. It wasn’t so much that the movie changed history, rather than the fact that it didn’t embody the past to such an extent that it could have.
While Evita may have been a movie that was produced and directed for Hollywood, not so much historical truth, it was still a beautiful movie that truly made the audience feel for Eva in each and every song and the people of Argentina. A classic story of a rags-to-riches heroine that impacted her nation for the better. The themes of the movies perfectly conveyed the atmosphere of Argentina, in which they were in desperate need of a strong leader who would help the economic turmoil, which Evita fit perfectly. Her style was treated as with admiration, herself being cherished as a goddess. This was a fantastic movie that actually represented the musical well, unlike many other musical adaptations.
I just finished a run of Cabaret, and I am completely distraught. What will I do at school tomorrow? Learn? Garbage. What about getting home late and looking forward to the performances?
I did only play a Kit Kat Klub girl, the ensemble as I am just a sophomore, but wowie what a show! Cabaret is a beautifully rough story, with extraordinarily sensitive topics. The music was absolutely amazing.
To the point, I am very sad the show has ended, but on to the next. Show come and go, but it’s the people you meet and get to know is what doesn’t last. Seniors graduate, and people leave the department, and it’s highly likely you’ll never see them again. Theatre has the ability to foster such strong bonds with people that seem like they will never be broken, but in a few months, they were just a friend from that show.
Like theatre, the friends you make are only a short act.
The hole in my heart is large right now, but I know it will close, and I will be another role in a show soon. I look forward to what is to come, but as of now...
Friends, Classmates, fellow Internet Explorers, and Judges. Today I would like to talk to you about The Death of Culture.
I would like you to think back to the years 2007 through early 2015 regarding social media, and the internet. Most likely these years were full of happy memories with minimal online controversies that seemingly plagued the world every single day. Such as PewDiePie, a grown man screaming like a child at monsters in a video game, Shane Dawson and his many “spirited” split personalities, or when thirteen-year-old Justin Bieber posted Chris Brown covers for fun. Yet, now I would like to contrast that happy picture, to the social media of today.
Worst things first. Logan Paul was the creator of one of the first trending videos in 2018, yet it was known in a less-than-celebratory acclamation. The title of the video was, “We found a dead body in the Japanese Suicide Forest.” This was very similar to the many other clickbait titles he acquired, yet this time it was different. Logan proceeded to venture into the Aokigahara forest near Mount Fuji which was known for its high suicide rate and later discovered a hanging dead body. While any other normal person would quickly stop recording and call the police with a later discussion in the end of the video, Logan Paul walked right up to the body, filming, laughing, screaming, joking, and making the ordeal about himself. This macabre video would never have been shown on an open platform such as YouTube, this type of video would be something found on the Dark Web.
Right after this video was uploaded, Logan received a plethora of hate and scorn rightly so. He first wrote a terrible apology on Twitter and apologized again on YouTube. It is honorable to forgive, however, this was a dire step back for the once creative-based site.
Carrying on, in 2016 a young girl appeared on Dr. Phil regarding her atrocious behavior. She is known as ‘Bhad Barbie,’ Danielle Bregoli, or most famously the “cash me outside girl.” This 14-year-old girl literally became famous for being disrespectful and acting like a complete imbecile. She has zero talent and terrible personality. Due to her ‘internet fame,’ Danielle jump-started her music career in rap and has gained a record label. Her songs are vulgar and ultimately, bad. She also has been arrested for grand theft, possession of marijuana, and has achieved a lovely five years of probation. I have personally seen young girls calling Danielle a ‘queen,’ or an ‘icon.’ This girl is not an icon and not something we want future generations to turn into.
My final internet celebrity that is changing society for the worse is Onision. Onision is a YouTube figure who has been around since the beginning, yet gained his popularity through his satirical videos. While a mix of his videos is comical, some disgust me to a point that is indescribable. For example, a segment on his channel is having girls send photos to him in which he rates them, and he is brutal. Why should that be allowed, why should we allow this guy to make negative comments and drag these girls. Other parts of his channel include jokes about eating disorders, fat shaming, suicide, and so forth. Onision is known to be “the most controversial YouTuber,” or “YouTube’s most troubled star.” He starts fights with other YouTubers that are uncalled for and petty, and why should we continue to allow it?
You are the people who are shaping the future. What happened to the positive outlooks on life, and the celebrities who were intelligent and talented. Nowadays, it seems like anyone and their brother can become famous out of nothing, and it’s time for that to end. Do you want a future generation chock full of ‘Bhad Barbies’, or Logan Pauls? So I ask you to stop promoting pathetic internet celebrities into our society. It can only get better from here, and it is time to bring back the innovative days that started it all.
Let me begin by saying that I am so excited to post my first review! While I have no other followers other than my mom, I am quite happy to write about things I like nonetheless. Anyways, on to the macabre tale that is Amnesia: The Dark Descent!
Released on September 10th, 2010 Amnesia: The Dark Descent was met with critical acclaim by the gaming community worldwide. Game developers Frictional Games began working simultaneously on both Amnesia and their other successful series Penumbra, specifically Penumbra: Requiem. Initially released independently, Amnesia quickly garnered various retail publishers that sold the game in numerous countries. The high praise for the game was directed at its ability to scare a player just through the chilling music and atmosphere.
Let me tell you, I 100% agree with the fact that the music scares people okay. I got the heebie-jeebies just loading up the menu screen... #noregrets
The plot commences with a delirious young man of whom the beginning scenes explain that he remembers relatively nothing besides that he is Daniel and that he is from Mayfair, London. Stumbling through a dark medieval castle with atmospheric rain pounding on the walls, the game already strikes fear in the player’s heart. Quickly the player learns in a letter, Daniel wrote to himself, that Daniel chose to drink a striking look-alike Pepto Bismol Amnesia mixture to forget past insidious events that he partook in and to kill the nefarious baron of the castle, Alexander of Brennenburg.
Now, this already sounds like a wild game, and it’s only the first fifteen minutes!
The story carries on as you proceed throughout the castle, picking up diary entries and mementos on the way to piece together Daniel’s empty noggin. Oh, and did I forget to mention that the player’s only source of light is an oil lantern that runs out of oil incredibly fast and tinderboxes that are scattered throughout the castle? Also the fact that Daniel has nyctophobia, fear of the darkness. The literal title of the game is Amnesia: The Dark Descent! When standing in the darkness for a prolonged amount of time, Daniel’s sanity level will begin to drain, causing the screen to distort and toss like waves. The ultimate cherry on top is that Daniel’s teeth will begin to grind when he is in the dark, he will randomly shout eerie sentences like a madman, and hissing cockroaches will scourge the player's computer screen. About 95% of the game is spent in darkness.
Thanks, Frictional Games.
Now let's talk about the Gatherers. The Gatherers are probably the vilest, vulgar, and most hideous things I’ve ever seen, and believe me, kid, I’ve seen a lot. Anyways, in direct texts found in the early part of the game, the Gatherers are discussed as follows:
“It is said that soldiers who abandoned their duty got lost in the cold, dark woods and were forever damned to roam the grounds. Their bodies wrought by their tainted souls have left them disfigured and empty of essence. Many have sighted them over the years and describe them as horrid revenants. They move silently through the woods, shying away from any beholder. They are called Gatherers as they seem to follow some ambition to steal living creatures. It is their prey which can be heard struggling inside damp burlap sacks dragged behind them which reveal their presence. What dark scheme do they follow?"
―Note in the Archives
Okay first of all, WHAT.
“Tainted souls that have left them disfigured and empty of essence.” That is dark. Anywho, Daniel’s first encounter with the Gatherers is in the Archives and while it may be just a hallucination, it scared the living poo out of me. Ah, the good ol’ days when the Gatherers were just hallucinations...
There are two forms of the Gatherers. There is the hellish Grunt who make the more common appearance in the game, compared to that of it’s more powerful colleague, the Brute. The Grunt looks like horror itself in that it seemingly has its jaw removed, giving it a very flappy mouth. Its hands have protruding claws that swipe at Daniel as a form of attack. The Grunt also has ropes around its body, indicating that it was at one point tied up.
The Brute is the rarer of the two, as long as the more powerful monster. It has a skinnier and taller appearance compared to that of the shorter, more built appearance of the Grunt. Most of the Brute’s skin has been replaced by shards of metal, and one whole arm has been amputated with the replacement of a metal blade. It is easy to detect a Brute, thank God, by its clashing and shrieking metallic noise it makes as it walks by. The distinctive feature of the Brute is the fact that its head has been split in two, resulting in a disturbingly floral image. The Brute is also faster than Daniel if the rest wasn’t already enough.
While the game is titled Amnesia, Daniel begins to discover his not-so-innocent past through the previously mentioned notes, and flashbacks that are triggered when stepping into a certain area, and upon interaction with certain objects. This blog is *Spoiler Free* so I will not go into depth about the key story elements, however, I will touch upon the basic plot points.
In a diary entry written by Daniel in his normal state, it is discovered that he went on an archaeological excavation expedition to Algeria in hopes of excavating the tomb of Tin Hinan. His expedition quickly turns south when Daniel is sealed in the tomb, unable to escape. In his entrapment, a mystical orb seemingly “calls out” to Daniel, drawing him to it. Let me tell you that this was Daniel’s BIGGEST mistake. Danny boy, you should have just left the magic death ball alone.
With the orb came the price of the haunting shadow that clung to Daniel like death.
To keep this review a review, and not just a description of the plot, I will continue on.
The further the game proceeds, the scarier each section becomes. One of the most memorable moments would be that of the “water level” in which an invisible monster, known as the Kaernk, chases, and attacks Daniel if he steps onto the floor which is flooded with water. An expert at this game would shudder just at the sound of “water level.”
MY HEART HAS NEVER RACED SO FAST. SERIOUSLY, I DONT THINK THIS GAME IS HEALTHY.
To distract the Kaernk, the player has to throw literal pieces of shredded body parts in the water for the monster to feast upon. This level was most likely to induce mammoth amounts of STRESS and ANXIETY on the player, and to cause them to scream like a little b**** for all to hear.
If there were a video game Oscars, the best score would go to this game in the horror genre. Any seasoned Amnesia player recognizes the “Terror Meter” within the first five seconds of play. The menacing chords that are played to strike fear and trepidation are genius. Distant screams are constantly heard throughout the castle, just to sprinkle in a few heart attacks. Nothing is scarier than realizing the Gathers CAN SPEAK. I’ll just let that settle. It is known that the Gatherers were once humans-turned into monsters, used as slaves for Alexander. Quite disturbing.
On to game design and artistic approach.
Frictional Games really knew what they were doing when they were making each level and carefully created room in the hellhole known as Castle Brennenburg. I can recall first walking into the wine cellar, leaving the quick and safe tutorial area of the game. Oh little me, experiencing true terror through a video game. When I say this game is dark, sweetie, its dark. There is very minimal lighting throughout the game, and when the game is light, for example, the Guest Room, it is still one of the scariest moments in the game. There is no safe area in this game. But let us not overlook the infamous Storage Room. That room embodies pure hell and is blanketed in darkness. Daniel himself describes the room as having an “unnatural darkness,” almost like it was artificially created to be that way. Not only is that room one of the darkest sections of the game, it is one of the most dangerous as well. Filled with Gatherer encounters, the Storage Room is one section to make you remember Amnesia. The Storage Area is one of the many sections in the game that made me almost pee pee my pants. A few shoutouts of hell go to The Prison Cells, Choir, Storage, Guest Room, slip and slide kaernk death time, and so forth.
Amnesia: The Dark Descent set forth a new era for horror in the video game industry. Few recent games have been made that reach the same God Tier status as The Dark Descent. Its ability to use atmosphere and level design with very few jumpscares is indescribable. Amnesia also features Custom Content in which players can create their own stories and horror-filled fun in the Amnesia engine. The central game also has its own DLC named Justine with the main character being Justine. The Custom Content keeps Amnesia alive and fresh, allowing for new stories to continue. Justine is a wonderfully short DLC, possibly including moments that are scarier than its central game. I highly recommend the DLC and its free! With an extraordinarily dark, and disturbing protagonist/antagonist, Justine’s charismatic voice sends chills down my spine whenever I hear it.
I can proudly say that I have fully completed Amnesia a total of two times. I understand that this may seem like a tiny amount, but look, Amnesia is not a game you just innocently play when you have a spare thirty minutes. You sit down with this game, talk to it before you play, pray that it will be less scary than the time before... it never is. I occasionally replay certain parts of the game in scattered intervals, yet a true sit down of the game is one you have to prepare for.
I rate this game as a stunning 10/10. Yes, it has its very infinitesimal flaws regarding simple puzzles and dumbed-down mechanics from its predecessors Penumbra, Amnesia is a work of art. You heard me, a work of A R T. While I have not played the sequel, I have heard mixed reviews which is a shame. All I know is, Amnesia: The Dark Descent will forever be at the top of my favorite games of all time. I am so glad to have experienced this game, and I believe it jumpstarted a lot of different interests in my life.
Thank you for whoever reads this. If its only my mom, hi mom! It's currently 11:41 PM on a school night, and I’ve done no homework ha. For real, if people do see this, LIKE THIS ISH. I worked HARD on it. Okay, kiddies? Follow me pls. I’m just a kiddieee. Thank you for reading! To my non-existent fans, I love you! <3 See you in the future. Stay tuned :)
I thought it would be a neat idea to share my reviews on Pop-Culture, movies, video games, art, television, and so forth! You guys might think I’m pretty lame, and I get that because... I am, but hopefully, my reviews will be interesting.
If you guys would suggest material for me to review, I would be grateful. Otherwise, you’ll see a hundred Star Wars and Game of Thrones reviews, and while that is of course not bad, it lacks variety!
We’ll see where this page takes me! It could turn out to be awesome!
