Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER
Nobody knows about the bodies in my walls. There are so many of them. Their rotting stench ghosts into and infests my very mind. Some of them are raw, fresh. I can feel their warmth through the layers of insulation, drywall, and paint. Their downtempo heartbeats pulse throughout the whole room. A whimper. A sniff. A final beat. You can practically hear their eyelids latch closed, their eyelashes brushing their cheekbones.