I'm homesick again. I want to start making movies again. I miss Mr. Alan. I need his guidance right now.

I've gotten bored with college. I wrote this the other day about when I went to that old "haunted" building me and Joelle used to go to.

The old building stood before us, like a ghost, hollowed out and covered in the dust of what once was. I knew how the old place felt. We walked across the white canvas tarp, leaving a trail of muddy footprints, scrawled like suicide notes. I approached the window, looking up at the daunting, looming edifice towering over me.
“Shall we?” I hoisted myself up on to the ledge and swung my legs over, collecting dust and the glitter of cracked glass on my shirt. I landed with a crash on some skeletal piece of machinery. “Shit.” Joelle laughed and followed suit, as did Erik.
We were inside. This had been our goal for so long, ever since we had first developed our morbid obsession with the abandoned hospital. Now, the time we had come with no plan, no supplies, not even a light to guide us, we had achieved what had been impossible so many times before. The decay of the past three decades crackled under my feet as we passed through the shell of the old mental asylum. The once formidable walls were peeling and crumbling; gates once used to keep people inside now stood more use in keeping them out. The ceiling above us had given way long ago and now stars shined down on us like thousands of tiny eyes. Snow had begun to collect on the floor under the holes, and we shuffled through it.
The headlights from passing cars cast eerie shadows into the building, hitting the trees in front and transforming into figures roaming around. We stood still, in the simultaneous safety and danger of the darkness. If it were security, it would be better to remain in the blackness. If it wasn’t security . . . I shuddered to think what it could’ve been. I heard a shuffling noise from across the room, like the sound of a patient’s slippers would make against the tile. “Let’s get out of here”. We hurried back down the hallway, throwing ourselves through the same broken window through which we had entered. Joelle cut her hand on the glass as she pushed herself over the sill.
We ran away from the old building, to the safety of the orange lights, still haunted by something we couldn’t escape.