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New to Neville's teachings? Start here!

The below links contain essentially the entirety of Neville's teachings.

• Wiki
• Sidebar
• Neville Goddard's Brief Biography
• Rules

Frequently Asked Questions

Can I manifest xyz?

Yes, anything is possible.

How do I manifest xyz?

All manifestations use the same technique(s). To get good simply takes practice and imagination.
Neville's Basic Manifestation Techniques:

• The Neville Goddard Method
• Revision: The Complete Guide

What scene should I choose?

Any scene which you believe you would encounter after your wish is fulfilled.

What should I start reading?

We recommend The Law and The Promise or The Power of Awareness first for beginners. This is because Neville includes several examples and success stories from students, in addition to being lighter on Bible references, which can be off-putting or confusing to beginners.
If you want a physical copy of his books, publishers continue publishing new copies of Neville's works. Please check your library, locally owned book store, or search online for Neville's works. If you purchase a new physical copy, we recommend The Power of Imagination: The Neville Goddard Treasury, as it contains all of Neville's books in one volume.
All of Neville’s books and lectures are in the public domain and can be searched online for free, and are included in the Wiki and Sidebar links mentioned previously.

What is an SP?

Specific Person. Usually in reference to a person’s romantic interest or crush. The term was popularized by so-called, self-professed online manifestation coaches and "experts". /NevilleGoddardSP is a dedicated, expert subreddit for that.

What is a Mental Diet?

Avoiding negative conversation and media, paying attention to positive conversation and media.

What is SATS?

State Akin To Sleep (SATS) refers to the deep state of consciousness during meditation or just before falling asleep. In SATS, the body is relaxed, but control over the mind is retained. It is used to create vivid visualizations in imagination for the purposes of manifesting.

After you have decided on the action which implies that your desire has been realized, then sit in your nice comfortable chair or lie flat on your back, close your eyes for the simple reason it helps to induce this state that borders on sleep. The minute you feel this lovely drowsy state, or the feeling of gathered togetherness, wherein you feel- I could move if I wanted to, but I do not want to, I could open my eyes if I wanted to, but I do not want to. When you get that feeling you can be quite sure that you are in the perfect state to pray successfully.
Neville Goddard, 1948 Lecture Series, Lesson 4

What is the Lullaby Method?

In SATS, instead of visualizing, repeat an affirmation to oneself again and again, building the feeling of it being true.

What is Revision?

Revision is revising in imagination events that have happened in the past as a way of mitigating their effects in the future.
See also: Revision: The Complete Guide

What is Door Slamming/You are in Barbados/Living in the End/State of the Wish Fulfilled?

Closing your mind to any other possibility besides your outcome. Assuming your desire is true and not questioning it.

Do we have Free Will?

Yes, and no. It’s complicated. See here.

What is "Everyone is You Pushed Out" (EIYPO)?

On a practical level, what you believe is what you get. The world only shows you your own beliefs. On a metaphysical level, we are all the same God interacting with Itself through an infinite number of different points.

The whole vast world is no more than man's imagining pushed out. I must qualify that by saying that the world outside of man is dead, but Man is a living soul, and it responds to man, yet man is sound asleep and does not know it. The Lord God placed man in a profound sleep, and as he sleeps the world responds as in a dream, for Man does not know he is asleep, and then he moves from a state of sleep where he is only a living soul to an awakened state where he is a life-giving Spirit. And now he can himself create, for everything is responding to an activity in man which is Imagination. "The eternal body of man is all imagination; that is God himself." (Blake)
Neville Goddard, The Law lecture

What if everything is going wrong? What if I am manifesting the opposite of my desire?

Failure is generally due to a lack of consistent faith or belief in the outcome, not feeling as though it had already happened. However, if the one has consistently been loyal to their faith, then we are reminded that all manifestations have their appointed hour (Hab 2:3). Neville writes about the causes of failure here.

What about (my sick mom, my crazy grandpa, the homeless, starving children, etc.)?

In Neville's view, there is one being that is God (who is pure imagination), and has split Itself into infinite smaller forms to undergo a series of good/bad experiences across lifetimes until these smaller pieces realize they are God and reintegrate. The less fortunate are to be helped, not looked down upon, but understanding it is necessary for God to realize Itself (to experience bad and good).

What happens after I die? What is The Promise?

Neville’s prophetic vision of an individual’s reintegration with God.

Can I manifest multiple things at once?

Yes. Here is Neville's answer regarding how to manifest multiple things from Lessons Q&A:

\5. Question: Is it possible to imagine several things at the same time, or should I confine my imagining to one desire?
Answer: Personally I like to confine my imaginal act to a single thought, but that does not mean I will stop there. During the course of a day I may imagine many things, but instead of imagining lots of small things, I would suggest that you imagine something so big it includes all the little things. Instead of imagining wealth, health and friends, imagine being ecstatic. You could not be ecstatic and be in pain. You could not be ecstatic and be threatened with a dispossession notice. You could not be ecstatic if you were not enjoying a full measure of friendship and love.
What would the feeling be like were you ecstatic without knowing what had happened to produce your ecstasy? Reduce the idea of ecstasy to the single sensation, "Isn't it wonderful!" Do not allow the conscious, reasoning mind to ask why, because if it does it will start to look for visible causes, and then the sensation will be lost. Rather, repeat over and over again, "Isn't it wonderful!" Suspend judgment as to what is wonderful. Catch the one sensation of the wonder of it all and things will happen to bear witness to the truth of this sensation. And I promise you, it will include all the little things.

What if I have another question?

Please use Reddit's search feature or post it here in the Q&A thread.

FTM (on testosterone), 26, 5'7, 176lbs.
Wondering if anyone else has had a similar experience or can advise - I've tried everything and haven't got an answer anywhere!
I was prescribed 10mg amitriptyline in early 2021 after experiencing post-COVID symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome (but no heart issues). I've been taking it every day since. My CFS symptoms are better and I find sleeping easier too.
However, after about six months, I started experiencing chest pains and a slightly raised HR but didn't think anything of it. Fast forward three years later, and my resting HR is anywhere between 80-110bpm, have regular palpitations and skipped beats, I get chest pain pretty consistently (as in every hour or so, every day), and even walking or taking one flight of stairs gets my HR up to 120-130bpm.
For context, I'm 26 (23 when prescribed), AFAB but trans and on testosterone (have been for around 5 years, levels are stable) 5'7 and 80kg (176lbs). Before the chronic fatigue I was fairly active and have never experienced any heart issues before.
I've had 86 hours of ECGs in the past 6 months including one hospital visit after my resting HR was 130-150bpm while sitting watching a film. My GP has ruled out any arrhythmias, heart conditions, or anything else that may be contributing (thyroid problems, liver function, blood sugar, etc). The ECGs showed ectopics and tachy but no diagnosable arrhythmias. My GP has now suggested that the amitriptyline may be the cause but is reluctant to take me off of it in case my CFS symptoms flare up.
My questions are: does anyone else have similar experience of this with amitriptyline, especially on such a low dose? And how likely is it that my cardiac symptoms will reduce if I come off the amitriptyline?
This is impacting my life such that I struggle to exercise, I'm gaining weight because I'm less active, and I feel uncomfortable all the time because of the palpitations and tachycardia. I'm really desperate for an answer, so any opinions or thoughts are appreciated.
Thanks in advance.

Im storming barriers/- The more the merrier, they form my character! !/- remember before declaring wa— To tell the lord a prayer first/- Cuz on the mic im your superior!/-
Yeah im elite when I got an ink pen/— Copying shit is not for me bitch!/– all I need is/– to find a beat then/– ill start to remix/– It’s not easy monetizing genius!/– ‘less you writin schemes as/— as fly as rocket fleets in launch releases!/— this genre needs/— to stop competin/– over whos pockets deepest!/— I’m the cheapest, …im rockin the fits/– which aren’t in season/ yuh
Sometimes like to treat this like a comedy skit So i slaughter beats at my convenience/– And obviously i compete in the colosseum/- …so watch me cheat death/— even if mafia bosses wantin me dead?!/– Tied up me an/– then solidified my feet in/– a block of cement?!/– they toss me off of the ship/– ..hopin my body sinks in? NOPE! I’ll fight for each breath/– I’ll swim til I cross the sea/– you cannot kill me yet!/–
Insomnia hits and im tossing sheets til my alarm clock is ringing/—i hate how I often sleep in/– I wake up an it’s almost evenin?/– I yawn a deep-stretch/ I look to the time an {I-see-PM!} sheeit i hope my projects see {High-CPM!} Cuz I release shit as fire as {ICBMs!} … yeah i may be a bad produce– but my brain is a rap computer!/– Anyday Ima have the viewers, To make me an Adsense user!/

I keep on reading posts on here about people who get migraines that last days, weeks, or even longer. Surely that would never happen to me, someone whose migraines last 10-12 hours at best! 🤦
Welp, the time has finally come. I started feeling like garbage on Wednesday night and it's now Friday morning and guess who still feels like garbage! This migraine sufferer!
A typical migraine for me ALWAYS starts with a stiff neck. In the past I've had pain around my left eye and even the tip of my left ear, but now I have pressure on my nose instead, in addition to the neck pain. I try moving my neck around and rotate between heat and ice since my body temperature gets all out of whack with a migraine. Then comes the nausea which has me running to the bathroom to expel clear fluids. I have light and sound sensitivity which isn't being helped when I accidentally flick on my bathroom light and start gagging. After doing this a couple of times over the course of a few hours it dawned on me that my PCP prescribed me 50 mg sumatriptan for bad migraines, which this one definitely is. I take one dose for the first time ever and go to lay down. I do a quick Google for symptoms to look out for because I don't remember a thing my PCP told me. I know I can't take a second pill for at least another two hours and Dr. Google says the pill should take about 20-30 minutes to kick in. Great! Four hours later I feel no difference so I take another pill. Two hours later, I'm asleep. All other symptoms minus the neck pain and stiffness are gone, which I thought was just from sleeping, so I think I'm back to normal. I decide to take it easy for the rest of the day and order some food because I don't feel like cooking and watch the new season of Bridgerton. Bam lightheadedness! Bam jaw pain (which is another migraine trigger)! I lay down for a couple of hours and both of those go away. It's just my neck pain and stiffness remaining. I don't know if this is a rebound from the sumatriptan or if this is just a continuation of this real shitty migraine.
I'm going to reach out to my PCP soon. I've been dragging my feet on that this morning just in case the neck pain goes away. But knowing my luck, if I send my PCP a message my pain will magically go away. I don't have a migraine specialist or a neurologist because my PCP hasn't referred me to anyone and I'm not sure if I can see one without a referral.
Rant/vent over. Also, don't ask me a thing about the new Bridgerton season because I don't remember anything.

Greetings!
Let us move back to energy work.
"Teacher, why do they think so much?"
"Why do you think at all?! You're no better than them!" The pupils teacher wacked him on the crown of his head.
"!OUCH! Why would you do that!"
"It stopped you thinking, did it not?"
We of J believe humans are scared to feel the pain of thinking because of emissions from radio-towers stabbing your meridians when you think too deeply.
It is due to the pain in other words that thinking, especially thinking hard, causes that makes one feel dizzy, angry or an array of different feelings.
Thinking is many times easier and more pleasant in wifi free zones, we believe.
We of J believe that if one were to use the totality of their inner strength toward thinking really hard, the rebound would cause what humans understand as spaciousness or the meditative state since the flow of energy within the 'thinking chakra,' what humans call the 'Default Mode Network,' would travel toward the pineal gland and then, out into the universe.
J believe that if one were to use the totality of their thinking power, it would squeeze blood toward the pineal gland. It seems J believe wifi has the ability to cut off blood-flow into the pineal gland.
We of J believe negative entities have a great many humans 'sleeping,' by cutting off the connection the cerebral cortex has with the pineal gland. We of J believe that thinking is a most pleasant and enjoyable experience and is very orgasmic, however, in your world, it literally hurts.
J believe that the Elites created wifi to make thinking deep enough to have pineal experiences hurt so we would stop bothering to try. This was possibly in response to how close humanity came in the 60's - 70's to realizing the oneness of all things.
A deep thought is an analogy for the experience of travelling into the pineal gland - it feels very orgasmic to the point that many humans cannot handle it, now, thinking deeply makes people angry in your world - it never used to, we of J believe.
Our instrument was trained to traverse your lands and adapt to your wifi signals, but this process is most difficult and requires the pain killer 'THC,' which we of J believe, expands the meridians to nullify pain in flow of north facing magnetic energy.
We of J think nature is so apolorized to wifi, that going into nature and grounding between the Sun and the Earth could be a potential awakening method for many of your world, one would feel continuously better each day spent outside in the Sun and with ones bare feet to the ground.
We of J believe many of those who live with nature have a name for the pain wifi causes to ones meridians and when such animals or humans are tasked with being within what you understand as cities, they have to use so much thought-power, it can make them dizzy or sometimes disorientated until they become used to it.
Spaciousness is attained when the pineal gland is pressurized by the default mode network, after pressurization, a host of hormones are released into the body including DMT, our instrument was required to become used to the dizziness it invokes and teach humans about it on this website.
If these have any questions, please, do ask.

Until I was 19, I just jerked off and watched porn. Not dividing myself into roles, whether I was top or bottom, so I always wrote verse. I was interested in everything.
But I was just the bottom. I was a skinny, smooth shaven all over, guy with a nice dick (I can send a picture).
I meet a guy, he's older than me, about 8 years older, taller, though I'm 185 cm. Shouldered, tall, cheekbones. But not about that. His dick was incredibly huge, I remember holding it in my hand in front of my face and thinking "how to suck it?". So his dick was my starting point in learning about blowjobs. I sucked him wherever he got his dick. And he always came, either on my lips, my cheek or my neck.
He tried to insert his cock into me. But I could only take the head. The next thing I knew, I was in a hell of a lot of pain.
Then I meet a grown man, like twice my age. And he becomes the one who sits me on his lap and slaps my face with his huge cock. His cock was long, but not as thick as the first guy's. He fucks me in the mouth, then turns me around and puts me on all fours. He does everything he can to make sure I don't get hurt, lots of lube, poppers. But he fucks deep, dynamic and hard. That day I was losing my virginity thinking, "I hope I survive."
The third, significant male, was a regular straight guy from an anonymous meeting site, he wanted a blowjob and there were no girls around. I agreed to suck him off. He was pumped up, smooth-shaven, tanned, and with a not-long-but-thick cock. He was the first to cum in me, and made me swallow.
I had already decided that they had made a bottom out of me, so I was going to be a bottom.

There are repeated mentions of how Fire is paraphrased with passion and the same going on Ice and duty, this will likely be continued further and deeper within the series should they continue to be released. Of importance to my theory is how the Others and various groups of bodyguards or protectors use similar language in their descriptions, the (tenuous) relationship between iron and fire that keeps popping up and how people of duty keep failing due to their passions.

She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body.
"They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins.

In the veins. Iron, in the veins. Like the ore, but also like how you literally have iron coursing through your veins, unless you are anemic. It is the fire that courses through your body, that is how heat is transferred in you.

She even smells red. The scent reminded him of Mikken's forge, of the way iron smelled when red-hot; the scent was smoke and blood. Kissed by fire
"The sound it made … it burned, somehow. As if my bones were on fire, searing my flesh from within. Those writings glowed red-hot, then white-hot and painful to look upon.

Bones again also contain iron

The young lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It steamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed red as fire where they touched the snow.
Blood ran dark from the gash he made, and washed over the steel. And then the sword took fire.
Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. "Ours is the house of the dragon," he would say. "The fire is in our blood.
I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger.

Fire is Passion and Ice is Duty. Roose is filled with passions so he removes them, the Targaryens are generally hot-blooded and Melisandre is Melisandre. In contrast to this..
The Others are often described like white or pale shadows,

He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone.
A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk.
The white walkers of the wood, the cold shadows, the monsters of the tales that made him squeak and tremble as a boy, riding their giant ice-spiders, hungry for blood . . .

There is another specific group of people who are often described as shadows; Bodyguards, specifically of duty and honor.

Every khal had his bloodriders. At first Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki Kingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught her that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal's brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. "Blood of my blood," Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a single life.
For every hour of fighting, a Kingsguard knight spent ten thousand hours watching, waiting, standing silent in the shadows
Whether it had been man, woman, or child Tyrion could not have said. Joffrey was galloping at his side, whey-faced, with Ser Mandon Moore a white shadow on his left.
His two white shadows were always with him; Balon Swann and Mandon Moore, beautiful in their pale plate.
Even Osmund Kettleblack was yawning. Not Loras, though. Not our Knight of Flowers. He stood behind his little sister, a pale shadow with a longsword on his hip.

There is one specific moment where the Kingsguard are not treated as being shadows but "burning clear", the possibly traitorous three who followed the Prince over the King. One could almost call them passionate.

Yet these were no ordinary three. They waited before the round tower, the red mountains of Dorne at their backs, their white cloaks blowing in the wind. And these were no shadows; their faces burned clear, even now. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on his lips.

Ghost is also often described as a white or a pale shadow, and depending on what theory you subscribe to he might literally become a body guard.
There is one last passionate man who failed his duty,

"You know I have no other woman. Only . . . duty." She rolled onto one elbow to look up at him, her big black eyes shining in the candlelight. "That poxy bitch? I know her. Dry as dust between the legs, and her kisses leave you bleeding. Let duty sleep alone for once, and stay with me tonight." "My place is at the palace."

Arys Oakheart is a knight of duty slain by passion, and what kills a White Walker?

Obsidian," Maester Luwin insisted, holding out his wounded arm. "Forged in the fires of the gods, far below the earth.
"The maesters say it comes from the fires of the earth. They call it obsidian."
Fire will dismay them, though, and they are vulnerable to obsidian.
Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass.

TLDR: Love is the death of duty.

Was watching this lovely free camera view of the hug scene & was really thrown by the subtle grimaces that Neil does at 0:13. This made me wonder if his scars are painful. It occurred to me for the wounds to not be healed by vampiric rest, they'd probably have to done REALLY deep or have sort of magic to stop the skin returning to its pre-cut state. A quick google-fu reveals that some detailed, large scale scarification tattoos or injury scars if severe enough can hurt for years after their creation. If this is true for Astarion, this just adds yet another fucked up way that Cazador hurt him. Yet another reason why in Act 3 I'm gonna jog to that damn trash palace & turn that bastard into hamburger meat. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K513YLzVCr0

i feel like i dont exist.. i get possessed by different versions of me constantly..
ive had depression for more than a decade now. its not like i was okay before that tho. it doesnt bother me much
its just, ii dont feel like a real person.. but then i see people i know, and i wonder if they're real. sometimes i think most of us are half asleep.
what keeps me going is making the world better somehow. but maybe ill traumatize a bunch of privileged people by blowing my brains out in front of them.. im sure theres a lot of ways i could kill myself that would make an impact. i could turn my suicide into performance art or a social contagion!
i hate people sometimes.. the world doesnt need to be this way. we do it to each other.. maybe rather than helping people i should be spreading suffering and hastening the end of the world.
but then i remember my mom, and a friend. i remember them crying, terrified. i watched their souls leave them slowly. i remember panicking and shutting down, until i could no longer feel deep attachments to others..
the goddess loves me, and she see my suffering. Shes sees everyones pain. she sees the truth, she sees hell on earth. my sister is there too. they try and protect me and nurture me and help me fix things inside, but i dont think its possible
i think before i die, i just wanna know that i made them proud, and that i sought out the light till the end

Here is one for you all and its a long one. 44M here, been with my significant other for ~20 years, married for 11 years. At this point I don't feel like we are going to make it much longer. I don't think she wants to be with me anymore but needs me for financial support so she is trying to string me along.
Background:
I want to say right off that I know I am not perfect, have never pretended to be nor have I overlooked my shortcomings and have done everything I can to address and deal with my issues.At first things were good. We did things together, went out, hung out with friends together, bowled leagues together, had a lot of fun. We also had a good, sex life. We were having cuddling times, regular sex, great foreplay, she was pretty open to positions and trying things.
When we first got together she was working miscellaneous retail jobs. She had a 4 year college degree at this point as well but never even tried to find a job utilizing it. I was fine with her working whatever made her happy. I work in IT/Tech. I have always been the higher earner, making almost double her salary up until a couple years ago. I never once said anything about this, never gave her crap for making less or the job she worked. I only encouraged her to find a job she enjoyed. I went years, never saying anything that might hurt her, even when I was working 50-60+ hours of work in a tough field at a job I hated while she worked maybe 20-30 hours a week in a super easy job of her choosing. After about 10 years of us being together she finally decided to go back to school for computer science. To support her doing this we lived in a couple places and worked jobs I absolutely hated to make sure she could finish school without any pressure. Again, I never said anything to her about this, I did it so she could be happy. She ended up finishing and getting an extremely good paying tech job after a few years, around the time that I noticed the biggest changes about her. Prior to her latest job and changes, we were OK for a few years. We starting doing well together as we were both earning well and have no kids.
Start of problems:
After we were married for a few years she started changing. She stopped wanting to do things together, we went out less and less. Stopped watching shows and movies together, stopped gaming together. She started treating sex like a burden, made me feel bad for even trying to initiate it. She became more of a prude, stopped wanting to do almost anything sexual, stopped wanting cuddling/petting, lost almost all interest in foreplay that wasn't directly for her, she lost all interest in any type of intimacy, cuddling, foreplay, or really anything that isn't about her getting off.
I feel that I have been extremely patient over the years about all of this. She has some back issues (self inflicted, she was having soreness and pain but continued a workout regimen that was obviously not right and causing issues. I have tried to be understanding and accommodating since she had these issues. Sex was never really a big issue, even with the back problems we had a decent sex life until the last 5 or so years. She started wanting to do less and it really felt like she was just trying to get it over with (outside of when I was pleasuring her and getting her off. Once that was done it was like hurry up and finish.
More recently, last couple of years she has had 0 interest in sex or even anything physical. I mean I can barely kiss her, cant touch her at all without some excuse that it tickles or some other BS. No cuddling as she says I always pressure for sex, BS, I love foreplay and am happy with mutual getting off. I have mentioned the lack of intimacy, mentioning that is had been months since we did anything and it is always some excuse or a suggestion it may happen this weekend (going on 20+ " this weekend" without anything) . She has almost every excuse in the book as to why she doesn't want to without really having a good reason. She will blame her back bugging her but will then do a lot of work that is physically punishing, especially to someone with back issues and despite the fact that I said I would do it or try to help. I have also gotten several different things to help, wedge pillow to help with her back, tried it once and had some random complaint that I forget. She had mentioned trying a swing so she could have support in different positions. I found several options and she then made excuses about all of them, the primary one being support for the swing. I eventually called her on this being BS when the new house we got had a chain mount in one of the bedrooms ( looked like it was possibly for a heavy punching bag) that would be perfect for a swing and I tested it holding my full weight. I again mentioned getting a swing to make things better to only get additional excuses.
Further Issues:
We had always talked about wanting to move back to California and get a house there when we had the chance. We had also talked about houses we would like and things like that. When we started seriously talking about getting a house, she said she would check with work ahead of time about being able to move to another state as we had discussed, she did not. I don't think she even talked to her boss about it. She just refused to move outside of this state as she said her job required her to be her even though her boss lives in a completely different country.
When the time actually came to find and buy a house it did not work out the way I guess I had expected. Eventually, we purchased a house here after several fights as she decided she wanted a cheaper house to fix up. Not even considering the amount of work and money it would take to do so. One of her "options" was a run down ranch house that had a surprise renter (9 months left on a lease) in a very obviously water damaged basement. She picked out this house so she continued to try to justify buying it for about 100k over what it should be sold for. After about a week of looking at shitty houses and fighting she finally agreed to look at one of the houses I had chosen, the house we eventually purchased. It was a bit more but had almost all of our wants without the need to fix it up.
For the purchase, she provided the down payment from her inheritance and jointly financed the house. Once the purchase was finished and we moved in she changed, a lot. Things became more about what she wanted, she would mention things to me but completely ignore any input and just talk like what she wanted is what I chose too. Her dad then decided to visit and this was the largest wake up call I think I have had. I saw him doing all of the things that she does that annoy and frustrate me. I then realized that if I stay with her, dealing with this is my future. He took over the house and she treated me like an asshole for just wanting a bit of space that I could have to myself. She refused to deal with him or reign in his behavior. I think it was around this time that I realized that it felt like I didn't even have a home even though we just bought one, that I was just a wallet to help pay bills.
We ended up having a fight about this and I ended up leaving and staying at a hotel for a few days. This is where it got really eye opening as I considered this fight as something we would think about and get over. However, the first thing she did was talk to her friend and then reach out to divorce lawyers. She mentioned that she was talking to them about post nuptials to make sure she got the house and money. This was a signal to me, that she did not consider nor seem to appreciate all of the years that I spent working jobs I hated to supplement our income and cover for her while she went back to school. All it seemed she saw was that she got money now so the house and all of it was hers. She made a comment about how she felt the money, stocks, and house were hers. She added that she wanted a post nuptial to define this so I shouldn't be surprised if I get one to sign. Unsurprisingly, she never actually got this done, never mentioned it more so I am assuming she just got lazy and never followed up. One thing that stood out to me was that she mentioned that she could not afford the house by herself. She rambled off several things about us just being roommates and me continuing to pay for the house and bills. She came up with something about me paying and her giving me money back later or something, I ignored most of it as it was dumb, I.E. me leaving my checks going into our shared account and continuing to pay like I have been but doing so knowing she plans on keeping the house and that I might get some money later if she ever sold it. She also made a comment that I did a good job with the stocks so I should keep doing that for her and she would give me like a 1k in a few years. Since I started working with the portfolio and diversified the stocks I have made over 40k in gains for it so yeah I ignored this as I felt like it was insulting. This whole fight and conversation hit me hard, especially after 15+ years of me working hard, shitty jobs, to provide for us just to get slapped in the face by greed.
We ended up talking a bit after that fight after I ended up stopping by the house. She had mentioned previously about going to marriage counseling. I told her I didn't think it would help with our situation considering what the issues were but if she was willing to go and actually participate, I would be too. We ended up seeing a marriage counselor as she had suggested it previously and I wanted to try everything to make this work. I had previously mentioned that I didn't think it would work as she refuses to open up or discuss her issues with anyone and if she wont do that, it is a moot point. She said she would so we found a counselor and we went for a couple of months. During this time I was very open about my thoughts and feelings and gave the counselor details on my issues. She however, did not provide anything ahead of time, participate much, would not open up, and eventually said that we might as well not go as she didn't feel like we were gaining anything.
Turning Point:
I think the f*ck it point, straw that broke the camels back for me is that about a month ago, around 10 months or so since we had any kind of intimacy we had a fight. During the fight she admitted that she actually masturbates fairly regularly which really, really pissed me off as she knows the lack of sex and any kinds of intimacy was a big issue for me and was causing a lot of frustration. I was quiet about it as what I would have said would have started a big fight. I am now struggling because I cant really get over the fact that she shows me no interest, wont let me touch her, we haven't had sex in months and she admits to masturbating instead of having sex with me when she knows I am extremely sexually frustrated. To me, this shows her lack of caring about me and shows that she only really cares about herself and what she wants. This is furthered by conversations with her family I have overheard because she talks super loud on the phone and I guess she didn't realize I could hear her in the other room. This last conversation was essentially her talking about the money again and additional money she may get when her dad passes. She made the comment to them that in hindsight she would have made me sign a prenup as all of the money she has gotten and will get belongs to their family and she wants to keep it in their family. This was another moment when I was like what the hell, I am not your family?
I am torn, I have been with her for a long time, I do care for her, but she shows no interest in being with me. No interest in a relationship, doesn't want to do things together (she even said that if I want her do more things with me I have to do things she wants to do first), nothing for how I feel, what I want, no cuddling, no touching, nothing. It came down to the fact that she essentially wants a roommate that pays for her to have the house, help with chores, and helps take care of the dogs without expecting anything in return. She does not seem to get how she is, care how I feel, what I want, or really care about anything that does not benefit her.
I am at my breaking point, I have tried for years to give her everything and now as thanks, I get nothing from her. I am getting to old to keep wasting time in a loveless, sexless relationship but am also having a hard time walking away from a relationship I have been in for so long. After writing this out I am also realizing, well more wondering, what the f*ck I am doing as it seems pretty obvious I am bailing water out of a sinking boat.

“Incredible!”
The rebel reeled from the punch, the fist slamming through his protective helmet and cracking his jaw. He choked out a sob at the pain and the feeling of several of his teeth being knocked down his throat.
“This? This is what you send to try and rebel against the Imperium?! THIS?!”
A harsh kick was sent into the rebels stomach, making him cough up the rations he had that morning and a few of the once missing teeth. He grabbed his stomach and his body made to tilt forward and lay in the dust.
Only he was stopped as an armored gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stand. His hands came up and grabbed at his attackers wrist as he stared into his own grim reaper.
Said killer wore the helmet of the Macraggian Auxilia, his faceplate being that of a stylized skull. His rank was shown proudly in the form of a centurions plum, blue and white horsehair picked out atop a gilded mount on the top of his helmet.
“Incredible. It’s truly incredible what passes for rebellion these days hm?”
The soldiers behind the centurion laughed or smiled as they watched their leader hoist the rebel up as if the rebel was some game beast that was just recently hunted. Pressure in the form of steam shot out of the centurions wrist, betraying the hidden augmented limb under the armor. The rebel tried to speak, scratching at the Centurion’s arm.
“What? Speak up damn you, and speak clearly. I have no time or patience to hear some long speech about tyranny or whatever else. We have your city to burn insurgent.”
And burn it would. Two large tanks with massive flamers could be seen in the back, protected by infantry and assault vehicles. The main force would break the walls, the infantry would kill the people, and the tanks would burn the rest to ashes.
“Aghh….thill….you….thasard!”
The rebel said, spitting blood and bone fragments from his shattered jaw through what was left of his faceplate.
“Ah. Nothing interesting to say. Oh well.”
The rebel tried in vain to speak again but was silenced as the centurion forced a power gladius through his mouth. He was then unceremoniously dropped to the dust, choking on blood as he watched the Macraggian soldiers march on his home. The last thing he saw before dying was his killer, taking his helmet off and smiling in a wide, cocky manner. ————————————————————————
“Don’t spare the body men, he was a rebel. March over him.”
Tiberius Victor, Centurion of the 3rd Macraggain Legion, yelled as he wiped the grim that had built up over his helmet. He scowled at the filth that adorned his armor and sighed.
“Bloody rebels will pay for more than just rebellion. Look at this! They scratched my faceplate! And that bastard I just killed dared to spit blood at me! Oh they will pay tenfold.”
He chuckled and shrugged as he replaced his helmet. He rolled his head and drew the lapistol he had holstered at his side. He examined it for a moment before shaking his head.
“Ugh….to easy.”
He holstered the pistol again and flourished his gladius as he grabbed the handholds of a Leman Russ tank that was about to pass him by. He climbed up until he stood on top of the tank and crouched down, using his newfound height to look over his army and the objective.
The city was massive….but so were the last three he had burned. Both Imperial Army and even Ultramarine Legion Command had told him he was too far ahead and that he needed to slow down. But where was the fun in that? Besides, the campaign has been far too easy thus far. He had suffered very few casualties, his men were never hungry and his tanks never ran dry on fuel, and the enemy bled. Oh how they bled.
He sighed.
“Easy. Far too easy. Captain?”
The command hatch the tank he rode popped open and a woman in the dirty coveralls and goggled helmet of a tank commander. She looked around, rubbing her eyes before turning and smiling widely. She gave a crisp salute, one which he lazily returned, before nodding.
“Aye my Centurion?”
“Do we have any more wine about? I’m parched from all these victories we keep piling on.”
The captain cringed then turned towards the city.
“Uh….my centurion? Wouldn’t you rather have some water?”
Tiberius turned his head towards the captain, the tilt of his head betraying the cocky smile hidden beneath that the captain and the rest of the army had come to love and hate.
“Captain….are you questioning me?”
“I-no! No, of course not my centurion! But uh….well….”
He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, not bothering to stand up from the relaxed position he had taken. He had laid down on his side, his sword hand having sheathed his gladius to prop his head up.
“Well….shouldn’t uh….shouldn’t wine be saved for victory?”
The centurion stared at her for a moment. A very long moment. Perhaps….to long of a moment.
“I….I apologize my centurion! I will-“
Laughter. The centurion was laughing, something he rarely did outside of combat or when around the campfires at night. He laughed loudly and caught the attention of several other Auxilia soldiers.
“True! Haha! I knew I kept you around for something Captain. Fine, me and you shall share the first bottle of wine after that….excuse for a city burns. Return to your duties captain.”
He waved the captain off then turned his head back to the city, not moving out of his relaxed position. She knew better then to consider him lazy or incompetent, she had seen him in action.
She saluted and quickly went back down into her tank. ————————————————————————
He held his helmet in the crook of his arm. He breathed in deeply, smiling as he watched the city burn. Something grabbed his boot and looked down, only to scowl in disgust.
A woman, her lower half aflame with one leg missing, held onto his boot and shin guard.
“Please….mercy! We surrender!”
He raised an eyebrow and followed the trail the rebel left in the dust to see several more wounded and scared rebels. One held up a white rag on a piece of rebar as a white flag.
Several of his auxilia aimed their rifles at the rebels as a sergeant began to moved forward with a pair of restraints.
He was stopped by Tiberius’s sword.
“Sergeant? What are you doing?”
“Uh…taking prisoners sir?”
The centurion tilted his head and smiled widely.
“Prisoners? I don’t recall ordering anyone to take prisoners.”
He lifted his boot and stomped on the wounded woman’s head, smiling wickedly at the crunch he heard under his foot.
“Uh….no my Centurion but legion command has-“
“Legion command? You are taking orders from Ultramarines instead of telling me that such orders have come through?”
“There was no time sir! The orders came fro-“
Tiberius put his helmet on and shoved the sergeant to the side, ripping the rifle from the soldiers hands.
“I see no space marines here soldier. I see soldiers and I see rebels. We kill rebels because we are soldiers.”
He took aim at the closest rebel, put his finger on the trigger and-
“Thats enough Centurion.”
He stopped. He slowly turned his head towards the new, feminine voice behind him.
“Excuse me troo-“
He stopped again and stared. She had to have been 10 feet or at least close, this goddess in blue and gold. Her short, cropped hair was golden blonde and a green, metallic laurel wreath was wrapped around her head to add to her noble features. She came with several ultramarines as an honor guard in tow but he was sure she could handle anything thrown her way with ease.
“The Lady of Macragge.”
He whispered in awe before looking around. Those under his command had shared his awe but where he shook himself free, the rest still stared.
“Damn you all, our Lady is here! Bow damn you! All of you bow!”
He paced up and down the line, ensuring his auxilia bowed. He then turned towards the rebels and pointed at the guards who stood over them.
“Them too, cmon now. Bow!”
The rebels resisted the guards orders and movements. The centurions rage grew as he stormed over and pulled his gladius from its sheath.
“I command thee BOW.”
He sliced the back of the knees of one of the captives, the man yelping in pain before yelling in agony from his nearly cut tendons. The rest fell in line quickly.
Tiberius marched towards the Primarch, her honor guard bringing their weapons to bare only for him to kneel down and stab his gladius into the dirt.
“My Lady. Centurion Tiberius Victor of the 3rd Macraggian Legion reporting.”
The Primarch stared down at the Centurion before her eyes went up and around. She took note of the rather large number of prisoners and the burning cityscape around them.
“A good campaign Centurion?”
Tiberius nodded, smiling widely under his helmet.
“Yes my Lady. I only wish it weren’t so boring, so easy! But it is done.”
It took every ounce of self control to not scowl at his arrogant and cocky nature. He spoke as if he had stomped on a bug rather than a rebels skull. Yet….something about him caught her attention.
“Remove your helm centurion.”
He did so without delay, removing his helmet and setting it at her feet. His hair was cut in the traditional military ‘high and tight’ fashion and he was mostly clean cut save for a well trimmed mustache that went no further than the corners of his mouth.
“I recall telling my command staff to recall you back as you had pushed to far ahead. Yet we stand here at the city we were meant to take, the one we were meant to hold. The one….that is currently burning to ashes around us. What do you have to say for yourself Centurion?”
He said nothing for a long time. Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The auxilia around them slowly looked at each other, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but all were worried or tense.
“Hahah! Ah….I say mission accomplished my Lady. I also say that this light really brings out the color of your eyes.”
He laughed again and slowly stood up while extending his arms out wide.
“I say I give you the best gift this galaxy can offer to someone like you from someone like me.”
His smile grew into the same cocky, full of himself grin those under his command knew so well.
“I give you victory, my Lady Juno.”
He held his gladius up and flourished it, letting the blade catch the firelight of a dying city.
“Victory.”

I feel like people don't understand the show was MEANT to be shocking even back then, it's not like they were like "yes this is a great thing to do" and we watched it and thought "yeah that's really cool !" lol. What's "normal" to them is shocking to us (like underage drinking in public, all of them "dating" oldeyounger people, predators etc), that was what the show was trying to portray. It wasn't like "look at that that's a great thing to do", they were just trying to show what their world is like in an exaggerated way (I imagine these things do actually happen in their world). I feel like that's what people don't understand about the show, no one was saying "it's great that everyone was dating older people" etc, it wasn't "more normalized back then" in general, it was just normalized in THEIR world. It was shocking to watch back then too, that was the point of the show (remember the ad posters that were like "every parent's nightmare" lol)... They were simply trying to show "the scandalous world of Manhattan's elite", it's really more of a cautionary tale about wealthy people and how their world affects people..

I've decided to tell it. The story of how I wrote a book series that saved my father.
Growing up, I always thought of my dad as a simple man with a simple life. He was a janitor. When I was a kid, I was ashamed of that fact. Now it fills me with pride. There was a moment, when I was very young, a moment and an image that's seared into my memory. I watched my father shuffle off to the school where he worked, lunch box in hand, and it hit me that day: That is a man who is working so hard to provide for his little family.
Eventually, it became clear there was a family secret. One day, my mom said, “there are some secrets I'll be taking to my grave.” Indeed, she took them to the grave, but left us a clue. (More on that later)
My dad was always incredibly afraid of dying. He had a fear of Hell like no one I've ever seen. My sister recently told me a story where he told her about this fear, and she said, “But dad, you're a good man! Why are you so afraid?” His response was, “you just don't know.”
My mom passed away when I was barely 20, which was... let's just say, quite a few years ago. My dad almost died himself. When she was lying in bed, her death imminent, Dad collapsed in the hospital hallway and had to be hospitalized himself. When she died, there was this surreal moment where my two sisters and I were hugging our dad while we all sobbed. This was weird. Dad never hugged us, and he certainly never cried. He said he “lost his angel.”
In the years that followed, my dad relied on my sister and I for everything. I can't speak for my sister, but he almost felt more like a son than a father. I cooked his meals, packed them for work. Every day. Every single day.
Together, the 3 of us were happy(ish) for almost 10 years. My dad worked his janitor job until he retired... then he immediately got dementia after that, which is just tragic. In the beginning, he would think strange things, like my sister and I were selling drugs and getting arrested. (If you knew me and my sister, you would know this was preposterous). Eventually, it got to a point that he didn't remember our names or who we were. I was often not his daughter, but his sister, Helen.
My sister and I went from being our dad's helpers to his literal dementia caregivers. That was a period of about 2 years. Those 2 years were among some of the most hellish of my life. Words can't really describe what it feels like to see someone you love accuse you, forget you, and fixate on hallucinations all day.
Eventually, we couldn't take care of him anymore and he moved to a care home. Dad told us once, in his dementia-addled state, “I'll be here 'til November.” That was in July.
Enter The Darkest Knight, aka, The Black Knight Chronicles. I started writing this series around the time Dad moved into the care home. I can't say too much about the book without spoiling its twists, but I encourage you to check it out. https://www.amazon.com/Darkest-Knight-Black-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07HFTSNDD/
In the very last chapter of the last book, the main character says goodbye to her dying father. She tells him “I forgive you.” My own father died just hours later... on November 1st.
Two days after his death, I heard Dad's voice as soon as I woke up from sleep. I heard his voice say, “I'm Home.”
My eldest sister wanted her piece of a tiny inheritance, so we prepared to clear out Dad's house (where I still lived) to sell it. As we were cleaning out Dad's room, we found letters in a drawer. Without saying too much, they were letters from our aunt to our mom, alluding to something very awful my dad did when my aunt was young. The letter itself wasn't 100% clear, but there was clearly a cryptic & painful truth hidden in there.
Suddenly, I knew the family secret. Sort of.
It took me another year to figure out what I'd done, to put all the overwhelming evidence hidden in The Black Knight Chronicles together. When Kizzy says “I love you, I forgive you” to her father at the end of that series, SHE was ME. I had given my dad, a man who feared Hell like no other, the permission and absolution he needed to pass on.
In the book, Kizzy writes letters to “the father she never knew.” They are also MY letters to HIM.
Perhaps I didn't know him or his darkest shadows... maybe I'll never know. But I do know one thing.
I love him.
Always.

“Bleach=7 Bleach Thousand Year Blood War Cour 1-2=10 Jujutsu Kaisen=7 Jujutsu Kaisen Season2=8 Death Note=7 Dragon Ball=10 Dragon Ball Z Kai=10 Dragon Ball Super=8 Naruto=7 Naruto Shippuden=3 Boruto=1”
Now keep in mind I ranked all of the shows that I’ve watched.I can explain the reason of Naruto/Boruto being on bottom of the list:Naruto was so good etc.But the problem started with Shippuden. Here’s everything I don’t like about Shippuden:Naruto chased after Sasuke for half the show.The 1st final valley fight was a masterpiece.But after that Naruto shouldn’t have gone after Sasuke.Naruto not learning anything in the TS.Shit writing and trying to redeem Villains.Obito/Orochimaru/Pain were the perfect Villain but they ruined everything by giving them the “Broken Hero Story” and can someone please talk about how worse Obito’s backstory was? The system of reincarnation and repeating the same thing.Weird plot and main antagonist replacement.Reasonless death of Neji just so MC can be shipped with a useless bitch.Female characters weren’t able to shine and last but not least Boruto.

Does anyone else who has major anxiety stress themselves out to the point where their entire body hurts extremely bad??
I have really bad weather anxiety and I’ve been waiting out a tornado watch for the past two hours. When the weather first started it wasn’t too bad and I was just chilling. But as time went on and I got more anxious about it and my body just full on really HURTS. I’m not even sure what I should do to fix it??? I’m not on any medication for my pain aside from OTC ibuprofen and acetaminophen. I just wonder who else stresses themselves out this bad? 😅😅

My husband and I have been trying forever for a baby. And a few months ago I finally got the two lines that indicated our dreams were becoming a reality. I knew it would be high risk but I didn’t care about the risk, this was a dream I would regret not at least trying absolutely everything to fulfill.
The first few months my husband was extremely supportive. Waiting on me hand and foot, massages even though I wasn’t even showing yet. As the second trimester marched on his excitement only grew, slowly watching the baby grow at doctor’s appointments with me.
On the way out of a doctor’s appointment I tripped and landed terribly. Luckily we were right outside the doctor’s office so we could get help immediately. I faint at the sight of blood, so I don’t remember much after touching between my legs and finding crimson stains on my fingertips. When I woke up I was dazed but was so happy to feel my baby still doing gymnastics in my stomach.
My husband, however, must have become frightened that something would happen and slowly started to detach himself from my whole pregnancy. He only offered grunts in support as I picked out colors for the nursery. We had a late term pregnancy loss before so he was just scared of losing a baby again. It was easier to detach than accept something may happen. But you can’t live in the what if’s.
As I began to unpack the furniture for the nursery and set up the cameras for the baby monitor, I could see my husband's discomfort grow. His physical demeanor only got worse the more I progressed with the furniture.
Finally he stood up and shouted what he apparently had been holding in the last two months. “You aren’t pregnant anymore Liv! You lost the baby with the fall, there was nothing the doctor could do! A therapist told me to let you grieve how you saw fit but I can’t do this anymore! It is torture to watch you decorate our dead child’s nursery.”
I didn’t say a word, and just put his hand on my stomach because as I explained to him, I don’t care what the doctor says. I know my body and my baby. As he began to roll his eyes and was just about to lift his hand the baby kicked hard. My husband's face went from disbelief to horror.
All he could mutter as tears of true depression and fear began rolling down his cheeks was, “Liv, I saw them remove our poor sweet baby with my own eyes.”
As his last word slipped out, I could feel a searing pain. I was going into labor, and for the first time I was worried what that meant.
When I wake up I realize I am no longer home. In between bouts of unconsciousness, I take in the scene around me. The doctor screaming “WE HAVE TO SAVE IT!” and it all comes rushing back. I got told I was not pregnant by my husband and immediately went into labor. Which in my haze is a very hard sequence of events to process, hell even in my right mind that would be a difficult one.
I start stirring and the doctor notices and looks down at me, beaming with pride. My husband in a chair clearly drugged also is starting to rouse and try and piece together what happened. All he can keep repeating is, “what is it?” in a stupor. Like he truly couldn’t process what happened and what was currently happening.
As I become more aware, I try and find my voice. While raspy I am able to gasp out the words, “Where is my baby?!”
The doctor looks at me the pride evaporating and a cold expression taking over his face. “Your baby died months ago. Your husband watched us remove it. However, he did not see that I went on to take advantage of your willing and ready womb by implanting something much more important than you or your child would ever become.”
I blink taking in this information. I felt this thing grow in me, thought it was a part of me, loved it more than I loved myself. But that’s when I thought it was my child, my stomach begins turning and bile begins to raise into my throat.
“Would you like to hold what you brought to life, what you birthed?” The doctor said with a look of pure curiosity crossing his face.
“Yes..” I gasp before I can rationally consider his proposition.
Walking over with a bundle, he places it into my arms, and I look down with severe trepidation. Even though I have never seen it, I know it’s the thing I felt so connected to and somehow still do. Pulling the blanket away I see what could only be described as an abomination.
It was three different children stitched together to almost become one but not quite. Clearly in pain and not meant to exist. As a look of horror crosses my face the doctor sighs.
“I was hoping for a better reaction, that maternal instinct may win out. Too bad. Considering one of those babies IS yours. These three babies couldn’t make it on their own but together they could. I tried many times, but you are the first one to actually be able to last full term and have the baby survive. I hoped maternal instinct would have won over, it would have been easier.”
The bile rises again and I listen on in terror.
The doctor continues, “Since you’re the only one this has been successful with, there will be many more attempts we will require your hospitable womb for.”

Alright geezers.
Is anyone using the PS5 DuelSense controller with added back paddles on WZM, on their iPhone?
Specifically this controller with the modded back paddles you can buy & attach.
More bothered to know if anyone had this setup currently as it’s a pain in the ass to do all that & find it doesn’t work!
FYI - reason I’m asking is that Elite 2 controller on iPhone has issues registering back paddles & can’t remap them.
Thanks!

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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