I completely understand how bad my mouth/teeth are. Depression and extreme social anxiety/embaressmemt have kept me from seeing a dentist. But I've really been trying to take better care of them and my health in general. But recently i have been experiencing what I think could be burning mouth syndrome on and off for the last year or so. On Sunday I got some kind of stomach bug that lasted for 2 days. And haven't eaten much of anything in the past 7 days and have lost 14 lbs(I'm very overweight so that might not be too terrible) and then today this sore appeared on the roof of my mouth. I had canker sores when I was younger a lot but never on the roof of my mouth like this.

This is an unaccustomed spectacle. For the first time, fellow-citizens, badges of mourning shroud the columns and overhang the arches of this hall. These walls, which were consecrated, so long ago, to the cause of American liberty, which witnessed her infant struggles and rung with the shouts of her earliest victories, proclaim, now, that distinguished friends and champions of that great cause have fallen. It is right that it should be thus. The tears which flow, and the honors that are paid, when the founders of the republic die, give hope that the republic itself may be immortal. It is fit that, by public assembly and solemn observance, by anthem and by eulogy, we commemorate the services of national benefactors, extol their virtues, and render thanks to God for eminent blessings, early given and long continued, through their agency, to our favored country.
ADAMS and JEFFERSON are no more; and we are assembled, fellow-citizens, the aged, the middle-aged, and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate of the Commonwealth, and others its official representatives, the University, and the learned societies, to bear our part in these manifestations of respect and gratitude which pervade the whole land. ADAMS and JEFFERSON are no more. On our fiftieth anniversary, the great day of national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in the midst of echoing and reechoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names were on all tongues, they took their flight together to the world of spirits.
If it be true that no one can safely be pronounced happy while he lives, if that event which terminates life can alone crown its honors and its glory, what felicity is here! The great epic of their lives, how happily concluded! Poetry itself has hardly terminated illustrious lives, and finished the career of earthly renown, by such a consummation. If we had the power, we could not wish to reverse this dispensation of the Divine Providence. The great objects of life were accomplished, the drama was ready to be closed. It has closed; our patriots have fallen; but so fallen, at such age, with such coincidence, on such a day, that we cannot rationally lament that the end has come, which we knew could not be long deferred.
Neither of these great men, fellow-citizens, could have died, at any time, without leaving an immense void in our American society. They have been so intimately, and ofr so long a time, blended with the history of the country, and especially so united, in our thoughts and recollections, with the events of the Revolution, that the death of either of them would have touched the chords of public sympathy. We should have felt that one great link, connecting us with former times, was broken; that we had lost something more, as it were, of the presence of the Revolution itself, and of the act of independence, and were driven on, by another great remove from the days of our country’s early distinction, to meet posterity and to mix with the future. Like the mariner, whom the currents of the ocean and the winds carry along until he sees the stars which have directed his course and lighted his pathless way descend one by one, beneath the rising horizon, we should have felt that the stream of time had borne us onward till another great luminary, whose light had cheered us and whose guidance we had followed, had sunk away from our sight.
But the concurrence of their death on the anniversary of Independence has naturally awakened stronger emotions. Both had been President, both had lived to great age, both were early patriots, and both were distinguished and ever honored by their immediate agency in the act of independence. It cannot but seem striking and extraordinary, that these two should live to see the fiftieth year from the date of that act/ that they should complete that yea and that then, on the day which had fast linked for ever their own fame with their country’s glory, the heavens should open to receive them both at once. As their lives themselves were the gifts of Providence, who is not willing to recognize in their happy termination, as well as in their long continuance, proofs that our country and its benefactors are objects of His care?
ADAMS and JEFFERSON, I have said, are no more. As human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of independence; no more, as at subsequent periods, the head of the government; nor more, as we have recently seen them, aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. They are no more. They are dead. But how little is there of the great and gooe which can die! To their country they yet live, and live for ever. They live in all that perpetuatesw the remembrance of men on earth; in the recorded proofs of their own great actions, in the offspring of their intellect, in the deep-engraved lines of public gratitude, and in the respect and homage of mankind. They live in their example; and they live, emphatically, and will live, in the influence which their lives and efforts, their principles and opinions, now exerciese, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs of men, not only in their own country but throughout the civilized world. A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly great man, when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift, is not a temporary flame, burning brightly for a while, and then giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common mass of human kind; so that when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally goes out in death, no night follows, but it leaves the world all light, all on fire from the potent contact of its own spirit. Bacon died; but the human understanding, roused by the touch of his miraculous wand to a perception of the true philosophy and the just mode of inquiring after truth, has kept on its course successfully and gloriously. Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still known, and they yet move on by the laws which he discovered, and in the orbits which he saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space.
No two men now live, fellow-citizen, perhaps it may be doubted whether any two men have ever lived in one age, who, more than those we now commemorate, have impressed on mankind their own opinions more deeply into the opinions of others, or given a more lasting direction to the current of human thought. Their work doth not perish with them. The tree which they assisted to plant will flourish, although they water it and protect it no longer; for it has struck its roots deep, it has sent them to the very centre; no storm, not of foce to burth the orb, can overturn it; its branches spread wide; they stretch their protecting arms braoder and broader, and its top is destined to reach the heavens. We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No age will come in which the American Revolution will appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human history. No age will come in which it shall cease to be seen and felt, on either continent, that a mighty step, a great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human affairs, was made on the 4th of July, 1776. And no age will come, we trust, so ignorant or so unjust as not to see and acknowledge the efficient agency of those we now honor in producing that momentous event.
We are not assembled, therefore, fellow-citizens, as men overwhelmed with calamity by the sudden disruption of the ties of friendship or affection, or as in despair for the republic by the untimely blighting of its hopes. Death has not surprised us by an unseasonable blow. We have, indeed, seen the tomb close, but it has closed only over mature years, over long-protracted public service, over the weakness of age, and over life itself only when the ends of living had been fulfilled. These suns, as they rose slowly and steadily, amidst clouds and storms, in their ascendant, so they have not rushed from the meridian to sink suddenly in the west. Like the mildness, the serenity, the continuing benignity of a summer’s day, they have gone down with slow-descending, grateful long-lingering light; and now that they are beyond the visible margin of the world, good omens cheer us from “the bright track of thier fiery car”!
There were many points of similarity in the lives and fortunes of these great men. They belonged to the same profession, and had pursued its studies and its practice for unequal lengths of time indeed, but with dilligence and effect. Both were learned and able lawyers. They were natives and inhabitants, respectively of those two of the Colonies which at the Revolution were the largest and most powerful and which naturally had a lead in the political affairs of the times. When the Colonies became in some degree united by the assembling of a general Congress, they were brought to act together in its deliberations, not indeed at the same time but both at early periods. Each had laready manifested his attachment to the cause of the country, as well as his ability to maintain it, by printed addresses, public speeches, extensive correspondence, and whatever other mode could be adopted for the purpose of exposing the encroachments of the British Parliament, and animating the people to a manly resistance. Both were not only decided, but early, friends of Independence. While others yet doubted, they were resolved; where others hesitated they pressed forward. They were both members of the committee for preparing the Declaration of Independence, and they constituted the sub-committee appointed by the other members to make the draft. They left their seats in Congress, being called to other public employments at periods not remote from each other, although one of them returned to it afterwards for a short time. Neither of them was of the assembly of great men which formed the present Constitution, and neither was at any time a member of Congress under its provisions. Both have been public ministers abroad, both Vice-Presidents and both Presidents of the United States. These coincidences are now singularly crowned and completed. They have died together; and they did on the anniversary of liberty…
And now, fellow-citizens, without pursuing the biography of these illustrious men further, for the present let us turn our attention to the most prominent act of their lives, their participation in the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE…
It has sometimes been said, as if it were a derogation from the merits of this paper, that it contains nothing new; that it only states grounds of proceeding and presses topics of argument, which had often been stated and pressed before. But it was not the object of the Declaration to produce any thing new. It was not to invent reasons for independence, but to state those which governed the Congress. For great and sufficient causes, it was proposed to declare independence; and the proper business of the paper to be drawn was to set for th those causes, and justify the authors of the measure, in any event of fortune, to mthe country and to posterity. The cause of American independence, moreover, was now to be presented to the world in such manner; of it might so be, as to engage its sympathy, to command its respect, to attract its admiration; and in an assembly of most able and distinguished men, THOMAS JEFFERSON had the high honor of being the selected advocate of this cause. To say that he performed his great work well, would be doing him an injustice. To say that he did excellently well, admirably well, would be inadequate and halting praise. Let us rather say, that he so discharged the duty assigned him, that all Americans may well rejoice that the work of drawing the title-deed of their liberties devolved upon him…
The Congress of the Revolution, fellow-citizens, sat with closed doors, and no report of its debates was ever made. The discussion, therefore, which accompanied this great measure, has never been preserved, except in memory and by tradition. But it is, I believe, doing to injustice to others to say, that the general opinion was, and uniformly has been, that in debate, on the side of independence, JOHN ADAMS had no equal. The great author of the Declaration himself has espressed that opinion uniformly and strongly. JOHN ADAMS, said he, in the hearing of him who has now the honor to address you, JOHN ADAMS was our colossus on the floor. Not graceful, not elegant, not always fluent, in his public addresses, he yet came out with a power both of thought and of expression, which moved us from our seats…
The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character, and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and energetic; and such the crisis required. When public bodies are to be addressed on passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occassion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime godlike action…
Let us, then, bring before us the assembly, which was about to decide a question thus big with the fate of empire. Let us open their doors and look upon their deliberations. Let us survey the anxious and care-worn countenances, let us hear the firm-toned voices, of this band of patriots.
HANCOCK presides over the solemn sitting; and one of those not yet prepared to pronounce for absolute independence is on the floor, and is urging his reasons for dissenting from the declaration.
“Let us pause! This step, once taken, cannot be retracted. This resolution, once passed, will cut off all hope of reconciliation. If success attend the arms of England, we shall then be no longer Colonies, with charters and with privileges; these will all be forfeited by this act; and we shall be in the condition of other conquered people, at the mercy of the conquerors. For ourselves, we may be ready to run the hazard; but are we ready to carry the country to that length? Is success so probably as to justify it? Where is the military, where the naval power, by which we are to resist the whole strength of the arm of England, for she will exert that strength to the utmost? Can we rely on constancy and perseverance of the people? or will they not act as the people of other countries have acted and, wearied with a long war, submit, in the end, to a worse oppression? While we stand on our old ground, and insist on redress of grievances, we know we are right, and are not answerable for consequences. Nothing, then, can be imputed to us. But if we now change our object, carry our pretensions farther, and set up for absolute indpendence, we shall lose the sympathy of mankind. We shall no longer be defending what we possess, but struggling for something which we never did possess, and which we have solemnly and uniformly disclaimed all intention of pursuing, from the very outset of the troubles. Abandoning thus our old ground, of resistance only to arbitrary acts of oppression, thee nations will believe the whole to have been mere pretence, and they will look on us, not as injured, buut as ambitious subjects. I shudder before this responsibility. It will be on us, if, relinquishing the ground on which we have stood so long, and stood so safely, we now proclaim independence, and carry on the war for that object, while these cities burn, these pleasant fields whiten and bleach with the bones of their owners, and these streams run blood. It will be upon us, it will be upon us, if, failing to maintain this unseasonable and ill-judged declaration, a sterner despotism, maintained by military power, shall be exhausted, a harassed, misled people, shall have expiated our rashness and atoned for our presumption on the scaffold.”
It was for Mr. Adams to reply to arguments like these. We know his opinions, and we know his character. He would commence with his accustomed directness and earnestness.
“Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning we aimed not at independence. But there’s a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and blinded to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the Declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life and his own honor? Are not you, Sir, who sit in that chair, is not he, our venerable colleague near you, are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures of Parliament, Boston Port Bill and all? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to poweder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We shall never submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting forth to incure the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of our times, we promised to adhere to him, in ever extremity, with our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted fiath fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him… ”
And now, fellow-citizens, let us not retire from this occasion without a deep and solemn conviction of the duties which have developed upon us. This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign institutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours; ours to enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations past and generations to come hold us responsible for this sacred trust. Our fathers, from behind, admonish us, with their anxious paternal voices; posterity calls out to us, from the bosom of the future; the world turns hither its solicitous eyes; all, conjure us to act wisely, and faithfully, in the relation which we sustain.
We can never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us; but by virtue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good principle and every good habit, we may hope to enjoy the blessing, through our day, and to leave it unimpaired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much of what we are and of what we possess we owe to this liberty, and to these institutions of government. Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields bounteously to the hand of industry, the mighty and fruitful ocean is before us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. But what are lands, and seas, and skies, to civilized man, without society, without knowledge, without morals, without religious culture; and how can these be enjoyed, in all their extent and all their excellence, but under the protection of wise institutions and a free government? Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us, there is not one of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and at every moment, experience, in his own condition, and in the condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence and the benefits, of this liberty and these institutions. Let us then acknowledge the blessing, let us feel it deeply and powerfully, let us cherish a strong affection for it, and resolve to maintain and perpetuate it. The blood of our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain; the great hope of posterity, let it not be blasted.
The striking attitude, too, in which we stand to the world around us, a topic to which, I fear, I advert too often, and dwell on too long, cannot be altogether ommited here. Neither individuals nor nations can perform their part well, until they understand and feel its importance, and comprehend and justly appreciate all the duties belonging to it. It is not to inflate national vanity, nor to swell a light and empty feeling of self-importance, but it is that we may judge justly of our situation, and of our own duties, that I earnestly urge you upon this consideration of our position and our character among the nations of the earth. It cannot be denied, but by those who would dispute against the sun, that with America, and in America, a new era commences in human affairs. This era is distinguised by free representative governments, by entire religious liberty, by improved systems of national intercourse, by a newly awakened and unconquerable spirit of free inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowledge through the community, such as has been before altogether unknown and unheard of America, America, our country, fellow-citizens, our own dear and native land, is inseparably connected, fast bound up, in fortune and by fate, with these great interests. If they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will be because we have maintained them. Let us contemplate, then, this connection, which binds the prosperity of others to our own; and let us manfully discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cherish the virtues and the principles of our fathers, Heaven will assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our own firmament now shines brightly upon our path. WASHINGTON is in the clear, upper sky. These other stars hae now joined the American Constellation; they circle round their centre, and the heavens beam with new light. Beneath this illumination let us walk the course of life, and at its close devoutly commend our beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the Divine Benignity.

• Daniel Webster, 1826

Respect Gohan

"...Ok, so you don't like to fight. But what's this nonsense about not wanting to kill me? You couldn't kill me in a hundred years! Am I wrong?"
"I'm beginning to get it now...why dad said only I could defeat you. Ever since I was little... when I get mad, I lose control and go berserk. I think...that's what dad's counting on..."

♫Tamashii Vs Tamashii/♫Great Saiyaman/♫ Gohan's Anger/♫Climax
The son of Goku and Chichi, Gohan was born in a time of peace after the defeat of Piccolo Jr. Unlike his father Gohan doesn't enjoy fighting, instead wishing to become a great scholar. Gohan's life would be forever changed when his uncle Raditz arrived on Earth, told Goku and Gohan they were actually members of a bloodthirsty alien race called saiyans, and kidnapped Gohan. Goku set out to rescue him, accompanied by Piccolo, though they found themselves no match for Raditz until Gohan got mad and unleashed his hidden strength on him. This gave Piccolo the opening he needed to kill Raditz, with his attack also killing Goku in the process. Then Piccolo kidnapped Gohan and trained him to prepare for the arrival of two more saiyans in a year. He battled the pair along with the rest of the Z Fighters (though not without heavy casualties), landing the final blow against Vegeta after transforming into a Great Ape.
Gohan would spend the rest of his childhood battling evil alongside the Z Fighters, most notably the bio-android Cell. Pushed to his mental and physical limits against the villain, Gohan snapped and transformed into a Super Saiyan 2. His newfound power allowed him to easily overpower Cell, and after accidentally causing his father's death when too overconfident, he finally killed him with a gigantic Kamehameha.
Eventually Gohan met a girl named Videl and the two got married, with their daughter Pan born soon afterwards. He also retired from martial arts, believing the newfound peace would last.
This wouldn't be the end of Gohan's time fighting though, with new threats like the resurrected Frieza, the world-devouring galactic criminal Moro, and a multiversal tournament to decide which universe lived or died convincing him that he needed to begin training again (though he does still forget to from time to time).
Source key
Manga

• Dragon Ball Z chapter # - DBZ#
• Dragon Ball Super chapter # - DBS#
• Dragon Ball: Revival of F - RoF(manga) #

Movies/Specials

• Yo! Son Goku and his Friends Return - YSG&HF
• Dragon Ball Z: Resurrection "F" - RoF(movie)

Hover over a feat for the chapter number. All feats are marked with their saga of origin.
Notes

• Feats in bold are when Gohan is angry, heavily boosting his power^{Saiyan Saga}
• In DBZ chapter 77 Gohan had his potential unlocked by the Grand Elder of Namek, giving him a large power increase.

Scaling

Kid Gohan/Teen Gohan

"I'm...the son...of Son Goku...the warrior... I won't... I won't... let you... beat me!!"

Strength

Lifting

• Flew while carrying an unconscious Piccolo when he had barely any energy^{Frieza Saga}
• Flew while carrying Bulma^{Frieza Saga}
• Pulled Yajirobe out of the water^{Cell Saga}
• Flew while carrying Bulma, baby Trunks and Yajirobe^{Cell Saga}

Striking

• Headbutt Raditz hard enough to crack his armor and wound him^{Saiyan Saga}
• Cut a slice off a dinosaur's tail with a sword^{Saiyan Saga}
• Kicked Nappa into a mesa, shattering it^{Saiyan Saga}
• Sent Vegeta flying back with a kick^{Saiyan Saga}
• Briefly traded blows with an exhausted Vegeta before getting overpowered^{Saiyan Saga}
• One-shot a Frieza Force grunt^{Frieza Saga}
• Kicked Dodoria through a wall^{Frieza Saga}
• Either he or Krillin kicked Ginyu-Goku into Frieza's ship hard enough to dent it^{Frieza Saga}
• Pummelled Second Form Frieza and kicked him through the air^{Frieza Saga}
• Made Android 20 let go of Piccolo by bashing him in the head^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Knocked Cell on his ass with a kick^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Splattered a Cell Jr's head with one hit^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Did the same to 4 more Cell Jrs and split another in half with a kick^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Obliterated a Cell Jr's torso with a swing^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Winded Cell with a gutpunch and sent him reeling with an uppercut^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Sent Cell flying back with a kick^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Kicked Max-Power Cell in the head hard enough to dent it and make him puke up Android 18^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Made cracks by hitting the ground^{Cell Saga}

Other

• Burst out of Raditz's pod^{Saiyan Saga}
• Leapt on top of a giant butte^{Saiyan Saga}
• Blocked Ginyu-Goku's punches^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ] Was able to stand still when Goku used his power to kick up strong winds next to him^{Cell Saga} [SSJ2] Grabbed a bag out of Cell's hand^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Blocked Cell's kick^{Cell Saga}

Durability

Blunt

• After his power dropped to 1 Raditz knocked him out with one hit^{Saiyan Saga}
• Got back up after Nappa kicked him off the ground and smacked him into a mesa hard enough to break small rocks off it^{Saiyan Saga}
• Floored by a punch to the gut from Vegeta^{Saiyan Saga}
• Still conscious (though barely) after Vegeta headbutt him^{Saiyan Saga}
• Refused to stay down when Vegeta kept kicking him back^{Saiyan Saga}
• Only needed 3 days in the hospital to recover from his fight with Vegeta^{Saiyan Saga}
• Floored by a knee to the gut from Vegeta^{Frieza Saga}
• Sent flying back by Recoome^{Frieza Saga}
• Chopped out of the air by Recoome^{Frieza Saga}
• Got back up after Recoome hit him into the ground^{Frieza Saga}
• [Limit] Recoome broke his neck with a kick^{Frieza Saga}
• Smacked out of the air by Second Form Frieza^{Frieza Saga}
• Second Form Frieza grabbed him by the hair, kneed him in the ribs and kicked him^{Frieza Saga}
• Got back up after Second Form Frieza tail smacked him into the ground^{Frieza Saga}
• [Limit] Second Form Frieza almost crushed his head under his foot before Krillin saved him^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ] Only a little bloody after Cell pummeled him and kiaid him through a plateau hard enough to destroy it^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Mercilessly pummeled by Cell^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] [Limit] Almost crushed by Cell's bearhug^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Kicked away by Cell^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] No-sold Cell punching him in the face^{Cell Saga}

Ki attacks

• Floored by Piccolo's Evil Eyes^{Saiyan Saga}
• Still conscious after getting launched into a rock by Vegeta's Technique™^{Saiyan Saga}
• Survived Vegeta's Super Explosive Wave, though he was knocked out^{Saiyan Saga}
• Tanked Ginyu-Goku's ki blast^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ2] Shielded Vegeta from Super Perfect Cell's blast, though his arm was broken in the process^{Cell Saga}

Other

• Was able to spend a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber^{Cell Saga}
  • The Time Chamber has 10 times Earth's gravity, 3/4th the air pressure, and temperatures that range from -40 to 120 degrees^{Cell Saga}

Speed

Flight

• Briefly flew away from Dodoria, though he would have caught up eventually^{Frieza Saga}
• Managed to escape Dodoria blowing up the island he was on^{Frieza Saga}
• Flew to Guru's house in a few days while heavily suppressing his ki, then quickly reached it when using his full power^{Frieza Saga}
  • Guru's house was a 30 day walk away^{Frieza Saga}
• Saved Vegeta from Recoome's Eraser Gun^{Frieza Saga}
• Escaped Frieza blowing up the island they were on^{Frieza Saga}
• Saved Bulma from a falling rock^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ2] Easily caught up to a Cell Jr^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Was able to shield Vegeta from Super Perfect Cell's blast^{Cell Saga}

Agility

• Briefly outran a dinosaur before tripping^{Saiyan Saga}
  • After living in the wilderness for 6 months he was able to easily outrun it^{Saiyan Saga}
• Leapt across islands while heavily suppressing his power^{Frieza Saga}

Combat

• Flash stepped behind Vegeta^{Saiyan Saga}
• Almost caught Guldo repeatedly when he was about to stop time^{Frieza Saga}

Dodging

• Dodged a blast from Vegeta^{Saiyan Saga}
• Dodged Vegeta's Technique™ for a while before getting hit^{Saiyan Saga}
• Dodged a tree Guldo threw at him at the last second^{Frieza Saga}
• Dodged his own redirected blast^{Frieza Saga}
• Avoided a barrage of ki blasts from Recoome^{Frieza Saga}
• Ducked under Ginyu-Goku's kick^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ] Blocked and dodged Cell's hits, though he got caught when Cell used his full speed^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Leapt over Cell's punch^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged Cell's barrage of Death Beams^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Ducked under Cell's swipe^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] Effortlessly dodged Max-Power Cell's hits^{Cell Saga}

Ki

General

• Can give ki to others, giving Piccolo most of his remaining ki^{Frieza Saga}
• Ki users have improved eyesight, with the Z Fighters being able to watch a fight that was too far away for Bulma to see

Power

• Power level 710^{Saiyan Saga}
• Power level 1307^{Saiyan Saga}
• Power level 1500^{Frieza Saga}
• When Guru unlocked his potential Vegeta mistook his ki for Goku's^{Frieza Saga}
• [SSJ] Was far stronger than Goku during the Cell Games, thinking his father was just holding back during his fight^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ] Sent debris flying by powering up^{Cell Saga}

Power supression

• Lowered his power to bait some Frieza Force grunts into lowering their guard^{Frieza Saga}
• Hid from Vegeta^{Frieza Saga}
• Hid from Vegeta again^{Frieza Saga}

Sensing

• Sensed Vegeta and Nappa arriving on Earth^{Saiyan Saga}
• Sensed Goku approaching^{Saiyan Saga}
• Sensed Frieza as he flew by^{Frieza Saga}
• Sensed the Ginyu Force^{Frieza Saga}
• Could immediately tell where Guldo went every time he stopped time^{Frieza Saga}
• Sensed that Goku had successfully swapped back bodies with Ginyu^{Frieza Saga}

Blasts

• Obliterated a butte and dug a long trench^{Saiyan Saga}
• Lit a fire^{Saiyan Saga}
• Fired one at Second Form Frieza, making a massive explosion, before hitting him with a barrage that blew up an island and hurt him a little^{Frieza Saga}
• Fired a full-power blast at Third Form Frieza, slowly pushing him towards the ground, though he was able to deflect it^{Frieza Saga}
• Annoyed Final Form Frieza^{Frieza Saga}

Masenko

• Used all his remaining energy to fire one with a power level of 2800 at Nappa, though all it did was sting his hand^{Saiyan Saga}
  • The Special Beam Cannon that killed Raditz had a power level of 1,330^{Saiyan Saga}

Kamehameha

• [SSJ2] Easily overpowered Cell's planet-busting Kamehameha in a clash and vaporized most of his limbs^{Cell Saga}
• [SSJ2] With one arm he was able to match Super Perfect Cell's Kamehameha in a clash that shook the Earth, winning by unleashing his full power when Vegeta distracted Cell, killing Cell in the process^{Cell Saga}

Adult Gohan

"Are you really gonna fight me?"
"Fight you? No, I'm gonna kill you."

Bio

Strength

Lifting

• [SSJ] Pulled the Z Sword out of its pedestal^{Buu Saga}
• After one day of training he was able to easily wield the Z Sword^{Buu Saga}
  • The Z Sword is extremely heavy^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] [Limit] He, Piccolo, Jaco, Android 17 and Android 18 couldn't stop Saganbo's advance^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• Initially struggled when Piccolo gave him weighted clothes, though he was fine after getting used to them^{Super Hero Saga}
• Lifted a chunk of debris off of himself with one arm^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Pulled Gamma 2 back while he was ramming Piccolo^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Effortlessly pushed Cell Max's fist back with one hand^{Super Hero Saga}

Striking

• [SSJ] Beat the shit out of some bank robbers^{Buu Saga}
• Broke concrete by stomping^{Buu Saga}
• Chopped a gun out of a man's hands^{Buu Saga}
• KOd a man by bonking him on the head^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Sent Dabura flying back with a kick^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Kicked Fat Buu back^{Buu Saga}
• Broke the Z Sword on a block of katchin^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Sent Super Buu reeling with a punch and kick to the head^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Super Buu in the face and punched him in the gut^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Super Buu into the air and smashed him back to the ground^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] [Limit] Buutenks effortlessly caught his hits^{Buu Saga}
• One-shot groups of Frieza Force soldiers^RoF(movie)
• [SSJ] One-shot Shisami^RoF(movie)
  • Manga version^{RoF(manga) #3}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Rozel hard enough to make them let go of Piccolo^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Slapped Kefla's blast away^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Kefla back from an awkward position^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Knocked Kefla off the Tournament of Power arena in a mutual KO^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Punched 7-3 in the chest hard enough for his fist to bulge out his back and tear a hole in his jumpsuit^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Staggered giant 7-3 with a kick^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Knocked giant 7-3 down with a flying kick
• [Ultimate] Punched 7-3 into a lake, making a huge splash^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] [Limit] Did absolutely nothing to Moro 7-3
• Flicked a gun out of a man's hand^{Super Hero Saga}
• Crushed a gun under his foot^{Super Hero Saga}
• Flew through a ship's window and landed with enough force to launch water and multiple people into the air^{Super Hero Saga}
• Floored Gamma 1 with a kick^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Broke chunks of debris off a hole by flying out^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Deflected Gamma 1's charged blast^{Super Hero Saga}
  • [Ultimate] And again^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Traded blows with Gamma 1^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Stung Gamma 1's hand when he blocked his punch^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Pummeled Gamma 1 and kicked him into the ground, cracking it^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Gamma 1 out of the air^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Battered Gamma 1 and kicked him into a building^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Charged at Gamma 1 and punched him in the face, sending him flying across the Red Ribbon Army's base^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Sent Gamma 1 flying back with a headbutt^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Floored Cell Max with a flying uppercut^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Kicked Cell Max in the chest, sending him flying through a building and into a rock wall^{Super Hero Saga}
• Deflected bullets with one finger^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Knocked SSJ Trunks back with a swinging kick and SSJ Goten with a punch^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Traded blows with SSJ Trunks^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked Fat Gotenks into Beerus' giant tree, making a huge dust cloud^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Made shockwaves across Beerus' planet that sent people and cars flying, shook trees and lakes, and dug massive craters by trading blows with MUI Goku^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Kicked MUI Goku through a mesa and a forest^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Punched the ground, sending a shockwave through it that blew up a plateau^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Made explosions with the air pressure from his punches^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Punched MUI Goku in the chest and kicked him across Beerus' planet, knocking him back to base form^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Sent base Broly flying back with a punch before pummeling him^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Traded blows with SSJ Broly^{Super Hero Saga}

Blocking

• Blocked an attack from 3 Frieza Force soldiers at once^RoF(movie)
• [SSJ] Blocked Goten and Trunks' hits in their base forms and as SSJs^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Blocked base Broly's punches^{Super Hero Saga}

Throwing

• Floored a teenager by gently throwing a baseball at him^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ] Flipped over Trunks' kick while grappling with him and threw him away^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Caught SSJ Goten's kick and threw him away^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Threw SSJ Broly at Beerus' giant tree, snapping it in half^{Super Hero Saga}

Grip

• Crushed a pistol^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Caught Dabura's sword in his hands and twisted it in half^{Buu Saga}
• Crushed a wooden window frame^{Super Hero Saga}

Jumping

• Jumped 8 metres high^{Buu Saga}
• Leapt up 5 storeys^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Jumped high enough to kick a flying enemy^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [SSJ] Jumped over Goten and Trunks' Double Hurricane^{Super Hero Saga}

Other

• [Ultimate] Flexed out of Buutenks' Galactic Donuts chain^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Held Gamma 1's mouth open when he tried to bite him^{Super Hero Saga}

Durability

Blunt

• No-sold a fastball to the face^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Slapped out of the air and through some boulders by Fat Buu^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Sent flying by a punch from Buutenks^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked into the air by Buutenks^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Elbowed deep underground by Buutenks^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Pummeled by Buutenks off-panel^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kiaid through some rocks by Buutenks^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ] [Limit] First Form Frieza stopped his heart with one punch^RoF(movie)
• [Ultimate] Fine after getting sent flying back by Lavender^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Fine after Kefla cratered him into the Tournament of Power arena^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Knocked off the Tournament of Power arena by Kefla in a mutual KO^{Universal Survival Saga}
• Pummeled by Yunba after his ki was drained^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Cratered into the ground face-first by Saganbo^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Recovered in mid-air after Saganbo sent him flying^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Floored by a punch from Saganbo^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Kicked into the air by Moro 7-3^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] [Limit] One-shot by Moro 7-3^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• Winded by a gutpunch from Piccolo^{Super Hero Saga}
• Fine after Gamma 2 kicked him out of the air^{Super Hero Saga}
• Blocked Gamma 1's punches^{Super Hero Saga}
• Pummeled by Gamma 1, taking a headbutt and a slam before getting kicked hard enough to crater and burst through the ground^{Super Hero Saga}
• Fine after Gamma 1 kicked him at a pillar^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Slammed face-first into and dragged through the ground by Gamma 1^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Thrown into the air and kicked underground by Gamma 1^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Fine after Cell Max elbowed him into some rock^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Got up after Cell Max grabbed him and slammed him into the ground hard enough to leave a crater, though it did knock him out of SSJ^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] No-sold a punch from Cell Max that sent a shockwave through the ground that blew up part of a cliff^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Kicked into the air and smashed underwater by MUI Goku^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Recovered in mid-air after MUI Goku kicked him away^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Shoved out of the air by MUI Goku^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Took a punch from SSB Vegeta^{Super Hero Saga}

Ki attacks

• [SSJ2] Fine after getting launched through a butte by Dabura's fireball^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Sent flying miles away by Fat Buu's ki blast^{Buu Saga}
  
  • This almost killed him^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Hit with a blast from Buutenks that destroyed some rock formations^{Buu Saga}
  
• [Ultimate] Hit by his own blast that went straight through the Earth^{Buu Saga}
  
• [Beast] Took a scream from Goku^{Super Hero Saga}
  

Other

• [SSJ2] [Limit] Yamu was able to stab him with an energy drainer^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Ok after getting caught by 7-3's Fire and Flames^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Beast] Took a scream from Goku^{Super Hero Saga}

Speed

Flight

• Outsped the Nimbus while not at full speed^{Buu Saga}
• Can fly from home to his school in 20 minutes^{Buu Saga}
  • His house is over 1,000 km away from his school^{Buu Saga}
• Caught up to a speeding car^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] [Limit] Was easily caught by Fat Buu^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Tore up the ground by flying over it^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Saved Piccolo, Trunks and Goten from Super Buu's explosion^{Buu Saga}
• Flew from the Lookout to North City in a few minutes^{RoF(manga) #2}
• Grabbed Krillin out of the way of some Frieza Force soldiers' blasts^RoF(movie)
• [Ultimate] Saved Piccolo from 7-3's Special Beam Cannon^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Agility

• [Ultimate] Used Piccolo's solid ki blasts as stepping stones as he flipped around 7-3's blasts^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Backflipped off a rock after getting sent flying back^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Combat

• [SSJ] Blocked SSJ Goten's hits^{Buu Saga}
• Perceived Frieza Force soldiers in slow motion as he blitzed them^RoF(movie)
• [Ultimate] Fended off the Trio de Danger's attacks^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Beast] Increased his speed as he fought MUI Goku, with his hits getting closer and closer to landing before finally hitting him^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Leapt back to dodge Broly's punch and lead into a backflip^{Super Hero Saga}
• Flash-stepped between Piccolo and Shisami^RoF(movie) Reaction

Dodging

• [SSJ] Dodged a rock Goten threw at him from close up^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged more rocks from further away, then some more from closer up^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Dodged Dabura's fire breath^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Dodged Buutenks' Kamehameha^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Dodged 7-3's Hellzone Grenade when it was inches away from hitting him^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Dodged giant 7-3 trying to punch and grab him^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Repeatedly dodged giant 7-3's stretchy arms^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Dodged Gamma 2's blasts^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged Cell Max's Disaster Ray^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged Cell Max's mouth blasts^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged SSJ Trunks' blast and SSJ Goten's swing^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Flew above SSJ Trunks' kick while grappling with him^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Dodged Goten's kick from behind^{Super Hero Saga}

Other

• [SSJ] Caught a number of bullets at close range^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Caught Dabura's sword swing^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Caught Super Buu's punch^{Buu Saga}
• Blocked a surprise attack from Piccolo, though he got hit by a second^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Slapped several of Gamma 1's blasts away^{Super Hero Saga}
• Effortlessly deflected bullets^{Super Hero Saga}

Movement

• Ran faster than cars^{Buu Saga}
• Quickly ran through a forest^{Buu Saga}
• [SSJ2] Took off his glove before it turned into stone from Dabura's spit^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Got behind Super Buu without him noticing^{Buu Saga}
• Flash-stepped between Piccolo and Shisami^RoF(movie)
• [Ultimate] Ran up giant 7-3's arm^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Skill

• Coached Goten and Trunks while the pair were fighting Abo and Cado, helping them to successfully overwhelm the duo and their doubles^YSG&HF
• [SSJ] Dodged Trunks' kick while grappling with him and used the momentum to throw him away^{Super Hero Saga}

Intelligence

• Tricked a dinosaur into running into a rock^{Saiyan Saga}
• Is a master of manipulation^{Frieza Saga}
• [Anti-feat] Is very bad at hiding his secret identity^{Buu Saga}
  • Seriously, wtf Gohan^{Buu Saga}
• Knows how to bait Goku with food^YSG&HF

Ki

General

• [Ultimate] Sensed that Dende was still alive^{Buu Saga}
• Sensed Frieza's revival^RoF(movie)
  • Manga version^{ROF(manga) #1}
• [Ultimate] Sensed a bug-sized enemy, allowing him to warn Android 17 about him^{Universal Survival Saga}

Power

• [SSJ2] The ki drained from him by Spopovich and Yamu was almost half the needed energy to revive Buu^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Super Buu could sense his power from the Kai planet while still on Earth^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Would have been able to beat Buuiccolo^{Buu Saga}
• Frieza said he could have beaten the entire Frieza Force on his own^RoF(movie)
  • Manga version^{RoF(manga) #3}
• [SSJ] Made a massive crater by powering up^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Made a giant pillar of light by transforming that burst the roof of the Red Ribbon Army's base and parted the clouds^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Beast] Destroyed his glasses by transforming and dug a crater under his house, with Goku and Vegeta sensing it from Beerus' planet^{Super Hero Saga}

Barriers

• [Ultimate] Used one to shield himself and Piccolo from 7-3's Special Beam Cannon before pushing it forwards with the help of Piccolo's own SBC, destroying 7-3's arm^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Shielded himself from Moro 7-3's ki blasts^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Blasts

• [Ultimate] Fired one at Buutenks that burrowed straight through the Earth when deflected^{Buu Saga}
• Damaged a crevasse and KOd a group of Frieza Force soldiers^RoF(movie)
• [Ultimate] Cratered 7-3 into a far off rock^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Blasted giant 7-3's knees to make him lose his balance^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] [Limit] A combined blast with Piccolo that would have destroyed the Earth did nothing to Saganbo^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [SSJ] Annoyed Cell Max^{Super Hero Saga}
• [Ultimate] Pushed Cell Max through metres of stone with a barrage before hitting him with a charged blast^{Super Hero Saga}

Kiais

• [SSJ] Flipped a truck^{Buu Saga}

Masenko

• [Ultimate] Combined it with Piccolo's Special Beam Cannon to make the Masenko Beam Cannon, making a giant explosion that destroyed 7-3's right arm, right leg and part of his skin^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Kamehameha

• [SSJ2] [Limit] Couldn't damage Buu's cocoon^{Buu Saga}
• [Ultimate] Used one to stop himself from falling off the Tournament of Power arena^{Universal Survival Saga}
• [Ultimate] Would have probably killed 7-3 if he hadn't absorbed it^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [Ultimate] Could blow up the Earth with one, though he can just detonate it before it hits and prevent any serious damage^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}
• [SSJ] [Limit] Cell Max slapped one away^{Super Hero Saga}
• [SSJ] Annoyed Cell Max^{Super Hero Saga}

Super Explosive Wave

• [Ultimate] Pushed the Trio de Danger back^{Universal Survival Saga}

Galactic Donuts

• [Ultimate] Restrained Moro 7-3^{Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga}

Special Beam Cannon

• [Beast] Beam struggled against Cell Max's Explosive Scream, with the pair evenly matched until SSJ Goten and Trunks distracted Cell Max, allowing Gohan to pierce through his attack and his head^{Super Hero Saga}

Salaam everyone,
I was going to write this post irregardless to the women who thought from my previous post I was mysognatic, playing into stereotypes, and “using my personal issues” to feed into this all.
Again just like my previous post, I mean no offense to anyone, and will be writing this more on a personal level as I can resonate a lot more and it’s not a rant like my previous post, and aimed at all you hardworking women out there trying to do what’s right, (yes this will be based on what I have heard, seen, have thought, and experiences).
I 29(f) am a counsellor here in the uk. Things are tough for us all. Especially us women.
All we do is look around and see, the hatred. Everyday you wake up, every day you are torn. You do not even see it coming. But all u know is that bitter taste in your mouth, that permanent scorn on your face, and the mental weight burdening you, it’s too heavy to lift. There’s anger there. It’s suffocating you, nawing at you. And maybe if you weren’t so busy being tired from the children driving you crazy, or the fact trying to do all the chores, or arranging for all the things needed in the house, or keeping family ties, or your 9-5 job and your salah, you would feel the moment it started growing.
In fact YOU KNOW, the moment it started growing. He was sitting there, trying you. Doing those gross habits you told him to stop. That you didn’t like. And he continued.
It’s like he’s a child with no understanding of basics. But he pushes ur boundaries. CONTINOUSLY. Like a stubborn child you can not get through too. In one ear and out the other.
If it weren’t for you needing the roof over your head, you would probably run a mile. If only you had known before you got married. But u tried. Each time u tried, u did ur sabr. U tried to please Allah. U tried to do the Islamic thing. And you continue to do so everyday, you take care of things. But ur exhausted! Why are u not allowed to rest? Why are u not allowed to enjoy? Everyday is like a never ending day of exhaustion and chores.
U tried to approach him, but he doesn’t want to know. U try tell him ur unhappy, and he’s either too busy on his phone/console, sitting there doing nothing, or just being an extra piece of getting in the way with his “helping”. You swear to Allah that he does it intentionally, when u ask, so u never ask again. Or the constant never ending list of “oh but u didn’t do this, or that, u forgot this, u need to sort this out….”
He has no accountability for anything. Half the things you do, he doesn’t even REALISE NEEDS DOING. He thinks the magic fairy comes and stocks up the clothes, or changes the bed sheets, he has no idea.
You Cook, clean, got to work, take care of the children, entertain them, try to get them to listen but they do not want to know. But their father - he can never do no wrong. You ask him to get involved and he either tells u to do it urself or he gets involved and as usual makes things worse with his “helping”.
For the love of Allah, what is wrong with him?
You go to him again, and try to tell him something is not right, but he’s huffing or eye rolling or WORST still his half listening, cos u are not worth 5 mins of undivided attention. And that if you see him. Otherwise he’s always out the house. Always doing what HE wants. It’s eating away at you. You didn’t sign up to this, if Allah decreed that man should be the provider then why am I the one doing all the dogs work? Why am I carrying the 90% of the hard work? If not all? This is worse than being alone. Being single. At least when you’re alone or single, you do not have to feel so alone.
So you decide to make yourself happy. You try to reach out to those around u, or see if any other woman feels like how you do. You read the comments “women are not traditional, women are this, and the other” your annoyed, Of course anything goes wrong “it’s always the woman fault… they always good digger or there always the bad ones” these men, they have no regard for anything and it’s not just your husband. They have no accountability to their nasty actions to US. No. They are always critising instead. Always put more work on your back like your nothing more then just a donkey. They do not even care to help, to listen, to understand! Your alone, and to them, your always the enemy unless they need something. So vile. Never a word of thank u. Let alone wanting to spend time. U don’t even know why you’re trying as hard anymore. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t even care.
So you find solace in the moments of your work. But they are there too. Men. Again you’re being told about how useless, and how horrible us women are. Let’s see them give birth or go through child birth, I bet then the whole world would hear about it. Poor them and their never ending emotions. And that’s IF he bothers talking to you. But you enjoy ur work, nonetheless. It’s supposed to be for you, what you want. But still ur exhausted, worried about the bills too.
Then it starts, him making your life hard. “Islam says this and Islam says that….” But why the hell should I listen to him when he’s preaching what he does not even practise?. He can’t even show me kindness, or love, yet HE is critising me or accusing me of things. I’ve achieved more than him, and he is nothing but a weak man.
You scream back at him, the same things you been repeating for years, and then he has the nerve to call you “emotional and irrational”.
You had a bad day at work, and you’re exhausted, but there’s so much to do, so much to catch up on, and all you wanted was a hug, that you know you never receive, some love, a moment of peace to yourself and some rest! SOME RELIEF. But can he even give that to you? No.
You hate him. You are like a single parent with an extra child to look after who does not even pull his weight! No accountability, no responsibility! And all you do is try and try and is that taken into consideration? Of course not! Your the one “whose supposed to be Islamically perfect, your not allowed to be human and make mistakes or have need or wants, or anything else!” That’s what they all tell you, “your the one who needs to raise above it cos your the woman” BUT YOUR ALREADY DOING EVERYTHING SINGLE HANDED! You are providing also, you are raising the kids, you are in effective doing everything, but him? At a moments notices he’s out the house or “needs his down time” like YOU don’t need the same thing doing both duties!
What do u get in return for ur efforts? Loneliness! What do u get in return? Hatred & harshness! Not even treated like a person let alone anything else! You’re so angry!
It’s so easy to be consumed by the bitterness of this world especially when ur treated by the one you love with such harshness. So Sisters, out there I hope this helps, may not all you can relate too but in some way I hope you do. We are often left with so much burden, so much anger so much lack of appreciation due to men not opening up, critising us, demanding unreal expectation from us, and then on top, of that being shown no mercy!
For the brothers, STOP TREATING THE SISTER LIKE THEIR EMOTIONS ARE WEAPON COS OF THEIR GENDER AND STOP WITH THE LACK OF MERCY!
Allah made women from your rib, for you to do your responsibility too, but irregardless to whether u provide, women are also having to provide these days too, that should be acknowledged and accepted that it’s hard to live on a 1 person income. Do not demand from them “basic duties” when u feel like it especially regarding children and chores, when u urself are not doing ur basics by showing your love to your spouse, communicating it, and be merciful towards her needs and feelings.
Marriage is about compromise and it’s about shared responsibility and about putting the other persons need first, whether u are man or woman. We are all human! We all need the same basic things in our life, and just as men need emotional support so do women! In fact the way women understand more is THREW emotion! Stop using Islam when u feel like it, and stop being uncompromising on basic things! Today’s society is hard to live by traditional standards but we are all doing our best! Putting women in boxes of “traditional and non traditional” is not fair! Women are told to marry a man “who is god fearing and good character” in Islam Men marry women for 4 different reasons! So the reasons you married her show her and appreciate her! Men are a very trying test for us women (as we are to you!) and you can be very difficult and very pity and judgemental when u choose to be for a person who is saracrifing for you everyday!
Remember she was not put here solely to please just you! She is human being with her own needs, wants and desires Allah gave her, stop diminishing, degrading, breaking her down and putting her down for her best efforts!!!! Sisters Allah sees all your efforts and you are not alone, inshallah may Allah grant all you hard working wife’s and mothers many blesses for you always trying.
And treat them “with love and mercy” We are all human!!! And those looking to get married - PLEASE BARE THIS IN MIND. RESENTMENT BREEDS QUICK AND FAST IN MARRIAGE! AVOID THIS.
Go home and give your spouse a hug, tell them hon love them, appreciate their efforts even if for the sake of Allah, and praise them!!!! May Allah grant us all a successful happy marriage.
Emotional neglect is not part of Islam, neither for women or men. But emphasis is put on women in the Quran for a reason, u need to lead by example!
For those of you who have not read my first post related for men, and their frustrating and perspections on marriage - https://www.reddit.com/MuslimMarriage/s/laG2aqGZP2 Yes I know I’m not gonna be taken well, but this post was only about certain types of women that men seem to end up having to deal with or society pushes that “all women are like this”.

i'm 21 years old and i'm pretty sure my whole life i've been swallowing saliva without touching my teeth together, or atleast since i've started resting my tongue on roof my of mouth. i have severe anxiety so for the past three months i've been hyper fixated on how i'm swallowing, and it's freaking me out. my teeth come together when i swallow food, but for water and saliva they don't touch. can this lead to any health issues? should my teeth be touching when i swallow saliva?

I can’t press my tongue up flat against the roof of my mouth while swallowing without touching my teeth somehow, it’s only like this when I’m trying to swallow I can press my tongue up just fine while I’m mewing without touching any of my teeth, why is it only when I swallow? (I’m not pushing against my teeth as I swallow it’s just when I’m trying to bring it up to swallow)

I've never posted on here before or used it much, but I have some questions and could use some advice...
My previous boyfriend is the textbook definition of a male narcassist, and over the course of our relationship and the years that have followed since, he has systematically destroyed my life in every single way possible.
Our relationship began years back, amd with every tale of a narcassist, the beginning was absolutely incredible. He love bombed me to death, and would always go above and beyond to pull off these extravagant events. Dinners, taking me to places I've always wanted to go to, buying these super nice gifts, and I had absolutely no idea that script would soon flip right before my eyes...
We were both heavy drinkers when we met, and about a year into dating is when the abuse started and each time he had me convinced that it was my fault for popping off at the mouth and being "disrespectful". Really.. I was just holding boundaries and getting mad when he'd do the same exact thing I already told him I didn't approve of, for the 100th time.
At first, the abuse was just a little slap to face, then it grew more and more... A few examples include...
One night we went to a big concert and had both drank much more than we should have. We took an Uber so neither of us had to worry about driving home and I could not find him after the show ended. He was a drunk mess and sitting somewhere slurring his venom into my ear while I ran around outside the venue desperately trying to find him.
After an hour or so, I started getting pretty heated and saw a guy walking that looked like he could have been my boyfriend at the time. I ran up behind this guy and shoved him with all my rage screaming "where the fuck have you been?!", just to have the guy turn around and see this frightened look of astonishment on a stranger's face. I felt horrible and ashamed once realizing the awful error I made, so I decided to call myself an Uber before I got myself arrested in the process of trying to find him.
Now, if you know anything about a narcassistic man, leaving him alone in the city, drunk and having to find his own way home is a recipe for disaster. By this point, violence was no stranger in our home, so my anxiety went through the roof. I begged the Uber driver to follow me in my car while I drove across town to my mom's house, because I was so scared of what was about to happen when he got home. The guy had a genuine soul and saw I was in trouble, so he agreed.
About halfway to my mom's house, the boyfriend at the time called me saying that he hopes my dog can fend for himself because he just set him loose in the street. He cast the one and only lure that he had that would get me back to that house that night and it worked. My dog has always been my baby and I had him for years before entering into this relationship.
I immediately exited the freeway on the next exit and told the kind Uber driver I had a change of plans and thanked him for taking the extra time, then turned around and went back to the house.
When I got there, the house was dark and quiet. I tip toed in the front door and trying to silently look around for my dog without disturbing the seemingly sleeping boyfriend on the couch. I tried to sneak through the living room to go back to the hall to the bedrooms, and as soon as I got through the threshold of the living room, he flew off the couch and grabbed me by my hair so hard that my feet lifted off the ground below and I hit the ground with all my weight on my hip. He drug me across the living room while I tried to desperately keep my poor hairs attached to my head, as he was ripping them out as we moved along. He threw the side door of the living room open to the outside and picked me up to his shoulder height then threw me down a set of three or four concrete steps to hit the pavement of the sidewalk that adjoined from the side of the house. The fighting continued, he clocked me in the jaw, and told me I was a no-good-slut for leaving him to fend for himself...
Another time to note, he had around seven whiskey drinks at my birthday dinner when I was stone cold sober and still insisted to drive afterwards. Despite my begs and pleas, he managed to take my keys to my car and speed on down the freeway with music blaring to the "surprise destination" of the evening. In these moments, I would hold on for dear life and just beg for it all to end. I hated his driving, I hated the speed, I hated how close he'd get to other cars, but over time, I learned to just stay absolutely still and quiet and let him act like the fool he was.
After driving for around an hour and getting far enough away from town that the light pollution was no longer visible, he turned to me and asked where we were going. I turned and looked at him with absolute bewilderment, and told him I had no idea... He actually got off at the next exit and said that I needed to drive us back home, which I don't remember ever happening in any of the other similar scenarios.
We traded seats and I got back on the freeway, and I remember saying something like "You're such a piece of shit for putting my life in jeopardy like this all the time", and he immediately punched me in the side of the mouth and proceeded to begin to grab the steering wheel and wildly pull us back and forth across the freeway at 65+ MPH veering across all lanes. I no longer had control of the vehicle and could barely see the road as my eyes welled up with tears from repeatedly getting hit in the face whilst trying to prevent crashing my car.
Miraculously, we didn't hit anyone, and I got off at the next exit and tried to run. He scooped me back up and physically grabbed me and threw me back into the car. Then drove us back to the house.
I have years of these stories, the next one more horrible than the last, but I don't know that I have much that I can prove besides the few images I have left of the marks and bruises. He got into my head that I shouldn't keep evidence of those things and I often deleted or never took photos in the beginning, but I got better about it in the end.
In addition to the physical and mental abuse, there was also a lot of financial abuse. This might be my strongest case area for evidence, because he would make me transfer my hard earned money from my bank account to his, so there is a long standing record of these transactions and how many THOUSANDS ($100K+) he's taken from me. Usually the reasons being "loans", but never getting a damn thing in writing even though the written part was terms to the agreement. He'd always bully me out of following through with things like this and made me feel stupid for trying to protect myself.
Now, this is just a small snippet into a long list of things, but I wonder if anyone with legal knowledge could please help with some tips on avenues to start going down to press charges?
He is currently in jail for his fourth DUI, and in a perfect world, I'd love to see him stay there for the rest of his life. He has stalked me, broken into my house in the middle of the night, followed me, given me STD's from the other women he's slept with on the side, and he will continue to be a danger to me and any other women he's "close" to unless he's gone for good. If I can't guarantee that prosecution will be successful, then I may as well kiss myself goodbye before going to a cop.
Also... he is a military veteran that did a few tours in the middle east in the early 2000's with full disability for PTSD (played the system), for context in the severity of my last paragraph and why he continues to skate by with all the harm he does to everyone around him.

So me f(27) and my little sister nix (18 or 19 can't remember) honestly it wasn't even an argument I just so happen to be over for dinner. Mind you I don't go over to my mom's house very often anymore mostly cause of my other sister chloe (25). I have never had a problem with my younger sister until today. So... I'm over at my mom's and apparently nix wanted to go to some event at GameStop that had to do with Pokemon. It was some kind of meetup I guess and my mom tried walking her up FIVE TIMES once at 10:30 then 11 etc until she got tired and gave up. So now I'm over for dinner so it's around 5 that she finally gets up. She's pissed cause my mom "didn't wake her up" and my mom tries to explain but nix won't listen and calls up her bf to complain and literally cry. So this is all going down while I'm just trying to eat my chicken it's my mom's crotch goblin I'm not getting involved. As nix is talking to her bf you can't really hear the conversation from her room. That is untill she purposely raises her voice and says along the lines of "at least somebody wasn't being a dick!" I'm just hella surprised that she had the audacity to say that so I look at my mom in shock and say "did she just call you a dick??" And my mom responded with "yeah she's just mad she'll get over it." Now I'm hella surprised cause I would NEVER say something like that to my mom's face. I might say it like in my head but I have mad respect for my mom to never say it to her face she's a total sweetheart and never talks bad about any of us like that. So I'm thinking to myself yeah, no that's not gonna fly so I go to nix room and (not yelling or anything but say with a stern tone) "did you just call Mama a dick?? Ya know she put the clothes on your back, the roof over your head and the food on your plate and you have the audacity to say that" and this lil crotch goblin said "I'm not listening to you" I was so surprised I started laughing and said "ya know your acting just like Chloe" and proceeded to laugh as I walked away to go back to the living room and hang out with my mom before I went to hang with a friend. As I'm driving maybe 30 mins later she sends me this text
Your a shit fucking sister and I hope you know that. Chloe is better then you, get over it bitch. Stop being so fucking full of yourself. And even mom told me your full of yourself and always act like you got a fucking finger up your ass being so high and mighty. You NEVER been a good sister. Even Chloe feels better to me then you. Your a fucking douche and I hope your date goes fucking bad. All you do is tell people off and jump into people's drama and business and dick ride mom like theirs no tomorrow. Especially I understand where your coming from but that doesn't mean to get in what is me and moms fucking fight for what reason? None. I'm making this the final day that I see you as "the better sister" because I use to talk a lot of good shit about you and feel bad for the things you get put through and now I don't care anymore. I don't give a shit about you if this is how you treat me. Like a nobody. You Never even called me your little sister unless you have to say it. You never make the tempt to play games or anything for years when you could of. So goodbye random bitch I pretty much barley knew. I don't claim you as my sister no more. Your a adult, fucking act like one. So I don't want you messaging me anywheres unless it's gonna be a apology or something we can work out in person without an argument. Because mom gave me full permission to say these things because I'm an adult now and it's my choice and what I do is between us and she wants to make sure I can say shit to you to get through your head that your shit and I hope you can actually be better. I can always see why grandma likes you because your split nagging asshole image of her. Your both just as bitchy and Snoopy. So yeah, goodbye. This is over unless you want to actually be a good sister for once in your pathetic life.
So I read like the first couple of sentences and send it to my mom (who later on said she didn't read it) and say "do you see what she's saying about you??? Shes literally putting words in your mouth cause I know damn well you wouldn't say I'm full of myself" long story short she said not to respond and then a couple days later told me nix wants to apologize. Tbh I don't even want to accept said apology. I'm honestly not even mad she sent me this I'm more concerned and disappointed cause if she was to ever get a job if anyone pisses her off and this is how she reacts she won't be keeping it. I don't want to accept an apology from someone who had the time to write all of that over protecting my mom and it was sad to tell my mom I don't feel comfortable coming over anymore if this is how I'm going to be treated. I didn't even get involved in their argument either except to criticize her on the name calling.

Hi, I had a molar removed/pulled 3 weeks ago exactly. My question is when should I be able to start eating normal foods (hamburgers, fries, pizza etc…) on or around extraction site?
There still is an extraction hole.
extraction site picture
I had my tooth pulled from a health department so “calling my dentist” isn’t an option.
Before someone says “just chew on the other side” I have another bad tooth (I’m getting it pulled also eventually) so I can’t chew over there either. I’ve been chewing with my front teeth for 2 weeks & my gums on the roof of my mouth are killed!
The food cravings are insane, I’ve lost 25lbs bc I’ve been eating very little & very soft foods. I’ve googled the same question & I’ve seen 3 days, 1 week, 2 weeks, some even say 4 months! Just trying to get a round about answer here. Thanks!

Part 1
Part 2
Content Warning: Child Abuse
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.

This is a warning. Don't take things that aren't yours. My mistake as a teenager has ruined my life.
At the age of sixteen moved into a new house with my family since my father was offered a new job that payed him much more than what he was making before. We had been in poverty for years so when the pipeline company called him.. he instantly accepted.
Two weeks later we moved from my home town in Georgia. I will admit. It was really difficult saying goodbye to the friends I basically grew up with since birth. Mother reassured me it was better this way so I finally loaded my belongings into the moving truck. Our new home was about two hours away from our original location, so this meant I'd have to get used to a new remote place. I teared up as I saw the towns greeting sign. "Welcome to Clamville! Where memories are made." How ironic, I never knew this place would be my first week in hell. I knew then, I'd miss my original house every day. My hometown was all I ever knew.
All I could see was nothing but dirt roads and old homes, it felt like a ghost town. But hey, what did I know? Maybe I'd love the new place. My poor naive self..
The house we moved into wasn't much to look at. The outside was painted crimson with a black roof and a black door to match. The inside had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and everything a house usually would. A few days after living there I realized we had an attic because of a chain hanging from the washroom. Me being excited, I immediately told my mother. I was always curious in my youth. She tilted her head in confusion and said "The owner never mentioned that."
My father always had ladders because of his previous job with the logging company so we searched the truck and found one in the back. My father had taken the pipeline work vehicle that day so it was never unusual for his beat up red truck to be in the driveway. My mother set up the ladder, began to walk on it, but then stopped half way in pulling the chain.
"Ma what are you doing? Pull it down so I can see what's in there-"
"I don't feel like this is safe, the previous home owner obviously didn't tell us it was there for a reason. Maybe it has some safety hazards-"
"He might've left old things up there. Like antiques or something."
She inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. "Fine, but if you get hurt you'll never be allowed up there again. I mean it" She said sternly as she walked back down the ladder.
In my excitement I rushed and pulled the rusty chain so that the entrance was fully exposed. A cloud of faintly grey dust hit me in the face and I coughed. My mother complained about the mess but that was the least of my worries. I climbed myself the rest of the way in. The atmosphere felt eerie.
"Do you see anything?" Mother hollered. "Ma I haven't even turned on the light yet." I yelled in response. I felt around the attic and flicked a light switch and, the attic lit up. The floral wall paper in the room was peeling off and the floor was in need for a sweeping. Other than that, it seemed in fairly good condition. In my surprise nothing much was there besides a few boxes of porcelain plates, tea cups, and occasional old frilly dresses in piles on the floor.
Everything was caked in grey dust. From the looks of it, no one had been up here for years. My mother yelled once again and it caused me to jump "Everything okay?" She yelled. "Yes ma, I promise. There isn't much up here." I yelled back with a slight tone of annoyance, she always worried too much I thought. I paced up and down the floor to examine my findings and that's when I saw it in the corner. A beautiful antique mirror with bright gold edges, it resembled a magic mirror from all of those cheesy Disney movies I loved as a little girl. I grabbed it immediately, I just couldn't stop myself. It wasn't mine but I needed it. It's looks lured me in.
I admired the gold and beautiful shape, I wanted it. The owner left it so it WAS technically mine right? It was the size of my torso so it was easy to carry. I grabbed the mirror, turned off the light, and with caution, headed back down the ladder while clinging to it. Mother met me at the last step.
"What's that?" She asked. "Its an old mirror, and it's beautiful. I really want to put it in my new room" I said with joy. She examined it. "It needs some cleaning but.. sure I guess so. But just remember we don't know whose it is." She said. As soon as mother finished her sentence I squealed with excitement, even in my teen years, the littlest things brought me happiness as if I was four. "I told you there was atleast something up there Ma!" I ran to the bathroom with the mirror in hand to find Windex to clean it. As I was grabbing the cleaner from under the sink I felt an extremely cold presence behind me. I wrote it off as 'the house was old and probably needed some insulation work done'.
I headed to the kitchen table and began scrubbing the glass, the smudges just weren't coming up. I began to get aggravated and used different cleaning chemicals. Dawn dish soap, Windex, vinegar, ajax, and even baby wipes. It refused to come up from the glass and my excitement faded slightly. I went to mother's bedroom to go find her and ask her for more solutions.
"Ma. The finger prints won't come up" I said defeated. "Well it IS really old honey. It could be staining from inside of it." She explained looking up from her book. She was always seen with some type of novel in her hand. I sighed.
"Well..should I just hang it up as it is?"
"I don't see why not. It's clean now."
"Alright then." I closed the door as I left. I felt my gut twist and turn as I turned my rooms door knob. Little did I know then, it was my subconscious warning me for what was to come.
I headed to my room and decided to hang it up over my bed. I sat on the end of my mattress and admired it once more, even though it has a few smudges, it was still glimmering and shiny. I loved it.
I even looked at it as I fell asleep that night. To my dismay, I had my first nightmare of a criptid crawling out from the walls and grabbing my throat. The hands burnt as soon as it touched my skin. I couldn't scream. I was paralyzed. The figure was cloudy grey and had such dark eyes. As it's eyes met mine I finally woke up in a panic. The smell of the 'thing' is forever burned into my nose. I was covered in sweat and my hair was matted against my face. I went to the bathroom and immediately took a hot shower. I always hated how sweat felt. I didn't go back to bed that night, stayed up and drew in my sketchbook the whole time. I didn't want to ever have that nightmare again and I thought it would pass. I even prayed.
I checked my dimlight computer screen and it read 8:00 AM. I got up and made myself some fried eggs. Mother woke up from the smell and sleepily walked into the kitchen "You're awake early" she yawned. "Haha yeah, I was hungry" I decided not to tell her about my nightmare. Knowing her, she'd blame it on the YouTube videos I watch. The eggs were done and I grabbed two plates.
"Is father already gone? I didn't hear him leave."
"Yeah, you know how his job is.."
"I miss him Ma"
"I know. I do too."
We ate at the kitchen table without saying a word to each other. The move was impacting us both. Father came home at eleven at night now and always left at seven in the morning, while I was sleeping. He had weekends off but when he had spare time, he'd usually rest since his job was hard on his back. I knew I'd been enrolled into a new highschool in a few months after the summer was over and I was scared to leave mother all alone. She didn't do well when she was stir crazy.
The past few days after felt like a fever dream. I spent less and less time in my room, as a teenager that's never a bad thing but, I noticed anytime I was in there. I'd catch myself zoning off, looking at the mirror.
I kept having the same nightmare. It was repetitive nightly and it began to drive me crazy, I was desperate enough to begin asking for help on reddit, discord, online chat rooms, you name it. They all asked me a recurring question.. "Do you have any mirrors in your room?" At the time I thought it was such a stupid and irrelevant question. I eventually sent someone a picture of it in a private chat and they told me I needed to burn it and began rambling about 'negative attachments' I nervously laughed at the text. Burn? A mirror?.. that sounded ridiculous.
I laughed to myself and picked up the gorgeous mirror from my light brown wall. I gazed at it to see if this person was truly crazy and that's when it hit me. The smudges look like it's on the inside. I was in shock. I had so many questions running through my head like a fight or flight response. There was no way finger prints could be INSIDE a mirror.. right? I kept reassuring my mind and told myself I was over thinking it. I surely had to be paranoid from the lack of sleep. I went to bed and the dream repeated itself once again. The 'thing' completely devouring me.
I woke up. I had enough and cracked. I told my mother everything, she didn't believe a word I said. Though, in her defense, she never was the one to believe in negative energies or anything paranormal. Her denying it was anything to do with ghosts kind of eazed my fears. Though the nightmares continued, I was finally able to get more sleep. I became numb to it as I knew what would happen.
One night in particular I awoke from the same dream and my throat was dry as if it was caked with flour. I brushed my teeth to get the sensation off my tongue and I spit out pure black. I opened my mouth wide enough to see every tooth and saw it. To my horror, my mouth had a thin layer of dust on the tops of my gums.. the people warning me where right. It had to be evil.
I rinsed out my mouth and cried on the bathroom floor for what it felt like, hours. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Mother kept denying my claims and father was never at home to give me comfort. I picked myself up and decided then and there..I had to get rid of the mirror. I was going to smash it into a million peices, it's gorgeous petite shape was a wolf in sheep's clothing.
I sat in the living room and watched an old Looney tunes re run untill I fell asleep. Not long enough to have the dream of course because I woke up to the sound of someone in the kitchen. It was my father, I stood up from the couch.
"Can I hug you before you go to work?"
"You know I'd never deny one of your hugs kiddo, but why did you sleep on the couch?" he said as he wrapped me in a bear hug. I smelled the old spice on his clothes. I haven't had one of those embraces since we moved. I always adored my father growing up. I ignored his question about why I was sleeping in the living room.
"Have a good day at work. I was just tired." I didn't want him to worry or feel like this was his fault. He was trying his best for us and I knew that.
"Thank you kid." He said with a smile. He then walked out the front door. I'm glad I finally saw his face, it felt like ages. It was one of these moments I wished he had his old job again. Then I remembered all the times we had no money for food or water. 'It was better this way' I kept telling myself.
I finally walked back to my bed room and seeing the mirror flooded me with absolute rage. I grabbed the damn thing off my wall. I walked out into the front yard and I smashed it, picked it up and kept throwing it on the gravel. I hated it, I now hated how it looked, the pain it caused me, and the nightmares it brought. I beat it untill it was just the gold lining. I left it on the dirt ground and stared at it, I knew I'd have alot of explaining to do to my mother.
In that split moment I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulders. It was over. I could be joyful once more and enjoy my new home with my mother. With relief, I walked back into the living room. Examining my hands I found that there was a glass shard so I brought myself to the sink and washed my hands. I took a deep breath and stepped back into my bedroom. My once know sanctuary.
But there it was again.. the mirror. Back into it's original form on the wall. I couldn't believe it. I ran back outside and saw that even the shards of glass in the grass were gone. Since that day it's followed me everywhere along with the nightmares. Every house I've moved to since adult hood. It's been there despite me purposely leaving it. I regret finding it so beautiful and wanting it to be mine. I just can't escape it. Growing up since that, my mother never believed me when I'd cry to her about the dreadful thing. It was hard making friends in my new town because I was scared of having anyone come over to my house.. I feared the mirror would follow them too. I stayed to myself and would look for any reason to stay away from home. I believe this dreaded curse may follow me past death. The worst part of this experience is the feeling of pure insanity. Everyone telling me I'm crazy. I live everyday wondering if I've lost my mind. It tortures me mentally and I feel so alone. All I have now, is my reflection in that fucking mirror.
So take my warning and remember.. curiousity killed the cat.

Part 1
Part 2
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.

When you don't develop the natural resting posture of having your tounge resting gently on the roof of the mouth, your skull grows downward due to gravity, and everything from your nasal passage to your throat to everything else involved with breathing stays small and underdeveloped. As your tounge and soft tissues gets larger with age, the underdeveloped "head/neck bones" leave less and less space as time goes on. Think of it as trying to fit a 13 foot size (soft tissue) into a size 8 shoe(bones). Also, since your hyoid isn't toned (not constantly activated by natural tounge resting posture) that muscle softens up more than it's supposed to when going unconscious, and the lower resting posture disrupts breathing(quite snoring while awake). Of course body posture, allergies, and weight play a role, but having "head/neck bones" that are properly developed, and a hyoid thats toned plays the biggest role when it comes to breathing during sleep. You need to physically have enough space, after all.
Some dental appliances make the issue of proper facial development worse since it forces the teeth (and consequently the impressionably young, soft bones) backwards in order to correct teeth misalighnment (which leaves less space to breath).
I'm still looking into it, but double jaw surgery paired with palate expansion and therapy to fix the resting posture of the tounge, and tone the "throat muscles", might be the only solution that tackles the root of the problem.
I think a good anaolgy for this is having a hump back. Relaxed muscles leads to gravity pulling everything down. Over time, this leads to bones hardening in these downard positions. Even if you try to correct your muscles to stand up straight, it may be physically impossible because of how the back bones developed.
This is a good video for practicing proper tounge posture, but remember that it may be impossible for some people to do without surgrey.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nq8YjWIIUI

Read PART 1 here
 
Erik only emerged from his room at around noon the next day with puffy eyes and red marks and bruises on his face. He dragged his legs and hung his head as he moved.
Once he’d gotten something to eat, I waved him into my room and closed the door.
“Erik, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Why did you barricade your window with a table, chair, and wardrobe?”
“Uh, never mind that. This Old Henriksen guy. Did he get eaten by the Great Eel God in the past?”
“Nick, I really don’t want to talk about that right now. I don’t even want to think about Storålens natt anymore.” He sighed.
“I know, Erik, I’m really sorry. I just need to know this.”
“He got regurgitated during the festival, but that was a long time ago. Maybe before I was born, or at least when I was still a baby.”
“Did you see him before he stopped showing up in Maelstrom?”
“I barely remember. Think so. Lots of unkempt hair. Kept scratching himself.”
“Right, thank you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Pay him a visit.” I slung my bag onto my shoulders.
“You can’t be serious. He’s…probably dead or something.” Erik shook his head in disbelief.
“Won’t know until we actually look.”
“It could be dangerous, especially for a newcomer. You could get stopped.”
“Then come with me.”
He looked down at the floor.
“Erik, this is our chance to really uproot all this. Expose Storålens natt.”
He shook his head. “This festival has been running every year for centuries, ever since my ancestors first settled here. It’s not being stopped anytime soon.”
“We can just take the first step. Just visit Old Henriksen. Will you come with me?”
He placed his face into his hand, pacing in a circle. Then, he looked up and sighed. “You have a way with words, Nick. Let’s go.”
Heading out his door, we quickly headed up the terraces, Erik leading and allowing us to avoid anyone who would stop me. Several people watched us from windows, but nobody actually approached us.
It took a while, but we finally arrived at the top of the hill.
“Goddamn, I’d never leave my home either if this was the climb back.” I said, panting hard and wiping buckets worth of sweat off my forehead. I looked out over the rest of the village, at the completed festival square and the boats out on the calm blue water. For a second, I saw a massive snaking shape under the surface, just like I had on my arrival, but it vanished in the next moment. Was that the fabled Great Eel God?
Rubbing my eyes, I turned my attention back to Old Henriksen’s place. This house was old. The red paint was flaking off, the windows were boarded up, and the doorknob was entirely rusted. I tried it. Locked.
“If we kick it down, people will hear and tell the village chief.” I said.
“Don’t worry, I know a little trick.” He gave me a sly grin and pulled what looked to be a piece of metal wire, which he inserted into the keyhole.
“Is that a lockpicking wire? Erik, you’re naughtier than I thought.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” He giggled and worked away at the door. After about a minute of finicking and under the breath curses, I heard one final click and Erik turned the doorknob.
An overwhelming smell hit us immediately upon entry. I’d been in old buildings before, slept in them even. They have a strong musty stale smell to them. Old Henriksen’s house was on another level entirely. It was putrid rot that wormed its way down my throat. I gagged, as did Erik, as we tried to hold in our vomit. The rancid stench was unbelievable.
All the furniture were still in their proper places, untouched by any signs of struggle or human inhabitation. A thick layer of dust covered everything from the plates to the floor, which etched our shoeprints as we walked.
Erik put a handkerchief to his nose and I made do with the sleeve of my arm. Peeking into the lone bedroom, his bed was unmade, and a hole in the roof had been letting in rainwater, turning it into a grimy brown sponge for filthy water. Whatever the case, Old Henriksen had not been in this room in a long, long time.
“Nick, come here.” I followed Erik back out into the main room, where he pointed at a trapdoor in the corner. He leaned down and pulled it open. Unlocked. A ladder led down into darkness. We looked at each other.
“I have to go down to check.” I quickly said before he could express any doubts. “You can stay up here if you want.”
“I’m coming with you.”
The ladder shook and creaked with each step down I took, but it didn’t go down very far at all. I stepped on the dirt floor, putting my hands on my knees and gagging in a desperate attempt not to vomit. The revolting odour was even worse down here, packed into this small underground space and crowding out the breathable air.
I heard Erik come down behind me. He lit a candle, illuminating a small portion of the musty basement. We crept forward into the main room, lined with old shelves filled with various tools and cans. The ground was sticky with something. Our shoes squelched with each step.
A strange hissing groan came from just ahead, making both of us jump. I could hear something shifting, grinding against the ground. We stepped closer into the centre of the room, and that was when we saw it.
There was something long on the ground about the width of a large plastic bottle, occasionally squirming as we got closer.
“Oh my god.” I muttered.
“What is it?” Erik’s hands were shaking in terror.
“Find one end.” We followed it carefully as it snaked across to one end of the basement, and there we saw what it looked like at one end.
It was Old Henriksen, there was no doubt. He become long enough to stretch like rope across the basement. His skin was loose like torn clothes, covered in thousands of massive rotting ulcers and black sores, oozing fetid necrotic fluid onto the basement floor and coating it in a thin layer.
The top part of him ended in his oblong skull, but his skin had gotten so loose that his face had entirely detached, lying in a messy heap half a metre away. One eye on the side of his face not lying in his own rotting flesh goop looked up at us. He had no iris, just a small black pupil in his white beady eyes. He opened his mouth, where his few remaining teeth had turned razor sharp, and made the same hissing groan we heard moments earlier.
I felt something slowly wrap around my calf and let out a high-pitched shriek, leaping up and stomping on it. Old Henriksen hissed at me, and I looked down to see pencil-thin rubbery fingers as long as my legs retreating, attached to arms similarly disproportionately long. They were coiled all round the room, one even pooled in a corner like a heap of rope.
“Where’s his other end?” I asked. Erik nodded and we went along by his candlelight, following his sore-filled body with skin pooling off, until we reached the opposite corner of it. A shelf filled with heavy paint cans had toppled and practically shattered his legs. What was left was actively decomposing while he was alive, releasing even more of the septic stench. As much as his long eel-like body squirmed, the heavy shelf remained pinned over him.
“He must have gotten trapped down here and just kept growing and growing.”
“For…my whole life?” Erik gasped in horror. “How’s he not died of thirst yet?”
We walked back across to his head, where I had Erik lift the candle as high as he could. The ceiling was cracked in placed, and even know, the filth-water from his bedroom was slowly leaking through the cracks and dripping down into the basement, right into his open mouth.
“I-I can’t believe it.” Erik gripped onto one shoulder to support as he held his head in the other. “I’m getting lightheaded.”
“Alright, we’re getting out of here.” As Erik turned, I noticed Old Henriksen’s mouth moving. It sounded like a word.
“Henriksen? Did you say something?”
“Eeeee…” He groaned.
“Yes?”
“Itchy…” He scratched at a black wound the size of a basketball, fingernails digging into the rotting flesh and ripping it up.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Hungry…” I felt his other hand suddenly grab me and shove me towards him.
“Erik!” I cried out. I violently wrenched at Henriksen’s fingers, but despite his thin limbs, he was freakishly strong. He yanked me towards his face, where his mouth hung open. Erik rushed over, pulling at Old Henriksen’s arm, but he couldn’t overpower him either.
“My bag! Take his photo!”
“Now?”
“Just do it!” I screamed, shoving a shoe into his mouth and stomping on his loose skin. Erik unzipped my backpack and pulled my camera free.
“This button?”
Old Henriksen sunk his teeth into my sole, and I could feel the very tip of his fangs stab into my socks.
“Yes!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Now!”
Erik took aim and clicked, briefly engulfing Old Henriksen and me in a blinding flash. His pupil constricted immediately and he let go, letting out an unholy half-hiss, half-shriek as he raked at his eyeballs with his fingers. Erik grabbed me by the hand, and we bolted towards the ladder, scrambling up it as fast as our bodies allowed us to. We slammed the trapdoor shut and rushed out of the house, coughing the last of the awful fumes out.
Fresh sea air filled our lungs again and it was like ambrosia to us. We gasped and took deep inhales, clearly any dizziness we had. Breathing heavily, we sat down on the front steps of the house, trying to wrap our heads around what the hell we just saw.
“Old Henriksen. He…he’s what people who got regurgitated are turning into?” Erik asked, incredulity in his voice as he passed my camera back to me.
“They’re not just growing taller. They’re turning into human eels.” Erik buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. “They never told us anything about that.”
“What do you think happens to those the Great Eel God swallows?”
He didn’t reply.
“I’m going to get evidence about the festival.” I told him. “You can join me if you like.”
“I’m going home.”
“Erik…”
“You saw it yourself. My mom either gets eaten or she starts turning into one of those things. I don’t want to think about this anymore.” Erik got up and trudged off slowly back down the hill.
It didn’t matter. I’d do it with or without him.
 
I waited until the Sun vanished behind the western hill and darkness slowly fell onto Maelstrom once more.
Yet this time, it wasn’t the same omnipresent blanket of night. The festival square lit up, lanterns blazing, bonfires in braziers lining the sides of the square. Blazing torches adorned the open-air towers, each with one particularly tall villager standing there beating a drum. It lit up like a sole beacon in the darkness of Maelstrom and the surrounding forests.
Processions of villagers began to drift towards the festival square like moths to a flame. They mostly wore their usual clothes, but each carried a light source – handheld lanterns, fiery torches, the odd flashlight. Other villagers watched from the same or higher terraces.
I spotted the village chief standing before the raised platform. The tall man was dressed in a purple robe that glinted in the light of the flames around him. Before long a crowd had gathered, and the chief started talking to them, though I couldn’t make out the words from where I was standing.
A loud, deep, groaning call came from the sea, shaking the foundations of the village houses and vibrating my very bones. Maelstrom fell dead silent, all eyes staring at the coast.
Seawater began creeping in, slowly turning from abnormal tide into a full-scale of the coastal region. Everything not nailed down was swept away as water rushed down every street and alley. Then, something absolutely gargantuan emerged from the sea. I could see only its silhouette from here but it dwarfed the houses around it. Not caring about them, the giant eel pushed itself onto land, scraping across the slightly flooded ground and smashing straight through the first house it touched.
I could feel my hands trembling in sheer amazement at what I was witnessing. It continued dragging itself for a while, crushing houses and shoving the debris aside until there was practically a wall of smashed furniture and devastated walls surrounding it. With a great groan, the eel lifted its front section up and flopped forward, crossing half the coastal town in one move.
It landed with a massive crashing noise, shaking the ground beneath my feet. Hundreds of houses crumbled apart like a house of cards, crushed beneath its massive weight. It began its climb up the side of the hill towards the terrace. The entire place shook. Rocks dislodged and tumbled down the slope. Even as it continued pushing up the terrain, more and more of its massive, elongated body slithered out of the water. It must have been well over a hundred metres long.
At last, it reached the festival square. It rested its head onto the velvet-covered platform, fit rather snugly with the wooden roof above it and bent, angular pillars all around. Finally, it stopped moving and all was still in Maelstrom.
Taking the opportunity, I began to descend the terrace layers, running down the steep staircases. I could see the village chief and several other abnormally tall villagers approached it, splashing it with buckets of water. Other villagers began to dance and wave banners before it, casting shadows onto the eyes of the silent god-beast.
Finally, I arrived at the terrace where Erik’s home was located, one step up from the festival square. Finally close enough, I could get a good look at this eel god. It appeared to have…human skin? Pale, loose, wet skin hung from its body and pooled on the edges of the platform. It was absolutely covered in massive rotting wounds and sores. It opened its mouth wide, and from within I could spot more putrid oozing ulcers and disgusting gums lined with sharp fangs.
One of the chief’s tall assistants nodded and walked straight into its mouth, taking care to avoid the teeth. I thought he was about to stroll right down its throat too, but the eel god lifted its tongue and flung him off his feet. With a gulp, he vanished right down the monster’s throat without a sound.
The village chief made another call, and this time a regular-looking woman climbed in and was practically swallowed immediately too.
This was it. What I needed. I slung my bag onto one shoulder and pulled the camera out. Zooming in, I waited for the next person. In came a tall woman, who bowed to the Great Eel God before stepping in.
No, I had to get a photo with a regular-looking person or someone could get suspicious about fakery.
Footsteps and talking spectators began to approach me.
Shit. Hurry up!
One man, dressed in rags and with a white bandana around his head, carefully took his clothes off and handed them to one of the village chief’s assistant before he stepped into its mouth.
The footsteps closed in.
I clicked the button.
The bright flash enveloped the entire festival square.
The Great Eel God’s pupils immediately constricted.
Dozens of heads turned to look straight at me.
I felt my blood run cold.
The eel let out a deafening hissing call of pain and smashed its jaws shut. I heard the sound of screaming and snapping bones as it swallowed its prey. The village chief backed off in surprise as the furious eel god flung its head upwards, smashing the wooden roof above it into a million splinters that came raining down. Screeching ever louder, it pushed itself forward, opened its mouth, and enveloped three of the nearest villagers in one gulp, shredding one of them on its teeth. Blood spewed from its mouth as it swallowed them.
It swiped its head to one side, flinging several people off the square and sending the fiery braziers toppling off. Then it appeared to tense up and cracked its own body like a whip. Its lower half swept across half the coastal village in seconds. Houses were ripped off their foundations and broke to pieces. A tsunami of debris and the eel’s body tore through streets and boats alike. Dozens of people tried to flee before being enveloped and vanishing into the carnage.
Debris flung high into the air. Chunks crashed into the hillside. One massive metal piece landed on Old Henriksen’s house and collapsed it down into the basement.
At the square, the eel god continued its feast, snatching up villagers and devouring them. Yet they didn’t flee. Instead, they bowed, clasping their hands, and silently awaited their turn.
But not all. The village chief glared straight at me and broke into a run, scaling up the terrace steps with frightening speed. I felt my entire body freeze instantly as the tall man approached me with nothing but murder in his eyes, but I pried myself from my spot and broke into a run.
I could hear his footsteps. He was closing in. Closer and closer.
Thud!
I heard him cry out in pain and fall. Turning my head, I saw the chief lying on the dirt path, one hand on his bloodied head and a large sharp rock lying beside him. Another rock cracked him on the chin, and I looked up to see Sigrid on the next terrace up with an armful of stones as ammo, hurling them at him.
“Go, run!” She yelled at me.
“Sigrid!” He roared, getting to his feet and running up after her. Tucking my camera into my bag, I continued to sprint away as well, pushing past a woman in my way. I barely made it much further before I collided straight into Erik. We both fell to the ground, groaning.
“Nick! W-what’s happening?”
“Your god’s pissed off! It’s eating everyone!” I pointed over, where the eel had coiled around the entire festival square and was picking through the last of the villagers awaiting their eternal prize.
“My mom!” He screamed, pointing behind me. I turned round to see the woman who had just gone past me, currently scampering at full speed towards the festival square. “Stop her!”
Both of us scrambled up, chasing after her. She ran and ran, darting across the wooden boards that led to the now-abandoned open-air towers. Picking up a drumstick, she beat on the drums, yelling down inaudibly at the Great Eel God.
Erik pulled ahead of me and ran over onto the tower as well, grabbing onto his mother’s arm.
“Mom, stop it! Please!” He screamed. She yelled back, tugging away from him and slapping at his face. As I started crossing over the wooden board, I looked down to see the eel god bringing its head back and swinging it like a bat. One pillar snapped with a thunderous cracking noise. The tower violently leaned onto an angle, sending Erik’s mother tumbling over the side.
Erik leapt right off as fast as lightning, one arm grabbing onto the wooden railing and the other clutching her forearm tightly as she dangled over the festival square. He caught his foot on the edge of the railing on the way down and I heard an audible crack and an agonized cry from him.
The eel god pulled back once more and slammed into the tower again. Erik’s fingers slipped and he fell. Literally throwing myself forward, I slammed into the railing and caught his hand with my right, both of us clutching tightly. Pain immediately ripped through my shoulder in protest from the sheer weight dangling from it.
Down below, the eel god opened its massive bloody maw. Its loose skin rippled as it roared, waiting for its sacrifices. Dangling several metres up, Erik’s mother struggled to land in it, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Erik! Let go of me, now!” She screamed.
“No! I’m not going to!”
“Let go!”
“Mom! Stop this. Just come back home with me.” He pleaded.
“He’ll will take me to his eternal kingdom.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Let go of me, Erik.”
“Please.” Tears were streaming down his face. “Don’t abandon me too. Don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone!”
“Erik…”
“I’ll have no one left if you go! Don’t leave me too!” He screamed from the very bottom of his heart.
“Erik!” I cried out. I could feel his fingers slipping from my grip. My shoulder screamed in sheer white-hot agony. “I…can’t hold on much longer.”
The eel god snapped its jaws impatiently, waiting for its food.
“I’m not letting go!” He shouted.
“Erik,” his mother said gently, a calm look on her face, “it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” He desperately shook his head.
“Listen. You still have your life ahead of you. It’s okay.”
“I’m not letting you go, mom!” Erik wailed, his voice going hoarse from the strain.
“Erik. I’m just going to see your father again. I’ve missed him so much.”
“Erik, please!” I begged, clinging onto him with the tip of my fingers, the two positioned right above the snapping jaws of the eel.
“…goodbye.” Erik whimpered.
“I love you.” She smiled.
And he let go.
She fell for just a second, and then she was gone, engulfed by the Great Eel God.
With the weight lessened, he gripped my hand with his other arm, and I pulled harder than I ever had in my life until we both collapsed on the floor of the precariously leaning tower.
“Is the god going to puke them out now?” I asked.
“He should.”
We watched as the Great Eel God raised its head and screeched one last time, and it turned and began slithering sideways through the wrecked village back into the sea without regurgitating a single person.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He wiped his tear-stained face. “I don’t think I can stand.”
I looked down to see his right leg had swollen considerably and turned black-blue with massive bruising.
“Alright, careful.” I wrapped one arm of him over my shoulders and we very carefully clambered up the sloped tower floor and onto the terrace.
Before us stood the village chief, blood profusely leaking from his forehead. He stared daggers at us and in his massive hands he held a huge woodcutter’s axe.
He opened his mouth to speak or snarl or maybe curse us before he hacked us to death, but I interrupted him before he could.
“Chief. Are you going to keep your god waiting?”
His head turned, watching the Great Eel God crawling halfway to the sea, sweeping houses and bloodied corpses with it.
The village chief dropped his axe with a metallic clatter and ran off into the ruined village after it.
 
Dawn broke on a brand-new day for Maelstrom.
Erik and I sat wrapped in a blanket, him leaning into my shoulder, softly crying at the utter carnage that had ensued in his hometown. Different emotions swept across me. Guilt, relief, despondence. I really felt like I had to do it. To finally expose the cultish religion that had seized hold of the town for the past few hundred years. I’d never expected such devastation to occur.
Local country police officers swept through the town, while paramedics and firefighters worked to help survivors and find anyone buried in the rubble. The flashing red and blue lights alarmed me at first, but nothing emerged from the sea after us.
A paramedic had applied a splint to Erik’s fractured shin, and I’d told disbelieving police officers to get divers or a submarine to look into what was underwater. Right now, I could spot people in wetsuits wading out of the water after a dive.
Elsewhere, I could see Sigrid embracing her family as they were taken out on stretchers, hurt but alive.
“Erik.”
“Nick…I don’t know what to do now.”
“You could come with me.”
“With you?”
“If you don’t want to stay here, that is. I don’t know what Maelstrom’s future holds, but me and Addison, we’ll be going upstate. And what I’m saying is, I’d be happy to have you join me. Join us.”
He was quiet.
“It’s up to you.”
“I think…I just want to sleep for now.” He lay his head fully on my shoulder, and I carefully wrapped a hand around his.
A police detective came up to me, dressed in a drenched coat. All colour had drained from his face.
“You’re the one who called us to check under the water?”
“Yeah. What did your divers see under there?”
His teeth were chattering. “This information will go nowhere. You’re not to speak about this to anyone.”
“What did you see? What’s inside the water?”
But he didn’t answer. He walked away, shaking his head and staring at the sky, as if asking the heavens for an explanation.
Holding onto Erik even tighter, I could only wonder what had become of those eaten by the Great Eel God.
   
Author's note: IceOriental123 here! Hope you enjoyed this kaiju story!
This turned out to be my longest short story yet, and definitely took a lot of work.
You can check out my other stories in my subreddit at this link.
The subreddit's still WIP but the story list in the link is updated.
Thanks for reading!

A newcomer to the strange town of Maelstrom finds himself embroiled in a strange festival dedicated to their Great Eel God
“Maelstrom! Everyone off for Maelstrom!” The lethargic voice of the bus driver rang out.
I felt a dozen seated eyes on me as I awkwardly stood up, mumbling apologies as I shuffled past the unhappy-looking man beside me and onto the aisle. I couldn’t help but notice the bus driver’s stare on me as I clambered down the steps off the rickety old bus. Nobody else had alighted with me.
“Hey, sir!” He called out. I gulped. Did he notice…?
“You sure you’re alighting here? Augusta’s two stops down.” He continued.
“I’m alighting here, that’s right.” I said, a small sense of relief washing through me. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, but apparently decided otherwise and bit his lip.
“You’re letting the bugs in!” An annoyed voice shouted from within the bus.
“Alright, suit yourself.” The driver gave me a slow shake of the head before closing the doors. The bus drove on down the lonely road, spluttering black exhaust as it clattered onwards.
I took a deep inhale, breathing in the salty scent of the sea. It had been a long time since I was on the coast, or anywhere nice, really.
It was a short walk off the road and along the coast before I came upon it: Maelstrom. The tiny quiet fishing village stretched from the coast all the way up the side of a hill. The villagers had carved the slope up into terraces, each packed with houses, narrowing the higher up the hill they went. Each terrace had its own path, and they were connected by steep flights of stairs cut into the earth.
Something caught my eye. At the heart of the village, around halfway up the hill, construction was ongoing. It seemed like some sort of festival square, wooden beams and arches draped with unlit white lanterns. Two open-air wooden towers flanked the square reaching in height to the next terrace up, a wooden plank connecting it to that path. Banners with all colours of the rainbow were strung up between them.
My gaze then leapt from house to house, spotting a lone red one at the very top where I presumed the village chief stayed, but none of them showed any signage designating them as an inn.
 
“An inn?” The first stranger I’d gone up to asked as if it were the strangest question in the world. He was slightly taller than me, with dry matted hair and leathery sun-baked skin. “We don’t have an inn.”
“You don’t?” My eyes widened.
“Don’t get visitors around here. We don’t like tourists.” He gnashed his crooked teeth together.
“I’m not a tourist. I just want to stay here for a few days before moving further upstate.”
“Well, doesn’t change much. We don’t have an inn, a motel, or a hotel here.”
“Great…thanks anyway.”
Staring at the man as he limped off towards the coast, various possible solutions ran through my head. This wasn’t going to be fun.
 
My sore knuckles rapped against the next door down.
“Hey, sir, I’m new in town. I’m wondering if you have a room that I could rent for about three to four days.” I forced a smile for the umpteenth time.
“No tourist is going to live in my house.” The bald grumpy fisherman slammed his door in my face.
“I don’t even have enough rooms for my own family, run along.” The bearded man with a long scar across his eye shooed me away.
“Leave!” I heard the elderly lady latching at least three locks on her door.
“Sorry, no openings here.” A young woman said, only peeking her right eye at me from behind her door.
The setting Sun’s orange rays peeked through from behind the hill and cast a long shadow behind me as I went for what must have been my millionth door and tapped on it. It slowly creaked open.
“Hi sir, I’m new here. Do you have room for rent or something?” I asked. God, I was thirsty.
“Room?” A raspy deep voice emerged from the house. Elongated thin fingers about the length of my hand wrapped around the edge of the worn wooden door and pulled it open, slowly revealing the inhabitant to me.
The man was tall, at least two metres in height. He towered far above me, bending down nearly 70 degrees to avoid hitting the doorframe. I barely reached his hips, which were supported on disproportionately long and thin legs. A belt had been curled three times around his waist to hold up his baggy pants…or were they regular-sized?
“You need a room, you say?” His beady eyes surveyed me as he leaned out the doorframe, then grunted in annoyance at the sunlight reflecting off the sea. The brief glimpse of him in the light illuminated what his wrinkled, sagging oval-shaped face. Both it and his long neck were covered in black festering sores. He settled back halfway out the door.
“I think I’ve one to spare, young man.” The man said, scratching his arms. I had a sudden, very bad feeling about this situation.
“A-actually, I don’t need one.” I stammered out.
“So, you knocked on my door for fun?” He glared at me, his scratching on his arms getting faster and faster. “I think it’d be rude not to come in to take a look, wouldn’t it?”
“No, no, um…how many rooms do you have on offer?”
“One.”
“Ah, see, I’m actually renting for two people.” I said, before another thought rushed into my mind. “And we both cannot stand being in the same room with each other.”
“Hmm…well I think I could spare two rooms.” He pondered, biting on the skin of his index finger and pulling it a dozen centimetres away before letting it snap back.
“Did I say two? I meant three people total.” I nodded frantically. “Three rooms. We all hate each other.”
He stared at me.
“Welp, gotta go then.” I gave him a slight bow and power-walked away from the house as fast as I could.
Just my luck! I grumbled under my breath as I walked off. I’d chosen this town since it was so remote and unknown. Just one review on Google too (one star), saying it was weird but cheap. Everything lined up, or so I’d thought.
Now what? Addison was probably heading this way, if she hadn’t been caught already, but it would take three or four days. The thought of sleeping rough in such a strange town didn’t bode well, but if I had no choice…
I was snapped out of my thoughts when I nearly walked straight into a thick wooden pillar in the middle of the terrace path. Looking round in annoyance at this awful bit of town design, I realised I’d accidentally stumbled my way onto the festival square. Nobody seemed to be around; it was evening after all.
Rounding the pillar of the leftmost tower, I stepped onto the festival square. It was about 15 metres wide or so, with the centre having a massive rectangular platform raised slightly from the ground, stretching to the edge of the terrace facing the sea. Perhaps they’d construct some altar of sorts, I thought.
I stared into the sea, waves gently lapping at the shore. I blinked. For a moment, I thought there had been something utterly massive under the waves.
“First time seeing this?” A gentle-sounding voice came from behind me. I quicky turned round to see an attractive young man, looking to be around my age, with loose, neck-length black hair and tanned skin, dressed in a T-shirt and frayed jean shorts.
“Umm…sorry I was just taking a look.” I tried to explain.
“Yeah, don’t worry, you’re new.”
“Oh, is it that obvious?” I scratched my hair sheepishly, cheeks turning red.
“We don’t get many visitors, and people who live here don’t gawk at the festival square like that.” He said, running his hand along the wooden pillar of the towers. As if on cue, a tall woman with stringy blonde hair walked by, clasped her hands, and slightly bowed at the square, before continuing onwards without a second glance at us.
“What’s this festival about anyway?” I asked, glancing round at all the beautiful decorations in the half-finished square.
The young man stepped closer to me and pointed out to the sea, where the waters twinkled with the orange sunlight and where several boats were slowly pulling back to the small harbour.
“This town worships a god, who lives in the sea. Each year, we hold a festival, lighting this square up, and bring him to shore where we give him our devotion.”
“And he shows up?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.”
“You don’t believe me, I get it.” He giggled. “Just look there.”
I followed his finger, watching it trace an invisible line from the square all the way to the coast, across dozens of houses. At first, I didn’t quite get what he was showing me. There wasn’t a road or path for this god of theirs, it was just various houses, somewhat haphazardly built.
That’s when I noticed it. These homes. They were repaired out of seemingly whatever materials the villagers could get, unlike the ones to the edges of the village or in the terraces of the hill. They looked awful, like two halves made from different materials and by different people had been awkwardly smushed together, but only houses in a rough wide line from the coast to the square. Almost as if a very precise tornado ripped through there a year ago.
Or a god.
“Well, if that’s true,” my mind was racing for explanations, “why would they rebuild their houses in the same place? Why not leave a proper gap for your god?”
“That’d be the smart choice, I guess,” he had a small grin on his beguiling face, “but people think its auspicious if their homes get touched by the divine.”
Touched? Just how big was this god of theirs, if he were actually real?
“When is this festival?”
“In two days. We’ve never actually had a newcomer arrive this close to the festival. Will you be staying?”
That stomped my current conundrum firmly back into my conscious thoughts and all I could do was sigh. “Well, I want to, but this place doesn’t actually have an inn, and people don’t want me to rent out a room.”
A twinkle seemed to appear in his brown eyes.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
 
“Hmm…”
I sat straight as a needle and sweated buckets as the short, middle-aged woman with dark eye circles and braided hair circled me, looking me meticulously up and down by the light of a candle.
At the other side of the small wooden dining table sat the young man, who I now knew as Erik, giving me an embarrassed smile, frequently averting his eyes.
“Mom, come on, isn’t that enough? Nick's fine.” He shook his legs anxiously.
“Hmm…he seems nice enough, not like a troublemaker.” She said in a wiry voice. Erik covered one side of his face in sheer awkwardness.
“Plus, he’s not bad in height.” She continued.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, throwing in a half-hearted laugh to avoid sounding rude.
“We like tall people around here. The taller, the better. It symbolises closeness with our deity.” Erik explained. The image of that grotesquely tall man staring at me in the doorframe crept back into my brain.
“We’ll let you take that room then.” Erik’s mother pointed to the closest of a set of three doors. “Rent will be $30 a day, and you will have to pay for what you eat here at the end of your stay.”
“Thank you so much!” I leapt up and shook her hand, feeling the weight of one solved problem being relieved, and at a price I could afford too! I’d been saving so much on my money that I’d even actually not gotten a real ticket for that bus ride. That would be solved once Addison makes it here. If she could without getting caught. Right away, I handed over the $30 in cash.
“Hope you like seafood.” Erik was positively beaming, an alluring smile from ear to ear.
“Don’t worry, I love seafood.” I said, sitting back down at the table again.
“Speaking of seafood, those useless fishermen caught less than half their usual haul today.” She said, bringing a plate of steamed fish to the table, the aroma making my famished stomach grumble.
“Mom, it’s just that they caught so many eels this time.” Erik said, clearly salivating at the food too.
“Eels are nice.” I said, causing both to look at me. “I’ve a friend, Kana, who’s really into researching them.”
“Research?” Erik’s mother raised an eyebrow.
“You know, studying them in jars, cutting them up after death, that kind of stuff.” I’d just finished the sentence, but it was like someone had taken a knife to the mood. Both the others at the dinner table now stared at their food, disdain slowly rising in Erik’s mother’s face.
“Um, Nick,” Erik cleared his throat, “eels are kinda sacred here in Maelstrom.”
I felt a deep sinking feeling in my gut.
“Sorry, really sorry, I didn’t know.” I said, looking over to Erik.
“Newcomers are always like this, right?” He gave his mom a light laugh in an attempt to defuse the situation.
“Don’t say it again.” She stared straight through my soul.
“Never will.”
 
The room they gave me was alright apart from all the junk that looked like it had been dumped in the corner and chopped apart with an axe.
“And that is?” I pointed at it, small candle in hand.
“Ah well,” Erik sat down on the bed, bouncing on the mattress a little, “this was my uncle’s room. But he did something we didn’t like.”
“We as in you and your mom?”
“We as in Maelstrom.” Erik looked down at his feet. “Look, there are some lines you don’t cross if you were born here, and he did.”
“And he’s…gone?”
“He left the village. Mom gave him three days to come back, and when he didn’t, she destroyed everything that he owned and has been looking for someone to live in this room for a while. To get rid of the scent, according to her.”
“Why not burn it, instead of just leaving it lying in a corner?”
“We’re not really allowed to start a fire so close to Storålens natt, even during the day. Inauspicious thing.”
“Sto-what?”
“The festival.” He let out a giggle. “Like I said earlier, we light up the square at night and bring our god in once a year. Every other night, Maelstrom is darkness incarnate.”
I peered out of the window, and he was right. The only light source was the dim glow from the candle in my hand. Everything outside the wooden windows had been swallowed up by the pitch-black night. I could hear footsteps in the dirt and some light chatter from nearby, but unease crept into me at not being able to actually lay eyes on those producing the sounds.
“That’s…creepy.”
“You get used to it. You can start unpacking now, I guess.” Erik motioned towards my bag.
“I don’t have much.” I chuckled softly, unslinging the backpack from my shoulders, placing it on the floor, and pulling my camera from it.
“Is that…?” His eyes widened.
“A digital camera, yeah. Smile.” I raised it to my eyes and aimed it at him. He let out a childish squeak and waved his outstretched hands to block his face.
“Don’t worry, I’m just joking.” I laughed again, lowering the camera and moving to replace it in my bag.
“Are you any good at photo taking?”
“Sure, I’m decent.”
“Hmm, I suppose it would be a waste to not take a picture.”
“So, you do want it, Erik?”
“Alright, Nick, you can take your photo. And you can delete it if it’s not good either.” He hurriedly threw the second sentence in.
“Smile.” I brought the camera up. Erik scrambled to a better position on the bed, crossing his left leg over the other and giving a slight smile. I clicked the button and enveloped him in a bright flash which made him flinch in surprise.
“Careful, don’t aim that out of the window.” He warned, before pushing that concern aside and practically bounding across the room to me. “How does it look? Not too bad, I hope.”
I flicked it over to gallery, staring at the captured image: his twinkling brown eyes, his smooth hair, and semi-confident look. “I think you look great.”
“That’s quite good. Uncle never took photos like this with his camera.” He rubbed his hands together in excitement.
“Did it get smashed to pieces?”
“He took it when he left.” He said with a wistful tone that clearly divulged some sort of longing for that man. “Do you have anything else fancy?”
“Just my extra clothes mostly.” I gave him an apologetic smile.
“You’re not traveling with much. Where are you going after these three days?”
“Upstate probably. Just waiting right now for a girl, Addison.”
“A…girlfriend?” He looked away at the floor.
“Nah, just a good friend. A partner of sorts.” I just hoped she’d avoided trouble so far.
“And you’ll be settling down somewhere in northern Maine then.”
“I suppose, yeah. You?”
“We’re not really allowed to leave. That’s part of why my mom was so mad about my uncle.” He sighed, anxiously fiddling with his fingers. “When we reach adulthood, all of us swear an oath for a lifetime of devotion to our god.”
Both of us fell silent for quite a few seconds before he awkwardly got up and cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to it then. Goodnight, Nick.”
“Goodnight, Erik.”
 
They say the first night in an unfamiliar place is always sleepless. I’d managed to sleep in all sorts of places just fine since I left home seven years ago. But now here I was, staring into the ceiling, engulfed in total darkness now that I’d snuffed the candle out. Something about Maelstrom was off. It wasn’t just the weird customs or religion. The whole village felt wrong.
As I tossed and turned in the bed too short for my stature, strange sounds began to creep through the closed windows. I strained my ears, trying to make it out.
That was…hammering? Sawing? Soft chatter. Dragging wood and metal. Slowly, I got to my feet and crept to the window, pulling them open. The noises got louder. It was definitely construction, and it seemed to be coming from the direction of the festival square. Of course, as much as I squinted, I failed to pierce the veil of night that hid them. Why were they doing building up the festival stuff without any light? It seemed like a safety hazard.
Should I…take a photo with flash?
No, no, awful idea. Erik already warned me about the rules. Physically shaking my head as if to get that dumb thought out of it, I closed the wooden windows again and settled back in bed, the sounds of them building the festival square forming a monotonous background noise.
I’d just began to drift into sleep when I heard a different, louder sound. Boots crunching in the rocks and dirt, getting closer and closer. My mind shot awake immediately, but I stayed lying under the blanket. Just someone passing by with materials, probably.
The footsteps got closer and closer until they got to outside my window. Then they stopped.
I sat up quietly.
Sniffing sounds came from outside. I heard the wooden windows slowly open with a creak.
As silently as I could, I reached into my bag, taking extra care until I felt the metal blade of my knife and the remnants of dried blood on it. Tracing my finger along until it touched the handle, I grabbed the weapon and pulled it out, crouching low to the ground and very slowly creeping until I was beside the window, which had just hit the angular limit of its opening.
Then nothing.
They were waiting, I was sure of it. Waiting for me or waiting for something. I couldn’t see a damn thing, so I only had my ears. It was quiet except for the distant construction and the loud thudding of my heart, pounding at my ribcage. My hands were so sweaty I was sure I was going to drop the knife and alert whoever it was.
I could smell something vaguely fishy. As in actual fish. What the hell was happening? Should I go back to the bedside and light the candle?
Something big touched me on the front of the chest. Barely able to restrain a yelp, I hacked the knife down as hard as I could, cutting through it. Something heavy thudded to the floor and a deep howl of pain came from outside the window. Footsteps quickly retreated away from my window towards the festival square.
One hand still clutched on the knife handle in a death grip, I backed away until I felt my legs hit the bed. My left hand swept across the bedside until I grabbed the lighter, flicking it on and reigniting the candle.
I pushed the windows closed with my foot to make sure no light escaped and crouched down to the floor, searching for whatever I’d chopped off. My heart nearly stopped when I saw red blood staining the wooden floor. Following the trail, I spotted my target.
Still squirming on the floor was a severed human finger, at least fifteen centimetres long.
 
All the colour drained out of Erik’s face when I showed him the bloody mess the next morning.
We went out for a walk at dawn at his insistence, and I watched as he quickly tossed the finger into a small pond nearby, where the fish began to devour it ravenously.
“Don’t talk about it.” He told me grimly, and I could do nothing but nod. After a quick breakfast, Erik led me down the hill and into the more coastal section of Maelstrom. We navigated through streets filled with junk, where stray cats hissed at us and tired-looking villagers shot us glances as they went about the chores. Up close, these hastily rebuilt houses looked even worse. Walls barely held up corrugated metal roofs and gaping holes led water into them.
Finally, we arrived at the vacant remnants of a house that evidently never got reconstructed. Most of the items in the house had been cleared, as had much of the debris, leaving several piles of junk and the occasional weathered piece of furniture, where two others sat, a young man and young woman with dark tanned skin.
“Who’s the tagalong?” The woman asked, giving us friendly waves.
“This is Nick, he showed up in Maelstrom yesterday. Nick, my friends Jonas and Sigrid.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“We haven’t had a newcomer come this close to Storålens natt before.” Jonas mused.
“How exciting.” Sigrid said with a level of sarcasm I didn’t know was possible. “You looking to get eaten too?”
“Eaten?!” I exclaimed in alarm. “What do you mean?”
Both of them looked over at Erik.
“What?” He shrugged sheepishly. “There wasn’t a good time to explain yesterday.”
“You’re saying this festival involves people getting eaten? I thought your god just came ashore, crushed a few buildings, and got worshipped.”
“See this house we’re sitting in?” Sigrid said.
“Not really much of a house.” I pointed out.
“Exactly. The Larsen family used to live here. Two elderly parents and an unmarried son. The two old folks got eaten a couple of festivals ago, and their son finally went with them last year. Nobody was left to rebuild this place, so the village chief just collected their stuff and distributed it.”
“You need to explain what the hell happens.”
“Our god, a great eel, comes out onto land on Storålens natt every year.” Erik said, a deep frown on his suddenly crestfallen face. “Part of the festival…the most important part…devotees feed themselves to him.”
I gulped reflexively.
“They stuff him as much as possible, and he vomits out most of them before he leaves. Those ‘lucky’ ones are consumed, and we believe he takes them to his underwater kingdom to live for eternity. The Larsens got lucky, as they say.”
Words failed me in the moment. I looked back and forth at all three of them. Jonas gave me a sympathetic shrug.
“And those that get thrown up?” I finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence.
“They get blessed by the Great Eel God, physically.” Sigrid said.
My mind, overwhelmed by racing thoughts, snapped on a crystal-clear image. “You mean they get really tall and thin.”
“That’s one of them.” She nodded.
“Erik,” Jonas said hesitantly, “is your mother still insisting on feeding the Great Eel God tomorrow?”
He looked away. Both Jonas and Sigrid gave him empathetic looks.
“But don’t you all think that’s good? I mean, in your religion?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to.” Sigrid sighed. “But once you’ve actually…lost people or seen them change, it doesn’t feel good.”
“All the proper adults, our parents, the chief, everyone. They say it’s the nature of youth to have shaky faith in the Great Eel.” Jonas threw his hands up. “As if we don’t know anything.”
“Hate the chief.” Sigrid growled. “Spineless prick. When my grandma got eaten, he scolded me when I was sad. Said I was selfish.”
“We just have to go with it. Not like we can leave anyway.” Jonas continued.
“Why not?”
“I already told you last night. We’re not allowed to.” Erik said.
“Are there guards preventing you from leaving?”
“Um…no?”
“Then why can’t you leave?” The three of them stared at me incredulously.
“We can’t just leave our parents, you dick.” Jonas’ face reddened.
“It’s Nick. And I ran from my home when I was just 13. Sometimes, if there’s a situation where you just have to get out, you get out, even if it hurts. You have to let go.”
They all glanced at each other, except Erik, who stared at the ruined ground and refused to look over.
“And has your life been good since you ran away?” Sigrid asked.
I took a sharp inhale. “Well, no, it’s been pretty awful to be honest, but it was better than staying with my mom and dad. I’m just saying, really think about it.”
We stayed talking for a while, them prodding me for life details and me prodding them on this festival, but nothing substantial came from it. Sigrid and Jonas showed me around the coast, and before I knew it, the Sun was setting again. We bid goodbye to the two and Erik led me back up the hill through the steep terrace staircases and back to his home.
As we reached the terrace where his home was located, our path was blocked by two figures. I recognised the first man immediately. Looming menacingly before us was the same tall, thin man that I had rejected the room rent offer from, his saggy face with disgusting black sores moving closer to me.
“Village chief!” Erik greeted immediately, standing up straight.
“He’s the village chief?” My disbelief that my luck could be that bad rising.
“Is there a problem?” The village chief rubbed his ten spindly fingers together.
“Oh, no, chief. I’d just assumed that the village chief would be staying at that lone house up there.” I pointed to the highest house on the hill, roof glinting with sunlight.
“That’s just where Old Henriksen stays. Just a weirdo who never shows up.” Erik explained. A weirdo even by Maelstrom’s standards? That I had to see.
“Through my tenure as chief and my predecessors before me, it was deemed untenable to move Old Henriksen from his rightful home. But enough about that. I see you have decided to stay, newcomer.” He said.
“Yes, with Erik here.”
His lips curled open, but not into a smile, instead showing his rotting pointed teeth.
“I recall you saying you had two companions with you who required separate rooms. Yet young Erik here only has one room to spare, that of his rotten uncle.” His breath was pungent like rotting fish and meat.
“They decided they hated this place and left for Augusta.” I stood as strong as I could, barely hiding the sheer panic telling me to run for the next town.
“Very well. You are welcome in Maelstrom, even to observe Storålens natt, but we will not allow you to participate.”
“I understand.” Not like I wanted to get eaten by this supposed eel god anyway.
“And you will not take any photographs or videos to share with the outside world. This is our most sacred ceremony…I hope you understand for your own good.” He slapped me on the shoulder with his hand, fingers wrapping halfway down my spine.
“Of course.” I said, stepping back to dislodge the physical contact. “We will be hosting it here tomorrow night.” He gestured at the festival square one terrace step down. Work had been done on it since yesterday. A wooden roof structure with angular bent pillars covered the rectangular platform, now covered with a glittering piece of purple velvety cloth. The decorations of unlit lanterns and banners was far more complex, criss-crossing over and hanging from every available height.
“One more thing, don’t forget not to use any bright lights at night, or there will be consequences.” The chief said, breaking into a smile. “At last, after having been so devoted for so long, I will finally get my chance to join our god down in his eternal abyssal domain.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Erik asked, surprised.
“Yes, Edvard here will be taking over.”
The man behind him, even taller and thinner with crumpled scratchy skin, nodded in a way that was somehow threatening. He scratched furiously at his face, where the skin was clearly peeling off and red raw.
“You better listen, newcomer.” His voice was thin and croaky.
His hand. Where his index finger should be was instead bandaged and stained with dried red blood.
“Lost your finger recently?” I stared at him. He returned the gaze with his beady dark eyes.
“Fishing accident.”
 
The exquisite taste of the salmon was almost enough to make me cry.
Erik’s mother looked at me amused as I scarfed down the food as soon as it touched my plate.
“See, son? My cooking is as good as it still is.” She boasted with the proudest grin on her face.
Erik stared sullenly into his own plate of food, taking the smallest nibbles once in a while. As dinner went on, his mother talked constantly to both of us, but he never replied to her once.
“What are you so angry about?” She finally asked. “Is it about Storålens natt?”
He didn’t speak.
“Erik, I’ve been waiting for this chance for a long time. I know your faith is shaky.”
Silence.
“Your father got lucky that day, you know?”
“He did. But we didn’t.” Erik mumbled just loudly enough for us to hear.
“Stop talking nonsense, Erik.”
“He got to go to his eternal underwater kingdom. We had to live life without him.”
“You should be happy for him.”
“I am. I’m just not happy for us.”
“I know you miss him, Erik. I miss him too.”
“Then why did you let him go?” He was shouting. “Why did you let the Great Eel God consume him?”
“It’s what he wanted.”
Erik silently shook his head, staring down at the table. “He was being selfish, letting us go.”
“Erik, what are you talking about?” His mother snapped at him.
“How much of our money did you have to spend on this?” He jabbed a fork at the salmon.
“Having a guest over is a special occasion.” His mother awkwardly glanced at me.
“Uncle Jakob had to get two jobs to help earn us enough money. He saw Storålens natt for what it was. That’s why he ran away.”
“That idiot abandoned us!” She slammed a palm on the wooden table. “He left us to have to fend for ourselves.”
“Isn’t that what dad did too?”
The sheer boiling rage displayed across her face made me want to cower under the furniture. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him with little resistance to her room and slammed the door shut. I heard loud cursing and the sound of palms colliding onto flesh. My appetite suddenly gone, I hurriedly retreated into my room.
About half an hour later, I heard the door open and slow footsteps shuffle into Erik’s bedroom. I heard him crash onto his bed and softly sob for a long while. Part of me urged me to go over to talk to him, comfort him, but when I stood up, nothing but a huge wave of anxiety and fear washed over me.
Giving up on that thought, I sat back down on the bed and took my camera out in the dim candlelight. Clicking into the gallery immediately took me to the pleasant photo of Erik last night.
Could I? Should I?
Two sides of my mind were in fierce debate. I’d enough run-ins with the law not to risk it. Not to mention the village chief had warned me of ‘consequences’.
But listening to the quiet weeping next door, I had to. I was going to capture evidence of this accursed festival tomorrow and get some sort of law enforcement intervention.
 
Read PART TWO here.

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott
Episode 11: Full Metal Drama
"Last week, on Total Drama Action. Our competitors took it on the chin as they faced an all-you-can-eat buffet of deadly natural disasters."
"But, it was Scott's own feet that tripped him up. His newly-broken bone took him out of the challenge, and cost him the use of an arm. A rough life for the dirt farmer, but his teammates had it even rougher."
"We threw the competitors into a submarine simulator and forced them to find their way out, and thanks to a certain bully using his brain rather than his brawn, both teams were able to live for another day."
"Sound tough? Get used to it!" The scene moved to a close-up of Chris standing in front of a building. "Because this week, it's all-out war!" The camera zoomed out, revealing a tropical war zone set, complete with sandbags, a bunker, a guard tower, and even a bomb lying on the ground. He pointed to a chart that had been set up next to him with drawings of tanks, fighter jets, and a dotted trail leading to an 'X'. "It's a desperate battle for survival, on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode opened with a shot of the communal bathroom before the scene cut inside it.
MK and Scott were currently inside eating chips and drinking soda respectively in front of the sinks. “So how are you handling this broken arm situation?” MK asked her teammate.
“Horribly,” Scott grunted. “I use my right arm for everything, and with that broken, how am I supposed to whittle or scratch my armpits?”
MK winced at the last part. “Too much information.”
“It's bad enough that I have to wear this bandana until my brand is off completely,” Scott pointed at the orange cloth. “Having my arm in a sling will screw things up for us.”
“Tell me about it,” MK snorted. “And don't be a bummer. You're getting compensated for your injury.”
“I was getting to that, MK,” Scott said. “Because I threatened to sue them, I've been treated much better, especially by Chef who has to work extra as punishment for his secret alliance. I got my own bathroom to shower in, I got to eat actual quality food, and yesterday, they even told me that me and my family will receive a hundred thousand bucks just to make sure we won't take action.”
This information led to MK gaping. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as a barn burning down,” Scott nodded. “With this amount of money, we can finally get our farm reconstructed.”
“You can stop now before I get jealous, Scott,” MK told him.
“Yeah yeah,” Scott shook off. “So anyway, we have to talk about who we're gonna vote off next, and that would have to be Izzy.”
“Izzy? Why her?” MK raised an eyebrow.
“She just rejoined the game a couple of days ago, and we already have a history in season one,” Scott reasoned. “If we're not careful, she can convince Ripper and Chase to vote me out.”
“That is a reasonable explanation,” MK agreed. “But maybe we could get Chase on our side for the vote. Ripper likes Izzy, so he's not an option.”
“As long as we have more votes, Izzy will be taken down,” Scott smirked.
“Absolutely,” MK smiled back.
Confessional: MK
“...not!” MK said in the make-up trailer. “Me and Scott may be in an alliance, but in this game, we'd usually have to backstab each other to get what we want. If we lose, I'm obviously telling the team to gun for him. After the elimination ceremony, I'll have to make sure that I'm not gunned for, and I know just how to do that.”
Confessional Ends
The footage skipped forward, showing the contestants walking warily as Chris passed them in an army helmet and sunglasses. "Today, we're all about war movies," he told them, the shot zooming out to show Chef glaring nearby in his drill instructor's uniform.
"So, look lively you...," Chris began to say.
"Buckets of horse doo-doo!" Chef finished with a growl into their faces.
"So, get ready for the first death-defying challenge, you...," Chris began again.
"Disgustin' slimy crustaceans!" Chef finished once more.
"Move it, privates!" Chris ordered. "Fall in!"
"Sir yes sir!' the cast said as one.
Confessional: Izzy
"I have all the skills required to be a marine," Izzy said enthusiastically in the make-up confessional. "I am stealthy, tough, and loud enough, and I can handle a weapon, but I do value my freedom."
Confessional Ends
The camera cut to Ripper and MK as the Grips walked off. "I cannot wait to go to war," the techno girl said. "I've played my fair share of Battlefront, and my squad has won a lot of online multiplayer gaming titles. Most of the time, we don't even use teamwork."
“I hate to break it to you, but we're not in your little tech world,” Ripper said in an annoyed tone as the rest of the team joined in. “Just leave all the marine stuff to me today.”
“Let you do all the work and take all the credit?” MK glared. “Not happening, Buster.”
“Now wait a second-” Ripper began to glare back.
“Quit taking shots at each other!” Chase got in-between the two. “We can make a plan when we're at the challenge site, okay?”
“Seriously, I've seen my pigs fight over less,” Scott huffed as MK and Ripper continued to glare at each other.
Confessional: Ripper
“I'm really at my wits end with that shortstack,” Ripper complained. “Who does she think she is insulting and putting down the best looking guy on the show… me! Thankfully, MK won't be able to listen to me rant about her.”
Confessional: MK
MK was watching Ripper's previous confessional on her phone, especially the part about him bragging about himself. “It's so silly how he thinks I can't listen to everything he says,” she confessed after turning off her phone.
Confessionals End
The scene briefly flashed to the numbered studios with the sound of a plane engine in the background, the camera panning up to show the fake cliff before flashing to what looked like the inside of some kind of plane. The two teams were shown in a split screen with the Gaffers on top and the Grips on the bottom, all nine teens wearing blindfolds.
"Okay people," Chris said, "remove your blindfolds!" The contestants did as commanded, and the viewpoint shifted to show the teams sitting along opposite walls as the host walked in front of the camera. "When it comes to making a war movie," he said, the viewpoint moving again to show that he was standing next to a large trunk, "jumping out an airplane is the most dangerous stunt there is." He popped the trunk open, revealing several parachute packs within. "So naturally," he began to yell as he slid open a nearby door, the winds roaring inside the room, "it's our first challenge!"
MK and Scott gasped, as did Millie, and even Justin looked shocked.
"Chris really set the record for the shortest amount of time between the start of the challenge and our lives being endangered," Jasmine deadpanned over the roaring wind and engine.
“If we live, I'm going to file a complaint that's sure to get Chris replaced with a nicer and more considerate host,” Millie shouted.
“Nice grit for an underdog,” Jasmine grinned.
“Underdog?” Millie asked.
“Underdogs usually have a lot of fight and honor in them, and you've been tapping into it a lot,” Jasmine complimented her friend. “Keep it up.”
Millie felt flustered by her words. “I, uh, thank you.”
Justin soon sat in-between the two of them. “Jasmine, Millie! I want to propose something, but don't get excited, it's not marriage!” he chuckled. “Uh, anywho, it's a long way from the airplane to the ground below!”
“Exactly three kilometers!” Millie confirmed.
“Wouldn't know. Math is for ugly people,” Justin said. “Here's the deal! I need you two to jump before me in case I need a soft place to land, okay?!” The eye candy blinked his eyelashes only to receive blank stares from the girls. “Now, you girls know that I don't blink these eyelashes at just anybody!” He did the same thing again and got the same response. “Nothing?! When were your last eye exams?!”
"Drop zone approaching!" Chris announced after sticking his head out the open door. "Form a line, it's time to par-tay!"
The Gaffers were shown standing up as the host continued. "Stunt people undergo weeks of training before they parachute," he said as the Grips stood up as well, Jasmine walking forward hesitantly. "Luckily, we're gonna skip all that and get to the good part: Jumping!"
"That doesn't sound like a good idea!" Scott told the host.
"What's the worst that could happen?" Chris asked him.
"We die!" Anne Maria answered with annoyance and anger.
"I know!" Chris grinned. "Hilarious! Haha! Time to jump!"
"Well, there's no point standing here like statues," Izzy walked towards the trunk of parachutes with Scott.
“Hey McLean, can I skip out on the jump?” Scott asked. “My arm is broken!”
"Sorry Scott," Chris told him, "but you gotta jump too! Try not to land on your right arm, okay?" He then pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and turned his back on the now-enraged Scott.
“Someone's definitely going to increase the amount of money me and my family will get,” Scott whispered bitterly.
"At least we get parachutes," Chase told the injured boy.
"Actually, change of plans!" Chris interrupted, closing his phone and stowing it back in his pocket. "I just spoke to our research department, there were no parachutes in World War I!"
"So what do we do for the challenge?" Ripper asked.
"Simple," Chris replied as he shoved the trunk of parachutes out the door with his foot.
The contestants gasped, though a fearless Izzy was the first one to jump out the plane shouting “Tell my pet rock I love her!”
None of the other contestants made a move, though, and Chris scowled. "Okay, you kids better start jumping or I will have Chef tilt the plane and force you out!"
“That's all the motivation I need!” Chase said quickly and dived out into the air with a fearful cry.
"Who's up next?" Chris asked the remaining castmates with a smile.
The scene cut outside the plane as the contestants jumped out one by one. First MK, then Ripper, then Scott to round out the Gaffers with a terrified shout each as they quickly disappeared into the clouds below the plane. Next was Jasmine looking determined, followed by a shrieking Millie. Justin gulped and took the plunge, and Anne Maria came out last with a holler, and the host briefly looked out and below with a surprised look on his face before the clouds filled the scene.
They dispersed moments later to reveal all nine contestants in a heap on top of a large mattress.
"Hooray! We're alive!" Scott groaned. The camera zoomed out, showing that they were in a movie set. The plane was a wingless fake hanging from the ceiling only a few yards above the mattress, and the high winds were caused by a pair of giant fans operated by Chef Hatchet. On the back wall, level with the plane's windows and door, was a sky-patterned background made to continuously scroll and give the illusion of movement within the plane.
Chef shut off the fans, and the castmates groaned and began to get back up. "Let's roll, soldiers," Chris told them, now back on the ground. "Because the second part of this challenge is gonna blow your minds!" He grinned as he spoke before leaning towards the teens. "And everything else within a fifty-foot radius!"
Confessional: Chase
“If I had know that we would land on a mattress, I would’ve just let Chef force us all out,” Chase confessed.
Confessional Ends
The scene immediately flashed forward to a close-up of a green tarp being taken off a pile of grenades and bombs. "Are those," Jasmine asked as the camera pulled back to show her and the other Grips standing with Chris and the tarp-pulling Chef by a blast shield outside, "paint bombs?"
"We've divided the camp into two halves," Chris told them, the Grips watching with blank looks while the Gaffers were shown in a similar but mirrored position on the other side of the two men. "Most creative and controlled splatter wins."
“Alright gang,” Jasmine clapped her hands in order to get her team's attention. “Here's how our explosion is going to go. We'll have to lay our explosives in a pattern in order to make sure that the paint coverage will be more noticeable than the Gaffers’.”
“Excellent idea. I'll handle the explosives. I passed chemistry in my high school,” Millie eagerly walked off.
“Wonderful,” Jasmine smiled.
“I'll help as well,” Anne Maria said after she stopped using hairspray on her pouf. “I could ward off the other team by sprayin’ them in their eyes if they even think about spyin’ on us.”
“Not a big fan of harming our competition, but you do you,” Jasmine said uncertainly.
“And I'll be letting my butt have its beauty rest!” Justin chuckled suavely while laying back on a nearby hammock tied between two trees.
This did not go unnoticed by Anne Maria and Jasmine, who both flipped Justin off the hammock and into the ground.
“You're gonna help us with this challenge and not get any special treatment,” Jasmine scolded.
“Is it getting hot out here?” Justin took off his shirt and demonstrated his pecs. “Now if you'll notice, I don't sport a six-pack. I got twelve. That's a dozen smoking mandominals.”
“Get workin’, lazybones!” Anne Maria demanded and stomped off.
“This, this can't be right,” Justin panicked. “Have I really lost my lady controlling mojo?” He turned to the tallest member of the team. “Say it ain't so!”
“No need spouting the obvious, Justin,” Jasmine replied uncaringly.
“This challenge was designed for me!” Ripper told the Gaffers. “What do I not love more than exploding things?!”
“Being a numbskull, for instance,” MK retorted. “I seem to remember you saying that you let people do all the work for you. And we're supposed to trust you on this?”
“Adding my two cents onto this, I would've done the same thing if I was Ripper,” Scott added snidely.
“I'm sorry, MK, but I think we have to stick with Ripper on this one,” Chase said with a hand on MK's shoulder.
“Why?” MK objected. “I actually worked hard to get an A in chemistry.”
“Explosives Boy overrules Chemistry Girl,” Scott shrugged.
"Okay, time's up!" Chris announced, the camera cutting to his close-up as he entered the scene. "Uh-oh, looks like you didn't even get started."
“Not so fast, Chris!” the voice of Izzy cried out, and everyone turned their heads to see her smiling with her foot on a bomb and multiple bombs plastered around her team's site.
“Whoa. Now that's what I call thorough,” Chris narrated.
Chase hesitantly moved over to the curly haired girl. “Iz, what did you do?”
“Plant the explosives while you guys were at each other's throats,” Izzy giddily said.
Confessional: Izzy
“When Chris mentioned explosives and bombs, that was a sign that my team is lucky to have me on their side,” Izzy gloated. “I could blow up a hotel if I wanted to, but I refrain unless I'm extremely tempted.”
Confessional Ends
Another cut took the scene to the Grips, standing behind the blast shield that was between them and a set that was very much like the Gaffers', except that it had been mirrored. There were no visible bombs around, and they were all wired into a plunger held by Chris.
"Grips, are we ready?" Chris asked, handing the plunger over to Millie.
"Likewise," the writer said with a confident smile. As she pushed the plunger down, part of Richard Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' began to play in the background. One by one, explosions of green paint began to go off around the Grips' area – in the guard tower, behind the sandbags, near the bunker door, and several off the bunker's roof. The music ended as one final explosion splattered the blast shield, stunning Anne Maria, Jasmine, and Justin.
As the dust cleared around their blast site, the camera pulled back to reveal a massive rendition of the Grips' light-bulb-and-crossbones logo in green paint.
"Nice show of team spirit," Chris told the four.
"I must say, that was very impressive," Justin admitted to Millie as the host walked away.
"What can I say? I wanted to make an explosion that would be mind-blowing, but still tame," Millie told him smugly. "You're welcome."
The shot cut back to the Gaffers' side of the camp, starting on their explosive-laden set before panning over to the five waiting behind their blast shield with Chris.
"Are we ready to blow it up?" Chris asked excitedly, with Izzy standing by a larger plunger than what the Grips had used.
"We're ready! Uno, dos, tres!!!" Izzy chanted and eagerly pushed the plunger down.
Almost immediately, a chaotic series of explosions were set off all around the base. They were accompanied by hectic and disjointed notes in the background music, and the host and other four Gaffers were shown cringing with their fingers in their ears. Eventually the explosions stopped, the dust settled, and everyone except Izzy leaned past the paint-splattered wall with curious expressions.
The camera panned to the left, showing what appeared to be a shapeless blob of paint. No patterns were apparent in it, and the areas that had been left untouched seemed to be random as well.
"Welp, at least it was controlled..." Chris said with a frown.
“Just come over here,” Izzy grabbed the host by the wrist and dragged him over to another spot.
"Hey, there's no touching the host!" Chris said indignantly, yanking his hand free as soon as Izzy stopped moving.
"Look now!" Izzy directed his attention back to the pain splatter.
Chris turned his head, and almost immediately began to brighten up. "It's...it's…beautiful!" he said, wiping away a tear as the viewpoint moved behind him, showing Izzy's paint pattern from another angle – it took the shape of the host's own grinning face.
"The Gaffers are victorious!" he announced, walking back to the other Gaffers by the blast wall. The Gaffers began to cheer and celebrate. "It is my honor to present your prize," Chris added just before Chef appeared wheeling a large and ornate-looking red chest on a handcart. "The Big Trunk of Mind-Blowing Secrets! You'll be defending it with your very lives when we return to more, Total! Drama! Action!"
The shot cut back with each word of the title, showing the defeated Grips standing by in shame.
(Commercial Break)
The episode came back on a shot of the cloudy sky, panning down to show Scott and Chase standing together by a potted palm tree.
"So what is it that you want to talk to me about?" Chase asked. "If it's to brag about your luxuries, then I don't want to hear it."
"It's not about that, Chase," Scott rolled his eyes. “I wanna talk about who we have to vote off tonight.”
“What do you mean “we”?” Chase grew curious. “I know who I'm going to vote for, and it doesn't take Einstein to figure out who it is.”
“I know I'm not the coolest kid on the block, but we have to pick off Izzy,” Scott suggested.
“And why would I do that?” Chase asked.
“She's a wild card, and she got back into the competition not once, but twice,” Scott emphasized. “Do you really want to face off against her in the finale?”
Scott left the athletic boy alone to ponder about his decisions.
The footage flashed forward to Chris McLean standing by the trunk he'd brought out. "Contestants, get ready to begin your next war challenge!" he announced. "It's a giant game of 'Capture the Flag', except in this case the flag is the Trunk of Mind-Blowing Secrets!" The camera zoomed in on the trunk at an angle, and the ornate thing seemed to glow radiantly.
"There's only one way to learn what's in the trunk," he told the off-screen castmates, "and that's to win the challenge. As your reward, we'll give you immunity from tonight's vote, aaaanndd a peek inside. But be ready. The secrets inside will blow your brains to bits!"
"I need my brain!" Ripper whined.
"Not to worry," Chris told him, holding up a roll of duct tape. "A roll of tape will be provided so you can tape the gray matter back together."
"Gaffers," Chris said as he walked over to what looked to be a building covered in a sheet bearing the logo of the Screaming Gaffers, "this is your base camp." Chef watched from close by, his hands angrily on his hips, as the host and the five teens began to arrive, Chase and Izzy carrying the trunk by the pair of poles sticking out on opposite sides. "Our set decoration team wanted to build you guys a towering castle, full of defensive possibilities! But, they went to see a movie instead, sooo..." Chris trailed off as Chef grabbed the sheet. "We're gonna give you this!"
The sheet was pulled away, revealing an utterly decrepit wooden shack. "I think it's a tool shed," the host said uncertainly before the building creaked and collapsed into a dusty heap of rotten planks and miscellaneous garden tools. "Was a tool shed," Chris corrected. "Good luck!"
"How are we gonna defend this big trunk out in the open?" Izzy asked.
"We just have to put our heads together and come up with a plan," MK answered.
“You guys do what you want. I'll be setting some booby traps,” Chase told the team and walked away.
“In first World War movies, the soldiers would always have underground hiding places,” MK said as she gave Izzy a shovel and held one of her own. “Those would be foxholes.”
“With me digging, why not call it a foxy-hole,” Izzy quipped.
“I'm just glad that I don't have to dig at all,” Scott bragged. “Using one hand only won't make the job faster.”
As Izzy began to dig rapidly with Scott watching her, MK turned to Chase and Ripper laying a net down on the ground with headlights attached. “Chase, Ripper, the rest of us agreed on a plan,” she informed. “We could use a little help.
“And we could also use you shutting up!” Ripper retorted. “We're busy!”
Confessional: MK
“If I wasn't so focused on strategy, I'd switch targets from Scott to Ripper just to spite his butt,” MK sniffed. “It's hard finding common ground with that jerk.”
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back with a shot of MK and Izzy digging a large hole in the distance and Scott observing them as though viewed through binoculars. "So what's going on?" Millie asked off-camera as the binoculars were lowered and the viewpoint shifted to Jasmine.
"Izzy and MK are currently digging and Scott is just standing there," Jasmine explained, "although I don't know if it's because they want to bury the trunk or construct a foxhole."
"What about the others?" Anne Maria asked.
"I don't know," Jasmine replied. "Ripper and Chase seem to have disappeared."
"I say we attack immediately!" Anne Maria declared with an air of formality.
"I say we don't," Millie shook her head. "The team obviously outnumber us and have defensive capabilities. Confronting them at this point would be really dumb."
"So what do we do?" Justin asked.
"What we need to do is to proceed intelligently if we want to win the challenge," Millie said.
“Sure. Let’s wait for the other team to set up more traps that will never let us get that trunk,” Anne Maria said sarcastically.
“That’s not what we’re going to do, Anne Maria,” Jasmine assured. “Millie, how are we gonna go about doing this?”
"We should send two people down there in order to figure out what they’re up to," Millie suggested. "That honor should go to Justin and Anne Maria."
"And why us?" Justin objected.
"Me and Jasmine need to think of a plan number two in case this plan fails," Millie reasoned. "All you guys have to do is execute this one."
"Whatever you say, Mil," Anne Maria said before grabbing Justin’s arm and walking away. "Let's go, hot stuff."
Confessional: Anne Maria
“I’m kinda surprised that Justin didn’t try to weasel his way outta the plan,” Anne Maria confessed. “What’s his game?”
Confessional: Justin
“We really need to win this challenge,” Justin said seriously. “By the look of things, my charms aren’t going to win the girls over and I’ll likely be the one going home today. So for the sake of my game, I’ll help out.”
Confessionals End
The footage skipped ahead to Anne Maria and Justin charging into the clearing the Gaffers started. "Where are they?" Justin asked after they stopped. “Jasmine just saw them.”
"Split up and look in other directions," Anne Maria ordered. “They may be hidin’ someplace else.”
The camera zoomed into the hole the Gaffers were in. "So how long do we have to stay in here for?" Izzy asked MK.
"Hopefully long enough for the Grips to admit defeat," MK answered.
"We’re good for now. We just have to not act stupid and blow our cover," Scott said while rubbing his sling. “And I don’t normally do this, but good job on the explosion, Izzy. It really helped us win the first part.”
Izzy was stunned to hear this. “Did you just… compliment me?” the wild child asked.
“Yeah, I did,” Scott replied. “I thought you’d just make a random explosion given how nuts you are, but you actually planned it out.”
“Yeah, how did you come up with the plan to just demonstrate Chris’s face?” MK asked.
“Chris is extremely narcissistic and vain,” Izzy explained. “Anything that revolves around his image will make him score us big points.”
“You’re not joking about that,” MK rolled her eyes. “He’s more likely to marry himself.”
The scene cut to Justin and Anne Maria meeting up with each other in front of the Gaffers' hideout. "Were you able to find the Gaffers? Because I could not," Justin said.
“I had no luck as well,” Anne Maria recapped.
The camera zoomed out to reveal that the duo were on top of the net trap, and they got hoisted up in the air by it.
"Got you dorks!" Ripper's laughing voice said off screen. The camera cut to him coming out of a nearby tree. "Chase, now!"
Chase's yell was heard as he swung on a cord before landing in front of the two Grips. He cut the rope holding the net trap, and Anne Maria and Justin were flung out of sight.
The camera cut back to the Grips' starting location. Millie and Jasmine watched in shock as their teammates crashed into the ground and groaned after they landed, prompting them to go check on their moaning teammates.
“There's, there's a... there's a scratch!” Justin said after feeling his face. “My face can't continue to take all this abuse! I'm losing it! You… you… you gotta let me go on leave!”
“I ain’t buyin’ any of this,” Anne Maria scoffed as she stood up and rubbed the dirt off her clothes.
“We all get scratches. I got a mosquito bite on my neck once, but that didn’t stop me from going to my job,” Jasmine lectured.
Anne Maria and Jasmine walked off, and Justin turned his eyes to Millie. “Millie, I know you’re a female. Can you help?”
“You were able to have girls wrapped around your finger, and now you’re getting zero play,” Millie summarized with apathy.
“You really are quick-witted,” Justin said in surprise.
“Relationship with Chase aside, I don’t really think you’re that cute,” Millie said. “Why else did I not want to kiss you in that challenge?”
“Like I care what you think,” Justin shot back in an offended manner and finally got off the ground.
Confessional: Justin
“Me? Not cute? I'll tell you who's not cute. Blind people named Millie!” Justin stated, upset.
Confessional Ends
"So it seems that the Gaffers will not come out until they're sure that we forfeit," Millie told her team.
"Which we’re not going to do," Jasmine said.
"Wasn't even planning on it," Anne Maria told her. "We should attack again the minute they show their faces, and I have a way to make sure that we’ll take that trunk."
"You two definitely have to help us this time," Justin reminded Jasmine and Millie. "We'll be outnumbered otherwise."
The footage returned to the Gaffers, Ripper and Chase now with them. "How much time do we have left?" Izzy childishly asked her team.
"I don't know and I don’t care, but we're still staying in this joint until time is up," MK declared.
"How many traps did you guys even set up while you were gone?" Scott questioned Chase and Ripper.
"We set up a total of four," Chase claimed. "Anne Maria and Justin hit one of them, so now we have three."
“This is why you shouldn’t doubt us, MK,” Ripper told his short teammate.
“I didn’t doubt you. I just wanted you to stay and help us,” MK argued. “And just because the other team set off one trap, doesn’t mean that I have to worship you like you’re Jesus,” she said before smirking, “and there’s no way you’re even next to godliness.”
“Pot calling the kettle black much?” Ripper snorted. “I still helped out, even if it wasn’t by your rulebook.”
“MK smart, Ripper strong,” Chase interrupted. “Can we all just agree that we’re special in our own ways?”
Ripper and MK frowned at each other and sighed.
“You’re not as dumb as you look,” MK grumbled.
“And you’re not an extreme big mouth,” Ripper mumbled.
“Good. I’m done playing mediator for the day,” Chase said.
"This is getting boring," Izzy moaned impatiently. "We should just go out there and attack the Grips."
"I’m tired of waiting as well," Scott spoke up. “Those losers are not getting our trunk.”
"We’re done arguing today, so how about we put it to a vote?" Ripper suggested.
"All in favor of going in for battle?" Chase asked as he raised his arm up, as did Ripper, Scott, and Izzy.
"I’m clearly outnumbered here,” MK sighed. “We'll go out in the open, but bring the trunk along."
The scene flashed to the Gaffers coming out of their hole and putting their trunk down. They saw the Grips charging at them, and they prepared themselves.
"There’s four of them and five of us," Scott took note with a grin. "I’m liking our odds already."
“But how are we going to take them down exactly?” Chase asked.
Izzy whipped out a smoke bomb from behind her back and held it up high. “Smoke bomb! Never leave home without it!”
As soon as the Grips reached their site, Izzy proceeded to throw the bomb at them. The Grips froze at the sight of this, but Anne Maria took out two hair spray cans, and after the smoke bomb hit the floor, a large white cloud covered the screen, but Anne Maria was able to spray their way out of it, and the team resumed running.
“Retreat!! Retreat!!” Izzy ordered her team, but it was too late when Anne Maria threw her spray cans on the floor in front of the Gaffers, and after they exploded, the Gaffers coughed profusely due to the extreme stench, leaving the trunk alone for the Grips to grab.
“So long, Gaffers!” Anne Maria taunted. “Grips rule!”
The scene cut to the Grips dropping the trunk on the floor after they returned to their site. “And that’s how we win it!” Anne Maria boasted.
"Time's up!" a sudden announcement came as Chris walked into view along with the other castmates. "The Grips have stolen the chest, putting them in the winner's circle."
"That means," Chris added while walking towards the Gaffers, "the Gaffers will be sending home one of their own tonight. And now, it's time to reveal to the winners," a reverent tune began to play as a spotlight was placed on the trunk, "the mind-blowing secrets within this trunk! Here's what you were fighting for, team!" The lid popped open, and Jasmine and Millie looked inside.
Their grins rapidly faded away as the reverent music came to a sudden and scratchy stop. "All that work," Millie said with a shocked look as a lighter and more emotional melody began to play.
"All that pain," Jasmine added.
"Pain?" Millie asked in confusion. "We rarely got hurt!"
"Still," Jasmine continued quickly, "all this for what?"
"A trunk that was empty the whole time!" Millie declared.
"War is a cruel, cruel thing," Jasmine concluded.
The Gilded Chris Ceremony began with all its usual fanfare, and after the introduction the footage flashed straight on to Chris standing at his podium. "This one's a nail-biter," he told the five seated teens. "I'd say no one's safe tonight. Izzy, how do you feel about your chances?"
The camera cut over to Izzy, sitting on the highest level of the bleachers. "Honestly, I feel pretty good about them," she said with a smile. "I was the one that scored my team the win for the first part of the challenge, and if I were to be going home today, it'd likely be because I blew the challenge."
“Or because you reverted back to your impersonations like E-Scope,” Ripper added.
“That's a thing of the past, Ripper,” Izzy said.
"Then," Chris continued, "there's Scott. Although you didn't cost your team the challenges or throw them on purpose, you didn't contribute much. Plus, your broken arm makes you a bit of a liability. Will you be the one sitting in the Lame-o-sine tonight?"
“We'll just have to see it to believe it,” Scott deadpanned.
"Chase, MK, Ripper!" Chris said with a broad smile. "Seems your tussles aren't entertaining anybody, not even your team. Are you worried?"
"Why would I? This team needs me, man!" Ripper shot a cocky smile.
"Alright then," Chris announced, "votes have been tabulated!" A folded card parachuted into view next to him, and he quickly snatched it up and held it to his forehead without bothering to read its contents. The tension began to build in the music. "So, it's time to present the awards. Tonight, the Gilded Chris goes to...MK, Ripper, and...Chase!" he said in succession, each name followed by the sound of an award being thrown and caught. "And now, only two nominees left."
The background music picked up as the screen was split, with spotlights on Izzy on the left and Scott on the right. "The final award goes to...," Chris said slowly as Scott watched nervously while Izzy smiled and held two fingers up to the camera. "Izzy!"
The camera panned left slightly as the wild child caught her golden statuette. "Hold on, wha?" Scott stammered in shock. "This has to be a joke, right?"
“No, it isn't,” MK said with a grin, “and you have me to thank for that.”
“You… you backstabbed me?!” Scott said with a bit of shock and anger.
“With four votes to one,” MK cackled. “I just did what you did to your previous alliance. Don't get all hypocritical.”
"Unbelievable!" Scott grumbled before he was grabbed by Chef and carried over the shoulder down the Walk of Shame.
Confessional: Izzy
“This was the perfect opportunity to get rid of Scott after all he's done in the first season,” Izzy said. “I'd be dumb to pass this up.”
Confessional: Chase
“Even with Scott trying to convince me otherwise, there was no way I wasn't going to vote him off,” Chase told the audience. “Besides, he can heal his broken arm off the show.”
Confessional: MK
“It's not hard getting people to vote off a disliked contestant, especially if that someone was the villain of last season,” MK mentioned. “I can't be tied down to Scott for much longer, and this is my season to shine!” she ended her confessional on a serious note.
Confessionals End
Scott was unceremoniously thrown into the waiting limousine by Chef. The door slammed shut, the limo sped off, and the camera cut back to a close-up of Chris.
"Well, we finally got rid of Scott the Schemer," he told the camera. "With him gone, hopefully we can stop providing benefits for him and not have to worry about being sued. Catch you next time," he said with a salute, "on Total! Drama! Action!" He ended the salute and put his hands behind his back, then smiled as he said "At ease!"
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
“I can't believe it!!” Scott grunted in the limousine. “MK totally duped me! Though given how much my team was against me, I knew I wasn't going to last this time,” he admitted reasonably. “Seems MK's this season's baddie, and an effective one she is. I'm still expecting the hundred thousand dollars to be delivered to me if it's the last thing the show will do for me. With me out of the game, I don't have to be forced to endanger my arm just for views, and maybe the next time you guys see me, I won't have this bandana around my forehead. The brand should be gone by now.” He used his good arm to take the bandana off, and was surprised by how little the branded “S.U.C.K.E.R.” was on his forehead. “Well would you look at that? I don't think I'll be needing this anymore.” He rolled down the window and tossed the cloth out, and then winced in pain afterwards and clutched his injured arm.
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Brick - 10th
Scott - 9th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper