White bumps in same spot around mouth
The only true racism is racism against wh*tes.
2018.07.26 18:06 PraiseBeToScience The only true racism is racism against wh*tes.
A subreddit for mocking reddit's large, vocal, and hypocritical fragile white population. We are a satirical /TopMindsOfReddit style meta sub where a mocking tone is highly encouraged. Courtesy warning, this is not a safe space (in the proper sense) for those who'd simply rather avoid bigots and not have to argue for their own dignity and right to exist. Many of us sometimes prefer to take the piss out of the pigs. We completely respect your right not to participate.
2015.10.11 00:10 ConspirOC In Real Life Easter Eggs
Remember the thrill of stumbling upon hidden gems in games or movies? Now, imagine that wonder translated into real life. Welcome to IRLEasterEggs, a community where we celebrate the art of uncovering peculiar, unnoticed secrets that creators left for the observant few. From a forgotten sculpture in a secluded forest to a captivating mural tucked away in a city's nook, here's where you can share the enchanting treasures you find in the world around us.
2010.03.05 18:55 bobcat Random Thoughts
Unbeckoned, they pop into your head.
2024.05.17 11:24 RiverThaddeusVictor I've figured out what THE ONE PIECE is!
Foreshadowing and Clues:
1. The world is flooding, which has been hinted at since Water 7 arc, saying Aqua Laguna reaches higher every year. It has been flooding since forever. Wano had an entire kingdom submerged on the sea floor. The world is flooding now. The destruction of Lulusia raised the sea level by 1 meter. Who had been doing it? Imu. He explicitly stated that he/she wanted more Mother Flame (IRL counterpart: Nuclear Power), which was used to destroy Lulusia. This means that he wants to do it again. This also means that the world was much lower than it is now.
2. Since it has always been known that the world WILL flood since Joy Boy’s time, as the Ark, Noah, was entrusted to Fishmen of all people. Fishmen, who NEVER need any freaking ship. So if not for them to use, then for whom? For us. For all other races. And what is an Ark for if it’s not to rescue people? And as it had always been known Imu had been nuking places, Fishmen built Fishmen Island RIGHT UNDER Mary Geoise for exactly that reason. IT CANNOT BE NUKED FROM ABOVE. The Ancient Weapon Poseidon was used to control Sea Kings, and they had their own prophecy that they would carry Noah into the sun. It was all there.
3. Sanji’s dream of finding the All Blue seem like the least possible dream of the crew members. The ocean is clearly divided into four, or at least two that are totally disconnected by landmass. It is impossible to find a place that freely contains all ingredients from all four, all living sea creatures from every ocean, as that means all fishes have to at least cross the Red Line freely to make that one spot All Blue.
4. Oda confirmed in an interview with Momoko Sakura that the One Piece is not something abstract, but a physical reward.
5. Roger DID NOT take the One Piece with him. He FOUND the One Piece and discovered the truth of the world at Laugh Tale and laughed. He was there too soon. He could not use the truth or what he found. In ANY versions of his execution, he NEVER once said that he BURIED it there. At best, in any versions of his execution, he LEFT it there. Official Funimation version: he LEFT EVERYTHING THE WORLD HAD TO OFFER THERE. Could it be because the One Piece could not be taken anywhere? Could it because it was too big?
6. Joy Boy was the first pirate, as confirmed by Vegapunk (IRL counterpart: Einstein). Joy Boy, the first man who took to the sea and sailed for freedom. But if the world had always been dotted with islands, then that's impossible. If the world had always been dotted with islands, it means that people sailed and rode boat/ships like cars. Eventually, a number of them would’ve realized independently at the same time that if you sailed out and had no connection with anyone, you would answer to no one, AKA outlaw/pirate. It was just not possible for multiple of them not to realize that at once. It was therefore impossible to pinpoint anyone as the FIRST pirate. But Joy Boy WAS the first, and we know for sure. That means that sailing far out at sea was a big deal, and that he was the first means sailing out was SIMPLY NOT DONE BEFORE. But how was that possible? You sail out to go somewhere inaccessible by land. If you had never set sail before, does it mean that there had been NO OTHER LAND?
7. The castle where the Gorosei and Imu resides is called “Pangaea Castle.” In our world, it is the name of the continent that included all the landmass in the world at the beginning of Triassic. Its meaning? “Spanning the entire earth.”
8. Red Line is waaay too artificial to be natural. Grand Line has its real life equivalent: the equator, the hottest region where the ocean receives the most sun and have violent weather. Calm Belts? Horse Lattitudes, the region with almost no wind. But Red Line? A landmass that perfectly follows one straight longitude, stretching north to south and perfectly circling back around the world in one perfect loop? Doesn’t it sound too artificial? Reverse Mountain where water flows up? Really? What if it was constructed? What if it was erected by someone?
9. Imu, the Five Elders, and the Celestial Dragons have their own land, the Mary Geoise, placed atop of the world, and their method of destruction is to raise the sea level. This means they have always been certain they would escape somehow. I suspect they could create landmass. If they could create landmass and chose to fill up the ocean at the deepest areas, they would definitely displace a lot of water. We can flood our own world by melting the polar ice caps, meaning we add about continent-sized ice into the ocean. If they created the Red Line, which is a continent, it was bound to do the same to their world. That was most likely the cause of the first Flood that raised the sea level initially. The only suspect who could do this is Imu. The Gorosei called him the Creator of the World. If he was defeated, the Red Line itself might disappear. As foreshadowed by the examples of Poppy and Doflamingo’s powers.
10. One Piece has always been the story about friendship, forgiveness, unity, and co-existence. In pretty much every arc, Luffy finds oppressed people, fights the oppressor, but not before the oppressed unite, forgive each other, and put aside their differences, and fight for a common cause: against their oppressor. The most important lesson of all is this: forgive the wrongs; forget the differences; unite. Fishman Island arc, Otohime pointed out the path towards the sun is to stop hating human. The Sun Pirates’ ideal is to forgive humans and liberate the oppressed. If the world is flooding now, who is the least impacted people? The Fishmen. Who has the Ancient Weapon with the means to move the ark? The Fishmen. Who has the means to rescue everyone? The Fishmen. Everything in set up for them to do this. What other best way to make human change their mind about their prejudices against Fishmen? This. Their time has come now to be the ones with power. Everything is in place for them to extend an olive branch.
11. So we’ve pretty much concluded that the world will flood and the Fishmen will rescue everyone with the ark, this leads me to be very certain of what the One Piece is. If the entire world is going to flood, what is the most valuable treasure in the world right now?
12. And as the goal is to lower the sea level and bring back up the lands, what if there’s a piece of land down there where people can unite and live freely as one people, the landmass that spans the entire world, one single piece of land, what should that one piece of land be called?
13. If there’s only one piece of land in the world, does that mean there’s only one single ocean in the world also? What should that only one ocean in the world be called? Whose dreams are coming true?
submitted by RiverThaddeusVictor to OnePiece [link] [comments]
1. The world is flooding, which has been hinted at since Water 7 arc, saying Aqua Laguna reaches higher every year. It has been flooding since forever. Wano had an entire kingdom submerged on the sea floor. The world is flooding now. The destruction of Lulusia raised the sea level by 1 meter. Who had been doing it? Imu. He explicitly stated that he/she wanted more Mother Flame (IRL counterpart: Nuclear Power), which was used to destroy Lulusia. This means that he wants to do it again. This also means that the world was much lower than it is now.
2. Since it has always been known that the world WILL flood since Joy Boy’s time, as the Ark, Noah, was entrusted to Fishmen of all people. Fishmen, who NEVER need any freaking ship. So if not for them to use, then for whom? For us. For all other races. And what is an Ark for if it’s not to rescue people? And as it had always been known Imu had been nuking places, Fishmen built Fishmen Island RIGHT UNDER Mary Geoise for exactly that reason. IT CANNOT BE NUKED FROM ABOVE. The Ancient Weapon Poseidon was used to control Sea Kings, and they had their own prophecy that they would carry Noah into the sun. It was all there.
3. Sanji’s dream of finding the All Blue seem like the least possible dream of the crew members. The ocean is clearly divided into four, or at least two that are totally disconnected by landmass. It is impossible to find a place that freely contains all ingredients from all four, all living sea creatures from every ocean, as that means all fishes have to at least cross the Red Line freely to make that one spot All Blue.
4. Oda confirmed in an interview with Momoko Sakura that the One Piece is not something abstract, but a physical reward.
5. Roger DID NOT take the One Piece with him. He FOUND the One Piece and discovered the truth of the world at Laugh Tale and laughed. He was there too soon. He could not use the truth or what he found. In ANY versions of his execution, he NEVER once said that he BURIED it there. At best, in any versions of his execution, he LEFT it there. Official Funimation version: he LEFT EVERYTHING THE WORLD HAD TO OFFER THERE. Could it be because the One Piece could not be taken anywhere? Could it because it was too big?
6. Joy Boy was the first pirate, as confirmed by Vegapunk (IRL counterpart: Einstein). Joy Boy, the first man who took to the sea and sailed for freedom. But if the world had always been dotted with islands, then that's impossible. If the world had always been dotted with islands, it means that people sailed and rode boat/ships like cars. Eventually, a number of them would’ve realized independently at the same time that if you sailed out and had no connection with anyone, you would answer to no one, AKA outlaw/pirate. It was just not possible for multiple of them not to realize that at once. It was therefore impossible to pinpoint anyone as the FIRST pirate. But Joy Boy WAS the first, and we know for sure. That means that sailing far out at sea was a big deal, and that he was the first means sailing out was SIMPLY NOT DONE BEFORE. But how was that possible? You sail out to go somewhere inaccessible by land. If you had never set sail before, does it mean that there had been NO OTHER LAND?
7. The castle where the Gorosei and Imu resides is called “Pangaea Castle.” In our world, it is the name of the continent that included all the landmass in the world at the beginning of Triassic. Its meaning? “Spanning the entire earth.”
8. Red Line is waaay too artificial to be natural. Grand Line has its real life equivalent: the equator, the hottest region where the ocean receives the most sun and have violent weather. Calm Belts? Horse Lattitudes, the region with almost no wind. But Red Line? A landmass that perfectly follows one straight longitude, stretching north to south and perfectly circling back around the world in one perfect loop? Doesn’t it sound too artificial? Reverse Mountain where water flows up? Really? What if it was constructed? What if it was erected by someone?
9. Imu, the Five Elders, and the Celestial Dragons have their own land, the Mary Geoise, placed atop of the world, and their method of destruction is to raise the sea level. This means they have always been certain they would escape somehow. I suspect they could create landmass. If they could create landmass and chose to fill up the ocean at the deepest areas, they would definitely displace a lot of water. We can flood our own world by melting the polar ice caps, meaning we add about continent-sized ice into the ocean. If they created the Red Line, which is a continent, it was bound to do the same to their world. That was most likely the cause of the first Flood that raised the sea level initially. The only suspect who could do this is Imu. The Gorosei called him the Creator of the World. If he was defeated, the Red Line itself might disappear. As foreshadowed by the examples of Poppy and Doflamingo’s powers.
10. One Piece has always been the story about friendship, forgiveness, unity, and co-existence. In pretty much every arc, Luffy finds oppressed people, fights the oppressor, but not before the oppressed unite, forgive each other, and put aside their differences, and fight for a common cause: against their oppressor. The most important lesson of all is this: forgive the wrongs; forget the differences; unite. Fishman Island arc, Otohime pointed out the path towards the sun is to stop hating human. The Sun Pirates’ ideal is to forgive humans and liberate the oppressed. If the world is flooding now, who is the least impacted people? The Fishmen. Who has the Ancient Weapon with the means to move the ark? The Fishmen. Who has the means to rescue everyone? The Fishmen. Everything in set up for them to do this. What other best way to make human change their mind about their prejudices against Fishmen? This. Their time has come now to be the ones with power. Everything is in place for them to extend an olive branch.
11. So we’ve pretty much concluded that the world will flood and the Fishmen will rescue everyone with the ark, this leads me to be very certain of what the One Piece is. If the entire world is going to flood, what is the most valuable treasure in the world right now?
12. And as the goal is to lower the sea level and bring back up the lands, what if there’s a piece of land down there where people can unite and live freely as one people, the landmass that spans the entire world, one single piece of land, what should that one piece of land be called?
13. If there’s only one piece of land in the world, does that mean there’s only one single ocean in the world also? What should that only one ocean in the world be called? Whose dreams are coming true?
2024.05.17 11:16 Deho_Edeba Is Ghired bugged or is it intended behavior?
Hello everyone,
I've been building a [[Ghired, Mirror of the Wilds]] deck in Historic Brawl and it's been quite a challenge to balance it although I'm finally getting to a list I'm comfortable with. Most of the ones you'll find online contain big Timmy cards that make the deck decidedly not competitive (see [[Mirror March]]) and I tried my best at leaning things out.
The thing is I've noticed a behavior that makes the deck slightly better than expected (it's still Tier 2-2.5 mind you) : you'd think destroying Ghired's single target when he tries to copy a token would fizzle the ability, yet it does not. When it happened the first time I thought I had miscounted my tokens but then I was able to systematically reproduce this against Sparky (see this capture : https://imgur.com/a/SAeFp5C ).
I could see this being a weird exception revolving around the Token creation's part but I'd be surprised (I've been surprised in the past).
Bumping u/unfitApollo who came to the same realization and created an older post about it.
Btw here's the decklist !
submitted by Deho_Edeba to MagicArena [link] [comments]
I've been building a [[Ghired, Mirror of the Wilds]] deck in Historic Brawl and it's been quite a challenge to balance it although I'm finally getting to a list I'm comfortable with. Most of the ones you'll find online contain big Timmy cards that make the deck decidedly not competitive (see [[Mirror March]]) and I tried my best at leaning things out.
The thing is I've noticed a behavior that makes the deck slightly better than expected (it's still Tier 2-2.5 mind you) : you'd think destroying Ghired's single target when he tries to copy a token would fizzle the ability, yet it does not. When it happened the first time I thought I had miscounted my tokens but then I was able to systematically reproduce this against Sparky (see this capture : https://imgur.com/a/SAeFp5C ).
I could see this being a weird exception revolving around the Token creation's part but I'd be surprised (I've been surprised in the past).
Bumping u/unfitApollo who came to the same realization and created an older post about it.
Btw here's the decklist !
2024.05.17 11:13 Local_Competition862 How to help dog with separation anxiety
We have a 1 yr old GSD very loving dog but he has massive separation anxiety. If he is left alone in the house he will start crying and wrecks havoc. So when we go to work in the morning he goes outside and then when we come back from work he comes back inside. Even then he digs holes outside and chews on the wooden patio. But magically he is super well behaved as long as me and my partner are around. He stayed with my mum for about 4 days when me and my partner went overseas and he just stopped eating completely and was super protective of his big sisters (my daughters) whom were with my mum as well. He was crying when he saw that me and my partner came back. We had him go and stay with a dog trainer in order to maybe help him with the separation anxiety but he jumped the fence 4 times and ran off. The trainer brought him back and said its too dangerous for him cause he keeps escaping. Mind you our fence at home is the same height and he has never jumped it. We take him on daily walks, lots of cuddles when we return from work , lots of toys, we've tried dog repellent so he would stop digging in particular spots outside. Any advice?
submitted by Local_Competition862 to DogAdvice [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 11:08 Adventurous6962 📈 Silver surges ahead in 2024: Outpacing Gold with robust demand 🌟
Article: https://www.useyourbrainforex.com/post/silver-shines-brighter-robust-demand-spurs-surge-in-2024
Gold’s record-setting rally may have captured the headlines this year, but it’s silver that’s running harder and faster as the less glamorous metal benefits from robust financial and industrial demand. Silver has soared by almost 25% in 2024, outpacing gold and making it one of the year’s best-performing major commodities. Yet in relative terms, silver is still cheap. It currently takes about 80 ounces of silver to buy 1 ounce of gold, compared with the 20-year average of 68.
Both metals move largely in tandem as both offer similar macro- and currency-hedging properties. With gold hitting a record on central-bank buying, retail interest in China, and a resurgence in bets lower US interest rates are on the way, silver’s gone along for the ride. Although there’s been scant interest from investors in silver-backed exchange-traded funds, physical sales have picked up, including at Singapore-based dealer Silver Bullion Pte.
“Even clients who are interested in buying gold are starting to say ‘well, maybe I’ll buy silver first, and wait for the ratio to sort of rebalance’,” said founder Gregor Gregersen. Between April 1 and 25, the outlet sold 74 ounces of physical silver for each ounce of gold, compared with an average of 44 in 2023.
Spot silver traded above $29 an ounce on Friday, heading for a weekly gain of almost 5%. The next significant test would be a challenge of $30, a level that it briefly surpassed in 2021. Should the metal top $30.1003 an ounce, that would lift prices to the highest in more than a decade.
The white metal has already been making headway against its dearer cousin, in relative terms. Back in January, the gold-silver ratio was above 90, the most stretched since September 2022. Citigroup Inc. reckons that if the Federal Reserve proceeds with interest-rate cuts and economic growth stays strong in the second half, the ratio could move to around 70, although it cautioned that a slowdown would push it the other way, according to a note.
Silver has a dual character, valued both for its uses as a financial asset and an industrial input, including clean-energy technologies. The metal is a key ingredient in solar panels, and with robust growth in that industry, usage of the metal is expected to reach a record this year, according to the Silver Institute. Against that backdrop, the market is headed for a fourth year in deficit, with this year’s shortage seen as the second biggest on record.
That’s led industrial users - which typically rely on miners for supply - to seek ounces by draining the world’s major inventories, according to Silver Bullion’s Gregersen. Stockpiles tracked by the London Bullion Market Association fell to the second-lowest level on record in April, while the volumes at exchanges in New York and Shanghai are near seasonal lows.
Over the next two years, the LBMA stockpiles may be depleted given the current pace of demand, according to TD Securities. The headline figure overstates the available volume of metal given that it includes exchange-traded fund holdings, Daniel Ghali, a commodity strategist, said in an April note.
“We are slowly going to see supplies tightening because industrial demand is set to go higher,” Gregersen said. “If investors are also starting to buy, then I think in two or three months’ time, my biggest problem might end up being ‘Where do I find supply?’ rather than ‘How do I sell the silver?’”
submitted by Adventurous6962 to useyourbrainforex [link] [comments]
Gold’s record-setting rally may have captured the headlines this year, but it’s silver that’s running harder and faster as the less glamorous metal benefits from robust financial and industrial demand. Silver has soared by almost 25% in 2024, outpacing gold and making it one of the year’s best-performing major commodities. Yet in relative terms, silver is still cheap. It currently takes about 80 ounces of silver to buy 1 ounce of gold, compared with the 20-year average of 68.
Both metals move largely in tandem as both offer similar macro- and currency-hedging properties. With gold hitting a record on central-bank buying, retail interest in China, and a resurgence in bets lower US interest rates are on the way, silver’s gone along for the ride. Although there’s been scant interest from investors in silver-backed exchange-traded funds, physical sales have picked up, including at Singapore-based dealer Silver Bullion Pte.
“Even clients who are interested in buying gold are starting to say ‘well, maybe I’ll buy silver first, and wait for the ratio to sort of rebalance’,” said founder Gregor Gregersen. Between April 1 and 25, the outlet sold 74 ounces of physical silver for each ounce of gold, compared with an average of 44 in 2023.
Spot silver traded above $29 an ounce on Friday, heading for a weekly gain of almost 5%. The next significant test would be a challenge of $30, a level that it briefly surpassed in 2021. Should the metal top $30.1003 an ounce, that would lift prices to the highest in more than a decade.
The white metal has already been making headway against its dearer cousin, in relative terms. Back in January, the gold-silver ratio was above 90, the most stretched since September 2022. Citigroup Inc. reckons that if the Federal Reserve proceeds with interest-rate cuts and economic growth stays strong in the second half, the ratio could move to around 70, although it cautioned that a slowdown would push it the other way, according to a note.
Silver has a dual character, valued both for its uses as a financial asset and an industrial input, including clean-energy technologies. The metal is a key ingredient in solar panels, and with robust growth in that industry, usage of the metal is expected to reach a record this year, according to the Silver Institute. Against that backdrop, the market is headed for a fourth year in deficit, with this year’s shortage seen as the second biggest on record.
That’s led industrial users - which typically rely on miners for supply - to seek ounces by draining the world’s major inventories, according to Silver Bullion’s Gregersen. Stockpiles tracked by the London Bullion Market Association fell to the second-lowest level on record in April, while the volumes at exchanges in New York and Shanghai are near seasonal lows.
Over the next two years, the LBMA stockpiles may be depleted given the current pace of demand, according to TD Securities. The headline figure overstates the available volume of metal given that it includes exchange-traded fund holdings, Daniel Ghali, a commodity strategist, said in an April note.
“We are slowly going to see supplies tightening because industrial demand is set to go higher,” Gregersen said. “If investors are also starting to buy, then I think in two or three months’ time, my biggest problem might end up being ‘Where do I find supply?’ rather than ‘How do I sell the silver?’”
2024.05.17 10:50 Anxiouspink17 My cousin molested me and I think he made me a terrible person
I never really talked about this with anyone and I wanted to get my full story out there to maybe help move on, get it off my chest and I want 100% honesty, When I was very young I can’t even say how old I was my cousin would touch me inappropriately like sticking his fingers in my private spots he is about 7 years older than me, I didn’t understand this was bad behavior so I think this is why I ever said anything, as we got a little older it progressed to me putting my mouth in his private spots this continued on and off til when I was around 12 where it was at its worse I think i gotten so used to it that I started liking it and even initiated the sexual behavior myself and that led me to losing my v card at 12, one day I I started to give him oral sex and he wanted to do anal but it hurt so I refused but he told me to pls just let him put it on once then he pushed me down and forced himself on me for 30 seconds I remember it so well he rushed as my mom pulled into the driveway, she got suspicious that day the behavior continued until one day he decided to tell mine and his parents everything and made me look like the bad person, my mom questioned me all night and all I could think about was waiting for her to finish so I can go to the bathroom and take all the pills in my cabinets to try to kill myself I was so embarrassed and only blamed myself for this behavior my mom eventually gave me some freedom back and called this a incident while my cousin had no punishment at all, I thought I had moved past this but then I started having sexual thoughts about people constantly, at such a young age, when I was 17 my mom had a friend over to stay with us and he was around 40, he was nice but one day he asked if he can kiss me and I said yes and then later that night he told me that we can never say what happened I said ok and then he turned the lights off and grabbed me by my arm and then I’m guessing you know what happened after that, after that incident I just went off the rails and let random homeless strangers do as they pleased with me, it was reckless and unsafe and I have to sneak to get tested and then my mom found out and my truth had been out again, I’m 19 now and I think I’ve gotten mature enough to not let that behavior come out again but I still have sexual thoughts constantly but now I watch adult videos an it sorta had became a addiction , I think my cousin turned me into a nasty sex monster, if he hadn’t done that I maybe wouldn’t be the sexual orientation I am or I would’ve made so many bette choices in my life, I could’ve gave my innocence to someone I truly love and not my family, he made me wanna kill myself and nobody but me knows that ,now I have to live my life wondering if I die will I go to hell for my actions
submitted by Anxiouspink17 to ptsd [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 10:44 AngelmZeal1 A certain forest exists where there are no animals. Unfortunately for us, my friends and I discovered the reason why.
La forêt silencieuse. It simply translates to the silent forest. An eerie description for what has become the grave of many beautiful souls and probably many more in the future.
We were a group of three friends, huge science enthusiasts or big-time nerds if you prefer, visiting a foreign country on our annual leave. During a night at a bar, Esperanza, who could understand the local language overheard a conversation about the nearby forest and the fact that it was devoid of fauna. There was a little touch of superstition to it, but our scientific and rational spirits could not subscribe to that. Therefore, to spice up our stay, we decided to investigate the next day.
Not a single soul wanted to take us to the forest without really explaining why according to Esperanza, so we decided to go on foot since it was a little bit visible from our accommodation. Near the entrance, one man ran after us shouting things I could not understand. That was the scariest thing our group of girls could witness so far, so Esperanza told us to run and so we did, entering the forest, giggling like little girls going on an adventure.
From a very young age, I always loved nature. Even after what has happened, I still do to a certain extent. It saddened my heart to see multiple plants and flowers, crushed on the ground, leading our way and fueling our curiosity, as strange marks and patterns also decorated the semi-dry soil. The trees were very tall and shielded us from the late afternoon sun. We took a few pictures and soon realized that the rumor was true. We could not spot one small bird or even a butterfly, and the only sounds we could hear were the ones we made, and those from the wind and rustling leaves. That was at least until we heard it for the first time.
It seemed to come from underground, like the sound of a voluminous tree being uprooted, accompanied by more rustling leaves noises. We looked up and could not spot anything. That was the time we decided to head back to the accommodation, after all, evening was fast approaching.
"Girls please hurry." Ines kept on saying during our walk back to the entrance, constantly looking behind her.
"Don't worry kiddo, we did not go too deep inside anyway. We'll soon be out." Esperanza spoke, reassuring her little sister. "The scariest thing that could happen now is another Raquel's lecture." She added, prompting her sister to chuckle.
"At least, she can't bore the locals with those." Ines added to the mockery.
"What that crazy dude was saying?" I asked Esperanza, ignoring their teasing.
"Oh, that guy, I didn't get it well but, something about disappearing and—"
The same noises interrupted us, but that time, they were coming from multiple directions around us. The rumor was then proving absolutely false. Something was definitely in that forest. We started jogging, looking around us and especially above us without seeing anything suspicious, and that for maybe over an hour, till evening and darkness found us. We had to stop at some point, after the noises stopped, because we were tired and out of breath.
We could no longer find our way out.
Finally thinking of contacting help, none of us knew what the right number could be, so instead, Esperanza found the number of our accommodation owner in her call history and phoned the gentleman. The communication did not really go well as there was some kind of interference, and suddenly, once again, the noises startled us. That time however, we could see that something high up in the trees, apparently sped towards us, as branches and leaves from afar were agitated by a moving force.
"Run, RUN!" Esperanza shouted, pushing Ines and I to lead the way.
All of us ran for our lives and for countless minutes since the strange noises would not stop. However, the moment we stopped because we were out of breath, Ines and I noticed that Esperanza had disappeared. At that point, Ines had reached her limit and just started screaming her sister's name desperately. I had to hug her to calm her down, and like a symbol of hope, we then saw the emergency flares in the sky. Esperanza did pass the message successfully and help had arrived somehow. They were showing us which way to go.
None of us wanted to abandon Esperanza but we needed to get help and assistance. After I made Ines understand that, I took her hand and we started running towards the flares, still escorted by the noises. They grew louder by the second but we did not stop, we could not stop if we wanted to survive. We ran until the ground suddenly caved in and we fell into a hole. It was not really deep, so I could quickly regain my senses, shaking my head to remove the sand, especially after hearing Ines scream at the surface. The screams were brief, quickly replaced by squelching sounds that grew louder as I climbed up. I did not even exit the hole when it came into view. Its branches morphed into two gigantic arms covered with leaves, it held half of Ines in one hand while its other one helped it chew and swallow the rest of my friend's body. A tree next to it then transformed, its branches regrouping to form two arms, while a bald head with two luminous white eyes and a large mouth, emerged from the top of the trunk.
The threat was not a predator hiding in the trees, it was the trees.
Ines remaining half was soon coveted by the other tree as a scuffle soon erupted. They started to move away from the hole, their roots sliding on the ground and making those underground sounds we have been hearing all that time. They mangled what was left of Ines while I seized the opportunity to attempt an escape. As soon as they noticed me, their branches moved up to cover their heads as if they reverted back to being normal looking trees, and they chased me, swerving between other trees. I ran, sobbing as I knew I could not escape them because of their incredible speed. Soon, other trees imitated the monsters as soon as I passed them, transforming behind me and joining the chase.
At some point, everything stopped again plunging the whole forest into a dead calm only disturbed by the emergency flares noises, my steps, my heavy breath and sobs. All the time, I tried looking around and behind me, unable to tell the difference between those monsters and normal trees, not even knowing if there were some normal trees in that forest or if all of them were monsters. Something then grabbed me from behind and lifted me up. It was one of them. It quickly directed me to its mouth while I screamed in fear and despair. At that moment, I really thought it was the end, but it suddenly stopped in its track. I remained in its massive hand, hyperventilating with my mouth and eyes wide open, having a good look at the piercing white eyes of the monstrosity.
"Em pure" I apparently heard it say, which I later discovered to be exactly 'impur' a word that means impure. It then tossed me away so violently that I only remember hitting something and falling unconscious.
Upon waking up the next morning, I discreetly looked around, surprised to be alive, then just stood up and dashed in a random direction. There was no noise, except for my panting and steps, the wind and the leaves. I ran without stopping for one second, my sight disturbed by the blood covering my forehead, determined to seize that last opportunity to stay alive. I then exited the forest and found myself in a field from where I could see a farmhouse. It was the end of the nightmare.
I became a curiosity for the locals as nobody ever made it alive out of the silent forest before. The authorities extracted all the information they could from me about what had transpired in those woods. Some believed me, others just could not, but we agreed on an official version about my friends and I being attacked by wild boars. I was then diagnosed with a condition that affected my blood, something I never knew I had, which they believe is what made me impure to the eyes of those things.
Traumatized to the core, I went back to my country, unable to really leave that nightmare behind as to this day, I am scared of trees. Despite that, I really try to cherish my life even though I feel guilty for having survived. Also, I have come to accept that science does not have the answers for everything, and that leaving certain mysteries alone is a wise choice.
submitted by AngelmZeal1 to nosleep [link] [comments]
We were a group of three friends, huge science enthusiasts or big-time nerds if you prefer, visiting a foreign country on our annual leave. During a night at a bar, Esperanza, who could understand the local language overheard a conversation about the nearby forest and the fact that it was devoid of fauna. There was a little touch of superstition to it, but our scientific and rational spirits could not subscribe to that. Therefore, to spice up our stay, we decided to investigate the next day.
Not a single soul wanted to take us to the forest without really explaining why according to Esperanza, so we decided to go on foot since it was a little bit visible from our accommodation. Near the entrance, one man ran after us shouting things I could not understand. That was the scariest thing our group of girls could witness so far, so Esperanza told us to run and so we did, entering the forest, giggling like little girls going on an adventure.
From a very young age, I always loved nature. Even after what has happened, I still do to a certain extent. It saddened my heart to see multiple plants and flowers, crushed on the ground, leading our way and fueling our curiosity, as strange marks and patterns also decorated the semi-dry soil. The trees were very tall and shielded us from the late afternoon sun. We took a few pictures and soon realized that the rumor was true. We could not spot one small bird or even a butterfly, and the only sounds we could hear were the ones we made, and those from the wind and rustling leaves. That was at least until we heard it for the first time.
It seemed to come from underground, like the sound of a voluminous tree being uprooted, accompanied by more rustling leaves noises. We looked up and could not spot anything. That was the time we decided to head back to the accommodation, after all, evening was fast approaching.
"Girls please hurry." Ines kept on saying during our walk back to the entrance, constantly looking behind her.
"Don't worry kiddo, we did not go too deep inside anyway. We'll soon be out." Esperanza spoke, reassuring her little sister. "The scariest thing that could happen now is another Raquel's lecture." She added, prompting her sister to chuckle.
"At least, she can't bore the locals with those." Ines added to the mockery.
"What that crazy dude was saying?" I asked Esperanza, ignoring their teasing.
"Oh, that guy, I didn't get it well but, something about disappearing and—"
The same noises interrupted us, but that time, they were coming from multiple directions around us. The rumor was then proving absolutely false. Something was definitely in that forest. We started jogging, looking around us and especially above us without seeing anything suspicious, and that for maybe over an hour, till evening and darkness found us. We had to stop at some point, after the noises stopped, because we were tired and out of breath.
We could no longer find our way out.
Finally thinking of contacting help, none of us knew what the right number could be, so instead, Esperanza found the number of our accommodation owner in her call history and phoned the gentleman. The communication did not really go well as there was some kind of interference, and suddenly, once again, the noises startled us. That time however, we could see that something high up in the trees, apparently sped towards us, as branches and leaves from afar were agitated by a moving force.
"Run, RUN!" Esperanza shouted, pushing Ines and I to lead the way.
All of us ran for our lives and for countless minutes since the strange noises would not stop. However, the moment we stopped because we were out of breath, Ines and I noticed that Esperanza had disappeared. At that point, Ines had reached her limit and just started screaming her sister's name desperately. I had to hug her to calm her down, and like a symbol of hope, we then saw the emergency flares in the sky. Esperanza did pass the message successfully and help had arrived somehow. They were showing us which way to go.
None of us wanted to abandon Esperanza but we needed to get help and assistance. After I made Ines understand that, I took her hand and we started running towards the flares, still escorted by the noises. They grew louder by the second but we did not stop, we could not stop if we wanted to survive. We ran until the ground suddenly caved in and we fell into a hole. It was not really deep, so I could quickly regain my senses, shaking my head to remove the sand, especially after hearing Ines scream at the surface. The screams were brief, quickly replaced by squelching sounds that grew louder as I climbed up. I did not even exit the hole when it came into view. Its branches morphed into two gigantic arms covered with leaves, it held half of Ines in one hand while its other one helped it chew and swallow the rest of my friend's body. A tree next to it then transformed, its branches regrouping to form two arms, while a bald head with two luminous white eyes and a large mouth, emerged from the top of the trunk.
The threat was not a predator hiding in the trees, it was the trees.
Ines remaining half was soon coveted by the other tree as a scuffle soon erupted. They started to move away from the hole, their roots sliding on the ground and making those underground sounds we have been hearing all that time. They mangled what was left of Ines while I seized the opportunity to attempt an escape. As soon as they noticed me, their branches moved up to cover their heads as if they reverted back to being normal looking trees, and they chased me, swerving between other trees. I ran, sobbing as I knew I could not escape them because of their incredible speed. Soon, other trees imitated the monsters as soon as I passed them, transforming behind me and joining the chase.
At some point, everything stopped again plunging the whole forest into a dead calm only disturbed by the emergency flares noises, my steps, my heavy breath and sobs. All the time, I tried looking around and behind me, unable to tell the difference between those monsters and normal trees, not even knowing if there were some normal trees in that forest or if all of them were monsters. Something then grabbed me from behind and lifted me up. It was one of them. It quickly directed me to its mouth while I screamed in fear and despair. At that moment, I really thought it was the end, but it suddenly stopped in its track. I remained in its massive hand, hyperventilating with my mouth and eyes wide open, having a good look at the piercing white eyes of the monstrosity.
"Em pure" I apparently heard it say, which I later discovered to be exactly 'impur' a word that means impure. It then tossed me away so violently that I only remember hitting something and falling unconscious.
Upon waking up the next morning, I discreetly looked around, surprised to be alive, then just stood up and dashed in a random direction. There was no noise, except for my panting and steps, the wind and the leaves. I ran without stopping for one second, my sight disturbed by the blood covering my forehead, determined to seize that last opportunity to stay alive. I then exited the forest and found myself in a field from where I could see a farmhouse. It was the end of the nightmare.
I became a curiosity for the locals as nobody ever made it alive out of the silent forest before. The authorities extracted all the information they could from me about what had transpired in those woods. Some believed me, others just could not, but we agreed on an official version about my friends and I being attacked by wild boars. I was then diagnosed with a condition that affected my blood, something I never knew I had, which they believe is what made me impure to the eyes of those things.
Traumatized to the core, I went back to my country, unable to really leave that nightmare behind as to this day, I am scared of trees. Despite that, I really try to cherish my life even though I feel guilty for having survived. Also, I have come to accept that science does not have the answers for everything, and that leaving certain mysteries alone is a wise choice.
2024.05.17 10:43 AngelmZeal1 A certain forest exists where there are no animals. Unfortunately for us, my friends and I discovered the reason why.
La forêt silencieuse. It simply translates to the silent forest. An eerie description for what has become the grave of many beautiful souls and probably many more in the future.
We were a group of three friends, huge science enthusiasts or big-time nerds if you prefer, visiting a foreign country on our annual leave. During a night at a bar, Esperanza, who could understand the local language overheard a conversation about the nearby forest and the fact that it was devoid of fauna. There was a little touch of superstition to it, but our scientific and rational spirits could not subscribe to that. Therefore, to spice up our stay, we decided to investigate the next day.
Not a single soul wanted to take us to the forest without really explaining why according to Esperanza, so we decided to go on foot since it was a little bit visible from our accommodation. Near the entrance, one man ran after us shouting things I could not understand. That was the scariest thing our group of girls could witness so far, so Esperanza told us to run and so we did, entering the forest, giggling like little girls going on an adventure.
From a very young age, I always loved nature. Even after what has happened, I still do to a certain extent. It saddened my heart to see multiple plants and flowers, crushed on the ground, leading our way and fueling our curiosity, as strange marks and patterns also decorated the semi-dry soil. The trees were very tall and shielded us from the late afternoon sun. We took a few pictures and soon realized that the rumor was true. We could not spot one small bird or even a butterfly, and the only sounds we could hear were the ones we made, and those from the wind and rustling leaves. That was at least until we heard it for the first time.
It seemed to come from underground, like the sound of a voluminous tree being uprooted, accompanied by more rustling leaves noises. We looked up and could not spot anything. That was the time we decided to head back to the accommodation, after all, evening was fast approaching.
"Girls please hurry." Ines kept on saying during our walk back to the entrance, constantly looking behind her.
"Don't worry kiddo, we did not go too deep inside anyway. We'll soon be out." Esperanza spoke, reassuring her little sister. "The scariest thing that could happen now is another Raquel's lecture." She added, prompting her sister to chuckle.
"At least, she can't bore the locals with those." Ines added to the mockery.
"What that crazy dude was saying?" I asked Esperanza, ignoring their teasing.
"Oh, that guy, I didn't get it well but, something about disappearing and—"
The same noises interrupted us, but that time, they were coming from multiple directions around us. The rumor was then proving absolutely false. Something was definitely in that forest. We started jogging, looking around us and especially above us without seeing anything suspicious, and that for maybe over an hour, till evening and darkness found us. We had to stop at some point, after the noises stopped, because we were tired and out of breath.
We could no longer find our way out.
Finally thinking of contacting help, none of us knew what the right number could be, so instead, Esperanza found the number of our accommodation owner in her call history and phoned the gentleman. The communication did not really go well as there was some kind of interference, and suddenly, once again, the noises startled us. That time however, we could see that something high up in the trees, apparently sped towards us, as branches and leaves from afar were agitated by a moving force.
"Run, RUN!" Esperanza shouted, pushing Ines and I to lead the way.
All of us ran for our lives and for countless minutes since the strange noises would not stop. However, the moment we stopped because we were out of breath, Ines and I noticed that Esperanza had disappeared. At that point, Ines had reached her limit and just started screaming her sister's name desperately. I had to hug her to calm her down, and like a symbol of hope, we then saw the emergency flares in the sky. Esperanza did pass the message successfully and help had arrived somehow. They were showing us which way to go.
None of us wanted to abandon Esperanza but we needed to get help and assistance. After I made Ines understand that, I took her hand and we started running towards the flares, still escorted by the noises. They grew louder by the second but we did not stop, we could not stop if we wanted to survive. We ran until the ground suddenly caved in and we fell into a hole. It was not really deep, so I could quickly regain my senses, shaking my head to remove the sand, especially after hearing Ines scream at the surface. The screams were brief, quickly replaced by squelching sounds that grew louder as I climbed up. I did not even exit the hole when it came into view. Its branches morphed into two gigantic arms covered with leaves, it held half of Ines in one hand while its other one helped it chew and swallow the rest of my friend's body. A tree next to it then transformed, its branches regrouping to form two arms, while a bald head with two luminous white eyes and a large mouth, emerged from the top of the trunk.
The threat was not a predator hiding in the trees, it was the trees.
Ines remaining half was soon coveted by the other tree as a scuffle soon erupted. They started to move away from the hole, their roots sliding on the ground and making those underground sounds we have been hearing all that time. They mangled what was left of Ines while I seized the opportunity to attempt an escape. As soon as they noticed me, their branches moved up to cover their heads as if they reverted back to being normal looking trees, and they chased me, swerving between other trees. I ran, sobbing as I knew I could not escape them because of their incredible speed. Soon, other trees imitated the monsters as soon as I passed them, transforming behind me and joining the chase.
At some point, everything stopped again plunging the whole forest into a dead calm only disturbed by the emergency flares noises, my steps, my heavy breath and sobs. All the time, I tried looking around and behind me, unable to tell the difference between those monsters and normal trees, not even knowing if there were some normal trees in that forest or if all of them were monsters. Something then grabbed me from behind and lifted me up. It was one of them. It quickly directed me to its mouth while I screamed in fear and despair. At that moment, I really thought it was the end, but it suddenly stopped in its track. I remained in its massive hand, hyperventilating with my mouth and eyes wide open, having a good look at the piercing white eyes of the monstrosity.
"Em pure" I apparently heard it say, which I later discovered to be exactly 'impur' a word that means impure. It then tossed me away so violently that I only remember hitting something and falling unconscious.
Upon waking up the next morning, I discreetly looked around, surprised to be alive, then just stood up and dashed in a random direction. There was no noise, except for my panting and steps, the wind and the leaves. I ran without stopping for one second, my sight disturbed by the blood covering my forehead, determined to seize that last opportunity to stay alive. I then exited the forest and found myself in a field from where I could see a farmhouse. It was the end of the nightmare.
I became a curiosity for the locals as nobody ever made it alive out of the silent forest before. The authorities extracted all the information they could from me about what had transpired in those woods. Some believed me, others just could not, but we agreed on an official version about my friends and I being attacked by wild boars. I was then diagnosed with a condition that affected my blood, something I never knew I had, which they believe is what made me impure to the eyes of those things.
Traumatized to the core, I went back to my country, unable to really leave that nightmare behind as to this day, I am scared of trees. Despite that, I really try to cherish my life even though I feel guilty for having survived. Also, I have come to accept that science does not have the answers for everything, and that leaving certain mysteries alone is a wise choice.
submitted by AngelmZeal1 to scarystories [link] [comments]
We were a group of three friends, huge science enthusiasts or big-time nerds if you prefer, visiting a foreign country on our annual leave. During a night at a bar, Esperanza, who could understand the local language overheard a conversation about the nearby forest and the fact that it was devoid of fauna. There was a little touch of superstition to it, but our scientific and rational spirits could not subscribe to that. Therefore, to spice up our stay, we decided to investigate the next day.
Not a single soul wanted to take us to the forest without really explaining why according to Esperanza, so we decided to go on foot since it was a little bit visible from our accommodation. Near the entrance, one man ran after us shouting things I could not understand. That was the scariest thing our group of girls could witness so far, so Esperanza told us to run and so we did, entering the forest, giggling like little girls going on an adventure.
From a very young age, I always loved nature. Even after what has happened, I still do to a certain extent. It saddened my heart to see multiple plants and flowers, crushed on the ground, leading our way and fueling our curiosity, as strange marks and patterns also decorated the semi-dry soil. The trees were very tall and shielded us from the late afternoon sun. We took a few pictures and soon realized that the rumor was true. We could not spot one small bird or even a butterfly, and the only sounds we could hear were the ones we made, and those from the wind and rustling leaves. That was at least until we heard it for the first time.
It seemed to come from underground, like the sound of a voluminous tree being uprooted, accompanied by more rustling leaves noises. We looked up and could not spot anything. That was the time we decided to head back to the accommodation, after all, evening was fast approaching.
"Girls please hurry." Ines kept on saying during our walk back to the entrance, constantly looking behind her.
"Don't worry kiddo, we did not go too deep inside anyway. We'll soon be out." Esperanza spoke, reassuring her little sister. "The scariest thing that could happen now is another Raquel's lecture." She added, prompting her sister to chuckle.
"At least, she can't bore the locals with those." Ines added to the mockery.
"What that crazy dude was saying?" I asked Esperanza, ignoring their teasing.
"Oh, that guy, I didn't get it well but, something about disappearing and—"
The same noises interrupted us, but that time, they were coming from multiple directions around us. The rumor was then proving absolutely false. Something was definitely in that forest. We started jogging, looking around us and especially above us without seeing anything suspicious, and that for maybe over an hour, till evening and darkness found us. We had to stop at some point, after the noises stopped, because we were tired and out of breath.
We could no longer find our way out.
Finally thinking of contacting help, none of us knew what the right number could be, so instead, Esperanza found the number of our accommodation owner in her call history and phoned the gentleman. The communication did not really go well as there was some kind of interference, and suddenly, once again, the noises startled us. That time however, we could see that something high up in the trees, apparently sped towards us, as branches and leaves from afar were agitated by a moving force.
"Run, RUN!" Esperanza shouted, pushing Ines and I to lead the way.
All of us ran for our lives and for countless minutes since the strange noises would not stop. However, the moment we stopped because we were out of breath, Ines and I noticed that Esperanza had disappeared. At that point, Ines had reached her limit and just started screaming her sister's name desperately. I had to hug her to calm her down, and like a symbol of hope, we then saw the emergency flares in the sky. Esperanza did pass the message successfully and help had arrived somehow. They were showing us which way to go.
None of us wanted to abandon Esperanza but we needed to get help and assistance. After I made Ines understand that, I took her hand and we started running towards the flares, still escorted by the noises. They grew louder by the second but we did not stop, we could not stop if we wanted to survive. We ran until the ground suddenly caved in and we fell into a hole. It was not really deep, so I could quickly regain my senses, shaking my head to remove the sand, especially after hearing Ines scream at the surface. The screams were brief, quickly replaced by squelching sounds that grew louder as I climbed up. I did not even exit the hole when it came into view. Its branches morphed into two gigantic arms covered with leaves, it held half of Ines in one hand while its other one helped it chew and swallow the rest of my friend's body. A tree next to it then transformed, its branches regrouping to form two arms, while a bald head with two luminous white eyes and a large mouth, emerged from the top of the trunk.
The threat was not a predator hiding in the trees, it was the trees.
Ines remaining half was soon coveted by the other tree as a scuffle soon erupted. They started to move away from the hole, their roots sliding on the ground and making those underground sounds we have been hearing all that time. They mangled what was left of Ines while I seized the opportunity to attempt an escape. As soon as they noticed me, their branches moved up to cover their heads as if they reverted back to being normal looking trees, and they chased me, swerving between other trees. I ran, sobbing as I knew I could not escape them because of their incredible speed. Soon, other trees imitated the monsters as soon as I passed them, transforming behind me and joining the chase.
At some point, everything stopped again plunging the whole forest into a dead calm only disturbed by the emergency flares noises, my steps, my heavy breath and sobs. All the time, I tried looking around and behind me, unable to tell the difference between those monsters and normal trees, not even knowing if there were some normal trees in that forest or if all of them were monsters. Something then grabbed me from behind and lifted me up. It was one of them. It quickly directed me to its mouth while I screamed in fear and despair. At that moment, I really thought it was the end, but it suddenly stopped in its track. I remained in its massive hand, hyperventilating with my mouth and eyes wide open, having a good look at the piercing white eyes of the monstrosity.
"Em pure" I apparently heard it say, which I later discovered to be exactly 'impur' a word that means impure. It then tossed me away so violently that I only remember hitting something and falling unconscious.
Upon waking up the next morning, I discreetly looked around, surprised to be alive, then just stood up and dashed in a random direction. There was no noise, except for my panting and steps, the wind and the leaves. I ran without stopping for one second, my sight disturbed by the blood covering my forehead, determined to seize that last opportunity to stay alive. I then exited the forest and found myself in a field from where I could see a farmhouse. It was the end of the nightmare.
I became a curiosity for the locals as nobody ever made it alive out of the silent forest before. The authorities extracted all the information they could from me about what had transpired in those woods. Some believed me, others just could not, but we agreed on an official version about my friends and I being attacked by wild boars. I was then diagnosed with a condition that affected my blood, something I never knew I had, which they believe is what made me impure to the eyes of those things.
Traumatized to the core, I went back to my country, unable to really leave that nightmare behind as to this day, I am scared of trees. Despite that, I really try to cherish my life even though I feel guilty for having survived. Also, I have come to accept that science does not have the answers for everything, and that leaving certain mysteries alone is a wise choice.
2024.05.17 10:33 pinkbananas444 First Brazilian area LHR session done - a few questions!
Hi all,
I have pretty fair skin and my hair in this area is very dark. I've been waxing for 5+ years (last time 1 month ago). Yesterday I had my first session of LHR. I am doing the Brazilian area so bikini line, butt and everything inbetween except for a triangle on top which I left unshaved so she could see where to zap and where not to. I am paying £300 for 8 sessions.
I have 2 concerns that I want reassurance on!
submitted by pinkbananas444 to LaserHairRemoval [link] [comments]
I have pretty fair skin and my hair in this area is very dark. I've been waxing for 5+ years (last time 1 month ago). Yesterday I had my first session of LHR. I am doing the Brazilian area so bikini line, butt and everything inbetween except for a triangle on top which I left unshaved so she could see where to zap and where not to. I am paying £300 for 8 sessions.
I have 2 concerns that I want reassurance on!
- She took LITERALLY 3 minutes. I have quite a few folds down there and she did move stuff around, but still... 3 minutes? Is it really that quick?
- I shaved right before, and in most areas on my skin (but especially on top, like between the unshaved triangle and my leg) you can still see the black "dots"/hair follicles. I was under the impression these are the ones that get zapped away when doing laser. Should they not be gone now? I'm sure that when I went for a patch test, the patch they did was smooth (looking like it had been waxed) afterwards. I was expecting the same result all over.
2024.05.17 10:28 StargazerTea Paranormal Stories: House of Mirrors pt. 2
Continued from part one.
In the mirror I saw a figure of the darkness next to the foot of my bed. I screamed, only for the figure to dash back inside my closet and close the doors behind it. To the naked eye, the doors seemed to roll back on their own, but because of the many mirrors inside my room, I could see the shadowy figure.
“What’s wrong?” my mom burst into my room not even four seconds later.
“J-j-just a nightmare?” I was uncertain if my imagination was too strong for my own good so I held back on the truth.
I wish I told her the truth. That wasn’t the last time I would see the figure in the mirror.
It happened again, about five years later. Yeah it didn’t happen right away. I wondered if the figure I saw was friendly and I simply scared it away for a while. That was my first mindset, but then I second guessed myself and simply thought maybe it was just my imagination playing with me.
At age 12, things started to become rocky with my parents. They fought over the same things, but they also fought over me. I had gone into the world of music to the point where I wanted to take up guitar, piano, and violin. My mom took one side of the stance where she didn’t believe that I could commit to any of them. My dad believed the opposite, fighting that I could do anything if I set my mind to it.
Again, conflict resided. My angry mother could still barge into my room if I didn’t lock the doors. She once found me writing, insisted on me showing her what I wrote, when I resisted she pulled it away from me and read my vampire fanfiction.
I was an angsty girl. Hence my writings were a bit suggestive at the time. My mom and my dad both read my work. My dad actually liked what I wrote aside from the fact it was about the supernatural. Of course, my mother again got mad since she’s the most religious in our family. She was, in a sense, a heretic.
Needless to say, since my family’s religion absolutely detests “spiritualistic and demonic” media, I got grounded. Also to clarify, yes this also meant I never read or watched the Harry Potter series, including the Twilight series. Although I don’t think I missed out on much with the Twilight series lol. Eventually I managed to rent a book that I got from my school’s library, called Hush, Hush, which laid in my backpack, tempting me to read it.
So there I was, no laptop and in my room. I didn’t really care since I had a guitar and a notebook. I still could find pleasure outside of my laptop, which of course my mother absolutely detested as well. Whenever she grounded me, she used to take away any kind of toy. Then, once she realized I could read on my own and was making up stories when I couldn’t read, she began to take books away. Punishments with my family wasn’t really a punishment, I could always find a way to entertain myself. Even if she took my notebooks away, I’d still end up daydreaming about something, even act out scenes I’d come up with in my head.
Now you can understand why I pushed off the incident with the figure in the mirror as a figment of my imagination. I had figured it was a draft, that the wheels and tracking were well lubricated with some kind of oil that makes it hard for them to stay in place.
Sitting on my bed at age 12, I leant back and closed my eyes. I had notebooks, several books, a keyboard for me to practice piano on, and a guitar. It wasn’t a big deal. (Yes I was a spoiled child. I’m owning up to this since I was the only girl among four boys- plus I was also 13 years younger than my youngest brother.) However I was so tired, that I decided on lazily daydreaming. Besides, I could always sneak my laptop back late at night.
As a devoted writer, I continued on imagining the story I began. I imagined what it would feel like to have fangs teasing the throat of the neck, how it would be to be kissed and then bitten by a vampire... my mind was rolling and it didn’t stop. I was a twelve year old girl going through puberty.
I told myself to stop and I decided to pull out the book, smiling at my little success. I went back to the page I left off on at the library earlier that day. I buried myself into the book and became sleepy. I nearly finished the book by the time I set the book aside and stupidly put it on my bedside table.
I passed out soon after. I don’t recall what kind of dream I had at first, all I know is that sometime later in the night, I woke up again, but I could not move my body at all. I looked around my room, which was now fully dark. I barely could recognize anything around me. The familiar outline of my vanity was gone, any silver reflection was gone, I did not see a single mirror, so I knew I was no longer in my room anymore.
A slight humming noise was around me, the room I was in lit up with a red flashing light. It felt like I was being pinned down by some kind of restraint system, so I looked down and noticed these short pale creatures crawling on top of me, towards my face. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, and I knew one of the creatures had bit me already.
It became to feel like sharp knives stabbing me all over my body, until five creatures met my face, their eyes sullen- beady- staring down at me with bloodied mouths and lunged at my neck, causing me to scream..The sound finally piercing through and I could hear myself breathing again, I could hear my screams and my frantic prayers escaping my lips.
Had my mom not come into my room and slapped me on my face, jolting me out of it- whatever it was- I would have seen more than I could bare. She saw the book and her anger brewed even more at me.
“Are you tempting the demons to attack you or something?” she fumed and took the book off of the table. She led me down to the entryway and opened the garage door. “Put it in there.”
I followed her command and put the book into the garage. I knew it wasn’t the book’s fault, but it was associated with “demunz” in her eyes, so I didn’t dare argue against her.
“Do you want to die? If you keep associating with demons, you know god will never forgive you. You won’t inherit everlasting life, only everlasting death. You know that right?!?” she yelled at me, had my dad been there that night- he would have stopped her from going that far. I suddenly missed him.
Her anger then died down after she ranted at me, once she recognized that I was still petrified. She at least brought me to, which made me thankful, but I also felt betrayed. She was supposed to protect me, but all she cared about was the idea of force feeding me her belief system. All she cared about was telling me I was wrong.
“I’m-” she had begun, and I just looked away from her and saw a shadow in my mirror again, standing behind my mom. It didn’t feel as eerie anymore. It felt almost comforting to see it, it moved from my mom to me. A figure of it’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I felt the cool breeze raise goosebumps at it’s touch.
“Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?” her voice lowered.
“I’ll sleep alone,” I remarked, still stung with the hurt from her hurtful remark.
She looked hurt for a second, but then returned to her normal frown. “I’ll sleep in the little entertainment room next to you, if you need me just yell out again.”
“Fine,” I simply just pulled my blankets over me again, waited for her to leave, then cried into my pillow.
My mom left, not seeing the dark figure in the mirror and went into the adjacent room. At her departure, the darkness came into my bed, the eerie feeling no longer there and it snuggled against me.
Shh. It hushed me and brushed my hair.
I didn’t question it. I had been afraid of it for so long, but with the sweet affection it gave me- the affection I desired and longed for from both of my parents.
The falling tears turned into a silent sob, my body shook against the bed, little breathy whimpers muffled by my pillow.
Shh, it repeated until I fell asleep again.
When morning came, I woke up with a sore neck and I was irritated with my mom. I remembered what happened and then I snuck out to my laptop and searched up what had happened to me. I learned it was sleep paralysis and figured maybe my imagination went too far with the vampire thing. I was stiff, my body was so sore and I saw my closet doors closed.
Again, I had felt as if my imagination had made it up. I knew the kind of comfort it gave me is what I desperately longed for. It gave me what my family didn’t, and I hated myself. I thought it was a figment of my imagination since it knew all the things I wanted. That is, until something else showed up. The shadow figure in the mirrors was just the start of it all.
submitted by StargazerTea to Ghoststories [link] [comments]
In the mirror I saw a figure of the darkness next to the foot of my bed. I screamed, only for the figure to dash back inside my closet and close the doors behind it. To the naked eye, the doors seemed to roll back on their own, but because of the many mirrors inside my room, I could see the shadowy figure.
“What’s wrong?” my mom burst into my room not even four seconds later.
“J-j-just a nightmare?” I was uncertain if my imagination was too strong for my own good so I held back on the truth.
I wish I told her the truth. That wasn’t the last time I would see the figure in the mirror.
It happened again, about five years later. Yeah it didn’t happen right away. I wondered if the figure I saw was friendly and I simply scared it away for a while. That was my first mindset, but then I second guessed myself and simply thought maybe it was just my imagination playing with me.
At age 12, things started to become rocky with my parents. They fought over the same things, but they also fought over me. I had gone into the world of music to the point where I wanted to take up guitar, piano, and violin. My mom took one side of the stance where she didn’t believe that I could commit to any of them. My dad believed the opposite, fighting that I could do anything if I set my mind to it.
Again, conflict resided. My angry mother could still barge into my room if I didn’t lock the doors. She once found me writing, insisted on me showing her what I wrote, when I resisted she pulled it away from me and read my vampire fanfiction.
I was an angsty girl. Hence my writings were a bit suggestive at the time. My mom and my dad both read my work. My dad actually liked what I wrote aside from the fact it was about the supernatural. Of course, my mother again got mad since she’s the most religious in our family. She was, in a sense, a heretic.
Needless to say, since my family’s religion absolutely detests “spiritualistic and demonic” media, I got grounded. Also to clarify, yes this also meant I never read or watched the Harry Potter series, including the Twilight series. Although I don’t think I missed out on much with the Twilight series lol. Eventually I managed to rent a book that I got from my school’s library, called Hush, Hush, which laid in my backpack, tempting me to read it.
So there I was, no laptop and in my room. I didn’t really care since I had a guitar and a notebook. I still could find pleasure outside of my laptop, which of course my mother absolutely detested as well. Whenever she grounded me, she used to take away any kind of toy. Then, once she realized I could read on my own and was making up stories when I couldn’t read, she began to take books away. Punishments with my family wasn’t really a punishment, I could always find a way to entertain myself. Even if she took my notebooks away, I’d still end up daydreaming about something, even act out scenes I’d come up with in my head.
Now you can understand why I pushed off the incident with the figure in the mirror as a figment of my imagination. I had figured it was a draft, that the wheels and tracking were well lubricated with some kind of oil that makes it hard for them to stay in place.
Sitting on my bed at age 12, I leant back and closed my eyes. I had notebooks, several books, a keyboard for me to practice piano on, and a guitar. It wasn’t a big deal. (Yes I was a spoiled child. I’m owning up to this since I was the only girl among four boys- plus I was also 13 years younger than my youngest brother.) However I was so tired, that I decided on lazily daydreaming. Besides, I could always sneak my laptop back late at night.
As a devoted writer, I continued on imagining the story I began. I imagined what it would feel like to have fangs teasing the throat of the neck, how it would be to be kissed and then bitten by a vampire... my mind was rolling and it didn’t stop. I was a twelve year old girl going through puberty.
I told myself to stop and I decided to pull out the book, smiling at my little success. I went back to the page I left off on at the library earlier that day. I buried myself into the book and became sleepy. I nearly finished the book by the time I set the book aside and stupidly put it on my bedside table.
I passed out soon after. I don’t recall what kind of dream I had at first, all I know is that sometime later in the night, I woke up again, but I could not move my body at all. I looked around my room, which was now fully dark. I barely could recognize anything around me. The familiar outline of my vanity was gone, any silver reflection was gone, I did not see a single mirror, so I knew I was no longer in my room anymore.
A slight humming noise was around me, the room I was in lit up with a red flashing light. It felt like I was being pinned down by some kind of restraint system, so I looked down and noticed these short pale creatures crawling on top of me, towards my face. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, and I knew one of the creatures had bit me already.
It became to feel like sharp knives stabbing me all over my body, until five creatures met my face, their eyes sullen- beady- staring down at me with bloodied mouths and lunged at my neck, causing me to scream..The sound finally piercing through and I could hear myself breathing again, I could hear my screams and my frantic prayers escaping my lips.
Had my mom not come into my room and slapped me on my face, jolting me out of it- whatever it was- I would have seen more than I could bare. She saw the book and her anger brewed even more at me.
“Are you tempting the demons to attack you or something?” she fumed and took the book off of the table. She led me down to the entryway and opened the garage door. “Put it in there.”
I followed her command and put the book into the garage. I knew it wasn’t the book’s fault, but it was associated with “demunz” in her eyes, so I didn’t dare argue against her.
“Do you want to die? If you keep associating with demons, you know god will never forgive you. You won’t inherit everlasting life, only everlasting death. You know that right?!?” she yelled at me, had my dad been there that night- he would have stopped her from going that far. I suddenly missed him.
Her anger then died down after she ranted at me, once she recognized that I was still petrified. She at least brought me to, which made me thankful, but I also felt betrayed. She was supposed to protect me, but all she cared about was the idea of force feeding me her belief system. All she cared about was telling me I was wrong.
“I’m-” she had begun, and I just looked away from her and saw a shadow in my mirror again, standing behind my mom. It didn’t feel as eerie anymore. It felt almost comforting to see it, it moved from my mom to me. A figure of it’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I felt the cool breeze raise goosebumps at it’s touch.
“Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?” her voice lowered.
“I’ll sleep alone,” I remarked, still stung with the hurt from her hurtful remark.
She looked hurt for a second, but then returned to her normal frown. “I’ll sleep in the little entertainment room next to you, if you need me just yell out again.”
“Fine,” I simply just pulled my blankets over me again, waited for her to leave, then cried into my pillow.
My mom left, not seeing the dark figure in the mirror and went into the adjacent room. At her departure, the darkness came into my bed, the eerie feeling no longer there and it snuggled against me.
Shh. It hushed me and brushed my hair.
I didn’t question it. I had been afraid of it for so long, but with the sweet affection it gave me- the affection I desired and longed for from both of my parents.
The falling tears turned into a silent sob, my body shook against the bed, little breathy whimpers muffled by my pillow.
Shh, it repeated until I fell asleep again.
When morning came, I woke up with a sore neck and I was irritated with my mom. I remembered what happened and then I snuck out to my laptop and searched up what had happened to me. I learned it was sleep paralysis and figured maybe my imagination went too far with the vampire thing. I was stiff, my body was so sore and I saw my closet doors closed.
Again, I had felt as if my imagination had made it up. I knew the kind of comfort it gave me is what I desperately longed for. It gave me what my family didn’t, and I hated myself. I thought it was a figment of my imagination since it knew all the things I wanted. That is, until something else showed up. The shadow figure in the mirrors was just the start of it all.
2024.05.17 10:27 Exotic-Ad2045 Questions About Early Cards
I am a new player, and I have just reached the pool 2 range. I have some questions about some of the cards that I don't understand how to use correctly.
Angela/Bishop: I have seen around this sub that Angela is a fantastic card but I don't see it. The investment you need to put in these cards is wild. Unless you use Nightcrawler, iron fist and HulkBuster perfectly, Angela can only increase to 6, when other cards can yield greater power with less energy investment. Bishop is even worse, with the potential of playing only 3 cards after him. This is compounded by the fact that only one card is drawn per round, any you used your 1-cost in the early rounds of the game already. Wolfsbane seems to be far superior, as a good cap to a location and a good combo with Antman, with no need for further investment.
Iron Fist/Heimdall/MM: These cards do not seem all that powerful. Cards like Nightcrawler+HulkBuster solve the same problems while also being able to work in multiple types of decks. A power increase 3 when MultipleMan moves, or a 2 when Kraven moves is abysmal compared to the other potential combos.
Professor X: Probably a skill issue on my part but this card is almost useless compared to WhiteTiger. Whenever I play this, the opponent always manages to play enough cards to beat me there.
Lizard: I get the card is supposed to bait the opponent into playing more cards than their original plan, but the card isn't powerful enough (like Namor) to use as an investment, or to play in turns 5/6.
submitted by Exotic-Ad2045 to MarvelSnap [link] [comments]
Angela/Bishop: I have seen around this sub that Angela is a fantastic card but I don't see it. The investment you need to put in these cards is wild. Unless you use Nightcrawler, iron fist and HulkBuster perfectly, Angela can only increase to 6, when other cards can yield greater power with less energy investment. Bishop is even worse, with the potential of playing only 3 cards after him. This is compounded by the fact that only one card is drawn per round, any you used your 1-cost in the early rounds of the game already. Wolfsbane seems to be far superior, as a good cap to a location and a good combo with Antman, with no need for further investment.
Iron Fist/Heimdall/MM: These cards do not seem all that powerful. Cards like Nightcrawler+HulkBuster solve the same problems while also being able to work in multiple types of decks. A power increase 3 when MultipleMan moves, or a 2 when Kraven moves is abysmal compared to the other potential combos.
Professor X: Probably a skill issue on my part but this card is almost useless compared to WhiteTiger. Whenever I play this, the opponent always manages to play enough cards to beat me there.
Lizard: I get the card is supposed to bait the opponent into playing more cards than their original plan, but the card isn't powerful enough (like Namor) to use as an investment, or to play in turns 5/6.
2024.05.17 10:12 Round-Produce-7349 How enslaved Muslim Africans became the ONLY successful slave rebellion in the history of North America and ruled Haiti afterwards?
As most people already know, the transatlantic slave trade was one of the gruesome forms of slavery in the history of mankind. Millions of humans were shipped off into cargo size holes inside of ships to unknown areas and they were chained up for months on end. As soon as they got to the new world. They were sold off into slave auctions. They were treated worse than cattle. Fathers were routinely beaten and mothers were routinely raped by slave masters. There were many more gruesome things such as slave breeding farms across America during this time period. It was practically hell on earth for these slaves.
Many slaves ran off the plantations and were chased around by slave patrols at night and if they were caught. They could have their legs chopped off or castrated.
A major trend that many historians and authors have noticed across the history of slavery in the new world
EVERY successful slave rebellion from Haiti to Brazil was conducted by Muslim Africans
The Haitian revolution was the only successful one at such a large scale. They managed to fight off multiple European powers. They damaged the French so much that Napolean was forced to not only retreat from Haiti but also sell Louisiana during the Louisiana purchase.
Many Muslim Africans were forced to convert to Christianity but they still practiced Islam in secret across Haiti
The most ruthless slave rebel to the European masters was a guy by the name of Francois Macandal
He literally ended up killing over 6,000 European plantation owners in Haiti, his nickname was poison by them
The only time where Muslims were no successful in a slave rebellion was when they were intermingling with Christian Africans and pagan voodoo Africans
However the European colonial powers knew that Islam was the most aggressive belief system to cause them harm
European colonial people from Thomas Jefferson all the way to modern day Donald Trump have always seen Islam as a threat to their European Western rule over the world.
Right now, Haitians aren't Muslims by majority anymore. Even the religion of Islam is frowned upon in Haiti. The European colonial agents have successfully corrupted the minds of Haitians so that they could never see another revolution again uprooting their system
Many European westerners say Arab Muslims are just a racist as whites to African people
However people to need realize that Islam does NOT equal Arabs
You can find bad human beings in all religions but the ISLAMIC faith is NOT racist according to the Quran
This why even Arab Muslims had their whole empire destroyed to shreds by Muslim African slaves in the Zanj rebellion
Over 1 million Arabs were killed by African Muslim Zanj rebels and the leader Muhammad Ibn Ali
What I'm trying to say is that Islam always gives the slaves and oppressed to fighting chance to uproot the status quo or masters of the region
Prophet Muhammad(PBUH) uprooted the pagan Quryash and other upper class pagan Arabs
Then he uprooted the Persians who thought they were better
Even in India, the WHOLE 1857 rebellion was carried out by Indian Muslims against the British
Islam is ONLY belief system that guarantees as downtrodden people results and history has proven this
These Haitians do not know that they can easily be enslaved again because Africans without Allah(SWT) are very disorganized people
Same goes for Indian Hindus and even pagan Persians at the time
You have to remember that at a time when it was legal to enslave any black African and treat them like dogs and if they try to fight back. They would be lynched or beaten to a pulp. They had NO help at all. You have to remember that sugar cane plantations are way worse than cotton plantations.
This is why Pakistan should never let western ideology such as feminism or any type of pagan Bollywood thrive in Pakistan's psyche
Islam strengthens a people from the status of slaves and impoverished to the status of kings and rich rulers
All these other belief systems makes a person more docile by nature
submitted by Round-Produce-7349 to PAK [link] [comments]
Many slaves ran off the plantations and were chased around by slave patrols at night and if they were caught. They could have their legs chopped off or castrated.
A major trend that many historians and authors have noticed across the history of slavery in the new world
EVERY successful slave rebellion from Haiti to Brazil was conducted by Muslim Africans
The Haitian revolution was the only successful one at such a large scale. They managed to fight off multiple European powers. They damaged the French so much that Napolean was forced to not only retreat from Haiti but also sell Louisiana during the Louisiana purchase.
Many Muslim Africans were forced to convert to Christianity but they still practiced Islam in secret across Haiti
The most ruthless slave rebel to the European masters was a guy by the name of Francois Macandal
He literally ended up killing over 6,000 European plantation owners in Haiti, his nickname was poison by them
The only time where Muslims were no successful in a slave rebellion was when they were intermingling with Christian Africans and pagan voodoo Africans
However the European colonial powers knew that Islam was the most aggressive belief system to cause them harm
European colonial people from Thomas Jefferson all the way to modern day Donald Trump have always seen Islam as a threat to their European Western rule over the world.
Right now, Haitians aren't Muslims by majority anymore. Even the religion of Islam is frowned upon in Haiti. The European colonial agents have successfully corrupted the minds of Haitians so that they could never see another revolution again uprooting their system
Many European westerners say Arab Muslims are just a racist as whites to African people
However people to need realize that Islam does NOT equal Arabs
You can find bad human beings in all religions but the ISLAMIC faith is NOT racist according to the Quran
This why even Arab Muslims had their whole empire destroyed to shreds by Muslim African slaves in the Zanj rebellion
Over 1 million Arabs were killed by African Muslim Zanj rebels and the leader Muhammad Ibn Ali
What I'm trying to say is that Islam always gives the slaves and oppressed to fighting chance to uproot the status quo or masters of the region
Prophet Muhammad(PBUH) uprooted the pagan Quryash and other upper class pagan Arabs
Then he uprooted the Persians who thought they were better
Even in India, the WHOLE 1857 rebellion was carried out by Indian Muslims against the British
Islam is ONLY belief system that guarantees as downtrodden people results and history has proven this
These Haitians do not know that they can easily be enslaved again because Africans without Allah(SWT) are very disorganized people
Same goes for Indian Hindus and even pagan Persians at the time
You have to remember that at a time when it was legal to enslave any black African and treat them like dogs and if they try to fight back. They would be lynched or beaten to a pulp. They had NO help at all. You have to remember that sugar cane plantations are way worse than cotton plantations.
This is why Pakistan should never let western ideology such as feminism or any type of pagan Bollywood thrive in Pakistan's psyche
Islam strengthens a people from the status of slaves and impoverished to the status of kings and rich rulers
All these other belief systems makes a person more docile by nature
2024.05.17 10:11 Joy1067 Of Arrogance and Valor
“Incredible!”
The rebel reeled from the punch, the fist slamming through his protective helmet and cracking his jaw. He choked out a sob at the pain and the feeling of several of his teeth being knocked down his throat.
“This? This is what you send to try and rebel against the Imperium?! THIS?!”
A harsh kick was sent into the rebels stomach, making him cough up the rations he had that morning and a few of the once missing teeth. He grabbed his stomach and his body made to tilt forward and lay in the dust.
Only he was stopped as an armored gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stand. His hands came up and grabbed at his attackers wrist as he stared into his own grim reaper.
Said killer wore the helmet of the Macraggian Auxilia, his faceplate being that of a stylized skull. His rank was shown proudly in the form of a centurions plum, blue and white horsehair picked out atop a gilded mount on the top of his helmet.
“Incredible. It’s truly incredible what passes for rebellion these days hm?”
The soldiers behind the centurion laughed or smiled as they watched their leader hoist the rebel up as if the rebel was some game beast that was just recently hunted. Pressure in the form of steam shot out of the centurions wrist, betraying the hidden augmented limb under the armor. The rebel tried to speak, scratching at the Centurion’s arm.
“What? Speak up damn you, and speak clearly. I have no time or patience to hear some long speech about tyranny or whatever else. We have your city to burn insurgent.”
And burn it would. Two large tanks with massive flamers could be seen in the back, protected by infantry and assault vehicles. The main force would break the walls, the infantry would kill the people, and the tanks would burn the rest to ashes.
“Aghh….thill….you….thasard!”
The rebel said, spitting blood and bone fragments from his shattered jaw through what was left of his faceplate.
“Ah. Nothing interesting to say. Oh well.”
The rebel tried in vain to speak again but was silenced as the centurion forced a power gladius through his mouth. He was then unceremoniously dropped to the dust, choking on blood as he watched the Macraggian soldiers march on his home. The last thing he saw before dying was his killer, taking his helmet off and smiling in a wide, cocky manner. ————————————————————————
“Don’t spare the body men, he was a rebel. March over him.”
Tiberius Victor, Centurion of the 3rd Macraggain Legion, yelled as he wiped the grim that had built up over his helmet. He scowled at the filth that adorned his armor and sighed.
“Bloody rebels will pay for more than just rebellion. Look at this! They scratched my faceplate! And that bastard I just killed dared to spit blood at me! Oh they will pay tenfold.”
He chuckled and shrugged as he replaced his helmet. He rolled his head and drew the lapistol he had holstered at his side. He examined it for a moment before shaking his head.
“Ugh….to easy.”
He holstered the pistol again and flourished his gladius as he grabbed the handholds of a Leman Russ tank that was about to pass him by. He climbed up until he stood on top of the tank and crouched down, using his newfound height to look over his army and the objective.
The city was massive….but so were the last three he had burned. Both Imperial Army and even Ultramarine Legion Command had told him he was too far ahead and that he needed to slow down. But where was the fun in that? Besides, the campaign has been far too easy thus far. He had suffered very few casualties, his men were never hungry and his tanks never ran dry on fuel, and the enemy bled. Oh how they bled.
He sighed.
“Easy. Far too easy. Captain?”
The command hatch the tank he rode popped open and a woman in the dirty coveralls and goggled helmet of a tank commander. She looked around, rubbing her eyes before turning and smiling widely. She gave a crisp salute, one which he lazily returned, before nodding.
“Aye my Centurion?”
“Do we have any more wine about? I’m parched from all these victories we keep piling on.”
The captain cringed then turned towards the city.
“Uh….my centurion? Wouldn’t you rather have some water?”
Tiberius turned his head towards the captain, the tilt of his head betraying the cocky smile hidden beneath that the captain and the rest of the army had come to love and hate.
“Captain….are you questioning me?”
“I-no! No, of course not my centurion! But uh….well….”
He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, not bothering to stand up from the relaxed position he had taken. He had laid down on his side, his sword hand having sheathed his gladius to prop his head up.
“Well….shouldn’t uh….shouldn’t wine be saved for victory?”
The centurion stared at her for a moment. A very long moment. Perhaps….to long of a moment.
“I….I apologize my centurion! I will-“
Laughter. The centurion was laughing, something he rarely did outside of combat or when around the campfires at night. He laughed loudly and caught the attention of several other Auxilia soldiers.
“True! Haha! I knew I kept you around for something Captain. Fine, me and you shall share the first bottle of wine after that….excuse for a city burns. Return to your duties captain.”
He waved the captain off then turned his head back to the city, not moving out of his relaxed position. She knew better then to consider him lazy or incompetent, she had seen him in action.
She saluted and quickly went back down into her tank. ————————————————————————
He held his helmet in the crook of his arm. He breathed in deeply, smiling as he watched the city burn. Something grabbed his boot and looked down, only to scowl in disgust.
A woman, her lower half aflame with one leg missing, held onto his boot and shin guard.
“Please….mercy! We surrender!”
He raised an eyebrow and followed the trail the rebel left in the dust to see several more wounded and scared rebels. One held up a white rag on a piece of rebar as a white flag.
Several of his auxilia aimed their rifles at the rebels as a sergeant began to moved forward with a pair of restraints.
He was stopped by Tiberius’s sword.
“Sergeant? What are you doing?”
“Uh…taking prisoners sir?”
The centurion tilted his head and smiled widely.
“Prisoners? I don’t recall ordering anyone to take prisoners.”
He lifted his boot and stomped on the wounded woman’s head, smiling wickedly at the crunch he heard under his foot.
“Uh….no my Centurion but legion command has-“
“Legion command? You are taking orders from Ultramarines instead of telling me that such orders have come through?”
“There was no time sir! The orders came fro-“
Tiberius put his helmet on and shoved the sergeant to the side, ripping the rifle from the soldiers hands.
“I see no space marines here soldier. I see soldiers and I see rebels. We kill rebels because we are soldiers.”
He took aim at the closest rebel, put his finger on the trigger and-
“Thats enough Centurion.”
He stopped. He slowly turned his head towards the new, feminine voice behind him.
“Excuse me troo-“
He stopped again and stared. She had to have been 10 feet or at least close, this goddess in blue and gold. Her short, cropped hair was golden blonde and a green, metallic laurel wreath was wrapped around her head to add to her noble features. She came with several ultramarines as an honor guard in tow but he was sure she could handle anything thrown her way with ease.
“The Lady of Macragge.”
He whispered in awe before looking around. Those under his command had shared his awe but where he shook himself free, the rest still stared.
“Damn you all, our Lady is here! Bow damn you! All of you bow!”
He paced up and down the line, ensuring his auxilia bowed. He then turned towards the rebels and pointed at the guards who stood over them.
“Them too, cmon now. Bow!”
The rebels resisted the guards orders and movements. The centurions rage grew as he stormed over and pulled his gladius from its sheath.
“I command thee BOW.”
He sliced the back of the knees of one of the captives, the man yelping in pain before yelling in agony from his nearly cut tendons. The rest fell in line quickly.
Tiberius marched towards the Primarch, her honor guard bringing their weapons to bare only for him to kneel down and stab his gladius into the dirt.
“My Lady. Centurion Tiberius Victor of the 3rd Macraggian Legion reporting.”
The Primarch stared down at the Centurion before her eyes went up and around. She took note of the rather large number of prisoners and the burning cityscape around them.
“A good campaign Centurion?”
Tiberius nodded, smiling widely under his helmet.
“Yes my Lady. I only wish it weren’t so boring, so easy! But it is done.”
It took every ounce of self control to not scowl at his arrogant and cocky nature. He spoke as if he had stomped on a bug rather than a rebels skull. Yet….something about him caught her attention.
“Remove your helm centurion.”
He did so without delay, removing his helmet and setting it at her feet. His hair was cut in the traditional military ‘high and tight’ fashion and he was mostly clean cut save for a well trimmed mustache that went no further than the corners of his mouth.
“I recall telling my command staff to recall you back as you had pushed to far ahead. Yet we stand here at the city we were meant to take, the one we were meant to hold. The one….that is currently burning to ashes around us. What do you have to say for yourself Centurion?”
He said nothing for a long time. Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The auxilia around them slowly looked at each other, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but all were worried or tense.
“Hahah! Ah….I say mission accomplished my Lady. I also say that this light really brings out the color of your eyes.”
He laughed again and slowly stood up while extending his arms out wide.
“I say I give you the best gift this galaxy can offer to someone like you from someone like me.”
His smile grew into the same cocky, full of himself grin those under his command knew so well.
“I give you victory, my Lady Juno.”
He held his gladius up and flourished it, letting the blade catch the firelight of a dying city.
“Victory.”
submitted by Joy1067 to PrimarchGFs [link] [comments]
The rebel reeled from the punch, the fist slamming through his protective helmet and cracking his jaw. He choked out a sob at the pain and the feeling of several of his teeth being knocked down his throat.
“This? This is what you send to try and rebel against the Imperium?! THIS?!”
A harsh kick was sent into the rebels stomach, making him cough up the rations he had that morning and a few of the once missing teeth. He grabbed his stomach and his body made to tilt forward and lay in the dust.
Only he was stopped as an armored gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and forced him to stand. His hands came up and grabbed at his attackers wrist as he stared into his own grim reaper.
Said killer wore the helmet of the Macraggian Auxilia, his faceplate being that of a stylized skull. His rank was shown proudly in the form of a centurions plum, blue and white horsehair picked out atop a gilded mount on the top of his helmet.
“Incredible. It’s truly incredible what passes for rebellion these days hm?”
The soldiers behind the centurion laughed or smiled as they watched their leader hoist the rebel up as if the rebel was some game beast that was just recently hunted. Pressure in the form of steam shot out of the centurions wrist, betraying the hidden augmented limb under the armor. The rebel tried to speak, scratching at the Centurion’s arm.
“What? Speak up damn you, and speak clearly. I have no time or patience to hear some long speech about tyranny or whatever else. We have your city to burn insurgent.”
And burn it would. Two large tanks with massive flamers could be seen in the back, protected by infantry and assault vehicles. The main force would break the walls, the infantry would kill the people, and the tanks would burn the rest to ashes.
“Aghh….thill….you….thasard!”
The rebel said, spitting blood and bone fragments from his shattered jaw through what was left of his faceplate.
“Ah. Nothing interesting to say. Oh well.”
The rebel tried in vain to speak again but was silenced as the centurion forced a power gladius through his mouth. He was then unceremoniously dropped to the dust, choking on blood as he watched the Macraggian soldiers march on his home. The last thing he saw before dying was his killer, taking his helmet off and smiling in a wide, cocky manner. ————————————————————————
“Don’t spare the body men, he was a rebel. March over him.”
Tiberius Victor, Centurion of the 3rd Macraggain Legion, yelled as he wiped the grim that had built up over his helmet. He scowled at the filth that adorned his armor and sighed.
“Bloody rebels will pay for more than just rebellion. Look at this! They scratched my faceplate! And that bastard I just killed dared to spit blood at me! Oh they will pay tenfold.”
He chuckled and shrugged as he replaced his helmet. He rolled his head and drew the lapistol he had holstered at his side. He examined it for a moment before shaking his head.
“Ugh….to easy.”
He holstered the pistol again and flourished his gladius as he grabbed the handholds of a Leman Russ tank that was about to pass him by. He climbed up until he stood on top of the tank and crouched down, using his newfound height to look over his army and the objective.
The city was massive….but so were the last three he had burned. Both Imperial Army and even Ultramarine Legion Command had told him he was too far ahead and that he needed to slow down. But where was the fun in that? Besides, the campaign has been far too easy thus far. He had suffered very few casualties, his men were never hungry and his tanks never ran dry on fuel, and the enemy bled. Oh how they bled.
He sighed.
“Easy. Far too easy. Captain?”
The command hatch the tank he rode popped open and a woman in the dirty coveralls and goggled helmet of a tank commander. She looked around, rubbing her eyes before turning and smiling widely. She gave a crisp salute, one which he lazily returned, before nodding.
“Aye my Centurion?”
“Do we have any more wine about? I’m parched from all these victories we keep piling on.”
The captain cringed then turned towards the city.
“Uh….my centurion? Wouldn’t you rather have some water?”
Tiberius turned his head towards the captain, the tilt of his head betraying the cocky smile hidden beneath that the captain and the rest of the army had come to love and hate.
“Captain….are you questioning me?”
“I-no! No, of course not my centurion! But uh….well….”
He made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, not bothering to stand up from the relaxed position he had taken. He had laid down on his side, his sword hand having sheathed his gladius to prop his head up.
“Well….shouldn’t uh….shouldn’t wine be saved for victory?”
The centurion stared at her for a moment. A very long moment. Perhaps….to long of a moment.
“I….I apologize my centurion! I will-“
Laughter. The centurion was laughing, something he rarely did outside of combat or when around the campfires at night. He laughed loudly and caught the attention of several other Auxilia soldiers.
“True! Haha! I knew I kept you around for something Captain. Fine, me and you shall share the first bottle of wine after that….excuse for a city burns. Return to your duties captain.”
He waved the captain off then turned his head back to the city, not moving out of his relaxed position. She knew better then to consider him lazy or incompetent, she had seen him in action.
She saluted and quickly went back down into her tank. ————————————————————————
He held his helmet in the crook of his arm. He breathed in deeply, smiling as he watched the city burn. Something grabbed his boot and looked down, only to scowl in disgust.
A woman, her lower half aflame with one leg missing, held onto his boot and shin guard.
“Please….mercy! We surrender!”
He raised an eyebrow and followed the trail the rebel left in the dust to see several more wounded and scared rebels. One held up a white rag on a piece of rebar as a white flag.
Several of his auxilia aimed their rifles at the rebels as a sergeant began to moved forward with a pair of restraints.
He was stopped by Tiberius’s sword.
“Sergeant? What are you doing?”
“Uh…taking prisoners sir?”
The centurion tilted his head and smiled widely.
“Prisoners? I don’t recall ordering anyone to take prisoners.”
He lifted his boot and stomped on the wounded woman’s head, smiling wickedly at the crunch he heard under his foot.
“Uh….no my Centurion but legion command has-“
“Legion command? You are taking orders from Ultramarines instead of telling me that such orders have come through?”
“There was no time sir! The orders came fro-“
Tiberius put his helmet on and shoved the sergeant to the side, ripping the rifle from the soldiers hands.
“I see no space marines here soldier. I see soldiers and I see rebels. We kill rebels because we are soldiers.”
He took aim at the closest rebel, put his finger on the trigger and-
“Thats enough Centurion.”
He stopped. He slowly turned his head towards the new, feminine voice behind him.
“Excuse me troo-“
He stopped again and stared. She had to have been 10 feet or at least close, this goddess in blue and gold. Her short, cropped hair was golden blonde and a green, metallic laurel wreath was wrapped around her head to add to her noble features. She came with several ultramarines as an honor guard in tow but he was sure she could handle anything thrown her way with ease.
“The Lady of Macragge.”
He whispered in awe before looking around. Those under his command had shared his awe but where he shook himself free, the rest still stared.
“Damn you all, our Lady is here! Bow damn you! All of you bow!”
He paced up and down the line, ensuring his auxilia bowed. He then turned towards the rebels and pointed at the guards who stood over them.
“Them too, cmon now. Bow!”
The rebels resisted the guards orders and movements. The centurions rage grew as he stormed over and pulled his gladius from its sheath.
“I command thee BOW.”
He sliced the back of the knees of one of the captives, the man yelping in pain before yelling in agony from his nearly cut tendons. The rest fell in line quickly.
Tiberius marched towards the Primarch, her honor guard bringing their weapons to bare only for him to kneel down and stab his gladius into the dirt.
“My Lady. Centurion Tiberius Victor of the 3rd Macraggian Legion reporting.”
The Primarch stared down at the Centurion before her eyes went up and around. She took note of the rather large number of prisoners and the burning cityscape around them.
“A good campaign Centurion?”
Tiberius nodded, smiling widely under his helmet.
“Yes my Lady. I only wish it weren’t so boring, so easy! But it is done.”
It took every ounce of self control to not scowl at his arrogant and cocky nature. He spoke as if he had stomped on a bug rather than a rebels skull. Yet….something about him caught her attention.
“Remove your helm centurion.”
He did so without delay, removing his helmet and setting it at her feet. His hair was cut in the traditional military ‘high and tight’ fashion and he was mostly clean cut save for a well trimmed mustache that went no further than the corners of his mouth.
“I recall telling my command staff to recall you back as you had pushed to far ahead. Yet we stand here at the city we were meant to take, the one we were meant to hold. The one….that is currently burning to ashes around us. What do you have to say for yourself Centurion?”
He said nothing for a long time. Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The auxilia around them slowly looked at each other, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but all were worried or tense.
“Hahah! Ah….I say mission accomplished my Lady. I also say that this light really brings out the color of your eyes.”
He laughed again and slowly stood up while extending his arms out wide.
“I say I give you the best gift this galaxy can offer to someone like you from someone like me.”
His smile grew into the same cocky, full of himself grin those under his command knew so well.
“I give you victory, my Lady Juno.”
He held his gladius up and flourished it, letting the blade catch the firelight of a dying city.
“Victory.”
2024.05.17 10:08 Real-Parsnip-167 "Just because many racists criticize China shouldn't mean we should get into bed with people committing racial slaughter"
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2024.05.17 10:05 MYSFITS_OFFICIAL Children of Sol 59
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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.
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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.
2024.05.17 10:02 keerthiamyg Side effects of insulin during pregnancy
Side Effects of Insulin During Pregnancy
Insulin is a crucial hormone produced by the pancreas to regulate blood glucose levels. During pregnancy, managing blood sugar becomes even more critical to ensure the health of both the mother and the growing baby.
1. Why Is Insulin Needed During Pregnancy?
There are several types of insulin, each with different characteristics:
Insulin does not cross the placenta, making it safe for both the mother and the baby.
Injection Site Reactions: Redness, swelling, itching, or skin thickening near the injection site.
1.Change Insulin Injection Sites.
2.Consistent Timing.
3.Consult Your Doctor for Diet.
Uncontrolled insulin risks during Pregnancy:
1.Large Fetal Size.
2.Difficult Delivery.
3.Increased risk of Future Diabetes
4.Health problems for the Fetus.
5.Premature Delivery.
6.Preeclampsia and High Blood Pressure.
7.Risk of death for Fetus.
Remember that insulin plays a vital role in maintaining a healthy pregnancy. If you experience any side effects or have concerns, consult your doctor immediately. Proper management ensures the well-being of both you and your baby.
In summary, insulin is a valuable tool for managing blood sugar during pregnancy. While it has some potential side effects, its benefits far outweigh the risks. Always follow your healthcare providers guidance to ensure a safe and healthy pregnancy.
submitted by keerthiamyg to u/keerthiamyg [link] [comments]
Insulin is a crucial hormone produced by the pancreas to regulate blood glucose levels. During pregnancy, managing blood sugar becomes even more critical to ensure the health of both the mother and the growing baby.
1. Why Is Insulin Needed During Pregnancy?
- Gestational Diabetes: Some pregnant individuals develop gestational diabetes, a condition where blood sugar levels rise during pregnancy. Insulin helps control blood glucose and prevent complications.
There are several types of insulin, each with different characteristics:
- Rapid-acting insulin: Starts working about 15 minutes after injection, peaks one to two hours afterward, and lasts for about two to four hours.
- Short-acting insulin: Begins working within 30 minutes of injection, peaks two to three hours afterward, and remains effective for three to six hours.
- Intermediate-acting insulin: Takes effect two to four hours after injection, peaks around four to 12 hours afterward, and works for 12–18 hours.
- Long-acting insulin: Begins working several hours after injection and lowers glucose levels for up to 24 hours.
- Ultra long-acting insulin: Starts working in six hours, never peaks and lasts 36 hour or longer.
Insulin does not cross the placenta, making it safe for both the mother and the baby.
- Complications with high blood sugar: Uncontrolled blood sugar during pregnancy can lead to birth defects, large fetal size (large for gestational size) increased during risk of C-section, preeclampsia and even pregnancy loss.
Injection Site Reactions: Redness, swelling, itching, or skin thickening near the injection site.
- Hypoglycemia (Low Blood Sugar): Insulin can cause low blood sugar if not balanced properly. Symptoms include dizziness, shaking, sweating, racing heart, and tingling in the tongue and lips.
- Lumps at Injection Sites: To prevent this, avoid injecting in the same spot every time.
- Puffiness in Lips, Tongue and Throat: Rarely, insulin may cause localized swelling. Monitoring and Care:
- Regular monitoring of blood sugar levels is essential during pregnancy.
- Work closely with your healthcare provider to adjust insulin doses as needed.
1.Change Insulin Injection Sites.
2.Consistent Timing.
3.Consult Your Doctor for Diet.
Uncontrolled insulin risks during Pregnancy:
1.Large Fetal Size.
2.Difficult Delivery.
3.Increased risk of Future Diabetes
4.Health problems for the Fetus.
5.Premature Delivery.
6.Preeclampsia and High Blood Pressure.
7.Risk of death for Fetus.
Remember that insulin plays a vital role in maintaining a healthy pregnancy. If you experience any side effects or have concerns, consult your doctor immediately. Proper management ensures the well-being of both you and your baby.
In summary, insulin is a valuable tool for managing blood sugar during pregnancy. While it has some potential side effects, its benefits far outweigh the risks. Always follow your healthcare providers guidance to ensure a safe and healthy pregnancy.
2024.05.17 09:53 thecatcher1716 A Broken Promise Rectified - Chapter 9
 | The betrayal of death submitted by thecatcher1716 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments] Helheim long ago The human population was continuing to increase, and so the son of the primordial Nyx, Thanatos, was given the task of aiding Azrael in his duties. https://preview.redd.it/k69t9s9xzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=57a1657dcd7be6936df7ecb06800b903cfef888a With the blood of a primordial flowing through him, Thanatos achieved mastery over the souls of humans, able to manipulate them in any way and guide them to the underworld. When assigned these duties, he was given a weapon forged under the command of Nyx, similarly to his siblings. A marvellous scythe was forged and given to the new god of the dead. A white gem where the handle met the blade. Alongside his primordial blood, this scythe made him nigh unstoppable when directly challenged. With this strength, Thanatos was favoured amongst the gods and heralded as the champion of souls while Azrael watched from the corner, all having forgotten that he was the one who stepped up to take the role initially. The years went by and Thanatos continued to be praised from all the pantheons in Valhalla, while Azrael’s only praise came from his own, but even then the praise was minimal. All the words and actions from the other gods slowly melted down his mental state, until he suddenly snapped. ‘If Thanatos were to die while out in Asgard, all fame will be mine as the sole guardian of souls. And with Thanatos gone, his scythe is for the taking. Nyx is gone, who’s to stop me? All I have to do… is kill Thanatos.’ Azrael muttered in the privacy of his room, his own scythe resting against the wall next to him. His corrupted mind was set. He gripped the handle to his own scythe and set out to find Thanatos fulfilling his duties. Azrael scoured the land until he found Thanatos collecting the soul of a young child, solemnly placing the soul in the jewel of his scythe to later return to the underworld. Taking the opportunity, the angel of death silently approached his distracted nemesis and swung with a deep bloodlust, aiming to end this one sided rivalry to rest immediately. The scythe pierced Thanatos’ clothing and chest from behind, digging in between the ribs as it dug into the death god’s torso. Thanatos coughed up blood as he looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest. His vision began to blur as he tightened his grip on his scythe. Without looking, Thanatos swung back behind him to retaliate, but his swing did nothing as Azrael tugged back his scythe, ripping it out from Thanatos who weakly dropped to the floor, his scythe clattering to the ground next to him. ‘Finally! The torment is over! Finally I can get the recognition I deserve! Finally I get power!’ Azrael yelled as he laughed like a maniac. Thanatos shakily reached out to grab his scythe, but Azrael swung his own down at his hand, pinning it to the floor making Thanatos cry out in pain. ‘Oh no, you’re not taking this away from me now.’ Azrael taunted the slowly dying god. ‘It’s been too long now for you to suddenly get out of this with mommy’s special weapon. Your time is up! You can no longer torment me! Everything you have shall be mine! The strength, the fame, the praise! All that you stole from me!’ Azrael twisted his scythe in Thanatos’ hand which slowly turned cold as blood continued to pour out of the wound. Thanatos weakly got in a final breath, before his head dropped to the ground and his body went limp. Azrael’s boot stepped atop the dead god’s head as an act of superiority, pressing the heel down as if to crush the skull. He pulled his scythe out of the corpse’s hand and grabbed the other with his spare hand. With his grip firmly on the scythe, Azrael felt the scythe’s strength flow through him. ‘So this is what he got. This power… It’s magnificent!’ News of Thanatos’ death quickly spread throughout the halls of Valhalla. None ever knew of the true murderer, but all mourned deeply. None except Azrael and Zeus. With Thanatos gone, Azrael was crowned by Zeus as the supreme guide of souls and ‘gifted’ Thanatos' scythe to continue his duties with. All Azrael had to do in exchange was take an oath of silence. Azrael continued his duty as the sole guardian of souls, the threat of Zeus exposing his crime hanging over him as he worked under the thunder god. With the power granted by Thanatos’ scythe, Azrael swiftly took the souls of humans, however not all made it to Helheim. On occasion, he kept the souls trapped in the scythe for his own gain, using them to grant himself strength, the poor souls never seeing the planes of Helheim. Valhalla arena All in the arena watch in a mixture of horror and confusion as the previously composed angel breaks down into a psychotic maniac before them. ‘So the mad angel has finally lost it.’ Hermes comments, having secretly known of his betrayal. ‘To think he would snap here though.’ ‘He’s gone… Insane. He’s bringing such shame to our pantheon.’ Gabriel says, his eyes wide as he watches the scene below. ‘I always suspected there was something else behind him receiving Thanatos’ scythe rather than just receiving a new title.’ Heracles mutters, realising the true meaning behind this breakdown. ‘Is it just me, or does the air feel colder.’ Mordred asks, a shiver running down his spine. ‘This aura he possesses. It’s terrifying.’ Merlin says in shock. ‘Such an unruly beast. We have exposed the dog for what he truly is.’ Golena scoffs. Morgan doesn’t respond as he readies herself for the coming assault, understanding this was where the true fight began. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Azrael brings the scythe up to his remaining wing, the blade hooking around it, and yanks it down through the bone, cutting off the remaining wing, the feathers floating down to the arena floor. ‘What is Azrael thinking? From having two wings to now having none when they were giving him such an advantage.’ Ares asks from the commentary booth. Azrael readies his scythe, his own blood dripping off the end point. He then shoots forward at Morgan. The scythe hits the forcefield reactively put up to defend, a small crack forming, but Azrael immediately follows up with another strike with a furious speed. Morgan keeps her guard up as Azrael continues his assault, striking with all parts of the blade. The shield smashes again and Morgan is forced to block the scythe with her staff, the scythe narrowly missing her skin. She flicks a single finger and a small spike of ice shoots out. Azrael backs off and is hit in the stomach by a blast of wind, pushing him back to the other side of the arena. In his psychotic fury, Azrael is immediately back on his feet, sprinting down Morgan. ‘Hurry up and die!’ He yells as he swings his scythe back down, Morgan blocks with her staff again, and the jewel glows again as Azrael suddenly increases in speed, circling behind Morgan and swinging again. With no chance to react, Morgan feels as the scythe slashes through her back, similarly to how Azrael attacked Thanatos. Morgan coughs up blood as both hands grip onto the staff. ‘That surely has to be the end!’ Ares yells, seeing the point of the scythe sticking out of Morgan’s chest and all the blood pouring out onto the floor. ‘Has the witch finally met her match?’ Mordred asks. Everyone in the arena spectating doubted the odds of Morgan surviving this, all but two. ‘If she were to die this easily, she’d have no right to call herself my sister. My killer or not, she’s a strong showing of the true might of our blood.’ Arthur comments. ‘Go ahead Morgan, show the true strength behind humanity’s coldness.’ Heracles mutters. Morgan's lips curl into a smirk as she plants the staff on the ground in front of her, blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. A pulse of energy spreads out of the arena, kicking up the dust on the floor and pushing it to the edges. Azrael pulls his scythe out and is about to attack again when another pulse comes out, forcing him back as the pulse turns into a heatwave. Another pulse and the ground begins to rumble with the force of an earthquake. Another pulse and the moisture in the air begins to condense into droplets that stay suspended in the air. Another pulse and the air becomes charged with static electricity, the metal in Azrael’s scythe becoming charged and shocking the dewinged angel. A final pulse and the air immediately freezes, the droplets turning to ice. All the energy released in the pulses condenses down on top of Morgan and a bright glow comes from her staff. The energy flows throughout all of Morgan’s being, the hole caused by the scythe closing quicker than any wound yet. The energy continues to pulse out to then condense into the tip of the staff until it reaches its maximum density. The energy bursts out across the arena, pushing Azrael even further back. ‘Woah, where did she get that?’ Ishtar asks. ‘How did she live?’ Ares follows up. ‘So the humans all have an extra trick up their sleeve.’ Zeus chuckles. ‘This certainly is fun.’ ‘This human must be desperate now to face Azrael like that.’ Metatron says. ‘Why is she now wearing all that?’ Mordred rhetorically asks. ‘So it seems she’s been taught more than just magic.’ Merlin muses. ‘Let’s see your strength with a weapon then sister.’ Arthur says with a smirk. Down in the arena, all eyes were trained on Morgan, now adorned with glistening armour made of ice, the staff now topped with a blade of a similar material giving the queen of Britannia a similar scythe. ‘Now this is the true strength held in my blood. Now come angel of death, let’s finish like this.’ https://preview.redd.it/cbqtp76vzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=778b78a9856870e198129ee266e344f872fedb21 Azrael just laughs at the Queen’s confidence and he points his own scythe out in retaliation. ‘You think that will save you now? You’re dumber than I thought! Now hurry up and die for me!’ |
2024.05.17 09:53 Severe_Subject_9560 Am I wrong for continuing to reach out to my suicidal Ex every few months or so?
TLDR: Ex attempted suicide while we were together and broke up with me soon after. Over the past year I have continued to reach out to her every few months or so to see how she is going, and to see if there is any chance we could be in each other's lives again (be it friends or relationship), even though she has expressed very much that she wants me to let her go and that she can't continue this ("this" being the talking to me).
Bit of a long post, sorry, but here goes.
Just over a year ago at the beginning of 2023, while we were dating, my Ex made a suicide attempt and very nearly didn't make it through. Obviously, this was a very tough time for her, and everyone close to her. Her family and I did all we could to offer support and be there for her during the recovery time. She went back home to her parents' place, in another city, after being released from hospital but only stayed a few days as she couldn't take it and just wanted to go back to her "normal" life. She is very much of the stubborn type and doesn't like to be given help by other people and feels like she has to do things herself. She also is very hard on herself, and I believe she feels a lot of self-blame and guilt for what happened (this is important for later on).
She was admitted to a mental health ward shortly after getting out of hospital which devastated her and obviously threw her "normal" life out the window. All she wanted to do after getting out of hospital was get back to her flat, back to her job, back to uni, and just continue on. I would call her on the phone most nights and offer to visit but she would refuse the visit as she didn't want me to "see her like this and in this place". Eventually they allowed her time out, like 4 hours a day and we would catch up during these times when we could, a lot of the time she wasn't up for it which I understood.
She got out of the ward about 2 months after being admitted and it was a tough month afterwards. She was obviously not feeling well about the whole situation and wasn't anywhere close to getting "better". At one point she even expressed to me how she still wanted to die. I was always very supportive of her, encouraging her to seek help via therapy, talking to her about it, encouraging her to come on walks/gym with me and whatever I thought might lift her mood. I made it very clear to her that I don't have any resentment toward her or any ill feelings for what happened and that I only wanted to do whatever I could to help her get better, I really cared for her and loved her.
Unfortunately, after this tough month she decided to call it quits, claiming she thinks it will be better for both of us, that I deserve better, that she cares enough about me to not fuck me around... I agreed at the time saying that it probably is for the best, something I regret to this day and wish I fought a little more. There were a few instances before this in our relationship we she expressed that she thinks we should break up, not exactly pulling the pin, rather expressing her feelings, and I have talked her out of it and changed her mind (now I see why, she was most likely having thoughts about attempting suicide at this point).
After this breakup we talked a little over the next couple of weeks, seeing each other at the gym a couple times but it eventually got too much for her and she expressed this, so I suggested we got no contact, she agreed. This was probably the toughest time of my life as I not only was deeply saddened by our breakup as I loved her greatly, but I also worried a shit ton about whether or not she would be here when I woke up the next day. We remained in no contact for about 1 month I think until we spotted each other at the gym again and talked there, I then texted her after and tried to start a conversation, we talked for a little bit until she expressed how this needs to stop and she wants me to move on and let her go. A month after this her flat had a party and she invited me over, we have a small rekindling for a couple days but eventually it got to the same end result.
Since our initial breakup I have learned that she has been back to the mental ward two more times, the second being after making another suicide attempt. By coincidence, I reached out to her during both of these times and remained in contact until she was out, when she would call it quits shortly after. I think talking to me helped get her through it a little bit. The second time she expressed still that she doesn't really see any alternative future than her ending herself.
In short, every few months or so, I have reached out again via txt, she is initially very hesitant, but we normally continue talking for a little while until eventually we get to a point where she get very emotional and calls it quits again.
She has expressed to me each time these talks come to an end that she just wants me to let her go. She makes it very clear that she loved me very much and cares for me greatly, but she just wants me to move on and that she can't continue this. The problem is, I just can't stop worrying about her and obviously don't want to see her go. I also desire heavily to be a part of her life again. After not talking to her for a couple of months or more, I get a MASSIVE urge to reach out and check up on her, talk to her, that I just can't seem to shake. I get heavily down in my own life during these times as I can't think of anything else. I almost believe that if I don't reach out to her than I am giving up on her and feel as though I am turning my back on a loved one in their time of need. I also can't help but feel the reason she wants me to let her go and move on is that she is still planning on making another attempt and wants to lessen the impact on me as much as possible. Ofc, I would be destroyed either way.
I am writing this post as I am once again feeling these urges and struggling to decide what I should do.
I want to do everything within my power to help her through this time, but I feel like she is pushing/has pushed me away not because she doesn't want a relationship with me, but because she feels extremely guilty about what happened. She believes she has hurt me greatly and wears a lot of blame because of that, she even said that she breaks down when I text her as she feels so sorry for what she did to me. I have expressed to her many times that I don't see it that way and that there is nothing else I would rather do than to "help" her, that I can't "save" her, I just want to be there for her and support her.
So, am I wrong for continuing to reach out to my Ex?
Bit of background info, we only dated for 7 months total and were not living with each other. Even though it was short, she made me feel ways that I have never felt before and we had a very strong connection.
submitted by Severe_Subject_9560 to amiwrong [link] [comments]
Bit of a long post, sorry, but here goes.
Just over a year ago at the beginning of 2023, while we were dating, my Ex made a suicide attempt and very nearly didn't make it through. Obviously, this was a very tough time for her, and everyone close to her. Her family and I did all we could to offer support and be there for her during the recovery time. She went back home to her parents' place, in another city, after being released from hospital but only stayed a few days as she couldn't take it and just wanted to go back to her "normal" life. She is very much of the stubborn type and doesn't like to be given help by other people and feels like she has to do things herself. She also is very hard on herself, and I believe she feels a lot of self-blame and guilt for what happened (this is important for later on).
She was admitted to a mental health ward shortly after getting out of hospital which devastated her and obviously threw her "normal" life out the window. All she wanted to do after getting out of hospital was get back to her flat, back to her job, back to uni, and just continue on. I would call her on the phone most nights and offer to visit but she would refuse the visit as she didn't want me to "see her like this and in this place". Eventually they allowed her time out, like 4 hours a day and we would catch up during these times when we could, a lot of the time she wasn't up for it which I understood.
She got out of the ward about 2 months after being admitted and it was a tough month afterwards. She was obviously not feeling well about the whole situation and wasn't anywhere close to getting "better". At one point she even expressed to me how she still wanted to die. I was always very supportive of her, encouraging her to seek help via therapy, talking to her about it, encouraging her to come on walks/gym with me and whatever I thought might lift her mood. I made it very clear to her that I don't have any resentment toward her or any ill feelings for what happened and that I only wanted to do whatever I could to help her get better, I really cared for her and loved her.
Unfortunately, after this tough month she decided to call it quits, claiming she thinks it will be better for both of us, that I deserve better, that she cares enough about me to not fuck me around... I agreed at the time saying that it probably is for the best, something I regret to this day and wish I fought a little more. There were a few instances before this in our relationship we she expressed that she thinks we should break up, not exactly pulling the pin, rather expressing her feelings, and I have talked her out of it and changed her mind (now I see why, she was most likely having thoughts about attempting suicide at this point).
After this breakup we talked a little over the next couple of weeks, seeing each other at the gym a couple times but it eventually got too much for her and she expressed this, so I suggested we got no contact, she agreed. This was probably the toughest time of my life as I not only was deeply saddened by our breakup as I loved her greatly, but I also worried a shit ton about whether or not she would be here when I woke up the next day. We remained in no contact for about 1 month I think until we spotted each other at the gym again and talked there, I then texted her after and tried to start a conversation, we talked for a little bit until she expressed how this needs to stop and she wants me to move on and let her go. A month after this her flat had a party and she invited me over, we have a small rekindling for a couple days but eventually it got to the same end result.
Since our initial breakup I have learned that she has been back to the mental ward two more times, the second being after making another suicide attempt. By coincidence, I reached out to her during both of these times and remained in contact until she was out, when she would call it quits shortly after. I think talking to me helped get her through it a little bit. The second time she expressed still that she doesn't really see any alternative future than her ending herself.
In short, every few months or so, I have reached out again via txt, she is initially very hesitant, but we normally continue talking for a little while until eventually we get to a point where she get very emotional and calls it quits again.
She has expressed to me each time these talks come to an end that she just wants me to let her go. She makes it very clear that she loved me very much and cares for me greatly, but she just wants me to move on and that she can't continue this. The problem is, I just can't stop worrying about her and obviously don't want to see her go. I also desire heavily to be a part of her life again. After not talking to her for a couple of months or more, I get a MASSIVE urge to reach out and check up on her, talk to her, that I just can't seem to shake. I get heavily down in my own life during these times as I can't think of anything else. I almost believe that if I don't reach out to her than I am giving up on her and feel as though I am turning my back on a loved one in their time of need. I also can't help but feel the reason she wants me to let her go and move on is that she is still planning on making another attempt and wants to lessen the impact on me as much as possible. Ofc, I would be destroyed either way.
I am writing this post as I am once again feeling these urges and struggling to decide what I should do.
I want to do everything within my power to help her through this time, but I feel like she is pushing/has pushed me away not because she doesn't want a relationship with me, but because she feels extremely guilty about what happened. She believes she has hurt me greatly and wears a lot of blame because of that, she even said that she breaks down when I text her as she feels so sorry for what she did to me. I have expressed to her many times that I don't see it that way and that there is nothing else I would rather do than to "help" her, that I can't "save" her, I just want to be there for her and support her.
So, am I wrong for continuing to reach out to my Ex?
Bit of background info, we only dated for 7 months total and were not living with each other. Even though it was short, she made me feel ways that I have never felt before and we had a very strong connection.
2024.05.17 09:52 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning [13]
First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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2024.05.17 09:51 TheBlackDrago Cornell's Sanctuaries of Solitude #18: Weill Hall
Each floor next to the main elevator next to the main door has a set of bathrooms. They are all the same. For maximum privacy, I went to floor 4.
https://preview.redd.it/clkmyyqozx0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=956217a5d72eee2f3dc0186bccd5b92a3d031e70
submitted by TheBlackDrago to Cornell [link] [comments]
- 2 urinals, 3 stalls
- Each urinal had a mat underneath it. The white divider between each urinal is not tall enough. If there was hypothetically a dude next to me, I could see his junk. Not like I would try to look.
- Very clean. Smells nice even though there isn't an air freshener scent at all.
- Dark grey tile floors and white tile walls contribute to an economic design. Good bright lighting like an airport bathroom. Spacious stalls and bathroom. Privacy is afforded by the fact that it's not a highly trafficked spot.
- 4 sinks. I don't have any notes bout this so it was probably good.
- Has this little wooden bench outside the bathroom in the room thingy between the two doors that I'm just gonna call a Martha until someone tells me the real name for it or gives me another name
- Green 55 gallon trash can for the paper towels in the Martha.
https://preview.redd.it/clkmyyqozx0d1.png?width=1140&format=png&auto=webp&s=956217a5d72eee2f3dc0186bccd5b92a3d031e70
2024.05.17 09:49 SocietyHistorical231 Am I wrong for feeling sad?
I (24F) started dating my very close friend(25M) after about 4-5 years of messing around everything was going good until the relationship started to feel like I was doing all the work and he was quite literally doing nothing. We hit a bump in our relationship when I got pregnant and he said he did not want it and I respected his wishes. During the time of the pregnancy he practically left me alone to figure out getting rid of the baby and on top of that I was super sick with no help from him. He became so mean up until I actually got the procedure done. He then decided to revert back to normal behavior after this. This felt like the biggest road block in our relationship and I no longer felt the same way. I was depressed and I started spending less time around him because the procedure really bothered me physically and mentally. I literally had to process this ALONE. Fast forward I met this guy who basically became my rebound which gave me the courage to leave.
My (25M) ex decided to harass me for months after I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. I felt back but everytime I would think of the pregnancy it was hard to go back. Recently I started to forgive him and entertain conversation with him but not too much because I had my rebound…however I still do have feelings for my ex but i suppressed them. He would constantly tell me how much he loves and misses me up until about 3 weeks ago. He asked if he could follow me on social media and I allowed him only to see now he’s dating someone new..this opened a flood gate of feelings I was not ready to deal with. I feel hurt because it felt like he did that on purpose but also I feel like why am I mad I rejected him and never spoke my true feelings. Am I wrong for feeling sad about his new found relationship? Is it too late to tell him how I really felt all this time ? I also feel bad because my rebound doesn’t even deserve this….i just started to feel all these feelings I never got to deal with after ending things with my ex..
submitted by SocietyHistorical231 to BreakUps [link] [comments]
My (25M) ex decided to harass me for months after I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. I felt back but everytime I would think of the pregnancy it was hard to go back. Recently I started to forgive him and entertain conversation with him but not too much because I had my rebound…however I still do have feelings for my ex but i suppressed them. He would constantly tell me how much he loves and misses me up until about 3 weeks ago. He asked if he could follow me on social media and I allowed him only to see now he’s dating someone new..this opened a flood gate of feelings I was not ready to deal with. I feel hurt because it felt like he did that on purpose but also I feel like why am I mad I rejected him and never spoke my true feelings. Am I wrong for feeling sad about his new found relationship? Is it too late to tell him how I really felt all this time ? I also feel bad because my rebound doesn’t even deserve this….i just started to feel all these feelings I never got to deal with after ending things with my ex..
2024.05.17 09:48 FantasticKey1668 Sex with stranger
The thunder shook the house as the rain pelted the windows. Mike awoke to the wind howling wondering how much longer the storm would last. He had come out to the cabin, only a couple hours from the city expecting to spend a quiet weekend away from the city life. Unknowing to him that a storm was on the way. He rolled over and looked at the clock, the green display reads midnight. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep when suddenly he heard a pounding on the door. He sat up and heard it again. “Who could be at my door and in this storm”, he thought. He got up and slowly approach the door hearing the pounding again. Opening the door a crack he sees a small figure standing a few feet away. Nothing but darkness in the background as the lightning flashes illuminated the figure. “Hello? Can I help you?” He asks. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but my car broke down. I tried to call a tow truck but I have no service.” the woman says. He stepped back and opened the door. “Please, come in.” As she walks through the door, he notices her clothes are soaked from the rain. “How far did you walk?” He asks. “I’m not sure, a couple miles it felt like”, she replies sounding exhausted. He leaves for a few moments and returns handing you a towel. “Can I get you a drink?”, “Please” she says, as he walks into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He returns, handing her the glass. “Thank you, my name is Liz by the way.” “Nice to meet you Liz, my name is Mike. You are welcome to use my phone if you would like.” She smiles, as she walks over to the table and picks up the phone. Mike sits down on the couch turning on the tv. A few moments later Liz returns, “Ugh”. “Bad news?” He asks. “They said no one will come out in this storm till it passes. What am I going to do?”. Just then a deafening rumble of thunder shook the house as the rain started coming down harder. “I don’t think this storm is letting up any time soon, you are more than welcome to wait it out till morning and try calling them back.” Mike offered. “Really? I don’t want to be a bother.” “No, I insist, it’s no bother at all”. Liz smiled, “Thank you, really.”
Shivering, Liz sets her glass down on the table. “I hate to ask, but would you mind if I use the bathroom. Maybe get a hot shower, I am freezing and my clothes are soaked.” “Not at all.” Mike says, standing up. He points down the hallway, “The bathrooms on the left, if you would like I can toss your clothes in the dryer for you too.” Liz smiles. “Thank you so much! I’ll leave them outside the door.” Liz turns and walks down the hallway, finding the bathroom and walking inside. Standing at the sink she takes a deep breath. Seeing herself in the mirror thinking “I look a wreck”. At 5’ 3”, she was considered average. Shoulder length brown hair and eyes that changed colors based on her mood, or so it seemed. With her athletic build and toned legs, she still felt her body ache from the miles she just walked. Slowly she stripped off her wet clothes, leaving them in a pile just outside the bathroom door. Sliding open the glass door to the shower she stepped inside, turning the shower on as she felt the hot water rain down over her body. Sitting on the couch Mike hears the shower turn on. Getting up he walks down the hallway finding the wet pile of clothes at the bathroom door. As he approaches, he notices the door open a couple inches. The light from inside escaping through the crack. He leans down to pick up the clothes and pauses. The bathroom is filled with steam from the hot water. The faint outline of a woman’s body behind the fogged-up glass door. He freezes. Quietly Liz begins to hum, eyes closed as she washes her hair under the hot water. Her hands begin moving across her body as she washes the sweat and dirt off her. Mike kneels frozen just on the other side of the door, knowing he shouldn’t be looking but his legs unwilling to move. In the shower, Liz’s hands drift along her skin. Caressing her breasts for a moment as she smiles to herself, she’s always been happy with how full they were. Perky and just large enough to fill a grown man’s hand. Her hands explore lower, as she washes her stomach and then her legs. She sighs, starting to feel better now that she is warm and clean. As she turns the water off, Mike snaps out of his frozen state. Gathering up the clothes and rushing down the hall to put them in the dryer. Quickly returning to the kitchen as he retrieves a beer from the fridge and sits back down on the couch flipping through the stations. Stepping out of the shower Liz dries off finding a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she drapes it around her body.
“Thank you so much, I feel much better”, she says, as she walks into the living room. Mike jumps slightly, startled by her voice then smiles. “You’re welcome, your clothes are in the dryer,” as he notices the robe she had on. Liz walks over and sits down on the couch, slowly crossing one leg over the other. “This robe will do for now,” she says with a smile. Mike gets up and walks into the kitchen, “Would you like a drink?”. “Sure” Liz says, “Whatever you are drinking.” As Mike returns, he can’t help but notice Liz’s toned legs, the robe resting mid-thigh. He hands Liz a beer as she smiles and lets out a small laugh. “What is so funny?”, he asks. She looks down at him while raising an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?” He scrunches his eyebrows wondering what she meant, as he looked down. He gasps, realizing a small bulge had formed in his pants, a likely result of the unexpected show he witnessed not long ago. He turned away quickly, “I’m sorry” he says. She laughed, “its ok, I expected it.” Mike turns his head back towards her, “You expected it?” “Yes, I mean, after watching me shower I would be upset if you didn’t have one. Mikes eyes grow big, shocked and embarrassed that she knew he was watching her. “I, didn’t mean to, the door was just cracked open and I was getting your clothes…” he stumbles trying to explain himself. She smiles as she stands up, “Did you like what you saw?” He takes a big gulp as he nods. She slowly undoes the tie holding the robe together, letting the robe fall off her body and onto the floor. “Is this what you wanted to see?” His heart begins beating faster, her naked body on full display in front of him. She slowly reaches out as she takes his hand in hers, bringing it up to her chest as it cups her breast. His breathing increases as he feels her nipple harden against the palm of his hand as he instinctively begins to squeeze her breast. She lets out a quiet moan as she smiled at him. Reaching forward she rests her hand on the now large bulge in his pants. He jumps slightly as he feels the pressure of her hand against it. “Oh my, we seem to have a problem here.” She says, as she slowly begins to unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down ever so slowly. He sighs as he feels the cool air rush into his pants as she unzips them. Her hand reaching inside as she releases his manhood. A smile forms on her face as it enters her view. Fully erect as his blood pumps through it. She slowly wraps her fingers around it stroking its full length as she devilishly licks her lips. Mike slowly closes his eyes as he feels her fingers around him, letting out a slight moan. “Are you enjoying that?” she asks, as she continues to stroke his shaft. “Yes” he says, his breathing increasing. Biting her lip, she steps back, leading him to the couch and directing him to sit down. As he sits down, she kneels in front of him. His cock aiming towards the ceiling in front of her as she wraps her fingers around it again. She strokes it a few times before bringing her lips close. Slowly she runs the tip of her tongue from the base of the shaft up to the head feeling it pulse against her tongue. He moans at the feeling of her tongue, as she slowly wraps her lips around the head, sucking gently. “Ugh, yes” he moans, looking down at her. Removing her hand from his shaft she engulfs his entire cock as he feels it enter her throat for the first time. She bobs her head up and down faster as she hears the moans escape his lips. Pausing for a moment, his cock between her lips, she twirls her tongue around the head feeling his hips lifting up slightly under neither her. She moans to herself sending vibrations down his shaft. Slowly he moves a hand to the back of her head, resting it with his fingers intertwined in her hair. She raises her head sucking on the tip for a moment, before removing it from her mouth. Replacing her mouth with her hand again as she strokes his now wet cock. Smiling up at him as she watches some precum run down his shaft she sticks her tongue out to catch it. Moaning again, he ushers her head back down, as she opens her mouth taking his cock between her lips. Bobbing her head faster now, her tongue swirling around his swollen head each time her head comes up. He grips her hair in his fist, the pressure inside him building. She feels his cock pulsing against her tongue and lips as she takes his shaft deeper, wanting to taste his juice. He lets out a groan at the same time she feels him erupt. She lowers her head his cock deep in her throat as she feels the first stream of thick cum fill her stomach. She continues bobbing her head tightening her lips around his cock as she milks him dry, hungerly swallowing each stream he pumps into her awaiting throat. His head falls back against the couch with a loud sigh, his hand collapsing along the side of him. She releases his semi hard cock. Slowly licking around the head making sure not to miss a drop before looking up and smiling at him while licking her lips. Exhausted he drifts off to sleep.
submitted by FantasticKey1668 to sex_stories_adult_hot [link] [comments]
Shivering, Liz sets her glass down on the table. “I hate to ask, but would you mind if I use the bathroom. Maybe get a hot shower, I am freezing and my clothes are soaked.” “Not at all.” Mike says, standing up. He points down the hallway, “The bathrooms on the left, if you would like I can toss your clothes in the dryer for you too.” Liz smiles. “Thank you so much! I’ll leave them outside the door.” Liz turns and walks down the hallway, finding the bathroom and walking inside. Standing at the sink she takes a deep breath. Seeing herself in the mirror thinking “I look a wreck”. At 5’ 3”, she was considered average. Shoulder length brown hair and eyes that changed colors based on her mood, or so it seemed. With her athletic build and toned legs, she still felt her body ache from the miles she just walked. Slowly she stripped off her wet clothes, leaving them in a pile just outside the bathroom door. Sliding open the glass door to the shower she stepped inside, turning the shower on as she felt the hot water rain down over her body. Sitting on the couch Mike hears the shower turn on. Getting up he walks down the hallway finding the wet pile of clothes at the bathroom door. As he approaches, he notices the door open a couple inches. The light from inside escaping through the crack. He leans down to pick up the clothes and pauses. The bathroom is filled with steam from the hot water. The faint outline of a woman’s body behind the fogged-up glass door. He freezes. Quietly Liz begins to hum, eyes closed as she washes her hair under the hot water. Her hands begin moving across her body as she washes the sweat and dirt off her. Mike kneels frozen just on the other side of the door, knowing he shouldn’t be looking but his legs unwilling to move. In the shower, Liz’s hands drift along her skin. Caressing her breasts for a moment as she smiles to herself, she’s always been happy with how full they were. Perky and just large enough to fill a grown man’s hand. Her hands explore lower, as she washes her stomach and then her legs. She sighs, starting to feel better now that she is warm and clean. As she turns the water off, Mike snaps out of his frozen state. Gathering up the clothes and rushing down the hall to put them in the dryer. Quickly returning to the kitchen as he retrieves a beer from the fridge and sits back down on the couch flipping through the stations. Stepping out of the shower Liz dries off finding a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she drapes it around her body.
“Thank you so much, I feel much better”, she says, as she walks into the living room. Mike jumps slightly, startled by her voice then smiles. “You’re welcome, your clothes are in the dryer,” as he notices the robe she had on. Liz walks over and sits down on the couch, slowly crossing one leg over the other. “This robe will do for now,” she says with a smile. Mike gets up and walks into the kitchen, “Would you like a drink?”. “Sure” Liz says, “Whatever you are drinking.” As Mike returns, he can’t help but notice Liz’s toned legs, the robe resting mid-thigh. He hands Liz a beer as she smiles and lets out a small laugh. “What is so funny?”, he asks. She looks down at him while raising an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?” He scrunches his eyebrows wondering what she meant, as he looked down. He gasps, realizing a small bulge had formed in his pants, a likely result of the unexpected show he witnessed not long ago. He turned away quickly, “I’m sorry” he says. She laughed, “its ok, I expected it.” Mike turns his head back towards her, “You expected it?” “Yes, I mean, after watching me shower I would be upset if you didn’t have one. Mikes eyes grow big, shocked and embarrassed that she knew he was watching her. “I, didn’t mean to, the door was just cracked open and I was getting your clothes…” he stumbles trying to explain himself. She smiles as she stands up, “Did you like what you saw?” He takes a big gulp as he nods. She slowly undoes the tie holding the robe together, letting the robe fall off her body and onto the floor. “Is this what you wanted to see?” His heart begins beating faster, her naked body on full display in front of him. She slowly reaches out as she takes his hand in hers, bringing it up to her chest as it cups her breast. His breathing increases as he feels her nipple harden against the palm of his hand as he instinctively begins to squeeze her breast. She lets out a quiet moan as she smiled at him. Reaching forward she rests her hand on the now large bulge in his pants. He jumps slightly as he feels the pressure of her hand against it. “Oh my, we seem to have a problem here.” She says, as she slowly begins to unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down ever so slowly. He sighs as he feels the cool air rush into his pants as she unzips them. Her hand reaching inside as she releases his manhood. A smile forms on her face as it enters her view. Fully erect as his blood pumps through it. She slowly wraps her fingers around it stroking its full length as she devilishly licks her lips. Mike slowly closes his eyes as he feels her fingers around him, letting out a slight moan. “Are you enjoying that?” she asks, as she continues to stroke his shaft. “Yes” he says, his breathing increasing. Biting her lip, she steps back, leading him to the couch and directing him to sit down. As he sits down, she kneels in front of him. His cock aiming towards the ceiling in front of her as she wraps her fingers around it again. She strokes it a few times before bringing her lips close. Slowly she runs the tip of her tongue from the base of the shaft up to the head feeling it pulse against her tongue. He moans at the feeling of her tongue, as she slowly wraps her lips around the head, sucking gently. “Ugh, yes” he moans, looking down at her. Removing her hand from his shaft she engulfs his entire cock as he feels it enter her throat for the first time. She bobs her head up and down faster as she hears the moans escape his lips. Pausing for a moment, his cock between her lips, she twirls her tongue around the head feeling his hips lifting up slightly under neither her. She moans to herself sending vibrations down his shaft. Slowly he moves a hand to the back of her head, resting it with his fingers intertwined in her hair. She raises her head sucking on the tip for a moment, before removing it from her mouth. Replacing her mouth with her hand again as she strokes his now wet cock. Smiling up at him as she watches some precum run down his shaft she sticks her tongue out to catch it. Moaning again, he ushers her head back down, as she opens her mouth taking his cock between her lips. Bobbing her head faster now, her tongue swirling around his swollen head each time her head comes up. He grips her hair in his fist, the pressure inside him building. She feels his cock pulsing against her tongue and lips as she takes his shaft deeper, wanting to taste his juice. He lets out a groan at the same time she feels him erupt. She lowers her head his cock deep in her throat as she feels the first stream of thick cum fill her stomach. She continues bobbing her head tightening her lips around his cock as she milks him dry, hungerly swallowing each stream he pumps into her awaiting throat. His head falls back against the couch with a loud sigh, his hand collapsing along the side of him. She releases his semi hard cock. Slowly licking around the head making sure not to miss a drop before looking up and smiling at him while licking her lips. Exhausted he drifts off to sleep.
2024.05.17 09:47 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Oh, Dear Brother of Mine, How I Hate What I've Made You [12]
First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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