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2024.06.01 09:00 Khaijentry12 Rose: Fear Your World - Chapter 1: Rose Among Any Other
Finn Tresscoat, a 20-year-old with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion, strolled down the sidewalk of his small town. He wore a light brown leather jacket over a black shirt, paired with black jeans and black-and-white sneakers.
As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular; he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West (U.W.).
"Finn! Oh, Finn!"
Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Ms. Tori Elortor, or simply Ms. Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early fifties, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots.
Ms. Tori, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother to him.
Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly twenty-four-seven, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori and Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect.
"Ah, hi Ms. Tori! How are you today?" Finn greeted her with a warm smile.
Ms. Tori returned his smile. "I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I haven't seen you in months!" Her tone shifted to one of concern. "I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young," she added.
What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask?
Well, Finn was a "Gaunt Hunter," a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures known as Gaunts.
These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic "Decade of Winter."
The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs.
Disturbingly, these were just the common variants.
There were tales of Gaunts resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies.
Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine.
He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding hero. Gaunt Hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or shipped to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt Hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat.
Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock-17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces (UWSF) officers.
Returning to the conversation with Ms. Tori, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit! Practically invincible!" he said with a grin.
Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then what's this I hear about a Gaunt nearly taking your head off just last week?"
Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A Gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe. "Okay... yeah, fair enough," he admitted, looking down.
Ms. Tori's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous⌠You need to be careful," she said gently.
Finn looked up at her and nodded. "I know, and thank you for caring," he replied. Inwardly, he thought, 'It's not like anyone else does'
"Of course, I care, Finn," Ms. Tori said firmly. "Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken,â she told him. âEric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with him?"
Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Ms. Tori or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. "I guess you're right," he said with a soft smile. "I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise,â
Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. "Good,â she said. âNow, how many days do you have off?" she asked.
"Not many," Finn replied with a sigh. "Just today,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in shock. "Only today? Why?" She asked.
Finn's expression turned serious. "Many of the other Gaunt Hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops... There are only ten of us left in the entire town,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt Hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunts. The law across the U.W. dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the Hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying.
Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt Hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for Gaunt attacks.
Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunts.
The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of Gaunts did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry and advanced defenses, making Gaunt Hunters unnecessary there.
This starkly contrasted with the dire need for Gaunt Hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns.
Ideally, each small town would have around fifty Gaunt Hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the Gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming Gaunt Hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.
As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly.
"Only ten?" she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. "That's... alarming⌠What happens if more Gaunts come?"
"We do our best," Finn said, trying to sound confident. "But it's tough⌠Every day, weâre stretched thinner,"
Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation.
Finn felt a lump in his throat. "I promise, Ms. Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe," he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago.
Ms. Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was strugglingâtrade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of Gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Ericâs safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world.
However, she couldnât bring herself to leave.
Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. "Hey, why don't I come over for dinner?" he suggested with a soft smile. "I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long,â
Ms. Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. "That would be lovely, Finn," she said with a quick nod.
They walked together to Ms. Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Hearing Finnâs voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug.
Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes.
Finn hugged him back, smiling. "I've got some stories to tell over dinner," he said, which made Eric's eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world.
Finn then followed Ms. Tori into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do.
As they worked side by side, Ms. Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me,â she told him âItâs where I built my life with my husband, and itâs where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything,"
Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. "I get it, Ms. Tori. This place has a lot of memories, and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric,"
Ms. Tori smiled warmly. "I know you will, Finn... Thank you,â
Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finnâs stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.
After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. "Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other Hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few Gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park,â he began. âSome of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then," Finn recounted.
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "Wow! That's awesome!" he exclaimed.
Finn grinned. "It was pretty cool, but itâs nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City! Those places are amazing,"
Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. "Man, I want to go there someday!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe when I start my training to be a Gaunt Hunter," he added with a big smile.
Finn chuckled. "So, you want to be a Gaunt Hunter, huh?" he asked. "You think youâve got what it takes?"
Eric nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! I know I can be a Gaunt Hunter! I bet I can even be better than you!" he declared, pointing at Finn.
Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?" he said. "Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh?"
Eric gave him a smug smirk. "Because if you were the best Hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the Gaunts!" he said confidently.
Finn chuckled. "Well, you got me there," he admitted. "But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the Gaunts, then I say go for it, dude."
Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Ms. Tori watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.
She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a Gaunt Hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement.
After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed.
She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life.
Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say.
[~Finn, we need you tonight. Jon and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in.~]
Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. 'Great, now we're down to eight Hunters,' he thought. 'And Jon and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station.'
Ms. Tori noticed the change in his expression and knew immediately what it meant. "Does duty call, Finn?" she asked gently.
Finn nodded, his expression weary. "Yeah, looks like Jon and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight."
Ms. Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you were looking forward to some time off."
"It's alright," Finn said, forcing a smile. "I knew it was a long shot anyway. The town needs all the help it can get."
Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. "Do you have to go, Finn?"
Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and weâll have more stories to share. I promise."
Ms. Tori gave him a supportive nod. "Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn."
"I will," Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks for dinner, Ms. Tori. It was great, as always."
As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was.
Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt Hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all Gaunt Hunters received, though each Hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications.
Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly-colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots.
Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. "Heya, Finn," he greeted.
"Hey yourself, Dick," Finn replied with a nod.
"Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off," Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic.
Finn walked over to his locker, where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile. "It's alright, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angryâwell, not at you, but at those two," Finn said, referring to Jon and Gary.
Dick nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly," he said.
Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dick's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.
He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his Glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. "Which side of town am I patrolling tonight?"
"Outer wall, west side," Dick stated, his voice firm.
Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for Gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night.
As he headed out, Dick called after him, "Stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good Hunters."
Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. "I will, Dick. See you in the morning."
Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless Gaunt attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a Gaunt Hunter in the first place.
Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no Gaunts were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way.
As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a Gaunt Hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a Hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.
Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another Hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gaunts. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One Hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gaunts eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another Hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality.
Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick. Dick once recounted an incident where a Hunter had been speared to death by multiple Gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him; they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the Gaunts' malevolence and complete lack of empathy.
Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had.
Since that harrowing incident and the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters. He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister.
The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was closeâtoo close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart sank as he saw ten Gaunts emerging from the tree line.
"Shit!" Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso.
'What the hell?' Finn thought, bewildered. 'Did one of the Gaunts throw this?'
"Sorry, but it's nothing personal," a strange voice echoed through the darkness.
Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. "My, you are a handsome young man," they purred in a sultry tone. "Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you." They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine.
Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. "W-Who are you?" he stammered, his voice wavering.
The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. "Who am I?" they echoed. "I am their mother, their caretaker. I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you." The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood.
Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end.
The figure's giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine. "Oh! Now I'm regretting stabbing you," they remarked with a twisted amusement. "It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know? Most prefer a no-name policy." Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. "While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time," they continued, their words dripping with urgency. "As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl."
Finn's confusion only deepened. The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the Gaunts beside them moved in unison. âShe can... control them!?â he realized, disbelief washing over him.
"Go ahead, babies... EAT!" the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm.
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the Gaunts surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching Gaunts. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down.
Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. "Come on!" he growled defiantly. "I'm right here!"
The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred.
Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around the Gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the Gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless.
" Damn! How did that bitch already find us!?" the figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.
Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red Mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance. Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the wraps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots, giving her an imposing presence.
"Found you, ya freaking cunt!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. "Ugh, don't you ever give up?" they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation.
The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. "After the shit you've done!? I ain't letting you go!" she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.
The figure let out a mocking giggle. "Is that so?" they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. "Not even to save his life?"
The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered his injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure.
"What the hell did you do!?" the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
"Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner," the figure replied casually.
"You bitch!" the girl seethed.
With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest.
"Have fun~!" they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness.
Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of Gaunts emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.
"Get out of my way!" the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination.
In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching Gaunts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force.
As more Gaunts emerged from the shadows behind her, four shots echoed through the air. Finn's aim was true, striking the advancing Gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgment before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats. Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying pressure to his wound.
Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. "Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there," she remarked.
Finn managed a weak chuckle. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be Gaunt food," he admitted.
"Let's call it even, then, eh?" she suggested. "What's your name?" she inquired.
Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Finn, Finn Tresscoat," he introduced himself. Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. "Who are you? No... What are you?" he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her.
The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. "The name's Rachel Rose," she revealed. "As for what I am, well... I can answer that once you're all patched up," she added cryptically.
Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? And most pressing of all, whoâor whatâwas Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease?
As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpiredâabout Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged, demanding attention above all else.
'When the hell am I gonna get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now...!' Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable.
Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over themâŚ
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As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular; he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West (U.W.).
"Finn! Oh, Finn!"
Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Ms. Tori Elortor, or simply Ms. Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early fifties, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots.
Ms. Tori, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother to him.
Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly twenty-four-seven, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori and Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect.
"Ah, hi Ms. Tori! How are you today?" Finn greeted her with a warm smile.
Ms. Tori returned his smile. "I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I haven't seen you in months!" Her tone shifted to one of concern. "I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young," she added.
What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask?
Well, Finn was a "Gaunt Hunter," a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures known as Gaunts.
These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic "Decade of Winter."
The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs.
Disturbingly, these were just the common variants.
There were tales of Gaunts resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies.
Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine.
He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding hero. Gaunt Hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or shipped to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt Hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat.
Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock-17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces (UWSF) officers.
Returning to the conversation with Ms. Tori, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit! Practically invincible!" he said with a grin.
Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then what's this I hear about a Gaunt nearly taking your head off just last week?"
Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A Gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe. "Okay... yeah, fair enough," he admitted, looking down.
Ms. Tori's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous⌠You need to be careful," she said gently.
Finn looked up at her and nodded. "I know, and thank you for caring," he replied. Inwardly, he thought, 'It's not like anyone else does'
"Of course, I care, Finn," Ms. Tori said firmly. "Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken,â she told him. âEric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with him?"
Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Ms. Tori or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. "I guess you're right," he said with a soft smile. "I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise,â
Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. "Good,â she said. âNow, how many days do you have off?" she asked.
"Not many," Finn replied with a sigh. "Just today,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in shock. "Only today? Why?" She asked.
Finn's expression turned serious. "Many of the other Gaunt Hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops... There are only ten of us left in the entire town,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt Hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunts. The law across the U.W. dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the Hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying.
Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt Hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for Gaunt attacks.
Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunts.
The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of Gaunts did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry and advanced defenses, making Gaunt Hunters unnecessary there.
This starkly contrasted with the dire need for Gaunt Hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns.
Ideally, each small town would have around fifty Gaunt Hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the Gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming Gaunt Hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.
As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly.
"Only ten?" she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. "That's... alarming⌠What happens if more Gaunts come?"
"We do our best," Finn said, trying to sound confident. "But it's tough⌠Every day, weâre stretched thinner,"
Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation.
Finn felt a lump in his throat. "I promise, Ms. Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe," he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago.
Ms. Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was strugglingâtrade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of Gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Ericâs safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world.
However, she couldnât bring herself to leave.
Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. "Hey, why don't I come over for dinner?" he suggested with a soft smile. "I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long,â
Ms. Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. "That would be lovely, Finn," she said with a quick nod.
They walked together to Ms. Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Hearing Finnâs voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug.
Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes.
Finn hugged him back, smiling. "I've got some stories to tell over dinner," he said, which made Eric's eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world.
Finn then followed Ms. Tori into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do.
As they worked side by side, Ms. Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me,â she told him âItâs where I built my life with my husband, and itâs where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything,"
Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. "I get it, Ms. Tori. This place has a lot of memories, and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric,"
Ms. Tori smiled warmly. "I know you will, Finn... Thank you,â
Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finnâs stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.
After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. "Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other Hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few Gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park,â he began. âSome of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then," Finn recounted.
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "Wow! That's awesome!" he exclaimed.
Finn grinned. "It was pretty cool, but itâs nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City! Those places are amazing,"
Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. "Man, I want to go there someday!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe when I start my training to be a Gaunt Hunter," he added with a big smile.
Finn chuckled. "So, you want to be a Gaunt Hunter, huh?" he asked. "You think youâve got what it takes?"
Eric nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! I know I can be a Gaunt Hunter! I bet I can even be better than you!" he declared, pointing at Finn.
Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?" he said. "Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh?"
Eric gave him a smug smirk. "Because if you were the best Hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the Gaunts!" he said confidently.
Finn chuckled. "Well, you got me there," he admitted. "But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the Gaunts, then I say go for it, dude."
Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Ms. Tori watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.
She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a Gaunt Hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement.
After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed.
She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life.
Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say.
[~Finn, we need you tonight. Jon and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in.~]
Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. 'Great, now we're down to eight Hunters,' he thought. 'And Jon and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station.'
Ms. Tori noticed the change in his expression and knew immediately what it meant. "Does duty call, Finn?" she asked gently.
Finn nodded, his expression weary. "Yeah, looks like Jon and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight."
Ms. Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you were looking forward to some time off."
"It's alright," Finn said, forcing a smile. "I knew it was a long shot anyway. The town needs all the help it can get."
Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. "Do you have to go, Finn?"
Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and weâll have more stories to share. I promise."
Ms. Tori gave him a supportive nod. "Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn."
"I will," Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks for dinner, Ms. Tori. It was great, as always."
As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was.
Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt Hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all Gaunt Hunters received, though each Hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications.
Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly-colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots.
Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. "Heya, Finn," he greeted.
"Hey yourself, Dick," Finn replied with a nod.
"Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off," Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic.
Finn walked over to his locker, where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile. "It's alright, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angryâwell, not at you, but at those two," Finn said, referring to Jon and Gary.
Dick nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly," he said.
Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dick's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.
He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his Glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. "Which side of town am I patrolling tonight?"
"Outer wall, west side," Dick stated, his voice firm.
Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for Gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night.
As he headed out, Dick called after him, "Stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good Hunters."
Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. "I will, Dick. See you in the morning."
Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless Gaunt attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a Gaunt Hunter in the first place.
Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no Gaunts were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way.
As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a Gaunt Hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a Hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.
Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another Hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gaunts. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One Hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gaunts eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another Hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality.
Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick. Dick once recounted an incident where a Hunter had been speared to death by multiple Gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him; they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the Gaunts' malevolence and complete lack of empathy.
Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had.
Since that harrowing incident and the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters. He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister.
The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was closeâtoo close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart sank as he saw ten Gaunts emerging from the tree line.
"Shit!" Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso.
'What the hell?' Finn thought, bewildered. 'Did one of the Gaunts throw this?'
"Sorry, but it's nothing personal," a strange voice echoed through the darkness.
Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. "My, you are a handsome young man," they purred in a sultry tone. "Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you." They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine.
Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. "W-Who are you?" he stammered, his voice wavering.
The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. "Who am I?" they echoed. "I am their mother, their caretaker. I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you." The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood.
Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end.
The figure's giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine. "Oh! Now I'm regretting stabbing you," they remarked with a twisted amusement. "It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know? Most prefer a no-name policy." Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. "While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time," they continued, their words dripping with urgency. "As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl."
Finn's confusion only deepened. The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the Gaunts beside them moved in unison. âShe can... control them!?â he realized, disbelief washing over him.
"Go ahead, babies... EAT!" the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm.
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the Gaunts surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching Gaunts. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down.
Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. "Come on!" he growled defiantly. "I'm right here!"
The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred.
Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around the Gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the Gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless.
" Damn! How did that bitch already find us!?" the figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.
Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red Mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance. Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the wraps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots, giving her an imposing presence.
"Found you, ya freaking cunt!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. "Ugh, don't you ever give up?" they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation.
The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. "After the shit you've done!? I ain't letting you go!" she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.
The figure let out a mocking giggle. "Is that so?" they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. "Not even to save his life?"
The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered his injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure.
"What the hell did you do!?" the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
"Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner," the figure replied casually.
"You bitch!" the girl seethed.
With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest.
"Have fun~!" they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness.
Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of Gaunts emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.
"Get out of my way!" the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination.
In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching Gaunts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force.
As more Gaunts emerged from the shadows behind her, four shots echoed through the air. Finn's aim was true, striking the advancing Gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgment before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats. Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying pressure to his wound.
Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. "Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there," she remarked.
Finn managed a weak chuckle. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be Gaunt food," he admitted.
"Let's call it even, then, eh?" she suggested. "What's your name?" she inquired.
Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Finn, Finn Tresscoat," he introduced himself. Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. "Who are you? No... What are you?" he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her.
The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. "The name's Rachel Rose," she revealed. "As for what I am, well... I can answer that once you're all patched up," she added cryptically.
Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? And most pressing of all, whoâor whatâwas Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease?
As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpiredâabout Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged, demanding attention above all else.
'When the hell am I gonna get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now...!' Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable.
Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over themâŚ
2024.06.01 08:45 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Execution Day [18]
First/Previous
âHowâd you think that was going to go?â asked a voice from the other side of the door.
I lay on the bunk and stared at the ceiling; my head throbbed. The place where Iâd been grazed stung whenever I touched my fingers to it. A bullet hadâby whoeverâs graceâscraped my scalp and traced a line from the far corner of my right eyebrow. It'd only been three days and it still caused pain. No doctors came and I was certain there would be infectionâif not plain infection, then it could always be the worser: skitterbugs. I ached still. I had never fully recovered, not like how I should have.
The day of anger, as Iâd begun to think of it in my mind, had caused no great ruckus beyond a few dead men. Two were Bosses, but who knew if theyâd announce that as casually as theyâd surely announce my execution. Perhaps theyâd string me up alongside thieves. A good thief and a bad. What a riot; I deserved no thieves, of course.
What was I? Some great hero? Some idiot was more likely. I wanted misery to befall those that perpetrated it themselves and there I was, more miserable. Perhaps the wrath in my heart came from some mutation; the demon Mephisto resurrected me (so said the demon) and Iâd begun to accept it. It was the reason for my poor state, surely, and the more I thought on it, the more I believed it was true; it felt true right down to my bones. The truth hurt or it was age and I rose from the cot I lay on; Iâd been detained in a room beside the one Iâd visited Andrew many months prior. Theyâd starved me, rattled the door to try and frighten me, and theyâd wasted water on my head to keep me from good sleep.
I did not respond to the voice from the other side of the door and the object rattled in its frame and the voice came again, this time angrier, âReally? How did you think that was going to go? Crazy bastard! Thought youâd put the hurt on the Bosses? Thought youâd kill us at our worst? First, itâs that explosion. You have something to do with that? No! First, it was Haroldâs daughter running off!â The voice on the other side of the door grew with mirth as it did with anger. âIâd seen you around town a bit. Thought the Bosses always liked you. Huh. Boss Harold mentioned you at his parties and said how you were a smart fellaâ, a good fellaâ, and there you killed him. Stone cold.â The man which spoke was a jailor that tortured me in those dreamlike days I spent locked in their prison, and he seemed personally affronted. âSo first itâs the explosions; steam or dust rose out of cracks in the ground you knowâsome thought hell was rising up, but the Bosses put those thoughts to bed. God, whatâs it with the likes of you? The explosions and now Iâve lost an eye and its because of the skitterbugs. You probably brought that on!â The voice muttered and then the door shook in its frame again, seemingly from a hard kick. I wished I could see the face of the man throwing his tantrum. âCanât wait to see you hang.â
âSo, Iâll hang?â I asked the door. There was a long silence, and I was uncertain if Iâd pitched my voice enough for the man on the other side to hear me. I opened my mouth to ask, âSo-
âYouâll hang.â The man on other side seemed to knock his knuckles against the surface of the door. âOr youâll die here.â
âWhatâs Maron said?â
âDonât you worry about him.â
âWhatâs he said?â
âSaid youâd probably appreciate the punishment that weâd put on you. Said youâre a sick man. Said you like speaking with devils and people like you only find pleasure in such things.â
âSo, I wonât hang?â
âOh, youâll hang, sir. Youâll hang if I need to do it myself with no one else. If not that, Iâll be sure to put you under one way or another. Accidents happen.â He chuckled. âMaybe youâd enjoy it, but it doesnât matter. Whatever enjoyment you find in your tortures wonât compare to what ideas I have.â
A long silence followed, and I watched dust motes dance in the air; the place was stagnant and even a breath caused a shift in their glide. I closed my eyes and tried to remember a better time. I thought of Suzanne. I thought of Gemma. What a time to be alive. I thought of the movies, the books, the musical cartridges that sung of yesteryears. How unlucky Iâd been, of course. Something had changed in me though and it was totally refreshing. Perhaps it was in realizing the evils of my brothers was that of a man and not some otherworldly force, or perhaps it was a push that came from years of terrible inconsistencies. All that living in the past and so it was. It didnât matterâthe past. Iâd been so busy with it that Iâd been in a constant state of unliving. Iâd known that always, of courseâsomething new had come.
âYou dozing off in there?â asked the jailor.
âNah.â
âGood. Stay awake or Iâll be forced to stay you awake.â
Iâd been reborn with a rage, justified or otherwise, and it was felt all over. It was a wild compulsion. All that time and it had been me that was brought back.
The wound on my head throbbed and I prodded it with a finger and brought the finger away and examined the digit; it was dried well enough, and I did not smell infection nor were there any of the accompanying symptoms of a fever or hallucination. I was me, through and through. For now.
The door banged. I didnât bother an answer and the door banged again.
âWhoâs there?â I asked, surprising myself with the sarcasm.
âWhyâd you do it?â asked the jailor.
âYou wannaâ ask me about it now?â
âTell me.â The voice on the other side of the door was serious entirely.
âBah!â âBah to you! Whyâd you do it?â
âIs there a reason to explain myself? If you knew better the things I knew, would it get you to unlock that door and let me walk free? Would it change your mind even?â
The jailor caught a laugh before responding. âCanât say it would.â
âSo, whatâs it that you want? You wonât understand me, and I donât think Iâve got the energies of persuasion to try.â
âTry.â
âYou like the Bosses?â
âTheyâre okay. Keep me in work anyway. Keep people safe.â I slumped forward onto my knees where I sat and placed my elbows on my knees and watched the crack at the base of the door on the other side of the prison cell. âWhatâs it matter if they keep you in work? Think they care about you anymore than what you represent?â
âHuh?â
âI mean, you keep riffraff down and they like you for it. I wonder if they know you. You ever get invited to the feasts they hold at the hall? You ever worry about your water rations? You ever wonder why it is that so few of the women or men invited to the hall return? Children too, now that I think of it. Theyâd call those captured criminals, I know. Those brothersâthe sheriff is to blame tooâtheyâre bastards. You know they are.â
âIs that so? Whatâs that make me? A bastard too?â
âBy proxy maybe.â I dryly chuckled. âWhatâs it matter? What do you want outtaâ me anyhow? Some gratification? Some confessionâyouâve gotten that already, ainâtcha? Maybe a repentance? Why donât you call one of those Bosses on down from their throne and have them here on the other side of the door so I can apologize? Or call Lady and Iâll get her to channel some message to the afterlife and Iâll plead for forgiveness. That what you want? Now Iâm a bad man and I know it, but it ainât for the reasons you believe. What you want is belief that thereâs a man under the skin of the monster youâve projected? No, I wonât shoo away your boogeyman for you. It canât be done, not from me.â
âYou talk big for someone in your predicament. I like how you talk so holier. Like youâre talking down on me. I just wanted to know what made you want to go on a mad-killing spree the way you did.â
âMm.â I cupped my hands together; as it was, my left knee shot off with pain and I tried to massage it to little comfort and stretched it out straight from my body. âWhen violence keeps you bound, violence is necessary to free yourself. Thatâs all Iâll say about it. If you hang me, then hang me. Spill my guts out for the birds and put a sack over my head so you wonât be sick by my face.â
âYouâre a mouthy pig.â
I listened to the jailorâs footfalls disappear down the hall and finally it was totally quiet and all I could hear was the throb on my head. Lucky or unlucky? No, it wasnât luck. Iâd been marked. I was the payment, and I knew the price. The demon had my soul. Whatever protection it afforded me, I intended on using.
The image of that room continued over in my mind, with the peasantry (thatâs what I saw them as then) knelt in front of the Bosses and the wall men, with the intense blood-smell, with the surprise on Maronâs face. Billyâs face. There was still a part of me, however small, that wanted to plead with him to change his ways. That wasnât the part that welled up in me then though. The piece of me that wanted to see him die was what took over. It hadnât been Maron that fired his gun; heâd still been fighting with his holster. Iâd only taken a step in through the door and a spray of gunfire from one of the wall menâs rifles exploded and I was sure I was dead because I fell, and my vision went white. They shouldâve put me down then.
I didnât come too fully until I had a few goons on me, hauling me upright roughly under my arms. Maron didnât say anything at first and those wall men took over; they shouted that I was alive still and I felt a hot gun barrel against my cheek.
âStop!â shouted Maron. The Boss Sheriff stepped forward with his stilted gait and looked me over thoroughly. The gun barrel fell from my cheek, but they held me still; it wasnât like I planned on fighting. âYou got uglier,â said Boss Maron, âReally ugly.â His left eye, afflicted by the skitterbug infestation, had gone dead white with only the faintest trace of an iris; it dribbled pus.
I held his stare to the point that my eyes wateredâwhether from anger or sorrow or bothâand my muscles tightened like an animal threatening to pounce. It was a ridiculous display.
âLock him up,â said Boss Maron.
So, I was locked up and those uncounted days I was mildly tortured: sleep deprivation, pummeling, and sometimes they spit on me. It could have been worse. Iâd seen worse.
The cell was numbingly quiet, and I continued to massage my knee, continued in thinking about how investing so much thought with the past twisted any future of mine into a dismal satire.
I could not tell how long it had been without sunlight and the jailor returned (he was bulbous and fattened and old but very strongâit could be sensed in how he carried himself) pushed through the door this time with a tray of diced potatoes, steamed but cold, and a metal cup of water. He sat them on the floor, stared at the tray there with his one good left eye, and it was like I could read his mind as he looked at the food there. He could destroy it; he jerked from the tray without saying a word to me then disappeared behind the door he closed. The jailor remained there outside.
Pride swelled in me momentarily before I pushed whatever silliness that was and devoured the food and drank the clear water. If it was poison, so be it. If it was poison, then all the problems of the world would disperse.
Again, the jailor pushed in through the door and bent to remove the tray and I was struck by the immediate thought of strangling him. So, I tried and threw myself at the man.
My hands felt the scruff around his throat, and I pressed hard with my fingers on his Adams apple. Heâd lurched forward to lift the tray and he immediately came up with force, throwing me off him; my nails raked his cheek as I scrambled for purchase. He took the metal tray in both of his hands and thwapped me across the headâit rang, and I was stunned while he lifted back his right hand in a swing. In the dizziness, I momentarily caught a glimpse of the holster on his left hip and reached out dumbly for the revolver there. A meaty smack could be heard, and I didnât even feel it when his fist met my face the second time. My head rocked and I fought to look upright, and his hand came again, and I put up my own hand in return; it was pushed away, and he continued at me, muttering epithets he found useful.
Once he was heaving and spitting, he left me on the cot and directly before slamming the door, he mentioned something about violence and how if I liked violence so much that heâd show it to me.
I nursed myself to sitting right-up and though adrenaline kept the pain away, I felt my face bruising already. There was no way for me to inspect the welts his hands had left, but I could guess their places by touch and how they thrummed with my heart.
Two days passed, if I counted them by the visits from the jailor and then Maron made his appearance to me, and I was surprised to see him with a leather eye patch over his left eye; he seemed ill on his feet and the jailor, though the man was there, did not move to stop Maron from entering the room and relieving me of my prison. He and the jailor roped my hands together in front of my pelvis and I didnât fight.
Boss Maron stank of infection and yellow oozed from beneath his eye patch and he kept his cowboy hat pulled snugly over both his ears and did not speak so joviallyâthere were no crude jokes at my expense. A warmth radiated off him. The Boss carried my shotgun with him but made no remark on it. He marched me from the prison, and I met daylight, and it burned my eyes while I stared up into the reddish sky. Dust scattered from the nearest portion of wall and caught on the wind till it was carried and disappeared overhead, and I briefly thought how nice it must be to fly.
Golgotha stirred as ever, and people spoke loudly and candidly as I passed them by. Words came my way from passing faces like, âYou kissed the devilâs ass!â or, âYou sure are a monster, look at you!â and Maron pushed me on with the gun at my back, and I wavered on my legs like I was without any control.
âIs it true?â asked Boss Maron, âDid you kiss the devilâs ass?â He tilted the shotgun casually on his shoulder and kept me ahead of himself. He was taking me to hangâand making a big deal out of it too. âI know how you like to speak to them. The demons. I know how you conspire with them. I told them all how you do. Now they know I was right.â
What a rotten town it was, and it smelled like it. The atrophied muscles and diseased infections of those fine folks emanated in the air, flies buzzed around my head, bloated and doubtlessly happy from whatever corpse theyâd sprung from.
âSay somethinâ,â said Maron.
âWhat do you want?â I asked, watching my footfalls, ignoring the screeches of those on the sidelines; he marched me through the runways, past the onlookers which saw me with faces of twisted hatred. The tension was palpableâI could feel the venom off the eyes of those that watched. Blood red eyes which judged carelessly.
âI want you to say it,â said Maron; I felt the nudge of the shotgun at my back again and I stumbled forward, caught myself, carried on, âI want you to admit it to me. Youâre like a mutant, ainâtcha? No better than any other monster. I knew it all them years. I seen it.â We took an alley and cretins followed behind; wall men flanked Maron and on either side of the narrow stretch there were faces made even with the wall, pressed there like they were afraid to be involved.
âWhatever you say, brother.â
âDonât,â hissed Maron, âDonât even.â
âWhat?â I spat the word, âAfraid theyâll treat you differently if they all know how close we are?â I felt the gun barrel press against my back, and I yelped out the words, âHey! Heâs my brother! My baby brother!â The barrel jabbed me in the spine, and I spilled forward, catching myself on one of those nearby faces. It was an old woman. She shoved me from her, and I flailed across the ground after trying to catch myself with my bound hands. Dirt met my face and exploded around me. I laughed, blinking through the dust. I spit too. He couldnât kill me. Whatever black magic there was in meâbequeathed by Mephistoârefused me death. Maron lifted me with the help of his wall men, pinching the coat around my throat with his fist. He shoved me on, and we continued.
âYou smell that?â I asked Maron.
âStop talkinâ. You might not be a man, but youâll die like one,â he said. The wall men around muttered, and we took the way to the front square; already there were looky-loos gathered, throngs of them not at all bashful to see the dayâs line-upâit was just me. The platform was emptier and that was good (Frank, Paul, and Matt looked naked without their eldest brother). Those Bosses which remained looked drunk as they did for any other execution. It was a good day for it. Warm. The stink of the crowd was worse and as those gathered parted for my entourage, the warmth of them cloistered us like the blood of a wound.
Even through the vile aroma, the smell of rotted poultry rose like nothing else. âYou donât smell it then?â
The roar, a cacophony of the damned souls stolen, shook the ground and the air changed. A dragonâLeviathan.
Along the wall which old skeletal corpses hung against dried blood stains from hook-chains, men and women scattered the length of the parapets with their weapons. Gunfire came and one of those atop the wall shouted, âArtillery! Dragon! Big guns!â
There was fire in the sky and the creature circled overhead and its wings beat the wind like mad; those organic ropes that hung from its body took on horrid shapes with its movement in the high noon sunlight.
Screams filled the air as the square erupted into panic. I dove into the sickly crowd; among the loudness, the horses which were lined by the big door fought against their ties and bolted across the square. Arms and heads disappeared beneath those dashing hooves, and it was not long before people were trampling people and in a quick glance I saw the Boss platform came down in splinters as the horses rushes it. Blood slickened the feet of many as they rushed to the buildings adjacent the squareâwhat a small protection thatâd be against Leviathan. A wall man went stumbling over the wallâs ledge and his body met the ground beneath the hanging corpses and he didnât get up.
In the wild fray, Maron fired the shotgun into the air, and I briefly thought of where the pellets might fall.
Finally, artillery fire came and put a hole in the creature. It wavered in the air, its head lurched downward like it might pierce the ground and it pulled its long neck back and blew flames across the buildings. The heat was immaculate. Rotted chicken filled my lungs.
âThereâs more!â shouted a wall man above, âRunning across the field.â
The crowd grew more enamored with escape; thereâs no good way to say itâblood frothed around our heels as I was shoved through the avenues of elbows, rocking heads, plunging knees. I pushed on, shielding myself with my bound hands as well as I could. I kept my head as high, and felt scratches reach my throatâdoubtlessly those which could not continueânails and fists came from every direction. In the ephemeral madness, I too screamed and it did not stop until I spilled into an alleyway along the wall nearest the execution chains. I ran and tripped from the crowd, slid, and bit my tongue so thoroughly that my teeth clicked together though the tissue; my breath was knocked from me. My pants were wet from the viscera. Others too had found the opening and barreled past me. I went to my feet and panted thought the pain, through the twinge in my left knee. I took the walls for support and still, those which rushed past nearly knocked me from my feet.
Some poor childâa lean, bony-faced boyâfell in the rush and before I had a moment to reach out, he was gone. Whether he lived or not, I did not stop to know. The crunch of bones as more people spilled into the narrow stretch indicated the worst.
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âHowâd you think that was going to go?â asked a voice from the other side of the door.
I lay on the bunk and stared at the ceiling; my head throbbed. The place where Iâd been grazed stung whenever I touched my fingers to it. A bullet hadâby whoeverâs graceâscraped my scalp and traced a line from the far corner of my right eyebrow. It'd only been three days and it still caused pain. No doctors came and I was certain there would be infectionâif not plain infection, then it could always be the worser: skitterbugs. I ached still. I had never fully recovered, not like how I should have.
The day of anger, as Iâd begun to think of it in my mind, had caused no great ruckus beyond a few dead men. Two were Bosses, but who knew if theyâd announce that as casually as theyâd surely announce my execution. Perhaps theyâd string me up alongside thieves. A good thief and a bad. What a riot; I deserved no thieves, of course.
What was I? Some great hero? Some idiot was more likely. I wanted misery to befall those that perpetrated it themselves and there I was, more miserable. Perhaps the wrath in my heart came from some mutation; the demon Mephisto resurrected me (so said the demon) and Iâd begun to accept it. It was the reason for my poor state, surely, and the more I thought on it, the more I believed it was true; it felt true right down to my bones. The truth hurt or it was age and I rose from the cot I lay on; Iâd been detained in a room beside the one Iâd visited Andrew many months prior. Theyâd starved me, rattled the door to try and frighten me, and theyâd wasted water on my head to keep me from good sleep.
I did not respond to the voice from the other side of the door and the object rattled in its frame and the voice came again, this time angrier, âReally? How did you think that was going to go? Crazy bastard! Thought youâd put the hurt on the Bosses? Thought youâd kill us at our worst? First, itâs that explosion. You have something to do with that? No! First, it was Haroldâs daughter running off!â The voice on the other side of the door grew with mirth as it did with anger. âIâd seen you around town a bit. Thought the Bosses always liked you. Huh. Boss Harold mentioned you at his parties and said how you were a smart fellaâ, a good fellaâ, and there you killed him. Stone cold.â The man which spoke was a jailor that tortured me in those dreamlike days I spent locked in their prison, and he seemed personally affronted. âSo first itâs the explosions; steam or dust rose out of cracks in the ground you knowâsome thought hell was rising up, but the Bosses put those thoughts to bed. God, whatâs it with the likes of you? The explosions and now Iâve lost an eye and its because of the skitterbugs. You probably brought that on!â The voice muttered and then the door shook in its frame again, seemingly from a hard kick. I wished I could see the face of the man throwing his tantrum. âCanât wait to see you hang.â
âSo, Iâll hang?â I asked the door. There was a long silence, and I was uncertain if Iâd pitched my voice enough for the man on the other side to hear me. I opened my mouth to ask, âSo-
âYouâll hang.â The man on other side seemed to knock his knuckles against the surface of the door. âOr youâll die here.â
âWhatâs Maron said?â
âDonât you worry about him.â
âWhatâs he said?â
âSaid youâd probably appreciate the punishment that weâd put on you. Said youâre a sick man. Said you like speaking with devils and people like you only find pleasure in such things.â
âSo, I wonât hang?â
âOh, youâll hang, sir. Youâll hang if I need to do it myself with no one else. If not that, Iâll be sure to put you under one way or another. Accidents happen.â He chuckled. âMaybe youâd enjoy it, but it doesnât matter. Whatever enjoyment you find in your tortures wonât compare to what ideas I have.â
A long silence followed, and I watched dust motes dance in the air; the place was stagnant and even a breath caused a shift in their glide. I closed my eyes and tried to remember a better time. I thought of Suzanne. I thought of Gemma. What a time to be alive. I thought of the movies, the books, the musical cartridges that sung of yesteryears. How unlucky Iâd been, of course. Something had changed in me though and it was totally refreshing. Perhaps it was in realizing the evils of my brothers was that of a man and not some otherworldly force, or perhaps it was a push that came from years of terrible inconsistencies. All that living in the past and so it was. It didnât matterâthe past. Iâd been so busy with it that Iâd been in a constant state of unliving. Iâd known that always, of courseâsomething new had come.
âYou dozing off in there?â asked the jailor.
âNah.â
âGood. Stay awake or Iâll be forced to stay you awake.â
Iâd been reborn with a rage, justified or otherwise, and it was felt all over. It was a wild compulsion. All that time and it had been me that was brought back.
The wound on my head throbbed and I prodded it with a finger and brought the finger away and examined the digit; it was dried well enough, and I did not smell infection nor were there any of the accompanying symptoms of a fever or hallucination. I was me, through and through. For now.
The door banged. I didnât bother an answer and the door banged again.
âWhoâs there?â I asked, surprising myself with the sarcasm.
âWhyâd you do it?â asked the jailor.
âYou wannaâ ask me about it now?â
âTell me.â The voice on the other side of the door was serious entirely.
âBah!â âBah to you! Whyâd you do it?â
âIs there a reason to explain myself? If you knew better the things I knew, would it get you to unlock that door and let me walk free? Would it change your mind even?â
The jailor caught a laugh before responding. âCanât say it would.â
âSo, whatâs it that you want? You wonât understand me, and I donât think Iâve got the energies of persuasion to try.â
âTry.â
âYou like the Bosses?â
âTheyâre okay. Keep me in work anyway. Keep people safe.â I slumped forward onto my knees where I sat and placed my elbows on my knees and watched the crack at the base of the door on the other side of the prison cell. âWhatâs it matter if they keep you in work? Think they care about you anymore than what you represent?â
âHuh?â
âI mean, you keep riffraff down and they like you for it. I wonder if they know you. You ever get invited to the feasts they hold at the hall? You ever worry about your water rations? You ever wonder why it is that so few of the women or men invited to the hall return? Children too, now that I think of it. Theyâd call those captured criminals, I know. Those brothersâthe sheriff is to blame tooâtheyâre bastards. You know they are.â
âIs that so? Whatâs that make me? A bastard too?â
âBy proxy maybe.â I dryly chuckled. âWhatâs it matter? What do you want outtaâ me anyhow? Some gratification? Some confessionâyouâve gotten that already, ainâtcha? Maybe a repentance? Why donât you call one of those Bosses on down from their throne and have them here on the other side of the door so I can apologize? Or call Lady and Iâll get her to channel some message to the afterlife and Iâll plead for forgiveness. That what you want? Now Iâm a bad man and I know it, but it ainât for the reasons you believe. What you want is belief that thereâs a man under the skin of the monster youâve projected? No, I wonât shoo away your boogeyman for you. It canât be done, not from me.â
âYou talk big for someone in your predicament. I like how you talk so holier. Like youâre talking down on me. I just wanted to know what made you want to go on a mad-killing spree the way you did.â
âMm.â I cupped my hands together; as it was, my left knee shot off with pain and I tried to massage it to little comfort and stretched it out straight from my body. âWhen violence keeps you bound, violence is necessary to free yourself. Thatâs all Iâll say about it. If you hang me, then hang me. Spill my guts out for the birds and put a sack over my head so you wonât be sick by my face.â
âYouâre a mouthy pig.â
I listened to the jailorâs footfalls disappear down the hall and finally it was totally quiet and all I could hear was the throb on my head. Lucky or unlucky? No, it wasnât luck. Iâd been marked. I was the payment, and I knew the price. The demon had my soul. Whatever protection it afforded me, I intended on using.
The image of that room continued over in my mind, with the peasantry (thatâs what I saw them as then) knelt in front of the Bosses and the wall men, with the intense blood-smell, with the surprise on Maronâs face. Billyâs face. There was still a part of me, however small, that wanted to plead with him to change his ways. That wasnât the part that welled up in me then though. The piece of me that wanted to see him die was what took over. It hadnât been Maron that fired his gun; heâd still been fighting with his holster. Iâd only taken a step in through the door and a spray of gunfire from one of the wall menâs rifles exploded and I was sure I was dead because I fell, and my vision went white. They shouldâve put me down then.
I didnât come too fully until I had a few goons on me, hauling me upright roughly under my arms. Maron didnât say anything at first and those wall men took over; they shouted that I was alive still and I felt a hot gun barrel against my cheek.
âStop!â shouted Maron. The Boss Sheriff stepped forward with his stilted gait and looked me over thoroughly. The gun barrel fell from my cheek, but they held me still; it wasnât like I planned on fighting. âYou got uglier,â said Boss Maron, âReally ugly.â His left eye, afflicted by the skitterbug infestation, had gone dead white with only the faintest trace of an iris; it dribbled pus.
I held his stare to the point that my eyes wateredâwhether from anger or sorrow or bothâand my muscles tightened like an animal threatening to pounce. It was a ridiculous display.
âLock him up,â said Boss Maron.
So, I was locked up and those uncounted days I was mildly tortured: sleep deprivation, pummeling, and sometimes they spit on me. It could have been worse. Iâd seen worse.
The cell was numbingly quiet, and I continued to massage my knee, continued in thinking about how investing so much thought with the past twisted any future of mine into a dismal satire.
I could not tell how long it had been without sunlight and the jailor returned (he was bulbous and fattened and old but very strongâit could be sensed in how he carried himself) pushed through the door this time with a tray of diced potatoes, steamed but cold, and a metal cup of water. He sat them on the floor, stared at the tray there with his one good left eye, and it was like I could read his mind as he looked at the food there. He could destroy it; he jerked from the tray without saying a word to me then disappeared behind the door he closed. The jailor remained there outside.
Pride swelled in me momentarily before I pushed whatever silliness that was and devoured the food and drank the clear water. If it was poison, so be it. If it was poison, then all the problems of the world would disperse.
Again, the jailor pushed in through the door and bent to remove the tray and I was struck by the immediate thought of strangling him. So, I tried and threw myself at the man.
My hands felt the scruff around his throat, and I pressed hard with my fingers on his Adams apple. Heâd lurched forward to lift the tray and he immediately came up with force, throwing me off him; my nails raked his cheek as I scrambled for purchase. He took the metal tray in both of his hands and thwapped me across the headâit rang, and I was stunned while he lifted back his right hand in a swing. In the dizziness, I momentarily caught a glimpse of the holster on his left hip and reached out dumbly for the revolver there. A meaty smack could be heard, and I didnât even feel it when his fist met my face the second time. My head rocked and I fought to look upright, and his hand came again, and I put up my own hand in return; it was pushed away, and he continued at me, muttering epithets he found useful.
Once he was heaving and spitting, he left me on the cot and directly before slamming the door, he mentioned something about violence and how if I liked violence so much that heâd show it to me.
I nursed myself to sitting right-up and though adrenaline kept the pain away, I felt my face bruising already. There was no way for me to inspect the welts his hands had left, but I could guess their places by touch and how they thrummed with my heart.
Two days passed, if I counted them by the visits from the jailor and then Maron made his appearance to me, and I was surprised to see him with a leather eye patch over his left eye; he seemed ill on his feet and the jailor, though the man was there, did not move to stop Maron from entering the room and relieving me of my prison. He and the jailor roped my hands together in front of my pelvis and I didnât fight.
Boss Maron stank of infection and yellow oozed from beneath his eye patch and he kept his cowboy hat pulled snugly over both his ears and did not speak so joviallyâthere were no crude jokes at my expense. A warmth radiated off him. The Boss carried my shotgun with him but made no remark on it. He marched me from the prison, and I met daylight, and it burned my eyes while I stared up into the reddish sky. Dust scattered from the nearest portion of wall and caught on the wind till it was carried and disappeared overhead, and I briefly thought how nice it must be to fly.
Golgotha stirred as ever, and people spoke loudly and candidly as I passed them by. Words came my way from passing faces like, âYou kissed the devilâs ass!â or, âYou sure are a monster, look at you!â and Maron pushed me on with the gun at my back, and I wavered on my legs like I was without any control.
âIs it true?â asked Boss Maron, âDid you kiss the devilâs ass?â He tilted the shotgun casually on his shoulder and kept me ahead of himself. He was taking me to hangâand making a big deal out of it too. âI know how you like to speak to them. The demons. I know how you conspire with them. I told them all how you do. Now they know I was right.â
What a rotten town it was, and it smelled like it. The atrophied muscles and diseased infections of those fine folks emanated in the air, flies buzzed around my head, bloated and doubtlessly happy from whatever corpse theyâd sprung from.
âSay somethinâ,â said Maron.
âWhat do you want?â I asked, watching my footfalls, ignoring the screeches of those on the sidelines; he marched me through the runways, past the onlookers which saw me with faces of twisted hatred. The tension was palpableâI could feel the venom off the eyes of those that watched. Blood red eyes which judged carelessly.
âI want you to say it,â said Maron; I felt the nudge of the shotgun at my back again and I stumbled forward, caught myself, carried on, âI want you to admit it to me. Youâre like a mutant, ainâtcha? No better than any other monster. I knew it all them years. I seen it.â We took an alley and cretins followed behind; wall men flanked Maron and on either side of the narrow stretch there were faces made even with the wall, pressed there like they were afraid to be involved.
âWhatever you say, brother.â
âDonât,â hissed Maron, âDonât even.â
âWhat?â I spat the word, âAfraid theyâll treat you differently if they all know how close we are?â I felt the gun barrel press against my back, and I yelped out the words, âHey! Heâs my brother! My baby brother!â The barrel jabbed me in the spine, and I spilled forward, catching myself on one of those nearby faces. It was an old woman. She shoved me from her, and I flailed across the ground after trying to catch myself with my bound hands. Dirt met my face and exploded around me. I laughed, blinking through the dust. I spit too. He couldnât kill me. Whatever black magic there was in meâbequeathed by Mephistoârefused me death. Maron lifted me with the help of his wall men, pinching the coat around my throat with his fist. He shoved me on, and we continued.
âYou smell that?â I asked Maron.
âStop talkinâ. You might not be a man, but youâll die like one,â he said. The wall men around muttered, and we took the way to the front square; already there were looky-loos gathered, throngs of them not at all bashful to see the dayâs line-upâit was just me. The platform was emptier and that was good (Frank, Paul, and Matt looked naked without their eldest brother). Those Bosses which remained looked drunk as they did for any other execution. It was a good day for it. Warm. The stink of the crowd was worse and as those gathered parted for my entourage, the warmth of them cloistered us like the blood of a wound.
Even through the vile aroma, the smell of rotted poultry rose like nothing else. âYou donât smell it then?â
The roar, a cacophony of the damned souls stolen, shook the ground and the air changed. A dragonâLeviathan.
Along the wall which old skeletal corpses hung against dried blood stains from hook-chains, men and women scattered the length of the parapets with their weapons. Gunfire came and one of those atop the wall shouted, âArtillery! Dragon! Big guns!â
There was fire in the sky and the creature circled overhead and its wings beat the wind like mad; those organic ropes that hung from its body took on horrid shapes with its movement in the high noon sunlight.
Screams filled the air as the square erupted into panic. I dove into the sickly crowd; among the loudness, the horses which were lined by the big door fought against their ties and bolted across the square. Arms and heads disappeared beneath those dashing hooves, and it was not long before people were trampling people and in a quick glance I saw the Boss platform came down in splinters as the horses rushes it. Blood slickened the feet of many as they rushed to the buildings adjacent the squareâwhat a small protection thatâd be against Leviathan. A wall man went stumbling over the wallâs ledge and his body met the ground beneath the hanging corpses and he didnât get up.
In the wild fray, Maron fired the shotgun into the air, and I briefly thought of where the pellets might fall.
Finally, artillery fire came and put a hole in the creature. It wavered in the air, its head lurched downward like it might pierce the ground and it pulled its long neck back and blew flames across the buildings. The heat was immaculate. Rotted chicken filled my lungs.
âThereâs more!â shouted a wall man above, âRunning across the field.â
The crowd grew more enamored with escape; thereâs no good way to say itâblood frothed around our heels as I was shoved through the avenues of elbows, rocking heads, plunging knees. I pushed on, shielding myself with my bound hands as well as I could. I kept my head as high, and felt scratches reach my throatâdoubtlessly those which could not continueânails and fists came from every direction. In the ephemeral madness, I too screamed and it did not stop until I spilled into an alleyway along the wall nearest the execution chains. I ran and tripped from the crowd, slid, and bit my tongue so thoroughly that my teeth clicked together though the tissue; my breath was knocked from me. My pants were wet from the viscera. Others too had found the opening and barreled past me. I went to my feet and panted thought the pain, through the twinge in my left knee. I took the walls for support and still, those which rushed past nearly knocked me from my feet.
Some poor childâa lean, bony-faced boyâfell in the rush and before I had a moment to reach out, he was gone. Whether he lived or not, I did not stop to know. The crunch of bones as more people spilled into the narrow stretch indicated the worst.
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2024.06.01 08:10 Calc-u-lator The Trinity II - The Son
- In John 3:16, who is God, and who is his one and only son?
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
- Who created all things? John 1:1-3
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.
- Did Christ exist after he was born in this world, or he has always been, and it is through him that all humans exist? John 8:48-58
48 The Jews answered him, âArenât we right in saying that you are a
Samaritan and demon-possessed?â
49 âI am not possessed by a demon,â said Jesus, âbut I honor my
Father and you dishonor me. 50 I am not seeking glory for myself;
but there is one who seeks it, and he is the judge. 51 Very truly I
tell you, whoever obeys my word will never see death.â
52 At this they exclaimed, âNow we know that you are demon-possessed!
Abraham died and so did the prophets, yet you say that whoever obeys
your word will never taste death. 53 Are you greater than our father
Abraham? He died, and so did the prophets. Who do you think you are?â
54 Jesus replied, âIf I glorify myself, my glory means nothing. My
Father, whom you claim as your God, is the one who glorifies me. 55
Though you do not know him, I know him. If I said I did not, I would
be a liar like you, but I do know him and obey his word. 56 Your
father Abraham rejoiced at the thought of seeing my day; he saw it
and was glad.â
57 âYou are not yet fifty years old,â they said to him, âand you have
seen Abraham!â
58 âVery truly I tell you,â Jesus answered, âbefore Abraham was
born, I am!â
- Is Christ God?
- Did Christ come into the world as a man, doing God's will, or as God? John 14:10
10 Donât you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.
- Did Christ go through the various stages and challenges of life as a man or as God?
- From his childhood, did Christ know that he was God? Mark 10:17-18
17 As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his
knees before him. âGood teacher,â he asked, âwhat must I do to
inherit eternal life?â
18 âWhy do you call me good?â Jesus answered. âNo one is goodâexcept
God alone.
- Did Christ learn about the Father, and start his fellowship with the Father the same way as every other human would have, by going to Sunday school, studying the scriptures, and doing the will of the Father, until he and the Father had become one?
Luke 2:46
After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.
Luke 2:52
âAnd Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.â
- Who confirmed Jesus Christ as a true child of God, when his will and the Father's will had become one, after doing God's will for a long time? Matthew 3:13-17
13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John.
14 But John tried to deter him, saying, âI need to be baptized by you,
and do you come to me?â
15 Jesus replied, âLet it be so now; it is proper for us to do this
to fulfill all righteousness.â Then John consented.
16 As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that
moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending
like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said,
âThis is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.â
- Will you also receive a confirmation from the Father in your spirit when your will and the Father's will have become one after doing his will for some time?
- In John 10:10, who is the thief, what does he want, and what does Christ want for every human?
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
- Who gave you life?
- If Satan can make you turn against your Father in Heaven has he stolen you from him?
- In what ways does Satan try to destroy the children of God?
- Will Satan try to kill you if all his attempts fail?
- In what way did Christ expect people to know who he was? John 10:24-25
24 The Jews who were there gathered around him, saying, âHow long
will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us
plainly.â
25 Jesus answered, âI did tell you, but you do not believe. The
works I do in my Fatherâs name testify about me,
- Are you *something* because of what you do every day, or what you say that you are?
- How is Christ the way to the Father? John 14:4-6
4 You know the way to the place where I am going.â 5 Thomas said to
him, âLord, we donât know where you are going, so how can we know the
way?â
6 Jesus answered, âI am the way and the truth and the life. No
one comes to the Father except through me.
- What examples did Christ *do* and *teach* humans as the way to become like Christ? (Read the Gospels)
- Can you believe in Christ without practicing his teachings?
- Which examples of Christ are you following now?
- Was Christ willing to forgive the people who had tortured him and hanged him on the cross to die? Luke 23:34
34 Jesus said, âFather, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.â And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.
- Which character and mind will be formed in you when you believe in Christ by acting on his word?
- How can Christ be formed in you?
- When you blow air into a balloon and place it on a bucket of water will it float or will it sink?
- When you press the balloon to the bottom of the bucket and you leave it what will happen to the balloon?
- In John 11:20-26, how is Christ the resurrection and the life?
20 When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him,
but Mary stayed at home.
21 âLord,â Martha said to Jesus, âif you had been here, my brother
would not have died. 22 But I know that even now God will give you
whatever you ask.â
23 Jesus said to her, âYour brother will rise again.â
24 Martha answered, âI know he will rise again in the resurrection at
the last day.â
25 Jesus said to her, âI am the resurrection and the life. The one
who believes in me will live, even though they die; 26 and whoever
lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?â
- When you do not have the character and mind of Christ can you be resurrected?
- In what way is a person who has become like Christ, like a balloon?
- Through Christ, should there be other Christs?
- Does Christ's resurrection teach humans that when a man has formed Christ in them, they are *capable* of being resurrected, and that resurrection is *possible*?
- Did Christ wish to go through the suffering on the cross, or he went through it because it was the Father's will?
âFather, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.â
- Are you also willing to do the Father's will even when it does not make you happy?
- Did the people of his day find it easy to accept the teachings of Christ, including the disciples?
- Did the disciples believe that Christ would resurrect after his death on the cross? John 20:24-29
24 Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not
with the disciples when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told
him, âWe have seen the Lord!â
But he said to them, âUnless I see the nail marks in his hands and put
my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will
not believe.â
26 A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was
with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among
them and said, âPeace be with you!â 27 Then he said to Thomas,
âPut your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it
into my side. Stop doubting and believe.â
28 Thomas said to him, âMy Lord and my God!â
29 Then Jesus told him, âBecause you have seen me, you have believed;
blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.â
- Did Christ know that for the people to truly believe him he had to give them a sign? Matthew 12:38-39
38 Then some of the Pharisees and teachers of the law said to him,
âTeacher, we want to see a sign from you.â
39 He answered, âA wicked and adulterous generation asks for a sign!
But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.
- What sign would he give them to make them believe?
- If Christ had not died in public, would his resurrection have meant anything to the people of his day?
- If Christ had not resurrected from the dead, would his message have taken deeper roots in the hearts of the people, making them believe that all that he said was true? John 11:25
Jesus said to her, âI am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die;
- When the people believed him after his resurrection were they willing to spread the message to other towns and even die while doing so?
- In what way did the Father use Christ's public humiliation and death on the cross to make Christ's message take deeper roots in the hearts of men after his resurrection, to the point where they were willing to die for it?
- Did the Father use what the Devil had planned for evil, for good, by letting Christ go through public humiliation and death, or did the Father plan to have Christ crucified all along?
- Can humans enter God's kingdom and be saved from darkness if only they will believe in Christ's teachings?
- If the price to pay for Christ's message to be accepted by the people was death by the cross, and later resurrection, was Christ willing to do what it would take by paying the price?
- Did the Father pay the price by giving his very best, his only begotten son?
- Does the Father allowing Christ to go through so much suffering teach humans how far he is willing to go to rescue even the most stubborn human from darkness?
- Does Christ humbling himself even unto death, teach humans how far we must be willing to go to do God's will?
- Can the problem of humans living in darkness, and dying because of it, be solved?
- Is there a price to pay to solve it?
- Are you willing to pay the price?
- Did Christ come to replace the laws of the prophets, or improve upon them and give them their full meaning?
Matthew 5:33-37
33 âAgain, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, âDo not break your oath, but fulfill to the Lord the vows you have made.â 34 But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is Godâs throne; 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. 37 All you need to say is simply âYesâ or âNoâ; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.
Matthew 5:38-39
38 âYou have heard that it was said, âEye for eye, and tooth for tooth.â 39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.
Matthew 19:8-11
8 Jesus replied, âMoses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning. 9 I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another woman commits adultery.â
Matthew 5:43-46
43 âYou have heard that it was said, âLove your neighbor and hate your enemy.â 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46 If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?
Matthew 5:27-28
27 âYou have heard that it was said, âYou shall not commit adultery.â 28 But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.
Matthew 5:17
Don't suppose I came to do away with the Law and the Prophets. I did not come to do away with them, but to give them their full meaning.
- Does following Christ's teachings mean that you no longer have to obey the law? Matthew 5:19
Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
- Can you become perfect by following laws alone?
- What is the reason for your answer?
- Do the laws of God cover every aspect of human living and behavior?
- Can you become perfect by following the laws of God and Christ who by taking on human nature also understands you and knows how to deal with the things that stop you from becoming perfect? Matthew 5:20
For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.
- Did Christ come to start a new religion named after him, or to establish the kingdom of God on earth?
- Where is the kingdom of God on earth? Luke 17:20-21
20 And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God
should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not
with observation:
21 Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the
kingdom of God is within you.
- How do you enter God's kingdom?
- Can you enter God's kingdom without submitting yourself to God, daily? Luke 22:42
âFather, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.â
- Did the Jews accept or reject Christ's teachings? John 10:20-21
20 Many of them said, âHe is demon-possessed and raving mad. Why
listen to him?â
21 But others said, âThese are not the sayings of a man possessed by a
demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?â
- What would happen to Jerusalem shortly after Christ had been taken up into Heaven? Luke 19:41-44
41 As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it 42 and said, âIf you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peaceâbut now it is hidden from your eyes. 43 The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. 44 They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of Godâs coming to you.â
- When Christ was about to be crucified, and the women wept for him, why did he say to them "Weep for yourselves"? Luke 23:27-28
27 A large number of people followed him, including women who mourned and wailed for him. 28 Jesus turned and said to them, âDaughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children.
- What happened to Jerusalem shortly after Christ had been taken up into Heaven?
- If the Jews had accepted Christ's message would the Romans have destroyed their cities and temples and killed so many of them?
- If all men accept God as their Father, will they treat each other as brothers and sisters, or as foreigners and enemies? John 4:7-9
7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, âWill
you give me a drink?â 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy
food.)
9 The Samaritan woman said to him, âYou are a Jew and I am a Samaritan
woman. How can you ask me for a drink?â (For Jews do not associate
with Samaritans.)
- If all men accept each other as brothers and sisters, will they continue to fight each other or allow the peace of God to reign on earth?
- What is a parable?
- What is the parable of the tenants? Luke 20:9-19
9 He went on to tell the people this parable: âA man planted a
vineyard, rented it to some farmers and went away for a long time.
10 At harvest time he sent a servant to the tenants so they would give
him some of the fruit of the vineyard. But the tenants beat him and
sent him away empty-handed. 11 He sent another servant, but that one
also they beat and treated shamefully and sent away empty-handed. 12
He sent still a third, and they wounded him and threw him out.
13 âThen the owner of the vineyard said, âWhat shall I do? I will send
my son, whom I love; perhaps they will respect him.â
14 âBut when the tenants saw him, they talked the matter over. âThis
is the heir,â they said. âLetâs kill him, and the inheritance will be
ours.â 15 So they threw him out of the vineyard and killed him.
âWhat then will the owner of the vineyard do to them? 16 He will come
and kill those tenants and give the vineyard to others.â
When the people heard this, they said, âGod forbid!â
17 Jesus looked directly at them and asked, âThen what is the meaning
of that which is written:
ââThe stone the builders rejected has become the
cornerstoneâ?
18 Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces; anyone
on whom it falls will be crushed.â
19 The teachers of the law and the chief priests looked for a way to
arrest him immediately, because they knew he had spoken this parable
against them. But they were afraid of the people.
- What does the vineyard represent in the parable?
- Who is the owner of the vineyard?
- Who are the tenants? Matthew 23:29-35
29 âWoe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You
build tombs for the prophets and decorate the graves of the
righteous. 30 And you say, âIf we had lived in the days of our
ancestors, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the
blood of the prophets.â 31 So you testify against yourselves that you
are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets. 32 Go ahead,
then, and complete what your ancestors started!
33 âYou snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being
condemned to hell? 34 Therefore I am sending you prophets and sages
and teachers. Some of them you will kill and crucify; others you will
flog in your synagogues and pursue from town to town. 35 And so upon
you will come all the righteous blood that has been shed on earth,
from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah son of
Berekiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar.
- In what ways did the tenants beat and treat the servants shamefully?
- What is the fruit of the vineyard?
- Who were the servants sent to the vineyard to collect the fruits of the vineyard?
- Who was the son sent to collect the vineyard's fruits?
- Did Christ come into the world to be humiliated and killed or to draw men into the Father's kingdom by his teachings and lifestyle?
- Was Christ sacrificed or betrayed and murdered? Acts 7:52-53
52 Was there any prophet that your ancestors did not persecute? They killed God's messengers, who long ago announced the coming of his righteous Servant. And now you have betrayed and murdered him. 53 You are the ones who received God's law, that was handed down by angelsâyet you have not obeyed it!â
- What is the harvest, and who are the laborers? Matthew 9:35-38
35 And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. 36 When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. 37 Then he said to his disciples, âThe harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; 38 therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.â
- Was Christ able to forgive sins before he was crucified? Matthew 9:2-7
2 Some men brought to him a paralyzed man, lying on a mat. When Jesus
saw their faith, he said to the man, âTake heart, son; your sins
are forgiven.â
3 At this, some of the teachers of the law said to themselves, âThis
fellow is blaspheming!â
4 Knowing their thoughts, Jesus said, âWhy do you entertain evil
thoughts in your hearts? 5 Which is easier: to say, âYour sins are
forgiven,â or to say, âGet up and walkâ? 6 But I want you to know
that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.â So he
said to the paralyzed man, âGet up, take your mat and go home.â 7
Then the man got up and went home.
- Did humans have to spill the blood of Christ to be forgiven of their sins?
- In what way does Christ take away the sin of the world? John 1:29
The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, âLook, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!
- In what way did Christ fulfill the prophecy of Isaiah in Isaiah 53:4? Matthew 8:14-17
14 When Jesus came into Peterâs house, he saw Peterâs mother-in-law
lying in bed with a fever. 15 He touched her hand and the fever left
her, and she got up and began to wait on him.
16 When evening came, many who were demon-possessed were brought to
him, and he drove out the spirits with a word and healed all the sick.
17 This was to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet Isaiah:
âHe took up our infirmities and bore our diseases.â
- What is the story of the woman caught in adultery? John 8:1-11
8 1 but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.
2 At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people
gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. 3 The teachers of
the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They
made her stand before the group 4 and said to Jesus, âTeacher, this
woman was caught in the act of adultery. 5 In the Law Moses commanded
us to stone such women. Now what do you say?â 6 They were using this
question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his
finger. 7 When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and
said to them, âLet any one of you who is without sin be the first to
throw a stone at her.â 8 Again he stooped down and wrote on the
ground.
9 At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older
ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing
there. 10 Jesus straightened up and asked her, âWoman, where are they?
Has no one condemned you?â
11 âNo one, sir,â she said.
âThen neither do I condemn you,â Jesus declared. âGo now and leave
your life of sin.â
- Was it possible for humans to stop sinning before Christ was crucified? John 8:11
- How do you stop sinning?
- Was Christ able to teach all that he wanted to before he was taken up into Heaven? John 16:12
âI have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear.
- How did Christ know that the people could not bear all that he had to say to them? John 3:1-12
3 Now there was a Pharisee, a man named Nicodemus who was a member of
the Jewish ruling council. 2 He came to Jesus at night and said,
âRabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. For no
one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with him.â
3 Jesus replied, âVery truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom
of God unless they are born
again.â
4 âHow can someone be born when they are old?â Nicodemus asked.
âSurely they cannot enter a second time into their motherâs womb to be
born!â
5 Jesus answered, âVery truly I tell you, no one can enter the
kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. 6 Flesh
gives birth to flesh, but the
Spirit gives birth to spirit. 7 You should not be
surprised at my saying,
âYou must be born again.â 8 The wind blows wherever it
pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from
or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the
Spirit.â
9 âHow can this be?â Nicodemus asked.
10 âYou are Israelâs teacher,â said Jesus, âand do you not
understand these things? 11 Very truly I tell you, we speak of what
we know, and we testify to what we have seen, but still you people do
not accept our testimony. 12 I have spoken to you of earthly things
and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of
heavenly things?
- Who will continue his work after he has been taken up into Heaven? John 16:13
But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come.
- While on earth why did Christ call himself the Son of Man? Matthew 8:20
âAnd Jesus said to him, âFoxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.ââ
- Is human experience already in God from the beginning, or is human experience obtained by living like a human?
- Did Christ rule over our universe after creating it, or did he wait until he had first put on human nature, thereby becoming both Son of God and Son of Man? Matthew 28:16-18
16 Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18 Then Jesus came to them and said, âAll authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
- Who gave Christ all authority?
- What did Christ have after his resurrection, that he did not have before his crucifixion? Matthew 28:18
18 Then Jesus came to them and said, âAll authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
- What could go wrong if Christ ruled our universe after creating it, without first putting on human nature?
- What can go wrong when you try advancing a child when you have never been a child before?
- In Matthew 23:11 why does the Father (through Christ) say
The greatest among you must be a servant.
- Would Christ use his authority over Man, fairly, if he had not first obtained a human experience, and known what it was like to be human?
Luke 23:3422 Jesus knew what they were thinking and asked, âWhy are you thinking these things in your hearts?
Jesus said, âFather, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.â And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.
Luke 5:21-22
21 The Pharisees and the teachers of the law began thinking to themselves, âWho is this fellow who speaks blasphemy? Who can forgive sins but God alone?â
- If God himself goes through the proper way to assume authority, should humans also learn to do things the proper way?
- Did Christ live his life on earth by seeking the will of the Father and doing it? John 6:38
For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me.
- Should humans also spend their lives seeking the will of God and doing it?
- Was Christ able to fulfill the law? Matthew 5:17
âDo not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.
- Is Christ able to help you fulfill the law as well?
2024.06.01 07:56 Frame_Late Unburdened: A Job Gone Wrong.
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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname:Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446âŚ
Loading and processing firmware data⌠translating⌠memories and subconscious simulatedâŚ
Beginning archival shard presentationâŚ
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed âcarnageâ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out⌠only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuckâŚ" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck⌠what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I⌠I don'tâŚ" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was emptyâŚ
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin withâŚ"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us thereâŚ"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
âDrop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!â Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. âI repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!â
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldnât see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
Iâm sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shardâŚ
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446âŚ
Loading and processing firmware data⌠translating⌠memories and subconscious simulatedâŚ
Beginning archival shard presentationâŚ
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âGood morning, sleepyhead; itâs time for breakfast.â
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldnât gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didnât have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldnât do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me andâŚ
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind.I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldnât scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy.I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't⌠good boys don't⌠IâŚ
##Good boy##
I was a good boy⌠I was a good boyâŚ
I was⌠I was⌠a good⌠boyâŚ
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, youâre still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.
submitted by Frame_Late to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname:
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446âŚ
Loading and processing firmware data⌠translating⌠memories and subconscious simulatedâŚ
Beginning archival shard presentationâŚ
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed âcarnageâ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out⌠only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuckâŚ" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck⌠what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I⌠I don'tâŚ" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was emptyâŚ
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin withâŚ"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us thereâŚ"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
âDrop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!â Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. âI repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!â
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldnât see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
Iâm sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shardâŚ
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446âŚ
Loading and processing firmware data⌠translating⌠memories and subconscious simulatedâŚ
Beginning archival shard presentationâŚ
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âGood morning, sleepyhead; itâs time for breakfast.â
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldnât gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didnât have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldnât do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me andâŚ
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldnât scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't⌠good boys don't⌠IâŚ
##Good boy##
I was a good boy⌠I was a good boyâŚ
I was⌠I was⌠a good⌠boyâŚ
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, youâre still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.
2024.06.01 06:54 AloManBoi 'Love and Cry' - A dialogue on absurdism I wrote
So, after playing Pathologic (I'm sure a lot of people started there) and watching Codex Entry's videos which draw parallels between various absurdist writers and the plot of the game, I wanted to give writing in that style a crack. I'm not a scholar or anything, this kind of marks the first step down the rabbit hole from my perspective. Still, it would be interesting to get thoughts from people who've consumed more of that kind of work than I have (primarily to help guide further exploration of the ideas).
A man sits on top of a hill overlooking a large city from its outskirts. There is a single tree to shade him, and he sits beside a cooler filled with alcoholic drinks. Suddenly, another man approaches with his seatâŚ
Jeremy: Fredrick.
Fredrick: Jeremy.
The guest sets himself up on the other side of the cooler before taking his seat.
Jeremy: How is she?
Fredrick: Passed. She had her time for fighting and now, is her time for resting.
Jeremy: And how are you?
Fredrick: Iâm still numb to it.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept. Do well to defeat whatever shred of it exists within you.
Fredrick: Indifference?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes. Indifference.
Fredrick: Thereâs nothing romantic about losing your wife to begin with⌠Lets not do this.
Jeremy: My point is that youâre doing nothing, but weâll all be gone soon enough. Go on then, change the topic.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Fredrick: So what would you have me do then?
Jeremy: What sort of question is that?
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick: No, I donât drink.
Jeremy: Not like you used to anyway.
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick Please stop interupting me, especially to ask the same question again.
Jeremy: You donât get it yet, but Iâm asking a different question every time.
Fredrick: Sure⌠To drink your beer, and to criticise me of inaction, but what could I do? Iâm no doctor, and even further from a miracle worker.
Jeremy: But you are you.
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Well if youâre so sureâŚ
Fredrick: Who else could I be?
Jeremy: Decide for yourself. My attention is taken up by this beer I sip with so much âeaseâ.
Jeremy laughs, Fredrick rolls his eyes.
Jeremy: Alright alright, Iâm not exactly being straight with you.
Fredrick: When have you ever?
Jeremy: If you didnât enjoy our conversations you wouldnât have decided to meet me here.
Fredrick: No one else enjoys your conversation; if I wasnât hear youâd drive yourself mad.
Jeremy: No, Iâd simply talk with the tree.
Fredrick: I fail to see how you talking with trees goes against you being mad, but I digress. What is your point here?
Jeremy: Your wife just passed.
Fredrick: Iâm aware.
Jeremy: And yet you wonât drink with me.
Fredrick: Iâm aware.
Jeremy: I think thatâs silly.
Fredrick: What does my wife dying have to do with abstinence-
Jeremy: Cowardice.
Fredrick: Cowardice?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes, cowardice.
Fredrick: What so you think Iâm afraid of a can of beer?
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: I am not.
Jeremy: Then what is it youâre afraid of?
Fredrick: Youâre the one acusing me of cowardice, you substantiate it.
Jeremy: HmmmâŚ
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Jeremy: Youâre afraid of the end.
Fredrick: Itâs natural to fear death.
Jeremy: Interesting how you conflate the two.
Fredrick: What else could âthe endâ refer to? The end of this chat?
Jeremy: The end of this chat spells doom for us both chum, but I didnât mean anything so specific.
Fredrick: So, Iâm afraid of âendingsâ?
Jeremy: Itâs easy for the cynical to believe that their lives are a cycle of mysery. But there is no cycle. What begins, ends. Even if something else were to begin, what came before has already ended. Cylicality is a comforting illusion.
Fredrick: Hardly seems that way when the cycle is of pain.
Jeremy: But isnât pain a comfort? Is it not better to expect pain and receive it than to expect nothing at all?
Fredrick: The cynical would expect nothing.
Jeremy: This is a failure of your understanding of both the cyclical and the cynical.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes. In the distance, sirens can be heard.
Fredrick: Our time is running out.
Jeremy: What makes you think it hasnât already?
Fredrick: Weâre both still alive arenât we?
Jeremy: Ahh I see.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: I see trees of green, red roses too~
Jeremy giggles to himself, Fredrick scoffs.
Fredrick: How can you be so unserious at a time like this?
Jeremy: Iâm treating the current situation with the exact appropriate amount of seriousness, no more no less.
Fredrick: So Iâm too serious?
Jeremy: Friend, I have never had the words to describe you better than the two you used to just describe yourself.
Fredrick: From my perspective youâre not serious enough, and those are the only words I need to describe you.
Jeremy: Well met. Fancy a-
Fredrick: I swear to GOD Jeremy.
Fredrick is death staring Jeremy, anger clearly visible on his face. Jeremy is taken aback. He sips on his can, before setting it down.
Jeremy: You canât live like this mate.
Fredrick: Weâre not gonna be living at all soon.
Jeremy: Fine, you canât die like this either.
Fredrick: Like what? What is it youâre trying to tell me?
Jeremy: Look buddy, youâve been so tightly wound for as long as Iâve known you. You live like everything is sheep in your cattle, and youâre the farmer trying to keep it all together.
Fredrick: Everyoneâs left me. Family is all gone, friends are off dying somewhere, and the only solace I had left just passed. If I am the farmer, Iâve already failed.
Jeremy: But thatâs what Iâm saying.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: I already TOLD you, I DO. NOT. DRINK.
Jeremy: According to who?
Fredrick: According to who? According to me. I am the only authority on my life.
Jeremy: Authority⌠Authority⌠How curious of you to simulaneously believe that while also claiming youâve failed.
Fredrick: The key is that I failed, me, the farmer, the one in control. I failed in my task, and am wholely responsible for that.
Jeremy: What a silly thing to say outloud.
Fredrick: Silly?
Jeremy: Yes.
Fredrick: Itâs silly for me to take responsibility for myrself?
Jeremy: You donât understand responsibility. Not here, not about this.
Fredrick: I just took care of my dying wife, tell me, what do I not understand about responsibility.
Jeremy breaks into laughter again. Fredrick furrows his brows with impatience.
Jeremy: See, this is exactly what I mean. You say responsibility as if weâre talking about the same thing, but you couldnât be any more wrong.
Fredrick: Then tell me, where is the source of my error.
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Should I start keeping tally of all the times youâve asked me if I want a drink?
Jeremy: That sounds like a pretty good idea to me.
Fredrick scoffs again.
Jeremy: So I take it as a no?
Fredrick: No.
Jeremy: So a yes?
Fredrick grows more frustrated
Fredrick: No, I meant, yes
Jeremy: So⌠a yes?
Fredrick stands up aggressively and slowly walks away, looking exasperated.
Jeremy: No it isâŚ
Fredrick returns to his seat and sits down like he was forced to.
Jeremy: Christ man⌠You said youâre the one in control but are you?
Fredrick: Who else would be in control of my life? Who else would be the driver in the seat of my car? Who else would be the pilot of my plane?
Jeremy: The herder of your sheep?
Fredrick: Precisely.
Jeremy: Who ever you choose.
Fredrick: Choose?
Jeremy: Does that answer really confuse you?
Fredrick: Obviously. Itâs my life, how could I choose who runs it?
Jeremy: In saying that, are you not choosing to run it yourself?
Fredrick: No, my life was a responsibility thrust onto me from the moment I was born. Same with all of us. Whether we eat, sleep, fuck, itâs all up to us.
Jeremy: Strange⌠for one who has such conviction of their answers, you donât behave like someone who makes all their choices themselves.
Fredrick: Use an example.
Jeremy: You believe that youâre âchoosingâ to not drink with me, but this is a role you are playing. An ordinary person may decide to play whatever role they shall, and yet here you are, refusing to abandon a character who exists to suffer.
Fredrick: This is who I am. Any changes to this idea of âmeâ are made by me, for me, and are only edits to âmeâ. I remain myself, regardless of how I change.
Jeremy: I know you believe that. I know in your heart of hearts you believe that to be true, but youâre mistaken my friend. What is âyouâ is inelastic.
Fredrick: So people canât change?
Jeremy: People cannot change and remain the same. This is oxymoronic.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Come on, this is simple to validate; is a application the same software after each update?
Fredrick: Are you asking if photoshop 1.0 and photoshop 2.0 are the same?
Jeremy: Precisely.
Fredrick: 1.0 lacked some of the features of 2.0. It would be a rejection of reality to claim otherwise, but, you call it photoshop regardless of the update. No matter how you change it, it is still photoshop. No matter how I change myself, I am still Fredrick.
Jeremy scoffs.
Jeremy: You may share a name with your previous versions, but you are hardly the Fredrick I shared room and board with during our studies. No, it would be more accurate to call you Faraday, or Finnegan.
Fredrick: I fail to grasp where your oposition is.
Jeremy: Of course you do. You see your character as a painting without completion; a masterpiece with no end. You are doomed to keep painting until you can no longer hold a brush, never satisfied, never finished, yet so certain that victory is within your grasp. The carrot will remain dangling ever out of your reach if you maintain this perspective.
Fredrick: Oh please, do enlighten me on how I may remedy this issue.
Jeremy: Put down the brush and throw the entire bucket of paint on the canvas. Or maybe, use a roller instead of a brush. Or maybe, paint in reverse, tracing backwards from the finished product until you arrive at the start.
Fredrick: I think weâre getting a bit lost in metaphor.
Jeremy: Stop playing by the rules of the tormentus carrot. Chase after an apple instead. Or maybe, decide youâll only chase the carrot between the hours of 3:46pm and 11:12am, and when youâre not chasing a carrot you are practising your juggling skills.
Fredrick places his palm on his forehead
Fredrick: I grow tired of this fable.
Jeremy: Fredrick grows tired of this fable, and yet you choose to remain here.
Fredrick: I AM Fredrick.
Jeremy: You are you. The skin you wear normally is that of Fredrickâs.
Fredrick: I didnât realise I flayed myself before I came here.
Jeremy: You didnât flay yourself. But your wifeâs passing is a crack in the shell. Your armour is collapsing. The suit of iron that was your philosophy has failed to protect you when it mattered most, and it is exposing the truth.
Fredrick: And what truth is that?
Jeremy: That you want to have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Jeremy, please, I do not want that. I havenât wanted that in over 20 years, Iâve abandoned that part of my life.
Jeremy: Donât talk like that, they might get confused and think that you were an alcoholic.
Fredrick: They?
Jeremy: Donât worry about that.
Fredrick shakes his head and takes a deep sigh.
Fredrick: I didnât stop drinking because of alcoholism, I stopped drinking because she wanted me to.
Jeremy: And now sheâs gone.
Fredrick: So I should descecrate her grave by drinking myself into a stupor the moment she isnât around to chastise me for it?
Jeremy: Sheâs gone mate.
Fredrick: You didnât answer my question.
Jeremy: She doesnât care. She canât. Sheâs beyond that capacity, or better yet, sheâs detached herself from petty ideals such as abstinence.
Fredrick furrows his brow and points a finger at Jeremy
Fredrick: Careful.
Jeremy smiles in response
Jeremy: There we goâŚ
Fredrick: So thatâs all this is? Youâre just trying to get a rise out me?
Jeremy: I respect you more than that. Please, understand that this comes from a place of concern for you.
Fredrick: A concerned friend wouldnât disrespect my dead wife to my face.
Jeremy: Then that friend isnât concerned enough for you.
Fredrick slams his fist onto the cooler
Fredrick: You were always so good at this. Using whatever backwards logic you want to justify your refusal to hold back for anyoneâs sake. You are a twat, and always have been.
Jeremy: True that.
Fredrick grits his teeth and his fist clenches harder. Jeremy sips from his drink. Another siren is heard in the distance, Fredrick lifts his fist from the cooler and crosses his arms.
Jeremy: Why maintain the principle?
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Thatâs what it is right, a principle? The absistence I mean.
Fredrick: She would want me to.
Jeremy: HmmmâŚ. Does this tree want me not to cut it?
Fredrick: Of course it does! What kind of question is that, itâs a living organism and by cutting it down, you end its life.
Jeremy: But does it WANT to live. That is the key here.
Fredrick: All living beings exist to continue living, it is a basic physiological drive. They fail when they die.
Jeremy: Yet here you are, still breathing, recounting to me the story of a man who has âfailedâ.
Fredrick: My failure in life is separate from my failure to continue living.
Jeremy looks at his Fredrick with an ernest look in his eyes.
Jeremy: Is it?
Fredrick: You just said so yourself.
Jeremy: I guess I did⌠and in doing so, mislead you as to what I meant when I said living.
Fredrick: Go on.
Jeremy: To be alive and to live are different things. Countless times I have walked the streets of this concrete jungle, passing by animated corpse after animated corpse. They were already dead, and had no idea of it. The body had yet to catch up to the spirit.
Fredrick: What does this have to do with the tree?
Jeremy: Sure, the tree is alive. Itâs cells perform metabolic functions. But can something like a tree truly live?
Fredrick: What is your answer?
Jeremy: Truth be told, I donât know. Maybe the tree knows ultimate contentendess, never wanting for anything more than sunlight, water and nutrients. Perhaps every day the tree curses its existence, wishing to know more than this hill and the view of the city, wishing to contribute to this very conversation and yet lacking the means to.
A small gust of wind blows through the tree, rustling the leaves. Jeremy looks up to the branches before continuing.
Jeremy: Or maybe it curses me for not being able to interpret the rustling of its leaves.
Fredrick: If that were the case, apologese are in order.
Jeremy: Iâm not one to apologise for ineptitude.
Fredrick: Youâre barely one to apologise for anything.
Jeremy chuckles.
Jeremy: Touche.
Fredrick: So what of my wife?
Jeremy: She is the tree. Maybe as a corpse, she knows a higher and truer peace than any of us that are alive can. Maybe she calls to you from beyond.
Fredrick: Iâm not a very spiritual person, and you know that.
Jeremy: All the more why it is shocking to me that youâre continuing not to drink.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: What ties you to her still?
Fredrick: I made her that promise while she was alive and I intend to keep it.
Jeremy: For whom?
Fredrick: For myself.
Jeremy: Oh?
Fredrick: I stick to my promises. Itâs not about whether or not they know if Iâve broken it or not, itâs about the principles I choose to hold onto.
Jeremy shakes his head
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Choose⌠you choose to hold onto this principleâŚ
Fredrick: Most would consider that honourable.
Jeremy: Most are idiots.
Jeremy laughs to himself, Fredrick shrugs his shoulders.
Jeremy: Youâre holding onto a blade, sharpened on both sides, afraid to let go because to drop from this blade would mean to end that which you are.
Fredrick: Again, Iâm not afraid of the can. I donât think I would suddenly die-
Jeremy starts laughing again
Fredrick: What? What is it this time?
Jeremy: We just went over this old boy, to live and to be alive are different.
Fredrick groans
Fredrick: I donât think that having one drink would suddenly destroy my entire persona.
Jeremy: Which is at odds with how unwilling you are to have this drink with me.
Fredrick: What would be the point?
Jeremy: That is, and always shall be, the real question.
Fredrick: So what is the point of me breaking my abstinence?
Jeremy: Your wife just died, and weâre going to be joining her soon enough. I deflect your question back towards you; what is the point of you maintaining your abstitence?
Fredrick: Because of a promise, that I am choosing to stick to. It was important to her.
Jeremy: My god mate, your logic is FUELED by convenience!
Fredrick looks taken aback
Fredrick: Convenience?
Jeremy: A less roman-
Fredrick: Less romantic than what?!
Jeremy: Less romantic than filling your head with silly ideas about âconvictionâ and âhonourâ and âprincipleâ. Where has any of that gotten you?
Fredrick: It got me far enough to have a successful career and a wife who loved me.
Jeremy: And now both those things are gone! Yet you, ever vigilant want to idealistically hold onto them, despite knowing that they are gone yourself.
Fredrick grows more and more angry. Another siren is heard in the distance
Fredrick: How is any of this idealistic!?
Jeremy: How can you simultaneously believe that and yet hold on regardless?
Fredrick: Iâll tell you how you self-righteous prick! Because nothing needs to be perfect! People will die, decisions beyond me will have earth shattering consequences for my life and my ability to live it, and yet I â YES ME â choose to hold onto my principles!
Jeremy: Sheâs dead Fredrick.
Fredrick: I KNOW THAT! I KNOW IT BETTER THAN YOU!
Jeremy: Then have a drink with me.
Fredrick jumps out of his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is furious.
Fredrick: DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!
Jeremy jumps out his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is calm.
Jeremy: All I want, is to have a drink with my friend for the final time.
Fredrick is breathing with intensity. His entire body is tense. He looks into Jeremyâs eyes, tears welling in his own.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: And yet here you are, finally allowing yourself to touch beauty.
Fredrick: What are you saying!? What are you trying to tell me!?
Jeremy reaches down into the cooler, and opens another can, and holds it out to his friend, saying nothing. Fredrick slaps it out of his hand. Jeremy reaches down again, opening another can, holding it forward. Again, he says nothing. Fredrick growls as he slaps it out of his hand again, this time harder. Jeremy sighs, reaching down into the cooler and repeating himself once more. Fredrick shakes with anger, before screaming. Tears flow down his cheeks as he turns away and covers his face with his hands. Jeremy stands there, silent.
Fredrick: I didnât want her to die. I didnât want everything to come crashing down around me, and I donât want to drink with you!
Jeremy continues to stand there silent. Fredrick turns back around after wiping his eyes, before scoffing again.
Fredrick: Why are you doing this?!
Jeremy: Youâre in pain mate.
Fredrick: And what, you want me to drown it in alcohol?!
Jeremy: Iâve been consistent this entire time; I just want you to have a drink with me.
Fredrick takes a deep breath in.
Fredrick: WHAT IS A DRINK SUPPOSED TO DO FOR ME?!
Jeremy: You need to get there yourself, otherwise there would be no point. You need to stop chasing the carrot, stop painting the masterpiece, stop grasping the blade.
Fredrick is about to respond when he stops himself. Suddenly, he hears his wifeâs final words to him. âLive on, without me.â His hands fall to his side.
Fredrick: Sheâs goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: Itâs all goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: All that Iâve built⌠is goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: It hurts⌠It hurts so much⌠But it was my everything. How can you ask me to let go of it?
Jeremy: You can let go. Youâre the single authority on your life, right?
Fredrick: But it was my everything⌠Who will I be if I let go of it all?
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick closes his eyes for a moment, before he approaches Jeremy.
Fredrick: What could I want forâŚ
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick: And if I canât?
Jeremy: Then youâre no more alive than this tree.
Fredrick: Then⌠Iâm no more alive⌠than my wifeâŚ
Jeremy smiles softly.
Jeremy: Would you like a drink?
Fredrick: And if I say no?
Jeremy: Then now I will accept that it is YOU who is telling me no.
Fredrick mulls it over for a second, before gently taking the drink from his friend.
Jeremy: Cheers.
Fredrick: Cheers.
The two men cheers their drinks, before they both take a hearty swig.
Fredrick: Ugh⌠I shouldâve said no.
Jeremy breaks out into laughter, before the two men reset their seats and take them. They continue to drink in silence for some minutes. A siren is heard in the distance.
Jeremy: Life has been beautiful hasnât it?
Fredrick: It was work, and play.
Jeremy: It was full and well spent.
Fredrick: It was⌠a life.
Jeremy: Believe it or not, I have my regrets too.
Fredrick: So all that talk about not holding on?
Jeremy: My only regret is that I clasped that which brought me anguish. I guess in the end, itâs impossible to hold onto nothing.
Fredrick: But you knew that all along didnât you?
Jeremy: Of course!
Fredrick: So what do you hold onto?
Jeremy sips his drink, a sly smile crossing his face.
Jeremy: Whatever I choose to.
Jeremy breaks out into a laughing fit. Fredrick smiles, building to a chuckle, before he eventually joined in with Jeremy. The two men laughed, before breaking out into a fit of tears and wails. In the city, a flash of bright light appears out of nowhere nearly blinding them, before erupting into a powerful blast that nearly deafened them. Not able to hear one another, they both mutter at the same time.
Fredrick: Itâs overâŚ
Jeremy: Itâs begunâŚ
As the eruption grew and grew, devastating the city beneath them, the shockwave travelled and carried an incinerating heat. The two men were caught in it, dying immediately. Jeremy lived laughing, and Fredrick lived crying. Jeremy died laughing and Fredrick died crying.
-Fin-
submitted by AloManBoi to Absurdism [link] [comments]
Jeremy: Fredrick.
Fredrick: Jeremy.
The guest sets himself up on the other side of the cooler before taking his seat.
Jeremy: How is she?
Fredrick: Passed. She had her time for fighting and now, is her time for resting.
Jeremy: And how are you?
Fredrick: Iâm still numb to it.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept. Do well to defeat whatever shred of it exists within you.
Fredrick: Indifference?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes. Indifference.
Fredrick: Thereâs nothing romantic about losing your wife to begin with⌠Lets not do this.
Jeremy: My point is that youâre doing nothing, but weâll all be gone soon enough. Go on then, change the topic.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Fredrick: So what would you have me do then?
Jeremy: What sort of question is that?
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick: No, I donât drink.
Jeremy: Not like you used to anyway.
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick Please stop interupting me, especially to ask the same question again.
Jeremy: You donât get it yet, but Iâm asking a different question every time.
Fredrick: Sure⌠To drink your beer, and to criticise me of inaction, but what could I do? Iâm no doctor, and even further from a miracle worker.
Jeremy: But you are you.
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Well if youâre so sureâŚ
Fredrick: Who else could I be?
Jeremy: Decide for yourself. My attention is taken up by this beer I sip with so much âeaseâ.
Jeremy laughs, Fredrick rolls his eyes.
Jeremy: Alright alright, Iâm not exactly being straight with you.
Fredrick: When have you ever?
Jeremy: If you didnât enjoy our conversations you wouldnât have decided to meet me here.
Fredrick: No one else enjoys your conversation; if I wasnât hear youâd drive yourself mad.
Jeremy: No, Iâd simply talk with the tree.
Fredrick: I fail to see how you talking with trees goes against you being mad, but I digress. What is your point here?
Jeremy: Your wife just passed.
Fredrick: Iâm aware.
Jeremy: And yet you wonât drink with me.
Fredrick: Iâm aware.
Jeremy: I think thatâs silly.
Fredrick: What does my wife dying have to do with abstinence-
Jeremy: Cowardice.
Fredrick: Cowardice?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes, cowardice.
Fredrick: What so you think Iâm afraid of a can of beer?
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: I am not.
Jeremy: Then what is it youâre afraid of?
Fredrick: Youâre the one acusing me of cowardice, you substantiate it.
Jeremy: HmmmâŚ
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Jeremy: Youâre afraid of the end.
Fredrick: Itâs natural to fear death.
Jeremy: Interesting how you conflate the two.
Fredrick: What else could âthe endâ refer to? The end of this chat?
Jeremy: The end of this chat spells doom for us both chum, but I didnât mean anything so specific.
Fredrick: So, Iâm afraid of âendingsâ?
Jeremy: Itâs easy for the cynical to believe that their lives are a cycle of mysery. But there is no cycle. What begins, ends. Even if something else were to begin, what came before has already ended. Cylicality is a comforting illusion.
Fredrick: Hardly seems that way when the cycle is of pain.
Jeremy: But isnât pain a comfort? Is it not better to expect pain and receive it than to expect nothing at all?
Fredrick: The cynical would expect nothing.
Jeremy: This is a failure of your understanding of both the cyclical and the cynical.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes. In the distance, sirens can be heard.
Fredrick: Our time is running out.
Jeremy: What makes you think it hasnât already?
Fredrick: Weâre both still alive arenât we?
Jeremy: Ahh I see.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: I see trees of green, red roses too~
Jeremy giggles to himself, Fredrick scoffs.
Fredrick: How can you be so unserious at a time like this?
Jeremy: Iâm treating the current situation with the exact appropriate amount of seriousness, no more no less.
Fredrick: So Iâm too serious?
Jeremy: Friend, I have never had the words to describe you better than the two you used to just describe yourself.
Fredrick: From my perspective youâre not serious enough, and those are the only words I need to describe you.
Jeremy: Well met. Fancy a-
Fredrick: I swear to GOD Jeremy.
Fredrick is death staring Jeremy, anger clearly visible on his face. Jeremy is taken aback. He sips on his can, before setting it down.
Jeremy: You canât live like this mate.
Fredrick: Weâre not gonna be living at all soon.
Jeremy: Fine, you canât die like this either.
Fredrick: Like what? What is it youâre trying to tell me?
Jeremy: Look buddy, youâve been so tightly wound for as long as Iâve known you. You live like everything is sheep in your cattle, and youâre the farmer trying to keep it all together.
Fredrick: Everyoneâs left me. Family is all gone, friends are off dying somewhere, and the only solace I had left just passed. If I am the farmer, Iâve already failed.
Jeremy: But thatâs what Iâm saying.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: I already TOLD you, I DO. NOT. DRINK.
Jeremy: According to who?
Fredrick: According to who? According to me. I am the only authority on my life.
Jeremy: Authority⌠Authority⌠How curious of you to simulaneously believe that while also claiming youâve failed.
Fredrick: The key is that I failed, me, the farmer, the one in control. I failed in my task, and am wholely responsible for that.
Jeremy: What a silly thing to say outloud.
Fredrick: Silly?
Jeremy: Yes.
Fredrick: Itâs silly for me to take responsibility for myrself?
Jeremy: You donât understand responsibility. Not here, not about this.
Fredrick: I just took care of my dying wife, tell me, what do I not understand about responsibility.
Jeremy breaks into laughter again. Fredrick furrows his brows with impatience.
Jeremy: See, this is exactly what I mean. You say responsibility as if weâre talking about the same thing, but you couldnât be any more wrong.
Fredrick: Then tell me, where is the source of my error.
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Should I start keeping tally of all the times youâve asked me if I want a drink?
Jeremy: That sounds like a pretty good idea to me.
Fredrick scoffs again.
Jeremy: So I take it as a no?
Fredrick: No.
Jeremy: So a yes?
Fredrick grows more frustrated
Fredrick: No, I meant, yes
Jeremy: So⌠a yes?
Fredrick stands up aggressively and slowly walks away, looking exasperated.
Jeremy: No it isâŚ
Fredrick returns to his seat and sits down like he was forced to.
Jeremy: Christ man⌠You said youâre the one in control but are you?
Fredrick: Who else would be in control of my life? Who else would be the driver in the seat of my car? Who else would be the pilot of my plane?
Jeremy: The herder of your sheep?
Fredrick: Precisely.
Jeremy: Who ever you choose.
Fredrick: Choose?
Jeremy: Does that answer really confuse you?
Fredrick: Obviously. Itâs my life, how could I choose who runs it?
Jeremy: In saying that, are you not choosing to run it yourself?
Fredrick: No, my life was a responsibility thrust onto me from the moment I was born. Same with all of us. Whether we eat, sleep, fuck, itâs all up to us.
Jeremy: Strange⌠for one who has such conviction of their answers, you donât behave like someone who makes all their choices themselves.
Fredrick: Use an example.
Jeremy: You believe that youâre âchoosingâ to not drink with me, but this is a role you are playing. An ordinary person may decide to play whatever role they shall, and yet here you are, refusing to abandon a character who exists to suffer.
Fredrick: This is who I am. Any changes to this idea of âmeâ are made by me, for me, and are only edits to âmeâ. I remain myself, regardless of how I change.
Jeremy: I know you believe that. I know in your heart of hearts you believe that to be true, but youâre mistaken my friend. What is âyouâ is inelastic.
Fredrick: So people canât change?
Jeremy: People cannot change and remain the same. This is oxymoronic.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Come on, this is simple to validate; is a application the same software after each update?
Fredrick: Are you asking if photoshop 1.0 and photoshop 2.0 are the same?
Jeremy: Precisely.
Fredrick: 1.0 lacked some of the features of 2.0. It would be a rejection of reality to claim otherwise, but, you call it photoshop regardless of the update. No matter how you change it, it is still photoshop. No matter how I change myself, I am still Fredrick.
Jeremy scoffs.
Jeremy: You may share a name with your previous versions, but you are hardly the Fredrick I shared room and board with during our studies. No, it would be more accurate to call you Faraday, or Finnegan.
Fredrick: I fail to grasp where your oposition is.
Jeremy: Of course you do. You see your character as a painting without completion; a masterpiece with no end. You are doomed to keep painting until you can no longer hold a brush, never satisfied, never finished, yet so certain that victory is within your grasp. The carrot will remain dangling ever out of your reach if you maintain this perspective.
Fredrick: Oh please, do enlighten me on how I may remedy this issue.
Jeremy: Put down the brush and throw the entire bucket of paint on the canvas. Or maybe, use a roller instead of a brush. Or maybe, paint in reverse, tracing backwards from the finished product until you arrive at the start.
Fredrick: I think weâre getting a bit lost in metaphor.
Jeremy: Stop playing by the rules of the tormentus carrot. Chase after an apple instead. Or maybe, decide youâll only chase the carrot between the hours of 3:46pm and 11:12am, and when youâre not chasing a carrot you are practising your juggling skills.
Fredrick places his palm on his forehead
Fredrick: I grow tired of this fable.
Jeremy: Fredrick grows tired of this fable, and yet you choose to remain here.
Fredrick: I AM Fredrick.
Jeremy: You are you. The skin you wear normally is that of Fredrickâs.
Fredrick: I didnât realise I flayed myself before I came here.
Jeremy: You didnât flay yourself. But your wifeâs passing is a crack in the shell. Your armour is collapsing. The suit of iron that was your philosophy has failed to protect you when it mattered most, and it is exposing the truth.
Fredrick: And what truth is that?
Jeremy: That you want to have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Jeremy, please, I do not want that. I havenât wanted that in over 20 years, Iâve abandoned that part of my life.
Jeremy: Donât talk like that, they might get confused and think that you were an alcoholic.
Fredrick: They?
Jeremy: Donât worry about that.
Fredrick shakes his head and takes a deep sigh.
Fredrick: I didnât stop drinking because of alcoholism, I stopped drinking because she wanted me to.
Jeremy: And now sheâs gone.
Fredrick: So I should descecrate her grave by drinking myself into a stupor the moment she isnât around to chastise me for it?
Jeremy: Sheâs gone mate.
Fredrick: You didnât answer my question.
Jeremy: She doesnât care. She canât. Sheâs beyond that capacity, or better yet, sheâs detached herself from petty ideals such as abstinence.
Fredrick furrows his brow and points a finger at Jeremy
Fredrick: Careful.
Jeremy smiles in response
Jeremy: There we goâŚ
Fredrick: So thatâs all this is? Youâre just trying to get a rise out me?
Jeremy: I respect you more than that. Please, understand that this comes from a place of concern for you.
Fredrick: A concerned friend wouldnât disrespect my dead wife to my face.
Jeremy: Then that friend isnât concerned enough for you.
Fredrick slams his fist onto the cooler
Fredrick: You were always so good at this. Using whatever backwards logic you want to justify your refusal to hold back for anyoneâs sake. You are a twat, and always have been.
Jeremy: True that.
Fredrick grits his teeth and his fist clenches harder. Jeremy sips from his drink. Another siren is heard in the distance, Fredrick lifts his fist from the cooler and crosses his arms.
Jeremy: Why maintain the principle?
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Thatâs what it is right, a principle? The absistence I mean.
Fredrick: She would want me to.
Jeremy: HmmmâŚ. Does this tree want me not to cut it?
Fredrick: Of course it does! What kind of question is that, itâs a living organism and by cutting it down, you end its life.
Jeremy: But does it WANT to live. That is the key here.
Fredrick: All living beings exist to continue living, it is a basic physiological drive. They fail when they die.
Jeremy: Yet here you are, still breathing, recounting to me the story of a man who has âfailedâ.
Fredrick: My failure in life is separate from my failure to continue living.
Jeremy looks at his Fredrick with an ernest look in his eyes.
Jeremy: Is it?
Fredrick: You just said so yourself.
Jeremy: I guess I did⌠and in doing so, mislead you as to what I meant when I said living.
Fredrick: Go on.
Jeremy: To be alive and to live are different things. Countless times I have walked the streets of this concrete jungle, passing by animated corpse after animated corpse. They were already dead, and had no idea of it. The body had yet to catch up to the spirit.
Fredrick: What does this have to do with the tree?
Jeremy: Sure, the tree is alive. Itâs cells perform metabolic functions. But can something like a tree truly live?
Fredrick: What is your answer?
Jeremy: Truth be told, I donât know. Maybe the tree knows ultimate contentendess, never wanting for anything more than sunlight, water and nutrients. Perhaps every day the tree curses its existence, wishing to know more than this hill and the view of the city, wishing to contribute to this very conversation and yet lacking the means to.
A small gust of wind blows through the tree, rustling the leaves. Jeremy looks up to the branches before continuing.
Jeremy: Or maybe it curses me for not being able to interpret the rustling of its leaves.
Fredrick: If that were the case, apologese are in order.
Jeremy: Iâm not one to apologise for ineptitude.
Fredrick: Youâre barely one to apologise for anything.
Jeremy chuckles.
Jeremy: Touche.
Fredrick: So what of my wife?
Jeremy: She is the tree. Maybe as a corpse, she knows a higher and truer peace than any of us that are alive can. Maybe she calls to you from beyond.
Fredrick: Iâm not a very spiritual person, and you know that.
Jeremy: All the more why it is shocking to me that youâre continuing not to drink.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: What ties you to her still?
Fredrick: I made her that promise while she was alive and I intend to keep it.
Jeremy: For whom?
Fredrick: For myself.
Jeremy: Oh?
Fredrick: I stick to my promises. Itâs not about whether or not they know if Iâve broken it or not, itâs about the principles I choose to hold onto.
Jeremy shakes his head
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Choose⌠you choose to hold onto this principleâŚ
Fredrick: Most would consider that honourable.
Jeremy: Most are idiots.
Jeremy laughs to himself, Fredrick shrugs his shoulders.
Jeremy: Youâre holding onto a blade, sharpened on both sides, afraid to let go because to drop from this blade would mean to end that which you are.
Fredrick: Again, Iâm not afraid of the can. I donât think I would suddenly die-
Jeremy starts laughing again
Fredrick: What? What is it this time?
Jeremy: We just went over this old boy, to live and to be alive are different.
Fredrick groans
Fredrick: I donât think that having one drink would suddenly destroy my entire persona.
Jeremy: Which is at odds with how unwilling you are to have this drink with me.
Fredrick: What would be the point?
Jeremy: That is, and always shall be, the real question.
Fredrick: So what is the point of me breaking my abstinence?
Jeremy: Your wife just died, and weâre going to be joining her soon enough. I deflect your question back towards you; what is the point of you maintaining your abstitence?
Fredrick: Because of a promise, that I am choosing to stick to. It was important to her.
Jeremy: My god mate, your logic is FUELED by convenience!
Fredrick looks taken aback
Fredrick: Convenience?
Jeremy: A less roman-
Fredrick: Less romantic than what?!
Jeremy: Less romantic than filling your head with silly ideas about âconvictionâ and âhonourâ and âprincipleâ. Where has any of that gotten you?
Fredrick: It got me far enough to have a successful career and a wife who loved me.
Jeremy: And now both those things are gone! Yet you, ever vigilant want to idealistically hold onto them, despite knowing that they are gone yourself.
Fredrick grows more and more angry. Another siren is heard in the distance
Fredrick: How is any of this idealistic!?
Jeremy: How can you simultaneously believe that and yet hold on regardless?
Fredrick: Iâll tell you how you self-righteous prick! Because nothing needs to be perfect! People will die, decisions beyond me will have earth shattering consequences for my life and my ability to live it, and yet I â YES ME â choose to hold onto my principles!
Jeremy: Sheâs dead Fredrick.
Fredrick: I KNOW THAT! I KNOW IT BETTER THAN YOU!
Jeremy: Then have a drink with me.
Fredrick jumps out of his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is furious.
Fredrick: DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!
Jeremy jumps out his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is calm.
Jeremy: All I want, is to have a drink with my friend for the final time.
Fredrick is breathing with intensity. His entire body is tense. He looks into Jeremyâs eyes, tears welling in his own.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: And yet here you are, finally allowing yourself to touch beauty.
Fredrick: What are you saying!? What are you trying to tell me!?
Jeremy reaches down into the cooler, and opens another can, and holds it out to his friend, saying nothing. Fredrick slaps it out of his hand. Jeremy reaches down again, opening another can, holding it forward. Again, he says nothing. Fredrick growls as he slaps it out of his hand again, this time harder. Jeremy sighs, reaching down into the cooler and repeating himself once more. Fredrick shakes with anger, before screaming. Tears flow down his cheeks as he turns away and covers his face with his hands. Jeremy stands there, silent.
Fredrick: I didnât want her to die. I didnât want everything to come crashing down around me, and I donât want to drink with you!
Jeremy continues to stand there silent. Fredrick turns back around after wiping his eyes, before scoffing again.
Fredrick: Why are you doing this?!
Jeremy: Youâre in pain mate.
Fredrick: And what, you want me to drown it in alcohol?!
Jeremy: Iâve been consistent this entire time; I just want you to have a drink with me.
Fredrick takes a deep breath in.
Fredrick: WHAT IS A DRINK SUPPOSED TO DO FOR ME?!
Jeremy: You need to get there yourself, otherwise there would be no point. You need to stop chasing the carrot, stop painting the masterpiece, stop grasping the blade.
Fredrick is about to respond when he stops himself. Suddenly, he hears his wifeâs final words to him. âLive on, without me.â His hands fall to his side.
Fredrick: Sheâs goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: Itâs all goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: All that Iâve built⌠is goneâŚ
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: It hurts⌠It hurts so much⌠But it was my everything. How can you ask me to let go of it?
Jeremy: You can let go. Youâre the single authority on your life, right?
Fredrick: But it was my everything⌠Who will I be if I let go of it all?
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick closes his eyes for a moment, before he approaches Jeremy.
Fredrick: What could I want forâŚ
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick: And if I canât?
Jeremy: Then youâre no more alive than this tree.
Fredrick: Then⌠Iâm no more alive⌠than my wifeâŚ
Jeremy smiles softly.
Jeremy: Would you like a drink?
Fredrick: And if I say no?
Jeremy: Then now I will accept that it is YOU who is telling me no.
Fredrick mulls it over for a second, before gently taking the drink from his friend.
Jeremy: Cheers.
Fredrick: Cheers.
The two men cheers their drinks, before they both take a hearty swig.
Fredrick: Ugh⌠I shouldâve said no.
Jeremy breaks out into laughter, before the two men reset their seats and take them. They continue to drink in silence for some minutes. A siren is heard in the distance.
Jeremy: Life has been beautiful hasnât it?
Fredrick: It was work, and play.
Jeremy: It was full and well spent.
Fredrick: It was⌠a life.
Jeremy: Believe it or not, I have my regrets too.
Fredrick: So all that talk about not holding on?
Jeremy: My only regret is that I clasped that which brought me anguish. I guess in the end, itâs impossible to hold onto nothing.
Fredrick: But you knew that all along didnât you?
Jeremy: Of course!
Fredrick: So what do you hold onto?
Jeremy sips his drink, a sly smile crossing his face.
Jeremy: Whatever I choose to.
Jeremy breaks out into a laughing fit. Fredrick smiles, building to a chuckle, before he eventually joined in with Jeremy. The two men laughed, before breaking out into a fit of tears and wails. In the city, a flash of bright light appears out of nowhere nearly blinding them, before erupting into a powerful blast that nearly deafened them. Not able to hear one another, they both mutter at the same time.
Fredrick: Itâs overâŚ
Jeremy: Itâs begunâŚ
As the eruption grew and grew, devastating the city beneath them, the shockwave travelled and carried an incinerating heat. The two men were caught in it, dying immediately. Jeremy lived laughing, and Fredrick lived crying. Jeremy died laughing and Fredrick died crying.
-Fin-
2024.06.01 06:53 GuiltlessMaple Best 380 Magazine
 | submitted by GuiltlessMaple to u/GuiltlessMaple [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/98nar4gg5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d004277236e6b4011910b56ad471948a2096296a Welcome to the world of 380 Magazine, where we bring you the latest and greatest in entertainment, lifestyle, and technology. Our in-depth product reviews and roundups are designed to help you make informed decisions and stay ahead of the curve in today's fast-paced world. So sit back, relax, and let us guide you on your journey to discovering the best products out there. The Top 6 Best 380 Magazine
ReviewsđETS Group Glock 42 9-Round Extended Magazinehttps://preview.redd.it/3qer58ng5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6070395a8ef5a861bc21d6bc9b3a74cd42771bad I recently gave the ETS Group Glock 42 9rd Mag a whirl, and I have to say, it was a game-changer. The first thing that stood out to me was the magazine's extreme impact resistance. I dropped it a few times during my testing, and it held up like a charm. The creep-resistant feed lips also made a difference in terms of reliability. One of the highlights for me was the translucent body, allowing me to see the count and type of rounds at a glance. It's a simple yet effective feature that makes it easy to manage your ammo. The compatibility with and aftermarket floorplates is also a big plus, giving you more flexibility when it comes to customizing your weapon. However, there were a few things I noticed that could be improved. For example, the magazine sometimes takes a bit of effort to load the last round, which can be a bit frustrating. Additionally, the fit and finish of the product seemed slightly less polished than some of the other high-end Glock mags I've used in the past. Overall, the ETS Group Glock 42 9rd Mag offers solid performance, reliability, and customization options. It's a great choice for those looking for an affordable yet functional alternative to the factory Glock mags. đHigh-Speed 9mm Magazine Loader for Efficient Reloadinghttps://preview.redd.it/7gh0df4h5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c6a67c247db42489e69372be5428f8edda16f997 I recently tried the HKS Magazine Loader 380, a handheld thumb-operated speed loader that claims to make pistol loading fast and easy. As someone who isn't a fan of sore fingers or fatigue, I was intrigued to give it a go. Immediately, I noticed the sleek design and how user-friendly it was. The magazine alignment was a breeze, and I didn't have to spend much time figuring it out. The speed at which it loaded magazines was impressive, with 15 rounds in just 18 seconds. I appreciated that it worked for both single and double stacks, and I didn't experience any finger strain while using it. However, there were a few negatives that I discovered during my testing. The first issue was that it wasn't compatible with all firearm models, which made me question its true versatility. Additionally, shipping costs seemed to be quite high, which was a bit of a letdown. Overall, my experience with the HKS Magazine Loader 380 was mostly positive. It made loading my magazines simple and painless, and I enjoyed not having sore fingers afterward. But there were a couple of drawbacks, like its compatibility with specific models and high shipping costs. đWalther PPK 380 8RD Extended Magazinehttps://preview.redd.it/w4871kgh5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1f044ff94dbb5e9638f9b7b66c43aa3455240a34 I've been using the Walt Magazine CCP 380 8RD for quite some time now, and I must say, it has been a reliable companion in my daily life. The high quality materials used in its construction make it both sturdy and sleek, which I appreciate. One of the most notable features is its perfect fit with my CCP, ensuring durability and reliability that you can't find in other brands. However, there's one aspect that needs improvement, which is the viewing holes for the magazine's capacity, making it challenging for right-handed shooters to check the rounds. But overall, the Walt Magazine CCP 380 8RD has been a trusty partner, and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for an efficient and durable magazine for their CCP 380. đExtended Magazine for Walther PK380 Pistol (8 Round Capacity, Stainless Steel Finish)https://preview.redd.it/2qilr32i5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=53017b23e5cbc0e4425ef4508d3bed40829d6cca As a Walther PK380 firearms enthusiast, I recently had the chance to put the 8-round stainless steel magazine to the test. The sleek finish not only adds a touch of elegance but also ensures a smooth operation and easy reloading. However, the magazine's stainless steel construction can be quite cold and awkward to grip at times, especially when wearing gloves. One downside I've encountered is its compatibility with certain Walther pistols. I tried using it with my older Walther P22, but it did not fit snugly in the magazine well, resulting in a loose and uncomfortable firing experience. This might be something to consider if you own an older Walther pistol, as it may not be the most compatible option. Overall, the Walther 8-round stainless steel magazine for PK380 firearms offers a reliable and durable option for those who own this popular handgun. While it's not perfect for every situation and pistol model, it's certainly a valuable addition to any PK380 owner's arsenal, as long as you pay attention to compatibility. đStainless Steel 32 ACP/380 ACP Guardian Magazine (6-round)https://preview.redd.it/xosm984i5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2a561d352ac2ef17cacf1e749d1f6893af5f5af4 Last week, I found myself in a situation where I needed an extra magazine for my North American Arms 380. I decided to give the 6-round Marlin Model 80 Magazine a try. To my surprise, this stainless steel magazine perfectly fit my. 380 ACP Guardian. It's compact and easy to carry when I need an extra round. The flat floor plate design makes it simple to load. The magazine features a sturdy spring that holds the rounds in place securely, ensuring they won't get jammed when I need them the most. One thing that did stand out a bit negatively was the size â the magazine is designed for a capacity of six rounds, which limits its efficiency compared to larger-capacity options. However, if you're a North American Arms 380 owner and need an additional magazine for your gun, this one is worth considering. As I used it, I began to appreciate the convenience and reliability this magazine brought to my gun. I ended up ordering a few more to ensure I was always prepared for unexpected situations. With a smooth operation and a good feeling in my hands, the Marlin Model 80 Magazine is a reliable addition for anyone looking to enhance their loadout. đGraphis Journal 380: Inspiring Designs & Creativityhttps://preview.redd.it/7eqes5hi5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=37264f6449ff59d1ce1dfb6e745d33b0b57da9bf As a lover of all things art and design, I recently got my hands on the Graphis Journal 380. This quarterly publication has been a refreshing addition to my reading routine, and the moment I opened it, I was drawn in by the stunning visuals. Being a fan of photography, I was particularly impressed by the quality and range of images featured in this issue. It's rare to find a magazine that provides such a comprehensive look at the creative minds behind the lens, from well-known names like Henry Leutwyler to promising new talents. One of the highlights for me was the deep dive into the work of Armando Milani, a renowned designer who has made a significant impact in the world of advertising. His insights and explanations of his creative process were enlightening and inspired me to think differently about my own work. However, the content can be quite dense, and some of the articles may be a bit challenging to fully understand, especially if you're new to the field of design. Nonetheless, it's a small price to pay for the wealth of knowledge and inspiration that this journal provides. In conclusion, if you're a design enthusiast looking to keep up with the latest trends and stay inspired by the world's creative powerhouses, the Graphis Journal 380 is a must-read. It's not just a magazine, but a visual feast that will keep you coming back for more. Buyer's GuideWelcome to our guide for 380 magazines! In this section, we'll cover the essential features, considerations, and general advice to help you make an informed decision when choosing a 380 magazine. We'll focus on the product category as a whole, without mentioning specific product picks or external resources. https://preview.redd.it/u7us8d5j5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0ef83c9bf7ea8b51ff28054fcc554027b14d0eac Important Features of 380 Magazines
Considerations for Choosing 380 Magazines
https://preview.redd.it/5nm91jij5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7ec89724fa68af4580005f664015706e845c3ef3 General Advice for 380 Magazines
FAQhttps://preview.redd.it/wdiy1y0k5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=04b6f56584042aede06dfd965317adddda8ae422 What is 380 Magazine?380 Magazine is a comprehensive guide and magazine dedicated to the 380 ACP (380 Automatic Colt Pistol) caliber handguns. The magazine provides in-depth information, reviews, and comparisons of various models of 380 ACP handguns, making it an essential resource for enthusiasts, collectors, and gun owners interested in the 380 ACP caliber.Who is the target audience for 380 Magazine?The primary target audience for 380 Magazine is enthusiasts, collectors, gun owners, and those interested in learning about the 380 ACP caliber handguns. This includes both beginners and experienced gun enthusiasts who want to expand their knowledge about the 380 ACP caliber, its history, features, and various models. https://preview.redd.it/c65gmv7k5w3d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=cfb973de0ca13b90a396d3bc05bc40312f084fed What types of articles can readers expect in 380 Magazine?Readers can expect a wide range of articles in 380 Magazine, including:
How often is 380 Magazine published?380 Magazine is published on a monthly basis, providing readers with consistent and up-to-date information on the 380 ACP handgun caliber.Is 380 Magazine available in digital or print format?Yes, 380 Magazine is available in both digital and print formats. The digital version allows for easy access and can be downloaded in PDF form, while the print version is a physical copy that can be purchased and mailed to readers. Readers can choose the format that best suits their preferences.What is the subscription price for 380 Magazine?The subscription price for 380 Magazine varies depending on the format (digital or print) and the duration of the subscription. Readers are advised to visit the 380 Magazine website or contact customer service for the most accurate and up-to-date pricing information.How can I access past issues of 380 Magazine?Past issues of 380 Magazine can be accessed through the online digital subscription service, which grants subscribers access to a comprehensive archive of past issues. Readers can also purchase individual issues in PDF form on the 380 Magazine website or through various online retailers.How can I submit content for 380 Magazine?We encourage our readers to submit articles, reviews, and other relevant content regarding 380 ACP handguns and the 380 ACP caliber for consideration in future issues. Please review our submission guidelines and send your content to the appropriate email address or through the online submission form available on the 380 Magazine website.As an Amazon⢠Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.06.01 06:15 throwaway4fem A simp to Ashley and her family. [Chapter 1]
My 1st time writting like this. No where near as good as the others here. But thought it would be fun to try! And now, the stor of a simp...
"It's not fair, mom. Why is Dad pushing that I have to do my own chores when Davey wants to help!!"
Ashley Smith stood in their suburban family's living room with her hand on her hip and the most adorable pout. She is a senior in high school this year and the most beautiful woman in the world, well, to me anyway. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm David Pousey. Same grade as Ashley, and hopelessly in love with her since 8th grade!
What started as a crush has really blossomed into true love. I'm just uh, waiting until that's reciprocated. But I can't rush something like this. Ashley is GORGEOUS. 5'10", long brunette hair, perfectly tan skin, and thin but with the most perfect breasts that draw stares and envy wherever she goes. I used to be tongue tied and have butterflies in my tummy from being in the same room with her. Well, I guess I still do. But Iâm getting better!
There were times where I would be so nervous I couldn't speak.That was until I won her affection that fateful afternoon she "forgot" we had homework due:
I took my assigned seat in class 5 minutes before the bell rang. By some miracle I was assigned the seat directly behind Ashley. It was maddening to be so close, I could smell her perfume/scent. That alone would often have me close enough to the edge where I would run off and take a âbathroom breakâ after class. I somehow was able to get good grades by excess studying, despite spending most classes daydreaming about wedding bells in chapels. Mr. and Mrs. Ashley Smith has such a nice ring to it!
"Shit. I completely forgot the assignment was due today. I went over to Jason's last night and totally spaced". Ashley was talking to her best friend, Jessica, before class started.
"Yea, I bet you 'spaced', spaced those legs out real wide" Jessica said with a wink and a laugh.
Ashley giggled back. "Seriously! Miss Stevens is gonna totally flunk me. My dad is gonna kill me"
I mustered all the courage. This was my big shot. I had sat behind these 2 all year and never managed to make a peep. This was it. The moment that changed everything.
I stuttered out, "You, you, uh, um, oh excuse me, uh, you can have my h-homework..."
They both looked back at me, as if just noticing I was sitting there for the 1st time.
"Hi, h-hi, A-Ashley. You can um, you can take my essay. I actually have a good average in th-this class, so 1 assignment is no b-bother. Really".
Jessica's signature grin crept across her face. "Your just gonna give her your homework? Her name isn't even printed at the top, idiot".
Ashley just sat there taking me in. She looked at me after Jessica's question , waiting how I would answer. She had the most adorable furrowed brow.
"I, Oh, I, um, have it saved on my flashdrive h-here. I can run to the school library and update the names q-quick, um, you know, if you want me to?"
Jessica put her palm to her forehead and could no longer contain her contempt with a slight laugh and a groan, âOh god⌠where do you find these guys, ash?"
Ashley's questioned look morphed into 1 of pure relief. "Aw stop it Jess! He's being sweet. That would be great, uh, Daniel, right?"
"It-It's um, uh, D-David."
"Oh right! That's it, Davey!
I cringed inwardly. I didn't like that variant of my name so much. Coming from her mouth it didn't sound so bad though.
Ahley looked at me with an expectant look. "Well, you know class is starting soon..."
Jessica leaned in. "Yea better scurry off, simp. The library is across the building."
There was no defending me from Jessica this time. Ashley just looked at me and gently nodded along.
And with that, I of course flung out of my seat and went to run to the library. Of course, in my flustered state, I tripped over Ashley's bookbag as I was leaving and tumbled to the floor. The whole class laughed, maybe Jessica the hardest, but not my Ashley. I looked up at her from my position on the floor, and she just smiled and shooed me off with her hand. But she did it with a smile and a nod. It may have been mixed with pity, but it made me feel like no matter what happens, no matter the humiliation, or sacrificing my own grade to help hers, it was all going to be okay. As long as Ashley was happy, it was all worth it!
And that day started our friendship. I was always at her beck and call. Somewhere along the way I even managed to suck up to her and blur the lines of our friendship, no, we weren't in a "relationship" exactly. Actually, pretty far from it unfortunately, from a classic boyfriend/girlfriend. But something else entirely. But if I play my cards right, she might start seeing me as boyfriend material, then maybe, even husband material...
"It's BULLSHIT!" Ashley blurted out.
I was ripped back to the present. Ashley argued with her mother in front of me.
"Language, young lady!"
Ashley's mom, Mrs. Smith, was another knockout. At 45, though her hair was lighter, she pretty much just looked like an older version of Ashley. She had gained a slight âfuller" look in her older years, but to me it was as if it pretty much only padded only the most desirable areas. It was very clear that I guess a large bust runs in the family. The whole family included them, their charming and confident father, Mr. Smith, and Ashley's sister, Liz, who was a freshman in our school. While Ashley and I were 18.
"You know how your father is, dear. He's just old fashioned. He grew up doing his chores, and now he wants you to build character by doing them yourself."
"Building character, Mom? Seriously?" Ashley and her mom would sometimes get into small arguments like this, but it was never serious. They had a playful, sisterly energy. But I never knew what to do when I was over during one. When I felt weird or awkward, I found the safest bet was to just stand off to the side with my eyes down until I was called.
"Plus, you KNOW Davey loves this shit. You should see him when me and Jess eat lunch at the cafeteria! He jumps as soon as Jess snaps her fingers and Davey throws everything out. The practically sweeps up our crumbs! We don't even have to lift a finger! Itâs awesome. Plus he loves it!"
My therapist says I'm a people pleaser. I'm working on it.
âHe does not âloveâ it, young lady! The poor thing is scared half to death of your little partner in crime. Heâd probably eat your trash if Jessica gave him a stern look!â
âNo, itâs true Mom. You love cleaning and shit, right, Davey?â Ashley looked over at me expectantly.
I started to mumble out a response of âEr, well, I love being helpful to-â
"And he's so good at it too!" Ashley cut in, now addressing her mother. I guess my time for contribution was over. "You saw how he got that stain out of your blouse!"
Mrs. Smith addressed me for the 1st time, "Oh, I have to thank you for that Davey! Honestly wine on a white blouse like that! I thought it was destined for the trash! But all it needed was 40 minutes of being locked in the laundry room with you, and you showed that stain who's boss!"
"See! What's the point of me doing some stupid chores if Davey can do it anyway, and I'm no good with that maid stuff anyway!"
I could tell Ashley was winning this arguement. But I wasn't thrilled about trying to be helpful for her referred to as "maid stuff".
"Oh alright", Mrs. Smith relented. "But don't tell your father! Have Davey HELP you with picking up your room. And I do mean HELP. I don't want to have the poor thing on his hands and knees in there while you kick your feet up!"
"Yayyyy, yes Mom! I promise!" She ran over and gave her a quick hug. It was a sweet moment. I usually keep my eyes down, but looked up just in time to see them embrace. As they hugged I saw the slight shifting in their breasts as they smooshed together in their hug. I shifted in place as my small erection pushed up against my bikini brief underwear.
"Thanks Mom!" Ashley walked toward the stairs as she called over her shoulder "Come, Davey!"
Almost as if a trance I went to follow her upstairs at her command when Mrs. Smith called me back. She was now sitting on her expansive sofa with her feet up and sipping a glass of wine.
"Davey, make sure my little brat of a daughter actually helps you this time! I'm not trying to raise some slob!" she said with a smile.
"Oh- oh,, um, yes, Ma'am. I-I'll be sure to um, well, yes Ma'am, Miss Smith, Ma'am.
Mrs. Smith chuckled, mostly to herself.
"Such a sweet boy... you know between you and me there's a few more items that need tending to in the laundry room. Don't tell Mr. Smith, but it would be great if I had someone to really put some effort and elbow grease into cleaning those more annoying stains. Nothing major; just some of Liz's soccer shorts, grass stains, Mr. smith has some stains on his underwear Iâd rather not touch, oh!, and there was some smudge on one of my tops, not sure what. And seeing as you are here and really you have quite a talent for these domestic things. Honestly, you're going to make some nice man a very nice housewife someday!" Mrs. Smith said with a hearty laugh.
I played along and gave a slight laugh at my expense. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Smith I'll um, I of course can um, help, in any way".
I was hoping to get back home at a normal hour tonight. My parents both work long and late hours, so they are never home, or are sleeping in their bedroom, so they won't notice my absence. But since doing the majority of Ashley's homework, mine has been getting a little neglected. And the thought of getting a decent night's sleep sounded soooo nice. I never realized how much being at someone's constant beck and call would drain me. Oh well, I guess I'll be scrubbing away in the Smith family laundry room instead!
"Such a sweet, sweet boy" Mrs. Smith said as she sat and looked at me shaking her head. It was almost a mix of pity, disbelief and amusement. "Okay, off you go now! I don't need Ash getting mad at me that I kept her little loverboy all to myself", and with that she smiled and looked away, looking to see what was on tv. She was done with me for now.
I scurried upstairs nervous I had spent too long downstairs and Ashley would be upset with me.
submitted by throwaway4fem to cuck_femdom_tales [link] [comments]
"It's not fair, mom. Why is Dad pushing that I have to do my own chores when Davey wants to help!!"
Ashley Smith stood in their suburban family's living room with her hand on her hip and the most adorable pout. She is a senior in high school this year and the most beautiful woman in the world, well, to me anyway. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm David Pousey. Same grade as Ashley, and hopelessly in love with her since 8th grade!
What started as a crush has really blossomed into true love. I'm just uh, waiting until that's reciprocated. But I can't rush something like this. Ashley is GORGEOUS. 5'10", long brunette hair, perfectly tan skin, and thin but with the most perfect breasts that draw stares and envy wherever she goes. I used to be tongue tied and have butterflies in my tummy from being in the same room with her. Well, I guess I still do. But Iâm getting better!
There were times where I would be so nervous I couldn't speak.That was until I won her affection that fateful afternoon she "forgot" we had homework due:
I took my assigned seat in class 5 minutes before the bell rang. By some miracle I was assigned the seat directly behind Ashley. It was maddening to be so close, I could smell her perfume/scent. That alone would often have me close enough to the edge where I would run off and take a âbathroom breakâ after class. I somehow was able to get good grades by excess studying, despite spending most classes daydreaming about wedding bells in chapels. Mr. and Mrs. Ashley Smith has such a nice ring to it!
"Shit. I completely forgot the assignment was due today. I went over to Jason's last night and totally spaced". Ashley was talking to her best friend, Jessica, before class started.
"Yea, I bet you 'spaced', spaced those legs out real wide" Jessica said with a wink and a laugh.
Ashley giggled back. "Seriously! Miss Stevens is gonna totally flunk me. My dad is gonna kill me"
I mustered all the courage. This was my big shot. I had sat behind these 2 all year and never managed to make a peep. This was it. The moment that changed everything.
I stuttered out, "You, you, uh, um, oh excuse me, uh, you can have my h-homework..."
They both looked back at me, as if just noticing I was sitting there for the 1st time.
"Hi, h-hi, A-Ashley. You can um, you can take my essay. I actually have a good average in th-this class, so 1 assignment is no b-bother. Really".
Jessica's signature grin crept across her face. "Your just gonna give her your homework? Her name isn't even printed at the top, idiot".
Ashley just sat there taking me in. She looked at me after Jessica's question , waiting how I would answer. She had the most adorable furrowed brow.
"I, Oh, I, um, have it saved on my flashdrive h-here. I can run to the school library and update the names q-quick, um, you know, if you want me to?"
Jessica put her palm to her forehead and could no longer contain her contempt with a slight laugh and a groan, âOh god⌠where do you find these guys, ash?"
Ashley's questioned look morphed into 1 of pure relief. "Aw stop it Jess! He's being sweet. That would be great, uh, Daniel, right?"
"It-It's um, uh, D-David."
"Oh right! That's it, Davey!
I cringed inwardly. I didn't like that variant of my name so much. Coming from her mouth it didn't sound so bad though.
Ahley looked at me with an expectant look. "Well, you know class is starting soon..."
Jessica leaned in. "Yea better scurry off, simp. The library is across the building."
There was no defending me from Jessica this time. Ashley just looked at me and gently nodded along.
And with that, I of course flung out of my seat and went to run to the library. Of course, in my flustered state, I tripped over Ashley's bookbag as I was leaving and tumbled to the floor. The whole class laughed, maybe Jessica the hardest, but not my Ashley. I looked up at her from my position on the floor, and she just smiled and shooed me off with her hand. But she did it with a smile and a nod. It may have been mixed with pity, but it made me feel like no matter what happens, no matter the humiliation, or sacrificing my own grade to help hers, it was all going to be okay. As long as Ashley was happy, it was all worth it!
And that day started our friendship. I was always at her beck and call. Somewhere along the way I even managed to suck up to her and blur the lines of our friendship, no, we weren't in a "relationship" exactly. Actually, pretty far from it unfortunately, from a classic boyfriend/girlfriend. But something else entirely. But if I play my cards right, she might start seeing me as boyfriend material, then maybe, even husband material...
"It's BULLSHIT!" Ashley blurted out.
I was ripped back to the present. Ashley argued with her mother in front of me.
"Language, young lady!"
Ashley's mom, Mrs. Smith, was another knockout. At 45, though her hair was lighter, she pretty much just looked like an older version of Ashley. She had gained a slight âfuller" look in her older years, but to me it was as if it pretty much only padded only the most desirable areas. It was very clear that I guess a large bust runs in the family. The whole family included them, their charming and confident father, Mr. Smith, and Ashley's sister, Liz, who was a freshman in our school. While Ashley and I were 18.
"You know how your father is, dear. He's just old fashioned. He grew up doing his chores, and now he wants you to build character by doing them yourself."
"Building character, Mom? Seriously?" Ashley and her mom would sometimes get into small arguments like this, but it was never serious. They had a playful, sisterly energy. But I never knew what to do when I was over during one. When I felt weird or awkward, I found the safest bet was to just stand off to the side with my eyes down until I was called.
"Plus, you KNOW Davey loves this shit. You should see him when me and Jess eat lunch at the cafeteria! He jumps as soon as Jess snaps her fingers and Davey throws everything out. The practically sweeps up our crumbs! We don't even have to lift a finger! Itâs awesome. Plus he loves it!"
My therapist says I'm a people pleaser. I'm working on it.
âHe does not âloveâ it, young lady! The poor thing is scared half to death of your little partner in crime. Heâd probably eat your trash if Jessica gave him a stern look!â
âNo, itâs true Mom. You love cleaning and shit, right, Davey?â Ashley looked over at me expectantly.
I started to mumble out a response of âEr, well, I love being helpful to-â
"And he's so good at it too!" Ashley cut in, now addressing her mother. I guess my time for contribution was over. "You saw how he got that stain out of your blouse!"
Mrs. Smith addressed me for the 1st time, "Oh, I have to thank you for that Davey! Honestly wine on a white blouse like that! I thought it was destined for the trash! But all it needed was 40 minutes of being locked in the laundry room with you, and you showed that stain who's boss!"
"See! What's the point of me doing some stupid chores if Davey can do it anyway, and I'm no good with that maid stuff anyway!"
I could tell Ashley was winning this arguement. But I wasn't thrilled about trying to be helpful for her referred to as "maid stuff".
"Oh alright", Mrs. Smith relented. "But don't tell your father! Have Davey HELP you with picking up your room. And I do mean HELP. I don't want to have the poor thing on his hands and knees in there while you kick your feet up!"
"Yayyyy, yes Mom! I promise!" She ran over and gave her a quick hug. It was a sweet moment. I usually keep my eyes down, but looked up just in time to see them embrace. As they hugged I saw the slight shifting in their breasts as they smooshed together in their hug. I shifted in place as my small erection pushed up against my bikini brief underwear.
"Thanks Mom!" Ashley walked toward the stairs as she called over her shoulder "Come, Davey!"
Almost as if a trance I went to follow her upstairs at her command when Mrs. Smith called me back. She was now sitting on her expansive sofa with her feet up and sipping a glass of wine.
"Davey, make sure my little brat of a daughter actually helps you this time! I'm not trying to raise some slob!" she said with a smile.
"Oh- oh,, um, yes, Ma'am. I-I'll be sure to um, well, yes Ma'am, Miss Smith, Ma'am.
Mrs. Smith chuckled, mostly to herself.
"Such a sweet boy... you know between you and me there's a few more items that need tending to in the laundry room. Don't tell Mr. Smith, but it would be great if I had someone to really put some effort and elbow grease into cleaning those more annoying stains. Nothing major; just some of Liz's soccer shorts, grass stains, Mr. smith has some stains on his underwear Iâd rather not touch, oh!, and there was some smudge on one of my tops, not sure what. And seeing as you are here and really you have quite a talent for these domestic things. Honestly, you're going to make some nice man a very nice housewife someday!" Mrs. Smith said with a hearty laugh.
I played along and gave a slight laugh at my expense. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Smith I'll um, I of course can um, help, in any way".
I was hoping to get back home at a normal hour tonight. My parents both work long and late hours, so they are never home, or are sleeping in their bedroom, so they won't notice my absence. But since doing the majority of Ashley's homework, mine has been getting a little neglected. And the thought of getting a decent night's sleep sounded soooo nice. I never realized how much being at someone's constant beck and call would drain me. Oh well, I guess I'll be scrubbing away in the Smith family laundry room instead!
"Such a sweet, sweet boy" Mrs. Smith said as she sat and looked at me shaking her head. It was almost a mix of pity, disbelief and amusement. "Okay, off you go now! I don't need Ash getting mad at me that I kept her little loverboy all to myself", and with that she smiled and looked away, looking to see what was on tv. She was done with me for now.
I scurried upstairs nervous I had spent too long downstairs and Ashley would be upset with me.
2024.06.01 06:12 EnderPublic Whoever reads this, I owe you a drink ;)
So, I've done this in the past, however, I think I had some bias towards certain types. Because of this, I don't fully believe all what I said was correct, hence why I'm redoing this. I know it takes a great deal of time for people to read through these, so if you're here, I love you. Jokes. I'm just grateful.
How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself.
I'm a twenty-year-old female. I'm about to switch my major from chemical engineering to something else, still undecided though.
Things I want in a career:
Growing up, I constantly changed the way I acted, and decided various times I wanted to be perceived certain ways. It was often derived from my interests at the time, or characters I had grown to like.
Diagnosis?
None.
Describe your upbringing. Did it have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it?
My mom's side of the family was religious, so I went to church a few times when I was younger. My grandfather was a priest, so my grandparents were very heavy on the idea. I didn't have any strong connection to it, I felt rather out of place actually when I went to church with them. I only really looked forward to the food, and playing around after the service had ended. I had no idea, or really much of an opinion about it. It is what it is.
From when I was four to seven, I was left alone a lot by my parents. I only saw them on weekends, so naturally I tried to adopt the way they acted, the way they viewed things, so I could be an ideal kid and they would recognise me for it. I did a lot to garner their attention, and I think now, it's become the root reason for why I'm quite a perfectionist. It's humiliating to not be seen as perfect. I often am really harsh on myself, and hate it when I can't do something. In high school, I got a 36/39, and I felt useless. It was that extreme. I felt like nobody should be better than me, and if they are, I was jealous. Actually, I was a very jealous person in general. I was (even know I am) always jealous of something or someone.
What do you do as a job or as a career (if you have one)? Do you like it? Why or why not?
Answered this earlier.
If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed?
I know this question is to work out whether I'm introverted vs. extraverted, so I'll more so focus on that. I grew up alone. I'd be more than happy to spend an entire month by myself. I don't know how I'd react emotionally, but I'm just so used to it. This is why I was so stuck between E or I in the past. The only reason I leant more towards E now, was because I'm more concerned with the external world and get so excited and energized after being with people. I also sometimes feel physically sick around people at times or when engaging in something that feels out of place, it's a mental thing, not sure why though.
What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities?
I've participated in a lot of sports. I remember starting baseball when I was ten, as it was around this time I was looking for a sport to do. It was because I was body shamed a lot that I started looking for a way to get fit. . And the main reason why I played, was because the person I liked at the time also played. How childish of me. Pfft. Anyways, for some reason I continued. I remember thinking of quitting every year, but never did. I became good at it, and felt like I had to continue doing good. My dad also wanted me to play a lot, and I was kind of pressured into a lot of it... but anyways. I also took up basketball, and HATED IT. But my dad kept on signing me up for it even if I didn't really want to. It was mostly my fault, I could never really voice my true opinions or feelings around my parents, so I never really explained how I HATED IT SO MUCH. But oh well.
I'm more attracted to indoor activities, in the aircon, where its nice (I live in a hot place). But I'm also really attracted to outdoor activities. Camping (more glamourized I should mention), kayaking, going to the beach, doing stuff with people who I want to do stuff with.
I hate gardening. Despise it. Never will I do it.
How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please elaborate?
I have a lot of ideas. I love creating, planning, analysing and perfecting ideas. To me, I also have to out do everyone and present the best idea all the time, no matter what I do. At times, I've had to bite my tongue when working in groups. I usually critique a lot of peoples ideas, but if someone catches my attention, I'll apply it to my idea so that it can evolve.
I remember in high school, we had to plan a city scape. I had this amazing design, where traffic would be hard to come across due to the way I had positioned everything. I also thought about the placement of parks, where they'll get the best use, etc. Things like that. It was a really fast analysis. But since it was group work, I'm not really assertive or confrontational with my ideas, so it didn't end up exactly as I planned. I also wanted to colour it perfectly, however, that didn't work either, so at that point, I lost much of my interest in the project.
I am also extremely good at problem solving, and using what I have around me. One thing I've noticed, is that I don't pay much mind to the objects around me (at least I don't try to consciously), however, in times of need it's like I have a list of all the things I've noticed and see how they could be useful. They are often inventive solutions as well, using things for something other than their intended purpose, or fitting their purpose to the situation. I have those kinds of ideas.
I've come up with a range of ways people can improve their current ideas, or businesses or schemes that would do extremely well if they were produced the right way. Except, I would only want to be the 'idea man'. I'll have somebody else put it into action for me. I'm quite lazy in that sense.
I don't know what to call this, but I remember my friend telling me she wanted to become a teacher, but she was worried about the competitive hiring culture. I told her to start tutoring now (when we were in high school), then to take a gap year and do teacher aid work at the school whilst then working for a tutoring company and doing any other part-time work (baby sitting) or courses. Then to go through university. Then, she would not only have connections in the tutoring company, and the school, but would most likely out do everyone else in terms of experience. It would be the perfect path to take.
Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be?
I think? But I bite my tongue a lot and hold back on my genuine thoughts as they might be too harsh. As a kid I got chewed out for this, I was often called bossy and as I went through high school I slowly stopped voicing my thoughts as much. I knew my ideas were better, and that pleased me enough.
I also struggle to say no, since I hate feeling awkward with people. That's something that's become more prominent. I might act like some pushover or overtly take precautions around people to ensure they like me and that they only feel positive emotions. It's really awkward for me to annoy someone, or if a random person gets impacted negatively by my actions.
As a kid, I was really good. I did a bunch of extra activities that involved answering questions from a panel of judges. I naturally always took the lead since I knew how to please them or impress them.
Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity?
I'm coordinated with my hands, which stemmed from baseball. I don't particularly gain any enjoyment or excitement from getting to use my hands, it's just something that happened naturally as I played. I am NOT coordinated in my legs. Whatsoever. Started doing volleyball recently, and learnt how to do a three step approach. Could not do it to save the life of me.
Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particular artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forums of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer.
I was kind of boxed into an 'artistic' type as a kid. I drew a lot when I was really young, and ever since my family kind of formed that stereotype around me. It doesn't exist anymore. Ended when I was around thirteen. But I was good at art. I don't know if it came naturally, all I remember is thinking I HAD to have the best artwork, and therefore, I stopped at nothing to make that happen. I struggled a lot with it though, because I have Aphantasia, meaning I can't visualise things in my mind.
What's your opinion about the past, present, and future? How do you deal with them?
As a kid, I only thought about the future. I would take screenshots on my laptop of apartments and houses in places I wanted to live. I would plan my life in advance, what I'll do, what car, how many pets, kids, the types of lifestyle I'll have, the things I'll do on a daily basis, it was extreme. This was when I was 12-15 as well, so a long way from any of those things.
But now, I struggle a lot to see what will happen to me. What I truly want to do, how I want to live, what kind of life I want, they're all questions I have, but kind of ignore.
I also got stressed a lot in high school with upcoming exams. I would frantically plan what to do way in advance (rarely followed through, mind you) and overtly freak myself out, more than what I needed to.
Regarding the past, I kind of want to forget about the kind of person I was, and all the things I cringe at now. I randomly have moments where I can easily remember in extremely detail my memories, even about the most random details, like a stain on the wall of a hotel we stayed in that was three fingers away from the windowsill. Things like that.
How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so?
I naturally struggle to say no to the requests of others, so of course I end up helping them.
I can easily get annoyed by my family if they ask me though... whoopsie.
How important is efficiency and productivity to you?
I usually find the fastest way to get something done. I don't want to waste my effort doing something boring. However, I may seem unconventional when doing something I like, or am interested in. In high school, a lot of my assignments weren't by the book. They were done my way. Once we had to do a multimodal presentation, and I made a game, and presented my work that way.
I don't know if this relates to this question, but I would often get annoyed by people who were inefficient, or couldn't think for themselves. Never showed any distaste directly towards them, but it was definitely there.
Productivity? I'm all over the place with this. I go through mood swings. I get really stressed if I haven't done work, however, when I start doing work I get even more stressed and overwhelmed, and feel as if the world is ending. And then I eventually make peace with myself. Then the cycle starts again. But I must say, I am the best procrastinator around.
Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that?
I hate to admit that I'd like to, but as I've grown older I've stopped, not necessarily caring, but just worrying over things like that.
What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses?
I like being shown through an example. After that's done, it's pretty easy for me to fill in the gaps. Once I'm shown how to do it, I can usually work it out on my own. I also remember random things I want to be able to regurgitate to others to seem smart, lol.
For English, I really struggle to do this by myself. I usually search up, or read past examples or pieces of literacy and then formulate my own based on that inspiration.
I liked science, and still do. It was so easy to understand, everything was interconnected within biology, chemistry, physics, they all had overlapping ideas that explained one another. They were also easy to relate to the real world.
I had a love hate relationship with math. I loved that I was good at it, but I hated that it took a lot of studying, or if I ever got a question wrong.
How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go?
I never really broke my assignments up, nor did I ever complete them in an orderly way. I would often get tired or uninspired to continue writing a paragraph, so I let it unfinished and started a new part. Sometimes, I would start at the end, or the middle. It was never structured.
In senior high school, I started creating studying "plans" for maths. I would write in depth plans, but it never worked out, so in the end, I just ended up designating certain questions to certain days, and as long as I completely those questions that day, I felt good. There were times when I skipped a day, and then became overtly stressed.
What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally?
This is confusing for me, I don't really know my take on this.
What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
I have a fear of not being on the ground. Random I know. Once I was in an elevator going to the 30th floor... I had to sit down because I just felt like I wasn't on the ground at all and was in a constantly state of feeling like I was falling. It's odd. Anyways.
I HATE GARDENING GAHHHH. My mom was a green thumb. I hated it. I hated feeling gross, the humidity radiating from the plants felt so gross (it wasn't just a few, it was like a hundred pot plants alone). I also was in charge of moving them whenever we had to mow. It was so boring and distasteful. I HATED IT. I could do indoor plants, little cute plants you give names to, sure. NOT THE FULL ON GREENHOUSE SHE HAD GOING ON. It was disgusting feeling bugs, or as if something was crawling on me. Even dirt in my finger nails. Ew. Though, at times I just sat and played in the mud... quite contradictory, I know.
Ahem. Anyways.
I hate being told how I feel. I hate when people think they know. I remember I felt really annoyed one time at my mom when she told me I was tired. I wasn't tired, but she looked at my with her pitiful eyes and said I was. I felt really uptight around her, because she had this caring side, but then would snap so often it made me feel uncomfortable.
I remember back when I was in high school, I HATED when people wouldn't listen to me just because I was younger. Or they would downplay my ideas because of it. Like, dude, my idea is a Googleplex times better than yours, yet you ignore it? Stuff you man.
What do the "highs" in your life look like? What do the "lows" in your life look like?
I don't really know? It's like a rollercoaster. I can't pinpoint certain moments as such.
How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so?
It's like a blend of both. At times, I will day dream about what is happening around me, and the various ways certain events could unfold. I'd often think about how I desperately wanted something to happen, and would picture it happening, or would come up with ways for it to happen.
I come up with a lot of scenarios like that in my head.
I also think a lot about random things, and at times can forget about my surroundings, but I've always felt I subconsciously take note of them in my own unique way lol.
Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
Anything and everything. Whatever appears, whatever scenario, idea, etc.
How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it?
A LONG TIME. I put off making decisions for forever. Often I just go to other people at times, or let others decide.
How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
They're confusing, but also... not? I'd like to think of myself as pretty logical, though at times, it's not like that.
I remember one day at work, everyone was feeling down and moody the entire day. There was no reason for me to be upset, if anything I should have been over the moon with the fact I would be going on holidays the next day... but I went home and cried for some reason. I don't even know why. I think their moodiness rubbed off on me.
I also have caught myself crying at times for some odd reason. I remember I went away to a baseball comp. I had injured my finger, but didn't tell anyone. I tried to show small signs that it hurt, like looking down at it a lot, or purposefully having it on display (in a casual way), since it was bruised. That day wasn't the best for me, I hadn't been playing my best so everything just built up. I remember standing out on the field, holding back tears. I was just sad nobody noticed I think, and thought about if just one person asked if I was okay, I'd be so happy. I played the rest of the day with my finger, which was later found to be broken...
I think I get more emotional when I'm not noticed or found important to other people? Back in high school, I nearly cried because of this, I was so confused.
I find it easier to cry about tv shows, and things of a sort. Ngl, I cried when I read a post about a favourite character of mine that just portrayed how hard it would have been for them to live. A bit TMI I know.
I prefer keeping my emotions to myself, and RARELY outwardly express them. I just don't see the point. You'll rarely catch me angry or crying.
Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
Yes, all the time. I also catch myself pretending I didn't know something so that the discussion can continue, or I'll ask questions I already know the answer too so things don't get awkward. I HATE AWKWARDNESS!
Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why?
I don't think I break rules, if anything I am quite wary of them. My parents were sticklers for rules, so naturally I was pressured to follow them to the highest of standards. I'm a little more easy going now, but the fear of rules is still there lol.
Challenging authority? I suppose if there is a reason to. I mean, it's not like they know better. It just depends on the situation.
I kind of hope you didn't read this all lol, looking back, THERE'S A LOT... so I wouldn't be surprised if this post doesn't get many interactions, but it does mean a lot if you did take the time to read this.
<3 Have an amazing morning, day, afternoon, night, whatever :D
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How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself.
I'm a twenty-year-old female. I'm about to switch my major from chemical engineering to something else, still undecided though.
Things I want in a career:
- Get to work with a lot of people,
- Organise large scale projects,
- Developing projects,
- Brainstorming,
- Making connections,
- Marketing,
- Analysing and creating plans,
- Not repetitive,
- Actually interesting.
Growing up, I constantly changed the way I acted, and decided various times I wanted to be perceived certain ways. It was often derived from my interests at the time, or characters I had grown to like.
Diagnosis?
None.
Describe your upbringing. Did it have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it?
My mom's side of the family was religious, so I went to church a few times when I was younger. My grandfather was a priest, so my grandparents were very heavy on the idea. I didn't have any strong connection to it, I felt rather out of place actually when I went to church with them. I only really looked forward to the food, and playing around after the service had ended. I had no idea, or really much of an opinion about it. It is what it is.
From when I was four to seven, I was left alone a lot by my parents. I only saw them on weekends, so naturally I tried to adopt the way they acted, the way they viewed things, so I could be an ideal kid and they would recognise me for it. I did a lot to garner their attention, and I think now, it's become the root reason for why I'm quite a perfectionist. It's humiliating to not be seen as perfect. I often am really harsh on myself, and hate it when I can't do something. In high school, I got a 36/39, and I felt useless. It was that extreme. I felt like nobody should be better than me, and if they are, I was jealous. Actually, I was a very jealous person in general. I was (even know I am) always jealous of something or someone.
What do you do as a job or as a career (if you have one)? Do you like it? Why or why not?
Answered this earlier.
If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed?
I know this question is to work out whether I'm introverted vs. extraverted, so I'll more so focus on that. I grew up alone. I'd be more than happy to spend an entire month by myself. I don't know how I'd react emotionally, but I'm just so used to it. This is why I was so stuck between E or I in the past. The only reason I leant more towards E now, was because I'm more concerned with the external world and get so excited and energized after being with people. I also sometimes feel physically sick around people at times or when engaging in something that feels out of place, it's a mental thing, not sure why though.
What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities?
I've participated in a lot of sports. I remember starting baseball when I was ten, as it was around this time I was looking for a sport to do. It was because I was body shamed a lot that I started looking for a way to get fit. . And the main reason why I played, was because the person I liked at the time also played. How childish of me. Pfft. Anyways, for some reason I continued. I remember thinking of quitting every year, but never did. I became good at it, and felt like I had to continue doing good. My dad also wanted me to play a lot, and I was kind of pressured into a lot of it... but anyways. I also took up basketball, and HATED IT. But my dad kept on signing me up for it even if I didn't really want to. It was mostly my fault, I could never really voice my true opinions or feelings around my parents, so I never really explained how I HATED IT SO MUCH. But oh well.
I'm more attracted to indoor activities, in the aircon, where its nice (I live in a hot place). But I'm also really attracted to outdoor activities. Camping (more glamourized I should mention), kayaking, going to the beach, doing stuff with people who I want to do stuff with.
I hate gardening. Despise it. Never will I do it.
How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please elaborate?
I have a lot of ideas. I love creating, planning, analysing and perfecting ideas. To me, I also have to out do everyone and present the best idea all the time, no matter what I do. At times, I've had to bite my tongue when working in groups. I usually critique a lot of peoples ideas, but if someone catches my attention, I'll apply it to my idea so that it can evolve.
I remember in high school, we had to plan a city scape. I had this amazing design, where traffic would be hard to come across due to the way I had positioned everything. I also thought about the placement of parks, where they'll get the best use, etc. Things like that. It was a really fast analysis. But since it was group work, I'm not really assertive or confrontational with my ideas, so it didn't end up exactly as I planned. I also wanted to colour it perfectly, however, that didn't work either, so at that point, I lost much of my interest in the project.
I am also extremely good at problem solving, and using what I have around me. One thing I've noticed, is that I don't pay much mind to the objects around me (at least I don't try to consciously), however, in times of need it's like I have a list of all the things I've noticed and see how they could be useful. They are often inventive solutions as well, using things for something other than their intended purpose, or fitting their purpose to the situation. I have those kinds of ideas.
I've come up with a range of ways people can improve their current ideas, or businesses or schemes that would do extremely well if they were produced the right way. Except, I would only want to be the 'idea man'. I'll have somebody else put it into action for me. I'm quite lazy in that sense.
I don't know what to call this, but I remember my friend telling me she wanted to become a teacher, but she was worried about the competitive hiring culture. I told her to start tutoring now (when we were in high school), then to take a gap year and do teacher aid work at the school whilst then working for a tutoring company and doing any other part-time work (baby sitting) or courses. Then to go through university. Then, she would not only have connections in the tutoring company, and the school, but would most likely out do everyone else in terms of experience. It would be the perfect path to take.
Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be?
I think? But I bite my tongue a lot and hold back on my genuine thoughts as they might be too harsh. As a kid I got chewed out for this, I was often called bossy and as I went through high school I slowly stopped voicing my thoughts as much. I knew my ideas were better, and that pleased me enough.
I also struggle to say no, since I hate feeling awkward with people. That's something that's become more prominent. I might act like some pushover or overtly take precautions around people to ensure they like me and that they only feel positive emotions. It's really awkward for me to annoy someone, or if a random person gets impacted negatively by my actions.
As a kid, I was really good. I did a bunch of extra activities that involved answering questions from a panel of judges. I naturally always took the lead since I knew how to please them or impress them.
Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity?
I'm coordinated with my hands, which stemmed from baseball. I don't particularly gain any enjoyment or excitement from getting to use my hands, it's just something that happened naturally as I played. I am NOT coordinated in my legs. Whatsoever. Started doing volleyball recently, and learnt how to do a three step approach. Could not do it to save the life of me.
Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particular artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forums of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer.
I was kind of boxed into an 'artistic' type as a kid. I drew a lot when I was really young, and ever since my family kind of formed that stereotype around me. It doesn't exist anymore. Ended when I was around thirteen. But I was good at art. I don't know if it came naturally, all I remember is thinking I HAD to have the best artwork, and therefore, I stopped at nothing to make that happen. I struggled a lot with it though, because I have Aphantasia, meaning I can't visualise things in my mind.
What's your opinion about the past, present, and future? How do you deal with them?
As a kid, I only thought about the future. I would take screenshots on my laptop of apartments and houses in places I wanted to live. I would plan my life in advance, what I'll do, what car, how many pets, kids, the types of lifestyle I'll have, the things I'll do on a daily basis, it was extreme. This was when I was 12-15 as well, so a long way from any of those things.
But now, I struggle a lot to see what will happen to me. What I truly want to do, how I want to live, what kind of life I want, they're all questions I have, but kind of ignore.
I also got stressed a lot in high school with upcoming exams. I would frantically plan what to do way in advance (rarely followed through, mind you) and overtly freak myself out, more than what I needed to.
Regarding the past, I kind of want to forget about the kind of person I was, and all the things I cringe at now. I randomly have moments where I can easily remember in extremely detail my memories, even about the most random details, like a stain on the wall of a hotel we stayed in that was three fingers away from the windowsill. Things like that.
How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so?
I naturally struggle to say no to the requests of others, so of course I end up helping them.
I can easily get annoyed by my family if they ask me though... whoopsie.
How important is efficiency and productivity to you?
I usually find the fastest way to get something done. I don't want to waste my effort doing something boring. However, I may seem unconventional when doing something I like, or am interested in. In high school, a lot of my assignments weren't by the book. They were done my way. Once we had to do a multimodal presentation, and I made a game, and presented my work that way.
I don't know if this relates to this question, but I would often get annoyed by people who were inefficient, or couldn't think for themselves. Never showed any distaste directly towards them, but it was definitely there.
Productivity? I'm all over the place with this. I go through mood swings. I get really stressed if I haven't done work, however, when I start doing work I get even more stressed and overwhelmed, and feel as if the world is ending. And then I eventually make peace with myself. Then the cycle starts again. But I must say, I am the best procrastinator around.
Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that?
I hate to admit that I'd like to, but as I've grown older I've stopped, not necessarily caring, but just worrying over things like that.
What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses?
I like being shown through an example. After that's done, it's pretty easy for me to fill in the gaps. Once I'm shown how to do it, I can usually work it out on my own. I also remember random things I want to be able to regurgitate to others to seem smart, lol.
For English, I really struggle to do this by myself. I usually search up, or read past examples or pieces of literacy and then formulate my own based on that inspiration.
I liked science, and still do. It was so easy to understand, everything was interconnected within biology, chemistry, physics, they all had overlapping ideas that explained one another. They were also easy to relate to the real world.
I had a love hate relationship with math. I loved that I was good at it, but I hated that it took a lot of studying, or if I ever got a question wrong.
How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go?
I never really broke my assignments up, nor did I ever complete them in an orderly way. I would often get tired or uninspired to continue writing a paragraph, so I let it unfinished and started a new part. Sometimes, I would start at the end, or the middle. It was never structured.
In senior high school, I started creating studying "plans" for maths. I would write in depth plans, but it never worked out, so in the end, I just ended up designating certain questions to certain days, and as long as I completely those questions that day, I felt good. There were times when I skipped a day, and then became overtly stressed.
What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally?
This is confusing for me, I don't really know my take on this.
What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
I have a fear of not being on the ground. Random I know. Once I was in an elevator going to the 30th floor... I had to sit down because I just felt like I wasn't on the ground at all and was in a constantly state of feeling like I was falling. It's odd. Anyways.
I HATE GARDENING GAHHHH. My mom was a green thumb. I hated it. I hated feeling gross, the humidity radiating from the plants felt so gross (it wasn't just a few, it was like a hundred pot plants alone). I also was in charge of moving them whenever we had to mow. It was so boring and distasteful. I HATED IT. I could do indoor plants, little cute plants you give names to, sure. NOT THE FULL ON GREENHOUSE SHE HAD GOING ON. It was disgusting feeling bugs, or as if something was crawling on me. Even dirt in my finger nails. Ew. Though, at times I just sat and played in the mud... quite contradictory, I know.
Ahem. Anyways.
I hate being told how I feel. I hate when people think they know. I remember I felt really annoyed one time at my mom when she told me I was tired. I wasn't tired, but she looked at my with her pitiful eyes and said I was. I felt really uptight around her, because she had this caring side, but then would snap so often it made me feel uncomfortable.
I remember back when I was in high school, I HATED when people wouldn't listen to me just because I was younger. Or they would downplay my ideas because of it. Like, dude, my idea is a Googleplex times better than yours, yet you ignore it? Stuff you man.
What do the "highs" in your life look like? What do the "lows" in your life look like?
I don't really know? It's like a rollercoaster. I can't pinpoint certain moments as such.
How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so?
It's like a blend of both. At times, I will day dream about what is happening around me, and the various ways certain events could unfold. I'd often think about how I desperately wanted something to happen, and would picture it happening, or would come up with ways for it to happen.
I come up with a lot of scenarios like that in my head.
I also think a lot about random things, and at times can forget about my surroundings, but I've always felt I subconsciously take note of them in my own unique way lol.
Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
Anything and everything. Whatever appears, whatever scenario, idea, etc.
How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it?
A LONG TIME. I put off making decisions for forever. Often I just go to other people at times, or let others decide.
How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
They're confusing, but also... not? I'd like to think of myself as pretty logical, though at times, it's not like that.
I remember one day at work, everyone was feeling down and moody the entire day. There was no reason for me to be upset, if anything I should have been over the moon with the fact I would be going on holidays the next day... but I went home and cried for some reason. I don't even know why. I think their moodiness rubbed off on me.
I also have caught myself crying at times for some odd reason. I remember I went away to a baseball comp. I had injured my finger, but didn't tell anyone. I tried to show small signs that it hurt, like looking down at it a lot, or purposefully having it on display (in a casual way), since it was bruised. That day wasn't the best for me, I hadn't been playing my best so everything just built up. I remember standing out on the field, holding back tears. I was just sad nobody noticed I think, and thought about if just one person asked if I was okay, I'd be so happy. I played the rest of the day with my finger, which was later found to be broken...
I think I get more emotional when I'm not noticed or found important to other people? Back in high school, I nearly cried because of this, I was so confused.
I find it easier to cry about tv shows, and things of a sort. Ngl, I cried when I read a post about a favourite character of mine that just portrayed how hard it would have been for them to live. A bit TMI I know.
I prefer keeping my emotions to myself, and RARELY outwardly express them. I just don't see the point. You'll rarely catch me angry or crying.
Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
Yes, all the time. I also catch myself pretending I didn't know something so that the discussion can continue, or I'll ask questions I already know the answer too so things don't get awkward. I HATE AWKWARDNESS!
Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why?
I don't think I break rules, if anything I am quite wary of them. My parents were sticklers for rules, so naturally I was pressured to follow them to the highest of standards. I'm a little more easy going now, but the fear of rules is still there lol.
Challenging authority? I suppose if there is a reason to. I mean, it's not like they know better. It just depends on the situation.
I kind of hope you didn't read this all lol, looking back, THERE'S A LOT... so I wouldn't be surprised if this post doesn't get many interactions, but it does mean a lot if you did take the time to read this.
<3 Have an amazing morning, day, afternoon, night, whatever :D
2024.06.01 04:27 edgiscript [F4M] The Real Treasure [Cat-Girl Cat Burglar] [Security Guard Listener] [Kidnapping] [Wanting To Share Her Life With The Listener]
Note: For information on monetization: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me : ASMRScriptHaven (reddit.com)
Note: For my library: Masterlist for edgiscript : ASMRScriptHaven (reddit.com)
Note: This was going to be the DC character Catwoman, but changed midway through. Truth is, I didn't want to deal with Batman and the history of the character, I just wanted her traits. Buuuuuuut, because of that, I threw in a few homages to DC.
Note: Character is supremely confident throughout. As she speaks, she's very calm and sensual, very alluring and comforting to the listener. If youâre uncertain as to how she would be reacting or speaking, err on the side of being very soft and seductive. She adores the listener and is in complete control so she never acts afraid of anything he might say or do. Any fear is playful, mocking, or just plain phony.
---------------------------------------------------------
TITLE: THE REAL TREASURE
(Footsteps of a night watchman slowly echoing through the halls. A wooden door opens.)
Cat-burglar: (Playfully. Not actually worried.) Whoopsie, looks like Iâve been caught red-handed. Didnât expect to see you here so soon. I thought your rounds would keep you on the east wing for at least another five minutes. Am I red-faced or what?
Trying to sound the alarm? Only realizing now that your alarm system isnât working? Oopsie. I wonder who could have done something like that? (Laughs.)
Oh well. They say that diamonds are a girlâs best friend. So, I think Iâll just pocket the one I came for and make my exit now. Ta-ta, my love.
(Sound of fleeing as listener gives chase.)
(Footsteps stop. Momentary pause.)
(Calling out.) Oh, deeeeear. This way. (Giggles.)
(Fleeing sounds and chase again. Door opens and then closes.)
There you are. I thought you were quicker than that. I had to turn around and signal you so you didnât lose me.
(Pause.)
(Sigh. Then with mock-distress.) Youâre right. Iâm trapped. Weâre now in this basement supply room with no way out except through the only door that youâre now blocking. Whatever shall I do?
(Calmly.) Here. Hereâs the South African Bat-Diamond. You caught me fair and square. Iâll return it and go quietly. Catch.
(Tosses it to listener.)
The treasure that I came for is in your possession. Now, please share with me your plans for me.
(Pause.)
(Flirty.) Handcuffs? My, my, you enjoy a good party, donât you? But no, sadly I wonât be cuffed on the first date. Iâm not that easy. (Giggles.)
(Pause.)
(Playfully.) Ooh, a taser. Iâm shaking in fear. What can a simple girl like me do against such a nasty weapon.
(Clicking sound, followed by several clicking sounds.)
Oh, no. Is your weapon not working? Could it possibly have been replaced with a dud? Now, who could have perpetrated such a thing and why. (Laughs.)
(Pause.)
Yes, dear, your hands are going numb. You see, the phony diamond I just tossed to your ungloved hands was coated with a special toxin of my own design. Youâve lost feeling in your hands and now itâs working its way to your arms, and very soon your entire body will be paralyzed.
(Pause.)
Thatâs right. Phony diamond. If you would have bothered to look at the case instead of staring at what was in my hands, or maybe other parts of my body, youâd have seen that the real diamond was still there. I never actually removed it.
(Pause.)
Thatâs right, dear. Shhhhh. Donât be afraid. Iâve got you. Donât worry, Iâm not about to harm you. This may sting, but this antidote will keep the toxin from reaching your heart. I certainly donât want to see you die. No, no, my love.
Aaaaaaand, it may have the additional effect of putting you to sleep. Scratch that, it definitely has the additional effect of putting you to sleep.
(Pause.)
Iâll never get the diamond? My sweet, sweet darling, havenât you figured it out yet. Iâm not after the diamond. I already told you. The treasure that I came for is in your possession. Iâm here⌠for you.
(Time passes as listener blacks out then re-awakens.)
Oh, goodie, youâre awake. (Giggles.) Iâve been snuggled up to you here for a while waiting for you to finally wake up. Iâve just been amusing myself running my fingers through your silken hair.
(Pause.)
Well, exactly where we are longitude and latitudinally speaking is⌠a secret that Iâm going to leave untold for the time being. But one way of answering your question correctly is that youâre in my lair, my home, my fortress of solitude, however you want to say it. The central core of the matter is that youâre with me and you always will be.
(Pause.)
No, no, honey. Donât rush it. Itâs ok. Take your time. Youâre still waking up. Ease into it gently. Iâve got you here in my bed⌠wrapped up in my loving arms⌠as well as other types of binds⌠donât rush. Take a deep breath.
(Brief pause.)
No, I mean it. Take a deep breath. Like this. (Takes a deep breath herself.) Then let it out. (Exhales.) Once again, deep breath. (Takes a deep breath.) And out. (Exhales.)
Feel better?
(Pause.)
Good⌠goooooood. Now, go ahead and ask me, slowly and calmly, what you were about to ask.
(Pause.)
(Soft, gentle laugh.) My ears. Do you like them?
(Pause.)
Oh, yes. I can imagine what a surprise they are. Nekos arenât common on your world. In fact, I do believe Iâm the only one. Who could have known that the greatest cat-burglar on earth was, in fact, a cat? Now that Iâve got my mask off, you see me for who I truly am. The ears that you and everyone else believed to be a part of my outfit, are actually mine.
When you get a little more strength and can sit up, Iâll show you my tail as well. (Giggles.)
(Pause.)
Thatâs⌠a very⌠very long story, and Iâm more than happy to tell you the whole thing, but Iâm going to wait until youâre a little less drugged up for that so you remember it clearly once Iâve told you. Itâs a tale of intrigue, mystery, and a little bit of interdimensional travel.
Not of my own design, of course. I may be a cat-person, which is an oddity in these parts, but I do not possess what you might call superhuman powers. And what I mean by that is that Iâm normal for someone of my species. Iâm not a shape-shifter from Mars or anything like that. Iâm from earth, just not your earth.
(Pause.)
No, dear. Iâm not going to drug you anymore. At least not right away. Not tonight. I wanted you fully alert for all I wanted to share with you. But yes, thatâs why youâre tied up. I canât have you trying to get away on me now, which is completely impossible, however, I understand why you canât accept my word on that. Therefore, you might have actually tried to get away from me if Iâd let you wake up unbound. You might have caused some harm if Iâd have let you do that.
(Pause.)
(Laughs.) No, not to me, silly. You might have harmed yourself.
(Very seductively.) And thereâs no⌠way⌠I could ever⌠let⌠that⌠happenâŚ
(Kiss.)
(Deep sigh.) My dear, are you beginning to understand why youâre here? I wasnât at the museum for the diamond. It was a paltry bauble compared to others Iâve stolen. No, no, no. I⌠was there⌠for you.
(Kiss. Giggles.)
Thatâs right, my lovely, (kiss) lovely, (kiss) boy. (Giggles.) You⌠little old you, were the real treasure I was after.
(Pause.)
Why do you find that such an odd thing for me to say?
(Pause.)
My dear, dear boy, you are not common or average in any way shape or form. You are the sweetest, cutest, purest, cutest, nicest, cutest, shyest, most endearing person Iâve ever seen on two planets. And did I mention youâre pretty cute? (Soft laugh.)
Iâve acquired more wealth in my life than my grandchildrenâs grandchildren could possibly spend. Youâre laying right now in the true lap of luxury. I have anything I could ever possibly want⌠except someone to share it with.
And thatâs where you come in. I was on vacation. I was relaxing and visiting your small-town museum.
(Pause.)
No, I wasnât planning on stealing anything. You had nothing Iâd truly care about. But I will admit that I was, how do they say it here? âCasing the joint.â Imagining how I could evade security and make off with whatever I wanted. I do it for fun. Itâs like how some people play sudoku. It stimulates me and relaxes me at the same time.
And I saw you. Or rather, you saw me. You couldnât keep your eyes off of me. I had a scarf over my head to keep my ears hidden, and my tail was neatly tucked away in my dress, but you followed me around like a little lost kitten. I wondered if you were trying to build up the courage to speak with me.
And then you saw someone snag my purse. I noticed it too. Well, of course, I rolled my eyes at his attempt. You had no way of knowing who I was or what I could do to him when I would have followed his scent later and taken care of him once nobody was around. But you, believing me to be utterly helpless and in distress, flew into action and immediately apprehended the villain in spectacular fashion. You truly impressed me.
And when you returned my purse, I thought you were going to finally say something to me, but you were interrupted by the cries of a lost little girl separated from her parents. And that grabbed my attention more than catching the purse thief. Without a momentâs hesitation, you walked away from your personal desires, trying to speak with me, in order to comfort that darling little girl. You scooped her up and held her warmly, patting her on the back gently as you calmed her down and located her parents.
Your selflessness struck me as something very uncommon on both of our worlds. So, I followed you for a few days and discovered that it wasnât a fluke. It was easy to see that you were indeed a sweet, sweet man. I just had to make you mine.
(Pause.)
No dear, that might be how itâs done on your planet, but on my world, when a cat-girl decides that youâre hers, she simply claims you.
(Pause.)
(Giggles.) Ok, thereâs a little more to it than that, but I can explain all of that later. For right now, you just need to know that I wanted you, I needed you, I fell in love with you, and I took you, possibly in that order. (Giggles.)
(Very softly and seductively.) Now just lay back and relax because Iâve spoken enough about all of that for right now. The drugs have worn off completely and I want to show you what youâre in for.
(There is a little bit of time between each thing she says as she softly does each thing she says.)
The head patsâŚ
The snugglesâŚ
The nuzzling into your neck with my nose while purringâŚ
Mmmmmmmmm, you smell so goodâŚ
The gentle nibbling on your neck right beneath your earâŚ
(Soft giggle.) Oh, you really liked that, didnât you?
The whispering into your ear about just how cute and adorable I find youâŚ
The caressing of your hair and cheek while I whisper in your earâŚ
And, of course, while I climb onto your body and lay myself gently on top of you, the frequent, loving⌠(Kisses.)
Are you thinking now that my kidnapping you isnât such a bad thing? (Soft laugh.)
(Pause.)
Yes, I know. It may be a gentle kidnapping, but itâs still kidnapping none-the-less. Youâre right. You are so right. I guess that means I should let you go and then turn myself in to the proper authorities to face my punishment.
Orrrrrrr. And hear me out on this one, you could acknowledge that A, I donât really care if Iâve broken any law. After all, Iâm a master thief. Iâve already broken several.
And B, if I turned myself in and let you go, youâd no longer get this (Kiss.) and this (Kiss.) and these (Kisses.)
Do you really want to give up all that and more simply because I didnât ask you beforehand to confirm that I knew youâd like it.
(Pause.)
Thatâs what I thought. Now, just relax, sweetie. Iâm about to show you just how great it is to be my most valued treasure.
(Kiss.)
submitted by edgiscript to ASMRScriptHaven [link] [comments]
Note: For my library: Masterlist for edgiscript : ASMRScriptHaven (reddit.com)
Note: This was going to be the DC character Catwoman, but changed midway through. Truth is, I didn't want to deal with Batman and the history of the character, I just wanted her traits. Buuuuuuut, because of that, I threw in a few homages to DC.
Note: Character is supremely confident throughout. As she speaks, she's very calm and sensual, very alluring and comforting to the listener. If youâre uncertain as to how she would be reacting or speaking, err on the side of being very soft and seductive. She adores the listener and is in complete control so she never acts afraid of anything he might say or do. Any fear is playful, mocking, or just plain phony.
---------------------------------------------------------
TITLE: THE REAL TREASURE
(Footsteps of a night watchman slowly echoing through the halls. A wooden door opens.)
Cat-burglar: (Playfully. Not actually worried.) Whoopsie, looks like Iâve been caught red-handed. Didnât expect to see you here so soon. I thought your rounds would keep you on the east wing for at least another five minutes. Am I red-faced or what?
Trying to sound the alarm? Only realizing now that your alarm system isnât working? Oopsie. I wonder who could have done something like that? (Laughs.)
Oh well. They say that diamonds are a girlâs best friend. So, I think Iâll just pocket the one I came for and make my exit now. Ta-ta, my love.
(Sound of fleeing as listener gives chase.)
(Footsteps stop. Momentary pause.)
(Calling out.) Oh, deeeeear. This way. (Giggles.)
(Fleeing sounds and chase again. Door opens and then closes.)
There you are. I thought you were quicker than that. I had to turn around and signal you so you didnât lose me.
(Pause.)
(Sigh. Then with mock-distress.) Youâre right. Iâm trapped. Weâre now in this basement supply room with no way out except through the only door that youâre now blocking. Whatever shall I do?
(Calmly.) Here. Hereâs the South African Bat-Diamond. You caught me fair and square. Iâll return it and go quietly. Catch.
(Tosses it to listener.)
The treasure that I came for is in your possession. Now, please share with me your plans for me.
(Pause.)
(Flirty.) Handcuffs? My, my, you enjoy a good party, donât you? But no, sadly I wonât be cuffed on the first date. Iâm not that easy. (Giggles.)
(Pause.)
(Playfully.) Ooh, a taser. Iâm shaking in fear. What can a simple girl like me do against such a nasty weapon.
(Clicking sound, followed by several clicking sounds.)
Oh, no. Is your weapon not working? Could it possibly have been replaced with a dud? Now, who could have perpetrated such a thing and why. (Laughs.)
(Pause.)
Yes, dear, your hands are going numb. You see, the phony diamond I just tossed to your ungloved hands was coated with a special toxin of my own design. Youâve lost feeling in your hands and now itâs working its way to your arms, and very soon your entire body will be paralyzed.
(Pause.)
Thatâs right. Phony diamond. If you would have bothered to look at the case instead of staring at what was in my hands, or maybe other parts of my body, youâd have seen that the real diamond was still there. I never actually removed it.
(Pause.)
Thatâs right, dear. Shhhhh. Donât be afraid. Iâve got you. Donât worry, Iâm not about to harm you. This may sting, but this antidote will keep the toxin from reaching your heart. I certainly donât want to see you die. No, no, my love.
Aaaaaaand, it may have the additional effect of putting you to sleep. Scratch that, it definitely has the additional effect of putting you to sleep.
(Pause.)
Iâll never get the diamond? My sweet, sweet darling, havenât you figured it out yet. Iâm not after the diamond. I already told you. The treasure that I came for is in your possession. Iâm here⌠for you.
(Time passes as listener blacks out then re-awakens.)
Oh, goodie, youâre awake. (Giggles.) Iâve been snuggled up to you here for a while waiting for you to finally wake up. Iâve just been amusing myself running my fingers through your silken hair.
(Pause.)
Well, exactly where we are longitude and latitudinally speaking is⌠a secret that Iâm going to leave untold for the time being. But one way of answering your question correctly is that youâre in my lair, my home, my fortress of solitude, however you want to say it. The central core of the matter is that youâre with me and you always will be.
(Pause.)
No, no, honey. Donât rush it. Itâs ok. Take your time. Youâre still waking up. Ease into it gently. Iâve got you here in my bed⌠wrapped up in my loving arms⌠as well as other types of binds⌠donât rush. Take a deep breath.
(Brief pause.)
No, I mean it. Take a deep breath. Like this. (Takes a deep breath herself.) Then let it out. (Exhales.) Once again, deep breath. (Takes a deep breath.) And out. (Exhales.)
Feel better?
(Pause.)
Good⌠goooooood. Now, go ahead and ask me, slowly and calmly, what you were about to ask.
(Pause.)
(Soft, gentle laugh.) My ears. Do you like them?
(Pause.)
Oh, yes. I can imagine what a surprise they are. Nekos arenât common on your world. In fact, I do believe Iâm the only one. Who could have known that the greatest cat-burglar on earth was, in fact, a cat? Now that Iâve got my mask off, you see me for who I truly am. The ears that you and everyone else believed to be a part of my outfit, are actually mine.
When you get a little more strength and can sit up, Iâll show you my tail as well. (Giggles.)
(Pause.)
Thatâs⌠a very⌠very long story, and Iâm more than happy to tell you the whole thing, but Iâm going to wait until youâre a little less drugged up for that so you remember it clearly once Iâve told you. Itâs a tale of intrigue, mystery, and a little bit of interdimensional travel.
Not of my own design, of course. I may be a cat-person, which is an oddity in these parts, but I do not possess what you might call superhuman powers. And what I mean by that is that Iâm normal for someone of my species. Iâm not a shape-shifter from Mars or anything like that. Iâm from earth, just not your earth.
(Pause.)
No, dear. Iâm not going to drug you anymore. At least not right away. Not tonight. I wanted you fully alert for all I wanted to share with you. But yes, thatâs why youâre tied up. I canât have you trying to get away on me now, which is completely impossible, however, I understand why you canât accept my word on that. Therefore, you might have actually tried to get away from me if Iâd let you wake up unbound. You might have caused some harm if Iâd have let you do that.
(Pause.)
(Laughs.) No, not to me, silly. You might have harmed yourself.
(Very seductively.) And thereâs no⌠way⌠I could ever⌠let⌠that⌠happenâŚ
(Kiss.)
(Deep sigh.) My dear, are you beginning to understand why youâre here? I wasnât at the museum for the diamond. It was a paltry bauble compared to others Iâve stolen. No, no, no. I⌠was there⌠for you.
(Kiss. Giggles.)
Thatâs right, my lovely, (kiss) lovely, (kiss) boy. (Giggles.) You⌠little old you, were the real treasure I was after.
(Pause.)
Why do you find that such an odd thing for me to say?
(Pause.)
My dear, dear boy, you are not common or average in any way shape or form. You are the sweetest, cutest, purest, cutest, nicest, cutest, shyest, most endearing person Iâve ever seen on two planets. And did I mention youâre pretty cute? (Soft laugh.)
Iâve acquired more wealth in my life than my grandchildrenâs grandchildren could possibly spend. Youâre laying right now in the true lap of luxury. I have anything I could ever possibly want⌠except someone to share it with.
And thatâs where you come in. I was on vacation. I was relaxing and visiting your small-town museum.
(Pause.)
No, I wasnât planning on stealing anything. You had nothing Iâd truly care about. But I will admit that I was, how do they say it here? âCasing the joint.â Imagining how I could evade security and make off with whatever I wanted. I do it for fun. Itâs like how some people play sudoku. It stimulates me and relaxes me at the same time.
And I saw you. Or rather, you saw me. You couldnât keep your eyes off of me. I had a scarf over my head to keep my ears hidden, and my tail was neatly tucked away in my dress, but you followed me around like a little lost kitten. I wondered if you were trying to build up the courage to speak with me.
And then you saw someone snag my purse. I noticed it too. Well, of course, I rolled my eyes at his attempt. You had no way of knowing who I was or what I could do to him when I would have followed his scent later and taken care of him once nobody was around. But you, believing me to be utterly helpless and in distress, flew into action and immediately apprehended the villain in spectacular fashion. You truly impressed me.
And when you returned my purse, I thought you were going to finally say something to me, but you were interrupted by the cries of a lost little girl separated from her parents. And that grabbed my attention more than catching the purse thief. Without a momentâs hesitation, you walked away from your personal desires, trying to speak with me, in order to comfort that darling little girl. You scooped her up and held her warmly, patting her on the back gently as you calmed her down and located her parents.
Your selflessness struck me as something very uncommon on both of our worlds. So, I followed you for a few days and discovered that it wasnât a fluke. It was easy to see that you were indeed a sweet, sweet man. I just had to make you mine.
(Pause.)
No dear, that might be how itâs done on your planet, but on my world, when a cat-girl decides that youâre hers, she simply claims you.
(Pause.)
(Giggles.) Ok, thereâs a little more to it than that, but I can explain all of that later. For right now, you just need to know that I wanted you, I needed you, I fell in love with you, and I took you, possibly in that order. (Giggles.)
(Very softly and seductively.) Now just lay back and relax because Iâve spoken enough about all of that for right now. The drugs have worn off completely and I want to show you what youâre in for.
(There is a little bit of time between each thing she says as she softly does each thing she says.)
The head patsâŚ
The snugglesâŚ
The nuzzling into your neck with my nose while purringâŚ
Mmmmmmmmm, you smell so goodâŚ
The gentle nibbling on your neck right beneath your earâŚ
(Soft giggle.) Oh, you really liked that, didnât you?
The whispering into your ear about just how cute and adorable I find youâŚ
The caressing of your hair and cheek while I whisper in your earâŚ
And, of course, while I climb onto your body and lay myself gently on top of you, the frequent, loving⌠(Kisses.)
Are you thinking now that my kidnapping you isnât such a bad thing? (Soft laugh.)
(Pause.)
Yes, I know. It may be a gentle kidnapping, but itâs still kidnapping none-the-less. Youâre right. You are so right. I guess that means I should let you go and then turn myself in to the proper authorities to face my punishment.
Orrrrrrr. And hear me out on this one, you could acknowledge that A, I donât really care if Iâve broken any law. After all, Iâm a master thief. Iâve already broken several.
And B, if I turned myself in and let you go, youâd no longer get this (Kiss.) and this (Kiss.) and these (Kisses.)
Do you really want to give up all that and more simply because I didnât ask you beforehand to confirm that I knew youâd like it.
(Pause.)
Thatâs what I thought. Now, just relax, sweetie. Iâm about to show you just how great it is to be my most valued treasure.
(Kiss.)
2024.06.01 01:52 Trash_Tia Halfway through physics class, time stopped at 2:52pm.
âStop.â
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boyâs incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
Iâd never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
âMr Brighton.â
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. âCan I use the bathroom?â
The teacherâs answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dadâs age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
âMr Brighton.â Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. âCan I use the bathroom?â He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. âPlease?â
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
âMr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?â
âI didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?â
âYou will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.â
Roman made a snorting noise.
âWhat?â
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â Romanâs voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. âWhat do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?â
âMr Hemlock, please lower your voice.â
âWhy? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!â
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
âIs that clock broken?â Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
âCheck your phone, dumbass.â
âI broke my phone.â
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
âEverything is frozen,â She said, her voice shuddering. âIt's not just the clock.â
I waited for Romanâs response. For once, though, he was speechless.
âWell done, Imogen. That is correct.â Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guyâs wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
âFrom now on, you will stay inside this room.â He said. âIn case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.â
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Romanâs pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. âNow, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.â
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
âDo me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.â
âYou mean like, in a culty way?â Imogen whispered.
âObviously.â Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. âThis crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.â
âNo, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.â
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
âThe twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,â the teacher explained to us, âYou are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.â His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. âYour minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.â
âBut why?â Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brightonâs lip curled. âI would rather not answer that question.â
âBecause you're lonely.â Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
âYour wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.â
Mr Brightonâs expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. âYes.â The man nodded.
âI suppose you could say I am.â
âBut why us?!â Kaz hissed.
âBecause you are children.â Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Romanâs desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brightonâs shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
âYou are right,â the man said in a murmur, âI am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.â Reaching Romanâs desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
âCongratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.â
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
âWhat?â He spluttered. âYou trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?â
âStand up.â The teacher ordered.
âWhat if I don't?â
Mr Brightonâs expression didn't waver. âYou said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?â
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
âWhat are you planning on doing to me, old man?â
The teacher maintained his smile. âStand up straight, and close your mouth.â
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
âDo not fight me.â The teacher said calmly, âDo as you are told, and follow me.â
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
âI will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,â Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. âIf you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.â
He grabbed the boyâs shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.â He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
âThis guy is a certified nut.â He announced.
He turned towards us. âWhatever he's doing to Hemlock, weâre probably next.â
âHe stopped time.â I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. âHeâs capable of anything.â
âBut how did he stop time?â Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. âHe said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?â
âCheck his desk for a weapon!â Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. âThere's nothing here,â he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. âIt's justâŚtest papers.â Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
âHe's a fan of PokĂŠmon,â he said, âThere's a tonne of PokĂŠmon cards,â Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. âNo sign of a weapon, though.â
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. âThis could work. If we plunge it in his eye.â
âTry his laptop!â Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. âIt's locked.â
âLook harder!â Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
âI am!â
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
âFuck.â Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kazâs hands were shaking.
âMr Brightonâs got a hit list.â He whispered. âHe's going to kill us.â
âHow do you know that?â I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
âLook.â He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Romanâs cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
âBrightonâs got a hit liiiist,â Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, âAnd weâre all on it.â
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brightonâs fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
âWhat's wrong with you guys?â Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. âWhy don't you give me a smile?â
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brightonâs instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
âMr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.â he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
âWould anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?â
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
âSamuels. Are you all right?â
Kazâs smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. âUh, yeah.â He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. âYeah, I'm good.â
The teacherâs eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. âMr Samuels, you are sweating,â our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. âAre you feeling okay?â
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brightonâs lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. âGood!â He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. âIgnore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.â
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly⌠contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his âplanâ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking âskateboardâ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
âYo.â
Romanâs reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. âMr Hemlock will be rejoining us,â he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. âPlease make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.â
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
âWHATââ
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. âWhat did he do to you?â
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. âRelax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.â
âThen what was that yell?â Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. âYell?â
âYou yelled out,â Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromisedâ or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. âYou cried out when you first went in there,â he murmured, âSo, what was that?â
Something in Romanâs eyes darkened. âOh,â He said, his lip curling. âThat.â
Kazâs expression softened. He rested his hands on the boyâs shoulders. âYeah,â He whispered. âWhat did he do to you?â
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
âYou don't have to tell us, you know.â She said in a small voice. âIf it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk aboutââ
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
âAre you fucking serious?â
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guyâs goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
âYou seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
âThen why did you cry out?â Kaz demanded. âDid he hit you?â
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. âI'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.â
âSo, you cried out for no reason.â
âWhy are you covering for him?â Imogen poked his forehead. âAre you lobotomised?â
Roman wafted her hand away. âStop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.â He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
âI won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.â
âOkay, fine,â Kaz sighed. âJust answer one.â
âShoot.â
âWhen you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distressââ
âNot this again,â Roman groaned. âOf course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?â
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
âStop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,â he murmured, âBrighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.â Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. âI am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.â
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
âHand it over.â Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this⌠Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
âYou good, Christa?â
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
âGood. It's your turn.â
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
âI can already see her landing on one of my hotels.â Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. âAs the clear winner, I have a proposition.â
Ignoring him, I moved my pieceâ immediately landing on Park Place.
âI'll give you 500,â Roman announced, âIf you give up New York avenue.â
âThat's all I've got!â
Imogen nudged me. âDon't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.â
âOne thousand.â Roman waved the notes in my face.
âMy final offer.â
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
âNew York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
âAnd your pride.â
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. âCommunity chest.â Kaz picked up a card. âGo straight to jail.â*
Roman spluttered. âThat's karma,â he said, âFor stealing from the bank.â
âYou were stealing too!â
We had a plan.
We hadâŚ. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brightonâs laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what⌠what was this?
Kazâs earlier words hit me from months ago.
âMr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,â* he explained. âIf we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure weâll go back to normal.â
âOkay, and what if he dies and weâre *stuck?â* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
âI said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.â
Ren nodded slowly. âRight, and where exactly did you learn this information?â
âYou'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.â
âOkay.â Ren gritted his teeth. âSo, we just need to find a weapon, right?â
âAnd don't tell Hemlock,â Kaz rolled his eyes. âI don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and weâre screwed.â Kaz nodded to me, then the others. âKeep your mouths shut.â
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It feltâŚright.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Momâs face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just⌠lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Romanâs half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Romanâs gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
âFuck.â Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
âGet DOWN!â
I dropped onto my knees, crawling under a desk, the classroom exploding around me.
2:54.
Blood splattered the walls, and I was crawling in it, stained in my friends.
2:55.
I grabbed Mr Brighton's hand, squeezing for dear life.
Roman joined me, his trembling fingers feeling for a pulse.
A gunshot rang in my ears, rattling my skull.
When Roman went limp next to me, I wrapped my arms around my teacher.
âMr Brighton, say Stop.â
He was so coldâŚ
âMr Brighton! Take us back!â
Footsteps coming towards me.
2:56.
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I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boyâs incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
Iâd never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
âMr Brighton.â
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. âCan I use the bathroom?â
The teacherâs answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dadâs age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
âMr Brighton.â Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. âCan I use the bathroom?â He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. âPlease?â
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
âMr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?â
âI didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?â
âYou will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.â
Roman made a snorting noise.
âWhat?â
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â Romanâs voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. âWhat do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?â
âMr Hemlock, please lower your voice.â
âWhy? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!â
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
âIs that clock broken?â Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
âCheck your phone, dumbass.â
âI broke my phone.â
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
âEverything is frozen,â She said, her voice shuddering. âIt's not just the clock.â
I waited for Romanâs response. For once, though, he was speechless.
âWell done, Imogen. That is correct.â Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guyâs wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
âFrom now on, you will stay inside this room.â He said. âIn case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.â
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Romanâs pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. âNow, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.â
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
âDo me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.â
âYou mean like, in a culty way?â Imogen whispered.
âObviously.â Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. âThis crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.â
âNo, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.â
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
âThe twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,â the teacher explained to us, âYou are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.â His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. âYour minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.â
âBut why?â Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brightonâs lip curled. âI would rather not answer that question.â
âBecause you're lonely.â Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
âYour wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.â
Mr Brightonâs expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. âYes.â The man nodded.
âI suppose you could say I am.â
âBut why us?!â Kaz hissed.
âBecause you are children.â Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Romanâs desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brightonâs shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
âYou are right,â the man said in a murmur, âI am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.â Reaching Romanâs desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
âCongratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.â
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
âWhat?â He spluttered. âYou trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?â
âStand up.â The teacher ordered.
âWhat if I don't?â
Mr Brightonâs expression didn't waver. âYou said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?â
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
âWhat are you planning on doing to me, old man?â
The teacher maintained his smile. âStand up straight, and close your mouth.â
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
âDo not fight me.â The teacher said calmly, âDo as you are told, and follow me.â
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
âI will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,â Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. âIf you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.â
He grabbed the boyâs shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.â He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
âThis guy is a certified nut.â He announced.
He turned towards us. âWhatever he's doing to Hemlock, weâre probably next.â
âHe stopped time.â I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. âHeâs capable of anything.â
âBut how did he stop time?â Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. âHe said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?â
âCheck his desk for a weapon!â Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. âThere's nothing here,â he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. âIt's justâŚtest papers.â Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
âHe's a fan of PokĂŠmon,â he said, âThere's a tonne of PokĂŠmon cards,â Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. âNo sign of a weapon, though.â
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. âThis could work. If we plunge it in his eye.â
âTry his laptop!â Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. âIt's locked.â
âLook harder!â Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
âI am!â
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
âFuck.â Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kazâs hands were shaking.
âMr Brightonâs got a hit list.â He whispered. âHe's going to kill us.â
âHow do you know that?â I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
âLook.â He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Romanâs cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
âBrightonâs got a hit liiiist,â Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, âAnd weâre all on it.â
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brightonâs fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
âWhat's wrong with you guys?â Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. âWhy don't you give me a smile?â
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brightonâs instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
âMr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.â he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
âWould anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?â
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
âSamuels. Are you all right?â
Kazâs smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. âUh, yeah.â He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. âYeah, I'm good.â
The teacherâs eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. âMr Samuels, you are sweating,â our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. âAre you feeling okay?â
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brightonâs lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. âGood!â He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. âIgnore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.â
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly⌠contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his âplanâ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking âskateboardâ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
âYo.â
Romanâs reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. âMr Hemlock will be rejoining us,â he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. âPlease make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.â
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
âWHATââ
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. âWhat did he do to you?â
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. âRelax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.â
âThen what was that yell?â Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. âYell?â
âYou yelled out,â Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromisedâ or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. âYou cried out when you first went in there,â he murmured, âSo, what was that?â
Something in Romanâs eyes darkened. âOh,â He said, his lip curling. âThat.â
Kazâs expression softened. He rested his hands on the boyâs shoulders. âYeah,â He whispered. âWhat did he do to you?â
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
âYou don't have to tell us, you know.â She said in a small voice. âIf it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk aboutââ
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
âAre you fucking serious?â
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guyâs goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
âYou seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
âThen why did you cry out?â Kaz demanded. âDid he hit you?â
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. âI'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.â
âSo, you cried out for no reason.â
âWhy are you covering for him?â Imogen poked his forehead. âAre you lobotomised?â
Roman wafted her hand away. âStop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.â He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
âI won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.â
âOkay, fine,â Kaz sighed. âJust answer one.â
âShoot.â
âWhen you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distressââ
âNot this again,â Roman groaned. âOf course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?â
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
âStop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,â he murmured, âBrighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.â Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. âI am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.â
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
âHand it over.â Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this⌠Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
âYou good, Christa?â
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
âGood. It's your turn.â
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
âI can already see her landing on one of my hotels.â Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. âAs the clear winner, I have a proposition.â
Ignoring him, I moved my pieceâ immediately landing on Park Place.
âI'll give you 500,â Roman announced, âIf you give up New York avenue.â
âThat's all I've got!â
Imogen nudged me. âDon't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.â
âOne thousand.â Roman waved the notes in my face.
âMy final offer.â
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
âNew York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
âAnd your pride.â
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. âCommunity chest.â Kaz picked up a card. âGo straight to jail.â*
Roman spluttered. âThat's karma,â he said, âFor stealing from the bank.â
âYou were stealing too!â
We had a plan.
We hadâŚ. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brightonâs laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what⌠what was this?
Kazâs earlier words hit me from months ago.
âMr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,â* he explained. âIf we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure weâll go back to normal.â
âOkay, and what if he dies and weâre *stuck?â* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
âI said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.â
Ren nodded slowly. âRight, and where exactly did you learn this information?â
âYou'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.â
âOkay.â Ren gritted his teeth. âSo, we just need to find a weapon, right?â
âAnd don't tell Hemlock,â Kaz rolled his eyes. âI don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and weâre screwed.â Kaz nodded to me, then the others. âKeep your mouths shut.â
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It feltâŚright.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Momâs face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just⌠lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Romanâs half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Romanâs gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
âFuck.â Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
âGet DOWN!â
I dropped onto my knees, crawling under a desk, the classroom exploding around me.
2:54.
Blood splattered the walls, and I was crawling in it, stained in my friends.
2:55.
I grabbed Mr Brighton's hand, squeezing for dear life.
Roman joined me, his trembling fingers feeling for a pulse.
A gunshot rang in my ears, rattling my skull.
When Roman went limp next to me, I wrapped my arms around my teacher.
âMr Brighton, say Stop.â
He was so coldâŚ
âMr Brighton! Take us back!â
Footsteps coming towards me.
2:56.
2024.06.01 00:22 AngleObjective8350 A4A, To catch a Kat, Hypnosis, strangers to Family, Sleepaid, Captured Listener, Caretaker Speaker, Teenage Listener,
[Steady beeping sound]
[Window Opens]
[Listener climbs through it. Walks across the room.]
[Window slams shut. Multiple locks around the room engage.]
[Beeping stops.]
Do you know how rescuers save a feral momma cat- Ah! Ah. Put. The Knife. Down. Your claws wonât help you here Kitten. Youâll just find yourself in an even more stressful situation. Hiss and spit all you want. But donât scratch, and especially donât bite. Got it?
Hmph. Youâre not moving so Iâm going to assume that if I stay over here Iâm safe. Does that sound fair to you? [Sarcastic] Chatty, arenât you? Well luckily for you I can talk for the two of us. [Sits down] Look, Iâm sitting down now. All nice and relaxed. Iâm not going anywhere. And neither are you. Especially if you keep standing all rigid like that. We have all the time in the world to sit and get to know each other a little better. Okay?
Iâll take your silence as a yes. As I was saying. The best way to rescue a feral momma cat is to catch all her kittens first. The kittens are easier to find and arenât as fast. Preferring to hide and get out of reach if they can. The Momma however would rather lead you away from the kittens and as you so pointedly demonstrated, has the claws and teeth to defend herself.
To catch the Momma, you need one of her kittens. Put the kittens in their own cage, and prop up a larger one on top of that. When she comes to investigate their cries, drop the cage. The kittens canât run off and are protected when the momma inevitably freaks out, and the Momma gets caught. Ready to receive medical treatment, be spayed- [Listener shifts back]
[Brief pause]
âŚAll that Jazz. Obviously that last one doesnât apply to you. You are very much human. But the comparison is apt. Far more apt than the âRats in the wallsâ that the paper has decided would be a fitting name for your gang. With you as the âRat Kingâ I think. Didnât really read much past that once I realized they were sensationalizing what you were. And what an awful name to call someone too. A âRat King.â Youâre not two kids under that cloak are you?
It matters because the name doesnât fit unless youâre a bunch of people either stuck or working together. Thatâs why its an insult. Look. I can see youâre about to freak out. The kid youâre looking for is fine. In fact, [Rustles around] I think I have a remote- ah! [Clicks] There they are-
[Listener jumped when the TV turned on and threw a knife at it. Shattering the monitor.]
Ohkay, nothing fragile around you then. Glad damaging the screen doesnât wreck the actual device. Anyway, looking past the shattered glass, what can you see? Well. You threw the knife at the picture of your own kid but- oh! Nevermind. There he is. Thatâs a playroom, by the way. In case youâve never seen one. Depending on your behavior you might join him there. You and all the other little rascals weâre rounding up right now.
Yes yes your whole operation has been found out. Once we found one of your bolt holes, it was easy to find the rest. Since, you literally left instructions for the kids to find the other ones. Rotations. Backup plans. Weâll catch all your kittens in no time. Just wait and see.
[Listener charges at him]
[He gets up. Scuffling sounds. Primarily wrists cracking against wrists as he deflects the listeners blows]
[As theyâre fighting] Right! Right right right I forgot. My bad. I should have gained your trust first before dangling the rest of the kids in front of you. Thatâs on me. Thing is- [Catches Listener by the wrist, twists them around, and holds them with their arms pinned to their back] Stealing from the rich means it was only a matter of time before someone smart enough or angry enough tried to smoke you out. Really should have stuck to raiding the middle class I mean, less bang for your buck but at least they donât have the resources- or the ego- to track down who dared to steal from them. Be glad it was me who caught you, and not someone more sadistic.
[Listener struggles. Trying to pull away.]
Uh hahaha, no. My dear. Youâre not getting away. Not this time. Not until I decide its safe for me to let you go. That you wonât attack me, my staff, or yourself in your panic to get out of here. And Iâll know you wonât do that when you stop lashing out like a cat and start behaving like a human. Got it?
[Listener goes limp]
Good. Now. Iâm going to take the knife. You are going to sit. And we are going to talk. Okay? Like two human beings. Understood?
Use your voice.
Good. [Takes the knife. Sheathes it. Ties some string around it so it canât be drawn again.] That should keep your claws tucked away without removing them entirely. Iâm not that cruel. Here. You can even have it back- ah! But it is to stay tied into that sheath and tucked away, got it? Good. Here you go.
Now sit.
[Listener sits]
Good Kitten. [He sits]
Good question. What do I want? I guess my poor bleeding heart couldnât handle the idea of my fellows catching and torturing a literal bunch of kids.
Oh technically youâre not a kid. But just because youâre the oldest and therefore their de facto caretaker and ringleader does not actually make you an adult. Deep down under that hostile exterior is a kid just as frightened as the rest of-
[Listener scrambles to the other side of the couch in a panic]
Ah. [Sympathetic] I struck a nerve, didnât I? I didnât mean- [Catches himself. Clears throat. Reasserts himself] Anyway, that was easy to draw out now wasnât it? Its always sad when a cat has to care for kittens when she is barely more than a kitten herself. At least you, a fellow bleeding heart, chose to care for these kittens on your own, right? Riiiight?
Okay good. See? Weâre making progress already.
[With humor] Suspicious as ever. With training you to be human of course. The children of your little gang wonât need much besides getting used to the idea of sitting somewhat still and paying attention. Then we can just give them a normal education like the rest of their peers. You on the other hand, Feral Momma that you are, need some special attention and some special tools to help you learn to live among polite society.
Iâm giving you your life back is what I mean. Or rather, Iâm giving you the life you should have had in the first place. Better. Even. I can and will find you and your friends-
No. As of this moment theyâre your friends. Not your kids. Got it?
Hmph. Weâll have to work on that. Much, much farther down the road though. As I was saying. You will have the best education anyone can have. Any hobbies or fields that pique your interest? You will have all the resources to explore it. Youâll never have to worry about money or food or clothes. Iâll make sure you have all you need and more.
Because I want to earn your trust. Not that I have any illusions of gaining it anytime soon, but I want to establish a baseline going forward. If I break this most fundamental part of our relationship, I no longer deserve your trust. That doesnât mean Iâll give you all the candy that you want. But youâll never go to bed hungry either. How does that sound?
No catch. Or- well. Hm. I suppose there is one thing. [Opens a box] See this? It's funny, actually. Your little thief tried to snatch exactly this when he fell into my trap. Sure its a pretty enough little trinket. Pawning it off would have gotten you mmm, maybe a week- Ah. Iâm guessing by your expression it would be less. Just how many kids are in your gang anyway? ⌠Kitten. How many kids. Are in your Gang. [Sighs] You donât have to answer. Its clear enough already you bit off way more than you could chew in that regard.
Weâll deal with that another time. For now, I want you to look at me and more importantly back to my pocketwatch. You see, being gold plated and embedded with jewels makes it worth a lot. But thatâs not why I bought it. Thatâs not why any of my peers were trying to buy it either.
Its easy enough to con the rich. Sell them just the right story and theyâll buy anything you offer to them. The smart ones check the backstory. And oh let me tell you this has gone on some adventures indeed.
This, when held, gives its wielder the power to hypnotize.
Trick shows? I donât- ah. Street Lingo. No. Not at all like that. I wonât wave this in front of your face and order you to make a fool of yourself. This is the real deal, my Dear. At its baseline, I can make you fall into a pseudo trance. Just dazed and unaware until something snaps you out of it. Handy, for a thief like you. Important for an emergency I think. In case you get into any real trouble. But with practice, and a target paying attention, I can make you fall into a real trance. Limp, and unaware, and unable to wake up without my say so.
With experimentation and skill? Well. I know you read papers too. That Mr. Maestro is a real scary guy huh? His poor assistant. I wonder who she was before he got his hands on her. Who any of his servants were, before they fell under his gaze. You donât need to worry about that though. Youâll remember, and I wonât change a single thing about you. I promise. I wonât even make you be obedient with one, single exception. That youâll come when called. And even that will have caveats. Okay?
Good question. Iâm going to use this to slip past your guard and teach you how to relax. And after I teach you how to relax, Iâll teach you how to trust. And then except for any particularly unhealthy behaviors you struggle to unlearn and with your permission, I wonât have to use it ever again now will I?
Yes. Outside of âDonât act like a feral animalâ this is my only condition for seeing your gang. Is that amenable to you? [Before the listener can panic] You can take your time deciding, by the way. I donât want to throw you into a panic and-
Okay then. We can start tomorrow-
Are you sure? You can take as much time as you need to get ready.
Very well then. Get comfortable. Like youâre about to go to sleep.
No, you donât need to look at me. Or the pocket watch. You just need to be able to hear the sound of my voice. If you donât think you can get comfortable enough- I know this is a strange place so, someone like you would probably struggle to feel safe enough to sleep here- donât worry about it. Thatâs part of the watchâs power. Its safer and easier for you to be prepared, however. Brute forcing it has the potential to do some damage.
[Listener shifts around, getting comfortable]
You ready? Donât need blankets or anything? No? Okay then.
[tone that indicates the watch has activated]
I want you to focus on⌠hm. Letâs see here. I can see your eyes are open so, pay attention to the area right in front of you.
Yes this is part of the hypnosis. Iâm trying to teach you something okay? Just relax and follow my lead. Donât second guess. Just do. Got it? Now, where was IâŚ
Focus on the area right in front of you. Youâve probably never seen it before, so this should be pretty easy to grasp what Iâm trying to say.
I want you to investigate it closely. Really look at all its little nooks and crannies. All its little details. Every imperfection you can see. What is its texture? How do you think it would feel to run your fingers over it? What is its smell.
If you can, I want you to reach out and touch the object. Lightly. Carefully. Just enough to get a sense of its texture. Really pay attention to how it feels against your skin.
This is called Mindfulness. Its a skill you will find very useful day to day as we go forward. Even outside of hypnosis. Let me teach you why.
I want you to look at your hand now. Both of them, if you want. But its better to direct all of your attention to one.
Easy, easy. I can see you getting mad. Its okay. Donât beat yourself up. Or you can be mad at me thatâs fine. Everytime you find your thoughts drifting away from the object of your attention though, I want you to bring them right back okay? Like⌠sliding a moving object across a desk. You do it often enough, it becomes routine. Now, back to your hand.
Look at your fingers. See the way they hang when you hold your hand up? How the weight of the tips affect each joint, up to your palm? Notice all the little lines. The swirls of your fingerprints. The boxes made by each tiny crease. Did you ever notice that before now, I wonder. How your fingers are divided by boxes within boxes below the first joint. All the way down to the individual cells most likely.
Now lets look at your palm. Its so different from your fingers isnât it? While your fingers have some wobbly lines, theyâre still straight and are either horizontal or vertical. Not your palm though. The lines on your palm go all over the place. All kind of angles, and never straight either. There are even swirls, and circles if you look close enough. Just like your fingerprints.
Now lets pull back, and look at the front of your hand as a whole. Notice the structure of it. All the joints. Wiggle your fingers for me, will you? Did you ever notice before, that thereâs a sensation as you move your fingers? That if you pay attention to a specific digit, you can feel the individual muscles responding to your call? Moving under, and against your skin?
This is called Body Scanning. See, your brain receives input from your body all the time. You just donât notice because your focus, that key component of mindfulness we learned earlier, was elsewhere. On more important things than the sensation of your fingers moving. But now they have all your attention and it puts that sensation under a microscope. Notice how you can only focus on one finger at a time, though. You canât feel each individual muscle if youâre paying attention to the whole hand.
So it is with your whole body. If all your focus is on your stomach, you wonât notice a problem with your heart. If your focus is only ever focused outside, you wonât notice something wrong inside.
You need to give everything its due. Its own time. Its own place. But weâll worry about that later. When youâre awake. When you feel safe.
For now, Direct your attention to your head. Your jaw. Let it relax so your teeth are not tight against each other. And, as with mindfulness, if you notice it tensing up again just let it relax, and move on.
Down, down to your neck- [Sound distortion as the listener drifts under hypnosis] Its okay to close your eyes. Its all part of the point. Let the muscles in your neck go limp. Feel free to shift if your head goes in an uncomfortable angle. [Listener shifts] Very good. Good Kitten. Good Kat. This next bit is trickier. Tense up your shoulders, all the way to your ears. Feel the muscles in them? Now let them slump. All the way down. Let your body tilt and fall, however it may. If you notice a muscle tensing up to hold your position, relax it. Let your body go completely limp on the couch. You are stable. You might feel strange like this. And its okay. This is what its like to be truly relaxed. To go to sleep.
Focus now on your breathing. How the fresh air goes in your nose, down your throat, fills your lungs. Your lungs have a top and bottom. As well as left to right. Take a deep breath. As deep as you can go. Slow. Steady. Like working a bellows. Notice how the top part of your lungs fills first, and then the lower part? And again when your lungs empty. The top part empties first, and then the lower part.
In. Out. Slow. Steady. Top. Bottom. Full. Empty. I want you to keep breathing, just like that.
[Second tone plays, deeper this time]
And just like that, you are under hypnosis. I want you to repeat this exercise whenever you need to relax. For sleep. Just to veg. Whenever you feel comfortable and safe enough to do so. Later, when I have your trust, I will teach you how to do a modified version of this exercise in times of crisis. So you can keep a cool head.
But not now. Now I want you to learn how to sleep in this strange place. Sleep is all too important to managing stress. Something Iâm sure you are familiar with. Now more so than ever most likely.
We can change the trigger to one of your personal choice later, but for now⌠[Three musical tones, different from the watch, going down. I prefer Xylophone] That sound indicates its time to do the relaxing routine We just practiced, and to go to sleep.
When you do sleep, it will be deep, and restful. [Brief pause as he thinks. Add whatever âIâm thinkingâ tick here you want] Your mind will sort through the events of the day, and whatever is bothering you. Whatever you think is important. Even if its just something you strongly desire. You will wake thinking of it.
The second trigger I am going to teach you is to come when I call. When I, and only I, say âQuoth the Ravenâ Assuming you arenât in the middle of something important. If there is no emergency. If the thing can wait until the next day, wrap up what you are doing and come to me right away. I wonât always use it when I want to see you. That will be your own choice. But when I have something to teach you, or we need to have another session. I will use it.
I want you to remember this session. What Iâve said. What the triggers are. And the caveats. I want you to remember how you got here. Why you came. The talk we had that ended in you agreeing to this.
When I snap my fingers, you will go to sleep. You will have the deepest, most restful sleep you have ever had. As long as you need. As deep as you need. And you will process all the stress you have experienced up to this point that you can without being in distress. All the small scares. The little moments where you were proud. Everything small that youâve been too busy to acknowledge had an effect on you.
When you wake, you will remember you are deep within my mansion. You will know that you have been moved to a different room- your room- and that you have been promised safety.
When you wake, you will know that your gang, your friends, are safe or are going to be safe, and that they will be kept nearby. You will remember that so long as you behave like a human, and attend these sessions, you will get to see them. Protect them. Play with them. Teach them.
When you wake, there will most likely be a doctor by your side. Follow his or her instructions as it relates to your checkup. If you feel uncomfortable, say so. There will be a member of my staff observing, and they will intervene if need be.
There will be clean, warm clothes for you to wear. And hot, fresh food for you to eat as soon as you wake up. When your checkup is done, and youâve eaten and prepared for the day, you can go see your friends.
I am going to snap my fingers in three⌠two⌠one⌠Sleep.
[Snaps]
End Audio Script. This was inspired by Jouska's recent hypnosis videos, Dr. Who's The Empy Child, and especially a recent trend of hypnosis videos I've seen around where the listeners free will is steam rolled and I personally don't like that. So here's a version where that doesn't happen.
If you want to record and make this into a public video please let me know! I would love to view the finished product and knowing what it looks like will help me to write more in this series in the future.
Do NOT edit, and do NOT take Kitten as suggestive. Its a referral to the characters age and behavior, not an attempt to flirt. This is a parent child relationship. Nothing more.
submitted by AngleObjective8350 to ASMRScriptHaven [link] [comments]
[Window Opens]
[Listener climbs through it. Walks across the room.]
[Window slams shut. Multiple locks around the room engage.]
[Beeping stops.]
Do you know how rescuers save a feral momma cat- Ah! Ah. Put. The Knife. Down. Your claws wonât help you here Kitten. Youâll just find yourself in an even more stressful situation. Hiss and spit all you want. But donât scratch, and especially donât bite. Got it?
Hmph. Youâre not moving so Iâm going to assume that if I stay over here Iâm safe. Does that sound fair to you? [Sarcastic] Chatty, arenât you? Well luckily for you I can talk for the two of us. [Sits down] Look, Iâm sitting down now. All nice and relaxed. Iâm not going anywhere. And neither are you. Especially if you keep standing all rigid like that. We have all the time in the world to sit and get to know each other a little better. Okay?
Iâll take your silence as a yes. As I was saying. The best way to rescue a feral momma cat is to catch all her kittens first. The kittens are easier to find and arenât as fast. Preferring to hide and get out of reach if they can. The Momma however would rather lead you away from the kittens and as you so pointedly demonstrated, has the claws and teeth to defend herself.
To catch the Momma, you need one of her kittens. Put the kittens in their own cage, and prop up a larger one on top of that. When she comes to investigate their cries, drop the cage. The kittens canât run off and are protected when the momma inevitably freaks out, and the Momma gets caught. Ready to receive medical treatment, be spayed- [Listener shifts back]
[Brief pause]
âŚAll that Jazz. Obviously that last one doesnât apply to you. You are very much human. But the comparison is apt. Far more apt than the âRats in the wallsâ that the paper has decided would be a fitting name for your gang. With you as the âRat Kingâ I think. Didnât really read much past that once I realized they were sensationalizing what you were. And what an awful name to call someone too. A âRat King.â Youâre not two kids under that cloak are you?
It matters because the name doesnât fit unless youâre a bunch of people either stuck or working together. Thatâs why its an insult. Look. I can see youâre about to freak out. The kid youâre looking for is fine. In fact, [Rustles around] I think I have a remote- ah! [Clicks] There they are-
[Listener jumped when the TV turned on and threw a knife at it. Shattering the monitor.]
Ohkay, nothing fragile around you then. Glad damaging the screen doesnât wreck the actual device. Anyway, looking past the shattered glass, what can you see? Well. You threw the knife at the picture of your own kid but- oh! Nevermind. There he is. Thatâs a playroom, by the way. In case youâve never seen one. Depending on your behavior you might join him there. You and all the other little rascals weâre rounding up right now.
Yes yes your whole operation has been found out. Once we found one of your bolt holes, it was easy to find the rest. Since, you literally left instructions for the kids to find the other ones. Rotations. Backup plans. Weâll catch all your kittens in no time. Just wait and see.
[Listener charges at him]
[He gets up. Scuffling sounds. Primarily wrists cracking against wrists as he deflects the listeners blows]
[As theyâre fighting] Right! Right right right I forgot. My bad. I should have gained your trust first before dangling the rest of the kids in front of you. Thatâs on me. Thing is- [Catches Listener by the wrist, twists them around, and holds them with their arms pinned to their back] Stealing from the rich means it was only a matter of time before someone smart enough or angry enough tried to smoke you out. Really should have stuck to raiding the middle class I mean, less bang for your buck but at least they donât have the resources- or the ego- to track down who dared to steal from them. Be glad it was me who caught you, and not someone more sadistic.
[Listener struggles. Trying to pull away.]
Uh hahaha, no. My dear. Youâre not getting away. Not this time. Not until I decide its safe for me to let you go. That you wonât attack me, my staff, or yourself in your panic to get out of here. And Iâll know you wonât do that when you stop lashing out like a cat and start behaving like a human. Got it?
[Listener goes limp]
Good. Now. Iâm going to take the knife. You are going to sit. And we are going to talk. Okay? Like two human beings. Understood?
Use your voice.
Good. [Takes the knife. Sheathes it. Ties some string around it so it canât be drawn again.] That should keep your claws tucked away without removing them entirely. Iâm not that cruel. Here. You can even have it back- ah! But it is to stay tied into that sheath and tucked away, got it? Good. Here you go.
Now sit.
[Listener sits]
Good Kitten. [He sits]
Good question. What do I want? I guess my poor bleeding heart couldnât handle the idea of my fellows catching and torturing a literal bunch of kids.
Oh technically youâre not a kid. But just because youâre the oldest and therefore their de facto caretaker and ringleader does not actually make you an adult. Deep down under that hostile exterior is a kid just as frightened as the rest of-
[Listener scrambles to the other side of the couch in a panic]
Ah. [Sympathetic] I struck a nerve, didnât I? I didnât mean- [Catches himself. Clears throat. Reasserts himself] Anyway, that was easy to draw out now wasnât it? Its always sad when a cat has to care for kittens when she is barely more than a kitten herself. At least you, a fellow bleeding heart, chose to care for these kittens on your own, right? Riiiight?
Okay good. See? Weâre making progress already.
[With humor] Suspicious as ever. With training you to be human of course. The children of your little gang wonât need much besides getting used to the idea of sitting somewhat still and paying attention. Then we can just give them a normal education like the rest of their peers. You on the other hand, Feral Momma that you are, need some special attention and some special tools to help you learn to live among polite society.
Iâm giving you your life back is what I mean. Or rather, Iâm giving you the life you should have had in the first place. Better. Even. I can and will find you and your friends-
No. As of this moment theyâre your friends. Not your kids. Got it?
Hmph. Weâll have to work on that. Much, much farther down the road though. As I was saying. You will have the best education anyone can have. Any hobbies or fields that pique your interest? You will have all the resources to explore it. Youâll never have to worry about money or food or clothes. Iâll make sure you have all you need and more.
Because I want to earn your trust. Not that I have any illusions of gaining it anytime soon, but I want to establish a baseline going forward. If I break this most fundamental part of our relationship, I no longer deserve your trust. That doesnât mean Iâll give you all the candy that you want. But youâll never go to bed hungry either. How does that sound?
No catch. Or- well. Hm. I suppose there is one thing. [Opens a box] See this? It's funny, actually. Your little thief tried to snatch exactly this when he fell into my trap. Sure its a pretty enough little trinket. Pawning it off would have gotten you mmm, maybe a week- Ah. Iâm guessing by your expression it would be less. Just how many kids are in your gang anyway? ⌠Kitten. How many kids. Are in your Gang. [Sighs] You donât have to answer. Its clear enough already you bit off way more than you could chew in that regard.
Weâll deal with that another time. For now, I want you to look at me and more importantly back to my pocketwatch. You see, being gold plated and embedded with jewels makes it worth a lot. But thatâs not why I bought it. Thatâs not why any of my peers were trying to buy it either.
Its easy enough to con the rich. Sell them just the right story and theyâll buy anything you offer to them. The smart ones check the backstory. And oh let me tell you this has gone on some adventures indeed.
This, when held, gives its wielder the power to hypnotize.
Trick shows? I donât- ah. Street Lingo. No. Not at all like that. I wonât wave this in front of your face and order you to make a fool of yourself. This is the real deal, my Dear. At its baseline, I can make you fall into a pseudo trance. Just dazed and unaware until something snaps you out of it. Handy, for a thief like you. Important for an emergency I think. In case you get into any real trouble. But with practice, and a target paying attention, I can make you fall into a real trance. Limp, and unaware, and unable to wake up without my say so.
With experimentation and skill? Well. I know you read papers too. That Mr. Maestro is a real scary guy huh? His poor assistant. I wonder who she was before he got his hands on her. Who any of his servants were, before they fell under his gaze. You donât need to worry about that though. Youâll remember, and I wonât change a single thing about you. I promise. I wonât even make you be obedient with one, single exception. That youâll come when called. And even that will have caveats. Okay?
Good question. Iâm going to use this to slip past your guard and teach you how to relax. And after I teach you how to relax, Iâll teach you how to trust. And then except for any particularly unhealthy behaviors you struggle to unlearn and with your permission, I wonât have to use it ever again now will I?
Yes. Outside of âDonât act like a feral animalâ this is my only condition for seeing your gang. Is that amenable to you? [Before the listener can panic] You can take your time deciding, by the way. I donât want to throw you into a panic and-
Okay then. We can start tomorrow-
Are you sure? You can take as much time as you need to get ready.
Very well then. Get comfortable. Like youâre about to go to sleep.
No, you donât need to look at me. Or the pocket watch. You just need to be able to hear the sound of my voice. If you donât think you can get comfortable enough- I know this is a strange place so, someone like you would probably struggle to feel safe enough to sleep here- donât worry about it. Thatâs part of the watchâs power. Its safer and easier for you to be prepared, however. Brute forcing it has the potential to do some damage.
[Listener shifts around, getting comfortable]
You ready? Donât need blankets or anything? No? Okay then.
[tone that indicates the watch has activated]
I want you to focus on⌠hm. Letâs see here. I can see your eyes are open so, pay attention to the area right in front of you.
Yes this is part of the hypnosis. Iâm trying to teach you something okay? Just relax and follow my lead. Donât second guess. Just do. Got it? Now, where was IâŚ
Focus on the area right in front of you. Youâve probably never seen it before, so this should be pretty easy to grasp what Iâm trying to say.
I want you to investigate it closely. Really look at all its little nooks and crannies. All its little details. Every imperfection you can see. What is its texture? How do you think it would feel to run your fingers over it? What is its smell.
If you can, I want you to reach out and touch the object. Lightly. Carefully. Just enough to get a sense of its texture. Really pay attention to how it feels against your skin.
This is called Mindfulness. Its a skill you will find very useful day to day as we go forward. Even outside of hypnosis. Let me teach you why.
I want you to look at your hand now. Both of them, if you want. But its better to direct all of your attention to one.
Easy, easy. I can see you getting mad. Its okay. Donât beat yourself up. Or you can be mad at me thatâs fine. Everytime you find your thoughts drifting away from the object of your attention though, I want you to bring them right back okay? Like⌠sliding a moving object across a desk. You do it often enough, it becomes routine. Now, back to your hand.
Look at your fingers. See the way they hang when you hold your hand up? How the weight of the tips affect each joint, up to your palm? Notice all the little lines. The swirls of your fingerprints. The boxes made by each tiny crease. Did you ever notice that before now, I wonder. How your fingers are divided by boxes within boxes below the first joint. All the way down to the individual cells most likely.
Now lets look at your palm. Its so different from your fingers isnât it? While your fingers have some wobbly lines, theyâre still straight and are either horizontal or vertical. Not your palm though. The lines on your palm go all over the place. All kind of angles, and never straight either. There are even swirls, and circles if you look close enough. Just like your fingerprints.
Now lets pull back, and look at the front of your hand as a whole. Notice the structure of it. All the joints. Wiggle your fingers for me, will you? Did you ever notice before, that thereâs a sensation as you move your fingers? That if you pay attention to a specific digit, you can feel the individual muscles responding to your call? Moving under, and against your skin?
This is called Body Scanning. See, your brain receives input from your body all the time. You just donât notice because your focus, that key component of mindfulness we learned earlier, was elsewhere. On more important things than the sensation of your fingers moving. But now they have all your attention and it puts that sensation under a microscope. Notice how you can only focus on one finger at a time, though. You canât feel each individual muscle if youâre paying attention to the whole hand.
So it is with your whole body. If all your focus is on your stomach, you wonât notice a problem with your heart. If your focus is only ever focused outside, you wonât notice something wrong inside.
You need to give everything its due. Its own time. Its own place. But weâll worry about that later. When youâre awake. When you feel safe.
For now, Direct your attention to your head. Your jaw. Let it relax so your teeth are not tight against each other. And, as with mindfulness, if you notice it tensing up again just let it relax, and move on.
Down, down to your neck- [Sound distortion as the listener drifts under hypnosis] Its okay to close your eyes. Its all part of the point. Let the muscles in your neck go limp. Feel free to shift if your head goes in an uncomfortable angle. [Listener shifts] Very good. Good Kitten. Good Kat. This next bit is trickier. Tense up your shoulders, all the way to your ears. Feel the muscles in them? Now let them slump. All the way down. Let your body tilt and fall, however it may. If you notice a muscle tensing up to hold your position, relax it. Let your body go completely limp on the couch. You are stable. You might feel strange like this. And its okay. This is what its like to be truly relaxed. To go to sleep.
Focus now on your breathing. How the fresh air goes in your nose, down your throat, fills your lungs. Your lungs have a top and bottom. As well as left to right. Take a deep breath. As deep as you can go. Slow. Steady. Like working a bellows. Notice how the top part of your lungs fills first, and then the lower part? And again when your lungs empty. The top part empties first, and then the lower part.
In. Out. Slow. Steady. Top. Bottom. Full. Empty. I want you to keep breathing, just like that.
[Second tone plays, deeper this time]
And just like that, you are under hypnosis. I want you to repeat this exercise whenever you need to relax. For sleep. Just to veg. Whenever you feel comfortable and safe enough to do so. Later, when I have your trust, I will teach you how to do a modified version of this exercise in times of crisis. So you can keep a cool head.
But not now. Now I want you to learn how to sleep in this strange place. Sleep is all too important to managing stress. Something Iâm sure you are familiar with. Now more so than ever most likely.
We can change the trigger to one of your personal choice later, but for now⌠[Three musical tones, different from the watch, going down. I prefer Xylophone] That sound indicates its time to do the relaxing routine We just practiced, and to go to sleep.
When you do sleep, it will be deep, and restful. [Brief pause as he thinks. Add whatever âIâm thinkingâ tick here you want] Your mind will sort through the events of the day, and whatever is bothering you. Whatever you think is important. Even if its just something you strongly desire. You will wake thinking of it.
The second trigger I am going to teach you is to come when I call. When I, and only I, say âQuoth the Ravenâ Assuming you arenât in the middle of something important. If there is no emergency. If the thing can wait until the next day, wrap up what you are doing and come to me right away. I wonât always use it when I want to see you. That will be your own choice. But when I have something to teach you, or we need to have another session. I will use it.
I want you to remember this session. What Iâve said. What the triggers are. And the caveats. I want you to remember how you got here. Why you came. The talk we had that ended in you agreeing to this.
When I snap my fingers, you will go to sleep. You will have the deepest, most restful sleep you have ever had. As long as you need. As deep as you need. And you will process all the stress you have experienced up to this point that you can without being in distress. All the small scares. The little moments where you were proud. Everything small that youâve been too busy to acknowledge had an effect on you.
When you wake, you will remember you are deep within my mansion. You will know that you have been moved to a different room- your room- and that you have been promised safety.
When you wake, you will know that your gang, your friends, are safe or are going to be safe, and that they will be kept nearby. You will remember that so long as you behave like a human, and attend these sessions, you will get to see them. Protect them. Play with them. Teach them.
When you wake, there will most likely be a doctor by your side. Follow his or her instructions as it relates to your checkup. If you feel uncomfortable, say so. There will be a member of my staff observing, and they will intervene if need be.
There will be clean, warm clothes for you to wear. And hot, fresh food for you to eat as soon as you wake up. When your checkup is done, and youâve eaten and prepared for the day, you can go see your friends.
I am going to snap my fingers in three⌠two⌠one⌠Sleep.
[Snaps]
End Audio Script. This was inspired by Jouska's recent hypnosis videos, Dr. Who's The Empy Child, and especially a recent trend of hypnosis videos I've seen around where the listeners free will is steam rolled and I personally don't like that. So here's a version where that doesn't happen.
If you want to record and make this into a public video please let me know! I would love to view the finished product and knowing what it looks like will help me to write more in this series in the future.
Do NOT edit, and do NOT take Kitten as suggestive. Its a referral to the characters age and behavior, not an attempt to flirt. This is a parent child relationship. Nothing more.
2024.05.31 22:20 OneChrononOfPlancks A long overdue, and very heartfelt letter from Cleveland Booker, to Archivist Hy'Rell at the Eternal Gallery and Archive. (disco finale spoilers)
To: Hy'Rell [hy.rell@archive.ega.mw.edu]
From: Burnham-Booker, Cleveland "Book" III [book@michaelburnhamranch.sanc4.ufp]
Date: April 25, 3196
Dear Hy'Rell,
I hope you and your fellow archivists at the Eternal Gallery and Archive are well. I apologize for my delay in writing to you, it has been a wild five years since our encounter in the Badlands.
As you've surely heard by now, Michael and Discovery were successful in our mission to track down the Pro--- Uhh, the "Pro"-fessional-strength fertilizer formula referred to in the set of clues we were following.
Ultimately, Michael made contact with the, uh, original manufacturers, and decided that the fertilizer was too powerful to be left in the hands of any single... Gardener. And, the Federation has determined to restrict all accumulated knowledge about it, which should last at least until the survivors on Ruhn's Breen Dreadnought make it back to local space in around 15 years.
I apologize that I can't give more detail, but Starfleet has assigned its highest level of regulatory classification to this information, which I'm told in no uncertain terms means I am only allowed to allude to it in veiled references and innuendo, and only then once I am fairly confident the other party is already in-the-know.
I understand following the death of Ruhn, that Tahal and the other four Primarchs made overtures to repair their government's relationship with your Eternal Archive... Perhaps you will receive more data from them when the time comes.
I must admit I was originally hoping to use the... Umm... "Fertilizer" to restore the lost world of Kwejian. Although I know it could never bring back the people themselves, or the lost aspects of our culture, for a while it seemed there was the capacity to restore the Kwejian ecosystem, the World Tree, the interconnectedness and the diversity of Kwejian life; The life itself.
In a way, that would have preserved a great deal of our cultural identity, as an empathic people we always strove to remain connected with nature, a part of it. And it formed us, as well. Also, it would have been a wonderful (if bittersweet) homecoming, of sorts, for myself and the other surviving Kwejian refugees scattered about the Galaxy. sigh. Oh well.
Michael has set up a ranch-- That is, we've set up a ranch on Sanctuary IV, and I've planted the first of the two World Root cuttings in Michael's back garden.
This was actually our third attempt to plant the first cutting-- We first tried four years ago in 3191, but had to abort the attempt because of our fur-baby Grudge, "the Queen" (an Earth Maine Coon cat, with Augment DNA, descended from escaped experimental subjects from Earth's 21st century).
Grudge and Michael got along well, and Grudge adapted nicely when Michael took a leave of absence from Kovich to come make our home together here. (I believe Nhan was assigned as interim Captain to work with Commander Rayner while Michael was away.) But things changed for the worse once Michael became pregnant with our son, Leto... Grudge was not taking that very well, at all.
She systematically dismantled the handmade bassinet three times before we switched to programmable matter with a force-field, and this of course only angered Grudge further. She then turned her attention toward the garden-- Michael's Kaminaran Fredalias were a total loss, but luckily we managed to save the world root cutting in time while Grudge was distracted wrestling with the Reticulan Beauregard Weepers.
It took me three hours to remove all the weeper spines and to heal her acid burns from the weepers' digestive fluid. You can just imagine the difficulty of keeping a Maine Coon still for the dermal regenerator, I was scratched to hell. Another whole round for follicular stimulation was out of the question, so I just left the bald spots in her fur to regrow naturally. Served her right.
I did try to calm her down through the "new baby" anxiety; To reason with her using my Kwejian empathic abilities, but all she sent back was images and scents of blood, and lots and lots of fish. We replicated a lot of fish that year, to placate her, until she learned to hop on the table and replicate them herself.
We're keeping the second world root cutting in a portable transporter buffer, for safekeeping, but we still have the Tuli wood box on proud display! We keep our tricom badges in there whenever we're home, and Michael puts her wedding ring in when we're doing chores. Grudge used to like to knock it off the counter over and over, but eventually she got bored of it when we programmed the transporter to replace it instead of coming to pick it up off the floor ourselves.
We weren't able to enjoy landscaping again until Grudge passed away this year, at the age of 26. At least, we think she passed. She disappeared and there's been no sign of her. But we take comfort in that she lived out her final days chasing baby tranceworms back toward the river, stalking and riding the Spectral Elk through the forest. Which was initially a problem, because of her claws, but I equipped her collar to deploy a programmable matter Elk-saddle-- Which really worked a lot better than you'd think!
We're not sure exactly what happened to Grudge in the end, one day we found the image of a koala scratched into the dirt path in our sideyard (doodling was a hobby of hers), and there was Grudge's collar just sitting on the ground. We checked sensor logs, but there were no signs of intruders, no transporter traces, or any predators large enough to take a Maine coon. Our Queen, forever cloaked in mystery.
We've protected the garden with a fence made from scraps of wood, and replicated wire. Do you think that will be okay? We tried a force-field, but unfortunately the polarized electromagnetic fields attract tranceworms, as well as a colorful semi-luminescent elk-like species (the Spectral Elk I mentioned earlier). It turns out these Elk have a peculiar neuroelectric biochemistry, which allows them to get high by bonking their heads against vertices in the forcefield where the EM repeller envelopes overlap.
We're hoping the wood fence will be fine, so far the Elk seem somewhat (though not completely) less interested in bashing their heads against it. Michael has a theory that the Elk perceive the fence to be a sexual rival, and are attacking to assert dominance. I often wonder what threat on their original homeworld caused the Elk to be chosen for preservation, and brought to Sanctuary IV. Perhaps there were too many fences there.
Growing up on Kwejian, I remember the World Tree grew literally everywhere, so I have no reason to think it won't grow in our back garden. The dirt here is the same colour as on Kwejian. As a courier, I never did pick up a knack for gardening, but I've watched a few tutorials on subwave and the Starfleet database so I'm sure it will be fine.
When the tree grows large enough, we're thinking of moving the house into it. But that won't be for another... Three? Maybe five years? I should ask the computer. I love trees, right, but I don't really "know" trees, you know. Anyway.
So, that's the update from the Burnham-Booker clan, I suppose! Hy'Rell, once again I can't ever thank you and the Archive enough for what you've done for me, and the remainder of my people. Every time I climb in and out of our epic tree-house, I will think of you and-- Just a second, Tricom's beeping. Computer, pause recording...
Well Hy'Rell. Sorry about that, Michael and I were called back in on a new Red Directive mission for Kovich. As always, we left Leto in the care of the holo-nan.
I meant to transmit this letter to you on our way out, but I caught a Phylosian in the garden, tampering with the world root!
I had already captured them in a Kwejian empathic rage stasis field, and materialized a phaser from my sleeve, when I noticed the Phylosian wore a Starfleet tricom badge.
It turns out, Michael hired a Starfleet botanical conservation expert behind my back. I was devastated, hurt and betrayed by her sudden and inexplicable lack of faith in my gardening-- In me.
A sense of distance and distrust reappeared between us. I knew we needed to communicate, to connect, to resolve this conflict, but there was no time (due to the new Red Directive). So instead we departed together in silence, while the Phylosian ministered to our garden.
I can't tell you when we were sent-- That is, where we were sent, on our Red Directive mission. But it was rough going, trying to work as a team (for the sake of five major quantum realities, including our own) despite this heavy weight that hung between us.
But then, dangling over the clifflike edge of an obloid onyx asteroid... Pulled down toward a screaming event horizon from the shattered remains of the T'Kon multispatial dimensional supergateway... With our slippery grips on each other's wrists the only thing separating me from complete transdimensional spaghettification and eternal consignment to hyperoblivion...
A tear rolled down her cheek.
And she explained. Her doubts about my gardening skills were never meant to be a proxy for her trust in me as a person. Or as a husband. Or as a father.
She told me that communication is love, and she loves me, and she should have discussed the botanical plan for the world root cutting with me first, before hiring the Phylosian.
At this point my hand slipped, but I managed to grab ahold of her with my other arm at the last second... Unfortunately this caused me to lose my hold on The Artefact, which fell toward the event horizon and stretched into an impossibly skinny thread before disappearing forever and completely.
So I told her, ever since receiving the root cuttings from the Archive, as one of the last surviving Kwejian, I had always seen it as my responsibility to restore the World Tree. My burden to bear, and no one else's.
I explained that I was alone for so long as a courier before Michael came, and then I thought I was the last survivor of my people: The ultimate loneliness and isolation. I was so used to being on my own, it just felt wrong, unnatural to receive any help with it, let alone to ask for help.
Just then, the cliffside began to crack ominously.
Michael suppressed a sympathetic sob, and she reminded me: I am no longer alone. That I've never been alone, since the moment she came into my life.
She says that Kwejian lives on in both of us, through our connection, and in our son, Leto. No matter what happens to us. And she was so right. I can't believe I didn't see it before.
Thusly reconciled, we were then able to combine our efforts, redouble and renew our attempt to pull me up off the side of the eternal space cliff.
And that's when we finally lost our grip completely. I fell as if in slow motion, reaching up-- Reaching out, to her. Trying to project forgiveness through my empathic senses... And in my eyes.
I saw Michael, still dangling over the edge, the rocky cliffside surrounding and framing her like an ominous black mountain. Her eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, tears streaming freely. Her arm, outstretched, strained fingers twitching at emptiness.
I felt hope slip away.
Just then, something happened that I truly can't explain.
It was as though for just a moment both space and time shifted around us. This itself was not so unusual, Michael later theorized it was a residual Manheim effect caused by gravi-temporal shear from the shattered supergateway. But the experience was transcendent. I witnessed colors, shapes at that time, that I can't picture now and which I couldn't name.
But when reality re-settled around us, and our senses returned to normal, we were both somehow safely deposited back on the clifftop. As if by some loving hand, or paw, of a merciful and caring higher being.
And it was the strangest thing, Hy'Rell, but in that moment I could swear I heard a plaintive, longing "meowww," echo through the deafening ionic wind.
Michael and I were able to cross-patch our tricom badges, match the frequency variance of the ionic hurricane, and achieve enough pattern-enhancement to jump the quantum barrier and get back to the Prime-- Uhh, anyway we got back home. Where Leto was waiting for us with a crayon drawing.
He always draws Michael taller than me. Takes after his dad in that way, because that's how I see her as well.
While we were gone, the root sprouted its stem and first leaves. The Phylosian botanist, whose name is Peet, has decided it would be best to relocate the new World Sprout some distance from structures and dwellings, to a spot that can be safely nurtured and protected.
Michael says we can't live in a tree house, but I can build one some day for Leto. She hasn't given me a limit on size though.
We talked it over and decided we would like to once again entrust the remaining world root cutting to your capable hands within the Eternal Gallery and Archive. I've tucked it away in the Tuli wood box, and secured them into a quantum matter stasis packet (please see subspace attachment).
I have also enclosed one more item which I hope you will find worthy of your collection; A collar. Somewhat ornate, with a pressed-latinum tag. Contains tracking device (never used, since deactivated). It belonged to a Queen, who no longer has need of it.
Take care of yourself, Hy'Rell
Empathically yours,
Cleveland "Book" Burnham-Booker, III
submitted by OneChrononOfPlancks to StarTrekFanFiction [link] [comments]
From: Burnham-Booker, Cleveland "Book" III [book@michaelburnhamranch.sanc4.ufp]
Date: April 25, 3196
Dear Hy'Rell,
I hope you and your fellow archivists at the Eternal Gallery and Archive are well. I apologize for my delay in writing to you, it has been a wild five years since our encounter in the Badlands.
As you've surely heard by now, Michael and Discovery were successful in our mission to track down the Pro--- Uhh, the "Pro"-fessional-strength fertilizer formula referred to in the set of clues we were following.
Ultimately, Michael made contact with the, uh, original manufacturers, and decided that the fertilizer was too powerful to be left in the hands of any single... Gardener. And, the Federation has determined to restrict all accumulated knowledge about it, which should last at least until the survivors on Ruhn's Breen Dreadnought make it back to local space in around 15 years.
I apologize that I can't give more detail, but Starfleet has assigned its highest level of regulatory classification to this information, which I'm told in no uncertain terms means I am only allowed to allude to it in veiled references and innuendo, and only then once I am fairly confident the other party is already in-the-know.
I understand following the death of Ruhn, that Tahal and the other four Primarchs made overtures to repair their government's relationship with your Eternal Archive... Perhaps you will receive more data from them when the time comes.
I must admit I was originally hoping to use the... Umm... "Fertilizer" to restore the lost world of Kwejian. Although I know it could never bring back the people themselves, or the lost aspects of our culture, for a while it seemed there was the capacity to restore the Kwejian ecosystem, the World Tree, the interconnectedness and the diversity of Kwejian life; The life itself.
In a way, that would have preserved a great deal of our cultural identity, as an empathic people we always strove to remain connected with nature, a part of it. And it formed us, as well. Also, it would have been a wonderful (if bittersweet) homecoming, of sorts, for myself and the other surviving Kwejian refugees scattered about the Galaxy. sigh. Oh well.
Michael has set up a ranch-- That is, we've set up a ranch on Sanctuary IV, and I've planted the first of the two World Root cuttings in Michael's back garden.
This was actually our third attempt to plant the first cutting-- We first tried four years ago in 3191, but had to abort the attempt because of our fur-baby Grudge, "the Queen" (an Earth Maine Coon cat, with Augment DNA, descended from escaped experimental subjects from Earth's 21st century).
Grudge and Michael got along well, and Grudge adapted nicely when Michael took a leave of absence from Kovich to come make our home together here. (I believe Nhan was assigned as interim Captain to work with Commander Rayner while Michael was away.) But things changed for the worse once Michael became pregnant with our son, Leto... Grudge was not taking that very well, at all.
She systematically dismantled the handmade bassinet three times before we switched to programmable matter with a force-field, and this of course only angered Grudge further. She then turned her attention toward the garden-- Michael's Kaminaran Fredalias were a total loss, but luckily we managed to save the world root cutting in time while Grudge was distracted wrestling with the Reticulan Beauregard Weepers.
It took me three hours to remove all the weeper spines and to heal her acid burns from the weepers' digestive fluid. You can just imagine the difficulty of keeping a Maine Coon still for the dermal regenerator, I was scratched to hell. Another whole round for follicular stimulation was out of the question, so I just left the bald spots in her fur to regrow naturally. Served her right.
I did try to calm her down through the "new baby" anxiety; To reason with her using my Kwejian empathic abilities, but all she sent back was images and scents of blood, and lots and lots of fish. We replicated a lot of fish that year, to placate her, until she learned to hop on the table and replicate them herself.
We're keeping the second world root cutting in a portable transporter buffer, for safekeeping, but we still have the Tuli wood box on proud display! We keep our tricom badges in there whenever we're home, and Michael puts her wedding ring in when we're doing chores. Grudge used to like to knock it off the counter over and over, but eventually she got bored of it when we programmed the transporter to replace it instead of coming to pick it up off the floor ourselves.
We weren't able to enjoy landscaping again until Grudge passed away this year, at the age of 26. At least, we think she passed. She disappeared and there's been no sign of her. But we take comfort in that she lived out her final days chasing baby tranceworms back toward the river, stalking and riding the Spectral Elk through the forest. Which was initially a problem, because of her claws, but I equipped her collar to deploy a programmable matter Elk-saddle-- Which really worked a lot better than you'd think!
We're not sure exactly what happened to Grudge in the end, one day we found the image of a koala scratched into the dirt path in our sideyard (doodling was a hobby of hers), and there was Grudge's collar just sitting on the ground. We checked sensor logs, but there were no signs of intruders, no transporter traces, or any predators large enough to take a Maine coon. Our Queen, forever cloaked in mystery.
We've protected the garden with a fence made from scraps of wood, and replicated wire. Do you think that will be okay? We tried a force-field, but unfortunately the polarized electromagnetic fields attract tranceworms, as well as a colorful semi-luminescent elk-like species (the Spectral Elk I mentioned earlier). It turns out these Elk have a peculiar neuroelectric biochemistry, which allows them to get high by bonking their heads against vertices in the forcefield where the EM repeller envelopes overlap.
We're hoping the wood fence will be fine, so far the Elk seem somewhat (though not completely) less interested in bashing their heads against it. Michael has a theory that the Elk perceive the fence to be a sexual rival, and are attacking to assert dominance. I often wonder what threat on their original homeworld caused the Elk to be chosen for preservation, and brought to Sanctuary IV. Perhaps there were too many fences there.
Growing up on Kwejian, I remember the World Tree grew literally everywhere, so I have no reason to think it won't grow in our back garden. The dirt here is the same colour as on Kwejian. As a courier, I never did pick up a knack for gardening, but I've watched a few tutorials on subwave and the Starfleet database so I'm sure it will be fine.
When the tree grows large enough, we're thinking of moving the house into it. But that won't be for another... Three? Maybe five years? I should ask the computer. I love trees, right, but I don't really "know" trees, you know. Anyway.
So, that's the update from the Burnham-Booker clan, I suppose! Hy'Rell, once again I can't ever thank you and the Archive enough for what you've done for me, and the remainder of my people. Every time I climb in and out of our epic tree-house, I will think of you and-- Just a second, Tricom's beeping. Computer, pause recording...
I meant to transmit this letter to you on our way out, but I caught a Phylosian in the garden, tampering with the world root!
I had already captured them in a Kwejian empathic rage stasis field, and materialized a phaser from my sleeve, when I noticed the Phylosian wore a Starfleet tricom badge.
It turns out, Michael hired a Starfleet botanical conservation expert behind my back. I was devastated, hurt and betrayed by her sudden and inexplicable lack of faith in my gardening-- In me.
A sense of distance and distrust reappeared between us. I knew we needed to communicate, to connect, to resolve this conflict, but there was no time (due to the new Red Directive). So instead we departed together in silence, while the Phylosian ministered to our garden.
I can't tell you when we were sent-- That is, where we were sent, on our Red Directive mission. But it was rough going, trying to work as a team (for the sake of five major quantum realities, including our own) despite this heavy weight that hung between us.
But then, dangling over the clifflike edge of an obloid onyx asteroid... Pulled down toward a screaming event horizon from the shattered remains of the T'Kon multispatial dimensional supergateway... With our slippery grips on each other's wrists the only thing separating me from complete transdimensional spaghettification and eternal consignment to hyperoblivion...
A tear rolled down her cheek.
And she explained. Her doubts about my gardening skills were never meant to be a proxy for her trust in me as a person. Or as a husband. Or as a father.
She told me that communication is love, and she loves me, and she should have discussed the botanical plan for the world root cutting with me first, before hiring the Phylosian.
At this point my hand slipped, but I managed to grab ahold of her with my other arm at the last second... Unfortunately this caused me to lose my hold on The Artefact, which fell toward the event horizon and stretched into an impossibly skinny thread before disappearing forever and completely.
So I told her, ever since receiving the root cuttings from the Archive, as one of the last surviving Kwejian, I had always seen it as my responsibility to restore the World Tree. My burden to bear, and no one else's.
I explained that I was alone for so long as a courier before Michael came, and then I thought I was the last survivor of my people: The ultimate loneliness and isolation. I was so used to being on my own, it just felt wrong, unnatural to receive any help with it, let alone to ask for help.
Just then, the cliffside began to crack ominously.
Michael suppressed a sympathetic sob, and she reminded me: I am no longer alone. That I've never been alone, since the moment she came into my life.
She says that Kwejian lives on in both of us, through our connection, and in our son, Leto. No matter what happens to us. And she was so right. I can't believe I didn't see it before.
Thusly reconciled, we were then able to combine our efforts, redouble and renew our attempt to pull me up off the side of the eternal space cliff.
And that's when we finally lost our grip completely. I fell as if in slow motion, reaching up-- Reaching out, to her. Trying to project forgiveness through my empathic senses... And in my eyes.
I saw Michael, still dangling over the edge, the rocky cliffside surrounding and framing her like an ominous black mountain. Her eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, tears streaming freely. Her arm, outstretched, strained fingers twitching at emptiness.
I felt hope slip away.
Just then, something happened that I truly can't explain.
It was as though for just a moment both space and time shifted around us. This itself was not so unusual, Michael later theorized it was a residual Manheim effect caused by gravi-temporal shear from the shattered supergateway. But the experience was transcendent. I witnessed colors, shapes at that time, that I can't picture now and which I couldn't name.
But when reality re-settled around us, and our senses returned to normal, we were both somehow safely deposited back on the clifftop. As if by some loving hand, or paw, of a merciful and caring higher being.
And it was the strangest thing, Hy'Rell, but in that moment I could swear I heard a plaintive, longing "meowww," echo through the deafening ionic wind.
Michael and I were able to cross-patch our tricom badges, match the frequency variance of the ionic hurricane, and achieve enough pattern-enhancement to jump the quantum barrier and get back to the Prime-- Uhh, anyway we got back home. Where Leto was waiting for us with a crayon drawing.
He always draws Michael taller than me. Takes after his dad in that way, because that's how I see her as well.
While we were gone, the root sprouted its stem and first leaves. The Phylosian botanist, whose name is Peet, has decided it would be best to relocate the new World Sprout some distance from structures and dwellings, to a spot that can be safely nurtured and protected.
Michael says we can't live in a tree house, but I can build one some day for Leto. She hasn't given me a limit on size though.
We talked it over and decided we would like to once again entrust the remaining world root cutting to your capable hands within the Eternal Gallery and Archive. I've tucked it away in the Tuli wood box, and secured them into a quantum matter stasis packet (please see subspace attachment).
I have also enclosed one more item which I hope you will find worthy of your collection; A collar. Somewhat ornate, with a pressed-latinum tag. Contains tracking device (never used, since deactivated). It belonged to a Queen, who no longer has need of it.
Take care of yourself, Hy'Rell
Empathically yours,
Cleveland "Book" Burnham-Booker, III
2024.05.31 22:09 PWOFalcon AA V0 Prolog, Chapter 4
2/06/2048 (military calendar)
Temple of Indolass, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie,
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore
*****
Feeling the smooth marble-like wall, Fraeya Holiadon searched for any clues to a secret passage, door, or symbols that could assist them in fixing the Bridge.
While the Palatini of Orias had been at the temple grounds far longer than expected, all efforts had been focused on investigating why the Bridge wouldn't open. This gave her time to study the interior of this structure, realizing that she would have been the first in thousands of years. Based on the exterior side of the mountain, some formations could be closed off balconies, making her conclude that there was more to this place than just this chamber.
To her surprise, time had not degraded the interior, unlike most structures that were left to decay. Everything looked fresh. Dusty but fresh, almost marble-like; however, she couldn't figure out what type of marble it was.
Fraeya stopped once she felt a slight bump within the wall. She carefully double-checked that she had indeed found something. When her fingers couldn't find a bump, she started believing it was her imagination playing tricks. However, with one last slow sweep of her hand, she found what she felt before. Confirming that there was a bump within the smooth wall, she noted it in her journal. "That makes three."
"Three of what?"
The elf girl's ears perked from the unknown feminine voice; she turned and saw a woman approaching. Not just any woman, beautiful golden eyes, fair pale skin, and silk-like light blond hair. She wore slick light gray armor with golden lining and a small crystal on her upper chest. Behind her were these short but pure white feathered wings on her back. - a Valkyrie.
The Valkyrie woman stopped with a confused look and asked, "I am sorry if I scared you."
"IâŚ, I did not know we had a Valkyrie among us." Fraeya then got a better view of the woman's armor, noticing a plate with the Templar symbol. She quickly bowed to the woman. "You are a Templar. I apologize that I did not recognize you. It is an honor to be in your presence."
She felt the woman place both hands on her shoulders and raise her back to eye level.
"Please," the Valkyrie said. "I never liked these types of formalities. Especially among friends."
Fraeya stared at the woman with confusion. While she had never met a Templar, everyone at the academy talked about them almost religiously. They are the most elite warriors of Alagore, being considered the Heart of Tekaliâmaintainers of the peace and protectors of the common folk. So, the stories say.
"I am sorry," Fraeya said. "At the academy, we were taught the proper mannerisms around a Templar like yourself."
"I understand, but we are not at the academy," the Valkyrie said.
"A fact I keep learning."
The Valkyrie looked over and saw Fraeya's father sitting alone. "With your father sitting over there by that thing, you must be his daughter. It wasâŚ, Fraeya, correct?"
Fraeya stood there in confusion. She couldn't help but cross her arms as she failed to recall meeting this woman. "I apologize. I do not wish to be rude, but have we met before today?"
Before the Valkyrie woman could respond, Fraeya heard her father yell the woman's name.
"Natilite, you have finally come." Raegel walked up, took the Valkyrie by the hand, and kissed it. "I was wondering when you were going to arrive."
"Still the romantic," the Natilite said. "It is nice to see you again, Reagel. I would have been here sooner, but convincing the City-States to join our cause had proven troublesome."
"As I feared and expected," Raegel said. "Did any join our cause?"
The Valkyrie held her hand up to silence Raegel. "I have lots to say, but first, I do not think your daughter remembers me."
Raegel looked toward his daughter and laughed. "My apologies. Fraeya, this is an old friend of mine, Natilite. Natilite, this is my daughter, Fraeya."
The Templar took Fraeya's hand gently and held it up with a smile. "It is nice to meet you in person finally."
Staring at the Valkyrie golden eyes, Fraeya felt nervous and embarrassed as she was scared by this woman's confidence. The words struggled to form within her mouth.
Natilite pulled back but giggled. "I apologize if I was too forward."
"No, no," Fraeya said. "It is not that. It is nice to meet you, Natilite. How long have you two been friends?"
"Oh, a long time now, I think," Natilite said.
"It has been," Raegel said. "We met one day during a dig. If I recall, the nearby town hired you to kill me."
Fraeya's ears perked again after hearing what her father said. She then watched the valkyrie chuckle. "You tried to kill my father?"
"It was my job," Natilite said. "I remember it was yesterday. I was passing by, and the townsfolk begged me to kill this elf who was disrespecting these ruins from the old era. So, I rushed off to kill him."
"Why would you do such a thing?" Fraeya asked. She then felt her father place a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
"It is okay, my daughter," Raegel said. "It is water under the bridge. You know most people do not like it when people bother the ruins. Most think they are cursed and all that."
"Well," Natilite said. "I would still agree that they are cursed, but when I found your father, I decided to spy on him and see what he was doing. Only a fool would risk their lives in exploring the orilla."
Orilla. Past civilizations, ruins, structures, legends. If the children of Alagore agreed on anything, that orilla must be forgotten and feared. What remains of it litters throughout Alagore. Some ruins lay underground, within mountains. Very rarely, some are in plain sight, either from decay or destroyed from some orlilla warfare. Fraeya learned from the academy that no one can search for anything from orlilla.
She does not understand why. Her father always said that was why he left Thali'ean, as they kept impeding his world. Why she did not know why the elves made searching for anything related to orlilla taboo, she heard plenty of stories from the professors of fools going to search for these ruins and relics. The professors said the lucky ones found nothing, while the unlucky ones were dead.
"I would agree with you," Fraeya said with a chuckle. "My father can be a fool. But I want to know what happened."
"As I watched," Natilite said. "I realized that he was not dangerous. Maybe to himself, but no one else. So, I studied him for a few days. Wondering what he was trying to do. I only showed myself once a party of orcs came."
"You fought off a party of orcs alone!? I knew valkyries were skilled warriors, but one cannot defeat a horde. And I mean no offense, a female warrior wouldâŚ. I meanâŚ, I am impressed the worst did not unfold." Fraeya placed her hands on her cheeks as she struggled to properly what she wanted to say. She felt the stress of what she wanted to say and what was the proper way to say it.
Natilite smiled and placed her hand on her sword handle. "No offense taken, as I understand. The world can be cruel and dangerous toward the weak." She then glanced away for a moment. Her smile switched from a smile to a neutral reaction before smiling again. "This is why we sharpen our skills in a lifestyle and not a profession. To deal with situations like that, to protect the people."
"Very wise," Raegel said as he approached. "You are forgetting one important detail. That you are a Templar, I think that gives you a little advantage over the rest of the world."
Natilite blushed in response. "There is that."
As the two bantered, Fraeya was shocked by what had been said. While she always wondered about her father's adventures, he had been on. The places and the people he met on the way. It never passed her that he would befriend someone from this station.
"While I am happy to see you again Natilite, I need to get back to work," Raegel said. "Please excuse me."
"I understand," Natilite replied. "We should catch up afterward."
Fraeya watched as her father walked away to continue his work. She then turned to ask the Valkyrie more questions. "So, did my father ask you to aid us?"
"Yes, he did," Natilite replied. "I was part of an advance force to secure some allies before you arrived."
The Templar then crossed her arms and started down the chamber. "So, that is your father's lifelong dream? It looks different than I expected."
Turning to face the orlilla device, she turned toward the Templar and said, "Yes, it is, and that is what everyone said."
"Interesting. And this is the device that is supposed to open this⌠placeâŚ. Is it called Alkae?"
"Father calls it Altaerrie."
"Altaerrie. So, that means the Lats legend is true. The home of humanity so the story says. They did come here long ago from another world. Because you are all sitting around, and it is not glowing, I assume it is not working?"
"Sadly, no, it is not," Fraeya replied. "When we put this orb into it that my father found, he thought it would activate it. But the only thing that happened was that the crystal in the center started blinking orange. It has been like that for weeks."
"Why do you think that is?" Natilite asked.
"I have no idea," Fraeya replied. "It has been very frustrating and has placed a lot of stress on my father. He had not left that spot, and I felt useless as all this was beyond me. On one hand, he made the biggest discovery in the world; on the other hand, it became a massive failure."
"I can understand that feeling."
Fraeya Holiadon clapped her hands and said, "Maybe you can go over and help."
The Templar looked at the young elf and then at her father, who was sitting on the floor, reading his piles of books. "I do not think that is a good idea."
Freya struggled to understand why this woman rejected her idea. "ButâŚ, my father needs you. You two are old friends who helped him in his research."
"Being a bodyguard does not mean I understand anything he has done." Natilite carefully stared at Raegel, as if she was reading through the man. She then looked back towards her. "I was planning to, but honestly, I think he needs his daughter more than me right now."
Fraeya looked toward her father and thought about what she could do. She then returned to the Valkyrie; however, the woman was already leaving the chamber.
She took a deep breath and made her father's favorite tea before walking toward him. "You need a break. You will not figure this out being this exhausted."
Raegel Holiadon slammed the book shut and rubbed his eyes, clearly frustrated with the current situation. He turned and forced a smile, taking the drink. "Thank you, my dear." She watched him take a sip and was thrilled to see some enjoyment in her father's reaction.
"See. A short break can be healthy."
"That is what your mother always said," Raegel said. "She always pointed out that I was more human than elf. Always working as if I was running out of time."
A moment of silence had appeared between the two as she struggled to figure out what to reply. She remembered her mother and missed her greatly.
It was Raegel who broke the silence. "I am sorry for dragging you here. It was a mistake."
Confused by the statement, Fraeya sat down next to her father. "You did not drag me here, father; I wanted to come."
"And I should have said no. But I wanted you to be next to me during this moment. I was trying to compensate for those lost years when I was not around you and your mother. Now, I regret breaking that belief. I have failed everyone in this world. Everyone who followed me here. Failed as an explorer. But more importantly, as a husband and father."
"No, you did not fail. Look, everyone thought you were crazy. You have proven that everything you believed was correct. A lost piece of our history."
Fraeya then looked down at the pile of books, most of which he authored. "Maybe we just missed something."
"It is possible," Raegel said. "I have been skimming through all my work and found nothing."
Noticing a dark green book, Fraeya grabbed and opened it. Seeing her father's famous note-taking ability that only he understood. "Can you show me how everything works? Maybe running through everything step by step will help?"
That is when Fraeya noticed a proud grin from her father.
"Why not," Raegel said. "If we are going to start, let's start with this one."
*****
The skylight blinded the Templar Natilite as she exited the mountain. While her sight was superior to the races who walk the ground, they are more sensitive to sunlight.
It took a moment for her valkyrie eyes to readjust, and once she regained her vision, she saw the encampment. The Lats were spread throughout what remained of the temple ruins. The Palatini of Orias, elite warriors entrusted with this mission, had fortified this place to the best of their abilities; however, she could tell they didn't plan on a siege. While their loyalty and commitment to the task were without question, she could see the lack of morale in the current situation.
Natilite couldn't blame them. The mission had turned out differently than expected, which was common in war. Only needing to take a glance at everyone, she could see the struggle with uncertainty within the palatini. For soldiers, being stagnated was a death sentence.
Before heading to the comment tent, she checked on the wounded. She had learned that officers and warrior figures like herself checking on a warrior's weakest moment usually increased morale among the rest of the troops. It showed that they cared about their lives and suffering.
Once she arrived at the medical tent, the woman healer was busy treating a sick man. From what she could see on the man's bare skin, he was hit by poison. The others were in just as bad shape.
When Natilite entered the tent, it was clear that everyone saw her presence. A sight she had grown used to. "What happened?"
The healer stood up and gave the proper mannerisms of respect to the Templar. "I was not expecting someone of your stature to come here. I apologize for how messy my tent is."
"Never apologize for treating the wounded," Natilite said. "When it comes to them, formalities come second. Now, please tell me what happened. How did they get poisoned this badly?"
"Goblins," the healer said. "They infested this place and had to force them out. These are the last three who are recovering."
"They are always full of surprises," Natilite said before approaching one of the wounded. "Yes, they are."
To the wounded legionary confusion, Natilite knelt and walked over to the injured man's bed. She took the man's hand with her left hand, and with her right, she placed it on his forehead.
With the softness of her hands, she could already see the pain and suffering leaving his eyes, not because of healing magic or medicine but solely based on her soft, feminine hands. It always shocked her how such a gentle touch from a woman could easily remove all the pain and suffering from a man's heart. A power only her sex seemed to have.
"My fellow legionary. We ask Logia to bless our fallen and protect the souls that we lost during these trying times. But we also ask for the strength to continue. I ask Tekali and all her siblings to bless this man's sacrifice and give bless that he is remembered for his deeds."
Seeing the wounded legionary eyes entering a peaceful mind, Natilite stood up and addressed the other wounded soldiers. She took her side armor plating flaps and did a form of curtsy for the men. "Thank you for honoring me with your presence. Stay true."
As the Templar left the tent, she could see the renewed spirits of the soldiers, who were most likely eavesdropping, adding some excitement from their daily taste and giving something positive and heartwarming over standing here waiting for something to happen.
With her charity work complete, Natilite headed to talk to the head Centurion of this palatini before leaving for Salva. The Valkyrie walked through the orlilla, the Temple of Indolass. She saw how rundown the place was. Broken walls, what were once considered buildings barely standing. The stone ground is broken. A place that had been lost over time. While the historian Sage would say that this place was once a thriving temple, her eyes struggled to see its present state.
The Valkyrie thought little of this place. Preferring civilization over the ruins. While the orilla had no scent, she could smell the depression, death, and history of this place. Nothing alive and warm. All reminding her of the failures that led to this path.
Based on her little time here, she could see that this place was at a disadvantage in its defense without the defensive wall. The enemy could use the high ground to rain artillery and block means of escape.
As Natilite walked through the encampment, soldiers continued to stop to show their respect. Usually a bow, a salute, or acknowledging her Templar statues. While she appreciated their gestures, she couldn't stop for every soldier. Making sure they felt honored while on this mission and that their deeds would save their future brothers.
Will save their future brothersâŚ.
As a rule, Natilite had always tried to walk the path that she spoke. But even now, it was starting to seem that their mission here might not be the saving grace they all once hoped. One of the worst parts of war was having the free time to reflect on the current situation and their surroundings. Think of all the possible outcomes and the odds. And right now, there had been plenty of time to think.
Regarding Raegel Holiadon, Natilite was thrilled that his life's work had finally come to fruition. It never crossed her mind that the story behind her cousin's race was true. She had assumed it was the excuse for the Orcs and J'avias to hate on the Lats for being more successful than they were.
Still, life achievement or not, the fact that the Bridge had not opened concerned her, and she could see it in everyone's eyes. While the men were professionals and hid their true feelings, she could read them like a book. Under any other circumstance, this discovery would have been an accomplishment of a lifetime that would have been celebrated worldwide; however, just like how it interfered with every other aspect of society, this discovery was just another casualty.
The worst part of being the man who made the most significant discovery in history would be that he would have handed it to the enemy if he had not figured out how to activate it. It was only a matter of time before the enemy finally discovered their presence, and they would quickly be swarmed without mercy. If that happened before making contact, then there was no way they could survive.
After entering the command tent, Natilite saw Centurion Fionntan Henness with his staff. While maintaining their collectiveness, she could tell there had been a tense conversation.
Stopping at the entrance, she decided to wait and respect their privacy. During her time as a Templar, she had learned when to intervene in a conversation among military folks and when not, understanding their chain of command. Being someone in her position could bring ease and tension within military and political leadership as Templars are more free agents than within their structure.
Their conversation only lasted a few more minutes. Once finished, most other officers left, leaving Henness staring at a map.
Seeing her moment, the Templar approached the table and said, "That looked intense. Everything alright?"
"Just discussing our current situation," Henness said. "How can I serve a Templar?"
"I am here to serve you." Natilite saw the centurion's confused reaction. "I have word from the City-States I visited."
"Are they on our side or not?" Henness asked.
"I was able to convince Salva, but the rest, no," Natilite said as she pointed toward the map.
"Only Salva?"
The city of Salva was not the Templar's first choice to recruit to their cause, but being the closest to the temple, it was the logical choice. They were smaller than the other major regional players within the Nevali region; it had been extended past their former glory days. While they were rundown, they still wanted to fight. Loyal to the previous region before Kallem annexed the territory.
She was impressed by their spirit and pride.
"Yes," Natilite said. "They were loyal to the old regime and hated how things were going. They are dying, and they see this as their only option."
"What about the rest?" Henness asked.
"They are firmly in Toriffa grip. The Verliance Aristocracy made sure to place loyal minions within their noble class. Apparently, Kallem has also been making promises with these people, trying to treat them more as partners than subjects. Smart of him."
"And it does not help that we are losing the war."
While Natilite was trying to avoid stating the obvious, he was correct. No one likes joining the losing side in a war. Uprising against a far superior enemy solely based on a legend is foolish. Still, she knew that she had to try.
"Maybe so; it is better than nothing," Natilite said. "It means people have not given up in this war. At least enough to put their lives on the line."
"I hope so," Henness said. "If the enemy comes before we activate the Bridge, I cannot guarantee their survival. Still, you are correct. This is a massive win for us, and I must utilize it."
"And that brings me to why I am here. I request a detachment to be sent to Salva as a show of good faith and to strengthen their defenses."
Centurion Fionntan Henness looked toward her and said, "I wish I could, but it is not wise to split my forces up. We are only a palatini, not a full cohort."
"I understand that," Natilite said. "I want you to know that in the end, I will respect your decision. But first, think about the people of Salva. They will ally with you, and you should show them the same respect. And based on the defense position I saw here, if the enemy attacks, the longer Salva holds out, the better off you are here."
She watched as Henness carefully studied the map. She could tell that the man was running through every possible situation in his mind, and based on his reaction, he was coming to the same conclusion as she did.
The centurion took a deep breath and looked at her. "You will get them."
"Thank you," Natilite said. "Now, I should head back to Salva and make further preparations. "
The two gave final gestures, and the Templar left. She took one last look at the temple and hoped it would be worth it. I decided to place faith in Tekali and wait to see how events played out.
2/08/2048 (military calendar)
Ulysses Tholus, Tharsis Montes, Mars
Olympic Base Camp
*****
Staring at the pulsing orb through the laboratory glass wall, Captain Taylor Miles wondered what the significance of this discovery was. Two were dead, one seriously wounded, with multiple other near-death personnel - all for an orb smaller than a basketball.
It had been two weeks since they found the orb, waiting for the retrieval team to return it to Earth. While modern technology had dropped the transportation time between Earth and Mars to less than a month, those few weeks felt like forever after what had happened. Everyone still felt uneasy knowing there was an unknown number of enemy machine-warrior right next to them.
From what Colonel Gallivan informed him, NASA made a public statement about the casualties, stating that they were caused by a drilling accident. Taylor Miles was not surprised by the lie, seeing that the brass was trying to get ahead of the narrative. It would keep the general population from asking too many questions, as this was not the only time this had happened in the frontier world. Outside of that, this new outpost has yet to be mentioned. The brass wanted to keep this quiet as long as possible, and he couldn't blame them.
Outside of the general public concern, there had been no issues with the other Great Powers. While it would only be a matter of time before a foreign nation noticed their activities, he was surprised there had been no noise from it. They had not seen their presence or remained quiet. Either way, he was thrilled events had been uneventful since all this began.
Since finding this alien orb, questions kept running through his head. Who built it, when did they, why was it triggered now, and dozens of others?
"Captain."
Hearing Technical Sergeant Kyomi Hata's voice from the module intercom, he pressed the button and asked, "Are they close?"
"Yes. They are in Mars orbit and are entering geosynchronous orbit. They will be ready to drop in fifteen."
"Roger," Miles said before he switched the intercom to the research laboratory. "Start securing the object for extraction."
The American and Japanese scientists took the pulsing orb from the containment glass box and moved the object into a sealed personal-size container. Once confident they had fulfilled all safety protocols, they brought it to the decontamination transfer section. The red light turned green after a short defection spray over the container.
"Alright, sir, the package is ready to go."
Miles grabbed the container and headed out of the laboratory module. Waiting outside were two Marines who were meant to be his security. To his surprise, he barely felt any weight. Most of it came from the container and not from the object inside.
As the three walked through the compound, to his surprise, Tactical Sergeant Kyomi Hata approached. Since the attack, she had wanted to stay away from the alien sphere as she barely survived her encounter with the humanoid machine.
"Finally getting out of the shell?" Miles jokingly asked.
"I was getting cooped up," Hata replied. "Besides, I wanted to ensure this little Akuma was gone once and for all."
"I would say those things inside the facility were Akuma's," Miles replied jokingly.
"You have a point," Hata said. "When are we going back in?"
"We will be going back inside the mountain of the gods once we get reinforcements from Earth and the proper equipment," Miles looked up as he was informed that the space capsule was incoming. From what he could tell, it was an Aether-class capsule. It was expected to use them to land on almost any celestial body with low gravity or local transportation between stations. Even with Mars's low gravity, landing and launching independently was still beyond the capsule's ability without being heavily modified.
Up within the heavens, they saw a very familiar sight. A small fireball fell from the sky and headed to their position. For anyone who has been to Mars, this was a well-known moment, known as the six minutes of terror. Going twelve thousand miles a second until they reached the surface was considered the journey's most dangerous and terrifying.
The space capsule's thrusters ignited while its three parachutes popped out from its top as it descended. As it drew closer, the Martian-rusted dust turned into a miniature dust ball, sweeping the surrounding area.
Everyone was in spacesuits, so none of them were in any danger from the outside hazards of this world. Still, they couldn't help but raise their hands to protect themselves from the dust storm. While Miles could barely see through the dust, he saw the craft touched down a short distance away.
"Talk about an entrance," Hata said. "Never thought I would be in the thick of it. We just broke five safety regulations."
"Actually, it's four," Miles replied as the dust settled.
"No, it was five. I read the book on the flight here from Luna."
"Of course you did."
The dust started to dissipate, and four figures could be seen exiting the capsule.
"Let's go," Miles said.
The two Marines took point, providing security as the four walked toward the four CIA operatives. Three operatives approached while one stayed by the spacecraft, acting as a rear guard.
Miles saw that the operatives were also armed as they drew closer. P52's, he assumed. Almost as if they were expecting something.
Once they got closer, Taylor Miles could see their suits' network signal. He connected to their frequency and said, "Welcome to Mars."
"Captain Miles, I assume," Nelson said.
"That is correct."
The two groups finally met. However, each armed guard kept their fingers on the triggers, watching their superior talk.
"Surprised how armed you all are," Miles said. "Expecting something?"
"Shouldn't I be?" Nelson asked. "I heard reports that you had three MIA's. That is a red flag I do not like. RIA? CCP? Zhongguo? It wouldn't surprise me if it were the WEL, India, or my grandmother."
Taylor Miles was about to respond with a correction; however, he stopped himself, a fact that Nelson did not miss. Based on the Commander's statement, the operative was unaware of what happened within the alien facility and probably assumed that the drilling accident was a convenient cover story. The CIA commander knew something had happened and was taking no risks.
"We had a situation; however, it was handled," Miles replied. "I am under direct orders from Space Command not to give further details."
"I understand," Nelson said. "The package?"
Miles lifted the container, staring at it, wondering what ripple effects this would have. The only thing he knew was that this was the beginning of something. Something that he hoped his people would be ready for.
Nelson took the container and quickly lifted it, staring at it. "It is lighter than I expected."
"That is what I said," Miles replied.
Nelson smirked and nodded. "Alright, our business is done."
And just like that, the three operatives turned and walked toward their capsule.
"That was freaky," Hata stated. "It felt like one of those cowboy movies."
"They're called Westerns," Miles corrected.
"Same thing."
He watched as the operatives entered their space capsule. Soon enough, the Aether thrusters ignited, lifting back toward the heavens. He was surprised it didn't need any additional thrust or fuel to get back into orbit, assuming it was heavily modified for whatever it needed.
The dust cloud re-emerged from the ignition blast, engulfing the four of them. Hearing from Kyomi that they should get out of the mini dust storm, he agreed, and the four started heading back to the camp.
submitted by PWOFalcon to HFY [link] [comments]
Temple of Indolass, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie,
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore
*****
Feeling the smooth marble-like wall, Fraeya Holiadon searched for any clues to a secret passage, door, or symbols that could assist them in fixing the Bridge.
While the Palatini of Orias had been at the temple grounds far longer than expected, all efforts had been focused on investigating why the Bridge wouldn't open. This gave her time to study the interior of this structure, realizing that she would have been the first in thousands of years. Based on the exterior side of the mountain, some formations could be closed off balconies, making her conclude that there was more to this place than just this chamber.
To her surprise, time had not degraded the interior, unlike most structures that were left to decay. Everything looked fresh. Dusty but fresh, almost marble-like; however, she couldn't figure out what type of marble it was.
Fraeya stopped once she felt a slight bump within the wall. She carefully double-checked that she had indeed found something. When her fingers couldn't find a bump, she started believing it was her imagination playing tricks. However, with one last slow sweep of her hand, she found what she felt before. Confirming that there was a bump within the smooth wall, she noted it in her journal. "That makes three."
"Three of what?"
The elf girl's ears perked from the unknown feminine voice; she turned and saw a woman approaching. Not just any woman, beautiful golden eyes, fair pale skin, and silk-like light blond hair. She wore slick light gray armor with golden lining and a small crystal on her upper chest. Behind her were these short but pure white feathered wings on her back. - a Valkyrie.
The Valkyrie woman stopped with a confused look and asked, "I am sorry if I scared you."
"IâŚ, I did not know we had a Valkyrie among us." Fraeya then got a better view of the woman's armor, noticing a plate with the Templar symbol. She quickly bowed to the woman. "You are a Templar. I apologize that I did not recognize you. It is an honor to be in your presence."
She felt the woman place both hands on her shoulders and raise her back to eye level.
"Please," the Valkyrie said. "I never liked these types of formalities. Especially among friends."
Fraeya stared at the woman with confusion. While she had never met a Templar, everyone at the academy talked about them almost religiously. They are the most elite warriors of Alagore, being considered the Heart of Tekaliâmaintainers of the peace and protectors of the common folk. So, the stories say.
"I am sorry," Fraeya said. "At the academy, we were taught the proper mannerisms around a Templar like yourself."
"I understand, but we are not at the academy," the Valkyrie said.
"A fact I keep learning."
The Valkyrie looked over and saw Fraeya's father sitting alone. "With your father sitting over there by that thing, you must be his daughter. It wasâŚ, Fraeya, correct?"
Fraeya stood there in confusion. She couldn't help but cross her arms as she failed to recall meeting this woman. "I apologize. I do not wish to be rude, but have we met before today?"
Before the Valkyrie woman could respond, Fraeya heard her father yell the woman's name.
"Natilite, you have finally come." Raegel walked up, took the Valkyrie by the hand, and kissed it. "I was wondering when you were going to arrive."
"Still the romantic," the Natilite said. "It is nice to see you again, Reagel. I would have been here sooner, but convincing the City-States to join our cause had proven troublesome."
"As I feared and expected," Raegel said. "Did any join our cause?"
The Valkyrie held her hand up to silence Raegel. "I have lots to say, but first, I do not think your daughter remembers me."
Raegel looked toward his daughter and laughed. "My apologies. Fraeya, this is an old friend of mine, Natilite. Natilite, this is my daughter, Fraeya."
The Templar took Fraeya's hand gently and held it up with a smile. "It is nice to meet you in person finally."
Staring at the Valkyrie golden eyes, Fraeya felt nervous and embarrassed as she was scared by this woman's confidence. The words struggled to form within her mouth.
Natilite pulled back but giggled. "I apologize if I was too forward."
"No, no," Fraeya said. "It is not that. It is nice to meet you, Natilite. How long have you two been friends?"
"Oh, a long time now, I think," Natilite said.
"It has been," Raegel said. "We met one day during a dig. If I recall, the nearby town hired you to kill me."
Fraeya's ears perked again after hearing what her father said. She then watched the valkyrie chuckle. "You tried to kill my father?"
"It was my job," Natilite said. "I remember it was yesterday. I was passing by, and the townsfolk begged me to kill this elf who was disrespecting these ruins from the old era. So, I rushed off to kill him."
"Why would you do such a thing?" Fraeya asked. She then felt her father place a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
"It is okay, my daughter," Raegel said. "It is water under the bridge. You know most people do not like it when people bother the ruins. Most think they are cursed and all that."
"Well," Natilite said. "I would still agree that they are cursed, but when I found your father, I decided to spy on him and see what he was doing. Only a fool would risk their lives in exploring the orilla."
Orilla. Past civilizations, ruins, structures, legends. If the children of Alagore agreed on anything, that orilla must be forgotten and feared. What remains of it litters throughout Alagore. Some ruins lay underground, within mountains. Very rarely, some are in plain sight, either from decay or destroyed from some orlilla warfare. Fraeya learned from the academy that no one can search for anything from orlilla.
She does not understand why. Her father always said that was why he left Thali'ean, as they kept impeding his world. Why she did not know why the elves made searching for anything related to orlilla taboo, she heard plenty of stories from the professors of fools going to search for these ruins and relics. The professors said the lucky ones found nothing, while the unlucky ones were dead.
"I would agree with you," Fraeya said with a chuckle. "My father can be a fool. But I want to know what happened."
"As I watched," Natilite said. "I realized that he was not dangerous. Maybe to himself, but no one else. So, I studied him for a few days. Wondering what he was trying to do. I only showed myself once a party of orcs came."
"You fought off a party of orcs alone!? I knew valkyries were skilled warriors, but one cannot defeat a horde. And I mean no offense, a female warrior wouldâŚ. I meanâŚ, I am impressed the worst did not unfold." Fraeya placed her hands on her cheeks as she struggled to properly what she wanted to say. She felt the stress of what she wanted to say and what was the proper way to say it.
Natilite smiled and placed her hand on her sword handle. "No offense taken, as I understand. The world can be cruel and dangerous toward the weak." She then glanced away for a moment. Her smile switched from a smile to a neutral reaction before smiling again. "This is why we sharpen our skills in a lifestyle and not a profession. To deal with situations like that, to protect the people."
"Very wise," Raegel said as he approached. "You are forgetting one important detail. That you are a Templar, I think that gives you a little advantage over the rest of the world."
Natilite blushed in response. "There is that."
As the two bantered, Fraeya was shocked by what had been said. While she always wondered about her father's adventures, he had been on. The places and the people he met on the way. It never passed her that he would befriend someone from this station.
"While I am happy to see you again Natilite, I need to get back to work," Raegel said. "Please excuse me."
"I understand," Natilite replied. "We should catch up afterward."
Fraeya watched as her father walked away to continue his work. She then turned to ask the Valkyrie more questions. "So, did my father ask you to aid us?"
"Yes, he did," Natilite replied. "I was part of an advance force to secure some allies before you arrived."
The Templar then crossed her arms and started down the chamber. "So, that is your father's lifelong dream? It looks different than I expected."
Turning to face the orlilla device, she turned toward the Templar and said, "Yes, it is, and that is what everyone said."
"Interesting. And this is the device that is supposed to open this⌠placeâŚ. Is it called Alkae?"
"Father calls it Altaerrie."
"Altaerrie. So, that means the Lats legend is true. The home of humanity so the story says. They did come here long ago from another world. Because you are all sitting around, and it is not glowing, I assume it is not working?"
"Sadly, no, it is not," Fraeya replied. "When we put this orb into it that my father found, he thought it would activate it. But the only thing that happened was that the crystal in the center started blinking orange. It has been like that for weeks."
"Why do you think that is?" Natilite asked.
"I have no idea," Fraeya replied. "It has been very frustrating and has placed a lot of stress on my father. He had not left that spot, and I felt useless as all this was beyond me. On one hand, he made the biggest discovery in the world; on the other hand, it became a massive failure."
"I can understand that feeling."
Fraeya Holiadon clapped her hands and said, "Maybe you can go over and help."
The Templar looked at the young elf and then at her father, who was sitting on the floor, reading his piles of books. "I do not think that is a good idea."
Freya struggled to understand why this woman rejected her idea. "ButâŚ, my father needs you. You two are old friends who helped him in his research."
"Being a bodyguard does not mean I understand anything he has done." Natilite carefully stared at Raegel, as if she was reading through the man. She then looked back towards her. "I was planning to, but honestly, I think he needs his daughter more than me right now."
Fraeya looked toward her father and thought about what she could do. She then returned to the Valkyrie; however, the woman was already leaving the chamber.
She took a deep breath and made her father's favorite tea before walking toward him. "You need a break. You will not figure this out being this exhausted."
Raegel Holiadon slammed the book shut and rubbed his eyes, clearly frustrated with the current situation. He turned and forced a smile, taking the drink. "Thank you, my dear." She watched him take a sip and was thrilled to see some enjoyment in her father's reaction.
"See. A short break can be healthy."
"That is what your mother always said," Raegel said. "She always pointed out that I was more human than elf. Always working as if I was running out of time."
A moment of silence had appeared between the two as she struggled to figure out what to reply. She remembered her mother and missed her greatly.
It was Raegel who broke the silence. "I am sorry for dragging you here. It was a mistake."
Confused by the statement, Fraeya sat down next to her father. "You did not drag me here, father; I wanted to come."
"And I should have said no. But I wanted you to be next to me during this moment. I was trying to compensate for those lost years when I was not around you and your mother. Now, I regret breaking that belief. I have failed everyone in this world. Everyone who followed me here. Failed as an explorer. But more importantly, as a husband and father."
"No, you did not fail. Look, everyone thought you were crazy. You have proven that everything you believed was correct. A lost piece of our history."
Fraeya then looked down at the pile of books, most of which he authored. "Maybe we just missed something."
"It is possible," Raegel said. "I have been skimming through all my work and found nothing."
Noticing a dark green book, Fraeya grabbed and opened it. Seeing her father's famous note-taking ability that only he understood. "Can you show me how everything works? Maybe running through everything step by step will help?"
That is when Fraeya noticed a proud grin from her father.
"Why not," Raegel said. "If we are going to start, let's start with this one."
*****
The skylight blinded the Templar Natilite as she exited the mountain. While her sight was superior to the races who walk the ground, they are more sensitive to sunlight.
It took a moment for her valkyrie eyes to readjust, and once she regained her vision, she saw the encampment. The Lats were spread throughout what remained of the temple ruins. The Palatini of Orias, elite warriors entrusted with this mission, had fortified this place to the best of their abilities; however, she could tell they didn't plan on a siege. While their loyalty and commitment to the task were without question, she could see the lack of morale in the current situation.
Natilite couldn't blame them. The mission had turned out differently than expected, which was common in war. Only needing to take a glance at everyone, she could see the struggle with uncertainty within the palatini. For soldiers, being stagnated was a death sentence.
Before heading to the comment tent, she checked on the wounded. She had learned that officers and warrior figures like herself checking on a warrior's weakest moment usually increased morale among the rest of the troops. It showed that they cared about their lives and suffering.
Once she arrived at the medical tent, the woman healer was busy treating a sick man. From what she could see on the man's bare skin, he was hit by poison. The others were in just as bad shape.
When Natilite entered the tent, it was clear that everyone saw her presence. A sight she had grown used to. "What happened?"
The healer stood up and gave the proper mannerisms of respect to the Templar. "I was not expecting someone of your stature to come here. I apologize for how messy my tent is."
"Never apologize for treating the wounded," Natilite said. "When it comes to them, formalities come second. Now, please tell me what happened. How did they get poisoned this badly?"
"Goblins," the healer said. "They infested this place and had to force them out. These are the last three who are recovering."
"They are always full of surprises," Natilite said before approaching one of the wounded. "Yes, they are."
To the wounded legionary confusion, Natilite knelt and walked over to the injured man's bed. She took the man's hand with her left hand, and with her right, she placed it on his forehead.
With the softness of her hands, she could already see the pain and suffering leaving his eyes, not because of healing magic or medicine but solely based on her soft, feminine hands. It always shocked her how such a gentle touch from a woman could easily remove all the pain and suffering from a man's heart. A power only her sex seemed to have.
"My fellow legionary. We ask Logia to bless our fallen and protect the souls that we lost during these trying times. But we also ask for the strength to continue. I ask Tekali and all her siblings to bless this man's sacrifice and give bless that he is remembered for his deeds."
Seeing the wounded legionary eyes entering a peaceful mind, Natilite stood up and addressed the other wounded soldiers. She took her side armor plating flaps and did a form of curtsy for the men. "Thank you for honoring me with your presence. Stay true."
As the Templar left the tent, she could see the renewed spirits of the soldiers, who were most likely eavesdropping, adding some excitement from their daily taste and giving something positive and heartwarming over standing here waiting for something to happen.
With her charity work complete, Natilite headed to talk to the head Centurion of this palatini before leaving for Salva. The Valkyrie walked through the orlilla, the Temple of Indolass. She saw how rundown the place was. Broken walls, what were once considered buildings barely standing. The stone ground is broken. A place that had been lost over time. While the historian Sage would say that this place was once a thriving temple, her eyes struggled to see its present state.
The Valkyrie thought little of this place. Preferring civilization over the ruins. While the orilla had no scent, she could smell the depression, death, and history of this place. Nothing alive and warm. All reminding her of the failures that led to this path.
Based on her little time here, she could see that this place was at a disadvantage in its defense without the defensive wall. The enemy could use the high ground to rain artillery and block means of escape.
As Natilite walked through the encampment, soldiers continued to stop to show their respect. Usually a bow, a salute, or acknowledging her Templar statues. While she appreciated their gestures, she couldn't stop for every soldier. Making sure they felt honored while on this mission and that their deeds would save their future brothers.
Will save their future brothersâŚ.
As a rule, Natilite had always tried to walk the path that she spoke. But even now, it was starting to seem that their mission here might not be the saving grace they all once hoped. One of the worst parts of war was having the free time to reflect on the current situation and their surroundings. Think of all the possible outcomes and the odds. And right now, there had been plenty of time to think.
Regarding Raegel Holiadon, Natilite was thrilled that his life's work had finally come to fruition. It never crossed her mind that the story behind her cousin's race was true. She had assumed it was the excuse for the Orcs and J'avias to hate on the Lats for being more successful than they were.
Still, life achievement or not, the fact that the Bridge had not opened concerned her, and she could see it in everyone's eyes. While the men were professionals and hid their true feelings, she could read them like a book. Under any other circumstance, this discovery would have been an accomplishment of a lifetime that would have been celebrated worldwide; however, just like how it interfered with every other aspect of society, this discovery was just another casualty.
The worst part of being the man who made the most significant discovery in history would be that he would have handed it to the enemy if he had not figured out how to activate it. It was only a matter of time before the enemy finally discovered their presence, and they would quickly be swarmed without mercy. If that happened before making contact, then there was no way they could survive.
After entering the command tent, Natilite saw Centurion Fionntan Henness with his staff. While maintaining their collectiveness, she could tell there had been a tense conversation.
Stopping at the entrance, she decided to wait and respect their privacy. During her time as a Templar, she had learned when to intervene in a conversation among military folks and when not, understanding their chain of command. Being someone in her position could bring ease and tension within military and political leadership as Templars are more free agents than within their structure.
Their conversation only lasted a few more minutes. Once finished, most other officers left, leaving Henness staring at a map.
Seeing her moment, the Templar approached the table and said, "That looked intense. Everything alright?"
"Just discussing our current situation," Henness said. "How can I serve a Templar?"
"I am here to serve you." Natilite saw the centurion's confused reaction. "I have word from the City-States I visited."
"Are they on our side or not?" Henness asked.
"I was able to convince Salva, but the rest, no," Natilite said as she pointed toward the map.
"Only Salva?"
The city of Salva was not the Templar's first choice to recruit to their cause, but being the closest to the temple, it was the logical choice. They were smaller than the other major regional players within the Nevali region; it had been extended past their former glory days. While they were rundown, they still wanted to fight. Loyal to the previous region before Kallem annexed the territory.
She was impressed by their spirit and pride.
"Yes," Natilite said. "They were loyal to the old regime and hated how things were going. They are dying, and they see this as their only option."
"What about the rest?" Henness asked.
"They are firmly in Toriffa grip. The Verliance Aristocracy made sure to place loyal minions within their noble class. Apparently, Kallem has also been making promises with these people, trying to treat them more as partners than subjects. Smart of him."
"And it does not help that we are losing the war."
While Natilite was trying to avoid stating the obvious, he was correct. No one likes joining the losing side in a war. Uprising against a far superior enemy solely based on a legend is foolish. Still, she knew that she had to try.
"Maybe so; it is better than nothing," Natilite said. "It means people have not given up in this war. At least enough to put their lives on the line."
"I hope so," Henness said. "If the enemy comes before we activate the Bridge, I cannot guarantee their survival. Still, you are correct. This is a massive win for us, and I must utilize it."
"And that brings me to why I am here. I request a detachment to be sent to Salva as a show of good faith and to strengthen their defenses."
Centurion Fionntan Henness looked toward her and said, "I wish I could, but it is not wise to split my forces up. We are only a palatini, not a full cohort."
"I understand that," Natilite said. "I want you to know that in the end, I will respect your decision. But first, think about the people of Salva. They will ally with you, and you should show them the same respect. And based on the defense position I saw here, if the enemy attacks, the longer Salva holds out, the better off you are here."
She watched as Henness carefully studied the map. She could tell that the man was running through every possible situation in his mind, and based on his reaction, he was coming to the same conclusion as she did.
The centurion took a deep breath and looked at her. "You will get them."
"Thank you," Natilite said. "Now, I should head back to Salva and make further preparations. "
The two gave final gestures, and the Templar left. She took one last look at the temple and hoped it would be worth it. I decided to place faith in Tekali and wait to see how events played out.
2/08/2048 (military calendar)
Ulysses Tholus, Tharsis Montes, Mars
Olympic Base Camp
*****
Staring at the pulsing orb through the laboratory glass wall, Captain Taylor Miles wondered what the significance of this discovery was. Two were dead, one seriously wounded, with multiple other near-death personnel - all for an orb smaller than a basketball.
It had been two weeks since they found the orb, waiting for the retrieval team to return it to Earth. While modern technology had dropped the transportation time between Earth and Mars to less than a month, those few weeks felt like forever after what had happened. Everyone still felt uneasy knowing there was an unknown number of enemy machine-warrior right next to them.
From what Colonel Gallivan informed him, NASA made a public statement about the casualties, stating that they were caused by a drilling accident. Taylor Miles was not surprised by the lie, seeing that the brass was trying to get ahead of the narrative. It would keep the general population from asking too many questions, as this was not the only time this had happened in the frontier world. Outside of that, this new outpost has yet to be mentioned. The brass wanted to keep this quiet as long as possible, and he couldn't blame them.
Outside of the general public concern, there had been no issues with the other Great Powers. While it would only be a matter of time before a foreign nation noticed their activities, he was surprised there had been no noise from it. They had not seen their presence or remained quiet. Either way, he was thrilled events had been uneventful since all this began.
Since finding this alien orb, questions kept running through his head. Who built it, when did they, why was it triggered now, and dozens of others?
"Captain."
Hearing Technical Sergeant Kyomi Hata's voice from the module intercom, he pressed the button and asked, "Are they close?"
"Yes. They are in Mars orbit and are entering geosynchronous orbit. They will be ready to drop in fifteen."
"Roger," Miles said before he switched the intercom to the research laboratory. "Start securing the object for extraction."
The American and Japanese scientists took the pulsing orb from the containment glass box and moved the object into a sealed personal-size container. Once confident they had fulfilled all safety protocols, they brought it to the decontamination transfer section. The red light turned green after a short defection spray over the container.
"Alright, sir, the package is ready to go."
Miles grabbed the container and headed out of the laboratory module. Waiting outside were two Marines who were meant to be his security. To his surprise, he barely felt any weight. Most of it came from the container and not from the object inside.
As the three walked through the compound, to his surprise, Tactical Sergeant Kyomi Hata approached. Since the attack, she had wanted to stay away from the alien sphere as she barely survived her encounter with the humanoid machine.
"Finally getting out of the shell?" Miles jokingly asked.
"I was getting cooped up," Hata replied. "Besides, I wanted to ensure this little Akuma was gone once and for all."
"I would say those things inside the facility were Akuma's," Miles replied jokingly.
"You have a point," Hata said. "When are we going back in?"
"We will be going back inside the mountain of the gods once we get reinforcements from Earth and the proper equipment," Miles looked up as he was informed that the space capsule was incoming. From what he could tell, it was an Aether-class capsule. It was expected to use them to land on almost any celestial body with low gravity or local transportation between stations. Even with Mars's low gravity, landing and launching independently was still beyond the capsule's ability without being heavily modified.
Up within the heavens, they saw a very familiar sight. A small fireball fell from the sky and headed to their position. For anyone who has been to Mars, this was a well-known moment, known as the six minutes of terror. Going twelve thousand miles a second until they reached the surface was considered the journey's most dangerous and terrifying.
The space capsule's thrusters ignited while its three parachutes popped out from its top as it descended. As it drew closer, the Martian-rusted dust turned into a miniature dust ball, sweeping the surrounding area.
Everyone was in spacesuits, so none of them were in any danger from the outside hazards of this world. Still, they couldn't help but raise their hands to protect themselves from the dust storm. While Miles could barely see through the dust, he saw the craft touched down a short distance away.
"Talk about an entrance," Hata said. "Never thought I would be in the thick of it. We just broke five safety regulations."
"Actually, it's four," Miles replied as the dust settled.
"No, it was five. I read the book on the flight here from Luna."
"Of course you did."
The dust started to dissipate, and four figures could be seen exiting the capsule.
"Let's go," Miles said.
The two Marines took point, providing security as the four walked toward the four CIA operatives. Three operatives approached while one stayed by the spacecraft, acting as a rear guard.
Miles saw that the operatives were also armed as they drew closer. P52's, he assumed. Almost as if they were expecting something.
Once they got closer, Taylor Miles could see their suits' network signal. He connected to their frequency and said, "Welcome to Mars."
"Captain Miles, I assume," Nelson said.
"That is correct."
The two groups finally met. However, each armed guard kept their fingers on the triggers, watching their superior talk.
"Surprised how armed you all are," Miles said. "Expecting something?"
"Shouldn't I be?" Nelson asked. "I heard reports that you had three MIA's. That is a red flag I do not like. RIA? CCP? Zhongguo? It wouldn't surprise me if it were the WEL, India, or my grandmother."
Taylor Miles was about to respond with a correction; however, he stopped himself, a fact that Nelson did not miss. Based on the Commander's statement, the operative was unaware of what happened within the alien facility and probably assumed that the drilling accident was a convenient cover story. The CIA commander knew something had happened and was taking no risks.
"We had a situation; however, it was handled," Miles replied. "I am under direct orders from Space Command not to give further details."
"I understand," Nelson said. "The package?"
Miles lifted the container, staring at it, wondering what ripple effects this would have. The only thing he knew was that this was the beginning of something. Something that he hoped his people would be ready for.
Nelson took the container and quickly lifted it, staring at it. "It is lighter than I expected."
"That is what I said," Miles replied.
Nelson smirked and nodded. "Alright, our business is done."
And just like that, the three operatives turned and walked toward their capsule.
"That was freaky," Hata stated. "It felt like one of those cowboy movies."
"They're called Westerns," Miles corrected.
"Same thing."
He watched as the operatives entered their space capsule. Soon enough, the Aether thrusters ignited, lifting back toward the heavens. He was surprised it didn't need any additional thrust or fuel to get back into orbit, assuming it was heavily modified for whatever it needed.
The dust cloud re-emerged from the ignition blast, engulfing the four of them. Hearing from Kyomi that they should get out of the mini dust storm, he agreed, and the four started heading back to the camp.
2024.05.31 21:57 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think (Part 3)
Part 1
Part 2
Content Warning: Child Abuse
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaosâŚ
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm⌠well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was⌠well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for himâat least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware ofâŚ" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just⌠I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antennaâno, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shiftsâblinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan toâŚ" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth isâŚ" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plantâand my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD'sâclassic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrowâŚ
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too longâŚ
Ooh I can't take it, very much longerâŚ
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"âmy choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, orâ"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back inâ
"âI'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Iâyou"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust himâthat it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating⌠Recalculating⌠Reâcomplete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, whatâ" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detectingâ"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time nowâ"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"Thisâme, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understandâit's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been⌠wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreatâa reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.
submitted by Weathers_Writing to nosleep [link] [comments]
Part 2
Content Warning: Child Abuse
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaosâŚ
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm⌠well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was⌠well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for himâat least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware ofâŚ" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just⌠I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antennaâno, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shiftsâblinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan toâŚ" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth isâŚ" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plantâand my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD'sâclassic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrowâŚ
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too longâŚ
Ooh I can't take it, very much longerâŚ
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"âmy choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, orâ"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back inâ
"âI'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Iâyou"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust himâthat it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating⌠Recalculating⌠Reâcomplete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, whatâ" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detectingâ"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time nowâ"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"Thisâme, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understandâit's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been⌠wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreatâa reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.
2024.05.31 21:53 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think (Part 3)
Part 1
Part 2
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaosâŚ
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm⌠well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was⌠well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for himâat least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware ofâŚ" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just⌠I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antennaâno, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shiftsâblinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan toâŚ" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth isâŚ" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plantâand my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD'sâclassic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrowâŚ
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too longâŚ
Ooh I can't take it, very much longerâŚ
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"âmy choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, orâ"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back inâ
"âI'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Iâyou"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust himâthat it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating⌠Recalculating⌠Reâcomplete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, whatâ" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detectingâ"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time nowâ"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"Thisâme, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understandâit's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been⌠wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreatâa reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.
submitted by Weathers_Writing to weatherswriting [link] [comments]
Part 2
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaosâŚ
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm⌠well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was⌠well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for himâat least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware ofâŚ" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just⌠I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antennaâno, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shiftsâblinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan toâŚ" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth isâŚ" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plantâand my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD'sâclassic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrowâŚ
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too longâŚ
Ooh I can't take it, very much longerâŚ
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"âmy choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, orâ"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back inâ
"âI'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Iâyou"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust himâthat it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating⌠Recalculating⌠Reâcomplete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, whatâ" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detectingâ"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time nowâ"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"Thisâme, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understandâit's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been⌠wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreatâa reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.
2024.05.31 20:09 PoetryAsPrayer Self-concept isnât high self-esteem
Iâve noticed there is some confusion regarding self-concept, when we are talking in the context of the law and manifesting.
Self-concept (aka concept of self) here does not mean having a good self-esteem. It does not mean loving yourself. All of that is well and good, and it certainly may be helpful in manifesting what you want because when you feel good about yourself, itâs easier to generate the kind of feelings you will have when you get what you want. And that may get you into the state of the wish fulfilled.
That said, there are people who have desirable things, things that you currently want yourself, and they donât have high self-esteem. They may also be ridden with anxiety and fears. Yet they may have money, a great romantic partner, or perhaps a cool job. Why is this? Because âself-conceptâ is just another phrase indicating your state of consciousness.
You can be in a great relationship and not have great self-esteem simply because you are in a state of being âcoupledâ. Notice when Neville instructed people on how to manifest a marriage partner, or when he relates stories of people who did that, they donât focus on their self-esteem at all; rather, their self concept becomes âmarried personâ, and he tells them to imagine something which indicates theyâre married, such as wearing a wedding ring on the finger or sharing a bed with someone. Joseph Murphy often recommended âprayersâ which give thanks for being with someone amazing - this is to move you into the state of being with someone amazing. Yes youâve heard that thereâs âno one to change but selfâ, and youâve probably been told to focus on BEING, not the desired thing itself. Thatâs true, but obviously our sense of self is partly how we relate to others. When youâre in a great relationship, your sense of self is âhappily taken personâ. Youâre being that person internally, and from that viewpoint is how you see everything.
What about money? Does every rich person feel deserving? Probably not. Many are born into such circumstance. In contrast, plenty of people feel they deserve money and donât have much. Why? Because their self-concept is âpoor person who deserves moreâ. They simply are conscious of being poor. To become conscious of being rich, they must imagine themselves as rich and feel it as their norm. Meanwhile, rich people who have low self-esteem simply have a self-concept of being rich, independent of how they feel about themselves. Their self-concept may be âpoor little rich girl/boyâ.
To understand the âself-conceptâ as a state you inhabit, you can think of it as a role youâre playing. If you were a movie character, how would your character be described? âThe sweet girl whoâs unlucky in loveâ or âthe noble hero who suffersâ. Donât play those roles.
To wrap it up, having a high self-esteem is wonderful. I personally greatly benefited from doing self-love meditations, and I highly recommend them, but theyâre not necessarily going to change your state to the state of the wish fulfilled. Ask yourself âWhat would my identity be if I were or had what I now desire?â and now youâre defining a âself conceptâ that will help you manifest that new self and everything it implies.
This was originally written for the main NG sub but itâs been sitting in moderator purgatory for a week now, so I am posting it here.
submitted by PoetryAsPrayer to NevilleGoddard2 [link] [comments]
Self-concept (aka concept of self) here does not mean having a good self-esteem. It does not mean loving yourself. All of that is well and good, and it certainly may be helpful in manifesting what you want because when you feel good about yourself, itâs easier to generate the kind of feelings you will have when you get what you want. And that may get you into the state of the wish fulfilled.
That said, there are people who have desirable things, things that you currently want yourself, and they donât have high self-esteem. They may also be ridden with anxiety and fears. Yet they may have money, a great romantic partner, or perhaps a cool job. Why is this? Because âself-conceptâ is just another phrase indicating your state of consciousness.
Your consciousness is the cause of your world. The conscious state in which you abide determines the kind of world in which you live. Your present concept of yourself is now objectified as your environmentâŚFreedom For All
You can be in a great relationship and not have great self-esteem simply because you are in a state of being âcoupledâ. Notice when Neville instructed people on how to manifest a marriage partner, or when he relates stories of people who did that, they donât focus on their self-esteem at all; rather, their self concept becomes âmarried personâ, and he tells them to imagine something which indicates theyâre married, such as wearing a wedding ring on the finger or sharing a bed with someone. Joseph Murphy often recommended âprayersâ which give thanks for being with someone amazing - this is to move you into the state of being with someone amazing. Yes youâve heard that thereâs âno one to change but selfâ, and youâve probably been told to focus on BEING, not the desired thing itself. Thatâs true, but obviously our sense of self is partly how we relate to others. When youâre in a great relationship, your sense of self is âhappily taken personâ. Youâre being that person internally, and from that viewpoint is how you see everything.
To change another within my world I must first change my concept of that other; and to do it best I change my concept of self. For it was the concept I held of self that made me see others as I did.No One to Change But Self (lecture)
What about money? Does every rich person feel deserving? Probably not. Many are born into such circumstance. In contrast, plenty of people feel they deserve money and donât have much. Why? Because their self-concept is âpoor person who deserves moreâ. They simply are conscious of being poor. To become conscious of being rich, they must imagine themselves as rich and feel it as their norm. Meanwhile, rich people who have low self-esteem simply have a self-concept of being rich, independent of how they feel about themselves. Their self-concept may be âpoor little rich girl/boyâ.
To understand the âself-conceptâ as a state you inhabit, you can think of it as a role youâre playing. If you were a movie character, how would your character be described? âThe sweet girl whoâs unlucky in loveâ or âthe noble hero who suffersâ. Donât play those roles.
It is only by a change of consciousness, by actually changing your concept of yourself, that you can "build more stately mansions" â the manifestations of higher and higher concepts.Power of Awareness
To wrap it up, having a high self-esteem is wonderful. I personally greatly benefited from doing self-love meditations, and I highly recommend them, but theyâre not necessarily going to change your state to the state of the wish fulfilled. Ask yourself âWhat would my identity be if I were or had what I now desire?â and now youâre defining a âself conceptâ that will help you manifest that new self and everything it implies.
This was originally written for the main NG sub but itâs been sitting in moderator purgatory for a week now, so I am posting it here.
2024.05.31 18:52 Wings_of_Darkness Festival of the Great Eel God (Part 1/2)
A newcomer to the strange town of Maelstrom finds himself embroiled in a strange festival dedicated to their Great Eel God
âMaelstrom! Everyone off for Maelstrom!â The lethargic voice of the bus driver rang out.
I felt a dozen seated eyes on me as I awkwardly stood up, mumbling apologies as I shuffled past the unhappy-looking man beside me and onto the aisle. I couldnât help but notice the bus driverâs stare on me as I clambered down the steps off the rickety old bus. Nobody else had alighted with me.
âHey, sir!â He called out. I gulped. Did he noticeâŚ?
âYou sure youâre alighting here? Augustaâs two stops down.â He continued.
âIâm alighting here, thatâs right.â I said, a small sense of relief washing through me. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, but apparently decided otherwise and bit his lip.
âYouâre letting the bugs in!â An annoyed voice shouted from within the bus.
âAlright, suit yourself.â The driver gave me a slow shake of the head before closing the doors. The bus drove on down the lonely road, spluttering black exhaust as it clattered onwards.
I took a deep inhale, breathing in the salty scent of the sea. It had been a long time since I was on the coast, or anywhere nice, really.
It was a short walk off the road and along the coast before I came upon it: Maelstrom. The tiny quiet fishing village stretched from the coast all the way up the side of a hill. The villagers had carved the slope up into terraces, each packed with houses, narrowing the higher up the hill they went. Each terrace had its own path, and they were connected by steep flights of stairs cut into the earth.
Something caught my eye. At the heart of the village, around halfway up the hill, construction was ongoing. It seemed like some sort of festival square, wooden beams and arches draped with unlit white lanterns. Two open-air wooden towers flanked the square reaching in height to the next terrace up, a wooden plank connecting it to that path. Banners with all colours of the rainbow were strung up between them.
My gaze then leapt from house to house, spotting a lone red one at the very top where I presumed the village chief stayed, but none of them showed any signage designating them as an inn.
âAn inn?â The first stranger Iâd gone up to asked as if it were the strangest question in the world. He was slightly taller than me, with dry matted hair and leathery sun-baked skin. âWe donât have an inn.â
âYou donât?â My eyes widened.
âDonât get visitors around here. We donât like tourists.â He gnashed his crooked teeth together.
âIâm not a tourist. I just want to stay here for a few days before moving further upstate.â
âWell, doesnât change much. We donât have an inn, a motel, or a hotel here.â
âGreatâŚthanks anyway.â
Staring at the man as he limped off towards the coast, various possible solutions ran through my head. This wasnât going to be fun.
My sore knuckles rapped against the next door down.
âHey, sir, Iâm new in town. Iâm wondering if you have a room that I could rent for about three to four days.â I forced a smile for the umpteenth time.
âNo tourist is going to live in my house.â The bald grumpy fisherman slammed his door in my face.
âI donât even have enough rooms for my own family, run along.â The bearded man with a long scar across his eye shooed me away.
âLeave!â I heard the elderly lady latching at least three locks on her door.
âSorry, no openings here.â A young woman said, only peeking her right eye at me from behind her door.
The setting Sunâs orange rays peeked through from behind the hill and cast a long shadow behind me as I went for what must have been my millionth door and tapped on it. It slowly creaked open.
âHi sir, Iâm new here. Do you have room for rent or something?â I asked. God, I was thirsty.
âRoom?â A raspy deep voice emerged from the house. Elongated thin fingers about the length of my hand wrapped around the edge of the worn wooden door and pulled it open, slowly revealing the inhabitant to me.
The man was tall, at least two metres in height. He towered far above me, bending down nearly 70 degrees to avoid hitting the doorframe. I barely reached his hips, which were supported on disproportionately long and thin legs. A belt had been curled three times around his waist to hold up his baggy pantsâŚor were they regular-sized?
âYou need a room, you say?â His beady eyes surveyed me as he leaned out the doorframe, then grunted in annoyance at the sunlight reflecting off the sea. The brief glimpse of him in the light illuminated what his wrinkled, sagging oval-shaped face. Both it and his long neck were covered in black festering sores. He settled back halfway out the door.
âI think Iâve one to spare, young man.â The man said, scratching his arms. I had a sudden, very bad feeling about this situation.
âA-actually, I donât need one.â I stammered out.
âSo, you knocked on my door for fun?â He glared at me, his scratching on his arms getting faster and faster. âI think itâd be rude not to come in to take a look, wouldnât it?â
âNo, no, umâŚhow many rooms do you have on offer?â
âOne.â
âAh, see, Iâm actually renting for two people.â I said, before another thought rushed into my mind. âAnd we both cannot stand being in the same room with each other.â
âHmmâŚwell I think I could spare two rooms.â He pondered, biting on the skin of his index finger and pulling it a dozen centimetres away before letting it snap back.
âDid I say two? I meant three people total.â I nodded frantically. âThree rooms. We all hate each other.â
He stared at me.
âWelp, gotta go then.â I gave him a slight bow and power-walked away from the house as fast as I could.
Just my luck! I grumbled under my breath as I walked off. Iâd chosen this town since it was so remote and unknown. Just one review on Google too (one star), saying it was weird but cheap. Everything lined up, or so Iâd thought.
Now what? Addison was probably heading this way, if she hadnât been caught already, but it would take three or four days. The thought of sleeping rough in such a strange town didnât bode well, but if I had no choiceâŚ
I was snapped out of my thoughts when I nearly walked straight into a thick wooden pillar in the middle of the terrace path. Looking round in annoyance at this awful bit of town design, I realised Iâd accidentally stumbled my way onto the festival square. Nobody seemed to be around; it was evening after all.
Rounding the pillar of the leftmost tower, I stepped onto the festival square. It was about 15 metres wide or so, with the centre having a massive rectangular platform raised slightly from the ground, stretching to the edge of the terrace facing the sea. Perhaps theyâd construct some altar of sorts, I thought.
I stared into the sea, waves gently lapping at the shore. I blinked. For a moment, I thought there had been something utterly massive under the waves.
âFirst time seeing this?â A gentle-sounding voice came from behind me. I quicky turned round to see an attractive young man, looking to be around my age, with loose, neck-length black hair and tanned skin, dressed in a T-shirt and frayed jean shorts.
âUmmâŚsorry I was just taking a look.â I tried to explain.
âYeah, donât worry, youâre new.â
âOh, is it that obvious?â I scratched my hair sheepishly, cheeks turning red.
âWe donât get many visitors, and people who live here donât gawk at the festival square like that.â He said, running his hand along the wooden pillar of the towers. As if on cue, a tall woman with stringy blonde hair walked by, clasped her hands, and slightly bowed at the square, before continuing onwards without a second glance at us.
âWhatâs this festival about anyway?â I asked, glancing round at all the beautiful decorations in the half-finished square.
The young man stepped closer to me and pointed out to the sea, where the waters twinkled with the orange sunlight and where several boats were slowly pulling back to the small harbour.
âThis town worships a god, who lives in the sea. Each year, we hold a festival, lighting this square up, and bring him to shore where we give him our devotion.â
âAnd he shows up?â
âYeah.â
âAlright.â
âYou donât believe me, I get it.â He giggled. âJust look there.â
I followed his finger, watching it trace an invisible line from the square all the way to the coast, across dozens of houses. At first, I didnât quite get what he was showing me. There wasnât a road or path for this god of theirs, it was just various houses, somewhat haphazardly built.
Thatâs when I noticed it. These homes. They were repaired out of seemingly whatever materials the villagers could get, unlike the ones to the edges of the village or in the terraces of the hill. They looked awful, like two halves made from different materials and by different people had been awkwardly smushed together, but only houses in a rough wide line from the coast to the square. Almost as if a very precise tornado ripped through there a year ago.
Or a god.
âWell, if thatâs true,â my mind was racing for explanations, âwhy would they rebuild their houses in the same place? Why not leave a proper gap for your god?â
âThatâd be the smart choice, I guess,â he had a small grin on his beguiling face, âbut people think its auspicious if their homes get touched by the divine.â
Touched? Just how big was this god of theirs, if he were actually real?
âWhen is this festival?â
âIn two days. Weâve never actually had a newcomer arrive this close to the festival. Will you be staying?â
That stomped my current conundrum firmly back into my conscious thoughts and all I could do was sigh. âWell, I want to, but this place doesnât actually have an inn, and people donât want me to rent out a room.â
A twinkle seemed to appear in his brown eyes.
âYouâre not going to believe this.â
âHmmâŚâ
I sat straight as a needle and sweated buckets as the short, middle-aged woman with dark eye circles and braided hair circled me, looking me meticulously up and down by the light of a candle.
At the other side of the small wooden dining table sat the young man, who I now knew as Erik, giving me an embarrassed smile, frequently averting his eyes.
âMom, come on, isnât that enough? Nick's fine.â He shook his legs anxiously.
âHmmâŚhe seems nice enough, not like a troublemaker.â She said in a wiry voice. Erik covered one side of his face in sheer awkwardness.
âPlus, heâs not bad in height.â She continued.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â I asked, throwing in a half-hearted laugh to avoid sounding rude.
âWe like tall people around here. The taller, the better. It symbolises closeness with our deity.â Erik explained. The image of that grotesquely tall man staring at me in the doorframe crept back into my brain.
âWeâll let you take that room then.â Erikâs mother pointed to the closest of a set of three doors. âRent will be $30 a day, and you will have to pay for what you eat here at the end of your stay.â
âThank you so much!â I leapt up and shook her hand, feeling the weight of one solved problem being relieved, and at a price I could afford too! Iâd been saving so much on my money that Iâd even actually not gotten a real ticket for that bus ride. That would be solved once Addison makes it here. If she could without getting caught. Right away, I handed over the $30 in cash.
âHope you like seafood.â Erik was positively beaming, an alluring smile from ear to ear.
âDonât worry, I love seafood.â I said, sitting back down at the table again.
âSpeaking of seafood, those useless fishermen caught less than half their usual haul today.â She said, bringing a plate of steamed fish to the table, the aroma making my famished stomach grumble.
âMom, itâs just that they caught so many eels this time.â Erik said, clearly salivating at the food too.
âEels are nice.â I said, causing both to look at me. âIâve a friend, Kana, whoâs really into researching them.â
âResearch?â Erikâs mother raised an eyebrow.
âYou know, studying them in jars, cutting them up after death, that kind of stuff.â Iâd just finished the sentence, but it was like someone had taken a knife to the mood. Both the others at the dinner table now stared at their food, disdain slowly rising in Erikâs motherâs face.
âUm, Nick,â Erik cleared his throat, âeels are kinda sacred here in Maelstrom.â
I felt a deep sinking feeling in my gut.
âSorry, really sorry, I didnât know.â I said, looking over to Erik.
âNewcomers are always like this, right?â He gave his mom a light laugh in an attempt to defuse the situation.
âDonât say it again.â She stared straight through my soul.
âNever will.â
The room they gave me was alright apart from all the junk that looked like it had been dumped in the corner and chopped apart with an axe.
âAnd that is?â I pointed at it, small candle in hand.
âAh well,â Erik sat down on the bed, bouncing on the mattress a little, âthis was my uncleâs room. But he did something we didnât like.â
âWe as in you and your mom?â
âWe as in Maelstrom.â Erik looked down at his feet. âLook, there are some lines you donât cross if you were born here, and he did.â
âAnd heâsâŚgone?â
âHe left the village. Mom gave him three days to come back, and when he didnât, she destroyed everything that he owned and has been looking for someone to live in this room for a while. To get rid of the scent, according to her.â
âWhy not burn it, instead of just leaving it lying in a corner?â
âWeâre not really allowed to start a fire so close to StorĂĽlens natt, even during the day. Inauspicious thing.â
âSto-what?â
âThe festival.â He let out a giggle. âLike I said earlier, we light up the square at night and bring our god in once a year. Every other night, Maelstrom is darkness incarnate.â
I peered out of the window, and he was right. The only light source was the dim glow from the candle in my hand. Everything outside the wooden windows had been swallowed up by the pitch-black night. I could hear footsteps in the dirt and some light chatter from nearby, but unease crept into me at not being able to actually lay eyes on those producing the sounds.
âThatâsâŚcreepy.â
âYou get used to it. You can start unpacking now, I guess.â Erik motioned towards my bag.
âI donât have much.â I chuckled softly, unslinging the backpack from my shoulders, placing it on the floor, and pulling my camera from it.
âIs thatâŚ?â His eyes widened.
âA digital camera, yeah. Smile.â I raised it to my eyes and aimed it at him. He let out a childish squeak and waved his outstretched hands to block his face.
âDonât worry, Iâm just joking.â I laughed again, lowering the camera and moving to replace it in my bag.
âAre you any good at photo taking?â
âSure, Iâm decent.â
âHmm, I suppose it would be a waste to not take a picture.â
âSo, you do want it, Erik?â
âAlright, Nick, you can take your photo. And you can delete it if itâs not good either.â He hurriedly threw the second sentence in.
âSmile.â I brought the camera up. Erik scrambled to a better position on the bed, crossing his left leg over the other and giving a slight smile. I clicked the button and enveloped him in a bright flash which made him flinch in surprise.
âCareful, donât aim that out of the window.â He warned, before pushing that concern aside and practically bounding across the room to me. âHow does it look? Not too bad, I hope.â
I flicked it over to gallery, staring at the captured image: his twinkling brown eyes, his smooth hair, and semi-confident look. âI think you look great.â
âThatâs quite good. Uncle never took photos like this with his camera.â He rubbed his hands together in excitement.
âDid it get smashed to pieces?â
âHe took it when he left.â He said with a wistful tone that clearly divulged some sort of longing for that man. âDo you have anything else fancy?â
âJust my extra clothes mostly.â I gave him an apologetic smile.
âYouâre not traveling with much. Where are you going after these three days?â
âUpstate probably. Just waiting right now for a girl, Addison.â
âAâŚgirlfriend?â He looked away at the floor.
âNah, just a good friend. A partner of sorts.â I just hoped sheâd avoided trouble so far.
âAnd youâll be settling down somewhere in northern Maine then.â
âI suppose, yeah. You?â
âWeâre not really allowed to leave. Thatâs part of why my mom was so mad about my uncle.â He sighed, anxiously fiddling with his fingers. âWhen we reach adulthood, all of us swear an oath for a lifetime of devotion to our god.â
Both of us fell silent for quite a few seconds before he awkwardly got up and cleared his throat. âIâll leave you to it then. Goodnight, Nick.â
âGoodnight, Erik.â
They say the first night in an unfamiliar place is always sleepless. Iâd managed to sleep in all sorts of places just fine since I left home seven years ago. But now here I was, staring into the ceiling, engulfed in total darkness now that Iâd snuffed the candle out. Something about Maelstrom was off. It wasnât just the weird customs or religion. The whole village felt wrong.
As I tossed and turned in the bed too short for my stature, strange sounds began to creep through the closed windows. I strained my ears, trying to make it out.
That wasâŚhammering? Sawing? Soft chatter. Dragging wood and metal. Slowly, I got to my feet and crept to the window, pulling them open. The noises got louder. It was definitely construction, and it seemed to be coming from the direction of the festival square. Of course, as much as I squinted, I failed to pierce the veil of night that hid them. Why were they doing building up the festival stuff without any light? It seemed like a safety hazard.
Should IâŚtake a photo with flash?
No, no, awful idea. Erik already warned me about the rules. Physically shaking my head as if to get that dumb thought out of it, I closed the wooden windows again and settled back in bed, the sounds of them building the festival square forming a monotonous background noise.
Iâd just began to drift into sleep when I heard a different, louder sound. Boots crunching in the rocks and dirt, getting closer and closer. My mind shot awake immediately, but I stayed lying under the blanket. Just someone passing by with materials, probably.
The footsteps got closer and closer until they got to outside my window. Then they stopped.
I sat up quietly.
Sniffing sounds came from outside. I heard the wooden windows slowly open with a creak.
As silently as I could, I reached into my bag, taking extra care until I felt the metal blade of my knife and the remnants of dried blood on it. Tracing my finger along until it touched the handle, I grabbed the weapon and pulled it out, crouching low to the ground and very slowly creeping until I was beside the window, which had just hit the angular limit of its opening.
Then nothing.
They were waiting, I was sure of it. Waiting for me or waiting for something. I couldnât see a damn thing, so I only had my ears. It was quiet except for the distant construction and the loud thudding of my heart, pounding at my ribcage. My hands were so sweaty I was sure I was going to drop the knife and alert whoever it was.
I could smell something vaguely fishy. As in actual fish. What the hell was happening? Should I go back to the bedside and light the candle?
Something big touched me on the front of the chest. Barely able to restrain a yelp, I hacked the knife down as hard as I could, cutting through it. Something heavy thudded to the floor and a deep howl of pain came from outside the window. Footsteps quickly retreated away from my window towards the festival square.
One hand still clutched on the knife handle in a death grip, I backed away until I felt my legs hit the bed. My left hand swept across the bedside until I grabbed the lighter, flicking it on and reigniting the candle.
I pushed the windows closed with my foot to make sure no light escaped and crouched down to the floor, searching for whatever Iâd chopped off. My heart nearly stopped when I saw red blood staining the wooden floor. Following the trail, I spotted my target.
Still squirming on the floor was a severed human finger, at least fifteen centimetres long.
All the colour drained out of Erikâs face when I showed him the bloody mess the next morning.
We went out for a walk at dawn at his insistence, and I watched as he quickly tossed the finger into a small pond nearby, where the fish began to devour it ravenously.
âDonât talk about it.â He told me grimly, and I could do nothing but nod. After a quick breakfast, Erik led me down the hill and into the more coastal section of Maelstrom. We navigated through streets filled with junk, where stray cats hissed at us and tired-looking villagers shot us glances as they went about the chores. Up close, these hastily rebuilt houses looked even worse. Walls barely held up corrugated metal roofs and gaping holes led water into them.
Finally, we arrived at the vacant remnants of a house that evidently never got reconstructed. Most of the items in the house had been cleared, as had much of the debris, leaving several piles of junk and the occasional weathered piece of furniture, where two others sat, a young man and young woman with dark tanned skin.
âWhoâs the tagalong?â The woman asked, giving us friendly waves.
âThis is Nick, he showed up in Maelstrom yesterday. Nick, my friends Jonas and Sigrid.â
âNice to meet you.â
âWe havenât had a newcomer come this close to StorĂĽlens natt before.â Jonas mused.
âHow exciting.â Sigrid said with a level of sarcasm I didnât know was possible. âYou looking to get eaten too?â
âEaten?!â I exclaimed in alarm. âWhat do you mean?â
Both of them looked over at Erik.
âWhat?â He shrugged sheepishly. âThere wasnât a good time to explain yesterday.â
âYouâre saying this festival involves people getting eaten? I thought your god just came ashore, crushed a few buildings, and got worshipped.â
âSee this house weâre sitting in?â Sigrid said.
âNot really much of a house.â I pointed out.
âExactly. The Larsen family used to live here. Two elderly parents and an unmarried son. The two old folks got eaten a couple of festivals ago, and their son finally went with them last year. Nobody was left to rebuild this place, so the village chief just collected their stuff and distributed it.â
âYou need to explain what the hell happens.â
âOur god, a great eel, comes out onto land on StorĂĽlens natt every year.â Erik said, a deep frown on his suddenly crestfallen face. âPart of the festivalâŚthe most important partâŚdevotees feed themselves to him.â
I gulped reflexively.
âThey stuff him as much as possible, and he vomits out most of them before he leaves. Those âluckyâ ones are consumed, and we believe he takes them to his underwater kingdom to live for eternity. The Larsens got lucky, as they say.â
Words failed me in the moment. I looked back and forth at all three of them. Jonas gave me a sympathetic shrug.
âAnd those that get thrown up?â I finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence.
âThey get blessed by the Great Eel God, physically.â Sigrid said.
My mind, overwhelmed by racing thoughts, snapped on a crystal-clear image. âYou mean they get really tall and thin.â
âThatâs one of them.â She nodded.
âErik,â Jonas said hesitantly, âis your mother still insisting on feeding the Great Eel God tomorrow?â
He looked away. Both Jonas and Sigrid gave him empathetic looks.
âBut donât you all think thatâs good? I mean, in your religion?â I asked.
âWeâre supposed to.â Sigrid sighed. âBut once youâve actuallyâŚlost people or seen them change, it doesnât feel good.â
âAll the proper adults, our parents, the chief, everyone. They say itâs the nature of youth to have shaky faith in the Great Eel.â Jonas threw his hands up. âAs if we donât know anything.â
âHate the chief.â Sigrid growled. âSpineless prick. When my grandma got eaten, he scolded me when I was sad. Said I was selfish.â
âWe just have to go with it. Not like we can leave anyway.â Jonas continued.
âWhy not?â
âI already told you last night. Weâre not allowed to.â Erik said.
âAre there guards preventing you from leaving?â
âUmâŚno?â
âThen why canât you leave?â The three of them stared at me incredulously.
âWe canât just leave our parents, you dick.â Jonasâ face reddened.
âItâs Nick. And I ran from my home when I was just 13. Sometimes, if thereâs a situation where you just have to get out, you get out, even if it hurts. You have to let go.â
They all glanced at each other, except Erik, who stared at the ruined ground and refused to look over.
âAnd has your life been good since you ran away?â Sigrid asked.
I took a sharp inhale. âWell, no, itâs been pretty awful to be honest, but it was better than staying with my mom and dad. Iâm just saying, really think about it.â
We stayed talking for a while, them prodding me for life details and me prodding them on this festival, but nothing substantial came from it. Sigrid and Jonas showed me around the coast, and before I knew it, the Sun was setting again. We bid goodbye to the two and Erik led me back up the hill through the steep terrace staircases and back to his home.
As we reached the terrace where his home was located, our path was blocked by two figures. I recognised the first man immediately. Looming menacingly before us was the same tall, thin man that I had rejected the room rent offer from, his saggy face with disgusting black sores moving closer to me.
âVillage chief!â Erik greeted immediately, standing up straight.
âHeâs the village chief?â My disbelief that my luck could be that bad rising.
âIs there a problem?â The village chief rubbed his ten spindly fingers together.
âOh, no, chief. Iâd just assumed that the village chief would be staying at that lone house up there.â I pointed to the highest house on the hill, roof glinting with sunlight.
âThatâs just where Old Henriksen stays. Just a weirdo who never shows up.â Erik explained. A weirdo even by Maelstromâs standards? That I had to see.
âThrough my tenure as chief and my predecessors before me, it was deemed untenable to move Old Henriksen from his rightful home. But enough about that. I see you have decided to stay, newcomer.â He said.
âYes, with Erik here.â
His lips curled open, but not into a smile, instead showing his rotting pointed teeth.
âI recall you saying you had two companions with you who required separate rooms. Yet young Erik here only has one room to spare, that of his rotten uncle.â His breath was pungent like rotting fish and meat.
âThey decided they hated this place and left for Augusta.â I stood as strong as I could, barely hiding the sheer panic telling me to run for the next town.
âVery well. You are welcome in Maelstrom, even to observe StorĂĽlens natt, but we will not allow you to participate.â
âI understand.â Not like I wanted to get eaten by this supposed eel god anyway.
âAnd you will not take any photographs or videos to share with the outside world. This is our most sacred ceremonyâŚI hope you understand for your own good.â He slapped me on the shoulder with his hand, fingers wrapping halfway down my spine.
âOf course.â I said, stepping back to dislodge the physical contact. âWe will be hosting it here tomorrow night.â He gestured at the festival square one terrace step down. Work had been done on it since yesterday. A wooden roof structure with angular bent pillars covered the rectangular platform, now covered with a glittering piece of purple velvety cloth. The decorations of unlit lanterns and banners was far more complex, criss-crossing over and hanging from every available height.
âOne more thing, donât forget not to use any bright lights at night, or there will be consequences.â The chief said, breaking into a smile. âAt last, after having been so devoted for so long, I will finally get my chance to join our god down in his eternal abyssal domain.â
âYouâre leaving tomorrow?â Erik asked, surprised.
âYes, Edvard here will be taking over.â
The man behind him, even taller and thinner with crumpled scratchy skin, nodded in a way that was somehow threatening. He scratched furiously at his face, where the skin was clearly peeling off and red raw.
âYou better listen, newcomer.â His voice was thin and croaky.
His hand. Where his index finger should be was instead bandaged and stained with dried red blood.
âLost your finger recently?â I stared at him. He returned the gaze with his beady dark eyes.
âFishing accident.â
The exquisite taste of the salmon was almost enough to make me cry.
Erikâs mother looked at me amused as I scarfed down the food as soon as it touched my plate.
âSee, son? My cooking is as good as it still is.â She boasted with the proudest grin on her face.
Erik stared sullenly into his own plate of food, taking the smallest nibbles once in a while. As dinner went on, his mother talked constantly to both of us, but he never replied to her once.
âWhat are you so angry about?â She finally asked. âIs it about StorĂĽlens natt?â
He didnât speak.
âErik, Iâve been waiting for this chance for a long time. I know your faith is shaky.â
Silence.
âYour father got lucky that day, you know?â
âHe did. But we didnât.â Erik mumbled just loudly enough for us to hear.
âStop talking nonsense, Erik.â
âHe got to go to his eternal underwater kingdom. We had to live life without him.â
âYou should be happy for him.â
âI am. Iâm just not happy for us.â
âI know you miss him, Erik. I miss him too.â
âThen why did you let him go?â He was shouting. âWhy did you let the Great Eel God consume him?â
âItâs what he wanted.â
Erik silently shook his head, staring down at the table. âHe was being selfish, letting us go.â
âErik, what are you talking about?â His mother snapped at him.
âHow much of our money did you have to spend on this?â He jabbed a fork at the salmon.
âHaving a guest over is a special occasion.â His mother awkwardly glanced at me.
âUncle Jakob had to get two jobs to help earn us enough money. He saw StorĂĽlens natt for what it was. Thatâs why he ran away.â
âThat idiot abandoned us!â She slammed a palm on the wooden table. âHe left us to have to fend for ourselves.â
âIsnât that what dad did too?â
The sheer boiling rage displayed across her face made me want to cower under the furniture. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him with little resistance to her room and slammed the door shut. I heard loud cursing and the sound of palms colliding onto flesh. My appetite suddenly gone, I hurriedly retreated into my room.
About half an hour later, I heard the door open and slow footsteps shuffle into Erikâs bedroom. I heard him crash onto his bed and softly sob for a long while. Part of me urged me to go over to talk to him, comfort him, but when I stood up, nothing but a huge wave of anxiety and fear washed over me.
Giving up on that thought, I sat back down on the bed and took my camera out in the dim candlelight. Clicking into the gallery immediately took me to the pleasant photo of Erik last night.
Could I? Should I?
Two sides of my mind were in fierce debate. Iâd enough run-ins with the law not to risk it. Not to mention the village chief had warned me of âconsequencesâ.
But listening to the quiet weeping next door, I had to. I was going to capture evidence of this accursed festival tomorrow and get some sort of law enforcement intervention.
Read PART TWO here.
submitted by Wings_of_Darkness to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
âMaelstrom! Everyone off for Maelstrom!â The lethargic voice of the bus driver rang out.
I felt a dozen seated eyes on me as I awkwardly stood up, mumbling apologies as I shuffled past the unhappy-looking man beside me and onto the aisle. I couldnât help but notice the bus driverâs stare on me as I clambered down the steps off the rickety old bus. Nobody else had alighted with me.
âHey, sir!â He called out. I gulped. Did he noticeâŚ?
âYou sure youâre alighting here? Augustaâs two stops down.â He continued.
âIâm alighting here, thatâs right.â I said, a small sense of relief washing through me. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, but apparently decided otherwise and bit his lip.
âYouâre letting the bugs in!â An annoyed voice shouted from within the bus.
âAlright, suit yourself.â The driver gave me a slow shake of the head before closing the doors. The bus drove on down the lonely road, spluttering black exhaust as it clattered onwards.
I took a deep inhale, breathing in the salty scent of the sea. It had been a long time since I was on the coast, or anywhere nice, really.
It was a short walk off the road and along the coast before I came upon it: Maelstrom. The tiny quiet fishing village stretched from the coast all the way up the side of a hill. The villagers had carved the slope up into terraces, each packed with houses, narrowing the higher up the hill they went. Each terrace had its own path, and they were connected by steep flights of stairs cut into the earth.
Something caught my eye. At the heart of the village, around halfway up the hill, construction was ongoing. It seemed like some sort of festival square, wooden beams and arches draped with unlit white lanterns. Two open-air wooden towers flanked the square reaching in height to the next terrace up, a wooden plank connecting it to that path. Banners with all colours of the rainbow were strung up between them.
My gaze then leapt from house to house, spotting a lone red one at the very top where I presumed the village chief stayed, but none of them showed any signage designating them as an inn.
âAn inn?â The first stranger Iâd gone up to asked as if it were the strangest question in the world. He was slightly taller than me, with dry matted hair and leathery sun-baked skin. âWe donât have an inn.â
âYou donât?â My eyes widened.
âDonât get visitors around here. We donât like tourists.â He gnashed his crooked teeth together.
âIâm not a tourist. I just want to stay here for a few days before moving further upstate.â
âWell, doesnât change much. We donât have an inn, a motel, or a hotel here.â
âGreatâŚthanks anyway.â
Staring at the man as he limped off towards the coast, various possible solutions ran through my head. This wasnât going to be fun.
My sore knuckles rapped against the next door down.
âHey, sir, Iâm new in town. Iâm wondering if you have a room that I could rent for about three to four days.â I forced a smile for the umpteenth time.
âNo tourist is going to live in my house.â The bald grumpy fisherman slammed his door in my face.
âI donât even have enough rooms for my own family, run along.â The bearded man with a long scar across his eye shooed me away.
âLeave!â I heard the elderly lady latching at least three locks on her door.
âSorry, no openings here.â A young woman said, only peeking her right eye at me from behind her door.
The setting Sunâs orange rays peeked through from behind the hill and cast a long shadow behind me as I went for what must have been my millionth door and tapped on it. It slowly creaked open.
âHi sir, Iâm new here. Do you have room for rent or something?â I asked. God, I was thirsty.
âRoom?â A raspy deep voice emerged from the house. Elongated thin fingers about the length of my hand wrapped around the edge of the worn wooden door and pulled it open, slowly revealing the inhabitant to me.
The man was tall, at least two metres in height. He towered far above me, bending down nearly 70 degrees to avoid hitting the doorframe. I barely reached his hips, which were supported on disproportionately long and thin legs. A belt had been curled three times around his waist to hold up his baggy pantsâŚor were they regular-sized?
âYou need a room, you say?â His beady eyes surveyed me as he leaned out the doorframe, then grunted in annoyance at the sunlight reflecting off the sea. The brief glimpse of him in the light illuminated what his wrinkled, sagging oval-shaped face. Both it and his long neck were covered in black festering sores. He settled back halfway out the door.
âI think Iâve one to spare, young man.â The man said, scratching his arms. I had a sudden, very bad feeling about this situation.
âA-actually, I donât need one.â I stammered out.
âSo, you knocked on my door for fun?â He glared at me, his scratching on his arms getting faster and faster. âI think itâd be rude not to come in to take a look, wouldnât it?â
âNo, no, umâŚhow many rooms do you have on offer?â
âOne.â
âAh, see, Iâm actually renting for two people.â I said, before another thought rushed into my mind. âAnd we both cannot stand being in the same room with each other.â
âHmmâŚwell I think I could spare two rooms.â He pondered, biting on the skin of his index finger and pulling it a dozen centimetres away before letting it snap back.
âDid I say two? I meant three people total.â I nodded frantically. âThree rooms. We all hate each other.â
He stared at me.
âWelp, gotta go then.â I gave him a slight bow and power-walked away from the house as fast as I could.
Just my luck! I grumbled under my breath as I walked off. Iâd chosen this town since it was so remote and unknown. Just one review on Google too (one star), saying it was weird but cheap. Everything lined up, or so Iâd thought.
Now what? Addison was probably heading this way, if she hadnât been caught already, but it would take three or four days. The thought of sleeping rough in such a strange town didnât bode well, but if I had no choiceâŚ
I was snapped out of my thoughts when I nearly walked straight into a thick wooden pillar in the middle of the terrace path. Looking round in annoyance at this awful bit of town design, I realised Iâd accidentally stumbled my way onto the festival square. Nobody seemed to be around; it was evening after all.
Rounding the pillar of the leftmost tower, I stepped onto the festival square. It was about 15 metres wide or so, with the centre having a massive rectangular platform raised slightly from the ground, stretching to the edge of the terrace facing the sea. Perhaps theyâd construct some altar of sorts, I thought.
I stared into the sea, waves gently lapping at the shore. I blinked. For a moment, I thought there had been something utterly massive under the waves.
âFirst time seeing this?â A gentle-sounding voice came from behind me. I quicky turned round to see an attractive young man, looking to be around my age, with loose, neck-length black hair and tanned skin, dressed in a T-shirt and frayed jean shorts.
âUmmâŚsorry I was just taking a look.â I tried to explain.
âYeah, donât worry, youâre new.â
âOh, is it that obvious?â I scratched my hair sheepishly, cheeks turning red.
âWe donât get many visitors, and people who live here donât gawk at the festival square like that.â He said, running his hand along the wooden pillar of the towers. As if on cue, a tall woman with stringy blonde hair walked by, clasped her hands, and slightly bowed at the square, before continuing onwards without a second glance at us.
âWhatâs this festival about anyway?â I asked, glancing round at all the beautiful decorations in the half-finished square.
The young man stepped closer to me and pointed out to the sea, where the waters twinkled with the orange sunlight and where several boats were slowly pulling back to the small harbour.
âThis town worships a god, who lives in the sea. Each year, we hold a festival, lighting this square up, and bring him to shore where we give him our devotion.â
âAnd he shows up?â
âYeah.â
âAlright.â
âYou donât believe me, I get it.â He giggled. âJust look there.â
I followed his finger, watching it trace an invisible line from the square all the way to the coast, across dozens of houses. At first, I didnât quite get what he was showing me. There wasnât a road or path for this god of theirs, it was just various houses, somewhat haphazardly built.
Thatâs when I noticed it. These homes. They were repaired out of seemingly whatever materials the villagers could get, unlike the ones to the edges of the village or in the terraces of the hill. They looked awful, like two halves made from different materials and by different people had been awkwardly smushed together, but only houses in a rough wide line from the coast to the square. Almost as if a very precise tornado ripped through there a year ago.
Or a god.
âWell, if thatâs true,â my mind was racing for explanations, âwhy would they rebuild their houses in the same place? Why not leave a proper gap for your god?â
âThatâd be the smart choice, I guess,â he had a small grin on his beguiling face, âbut people think its auspicious if their homes get touched by the divine.â
Touched? Just how big was this god of theirs, if he were actually real?
âWhen is this festival?â
âIn two days. Weâve never actually had a newcomer arrive this close to the festival. Will you be staying?â
That stomped my current conundrum firmly back into my conscious thoughts and all I could do was sigh. âWell, I want to, but this place doesnât actually have an inn, and people donât want me to rent out a room.â
A twinkle seemed to appear in his brown eyes.
âYouâre not going to believe this.â
âHmmâŚâ
I sat straight as a needle and sweated buckets as the short, middle-aged woman with dark eye circles and braided hair circled me, looking me meticulously up and down by the light of a candle.
At the other side of the small wooden dining table sat the young man, who I now knew as Erik, giving me an embarrassed smile, frequently averting his eyes.
âMom, come on, isnât that enough? Nick's fine.â He shook his legs anxiously.
âHmmâŚhe seems nice enough, not like a troublemaker.â She said in a wiry voice. Erik covered one side of his face in sheer awkwardness.
âPlus, heâs not bad in height.â She continued.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â I asked, throwing in a half-hearted laugh to avoid sounding rude.
âWe like tall people around here. The taller, the better. It symbolises closeness with our deity.â Erik explained. The image of that grotesquely tall man staring at me in the doorframe crept back into my brain.
âWeâll let you take that room then.â Erikâs mother pointed to the closest of a set of three doors. âRent will be $30 a day, and you will have to pay for what you eat here at the end of your stay.â
âThank you so much!â I leapt up and shook her hand, feeling the weight of one solved problem being relieved, and at a price I could afford too! Iâd been saving so much on my money that Iâd even actually not gotten a real ticket for that bus ride. That would be solved once Addison makes it here. If she could without getting caught. Right away, I handed over the $30 in cash.
âHope you like seafood.â Erik was positively beaming, an alluring smile from ear to ear.
âDonât worry, I love seafood.â I said, sitting back down at the table again.
âSpeaking of seafood, those useless fishermen caught less than half their usual haul today.â She said, bringing a plate of steamed fish to the table, the aroma making my famished stomach grumble.
âMom, itâs just that they caught so many eels this time.â Erik said, clearly salivating at the food too.
âEels are nice.â I said, causing both to look at me. âIâve a friend, Kana, whoâs really into researching them.â
âResearch?â Erikâs mother raised an eyebrow.
âYou know, studying them in jars, cutting them up after death, that kind of stuff.â Iâd just finished the sentence, but it was like someone had taken a knife to the mood. Both the others at the dinner table now stared at their food, disdain slowly rising in Erikâs motherâs face.
âUm, Nick,â Erik cleared his throat, âeels are kinda sacred here in Maelstrom.â
I felt a deep sinking feeling in my gut.
âSorry, really sorry, I didnât know.â I said, looking over to Erik.
âNewcomers are always like this, right?â He gave his mom a light laugh in an attempt to defuse the situation.
âDonât say it again.â She stared straight through my soul.
âNever will.â
The room they gave me was alright apart from all the junk that looked like it had been dumped in the corner and chopped apart with an axe.
âAnd that is?â I pointed at it, small candle in hand.
âAh well,â Erik sat down on the bed, bouncing on the mattress a little, âthis was my uncleâs room. But he did something we didnât like.â
âWe as in you and your mom?â
âWe as in Maelstrom.â Erik looked down at his feet. âLook, there are some lines you donât cross if you were born here, and he did.â
âAnd heâsâŚgone?â
âHe left the village. Mom gave him three days to come back, and when he didnât, she destroyed everything that he owned and has been looking for someone to live in this room for a while. To get rid of the scent, according to her.â
âWhy not burn it, instead of just leaving it lying in a corner?â
âWeâre not really allowed to start a fire so close to StorĂĽlens natt, even during the day. Inauspicious thing.â
âSto-what?â
âThe festival.â He let out a giggle. âLike I said earlier, we light up the square at night and bring our god in once a year. Every other night, Maelstrom is darkness incarnate.â
I peered out of the window, and he was right. The only light source was the dim glow from the candle in my hand. Everything outside the wooden windows had been swallowed up by the pitch-black night. I could hear footsteps in the dirt and some light chatter from nearby, but unease crept into me at not being able to actually lay eyes on those producing the sounds.
âThatâsâŚcreepy.â
âYou get used to it. You can start unpacking now, I guess.â Erik motioned towards my bag.
âI donât have much.â I chuckled softly, unslinging the backpack from my shoulders, placing it on the floor, and pulling my camera from it.
âIs thatâŚ?â His eyes widened.
âA digital camera, yeah. Smile.â I raised it to my eyes and aimed it at him. He let out a childish squeak and waved his outstretched hands to block his face.
âDonât worry, Iâm just joking.â I laughed again, lowering the camera and moving to replace it in my bag.
âAre you any good at photo taking?â
âSure, Iâm decent.â
âHmm, I suppose it would be a waste to not take a picture.â
âSo, you do want it, Erik?â
âAlright, Nick, you can take your photo. And you can delete it if itâs not good either.â He hurriedly threw the second sentence in.
âSmile.â I brought the camera up. Erik scrambled to a better position on the bed, crossing his left leg over the other and giving a slight smile. I clicked the button and enveloped him in a bright flash which made him flinch in surprise.
âCareful, donât aim that out of the window.â He warned, before pushing that concern aside and practically bounding across the room to me. âHow does it look? Not too bad, I hope.â
I flicked it over to gallery, staring at the captured image: his twinkling brown eyes, his smooth hair, and semi-confident look. âI think you look great.â
âThatâs quite good. Uncle never took photos like this with his camera.â He rubbed his hands together in excitement.
âDid it get smashed to pieces?â
âHe took it when he left.â He said with a wistful tone that clearly divulged some sort of longing for that man. âDo you have anything else fancy?â
âJust my extra clothes mostly.â I gave him an apologetic smile.
âYouâre not traveling with much. Where are you going after these three days?â
âUpstate probably. Just waiting right now for a girl, Addison.â
âAâŚgirlfriend?â He looked away at the floor.
âNah, just a good friend. A partner of sorts.â I just hoped sheâd avoided trouble so far.
âAnd youâll be settling down somewhere in northern Maine then.â
âI suppose, yeah. You?â
âWeâre not really allowed to leave. Thatâs part of why my mom was so mad about my uncle.â He sighed, anxiously fiddling with his fingers. âWhen we reach adulthood, all of us swear an oath for a lifetime of devotion to our god.â
Both of us fell silent for quite a few seconds before he awkwardly got up and cleared his throat. âIâll leave you to it then. Goodnight, Nick.â
âGoodnight, Erik.â
They say the first night in an unfamiliar place is always sleepless. Iâd managed to sleep in all sorts of places just fine since I left home seven years ago. But now here I was, staring into the ceiling, engulfed in total darkness now that Iâd snuffed the candle out. Something about Maelstrom was off. It wasnât just the weird customs or religion. The whole village felt wrong.
As I tossed and turned in the bed too short for my stature, strange sounds began to creep through the closed windows. I strained my ears, trying to make it out.
That wasâŚhammering? Sawing? Soft chatter. Dragging wood and metal. Slowly, I got to my feet and crept to the window, pulling them open. The noises got louder. It was definitely construction, and it seemed to be coming from the direction of the festival square. Of course, as much as I squinted, I failed to pierce the veil of night that hid them. Why were they doing building up the festival stuff without any light? It seemed like a safety hazard.
Should IâŚtake a photo with flash?
No, no, awful idea. Erik already warned me about the rules. Physically shaking my head as if to get that dumb thought out of it, I closed the wooden windows again and settled back in bed, the sounds of them building the festival square forming a monotonous background noise.
Iâd just began to drift into sleep when I heard a different, louder sound. Boots crunching in the rocks and dirt, getting closer and closer. My mind shot awake immediately, but I stayed lying under the blanket. Just someone passing by with materials, probably.
The footsteps got closer and closer until they got to outside my window. Then they stopped.
I sat up quietly.
Sniffing sounds came from outside. I heard the wooden windows slowly open with a creak.
As silently as I could, I reached into my bag, taking extra care until I felt the metal blade of my knife and the remnants of dried blood on it. Tracing my finger along until it touched the handle, I grabbed the weapon and pulled it out, crouching low to the ground and very slowly creeping until I was beside the window, which had just hit the angular limit of its opening.
Then nothing.
They were waiting, I was sure of it. Waiting for me or waiting for something. I couldnât see a damn thing, so I only had my ears. It was quiet except for the distant construction and the loud thudding of my heart, pounding at my ribcage. My hands were so sweaty I was sure I was going to drop the knife and alert whoever it was.
I could smell something vaguely fishy. As in actual fish. What the hell was happening? Should I go back to the bedside and light the candle?
Something big touched me on the front of the chest. Barely able to restrain a yelp, I hacked the knife down as hard as I could, cutting through it. Something heavy thudded to the floor and a deep howl of pain came from outside the window. Footsteps quickly retreated away from my window towards the festival square.
One hand still clutched on the knife handle in a death grip, I backed away until I felt my legs hit the bed. My left hand swept across the bedside until I grabbed the lighter, flicking it on and reigniting the candle.
I pushed the windows closed with my foot to make sure no light escaped and crouched down to the floor, searching for whatever Iâd chopped off. My heart nearly stopped when I saw red blood staining the wooden floor. Following the trail, I spotted my target.
Still squirming on the floor was a severed human finger, at least fifteen centimetres long.
All the colour drained out of Erikâs face when I showed him the bloody mess the next morning.
We went out for a walk at dawn at his insistence, and I watched as he quickly tossed the finger into a small pond nearby, where the fish began to devour it ravenously.
âDonât talk about it.â He told me grimly, and I could do nothing but nod. After a quick breakfast, Erik led me down the hill and into the more coastal section of Maelstrom. We navigated through streets filled with junk, where stray cats hissed at us and tired-looking villagers shot us glances as they went about the chores. Up close, these hastily rebuilt houses looked even worse. Walls barely held up corrugated metal roofs and gaping holes led water into them.
Finally, we arrived at the vacant remnants of a house that evidently never got reconstructed. Most of the items in the house had been cleared, as had much of the debris, leaving several piles of junk and the occasional weathered piece of furniture, where two others sat, a young man and young woman with dark tanned skin.
âWhoâs the tagalong?â The woman asked, giving us friendly waves.
âThis is Nick, he showed up in Maelstrom yesterday. Nick, my friends Jonas and Sigrid.â
âNice to meet you.â
âWe havenât had a newcomer come this close to StorĂĽlens natt before.â Jonas mused.
âHow exciting.â Sigrid said with a level of sarcasm I didnât know was possible. âYou looking to get eaten too?â
âEaten?!â I exclaimed in alarm. âWhat do you mean?â
Both of them looked over at Erik.
âWhat?â He shrugged sheepishly. âThere wasnât a good time to explain yesterday.â
âYouâre saying this festival involves people getting eaten? I thought your god just came ashore, crushed a few buildings, and got worshipped.â
âSee this house weâre sitting in?â Sigrid said.
âNot really much of a house.â I pointed out.
âExactly. The Larsen family used to live here. Two elderly parents and an unmarried son. The two old folks got eaten a couple of festivals ago, and their son finally went with them last year. Nobody was left to rebuild this place, so the village chief just collected their stuff and distributed it.â
âYou need to explain what the hell happens.â
âOur god, a great eel, comes out onto land on StorĂĽlens natt every year.â Erik said, a deep frown on his suddenly crestfallen face. âPart of the festivalâŚthe most important partâŚdevotees feed themselves to him.â
I gulped reflexively.
âThey stuff him as much as possible, and he vomits out most of them before he leaves. Those âluckyâ ones are consumed, and we believe he takes them to his underwater kingdom to live for eternity. The Larsens got lucky, as they say.â
Words failed me in the moment. I looked back and forth at all three of them. Jonas gave me a sympathetic shrug.
âAnd those that get thrown up?â I finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence.
âThey get blessed by the Great Eel God, physically.â Sigrid said.
My mind, overwhelmed by racing thoughts, snapped on a crystal-clear image. âYou mean they get really tall and thin.â
âThatâs one of them.â She nodded.
âErik,â Jonas said hesitantly, âis your mother still insisting on feeding the Great Eel God tomorrow?â
He looked away. Both Jonas and Sigrid gave him empathetic looks.
âBut donât you all think thatâs good? I mean, in your religion?â I asked.
âWeâre supposed to.â Sigrid sighed. âBut once youâve actuallyâŚlost people or seen them change, it doesnât feel good.â
âAll the proper adults, our parents, the chief, everyone. They say itâs the nature of youth to have shaky faith in the Great Eel.â Jonas threw his hands up. âAs if we donât know anything.â
âHate the chief.â Sigrid growled. âSpineless prick. When my grandma got eaten, he scolded me when I was sad. Said I was selfish.â
âWe just have to go with it. Not like we can leave anyway.â Jonas continued.
âWhy not?â
âI already told you last night. Weâre not allowed to.â Erik said.
âAre there guards preventing you from leaving?â
âUmâŚno?â
âThen why canât you leave?â The three of them stared at me incredulously.
âWe canât just leave our parents, you dick.â Jonasâ face reddened.
âItâs Nick. And I ran from my home when I was just 13. Sometimes, if thereâs a situation where you just have to get out, you get out, even if it hurts. You have to let go.â
They all glanced at each other, except Erik, who stared at the ruined ground and refused to look over.
âAnd has your life been good since you ran away?â Sigrid asked.
I took a sharp inhale. âWell, no, itâs been pretty awful to be honest, but it was better than staying with my mom and dad. Iâm just saying, really think about it.â
We stayed talking for a while, them prodding me for life details and me prodding them on this festival, but nothing substantial came from it. Sigrid and Jonas showed me around the coast, and before I knew it, the Sun was setting again. We bid goodbye to the two and Erik led me back up the hill through the steep terrace staircases and back to his home.
As we reached the terrace where his home was located, our path was blocked by two figures. I recognised the first man immediately. Looming menacingly before us was the same tall, thin man that I had rejected the room rent offer from, his saggy face with disgusting black sores moving closer to me.
âVillage chief!â Erik greeted immediately, standing up straight.
âHeâs the village chief?â My disbelief that my luck could be that bad rising.
âIs there a problem?â The village chief rubbed his ten spindly fingers together.
âOh, no, chief. Iâd just assumed that the village chief would be staying at that lone house up there.â I pointed to the highest house on the hill, roof glinting with sunlight.
âThatâs just where Old Henriksen stays. Just a weirdo who never shows up.â Erik explained. A weirdo even by Maelstromâs standards? That I had to see.
âThrough my tenure as chief and my predecessors before me, it was deemed untenable to move Old Henriksen from his rightful home. But enough about that. I see you have decided to stay, newcomer.â He said.
âYes, with Erik here.â
His lips curled open, but not into a smile, instead showing his rotting pointed teeth.
âI recall you saying you had two companions with you who required separate rooms. Yet young Erik here only has one room to spare, that of his rotten uncle.â His breath was pungent like rotting fish and meat.
âThey decided they hated this place and left for Augusta.â I stood as strong as I could, barely hiding the sheer panic telling me to run for the next town.
âVery well. You are welcome in Maelstrom, even to observe StorĂĽlens natt, but we will not allow you to participate.â
âI understand.â Not like I wanted to get eaten by this supposed eel god anyway.
âAnd you will not take any photographs or videos to share with the outside world. This is our most sacred ceremonyâŚI hope you understand for your own good.â He slapped me on the shoulder with his hand, fingers wrapping halfway down my spine.
âOf course.â I said, stepping back to dislodge the physical contact. âWe will be hosting it here tomorrow night.â He gestured at the festival square one terrace step down. Work had been done on it since yesterday. A wooden roof structure with angular bent pillars covered the rectangular platform, now covered with a glittering piece of purple velvety cloth. The decorations of unlit lanterns and banners was far more complex, criss-crossing over and hanging from every available height.
âOne more thing, donât forget not to use any bright lights at night, or there will be consequences.â The chief said, breaking into a smile. âAt last, after having been so devoted for so long, I will finally get my chance to join our god down in his eternal abyssal domain.â
âYouâre leaving tomorrow?â Erik asked, surprised.
âYes, Edvard here will be taking over.â
The man behind him, even taller and thinner with crumpled scratchy skin, nodded in a way that was somehow threatening. He scratched furiously at his face, where the skin was clearly peeling off and red raw.
âYou better listen, newcomer.â His voice was thin and croaky.
His hand. Where his index finger should be was instead bandaged and stained with dried red blood.
âLost your finger recently?â I stared at him. He returned the gaze with his beady dark eyes.
âFishing accident.â
The exquisite taste of the salmon was almost enough to make me cry.
Erikâs mother looked at me amused as I scarfed down the food as soon as it touched my plate.
âSee, son? My cooking is as good as it still is.â She boasted with the proudest grin on her face.
Erik stared sullenly into his own plate of food, taking the smallest nibbles once in a while. As dinner went on, his mother talked constantly to both of us, but he never replied to her once.
âWhat are you so angry about?â She finally asked. âIs it about StorĂĽlens natt?â
He didnât speak.
âErik, Iâve been waiting for this chance for a long time. I know your faith is shaky.â
Silence.
âYour father got lucky that day, you know?â
âHe did. But we didnât.â Erik mumbled just loudly enough for us to hear.
âStop talking nonsense, Erik.â
âHe got to go to his eternal underwater kingdom. We had to live life without him.â
âYou should be happy for him.â
âI am. Iâm just not happy for us.â
âI know you miss him, Erik. I miss him too.â
âThen why did you let him go?â He was shouting. âWhy did you let the Great Eel God consume him?â
âItâs what he wanted.â
Erik silently shook his head, staring down at the table. âHe was being selfish, letting us go.â
âErik, what are you talking about?â His mother snapped at him.
âHow much of our money did you have to spend on this?â He jabbed a fork at the salmon.
âHaving a guest over is a special occasion.â His mother awkwardly glanced at me.
âUncle Jakob had to get two jobs to help earn us enough money. He saw StorĂĽlens natt for what it was. Thatâs why he ran away.â
âThat idiot abandoned us!â She slammed a palm on the wooden table. âHe left us to have to fend for ourselves.â
âIsnât that what dad did too?â
The sheer boiling rage displayed across her face made me want to cower under the furniture. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him with little resistance to her room and slammed the door shut. I heard loud cursing and the sound of palms colliding onto flesh. My appetite suddenly gone, I hurriedly retreated into my room.
About half an hour later, I heard the door open and slow footsteps shuffle into Erikâs bedroom. I heard him crash onto his bed and softly sob for a long while. Part of me urged me to go over to talk to him, comfort him, but when I stood up, nothing but a huge wave of anxiety and fear washed over me.
Giving up on that thought, I sat back down on the bed and took my camera out in the dim candlelight. Clicking into the gallery immediately took me to the pleasant photo of Erik last night.
Could I? Should I?
Two sides of my mind were in fierce debate. Iâd enough run-ins with the law not to risk it. Not to mention the village chief had warned me of âconsequencesâ.
But listening to the quiet weeping next door, I had to. I was going to capture evidence of this accursed festival tomorrow and get some sort of law enforcement intervention.
Read PART TWO here.
2024.05.31 18:26 Obvious_Ad4159 Sand & Steel: Chapter 8 - High Elves & High Treason
The elven war room was, once more, entirely shrouded in silence. Lymlok, his sister and general Eirlys sat at the side of the table, heads down. They avoided her gaze.
"So, this is how the elves of Vatur display their capabilities at defending the Silver Forest?" She spoke.
"Throwing bodies at the invaders, hoping they run out of ammunition before you run out of soldiers? Last I checked, before me stand elves, not orcs."
"Lady Aurelia, we-"
"Tie your tongue Lymlok, while you still have it." The High Elf looked at him. Her voice never raised in tonality, but the weight of her words was crushing.
To regular elves, High Elves were like demigods. Their power was beyond anything even the most gifted elven mages could dream of attaining. True immortality, blessed by the Gods themselves. No title, no crown, no status could measure to a High Elf in the hierarchy of the species. Their words were law, their orders absolute.
"Permission to speak?" Princess Claudia spoke, her voice soft and timid.
"No. I have no use of your mouths, nor anything that might come from them." Aurelia waved her off.
"Eirlys already informed on everything I should know about these apes."
The radiant woman stood up from her seat at the head of the table and walked over to the balcony. Her eyes peered at the horizon, seeing farther than even the best Vatur scouts could.
"So, that is the Rail cannon? The Iron Fortress that shot a hole through the Home Tree?"
"Yes, Lady Aurelia." Claudia responded.
"What an ugly contraption. And I believed the dwarven machinery was unsightly." She scoffed.
"Not surprising that Eothen died trying to stop it though."
For the first time since Aurelia entered the war room, the royal siblings dared to look up. A still fresh rage simmered inside them, at the mention of their brother's death at the hands of the invading humans.
That feeling was fleeting however, Aurelia's golden eyes meeting theirs. Lymlok and Claudia quickly averted their gaze, hanging their heads down again as a cold chill washed over them.
"Glad to see that your determination to avenge him has no diminished, in spite of your string of failures." The High Elf smirked for a moment, before regaining her neutral facial expression.
Aurelia sat back down; a pondering look on her face. Vatur kingdom truly was caught in an inopportune time. Their king deathly ill, his heir dead. The remaining two siblings were handling running the kingdom as well as one could hope. With Lymlock dealing with internal affairs and foreign relations, while Claudia, despite her crippled state, commanded the military.
Of the various elven kingdoms on the continent, Vatur had the least mages. General Eirlys was the best magic user the kingdom had, and that made their chances of victory everything but promising. Arrows and swords really couldn't match up against the invading humans and their weapons, no matters how hard they tried. The only solution would have been a to raise and army and attempt a full-on assault, but after humans made their show of force with the rail cannon, the kingdom was hesitant to send more troops into the meat grinder.
"No." Aurelia thought to herself. The kingdom was not hesitant, it was terrified. Despite their attempts at small skirmishes here and there, mainly to defend the borders of the Silver Forest and the second portal gate, the elven soldiers seemed more than happy at the stalemate. Though they knew that the situation could change on a dime and it was entirely up to the humans to decide on that.
She recalled the machinery she had taken down a few nights prior, saving the lives of general Eirlys and her troops. No doubt, with such weapons at their disposal, the invading force would eventually take over the kingdom.
"What's the situation of the liberated portal gate?" The High Elf mage finally broke the uneasy silence with her question.
"We've sent our best troops to guard the gate, My Lady. Even hired various platinum tier adventurers from neighboring kingdoms as back up. Also, several mages as well from Queen Vitora's court." Lymlok responded.
Aurelia nodded, before turning to the general.
"Any new reports from the dungeon?"
"No, My Lady. Our guard is still holding strong, the human advance seemed to have slower to a halt." Eirlys said.
***
Morning came fast, but the camp disassembly and packing was even faster. Where once stood several tents, fences, and a few parked Humvees was now just a field. A field with 3 soldiers in the middle of it.
"Good morning." came a chirping voice from behind them.
The three men turned around, coming face to face with a short woman. She was dressed like a typical village girl, high boots, dress and a sweater west. Her long, blond hair was tied in a braid, almost reaching her lower back. Blue eyes that exuded overwhelming "morning person" energy.
"I am Layla. Ambassador from the court of Her Majesty, currently in service of Duke Perriman." Spoke the woman.
"Any questions?"
Clyde, Marcel and Jeremy simply shook their heads. The cheerful woman clasped her hands, leading them over to a cart, guarded by two soldiers from the Dutchy.
"As you are surely aware, the Duke made this request in secrecy, so I have here prepared clothes that will help you blend in with the locals." She eyes the men up and down, her eyes lingering on Clyde and Marcel.
"Though we may have some issues regarding sizes."
Clyde wasn't a big fan of the whole ordeal, mainly due to the fact that traveling in secrecy meant he couldn't bring any of his main weapons along, especially his combat suit, as it would draw obvious attention.
All 3 of them still wore moderate body armor, which would keep them safe from arrows and bladed weapons, under their new costumes. Minimal weapons too, mostly handguns and an SMG each. Anything they could hide under cloaks. After all, the plan was to hear the Duke out on his request, not try to overthrow the Dutchy.
"Tell ya what, these clothes are starting to grow on me." The tallest of the three men said, once Layla had managed to find clothes that actually fit him.
Even outside the combat suit, Clyde did not appear any smaller, easily towering over everyone else present, two guards included.
"No one's big like Gaston! Incredibly thick like Gaston." He sang while flexing and checking out how the clothes fit his frame. They were obviously on the looser side, to account for the body armor they wore underneath.
"More like the Beast." Jeremy added.
"The human version."
"How dare you?" Clyde gasped, placing a hand on his chest theatrically, acting offended at the comparison, while Marcel chuckled.
"Well, if you gentlemen are all prepared, I would like us to start moving. If we manage to catch the morning trade caravan heading to the Dutchy, we will be able to get in even more unseen." Layla said, hopping on into the cart.
The soldiers nodded and joined her inside, while the guards drove the cart. A large, black and white cat appeared from under the remaining clothes that were piled in the corner, and snuggled up to the woman.
To the surprise of the three men, the feline appeared to be wearing overalls.
Jeremy opened his mouth to ask about the cat, but thinking back, this was far from the weirdest thing they've seen in this world, so he decided against it.
"So, how come you understand us? And vice versa?" Marcel asked Layla, who was petting the pat that curled up on her lap.
"Oh, that's easy. Ambassadors are usually low tier mages, who possess spells that allow understanding and talking to various species, often in their native language." The blonde woman responded, pointing to a necklace she wore.
"The makes understanding you even easier."
"But others, like the guards, have no clue what we are saying?" Jeremy interjected.
"Correct." She replied, before continuing.
"If you are worried that speaking your language to one another or me, will blow your cover, worry not. The town is a mixture of various people, from different regions. Some speak different dialects, others different languages entirely. You will blend right in."
***
Everybody kept their heads down as the cart merged with the incoming caravan and made it through the gates of the small town. It was a busy place, no doubt, with townsfolk all over the streets. Various shops and stores lined both sides of the main street, leading to the town center. Layla was no lying when she said the town has great diversity of people. Everything from humans and elves, to dwarves and kobold could be seen amongst the crowd, rushing to the center of the town where the marketplace was, to set up their booths as the trade caravan approached.
The town had a circular layout, as a portal gate stood in the center of it, the buildings seemingly built around it. By the looks of it, the gate was not used in quite some time, but the invading soldiers now understood the position Duke Perriman was in, and his offer most likely would be.
Below the soil, Marcel's pets followed the cart, ready to jump out at the first sign of trouble.
Once they arrived at the market, the group continued on foot, blending into the crowd, as Layla, cat riding on her shoulders, lead them to the Duke's manor. A lavish estate, situated atop a hill, looking over the entirety of the Dutchy.
For how chatty the men were before the start of the journey, all 3 of them were no silent. Not a word was uttered by either of them since the group entered the town. The ambassador felt a bit uneasy due to this, she was used to adventurers, and even mercenaries, being quite chatty, especially before a mission. The soldiers behind her seemed to be observing the town, studying the layout of it and mapping it out.
Once they passed through the estate gates, Layla told the group they can relax and remove their hoods, as the hardest part of the journey was behind them. The soldiers did as told, with no change in attitude. Finally, the giant of a man, broke the awkwardness.
"Y'know, I hope they feed us. I never had fantasy food before." Clyde grinned.
"Oh, yeah. We did not have breakfast yet. I will let the Duke know. Don't worry, he knows how to treat important guests." She replied, as the cat hopped off her shoulder and ran off somewhere.
The term "fantasy", that Clyde used, confused Layla a bit, but she decided not to think much of it. These humans were from a different world entirely, so perhaps this truly was fantasy to them.
Inside the manor, the group was welcomed by butlers and maids, making sure that they soldiers are refreshed and seated before the Duke arrived.
Perriman was an older gentleman, pushing 50 by the looks of it, grey hair and beard. He had a youthful glow about him however, and his eyes were that of a cunning man. It was evident that he was not the type of noble to just sit and indulge in doing nothing every day.
"Greetings, dear friends. Welcome to my humble home. I hope the trip here was not too much of a hassle." He gave the soldiers a half bow, once he arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
"Thank you for having us." Replied Jeremy, giving an awkward bow back.
Perriman stopped for a moment, looking at the men and then at the door.
"I thought there was supposed to be more of you?"
"Yeah. But we decided to reduce the numbers to the bare minimum, for easier travel and keeping a low profile." Jeremy answered.
The Duke took a step back, looking over the huge Warhound soldier that was Clyde, finding it a bit ironic that they mention keeping a low profile with him being as big as he was.
Clyde and Marcel could smell the fear that gripped the noble, his posh mannerisms could not hide his true feelings. The man was scared stiff, both of them and of unwanted guests, evident by the number of guards placed around doors and windows.
***
The dining hall was set, food and drinks were brought out, the Duke clearly spared no expense on the presentation of hospitality, for the sake of making a good first impression of the invaders. Once done with the preparations, the room was vacated by all the staff, safe for the Duke himself and his best guard, Layla and her cat, and the 3 soldiers.
For an unknown reason, Clyde and Marcel had request the cat be kicked out of the room as well, and not be allowed entry until the dinner was concluded. Layla protested a bit, but eventually caved in, leaving the cat outside in the hallway.
As dinner began, the two Warhounds engrossed themselves in the delicious food in front of them, leaving Jeremy to hold the majority of the conversation with the Duke.
"As you see, I believe we could help one another. You are locked in conflict with the Vatur elves, and I would very much like be rid of their grip on my town as well." Spoke Perriman.
"I see. And in return?" Asked Jeremy, taking a sip of wine from his cup.
"I will allow you to use the portal gate at the center of town to deploy your troops. Isn't that what you are fighting with the elves over?"
"My Lord, I doubt the Queen would allow such an offer." Layla interrupted the noble, a worried look on her face.
It was clear that despite being the one tasked with getting the soldiers to the Dutchy, she was kept in the dark about the deal Perriman had planned to strike with them.
"Silence Layla. Eat your food and let men discuss such issues." He gave her a dirty look before turning his gaze back to Jeremy.
"Queen, eh?" Marcel spoke, still chewing on his food.
"She has no clue you've invited us here."
"She doesn't need to bother herself with everything that goes on in a small town such as this." Perriman responded a bit nervously.
"Last I checked, Vatur kingdom and the Kingdom of her Majesty were on good terms with one another. You are a vassal to the Queen, right? I don't know how the elves would feel when their enemies suddenly start coming out from friendly territory." Jeremy continued.
"Yes, It might start a declaration of war." Marcel added.
"At the very least, it will cause the Queen to send troops or even appear herself, to see what the fuck is going on here, if he gives us the portal gate." Added the other soldier, agreeing with his friend.
"Perhaps. But I am sure we can cross that bridge when we get to it, right?" Asked the Duke, getting more panicked by the minute.
"I like an ambitious man, Perriman." Clyde said, taking a break from destroying the food in front of him to catch his breath.
"It's all over your face. You've probably seen what type of stuff the elves are dealing with and how hard they're being hammered by forces much smaller than their kingdom. You invited us here, hoping that by offering the portal gate to us, you would rid yourself of the ironclad grip that the elves have on your balls."
The tall man laughed, downing a cup of wine and pouring himself another.
"And!" He raised his finger, stopping anyone else before they could say a word.
"You hope that if you ally with us, if... well "If"... WHEN the Queen finally comes here to see what the fuck is going on, we help you get the crown off of her head and on to yours. Am I in the ball park with that assumption?"
Duke Perriman was speechless. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating bullets at this point.
"No point in denying it. Yes, those were my hopes, for this conversation."
"HAH! I read you like a book Perriman." Laughed Clyde, the other two soldier also grinning.
Layla sat there, stunned to her core. She thought about just running out, fleeing the manor and rushing to inform the queen. Her eyes darted from door to door, before a metal clang snapped her back to reality.
She looked at the source of the sound. The tallest of the three soldiers had pulled out his revolver and placed it on the table, the barrel pointed at her. Ambassador locked eyes with Clyde, feeling the fear twist her insides.
"You move. I blow a golf ball sized hole in you." The man said, his look not hiding his murderous intent.
"Okay..." She gulped and nodded.
Their cheerful demeanor had her mistaken about their intentions. They were soldiers, but they were also mercenaries. They do not need permission from superiors to agree or disagree on deals, especially in a world that's not their own. Here, they were exempt from laws that they would have to otherwise abide.
"Let's talk about the reality of your plan Duke." Said Jeremy.
"You've seen Outpost one? The one with the big cannon?"
The Duke nodded.
"Alright. Well, the good news is, the town square has just enough room for us to actually bring in what the elves had prevented us from bringing in at Outpost two." He produced his tabled, typing something in it before the device produced a three-dimensional image of a four-legged machine.
"We can fit two, maybe three Spiders, if we squeeze them in the town square. So that's your luck, as it's just what we need. But!" He paused.
The Duke watched with bated breath as the man typed something else on the device, before showing a lay out of Outpost 2, before the High Elf destroyed it.
"The entire setting needs to look a bit like this. Meaning, we need to get engineers here and get generators placed, get them up and running, triangulate the position and establish coordinates of the gate here in relation to the one on the other side."
"Which, all in all, should take us about two weeks, a week at best of we work really, really fast. But think of it as two weeks, just to be on the safe side." Said Clyde.
"That will also raise alarms. You've got eyes Duke, all over your town. Watching you, your people and everything else going on. Elven eyes." Marcel added, pointing behind himself to the window, who's view pointed directly at the town.
"So, the elves will definitely not like something like that. The Dutchy is right on the border with Vatur, if we activate the gate, it will practically be delivering enemy troops to their doorstep. Big retaliation." Jeremy put his tablet away.
"On top of that, her Majesty the Queen, will probably send people come and run a spike through your ass, because the kingdom of Marbella is allies, or at least friends with the Vatur elves." Added Clyde.
"The million-dollar question, baby, is can YOU, keep both sides off our backs until we set the portal gate up? If you can, well whoop tee do! You just might get what you are looking for. But if you can't and shit hits the fan, believe me, we will be the first to high tail it out of this town." The three men laughed.
Perriman rubbed his forehead. The cards were all laid out for him, the risks and rewards. He knew what type of power these humans held, what their weapons did to the Home Tree. With something like that, he could be crowned King of Marbella come spring, even sooner. No longer a petty vasal, bowing his head both to the Queen and the Elves. But if he failed, he'd face the gallows or worse. No! Failing was not an option. He would make sure whatever these invaders needed to succeed is given to them.
"Alright. I see this will not be an easy task. But the benefits to reap from this do not befit an easy task anyways. So, whatever you need, I shall provide." Perriman took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made the decision.
Layla sat in her chair, mortified at the events unfolding right in front of her. She knew Perriman was a man of ambitions, but she never expected him to be treasonous scum too.
"Just make sure to keep as many watchful eyes away from the town square and the rest portal gate. No double, elf informants and the kingdoms informants will eventually catch with of it. But you must do whatever it takes to keep us a few steps ahead of them." Jeremy told the Duke.
The Duke turned to Layla, as the door to the hall opened and guards walked in.
"Throw her in the basement, and make sure she stays there. We cannot risk her informing anyone of this."
"NO! How dare- GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME." Layla protested, as the guards dragged her out of the room.
Duke Perriman nodded at the men sitting across him, as they all looked at each other. As one, they all took a big swig from their wine cups.
"Make the call." Clyde said to Jeremy.
***
"My Lady. We have trouble." A scout said, bursting through the door of the war hall, trying to catch his breath.
Aurelia did not say a word, her face holding a "this better be important" expression.
"What in the name of Gods is so important that you interrupt us?" Princess Claudia hissed.
"The Perriman Dutchy. It closed off the entire town square. No one is allowed to enter or even get close. Duke Perriman seems to have hired a ton of mercenaries and adventurers to keep every vantage point guarded. Our spies cannot even get close enough to see what's going on. He's invited some strange figures earlier to his manor, for business dealings or something." The scout said.
"What are you cooking Perriman?" Lymlok mumbled to himself.
"Also, the dungeon defense squad reports that as of two nights ago, the humans had abandoned the dungeon in its entirety. They just packed up and left. No trace of them. Even their camp above ground is gone." He continued.
Eirlys exchanged a panicked look with the royal siblings. "The gate at the Dutchy. No way. He wouldn't dare..."
"Send all available scouts to the border, keep an eye on the Iron Tower outpost, keep an eye on the town, keep an eye any movement from the outpost to the Dutchy. And tell every scout and spy in the Dutchy to not stop trying to find out what's going on in there, by any means necessary." Lymlok ordered the scout, as the elf ran back out of the room.
"Seems our allies are not so loyal as we thought." Aurelia spoke, before walking over to the balcony. "What are you plotting, scum?"
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"So, this is how the elves of Vatur display their capabilities at defending the Silver Forest?" She spoke.
"Throwing bodies at the invaders, hoping they run out of ammunition before you run out of soldiers? Last I checked, before me stand elves, not orcs."
"Lady Aurelia, we-"
"Tie your tongue Lymlok, while you still have it." The High Elf looked at him. Her voice never raised in tonality, but the weight of her words was crushing.
To regular elves, High Elves were like demigods. Their power was beyond anything even the most gifted elven mages could dream of attaining. True immortality, blessed by the Gods themselves. No title, no crown, no status could measure to a High Elf in the hierarchy of the species. Their words were law, their orders absolute.
"Permission to speak?" Princess Claudia spoke, her voice soft and timid.
"No. I have no use of your mouths, nor anything that might come from them." Aurelia waved her off.
"Eirlys already informed on everything I should know about these apes."
The radiant woman stood up from her seat at the head of the table and walked over to the balcony. Her eyes peered at the horizon, seeing farther than even the best Vatur scouts could.
"So, that is the Rail cannon? The Iron Fortress that shot a hole through the Home Tree?"
"Yes, Lady Aurelia." Claudia responded.
"What an ugly contraption. And I believed the dwarven machinery was unsightly." She scoffed.
"Not surprising that Eothen died trying to stop it though."
For the first time since Aurelia entered the war room, the royal siblings dared to look up. A still fresh rage simmered inside them, at the mention of their brother's death at the hands of the invading humans.
That feeling was fleeting however, Aurelia's golden eyes meeting theirs. Lymlok and Claudia quickly averted their gaze, hanging their heads down again as a cold chill washed over them.
"Glad to see that your determination to avenge him has no diminished, in spite of your string of failures." The High Elf smirked for a moment, before regaining her neutral facial expression.
Aurelia sat back down; a pondering look on her face. Vatur kingdom truly was caught in an inopportune time. Their king deathly ill, his heir dead. The remaining two siblings were handling running the kingdom as well as one could hope. With Lymlock dealing with internal affairs and foreign relations, while Claudia, despite her crippled state, commanded the military.
Of the various elven kingdoms on the continent, Vatur had the least mages. General Eirlys was the best magic user the kingdom had, and that made their chances of victory everything but promising. Arrows and swords really couldn't match up against the invading humans and their weapons, no matters how hard they tried. The only solution would have been a to raise and army and attempt a full-on assault, but after humans made their show of force with the rail cannon, the kingdom was hesitant to send more troops into the meat grinder.
"No." Aurelia thought to herself. The kingdom was not hesitant, it was terrified. Despite their attempts at small skirmishes here and there, mainly to defend the borders of the Silver Forest and the second portal gate, the elven soldiers seemed more than happy at the stalemate. Though they knew that the situation could change on a dime and it was entirely up to the humans to decide on that.
She recalled the machinery she had taken down a few nights prior, saving the lives of general Eirlys and her troops. No doubt, with such weapons at their disposal, the invading force would eventually take over the kingdom.
"What's the situation of the liberated portal gate?" The High Elf mage finally broke the uneasy silence with her question.
"We've sent our best troops to guard the gate, My Lady. Even hired various platinum tier adventurers from neighboring kingdoms as back up. Also, several mages as well from Queen Vitora's court." Lymlok responded.
Aurelia nodded, before turning to the general.
"Any new reports from the dungeon?"
"No, My Lady. Our guard is still holding strong, the human advance seemed to have slower to a halt." Eirlys said.
***
Morning came fast, but the camp disassembly and packing was even faster. Where once stood several tents, fences, and a few parked Humvees was now just a field. A field with 3 soldiers in the middle of it.
"Good morning." came a chirping voice from behind them.
The three men turned around, coming face to face with a short woman. She was dressed like a typical village girl, high boots, dress and a sweater west. Her long, blond hair was tied in a braid, almost reaching her lower back. Blue eyes that exuded overwhelming "morning person" energy.
"I am Layla. Ambassador from the court of Her Majesty, currently in service of Duke Perriman." Spoke the woman.
"Any questions?"
Clyde, Marcel and Jeremy simply shook their heads. The cheerful woman clasped her hands, leading them over to a cart, guarded by two soldiers from the Dutchy.
"As you are surely aware, the Duke made this request in secrecy, so I have here prepared clothes that will help you blend in with the locals." She eyes the men up and down, her eyes lingering on Clyde and Marcel.
"Though we may have some issues regarding sizes."
Clyde wasn't a big fan of the whole ordeal, mainly due to the fact that traveling in secrecy meant he couldn't bring any of his main weapons along, especially his combat suit, as it would draw obvious attention.
All 3 of them still wore moderate body armor, which would keep them safe from arrows and bladed weapons, under their new costumes. Minimal weapons too, mostly handguns and an SMG each. Anything they could hide under cloaks. After all, the plan was to hear the Duke out on his request, not try to overthrow the Dutchy.
"Tell ya what, these clothes are starting to grow on me." The tallest of the three men said, once Layla had managed to find clothes that actually fit him.
Even outside the combat suit, Clyde did not appear any smaller, easily towering over everyone else present, two guards included.
"No one's big like Gaston! Incredibly thick like Gaston." He sang while flexing and checking out how the clothes fit his frame. They were obviously on the looser side, to account for the body armor they wore underneath.
"More like the Beast." Jeremy added.
"The human version."
"How dare you?" Clyde gasped, placing a hand on his chest theatrically, acting offended at the comparison, while Marcel chuckled.
"Well, if you gentlemen are all prepared, I would like us to start moving. If we manage to catch the morning trade caravan heading to the Dutchy, we will be able to get in even more unseen." Layla said, hopping on into the cart.
The soldiers nodded and joined her inside, while the guards drove the cart. A large, black and white cat appeared from under the remaining clothes that were piled in the corner, and snuggled up to the woman.
To the surprise of the three men, the feline appeared to be wearing overalls.
Jeremy opened his mouth to ask about the cat, but thinking back, this was far from the weirdest thing they've seen in this world, so he decided against it.
"So, how come you understand us? And vice versa?" Marcel asked Layla, who was petting the pat that curled up on her lap.
"Oh, that's easy. Ambassadors are usually low tier mages, who possess spells that allow understanding and talking to various species, often in their native language." The blonde woman responded, pointing to a necklace she wore.
"The makes understanding you even easier."
"But others, like the guards, have no clue what we are saying?" Jeremy interjected.
"Correct." She replied, before continuing.
"If you are worried that speaking your language to one another or me, will blow your cover, worry not. The town is a mixture of various people, from different regions. Some speak different dialects, others different languages entirely. You will blend right in."
***
Everybody kept their heads down as the cart merged with the incoming caravan and made it through the gates of the small town. It was a busy place, no doubt, with townsfolk all over the streets. Various shops and stores lined both sides of the main street, leading to the town center. Layla was no lying when she said the town has great diversity of people. Everything from humans and elves, to dwarves and kobold could be seen amongst the crowd, rushing to the center of the town where the marketplace was, to set up their booths as the trade caravan approached.
The town had a circular layout, as a portal gate stood in the center of it, the buildings seemingly built around it. By the looks of it, the gate was not used in quite some time, but the invading soldiers now understood the position Duke Perriman was in, and his offer most likely would be.
Below the soil, Marcel's pets followed the cart, ready to jump out at the first sign of trouble.
Once they arrived at the market, the group continued on foot, blending into the crowd, as Layla, cat riding on her shoulders, lead them to the Duke's manor. A lavish estate, situated atop a hill, looking over the entirety of the Dutchy.
For how chatty the men were before the start of the journey, all 3 of them were no silent. Not a word was uttered by either of them since the group entered the town. The ambassador felt a bit uneasy due to this, she was used to adventurers, and even mercenaries, being quite chatty, especially before a mission. The soldiers behind her seemed to be observing the town, studying the layout of it and mapping it out.
Once they passed through the estate gates, Layla told the group they can relax and remove their hoods, as the hardest part of the journey was behind them. The soldiers did as told, with no change in attitude. Finally, the giant of a man, broke the awkwardness.
"Y'know, I hope they feed us. I never had fantasy food before." Clyde grinned.
"Oh, yeah. We did not have breakfast yet. I will let the Duke know. Don't worry, he knows how to treat important guests." She replied, as the cat hopped off her shoulder and ran off somewhere.
The term "fantasy", that Clyde used, confused Layla a bit, but she decided not to think much of it. These humans were from a different world entirely, so perhaps this truly was fantasy to them.
Inside the manor, the group was welcomed by butlers and maids, making sure that they soldiers are refreshed and seated before the Duke arrived.
Perriman was an older gentleman, pushing 50 by the looks of it, grey hair and beard. He had a youthful glow about him however, and his eyes were that of a cunning man. It was evident that he was not the type of noble to just sit and indulge in doing nothing every day.
"Greetings, dear friends. Welcome to my humble home. I hope the trip here was not too much of a hassle." He gave the soldiers a half bow, once he arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
"Thank you for having us." Replied Jeremy, giving an awkward bow back.
Perriman stopped for a moment, looking at the men and then at the door.
"I thought there was supposed to be more of you?"
"Yeah. But we decided to reduce the numbers to the bare minimum, for easier travel and keeping a low profile." Jeremy answered.
The Duke took a step back, looking over the huge Warhound soldier that was Clyde, finding it a bit ironic that they mention keeping a low profile with him being as big as he was.
Clyde and Marcel could smell the fear that gripped the noble, his posh mannerisms could not hide his true feelings. The man was scared stiff, both of them and of unwanted guests, evident by the number of guards placed around doors and windows.
***
The dining hall was set, food and drinks were brought out, the Duke clearly spared no expense on the presentation of hospitality, for the sake of making a good first impression of the invaders. Once done with the preparations, the room was vacated by all the staff, safe for the Duke himself and his best guard, Layla and her cat, and the 3 soldiers.
For an unknown reason, Clyde and Marcel had request the cat be kicked out of the room as well, and not be allowed entry until the dinner was concluded. Layla protested a bit, but eventually caved in, leaving the cat outside in the hallway.
As dinner began, the two Warhounds engrossed themselves in the delicious food in front of them, leaving Jeremy to hold the majority of the conversation with the Duke.
"As you see, I believe we could help one another. You are locked in conflict with the Vatur elves, and I would very much like be rid of their grip on my town as well." Spoke Perriman.
"I see. And in return?" Asked Jeremy, taking a sip of wine from his cup.
"I will allow you to use the portal gate at the center of town to deploy your troops. Isn't that what you are fighting with the elves over?"
"My Lord, I doubt the Queen would allow such an offer." Layla interrupted the noble, a worried look on her face.
It was clear that despite being the one tasked with getting the soldiers to the Dutchy, she was kept in the dark about the deal Perriman had planned to strike with them.
"Silence Layla. Eat your food and let men discuss such issues." He gave her a dirty look before turning his gaze back to Jeremy.
"Queen, eh?" Marcel spoke, still chewing on his food.
"She has no clue you've invited us here."
"She doesn't need to bother herself with everything that goes on in a small town such as this." Perriman responded a bit nervously.
"Last I checked, Vatur kingdom and the Kingdom of her Majesty were on good terms with one another. You are a vassal to the Queen, right? I don't know how the elves would feel when their enemies suddenly start coming out from friendly territory." Jeremy continued.
"Yes, It might start a declaration of war." Marcel added.
"At the very least, it will cause the Queen to send troops or even appear herself, to see what the fuck is going on here, if he gives us the portal gate." Added the other soldier, agreeing with his friend.
"Perhaps. But I am sure we can cross that bridge when we get to it, right?" Asked the Duke, getting more panicked by the minute.
"I like an ambitious man, Perriman." Clyde said, taking a break from destroying the food in front of him to catch his breath.
"It's all over your face. You've probably seen what type of stuff the elves are dealing with and how hard they're being hammered by forces much smaller than their kingdom. You invited us here, hoping that by offering the portal gate to us, you would rid yourself of the ironclad grip that the elves have on your balls."
The tall man laughed, downing a cup of wine and pouring himself another.
"And!" He raised his finger, stopping anyone else before they could say a word.
"You hope that if you ally with us, if... well "If"... WHEN the Queen finally comes here to see what the fuck is going on, we help you get the crown off of her head and on to yours. Am I in the ball park with that assumption?"
Duke Perriman was speechless. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating bullets at this point.
"No point in denying it. Yes, those were my hopes, for this conversation."
"HAH! I read you like a book Perriman." Laughed Clyde, the other two soldier also grinning.
Layla sat there, stunned to her core. She thought about just running out, fleeing the manor and rushing to inform the queen. Her eyes darted from door to door, before a metal clang snapped her back to reality.
She looked at the source of the sound. The tallest of the three soldiers had pulled out his revolver and placed it on the table, the barrel pointed at her. Ambassador locked eyes with Clyde, feeling the fear twist her insides.
"You move. I blow a golf ball sized hole in you." The man said, his look not hiding his murderous intent.
"Okay..." She gulped and nodded.
Their cheerful demeanor had her mistaken about their intentions. They were soldiers, but they were also mercenaries. They do not need permission from superiors to agree or disagree on deals, especially in a world that's not their own. Here, they were exempt from laws that they would have to otherwise abide.
"Let's talk about the reality of your plan Duke." Said Jeremy.
"You've seen Outpost one? The one with the big cannon?"
The Duke nodded.
"Alright. Well, the good news is, the town square has just enough room for us to actually bring in what the elves had prevented us from bringing in at Outpost two." He produced his tabled, typing something in it before the device produced a three-dimensional image of a four-legged machine.
"We can fit two, maybe three Spiders, if we squeeze them in the town square. So that's your luck, as it's just what we need. But!" He paused.
The Duke watched with bated breath as the man typed something else on the device, before showing a lay out of Outpost 2, before the High Elf destroyed it.
"The entire setting needs to look a bit like this. Meaning, we need to get engineers here and get generators placed, get them up and running, triangulate the position and establish coordinates of the gate here in relation to the one on the other side."
"Which, all in all, should take us about two weeks, a week at best of we work really, really fast. But think of it as two weeks, just to be on the safe side." Said Clyde.
"That will also raise alarms. You've got eyes Duke, all over your town. Watching you, your people and everything else going on. Elven eyes." Marcel added, pointing behind himself to the window, who's view pointed directly at the town.
"So, the elves will definitely not like something like that. The Dutchy is right on the border with Vatur, if we activate the gate, it will practically be delivering enemy troops to their doorstep. Big retaliation." Jeremy put his tablet away.
"On top of that, her Majesty the Queen, will probably send people come and run a spike through your ass, because the kingdom of Marbella is allies, or at least friends with the Vatur elves." Added Clyde.
"The million-dollar question, baby, is can YOU, keep both sides off our backs until we set the portal gate up? If you can, well whoop tee do! You just might get what you are looking for. But if you can't and shit hits the fan, believe me, we will be the first to high tail it out of this town." The three men laughed.
Perriman rubbed his forehead. The cards were all laid out for him, the risks and rewards. He knew what type of power these humans held, what their weapons did to the Home Tree. With something like that, he could be crowned King of Marbella come spring, even sooner. No longer a petty vasal, bowing his head both to the Queen and the Elves. But if he failed, he'd face the gallows or worse. No! Failing was not an option. He would make sure whatever these invaders needed to succeed is given to them.
"Alright. I see this will not be an easy task. But the benefits to reap from this do not befit an easy task anyways. So, whatever you need, I shall provide." Perriman took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made the decision.
Layla sat in her chair, mortified at the events unfolding right in front of her. She knew Perriman was a man of ambitions, but she never expected him to be treasonous scum too.
"Just make sure to keep as many watchful eyes away from the town square and the rest portal gate. No double, elf informants and the kingdoms informants will eventually catch with of it. But you must do whatever it takes to keep us a few steps ahead of them." Jeremy told the Duke.
The Duke turned to Layla, as the door to the hall opened and guards walked in.
"Throw her in the basement, and make sure she stays there. We cannot risk her informing anyone of this."
"NO! How dare- GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME." Layla protested, as the guards dragged her out of the room.
Duke Perriman nodded at the men sitting across him, as they all looked at each other. As one, they all took a big swig from their wine cups.
"Make the call." Clyde said to Jeremy.
***
"My Lady. We have trouble." A scout said, bursting through the door of the war hall, trying to catch his breath.
Aurelia did not say a word, her face holding a "this better be important" expression.
"What in the name of Gods is so important that you interrupt us?" Princess Claudia hissed.
"The Perriman Dutchy. It closed off the entire town square. No one is allowed to enter or even get close. Duke Perriman seems to have hired a ton of mercenaries and adventurers to keep every vantage point guarded. Our spies cannot even get close enough to see what's going on. He's invited some strange figures earlier to his manor, for business dealings or something." The scout said.
"What are you cooking Perriman?" Lymlok mumbled to himself.
"Also, the dungeon defense squad reports that as of two nights ago, the humans had abandoned the dungeon in its entirety. They just packed up and left. No trace of them. Even their camp above ground is gone." He continued.
Eirlys exchanged a panicked look with the royal siblings. "The gate at the Dutchy. No way. He wouldn't dare..."
"Send all available scouts to the border, keep an eye on the Iron Tower outpost, keep an eye on the town, keep an eye any movement from the outpost to the Dutchy. And tell every scout and spy in the Dutchy to not stop trying to find out what's going on in there, by any means necessary." Lymlok ordered the scout, as the elf ran back out of the room.
"Seems our allies are not so loyal as we thought." Aurelia spoke, before walking over to the balcony. "What are you plotting, scum?"
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2024.05.31 18:14 OpheliaCyanide [That Time I Ran Over A God] --- Chapter 14
What started as a panicked attempt to get her over-intoxicated friend to a hospital ended up in a disastrous car crash that claimed the lives of her friends... and a careless God crossing the street. But Sammi's adventure wasn't about to end there. In her dying breath, the God curses Sammi to take up her mantel. Now with her three friends resurrected as ghosts, Sammi has to navigate the tricky world of godhood.
Previous Chapter Next chapter coming soon!
Start here! Patreon (up to chapter 9)
Difficulty Level: Blue
Participants: Cara Geraldo, Tina Dominic, Self
Status: Success!
Details: Participants obtained illegal permission to reside in a housing unit.
Reward: Level up!
~~~
Hell yeah.
~~~
Powers Unlocked: Verity Tongue
Familiars: Joni Beck, Christopher Ricci, Blair Yan
Familiar Powers Unlocked:
Blair Yan, Banshee, Illusion
(+1)
Attributes: Delayed Sensitivity, Reduced Sensitivity, Heightened Constitution, Regeneration Tier 2, Unaging, (+1)
~~~
Huh. Apparently I got to pick an attribute this time instead of having it automatically select one. That should have been a good thing, but I always got decision paralysis and I had a whole list of things I could pick.
Regeneration Tier 3
Durability Tier 1
Evoke Spirit (Alive)
Heightened Speed Tier 1
Heightened Strength Tier 1
Low Light Vision Tier 1
And so on.
The thing is with all the tier stuff, I actually didnât know what it meant. I mean, okay, Iâm not so stupid I donât know what âlow light visionâ meant. But who knows exactly how much Iâd get from a single tier? How many tiers until I could just see in the dark? Would this just make me able to read a book in a movie theater? What level were we talking?
There was a lot of risk. The whole level up might end up being useless if it wasnât strong enough.
Besides, I had my eye on another spell. Evoke Spirit (Alive). Because that sounded an awful lot like make spirits alive, right? I mean, spirit and alive in the same description sounded pretty promising.
So I selected that one. Did it cross my mind that resurrection might not be âtier 4 Godâ material? No. Did I really think that Delayed Sensitivity and a familiar that could make police sirens put me on the same level Jesus Christ? Yes.
Did I hestiate at all to contemplate whether taking this vaguely worded ability might not, in fact, give me the power to raise the dead and might, in fact, just be a waste of a level up?
Again, no.
Anyway.
I did have the brains to not immediately tell the ghosts my plan. Just in case it didnât bring them all back to life miraculously. Also, because I promised (at least to myself), I tapped my familiar upgrade and selected Joni Beck from my options. Maybe theyâd retain the powers once alive again? Wouldnât that be cool.
~~~
Familiar level increased!
Familiar: Joni Beck
Type: Wisp
Abilities: Atmosphere â Minor Temperature Alteration
~~~
I frowned. Alteration, huh? So like making it hot and cold. I gave Joni a sideways squint, where she was scratching at her ear. Would she like this more or less than Blairâs ability? Wisp sounded kinda lame, as ghost types go. Banshee was kinda cooler.
I decided against telling Joni about the power up thing for the moment. Instead, I called up all the magic in my brain and pointed my finger at her, closed my eyes hard and focused on the words âSpirit Alive.â
âUh.â
Joniâs flat deadpan did not sound like a dead woman who found herself alive again. I cracked an eye open to find that she was, in fact, still very dead.
âDamn.â I snapped my fingers in disappointment. Not only had I failed to level them up, but I no longer had any idea what this new ability did.
âDid you shit yourself?â Joni asked, raising an eyebrow sky high.
âDude, you looked in pain there,â Christopher said, laughing. âI thought you were having an aneurysm or something.â
âI was trying to resurrect you.â My cheeks burned. âYou know, bring you back to life? I got this new ability, uh, Evoke Spirits Alive? Was hoping it might, you know, bring you all back.â
Christopher frowned. âSeems like kind of a strong ability to get atâwhat are you now, tier 3?â
My cheeks burned hotter. Of course it was. âWell what do you think it does?â
Everyone was quiet. Even Cara for probably the first time in her life. Even Blair had puckered her brow in deep thought.
âEvoke means, like, bring forth, right?â Christopher said, finally breaking the silence. âSo you can bring forth spirits.â
âAnd weâre spirits,â Blair clarified. âSo you can make ghosts.â
âMake alive ghosts,â Joni said. âSo maybe you can bring ghosts out of dead people, like the initial God did.â
âMaybe,â Cara said, the start of her sentence overlapping the end of Joniâs, âyou can evoke spirits out of living people?â
All of my ghosts fixed her with looks of outrage at the sheer stupidity of this question. Even Blair seemed to find this stupid. She had her head cocked sassily to the side, lips pursed. Blairâs âIâm smarter than youâ look was a thing of legends, in that only a few people had ever claimed to have seen it because Blair wasnât typically known for being smarter than people. Though there was a time where an old friend, Fritz, had ODed at a party and Blair had been the first person to recognize his symptoms. She flashed this same look at that event, before saying âWe really should call 911.â
Luckily for Fritz, there had been service, so instead of being hurled into a car to die a horribly violent and premature death like Blair had, heâd been carted off to the ER and then to rehab. I havenât seen him since, cause we really only ever saw each other at parties and he went full sobriety guy after that.
Good for Fritz, though.
But my old druggie friends aside, this was the second time Iâd ever seen Blair be this convinced that someone else had just said something very stupid. It was miraculous to behold, but I wasnât going to acknowledge it. Itâd just egg the ghosts on to make fun of poor Cara.
Instead, I just shook my head wisely.
âCould be, Cara. Could be.â
â
Tina the Taxi returned later that night with my car. I hoodwinked some guards into helping me bring my stolen gear to the apartment so it could start feeling like home. They left the boxes in the corner and left, muttering about how this was not the overnight shiftâs typical job.
We had a lot of decorating to do.
âWell,â Christopher said, appraising the stack, hands on his hips. âThis is⌠well, like, itâs something I guess.â
âUm, did you get all that from TechShack?â Cara asked, eying my âbounty.â
âYeah.â
We may not have had as much decorating to do as Iâd thought.
I was more than a little let down by how it all looked in the middle of the floor. When Iâd first pictured New Olympia, I think Iâd expected something smaller than this place. Something more like the 10x10 bedroom where I used to live. I had severely misunderstood how much stuff was needed to outfit a place this big.
Because boy let me tell you, a single shopping cart worth of video game consoles, a monitor, a few keyboards, and a medium sized speaker didnât make a dent in a five bedroom apartment. It looked pathetic just sitting on the living room floor.
âOkay.â I sighed. âThis might actually take some time to fill out.â After a moment of my face getting redder and redder, I took a deep breath and forced a smile. âWe can get started on that tomorrow though. First thing in the morning!â
âShouldnât we deal with the whole, ya know, fugitives from the law thing?â Cara asked, voice spiking in a familiar note of oncoming panic. âI mean, what if the police find our spot while weâre out and set up a barricade around it? What if they shoot you before you speak? What if they shoot me? And speaking of shooting, arenât we supposed to be tracking down that Henry Miller guy? We need toââ
âCara!â My face was back to red. âOkay fine, so a shopping spree isnât top on the plate. Iâll justâŚâ An idea popped into my head. âOkay. Tina, would you like to do a shopping trip tomorrow?â
Tina pursed her lips. âI mean, yeah. You got a card though I can use? Cause I canât afford much right now and maybe you feel comfortable hustling but I canât cut and run like that.â
I nodded. âYeah, Iâll get you a card. Easy peasy. Iâll just make a call in the morning. You just hit up whatever furniture stores you think look cool, buy whatever you can until the card hits its limit, and weâll go from there.â
Tinaâs lips pressed together, stretched out in something that might be a smile but was contradicted by the crease between her eyebrows. âYou sure?â she asked.
âPositive. Just⌠you know. Tomorrow.â I let out a sigh that turned into a very long yawn as I took a hard look at the gleaming, shiny, very hard hardwood floor. Man I was tired. I was dog tired. The more I thought about how tired I was, the more tired I got. Weâd visited Noah today, broke Cara out of jail, hired Tina, and gotten a house all in one.
I was almost tired enough to sleep on the wooden floors.
âCara, call the front desk and ask for some blankets. Tinaââ I jabbed a finger at her ââyour first priority tomorrow is beds. Mine will be getting some breathing space from the cops. Might take a buncha of the day, but we gotta do what we gotta do.â Iâd hoodwinked cops before. I could play them like a flute.
â
Iâd taken flute in the seventh grade. It was the only instrument Iâd ever played beyond banging on a grandparentâs piano once as a kid, or screeching on recorders in first grade. Like an idiot, Iâd assumed you played flute and recorder the same way. Didnât realize it was supposed to be sideways. So first day of flute class, I stuck it in my mouth and blew. Got a very judgy look from my teacher, whose impression of me didnât change throughout the entire miserable year. Finally she left a kindly worded letter suggesting that my passions may lay outside music.
Which is to say, âplaying something like a fluteâ was a bad metaphor for âsomething easy.â It was, however, a good metaphor for something difficult. Something like buying time from the police.
Iâd had a good, if short lived, feeling about the whole thing as I cruised into the police station. Things had been going pretty well, the last few lies Iâd told. Got the guards to give us free blankets, got Jordan the landlord to lend us his credit card, got a spanking good free breakfast.
I was feeling good until maybe thirty seconds after entering the police station.
âHands up where we can see them! Keep your hands over your head and donât move.â
Iâd kept Cara at the apartment because I knew I was more likely to be able to survive a gunshot than her. I hadnât expected to be shot, it had just been a precaution. So this was definitely taking me by surprise.
âWhat I do?â I shrieked, hands jumping over head. âI just came in here toââ
âWe got two men missing, last seen escorting you and murder suspect Cara Geraldo from the premises.â The cop pointing his gun at me didnât even lower his voice. Everyone else in the office looked very tense, and I could see a half dozen hands itching towards holsters.
âUh.â I swallowed. âDonât shoot please?â
âIâm getting cuffs on her,â the officer with the gun said. âNow. Someone hold my gun and check her for weapons.â
âWait wait wait wait, I do not consent to being frisked.â I wanted to run or duck or something, but my hands were still over my head, and I knew if I took a step, theyâd shoot. So instead I started kinda wiggling like my feet were glued to the ground. âNo handcuffs either. Stop. Donât. Please. Come on, guys, give me a break.â
They werenât listening because I wasnât telling lies, but my brain was drawing a bit of a blank. The ghosts, meanwhile, were full of ideas, which was part of the problem.
All anyone in the office saw was me wiggling and begging not to be handcuffed while a cop handcuffed me.
But what I was hearing was:
âNot commands, not commands, not commands are you fucking stupid?â
âBro, Sammi, deep breaths, youâre gonna get yourself shot. I like, donât think that would kill you depending on where you get shot but maybe we, you know, shouldnât test it?â
âSammi, oh my gosh, youâre being so silly! Youâre gonna end up next to poor Noah if youâre not careful. You gottaââ
âShut up, Blair, youâre distracting her.â
âMaybe you need to stop stressing her out. Chill, Joni chill. You need toââ
âDonât be mean, Joni. Sammi needsââ
âShe needs to not get shot, she needs toââ
âDeep breaths, girls. Deeeeeep breaths. Itâll beââ
âIf you tell me to calm down, Iâll kill you. Sammi is literally going to dieââ
âSheâs just gotta stay positive! Okay Sammi, repeat after me. I am the God of Schemes and youâre all gonna be in a lot ofââ
âJust say youâre not a criminal.â
âSay you did nothing wrong.â
âTell them you work there.â
âKeep it simple.â
âSay something!â
âYouâre running out of time.â
âJust tell them youâre supposed to be here.â
So I was hearing a lot. And I was fucking sweating my ass off. This had to have been the most stressful moment of my life, cause my face was beet red and I could feel steam coming out of my ears and I felt like my head was about to explode, and finally what came out of my mouth was.
âIâm not supposed to be in trouble or do anything wrong please.â
Which made no sense.
It did, however, get everyone in the room to pause, parsing my garbled sentence.
âYouâre⌠what?â Officer Handcuffs asked.
âIâmâŚâ My voice trailed off in a whimper. âIâm not in trouble.â I looked around the room at the frozen police officers. âI didnât do anything wrong.â
They were quiet for another long few seconds. Officer Handcuffs looked around the room, eyes slowly starting to bug more as he took in the accusatory glares of everyone in the room and then looked back to my handcuffed wrist.
âJim.â An older woman with a bigger badge than many of the others, stepped forward. âThis is enough.â
I froze, holding my breath.
âAmandaââ
âNo.â Amanda shook her head. âYou narrowly avoided probation for the vending machine incident. Now youâre handcuffing this poor girl who hasnât done anything wrong?â
Jim was starting to sweat. Actually, everyone was starting to sweat. It was absolutely sweltering in here.
âIâm sorry. I⌠I didnâtâshe looked likeââ
Amanda was still shaking her head. âUncuff the girl, Jim. Then you and I are gonna have a little chat. And Iâm looping Charlotte in.â
Jimâs face probably would have gone white at this if it wasn't, like, eighty degrees in the room. Instead, it went a dark red. I was starting to worry for his health.
âY-yes Sarge.â His shaky, sweaty, slippery hands fumbled with the lock on my cuff before unclasping it from my wrist. âSorry miss. IâŚâ
I waved him off. I had no idea what to say, but this was working kinda sorta, and I was scared to ruin it.
After Amanda escorted Jim away, the rest of the office sorta returned to normal. My mouth felt super chalky as I willed my heart to slow down, but I swayed where I stood, dizzy. Spots flashed in my eyes. Was I having a stroke?
âJesus, someone wanna turn the AC on?â the woman at the desk asked, her voice a gravelly growl.
âDonât normally need to in September like this,â Officer Handcuffs said. Then he pulled at his collar and took a few panting breaths. âBut yeah. Yeah, let me go check on getting that cranked up.â
âBro, you all look like you just ran a marathon.â Christopher pulled his legs up into a criss-cross applesauce pose. âIs it actually that hot?â
âYeah, what gives?â Joni asked, blithely unawareâas I had been, until sheâd askedâthat she was âwhat gives.â
âI uhâŚâ My eyes slunk around the room at the various police officers. How was I supposed to have a conversation with Joni here? Too many people who were gonna find it weird. âIâll tell you outside,â I said, teeth grit. I just needed to have a conversation about posting bail and we could bail.
Joni wasnât impressed by my blow off, but I didnât really care. I needed to get us out of this office before people started passing out.
Phew, another week over. Let me know what you think!
submitted by OpheliaCyanide to redditserials [link] [comments]
Previous Chapter Next chapter coming soon!
Start here! Patreon (up to chapter 9)
Scheme Update:
Type: ImpersonateDifficulty Level: Blue
Participants: Cara Geraldo, Tina Dominic, Self
Status: Success!
Details: Participants obtained illegal permission to reside in a housing unit.
Reward: Level up!
~~~
Hell yeah.
~~~
God of Schemes
Tier: 3Powers Unlocked: Verity Tongue
Familiars: Joni Beck, Christopher Ricci, Blair Yan
Familiar Powers Unlocked:
Blair Yan, Banshee, Illusion
(+1)
Attributes: Delayed Sensitivity, Reduced Sensitivity, Heightened Constitution, Regeneration Tier 2, Unaging, (+1)
~~~
Huh. Apparently I got to pick an attribute this time instead of having it automatically select one. That should have been a good thing, but I always got decision paralysis and I had a whole list of things I could pick.
Regeneration Tier 3
Durability Tier 1
Evoke Spirit (Alive)
Heightened Speed Tier 1
Heightened Strength Tier 1
Low Light Vision Tier 1
And so on.
The thing is with all the tier stuff, I actually didnât know what it meant. I mean, okay, Iâm not so stupid I donât know what âlow light visionâ meant. But who knows exactly how much Iâd get from a single tier? How many tiers until I could just see in the dark? Would this just make me able to read a book in a movie theater? What level were we talking?
There was a lot of risk. The whole level up might end up being useless if it wasnât strong enough.
Besides, I had my eye on another spell. Evoke Spirit (Alive). Because that sounded an awful lot like make spirits alive, right? I mean, spirit and alive in the same description sounded pretty promising.
So I selected that one. Did it cross my mind that resurrection might not be âtier 4 Godâ material? No. Did I really think that Delayed Sensitivity and a familiar that could make police sirens put me on the same level Jesus Christ? Yes.
Did I hestiate at all to contemplate whether taking this vaguely worded ability might not, in fact, give me the power to raise the dead and might, in fact, just be a waste of a level up?
Again, no.
Anyway.
I did have the brains to not immediately tell the ghosts my plan. Just in case it didnât bring them all back to life miraculously. Also, because I promised (at least to myself), I tapped my familiar upgrade and selected Joni Beck from my options. Maybe theyâd retain the powers once alive again? Wouldnât that be cool.
~~~
Familiar level increased!
Familiar: Joni Beck
Type: Wisp
Abilities: Atmosphere â Minor Temperature Alteration
~~~
I frowned. Alteration, huh? So like making it hot and cold. I gave Joni a sideways squint, where she was scratching at her ear. Would she like this more or less than Blairâs ability? Wisp sounded kinda lame, as ghost types go. Banshee was kinda cooler.
I decided against telling Joni about the power up thing for the moment. Instead, I called up all the magic in my brain and pointed my finger at her, closed my eyes hard and focused on the words âSpirit Alive.â
âUh.â
Joniâs flat deadpan did not sound like a dead woman who found herself alive again. I cracked an eye open to find that she was, in fact, still very dead.
âDamn.â I snapped my fingers in disappointment. Not only had I failed to level them up, but I no longer had any idea what this new ability did.
âDid you shit yourself?â Joni asked, raising an eyebrow sky high.
âDude, you looked in pain there,â Christopher said, laughing. âI thought you were having an aneurysm or something.â
âI was trying to resurrect you.â My cheeks burned. âYou know, bring you back to life? I got this new ability, uh, Evoke Spirits Alive? Was hoping it might, you know, bring you all back.â
Christopher frowned. âSeems like kind of a strong ability to get atâwhat are you now, tier 3?â
My cheeks burned hotter. Of course it was. âWell what do you think it does?â
Everyone was quiet. Even Cara for probably the first time in her life. Even Blair had puckered her brow in deep thought.
âEvoke means, like, bring forth, right?â Christopher said, finally breaking the silence. âSo you can bring forth spirits.â
âAnd weâre spirits,â Blair clarified. âSo you can make ghosts.â
âMake alive ghosts,â Joni said. âSo maybe you can bring ghosts out of dead people, like the initial God did.â
âMaybe,â Cara said, the start of her sentence overlapping the end of Joniâs, âyou can evoke spirits out of living people?â
All of my ghosts fixed her with looks of outrage at the sheer stupidity of this question. Even Blair seemed to find this stupid. She had her head cocked sassily to the side, lips pursed. Blairâs âIâm smarter than youâ look was a thing of legends, in that only a few people had ever claimed to have seen it because Blair wasnât typically known for being smarter than people. Though there was a time where an old friend, Fritz, had ODed at a party and Blair had been the first person to recognize his symptoms. She flashed this same look at that event, before saying âWe really should call 911.â
Luckily for Fritz, there had been service, so instead of being hurled into a car to die a horribly violent and premature death like Blair had, heâd been carted off to the ER and then to rehab. I havenât seen him since, cause we really only ever saw each other at parties and he went full sobriety guy after that.
Good for Fritz, though.
But my old druggie friends aside, this was the second time Iâd ever seen Blair be this convinced that someone else had just said something very stupid. It was miraculous to behold, but I wasnât going to acknowledge it. Itâd just egg the ghosts on to make fun of poor Cara.
Instead, I just shook my head wisely.
âCould be, Cara. Could be.â
â
Tina the Taxi returned later that night with my car. I hoodwinked some guards into helping me bring my stolen gear to the apartment so it could start feeling like home. They left the boxes in the corner and left, muttering about how this was not the overnight shiftâs typical job.
We had a lot of decorating to do.
âWell,â Christopher said, appraising the stack, hands on his hips. âThis is⌠well, like, itâs something I guess.â
âUm, did you get all that from TechShack?â Cara asked, eying my âbounty.â
âYeah.â
We may not have had as much decorating to do as Iâd thought.
I was more than a little let down by how it all looked in the middle of the floor. When Iâd first pictured New Olympia, I think Iâd expected something smaller than this place. Something more like the 10x10 bedroom where I used to live. I had severely misunderstood how much stuff was needed to outfit a place this big.
Because boy let me tell you, a single shopping cart worth of video game consoles, a monitor, a few keyboards, and a medium sized speaker didnât make a dent in a five bedroom apartment. It looked pathetic just sitting on the living room floor.
âOkay.â I sighed. âThis might actually take some time to fill out.â After a moment of my face getting redder and redder, I took a deep breath and forced a smile. âWe can get started on that tomorrow though. First thing in the morning!â
âShouldnât we deal with the whole, ya know, fugitives from the law thing?â Cara asked, voice spiking in a familiar note of oncoming panic. âI mean, what if the police find our spot while weâre out and set up a barricade around it? What if they shoot you before you speak? What if they shoot me? And speaking of shooting, arenât we supposed to be tracking down that Henry Miller guy? We need toââ
âCara!â My face was back to red. âOkay fine, so a shopping spree isnât top on the plate. Iâll justâŚâ An idea popped into my head. âOkay. Tina, would you like to do a shopping trip tomorrow?â
Tina pursed her lips. âI mean, yeah. You got a card though I can use? Cause I canât afford much right now and maybe you feel comfortable hustling but I canât cut and run like that.â
I nodded. âYeah, Iâll get you a card. Easy peasy. Iâll just make a call in the morning. You just hit up whatever furniture stores you think look cool, buy whatever you can until the card hits its limit, and weâll go from there.â
Tinaâs lips pressed together, stretched out in something that might be a smile but was contradicted by the crease between her eyebrows. âYou sure?â she asked.
âPositive. Just⌠you know. Tomorrow.â I let out a sigh that turned into a very long yawn as I took a hard look at the gleaming, shiny, very hard hardwood floor. Man I was tired. I was dog tired. The more I thought about how tired I was, the more tired I got. Weâd visited Noah today, broke Cara out of jail, hired Tina, and gotten a house all in one.
I was almost tired enough to sleep on the wooden floors.
âCara, call the front desk and ask for some blankets. Tinaââ I jabbed a finger at her ââyour first priority tomorrow is beds. Mine will be getting some breathing space from the cops. Might take a buncha of the day, but we gotta do what we gotta do.â Iâd hoodwinked cops before. I could play them like a flute.
â
Day 3: Friday
âIâd taken flute in the seventh grade. It was the only instrument Iâd ever played beyond banging on a grandparentâs piano once as a kid, or screeching on recorders in first grade. Like an idiot, Iâd assumed you played flute and recorder the same way. Didnât realize it was supposed to be sideways. So first day of flute class, I stuck it in my mouth and blew. Got a very judgy look from my teacher, whose impression of me didnât change throughout the entire miserable year. Finally she left a kindly worded letter suggesting that my passions may lay outside music.
Which is to say, âplaying something like a fluteâ was a bad metaphor for âsomething easy.â It was, however, a good metaphor for something difficult. Something like buying time from the police.
Iâd had a good, if short lived, feeling about the whole thing as I cruised into the police station. Things had been going pretty well, the last few lies Iâd told. Got the guards to give us free blankets, got Jordan the landlord to lend us his credit card, got a spanking good free breakfast.
I was feeling good until maybe thirty seconds after entering the police station.
âHands up where we can see them! Keep your hands over your head and donât move.â
Iâd kept Cara at the apartment because I knew I was more likely to be able to survive a gunshot than her. I hadnât expected to be shot, it had just been a precaution. So this was definitely taking me by surprise.
âWhat I do?â I shrieked, hands jumping over head. âI just came in here toââ
âWe got two men missing, last seen escorting you and murder suspect Cara Geraldo from the premises.â The cop pointing his gun at me didnât even lower his voice. Everyone else in the office looked very tense, and I could see a half dozen hands itching towards holsters.
âUh.â I swallowed. âDonât shoot please?â
âIâm getting cuffs on her,â the officer with the gun said. âNow. Someone hold my gun and check her for weapons.â
âWait wait wait wait, I do not consent to being frisked.â I wanted to run or duck or something, but my hands were still over my head, and I knew if I took a step, theyâd shoot. So instead I started kinda wiggling like my feet were glued to the ground. âNo handcuffs either. Stop. Donât. Please. Come on, guys, give me a break.â
They werenât listening because I wasnât telling lies, but my brain was drawing a bit of a blank. The ghosts, meanwhile, were full of ideas, which was part of the problem.
All anyone in the office saw was me wiggling and begging not to be handcuffed while a cop handcuffed me.
But what I was hearing was:
âNot commands, not commands, not commands are you fucking stupid?â
âBro, Sammi, deep breaths, youâre gonna get yourself shot. I like, donât think that would kill you depending on where you get shot but maybe we, you know, shouldnât test it?â
âSammi, oh my gosh, youâre being so silly! Youâre gonna end up next to poor Noah if youâre not careful. You gottaââ
âShut up, Blair, youâre distracting her.â
âMaybe you need to stop stressing her out. Chill, Joni chill. You need toââ
âDonât be mean, Joni. Sammi needsââ
âShe needs to not get shot, she needs toââ
âDeep breaths, girls. Deeeeeep breaths. Itâll beââ
âIf you tell me to calm down, Iâll kill you. Sammi is literally going to dieââ
âSheâs just gotta stay positive! Okay Sammi, repeat after me. I am the God of Schemes and youâre all gonna be in a lot ofââ
âJust say youâre not a criminal.â
âSay you did nothing wrong.â
âTell them you work there.â
âKeep it simple.â
âSay something!â
âYouâre running out of time.â
âJust tell them youâre supposed to be here.â
So I was hearing a lot. And I was fucking sweating my ass off. This had to have been the most stressful moment of my life, cause my face was beet red and I could feel steam coming out of my ears and I felt like my head was about to explode, and finally what came out of my mouth was.
âIâm not supposed to be in trouble or do anything wrong please.â
Which made no sense.
It did, however, get everyone in the room to pause, parsing my garbled sentence.
âYouâre⌠what?â Officer Handcuffs asked.
âIâmâŚâ My voice trailed off in a whimper. âIâm not in trouble.â I looked around the room at the frozen police officers. âI didnât do anything wrong.â
They were quiet for another long few seconds. Officer Handcuffs looked around the room, eyes slowly starting to bug more as he took in the accusatory glares of everyone in the room and then looked back to my handcuffed wrist.
âJim.â An older woman with a bigger badge than many of the others, stepped forward. âThis is enough.â
I froze, holding my breath.
âAmandaââ
âNo.â Amanda shook her head. âYou narrowly avoided probation for the vending machine incident. Now youâre handcuffing this poor girl who hasnât done anything wrong?â
Jim was starting to sweat. Actually, everyone was starting to sweat. It was absolutely sweltering in here.
âIâm sorry. I⌠I didnâtâshe looked likeââ
Amanda was still shaking her head. âUncuff the girl, Jim. Then you and I are gonna have a little chat. And Iâm looping Charlotte in.â
Jimâs face probably would have gone white at this if it wasn't, like, eighty degrees in the room. Instead, it went a dark red. I was starting to worry for his health.
âY-yes Sarge.â His shaky, sweaty, slippery hands fumbled with the lock on my cuff before unclasping it from my wrist. âSorry miss. IâŚâ
I waved him off. I had no idea what to say, but this was working kinda sorta, and I was scared to ruin it.
After Amanda escorted Jim away, the rest of the office sorta returned to normal. My mouth felt super chalky as I willed my heart to slow down, but I swayed where I stood, dizzy. Spots flashed in my eyes. Was I having a stroke?
âJesus, someone wanna turn the AC on?â the woman at the desk asked, her voice a gravelly growl.
âDonât normally need to in September like this,â Officer Handcuffs said. Then he pulled at his collar and took a few panting breaths. âBut yeah. Yeah, let me go check on getting that cranked up.â
âBro, you all look like you just ran a marathon.â Christopher pulled his legs up into a criss-cross applesauce pose. âIs it actually that hot?â
âYeah, what gives?â Joni asked, blithely unawareâas I had been, until sheâd askedâthat she was âwhat gives.â
âI uhâŚâ My eyes slunk around the room at the various police officers. How was I supposed to have a conversation with Joni here? Too many people who were gonna find it weird. âIâll tell you outside,â I said, teeth grit. I just needed to have a conversation about posting bail and we could bail.
Joni wasnât impressed by my blow off, but I didnât really care. I needed to get us out of this office before people started passing out.
2024.05.31 16:31 Sex-Baba My Sis Caught Me While I Was Having Masturbation
Today, I wanna share my erotic home story with all of you guys and it isnât my fantasy but itâs actually gonna my real story. So please stay tuned with me till the end.
It all started when I was alone at home as my parents had to attend a family function but at the same time, my board exams were also going on. So my parents called my big sis to take care of me so that I could focus on my studies. Since it was also very important for my parents to attend that family function cause they were extremely close to us and the plus point is they did a lot for us in our bad times which is rare to see these days.
Now, before I begin my story, let me give a little bit of intro about me and my family.
Myself Tarun Pratap Singh, a 25th-years-old young Indian boy and I live in Ganganagar, Meerut city in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh with my family. There are total of five members in my family, including me. Apart from myself, my family consists of my younger brother who is currently studying in IITD, my mother who is a housewife, my father who is a government servant and my elder sister who has a job and mostly stays out for work.
Anyway, get back to the story! When my parents called my sis at home to take care of me, coincidentally she was on one month of vacation. This is what I am talking about, I am talking about 2016â17 when I was in high school.
I had a smartphone at that time because I mostly relied on the internet for my studies. But nobody in my family knew that I used to watch adult content on it. It isnât like I only used to watch porn on it. I actually used to study on it as well.
Well, one day we got a call from one of our relatives that there was a family function at their place and they were inviting us along with our family. You mightâve remembered that in the beginning of this story, I had mentioned close relatives of mine who had supported us a lot in our bad times. It was them.
Soon the day came when my parents had to leave to our relativeâs place to attend that function and it was a very good opportunity for us to pay back for the favors theyâd done for us.
My parents left home around 6â7 am in the morning to attend the function. It was a 6-week long event and I was busy preparing for my exams. At around 8 am in the morning, after a three hours study session, I thought of taking a small break and after finishing all the morning stuff like brushing, bathing, etc., I got naked and started watching porn on my phone.
Oh yes! One thing I forgot to mention in my intro is that I was 18 years old at that time and Iâve a passion for DIY (Do-it-Yourself) and crafts since childhood and because of this passion of mine I made a VR (Virtual Reality) box from the useless things lying around at home.
Anyway, letâs move ahead with the topic. That day when I was masturbating naked, I was wearing the VR box which Iâd made myself and I was watching porn by connecting my phone to it.
I was so engrossed in masturbation that, I didnât even realize when my sister came home with in no moment. While masturbating, I ejaculated in a while and I felt light.
After masturbating, I took out my self-made VR box and saw that my big sis was standing in front of me. Her breathing was very fast and she was a bit nervous seeing me in that condition. I was more nervous than her, thinking that she might call Mom and Dad and tell them what I was doing in their absence.
Thankfully she didnât do that, instead she composed herself and asked me in a slightly angry tone about what I was doing a while ago. I was wordless in front of her. But I have been good at convincing anyone since childhood so I used my skill to convince her that sheâll not to tell anyone about what I was doing at home while alone not even our family and the interesting thing is that during this whole conversation, I was sitting completely naked with my sister.
Not only did I convince her to hide my secret from everyone but I also managed to convince her to have sex with me. At first, she refused to accept this idea but later she agreed.
During our conversation, I was constantly observing my sisterâs activities that how she was constantly looking at my cock. I held her hand and put it on my cock and requested her to just try to touch it a little bit.
My cock became rock hard again when she touched it and released a little bit pre-cum. After that, I held her hand and helped her in moving my cock up and downward. In short, helped her masturbate with my rock-hard cock.
At first, she felt disgusted but later she started enjoying masturbation. Now I couldnât hold back myself anymore so I quickly grabbed her boobs and started squeezing them from above her top. Yes, she was wearing a pink top, black skirt and white pantie. She never wears a bra.
While masturbating she started kissing me on my lips. Her lips were naturally pink and soft. Her tongue was interacting with my tongue and her tongue was soft too.
Now I took off her clothes and made her naked like me. Her nipples were baby pink color. Her breasts were also big, shaved pussy and pink colored too. She loves shaved and soft pussy so she shaves it from time to time.
I started fingering her pussy. She was still a virgin and this was her first sex too, so when I started fingering her pussy, she felt a little pain. While I was fingering gently.
While masturbating and fingering, we both cum together. The matter is not just limited to masturbation, but we go much beyond this. I wasnât satisfied with this. Now I wanted a good and satisfying blowjob too from my sis.
That day we spent the whole day having sex, watching porn, had anal sex and at night slept in the 69 position (a type of sex position).My Sis Caught Me While I Was Having Masturbation
Today, I wanna share my erotic home story with all of you guys and it isnât my fantasy but itâs actually gonna my real story. So please stay tuned with me till the end.
submitted by Sex-Baba to sexystories69 [link] [comments]
It all started when I was alone at home as my parents had to attend a family function but at the same time, my board exams were also going on. So my parents called my big sis to take care of me so that I could focus on my studies. Since it was also very important for my parents to attend that family function cause they were extremely close to us and the plus point is they did a lot for us in our bad times which is rare to see these days.
Now, before I begin my story, let me give a little bit of intro about me and my family.
Myself Tarun Pratap Singh, a 25th-years-old young Indian boy and I live in Ganganagar, Meerut city in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh with my family. There are total of five members in my family, including me. Apart from myself, my family consists of my younger brother who is currently studying in IITD, my mother who is a housewife, my father who is a government servant and my elder sister who has a job and mostly stays out for work.
Anyway, get back to the story! When my parents called my sis at home to take care of me, coincidentally she was on one month of vacation. This is what I am talking about, I am talking about 2016â17 when I was in high school.
I had a smartphone at that time because I mostly relied on the internet for my studies. But nobody in my family knew that I used to watch adult content on it. It isnât like I only used to watch porn on it. I actually used to study on it as well.
Well, one day we got a call from one of our relatives that there was a family function at their place and they were inviting us along with our family. You mightâve remembered that in the beginning of this story, I had mentioned close relatives of mine who had supported us a lot in our bad times. It was them.
Soon the day came when my parents had to leave to our relativeâs place to attend that function and it was a very good opportunity for us to pay back for the favors theyâd done for us.
My parents left home around 6â7 am in the morning to attend the function. It was a 6-week long event and I was busy preparing for my exams. At around 8 am in the morning, after a three hours study session, I thought of taking a small break and after finishing all the morning stuff like brushing, bathing, etc., I got naked and started watching porn on my phone.
Oh yes! One thing I forgot to mention in my intro is that I was 18 years old at that time and Iâve a passion for DIY (Do-it-Yourself) and crafts since childhood and because of this passion of mine I made a VR (Virtual Reality) box from the useless things lying around at home.
Anyway, letâs move ahead with the topic. That day when I was masturbating naked, I was wearing the VR box which Iâd made myself and I was watching porn by connecting my phone to it.
I was so engrossed in masturbation that, I didnât even realize when my sister came home with in no moment. While masturbating, I ejaculated in a while and I felt light.
After masturbating, I took out my self-made VR box and saw that my big sis was standing in front of me. Her breathing was very fast and she was a bit nervous seeing me in that condition. I was more nervous than her, thinking that she might call Mom and Dad and tell them what I was doing in their absence.
Thankfully she didnât do that, instead she composed herself and asked me in a slightly angry tone about what I was doing a while ago. I was wordless in front of her. But I have been good at convincing anyone since childhood so I used my skill to convince her that sheâll not to tell anyone about what I was doing at home while alone not even our family and the interesting thing is that during this whole conversation, I was sitting completely naked with my sister.
Not only did I convince her to hide my secret from everyone but I also managed to convince her to have sex with me. At first, she refused to accept this idea but later she agreed.
During our conversation, I was constantly observing my sisterâs activities that how she was constantly looking at my cock. I held her hand and put it on my cock and requested her to just try to touch it a little bit.
My cock became rock hard again when she touched it and released a little bit pre-cum. After that, I held her hand and helped her in moving my cock up and downward. In short, helped her masturbate with my rock-hard cock.
At first, she felt disgusted but later she started enjoying masturbation. Now I couldnât hold back myself anymore so I quickly grabbed her boobs and started squeezing them from above her top. Yes, she was wearing a pink top, black skirt and white pantie. She never wears a bra.
While masturbating she started kissing me on my lips. Her lips were naturally pink and soft. Her tongue was interacting with my tongue and her tongue was soft too.
Now I took off her clothes and made her naked like me. Her nipples were baby pink color. Her breasts were also big, shaved pussy and pink colored too. She loves shaved and soft pussy so she shaves it from time to time.
I started fingering her pussy. She was still a virgin and this was her first sex too, so when I started fingering her pussy, she felt a little pain. While I was fingering gently.
While masturbating and fingering, we both cum together. The matter is not just limited to masturbation, but we go much beyond this. I wasnât satisfied with this. Now I wanted a good and satisfying blowjob too from my sis.
That day we spent the whole day having sex, watching porn, had anal sex and at night slept in the 69 position (a type of sex position).My Sis Caught Me While I Was Having Masturbation
Today, I wanna share my erotic home story with all of you guys and it isnât my fantasy but itâs actually gonna my real story. So please stay tuned with me till the end.
2024.05.31 15:05 No_Wallaby_8368 hi, this is my story that i am sharing to take back the control that i lost over my life. it is really important to me and i would really appreciate you taking the time to read it and share it, i am sorry that it is so long.
TW; this contains emotional abuse, physical abuse and a small amount of sexual abuse. take care.<3
i cannot call my ex (pineapple) by his name anymore, as it is upsetting. this is addressed to him but i will not be sending it to him. if it reaches him, that's fine, but i don't want a response from him. i have done this to heal myself.
we met during highschool. we both liked each other but were scared to tell each other. you eventually asked me out and i said no. i was scared because i was figuring out my sexuality and was terrified of commitment. i loved you still. i told you, i still loved you and could not date at this time. i then got together with the an online friend who i also liked. this felt easier for me because it was a slow relationship online and it felt less real. i could safely explore my sexuality at my own pace. eventually, that relationship ended and you left me at my lowest. you left me for a group of people and replaced me, making me feel like nothing. i went through so much pain and so much depression over it, i would not eat, i would not be able to sleep, i only had 1 friend, R. eventually, you started talking to me again, because i did something funny at school. this was at the end of year 9. i was very scared but very happy because once again, i still loved you. we would often play roblox together and you began making newer friends, which decreased the time you would spend with me. this upset me, but i knew that there was nothing i could do, because at the end of the day, i still loved you. there was a time when things got so much for me that i wanted to end my life. i told you, my best friend about it and you did not care. you were still on roblox and that destroyed me. in the end, my friend M reached out to me out of the blue, saving my life. We never spoke about this. we never spoke about year 9 and how you left me and we never spoke about how you left me at my lowest. i still loved you. eventually, 7 days after my birthday, you asked me out on our favourite game on roblox. i was excited. i loved you. and then, you asked me to be polyamerous with your online friend, K. i didn't know what to do, i agreed but i was scared. i didn't want to lose you again. a few days in to our relationship, i felt uncomfortable and lost. i tried to talk to you about it, and i insisted that you choose either me or K. you chose K. so i stayed in the relationship, too scared to leave it, i loved you. a few months in, i decided to get to know K. we haven close but they did not treat me very well. we later both ended things with K due to your jealousy and my reasoning. soon after, in october, we both had COVID and had to self isolate. this was hard and scary. you were on xbox all day and you were ignoring me because you informed me that you were attached to a guy called N. this broke me. i didn't know what to do and i was scared, i didn't want you to leave me again. i loved you. around this time, my dad and my relationship was extremely bad, and my mum ended up in hospital (for different reasons). this was a hard and scary time for me to go through and you were not there for me. you were ignoring me and replacing me. during highschool, i was not liked. you were. and your friends slowly became mine as my friend R stopped coming in to school. i loved having that friend group. after time, they were quite judgemental to me, they would often ignore me when i would tell them things that had happened to me due to the fear that they would be bullied for standing up for me. that is understandable. i forgive them. i loved our friend group, i don't know what happened to make us all split up, but me and you were always a duo, so we ended up like that. you later blamed me for isolating you during highschool, and you not having friends, but i was so badly bullied that if anyone was seen with me, they would lose friends too. that is not my fault. as we only had each other, i had all of these unspoken feelings toward you and i began to resent the relationship. i did not feel important to you. we were each others only friends, so we quickly became toxic. i can admit that i did start arguments with you, i was not a good version of myself and i did not know how to communicate with you. during year 11, i finally received counselling in school. it wasn't much, but it did help me to understand myself better and helped me to be able to communicate. i was not "fixed" but i was doing a little better. the relationship however, was not. you were adding people on your snapchat and allowing them to flirt with you, every day there would be a new person who liked you. i decided to do this back. you did not like that. eventually, the constant arguments were too much for me and i decided i wanted a break. you would not allow me to experience a proper and beneficial break from the relationship. we would still spend every day together, we would still go on dates, have sex, and do everything that a couple would do. i was desperate to escape. i was insecure and scared, i was scared to lose you again, i was scared to be alone, so i wanted to make a pact that we would not see other people throughout this time. this was not right of me, however i did not have the mental capacity to communicate this break/ breakup to you properly and you also would not allow it. i was scared. i was so desperate to leave this abuse, that i turned to my friend, M for help. we caught feelings for each other. i have spoken about this to professionals and have come to terms with the fact that i was so desperate to leave the cycle of abuse and take some control back that i ended up doing that. this is not an excuse as i know it was wrong, but understand that there were reasonings. i also spoke to a trusted friend of mine, who took advantage of me and used me for sexual things. this is something that i am still recovering from. i told you about both of these events and understandably you were not happy. i broke your trust. this is around the time when we began to get physical with each other. this is not something i am proud of at all but through therapy i have learned to accept this is what happened and move on from it. after this, we forbade each other from talking to random people on the internet. you lied to me about this with one of your friends. that hurt me but it was too late for me to say or do anything, i met this person before too, but it still hurt me. when we left highschool, i was excited. i vowed to myself that it would be a fresh start, i would be liked, i would have friends and that i would be the best i could ever be for you, i loved you. during the summer after we left highschool, i began to suffer from nightmares. i was later diagnosed with cptsd. i told you about this diagnoses. my cptsd was ruining my life at this point, i was having nightmares every single night, i needed so much reassurance about everything and i finally felt like i could finally communicate this to you, i felt like i had a better understanding of myself. at this point in time, my abandonment issues were getting a lot worse. whenever we would argue, you would threaten to leave and that would scare me. i would end up on the floor begging you to stay. this would overshadow everything we were arguing over before as now i was in the wrong for how i was behaving. i would jump on you, tightly hug you and hug your legs. i was always careful not to hurt you, and i know that because i was always careful to keep a distance from you when i needed. i would sit by the door, in hopes it would made you stay. this would go on for hours as you did not know how to comfort me. i realised this was a problem, and i knew that i needed to help myself while also receiving support from you. i communicated my triggers to you, and we decided to have "quiet time" instead of you threatening to leave. this was still scary for me but i tried my best, for you. i loved you. when we got to college, we were both excited for this fresh start. i couldn't wait for our bright future. i was in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) for my CPTSD and emotional regulation, which helped a lot with my abandonment fear. you shot this down. every time we would get in conflict, i would use my DBT skills to help us both understand each other better. i would then get accused of "therapising you" and you would tell me that DBT "doesn't work" and that it's "not for you". you are now in CBT therapy, which is very similar. this made me feel small, stupid and unimportant. you would not listen to anything i had to say. it was hard. i tried so hard for you because i loved you, and you did not. this is around the time when you also wanted to see a show with me, hamilton. my favourite musical of all time. you told me they were coming to manchester and i was excited. i sent it to my dad to show him and he surprised me a week or so after with tickets. i was over the moon. i told you about it. you were not happy. you didn't even like hamilton. yes, i wanted to go with you but my dad wanted to spend time with me as mine and his relationship was repairing. you were not happy. you argued about it constantly and every time i tried to listen to hamilton with you, you would make me feel bad for it and you made me not like it anymore. you controlled that. upcoming to hamilton, was also christmas. so for christmas, i bought you surprise tickets to see the rocky horror picture show. i was so excited about this as it would finally "make up for seeing hamilton without you". i bought these tickets before seeing hamilton. on the night me, my dad, and my little brother went to see hamilton, you messaged me non stop. you would spam me and tell me exactly how you felt about this. this ruined the night for me and my dad was very upset. he just wanted to spend time with me. he was really excited about this show and you ruined it for all of us with no apology. i was tempted to go to the rocky horror picture show with my brother instesd because i felt like you didn't deserve it at that point. you ruined a part of me that made me me that night. and it will never come back. i told you so much to please calm down and that i have made it up to you, but you wouldn't listen no matter what i said. i decided to take you to see the rocky horror picture show as planned anyway because i loved you and i wanted to make you happy. i regret it now. in college, you had a hard time making friends. i introduced you to my new friends and said you could hang out with us whenever you wanted. you did until you made your own friends. i loved that you were making friends. i supported and encouraged that all of the time. there was never a single second where i didn't. i liked all of your friends and i felt very happy with this little community of people and different friend groups around us, it finally felt like we were getting back on track. every time you and your friends would have a fall out, i would always encourage you to try your best to sort it out with them. i gave you advice, i listened to your rants, i even went as far as to message one or two of them for you to try to resolve things for you. you were so full of anger toward everyone with what you were saying all of the time that i felt like i was doing all of the work for you to keep your friends. you later told me that you hated my friend group, they were all transphobic apparently and you hated them. because i loved you, i believed you and distanced from them. i then had no friends. i had to start from scratch again. i would only hang out with you at this point as i had no one else to hang out with. occasionally, i would hang out with one or two people from my old friend group but it was rare. you had total control over me. i had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to other than my group therapy in DBT which you thought was pointless and my therapist. you did not like my therapist. you would constantly talk shit about her to me. this was you trying to control another aspect of my life. i did not stop seeing her. becsude of the arguing with your friends, you often would just hang out with me. i tried to hard to carry your friendship for you but nothing would work. eventually, i started to get quite unwell again mentally, and i needed a lot of reassurance. i would often speak to you and communicate very well to you and you would override it with how YOURE feeling. i would often try to communicate my needs to you, such as comfort and reassurance when you are not around and you not threatening to leave when in arguments. you would always shut me down, telling me i'm "carrying thinsg on" and "throwing a pity party for myself". and often when i've been trying to communicate with you instead of arguing back to you, you would sarcastically "listen" where you would listen to me pour my heart out to you, tell you things that were very important to me and things i needed from you and you would sit there stone faced, sarcastically saying "yes, okay, mhm" etc. this drove me mad. it was quite literally like talking to a brick wall. i tried to talk to you about this as well at my dads house and instead it turned into a big argument where you told me that you didn't feel listened to, apparently i always only told you negative things about your behaviour and that you didn't feel important to me. i listened to everything you had to say because i loved you and i wnated to do everything in my power to make things better for us. i began to validate you and prioritise you when i would try to communicate important things about my emotional needs to you, which still wouldn't work because i still wasn't saying what you wanted to hear. over time, i began to tell you that "i need to be with someone who will meet my emotional meeds". i had to apologise for saying this. it apparently did not help the situation and you were not going to listen like that. but how else will you listen? i communicated to you so much and i got nothing in return. you did. it even give me the bare minimum. i decided to stop trying and maybe it's all my fault. i blamed myself. i then began to eat less. i had more nightmares, but this time about you. i would have nightmares about you trying to kill me in my sleep. i have a screenshot of a note that i wrote for you while we were together after a lot of big arguments we had where i attempted to communicate to you. some things i wrote down as a response to horrible and invalidating things you would say to me, which i never showed you, and some of it was just things i wrote down in my notes so i could word things in a certain way to you so that you would actually listen.
everything i tried never worked. the notes only caused more of a sigh and a mood from you. you did not hear me out. you did not listen. again. at this point in time, i knew i had to break up with you. i remmeber having an argument with you and then asking you to shower with me, you said yes but you must've forgotten. i then got in on my own and asked you to help me wash my hair. you were in a mood because i got in the shower without you. in that shower, i was thinking about how i had to end things. and how this wasn't going to be easy. i knew you were hurting me and i was questioning your love for me. a short while after this, your family member passed away. you were so upset and i was right by your side through it. i was making sure that i was there for you and comforting you and i really really loved you. throughout this time, you completely disregarded me as a person. your respect for me was gone. i was no longer human to you. i understood you were greiving but why me? when i had given you so much love and comfort why am i being punished? you would disregard my feelings, and you fully neglected my emotional needs. i was so lost. i had no friends and i no longer had a safe space or a comfort from you. all you would do was threaten to leave and shout at me.
my last straw with you was the night before the funeral you had. we had sex, but i think i ended it because i wasn't feeling up to it. either way, whatever happened there isn't important. becsude we did have sex. and i wanted to have a very important conversation with you about it. i said to you that "sometimes, i think i struggle saying no". you then took that and RAN with it. apparently i shouldn't feel like that bc "i know your trauma and what you went through" and "this is why we have a safe word" but i struggled to say the safe word. you don't know that, but i guess now you do. im going to say this now because i never got to talk to you about it and it has ruined my sex life, and maybe sharing it will help; i always felt pressured to finish you. whenever i was too exhausted, i would ask if we could stop and you would act fine about it but then later you would get moody with me and a few times you had started an argument about it. you used to say "okay well im going to the bathroom now to finish" and it would upset me. i would ask you to stay and then you would say that you "could do it next to me" instead. i would feel bad and then help you finish. you would say that you felt bad and didn't wanna pressure me and i would have to comfort you over it because of your trauma because i didn't want you to get scared but i really honestly did get pressured. it was so important for me to talk to you about this and it's just the fact that this is what caused the becsude you started a huge argument over it when i was trying to calm it down because i just wanted to have one small little conversation about it. all i said was "i feel like i cant say no sometimes". or at least i wanted to say it so that you were aware and we could talk about it another time. that wasn't good enough for you. you screamed at me until i couldn't take it anymore and almost threw up. i was gagging and then you decided to care. you tried to force feed me water from my favourite cup that you bought me for christmas, my barbie cup. i didn't like that i was being forced it so i knocked it oit of your hand without thinking. it fell on the floor and the lid fell off, spilling water all over your bag full of your new comics. you went ballistic over this even after i apologised for it. you told me i ruined them even though it was not purposeful. and you screamed while you picked up my barbie cup from the floor and smashed it to peices right in front of me. you then grabbed my comfort and favourite book ever snd threatened to ruin it, holding it in the air so i couldn't reach it. i was so scared. i felt like i didn't even know you. i was having a cptsd panic attack right in front of your eyes and you did nothing about it. once again, i was that little girl in highschool who nobody liked, being treated inhumane and abused all over again. you would then calm down, and say "baby, come to bed now" in a soft tone, so i did. i would still be having my panic attack so i was still crying, you would then leave the bed to sleep on the couch bc i was "disturbing you". you then did this a few times, which made my panic attack worse as there was no stability. eventually, you went to sleep in bed next to me, while i was having a panic attack still. i was left alone once again and neglected. the next day was the day of the funeral for you. i tried to talk to you about it, telling you how i was upset about my barbie cup and the way you treated me that night, you brushed it off and said you would "travel to college on your own" if i continued. i had to push it and push it, begging you not to leave without me at the same time, until i got a half assed conversation out of you where i still got no apology and instead ended up having to apologise to you. i bought you muffins to apologise for my inconvenience. on this day, we parted ways eventually, and i decided i needed space. i still checked in with you to see how the funeral went to see if you were okay, you said you were okay, so i went through with my plan for space. yo i'm u messaged me so much, making me feel guilty for needing space from you, you told me that "i promised i'd be there for you" and made me feel bad for asking for some space. i thought about it and decided that we needed a big conversation. a few days later, you met up with me in altrincham to talk about our relationship. you told me you "missed the old me" from when we were just friends and how i "could take a joke" and now im "sensative". this hurt me and made me feel unloved. but, i listened to you and decided that you were right. this was my fault. and i believe that because i loved you and trusted you. we decided to take a break instead of breaking up. i was so scared to lose you and i had no strength to leave. i still loved you. a few days into this, i was really struggling with this concept. we were on a break... but once again.. we were still the exact same, apart from i wasnt to expect any form of emotional support from you anymore. this was a hard concept for me. you were my everything and i could no longer go to you for anything, but we were still speaking. you were supposed to work on yourself and i was supposed to work on myself during this break for us... but i could not cope. it was not helping me and i knew that for once i had to prioritise myself. after a hard day at work, i facetimed you and i didn't quite know where i was going with talking to you, but i did end up breaking up with you. i comforted you over it. and i finally felt like everything was going to be okay. i finally didn't feel like a burden, i finally felt like myself after a long time. during this time, i still wanted a future with you. i wanted to part ways and have some healthy space, where we can work on ourselves and be apart for a while so that our future snd relationship will improve. i just wanted a few months. you said okay but you continued to harrass me, manipulate me and message me non stop. you would go from shouting and screaming at me on the phone to being nice with me and begging me to come back. this made is harder for me to cope and eventually you wore me down and i gave in. i let you back into my life and gave up on the future of us. i let you use me for 3 months instead of letting myself heal. you even tried to blackmail me into getting back with you by saying you were gonna start vaping again. i spent so much time with you during our relationship working on your addiction with you that it just felt like like you had punched me right in the face. i tried to be understanding but i just couldn't at that point. i was so done. i was so tired. you would then vape around me and i hated it. it felt disrespectful and my boundary was do not vape around me or in my house. of course you disrespected that.
we were supposed to go on a family trip to wales so you could meet my family. during this time, i decided that i did not want you to come. i was just so scared that i would say the wrong thing around you and another argument would start, ruining the trip completely. you came over to talk to me and my mum about it. me and you were ok. and my mum and you convinced me to let you come. this was before you started an argument over me being friends with M again. i understood that it worried you but it did not give you a right to shout at me and scream at me as i was trying to calm you down the whole time. it had been 2, almost 3 years since me and M liked each other and i wanted to rebuild my friendships back; no feelings attached. you instead took my phone off me, threatened to go through it, and added M on snapchat to "talk to him". i said okay. i asked you to stop shouting at me and i tried to talk to you to help you, making sure you felt "listened to" as you specifically asked me to in order to prevent arguments, but once again, it did not stop. it only stopped when you grabbed your vape and went to leave to go to the bathroom. i did not appreciate this as it was disrespectful to me so i took your vape off you and i sat on my bed. you then came over to me, still angry and asked me to give it back. i said no because i didn't want you using it in my house. eventually, i got tired of trying to calm you down. i finally shouted back. you didn't like that, so you covered my mouth (as well as my nose- not sure if that was purposeful or not) with your hand. i ended up falling back into the wall near my bed and i was scared again. before anything, i tried to pull your hand off me, scared to hurt you. it didn't move. i then mindlessly kicked you away from me. i kicked you in the stomach. i was scared at that moment and unsure on what to do, so i chucked your vape in your direction and told you to go. i then sat back up on my bed after you made me fall back into the wall and you then dragged me off my bed by my little finger. you fractured my hand. you claimed that you were scared because i kicked you, so you thought i was going to do it again. that is nothing but an excuse. i ended up apologising that night for kicking you before spending 8 hours the next day in A&E because of you. you ended up not coming to my family trip because of what you did and i had to lie to everyone about it. i will never forget how both physically and emotionally painful those 3 days were. that wasn't even the first time during all of this that you hurt me, you also jumped me and dragged me by the back of my bag because you thought i was going to kiss a new friend that i made. you made such a big deal over me not saying hi or good luck to you that day at college so i went up to you to wish you good luck and you and your friend who is also my friend, both walked past and ignored me. you then ended up telling me to "go and kiss" my new friend, so i made a joke saying "she's straight but i will if you want me to". i then walked away to avoid the rest of the conflict. you then jumped and dragged me by my bag. my friend was straight and she was helping me cope, giving me advice snd distracting me. i had a whole entire friend group and they would shout things at you when i wasn't there and i ended up stopping being friends with them because i still loved and cared for you. i was too scared to blame you for any of this. after this point, you were just back in my life and id given up. i was scared to trust you again and i was questioning your love for me, but through that time, you went above and beyond for me. for once. you would shower me with all of the things i begged for you to do for me, and that kept me attached. you would make plans with me and then make plans with another friend of yours, which upset me. i didn't mind you hanging out with friends, like i said, i was always so supportive of you and your friends but i felt so abandoned and ditched. you recently have informed me that you feel happy now because you don't have to worry about making plans with friends when you have plans with me. and i took that in. and blamed myself once again. for those 3 months in our breakup, you showered me with a lot of the things i begged for you to do, apart from my triggers. i've noticed this recently but throughout the 5 years of us being together, you would argue with me when i tried to communicate with you but when i wouldn't retaliate back, i had no reason to apologise to you, so you would purposefully set off my CPTSD triggers. you would threaten to leave. and that's why you wouldn't listen to me. you wanted that control in every single argument and you had it. you took advantage of me by triggering me to have a panic attack, so i would act irrationally and emotionally, so that i was easier for you to control. and then i was in the wrong.
for 3 months, you took advantage of me, and used me. you used me for comfort and to give you what you needed so YOU could get over me. you downloaded yubo and told me not to worry. you were talking to loads of different new people and told me not to worry. and then when you finally got everything you needed and wanted out of me, you abandoned me. out of nowhere. a few days before it you sent me 3 paragraphs about how beautiful you thought i was and how much you loved me. was that really a lie? this triggered me a lot and i can admit, i called and messaged you a lot and at first i said a few regretful things, which i later apologised for. when i was messaging and calling s lot i was looking for answers. when i broke things off with you 3 months prior i told you that you were harrassing me and it needed to stop but then you refused to admit that it was harassment and would give me excuse after excuse after excuse about why you were calling and messaging me non stop. i can admit, the way i was behaving was harassment. but so was your behaviour.
you did not have a conversation with me about this at all. you still did not listen to me. you just told me what YOU wanted and expected me to move past that. i just wanted a face to face conversation about everything, so you could listen to me as well. but no, you did not consider me in your decision at all, as usual. i instesd tried to seek comfort in you, hoping that you would at least comfort me through it like i did for you, but no. i was wrong. i told you about how this was affecting me and that i really needed to talk to you, and have a conversation about this. you kept declining. at college, i saw you and you didn't even look at me, so i had a melt down. i was taken in by the pastoral team and i was having suicidal thoughts. i then messsged you, to ask if you could come and meet me there so we could have a meeting together and you said no. that made me feel worse. on friday 24th may ,you told me you loved me. i got to tell you about what happened at college and apparently that was blackmail according to you and your mum. that night, i almost took my life. i ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and remained in hospital until about 12pm the next day. since then, i have had nothing from you to see if i am okay, your mum had messaged my mum but i have had nothing from you at all. i do not blame your mum at all, i love her to bits. she was doing what she could for both you and me and she wanted to stay out of it, and i understand that. i then proceeded to tell myself that you do love me, as you had told me, and i wrote you a letter. i don't want to disclose what was in the letter as i don't think you deserve to know anymore. very recently, i plucked up the courage to ask you if we could meet up to chat. this was so i could talk to you and give you my letter. you proceeded to agree and tell me you don't love me. you don't feel anything toward me anymore. you don't care about me and me saying that i love you basically meant nothing to you. this broke me. i tried to keep it together. i did on the phone. but i was a wreck. i still loved you. for some reason, i still loved you. i then decided that it was a good idea to just cancel the meetup, and block you on everything. through this, i went to block you on spotify. i saw a playlist named "hope". i didn't know if i was overthinking or not and i once again tried not to freak out over it. i then, stayed at my friends house and went to block you on facebook. this is when i later found you had someone added on facebook called "hope". i did ask you if you met anyone else, and you said no. i didn't look into it because i don't want to know. whether youre friends or more. 5 years... just for you to move on in a week and after telling me not to worry. the last time you stayed at my house, you initiated sex with me 4 times. i declined the 4th but we had sex 3 times. i had to say to you that i "didn't just want to fuck the whole time". and you got moody about it. less than one week after that, you went no contact. and if you were telling the truth and you haven't met anyone else, you can't tell me you loved me the whole time when you stopped loving me so quickly. i do not think you ever loved me through our relationship because of the way you treated me. i don't think you ever actually cared. i think you just liked the company. i don't know if this will ever get to you but tbh i hope it does. im sharing my story to take back the control you had on my life, and so that for once, someone is listening to me, whether it is you reading this or not. thank you for reading.
submitted by No_Wallaby_8368 to MentalHealthSupport [link] [comments]
i cannot call my ex (pineapple) by his name anymore, as it is upsetting. this is addressed to him but i will not be sending it to him. if it reaches him, that's fine, but i don't want a response from him. i have done this to heal myself.
we met during highschool. we both liked each other but were scared to tell each other. you eventually asked me out and i said no. i was scared because i was figuring out my sexuality and was terrified of commitment. i loved you still. i told you, i still loved you and could not date at this time. i then got together with the an online friend who i also liked. this felt easier for me because it was a slow relationship online and it felt less real. i could safely explore my sexuality at my own pace. eventually, that relationship ended and you left me at my lowest. you left me for a group of people and replaced me, making me feel like nothing. i went through so much pain and so much depression over it, i would not eat, i would not be able to sleep, i only had 1 friend, R. eventually, you started talking to me again, because i did something funny at school. this was at the end of year 9. i was very scared but very happy because once again, i still loved you. we would often play roblox together and you began making newer friends, which decreased the time you would spend with me. this upset me, but i knew that there was nothing i could do, because at the end of the day, i still loved you. there was a time when things got so much for me that i wanted to end my life. i told you, my best friend about it and you did not care. you were still on roblox and that destroyed me. in the end, my friend M reached out to me out of the blue, saving my life. We never spoke about this. we never spoke about year 9 and how you left me and we never spoke about how you left me at my lowest. i still loved you. eventually, 7 days after my birthday, you asked me out on our favourite game on roblox. i was excited. i loved you. and then, you asked me to be polyamerous with your online friend, K. i didn't know what to do, i agreed but i was scared. i didn't want to lose you again. a few days in to our relationship, i felt uncomfortable and lost. i tried to talk to you about it, and i insisted that you choose either me or K. you chose K. so i stayed in the relationship, too scared to leave it, i loved you. a few months in, i decided to get to know K. we haven close but they did not treat me very well. we later both ended things with K due to your jealousy and my reasoning. soon after, in october, we both had COVID and had to self isolate. this was hard and scary. you were on xbox all day and you were ignoring me because you informed me that you were attached to a guy called N. this broke me. i didn't know what to do and i was scared, i didn't want you to leave me again. i loved you. around this time, my dad and my relationship was extremely bad, and my mum ended up in hospital (for different reasons). this was a hard and scary time for me to go through and you were not there for me. you were ignoring me and replacing me. during highschool, i was not liked. you were. and your friends slowly became mine as my friend R stopped coming in to school. i loved having that friend group. after time, they were quite judgemental to me, they would often ignore me when i would tell them things that had happened to me due to the fear that they would be bullied for standing up for me. that is understandable. i forgive them. i loved our friend group, i don't know what happened to make us all split up, but me and you were always a duo, so we ended up like that. you later blamed me for isolating you during highschool, and you not having friends, but i was so badly bullied that if anyone was seen with me, they would lose friends too. that is not my fault. as we only had each other, i had all of these unspoken feelings toward you and i began to resent the relationship. i did not feel important to you. we were each others only friends, so we quickly became toxic. i can admit that i did start arguments with you, i was not a good version of myself and i did not know how to communicate with you. during year 11, i finally received counselling in school. it wasn't much, but it did help me to understand myself better and helped me to be able to communicate. i was not "fixed" but i was doing a little better. the relationship however, was not. you were adding people on your snapchat and allowing them to flirt with you, every day there would be a new person who liked you. i decided to do this back. you did not like that. eventually, the constant arguments were too much for me and i decided i wanted a break. you would not allow me to experience a proper and beneficial break from the relationship. we would still spend every day together, we would still go on dates, have sex, and do everything that a couple would do. i was desperate to escape. i was insecure and scared, i was scared to lose you again, i was scared to be alone, so i wanted to make a pact that we would not see other people throughout this time. this was not right of me, however i did not have the mental capacity to communicate this break/ breakup to you properly and you also would not allow it. i was scared. i was so desperate to leave this abuse, that i turned to my friend, M for help. we caught feelings for each other. i have spoken about this to professionals and have come to terms with the fact that i was so desperate to leave the cycle of abuse and take some control back that i ended up doing that. this is not an excuse as i know it was wrong, but understand that there were reasonings. i also spoke to a trusted friend of mine, who took advantage of me and used me for sexual things. this is something that i am still recovering from. i told you about both of these events and understandably you were not happy. i broke your trust. this is around the time when we began to get physical with each other. this is not something i am proud of at all but through therapy i have learned to accept this is what happened and move on from it. after this, we forbade each other from talking to random people on the internet. you lied to me about this with one of your friends. that hurt me but it was too late for me to say or do anything, i met this person before too, but it still hurt me. when we left highschool, i was excited. i vowed to myself that it would be a fresh start, i would be liked, i would have friends and that i would be the best i could ever be for you, i loved you. during the summer after we left highschool, i began to suffer from nightmares. i was later diagnosed with cptsd. i told you about this diagnoses. my cptsd was ruining my life at this point, i was having nightmares every single night, i needed so much reassurance about everything and i finally felt like i could finally communicate this to you, i felt like i had a better understanding of myself. at this point in time, my abandonment issues were getting a lot worse. whenever we would argue, you would threaten to leave and that would scare me. i would end up on the floor begging you to stay. this would overshadow everything we were arguing over before as now i was in the wrong for how i was behaving. i would jump on you, tightly hug you and hug your legs. i was always careful not to hurt you, and i know that because i was always careful to keep a distance from you when i needed. i would sit by the door, in hopes it would made you stay. this would go on for hours as you did not know how to comfort me. i realised this was a problem, and i knew that i needed to help myself while also receiving support from you. i communicated my triggers to you, and we decided to have "quiet time" instead of you threatening to leave. this was still scary for me but i tried my best, for you. i loved you. when we got to college, we were both excited for this fresh start. i couldn't wait for our bright future. i was in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) for my CPTSD and emotional regulation, which helped a lot with my abandonment fear. you shot this down. every time we would get in conflict, i would use my DBT skills to help us both understand each other better. i would then get accused of "therapising you" and you would tell me that DBT "doesn't work" and that it's "not for you". you are now in CBT therapy, which is very similar. this made me feel small, stupid and unimportant. you would not listen to anything i had to say. it was hard. i tried so hard for you because i loved you, and you did not. this is around the time when you also wanted to see a show with me, hamilton. my favourite musical of all time. you told me they were coming to manchester and i was excited. i sent it to my dad to show him and he surprised me a week or so after with tickets. i was over the moon. i told you about it. you were not happy. you didn't even like hamilton. yes, i wanted to go with you but my dad wanted to spend time with me as mine and his relationship was repairing. you were not happy. you argued about it constantly and every time i tried to listen to hamilton with you, you would make me feel bad for it and you made me not like it anymore. you controlled that. upcoming to hamilton, was also christmas. so for christmas, i bought you surprise tickets to see the rocky horror picture show. i was so excited about this as it would finally "make up for seeing hamilton without you". i bought these tickets before seeing hamilton. on the night me, my dad, and my little brother went to see hamilton, you messaged me non stop. you would spam me and tell me exactly how you felt about this. this ruined the night for me and my dad was very upset. he just wanted to spend time with me. he was really excited about this show and you ruined it for all of us with no apology. i was tempted to go to the rocky horror picture show with my brother instesd because i felt like you didn't deserve it at that point. you ruined a part of me that made me me that night. and it will never come back. i told you so much to please calm down and that i have made it up to you, but you wouldn't listen no matter what i said. i decided to take you to see the rocky horror picture show as planned anyway because i loved you and i wanted to make you happy. i regret it now. in college, you had a hard time making friends. i introduced you to my new friends and said you could hang out with us whenever you wanted. you did until you made your own friends. i loved that you were making friends. i supported and encouraged that all of the time. there was never a single second where i didn't. i liked all of your friends and i felt very happy with this little community of people and different friend groups around us, it finally felt like we were getting back on track. every time you and your friends would have a fall out, i would always encourage you to try your best to sort it out with them. i gave you advice, i listened to your rants, i even went as far as to message one or two of them for you to try to resolve things for you. you were so full of anger toward everyone with what you were saying all of the time that i felt like i was doing all of the work for you to keep your friends. you later told me that you hated my friend group, they were all transphobic apparently and you hated them. because i loved you, i believed you and distanced from them. i then had no friends. i had to start from scratch again. i would only hang out with you at this point as i had no one else to hang out with. occasionally, i would hang out with one or two people from my old friend group but it was rare. you had total control over me. i had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to other than my group therapy in DBT which you thought was pointless and my therapist. you did not like my therapist. you would constantly talk shit about her to me. this was you trying to control another aspect of my life. i did not stop seeing her. becsude of the arguing with your friends, you often would just hang out with me. i tried to hard to carry your friendship for you but nothing would work. eventually, i started to get quite unwell again mentally, and i needed a lot of reassurance. i would often speak to you and communicate very well to you and you would override it with how YOURE feeling. i would often try to communicate my needs to you, such as comfort and reassurance when you are not around and you not threatening to leave when in arguments. you would always shut me down, telling me i'm "carrying thinsg on" and "throwing a pity party for myself". and often when i've been trying to communicate with you instead of arguing back to you, you would sarcastically "listen" where you would listen to me pour my heart out to you, tell you things that were very important to me and things i needed from you and you would sit there stone faced, sarcastically saying "yes, okay, mhm" etc. this drove me mad. it was quite literally like talking to a brick wall. i tried to talk to you about this as well at my dads house and instead it turned into a big argument where you told me that you didn't feel listened to, apparently i always only told you negative things about your behaviour and that you didn't feel important to me. i listened to everything you had to say because i loved you and i wnated to do everything in my power to make things better for us. i began to validate you and prioritise you when i would try to communicate important things about my emotional needs to you, which still wouldn't work because i still wasn't saying what you wanted to hear. over time, i began to tell you that "i need to be with someone who will meet my emotional meeds". i had to apologise for saying this. it apparently did not help the situation and you were not going to listen like that. but how else will you listen? i communicated to you so much and i got nothing in return. you did. it even give me the bare minimum. i decided to stop trying and maybe it's all my fault. i blamed myself. i then began to eat less. i had more nightmares, but this time about you. i would have nightmares about you trying to kill me in my sleep. i have a screenshot of a note that i wrote for you while we were together after a lot of big arguments we had where i attempted to communicate to you. some things i wrote down as a response to horrible and invalidating things you would say to me, which i never showed you, and some of it was just things i wrote down in my notes so i could word things in a certain way to you so that you would actually listen.
everything i tried never worked. the notes only caused more of a sigh and a mood from you. you did not hear me out. you did not listen. again. at this point in time, i knew i had to break up with you. i remmeber having an argument with you and then asking you to shower with me, you said yes but you must've forgotten. i then got in on my own and asked you to help me wash my hair. you were in a mood because i got in the shower without you. in that shower, i was thinking about how i had to end things. and how this wasn't going to be easy. i knew you were hurting me and i was questioning your love for me. a short while after this, your family member passed away. you were so upset and i was right by your side through it. i was making sure that i was there for you and comforting you and i really really loved you. throughout this time, you completely disregarded me as a person. your respect for me was gone. i was no longer human to you. i understood you were greiving but why me? when i had given you so much love and comfort why am i being punished? you would disregard my feelings, and you fully neglected my emotional needs. i was so lost. i had no friends and i no longer had a safe space or a comfort from you. all you would do was threaten to leave and shout at me.
my last straw with you was the night before the funeral you had. we had sex, but i think i ended it because i wasn't feeling up to it. either way, whatever happened there isn't important. becsude we did have sex. and i wanted to have a very important conversation with you about it. i said to you that "sometimes, i think i struggle saying no". you then took that and RAN with it. apparently i shouldn't feel like that bc "i know your trauma and what you went through" and "this is why we have a safe word" but i struggled to say the safe word. you don't know that, but i guess now you do. im going to say this now because i never got to talk to you about it and it has ruined my sex life, and maybe sharing it will help; i always felt pressured to finish you. whenever i was too exhausted, i would ask if we could stop and you would act fine about it but then later you would get moody with me and a few times you had started an argument about it. you used to say "okay well im going to the bathroom now to finish" and it would upset me. i would ask you to stay and then you would say that you "could do it next to me" instead. i would feel bad and then help you finish. you would say that you felt bad and didn't wanna pressure me and i would have to comfort you over it because of your trauma because i didn't want you to get scared but i really honestly did get pressured. it was so important for me to talk to you about this and it's just the fact that this is what caused the becsude you started a huge argument over it when i was trying to calm it down because i just wanted to have one small little conversation about it. all i said was "i feel like i cant say no sometimes". or at least i wanted to say it so that you were aware and we could talk about it another time. that wasn't good enough for you. you screamed at me until i couldn't take it anymore and almost threw up. i was gagging and then you decided to care. you tried to force feed me water from my favourite cup that you bought me for christmas, my barbie cup. i didn't like that i was being forced it so i knocked it oit of your hand without thinking. it fell on the floor and the lid fell off, spilling water all over your bag full of your new comics. you went ballistic over this even after i apologised for it. you told me i ruined them even though it was not purposeful. and you screamed while you picked up my barbie cup from the floor and smashed it to peices right in front of me. you then grabbed my comfort and favourite book ever snd threatened to ruin it, holding it in the air so i couldn't reach it. i was so scared. i felt like i didn't even know you. i was having a cptsd panic attack right in front of your eyes and you did nothing about it. once again, i was that little girl in highschool who nobody liked, being treated inhumane and abused all over again. you would then calm down, and say "baby, come to bed now" in a soft tone, so i did. i would still be having my panic attack so i was still crying, you would then leave the bed to sleep on the couch bc i was "disturbing you". you then did this a few times, which made my panic attack worse as there was no stability. eventually, you went to sleep in bed next to me, while i was having a panic attack still. i was left alone once again and neglected. the next day was the day of the funeral for you. i tried to talk to you about it, telling you how i was upset about my barbie cup and the way you treated me that night, you brushed it off and said you would "travel to college on your own" if i continued. i had to push it and push it, begging you not to leave without me at the same time, until i got a half assed conversation out of you where i still got no apology and instead ended up having to apologise to you. i bought you muffins to apologise for my inconvenience. on this day, we parted ways eventually, and i decided i needed space. i still checked in with you to see how the funeral went to see if you were okay, you said you were okay, so i went through with my plan for space. yo i'm u messaged me so much, making me feel guilty for needing space from you, you told me that "i promised i'd be there for you" and made me feel bad for asking for some space. i thought about it and decided that we needed a big conversation. a few days later, you met up with me in altrincham to talk about our relationship. you told me you "missed the old me" from when we were just friends and how i "could take a joke" and now im "sensative". this hurt me and made me feel unloved. but, i listened to you and decided that you were right. this was my fault. and i believe that because i loved you and trusted you. we decided to take a break instead of breaking up. i was so scared to lose you and i had no strength to leave. i still loved you. a few days into this, i was really struggling with this concept. we were on a break... but once again.. we were still the exact same, apart from i wasnt to expect any form of emotional support from you anymore. this was a hard concept for me. you were my everything and i could no longer go to you for anything, but we were still speaking. you were supposed to work on yourself and i was supposed to work on myself during this break for us... but i could not cope. it was not helping me and i knew that for once i had to prioritise myself. after a hard day at work, i facetimed you and i didn't quite know where i was going with talking to you, but i did end up breaking up with you. i comforted you over it. and i finally felt like everything was going to be okay. i finally didn't feel like a burden, i finally felt like myself after a long time. during this time, i still wanted a future with you. i wanted to part ways and have some healthy space, where we can work on ourselves and be apart for a while so that our future snd relationship will improve. i just wanted a few months. you said okay but you continued to harrass me, manipulate me and message me non stop. you would go from shouting and screaming at me on the phone to being nice with me and begging me to come back. this made is harder for me to cope and eventually you wore me down and i gave in. i let you back into my life and gave up on the future of us. i let you use me for 3 months instead of letting myself heal. you even tried to blackmail me into getting back with you by saying you were gonna start vaping again. i spent so much time with you during our relationship working on your addiction with you that it just felt like like you had punched me right in the face. i tried to be understanding but i just couldn't at that point. i was so done. i was so tired. you would then vape around me and i hated it. it felt disrespectful and my boundary was do not vape around me or in my house. of course you disrespected that.
we were supposed to go on a family trip to wales so you could meet my family. during this time, i decided that i did not want you to come. i was just so scared that i would say the wrong thing around you and another argument would start, ruining the trip completely. you came over to talk to me and my mum about it. me and you were ok. and my mum and you convinced me to let you come. this was before you started an argument over me being friends with M again. i understood that it worried you but it did not give you a right to shout at me and scream at me as i was trying to calm you down the whole time. it had been 2, almost 3 years since me and M liked each other and i wanted to rebuild my friendships back; no feelings attached. you instead took my phone off me, threatened to go through it, and added M on snapchat to "talk to him". i said okay. i asked you to stop shouting at me and i tried to talk to you to help you, making sure you felt "listened to" as you specifically asked me to in order to prevent arguments, but once again, it did not stop. it only stopped when you grabbed your vape and went to leave to go to the bathroom. i did not appreciate this as it was disrespectful to me so i took your vape off you and i sat on my bed. you then came over to me, still angry and asked me to give it back. i said no because i didn't want you using it in my house. eventually, i got tired of trying to calm you down. i finally shouted back. you didn't like that, so you covered my mouth (as well as my nose- not sure if that was purposeful or not) with your hand. i ended up falling back into the wall near my bed and i was scared again. before anything, i tried to pull your hand off me, scared to hurt you. it didn't move. i then mindlessly kicked you away from me. i kicked you in the stomach. i was scared at that moment and unsure on what to do, so i chucked your vape in your direction and told you to go. i then sat back up on my bed after you made me fall back into the wall and you then dragged me off my bed by my little finger. you fractured my hand. you claimed that you were scared because i kicked you, so you thought i was going to do it again. that is nothing but an excuse. i ended up apologising that night for kicking you before spending 8 hours the next day in A&E because of you. you ended up not coming to my family trip because of what you did and i had to lie to everyone about it. i will never forget how both physically and emotionally painful those 3 days were. that wasn't even the first time during all of this that you hurt me, you also jumped me and dragged me by the back of my bag because you thought i was going to kiss a new friend that i made. you made such a big deal over me not saying hi or good luck to you that day at college so i went up to you to wish you good luck and you and your friend who is also my friend, both walked past and ignored me. you then ended up telling me to "go and kiss" my new friend, so i made a joke saying "she's straight but i will if you want me to". i then walked away to avoid the rest of the conflict. you then jumped and dragged me by my bag. my friend was straight and she was helping me cope, giving me advice snd distracting me. i had a whole entire friend group and they would shout things at you when i wasn't there and i ended up stopping being friends with them because i still loved and cared for you. i was too scared to blame you for any of this. after this point, you were just back in my life and id given up. i was scared to trust you again and i was questioning your love for me, but through that time, you went above and beyond for me. for once. you would shower me with all of the things i begged for you to do for me, and that kept me attached. you would make plans with me and then make plans with another friend of yours, which upset me. i didn't mind you hanging out with friends, like i said, i was always so supportive of you and your friends but i felt so abandoned and ditched. you recently have informed me that you feel happy now because you don't have to worry about making plans with friends when you have plans with me. and i took that in. and blamed myself once again. for those 3 months in our breakup, you showered me with a lot of the things i begged for you to do, apart from my triggers. i've noticed this recently but throughout the 5 years of us being together, you would argue with me when i tried to communicate with you but when i wouldn't retaliate back, i had no reason to apologise to you, so you would purposefully set off my CPTSD triggers. you would threaten to leave. and that's why you wouldn't listen to me. you wanted that control in every single argument and you had it. you took advantage of me by triggering me to have a panic attack, so i would act irrationally and emotionally, so that i was easier for you to control. and then i was in the wrong.
for 3 months, you took advantage of me, and used me. you used me for comfort and to give you what you needed so YOU could get over me. you downloaded yubo and told me not to worry. you were talking to loads of different new people and told me not to worry. and then when you finally got everything you needed and wanted out of me, you abandoned me. out of nowhere. a few days before it you sent me 3 paragraphs about how beautiful you thought i was and how much you loved me. was that really a lie? this triggered me a lot and i can admit, i called and messaged you a lot and at first i said a few regretful things, which i later apologised for. when i was messaging and calling s lot i was looking for answers. when i broke things off with you 3 months prior i told you that you were harrassing me and it needed to stop but then you refused to admit that it was harassment and would give me excuse after excuse after excuse about why you were calling and messaging me non stop. i can admit, the way i was behaving was harassment. but so was your behaviour.
you did not have a conversation with me about this at all. you still did not listen to me. you just told me what YOU wanted and expected me to move past that. i just wanted a face to face conversation about everything, so you could listen to me as well. but no, you did not consider me in your decision at all, as usual. i instesd tried to seek comfort in you, hoping that you would at least comfort me through it like i did for you, but no. i was wrong. i told you about how this was affecting me and that i really needed to talk to you, and have a conversation about this. you kept declining. at college, i saw you and you didn't even look at me, so i had a melt down. i was taken in by the pastoral team and i was having suicidal thoughts. i then messsged you, to ask if you could come and meet me there so we could have a meeting together and you said no. that made me feel worse. on friday 24th may ,you told me you loved me. i got to tell you about what happened at college and apparently that was blackmail according to you and your mum. that night, i almost took my life. i ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and remained in hospital until about 12pm the next day. since then, i have had nothing from you to see if i am okay, your mum had messaged my mum but i have had nothing from you at all. i do not blame your mum at all, i love her to bits. she was doing what she could for both you and me and she wanted to stay out of it, and i understand that. i then proceeded to tell myself that you do love me, as you had told me, and i wrote you a letter. i don't want to disclose what was in the letter as i don't think you deserve to know anymore. very recently, i plucked up the courage to ask you if we could meet up to chat. this was so i could talk to you and give you my letter. you proceeded to agree and tell me you don't love me. you don't feel anything toward me anymore. you don't care about me and me saying that i love you basically meant nothing to you. this broke me. i tried to keep it together. i did on the phone. but i was a wreck. i still loved you. for some reason, i still loved you. i then decided that it was a good idea to just cancel the meetup, and block you on everything. through this, i went to block you on spotify. i saw a playlist named "hope". i didn't know if i was overthinking or not and i once again tried not to freak out over it. i then, stayed at my friends house and went to block you on facebook. this is when i later found you had someone added on facebook called "hope". i did ask you if you met anyone else, and you said no. i didn't look into it because i don't want to know. whether youre friends or more. 5 years... just for you to move on in a week and after telling me not to worry. the last time you stayed at my house, you initiated sex with me 4 times. i declined the 4th but we had sex 3 times. i had to say to you that i "didn't just want to fuck the whole time". and you got moody about it. less than one week after that, you went no contact. and if you were telling the truth and you haven't met anyone else, you can't tell me you loved me the whole time when you stopped loving me so quickly. i do not think you ever loved me through our relationship because of the way you treated me. i don't think you ever actually cared. i think you just liked the company. i don't know if this will ever get to you but tbh i hope it does. im sharing my story to take back the control you had on my life, and so that for once, someone is listening to me, whether it is you reading this or not. thank you for reading.
2024.05.31 14:16 No_Wallaby_8368 hi, this is my story that i am sharing to take back the control that i lost over my life. it is really important to me and i would really appreciate you taking the time to read it and share it, i am sorry that it is so long.
TW; this contains emotional abuse, physical abuse and a small amount of sexual abuse. take care.<3
i cannot call my ex (pineapple) by his name anymore, as it is upsetting. this is addressed to him but i will not be sending it to him. if it reaches him, that's fine, but i don't want a response from him. i have done this to heal myself.
we met during highschool. we both liked each other but were scared to tell each other. you eventually asked me out and i said no. i was scared because i was figuring out my sexuality and was terrified of commitment. i loved you still. i told you, i still loved you and could not date at this time. i then got together with the an online friend who i also liked. this felt easier for me because it was a slow relationship online and it felt less real. i could safely explore my sexuality at my own pace. eventually, that relationship ended and you left me at my lowest. you left me for a group of people and replaced me, making me feel like nothing. i went through so much pain and so much depression over it, i would not eat, i would not be able to sleep, i only had 1 friend, R. eventually, you started talking to me again, because i did something funny at school. this was at the end of year 9. i was very scared but very happy because once again, i still loved you. we would often play roblox together and you began making newer friends, which decreased the time you would spend with me. this upset me, but i knew that there was nothing i could do, because at the end of the day, i still loved you. there was a time when things got so much for me that i wanted to end my life. i told you, my best friend about it and you did not care. you were still on roblox and that destroyed me. in the end, my friend M reached out to me out of the blue, saving my life. We never spoke about this. we never spoke about year 9 and how you left me and we never spoke about how you left me at my lowest. i still loved you. eventually, 7 days after my birthday, you asked me out on our favourite game on roblox. i was excited. i loved you. and then, you asked me to be polyamerous with your online friend, K. i didn't know what to do, i agreed but i was scared. i didn't want to lose you again. a few days in to our relationship, i felt uncomfortable and lost. i tried to talk to you about it, and i insisted that you choose either me or K. you chose K. so i stayed in the relationship, too scared to leave it, i loved you. a few months in, i decided to get to know K. we haven close but they did not treat me very well. we later both ended things with K due to your jealousy and my reasoning. soon after, in october, we both had COVID and had to self isolate. this was hard and scary. you were on xbox all day and you were ignoring me because you informed me that you were attached to a guy called N. this broke me. i didn't know what to do and i was scared, i didn't want you to leave me again. i loved you. around this time, my dad and my relationship was extremely bad, and my mum ended up in hospital (for different reasons). this was a hard and scary time for me to go through and you were not there for me. you were ignoring me and replacing me. during highschool, i was not liked. you were. and your friends slowly became mine as my friend R stopped coming in to school. i loved having that friend group. after time, they were quite judgemental to me, they would often ignore me when i would tell them things that had happened to me due to the fear that they would be bullied for standing up for me. that is understandable. i forgive them. i loved our friend group, i don't know what happened to make us all split up, but me and you were always a duo, so we ended up like that. you later blamed me for isolating you during highschool, and you not having friends, but i was so badly bullied that if anyone was seen with me, they would lose friends too. that is not my fault. as we only had each other, i had all of these unspoken feelings toward you and i began to resent the relationship. i did not feel important to you. we were each others only friends, so we quickly became toxic. i can admit that i did start arguments with you, i was not a good version of myself and i did not know how to communicate with you. during year 11, i finally received counselling in school. it wasn't much, but it did help me to understand myself better and helped me to be able to communicate. i was not "fixed" but i was doing a little better. the relationship however, was not. you were adding people on your snapchat and allowing them to flirt with you, every day there would be a new person who liked you. i decided to do this back. you did not like that. eventually, the constant arguments were too much for me and i decided i wanted a break. you would not allow me to experience a proper and beneficial break from the relationship. we would still spend every day together, we would still go on dates, have sex, and do everything that a couple would do. i was desperate to escape. i was insecure and scared, i was scared to lose you again, i was scared to be alone, so i wanted to make a pact that we would not see other people throughout this time. this was not right of me, however i did not have the mental capacity to communicate this break/ breakup to you properly and you also would not allow it. i was scared. i was so desperate to leave this abuse, that i turned to my friend, M for help. we caught feelings for each other. i have spoken about this to professionals and have come to terms with the fact that i was so desperate to leave the cycle of abuse and take some control back that i ended up doing that. this is not an excuse as i know it was wrong, but understand that there were reasonings. i also spoke to a trusted friend of mine, who took advantage of me and used me for sexual things. this is something that i am still recovering from. i told you about both of these events and understandably you were not happy. i broke your trust. this is around the time when we began to get physical with each other. this is not something i am proud of at all but through therapy i have learned to accept this is what happened and move on from it. after this, we forbade each other from talking to random people on the internet. you lied to me about this with one of your friends. that hurt me but it was too late for me to say or do anything, i met this person before too, but it still hurt me. when we left highschool, i was excited. i vowed to myself that it would be a fresh start, i would be liked, i would have friends and that i would be the best i could ever be for you, i loved you. during the summer after we left highschool, i began to suffer from nightmares. i was later diagnosed with cptsd. i told you about this diagnoses. my cptsd was ruining my life at this point, i was having nightmares every single night, i needed so much reassurance about everything and i finally felt like i could finally communicate this to you, i felt like i had a better understanding of myself. at this point in time, my abandonment issues were getting a lot worse. whenever we would argue, you would threaten to leave and that would scare me. i would end up on the floor begging you to stay. this would overshadow everything we were arguing over before as now i was in the wrong for how i was behaving. i would jump on you, tightly hug you and hug your legs. i was always careful not to hurt you, and i know that because i was always careful to keep a distance from you when i needed. i would sit by the door, in hopes it would made you stay. this would go on for hours as you did not know how to comfort me. i realised this was a problem, and i knew that i needed to help myself while also receiving support from you. i communicated my triggers to you, and we decided to have "quiet time" instead of you threatening to leave. this was still scary for me but i tried my best, for you. i loved you. when we got to college, we were both excited for this fresh start. i couldn't wait for our bright future. i was in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) for my CPTSD and emotional regulation, which helped a lot with my abandonment fear. you shot this down. every time we would get in conflict, i would use my DBT skills to help us both understand each other better. i would then get accused of "therapising you" and you would tell me that DBT "doesn't work" and that it's "not for you". you are now in CBT therapy, which is very similar. this made me feel small, stupid and unimportant. you would not listen to anything i had to say. it was hard. i tried so hard for you because i loved you, and you did not. this is around the time when you also wanted to see a show with me, hamilton. my favourite musical of all time. you told me they were coming to manchester and i was excited. i sent it to my dad to show him and he surprised me a week or so after with tickets. i was over the moon. i told you about it. you were not happy. you didn't even like hamilton. yes, i wanted to go with you but my dad wanted to spend time with me as mine and his relationship was repairing. you were not happy. you argued about it constantly and every time i tried to listen to hamilton with you, you would make me feel bad for it and you made me not like it anymore. you controlled that. upcoming to hamilton, was also christmas. so for christmas, i bought you surprise tickets to see the rocky horror picture show. i was so excited about this as it would finally "make up for seeing hamilton without you". i bought these tickets before seeing hamilton. on the night me, my dad, and my little brother went to see hamilton, you messaged me non stop. you would spam me and tell me exactly how you felt about this. this ruined the night for me and my dad was very upset. he just wanted to spend time with me. he was really excited about this show and you ruined it for all of us with no apology. i was tempted to go to the rocky horror picture show with my brother instesd because i felt like you didn't deserve it at that point. you ruined a part of me that made me me that night. and it will never come back. i told you so much to please calm down and that i have made it up to you, but you wouldn't listen no matter what i said. i decided to take you to see the rocky horror picture show as planned anyway because i loved you and i wanted to make you happy. i regret it now. in college, you had a hard time making friends. i introduced you to my new friends and said you could hang out with us whenever you wanted. you did until you made your own friends. i loved that you were making friends. i supported and encouraged that all of the time. there was never a single second where i didn't. i liked all of your friends and i felt very happy with this little community of people and different friend groups around us, it finally felt like we were getting back on track. every time you and your friends would have a fall out, i would always encourage you to try your best to sort it out with them. i gave you advice, i listened to your rants, i even went as far as to message one or two of them for you to try to resolve things for you. you were so full of anger toward everyone with what you were saying all of the time that i felt like i was doing all of the work for you to keep your friends. you later told me that you hated my friend group, they were all transphobic apparently and you hated them. because i loved you, i believed you and distanced from them. i then had no friends. i had to start from scratch again. i would only hang out with you at this point as i had no one else to hang out with. occasionally, i would hang out with one or two people from my old friend group but it was rare. you had total control over me. i had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to other than my group therapy in DBT which you thought was pointless and my therapist. you did not like my therapist. you would constantly talk shit about her to me. this was you trying to control another aspect of my life. i did not stop seeing her. becsude of the arguing with your friends, you often would just hang out with me. i tried to hard to carry your friendship for you but nothing would work. eventually, i started to get quite unwell again mentally, and i needed a lot of reassurance. i would often speak to you and communicate very well to you and you would override it with how YOURE feeling. i would often try to communicate my needs to you, such as comfort and reassurance when you are not around and you not threatening to leave when in arguments. you would always shut me down, telling me i'm "carrying thinsg on" and "throwing a pity party for myself". and often when i've been trying to communicate with you instead of arguing back to you, you would sarcastically "listen" where you would listen to me pour my heart out to you, tell you things that were very important to me and things i needed from you and you would sit there stone faced, sarcastically saying "yes, okay, mhm" etc. this drove me mad. it was quite literally like talking to a brick wall. i tried to talk to you about this as well at my dads house and instead it turned into a big argument where you told me that you didn't feel listened to, apparently i always only told you negative things about your behaviour and that you didn't feel important to me. i listened to everything you had to say because i loved you and i wnated to do everything in my power to make things better for us. i began to validate you and prioritise you when i would try to communicate important things about my emotional needs to you, which still wouldn't work because i still wasn't saying what you wanted to hear. over time, i began to tell you that "i need to be with someone who will meet my emotional meeds". i had to apologise for saying this. it apparently did not help the situation and you were not going to listen like that. but how else will you listen? i communicated to you so much and i got nothing in return. you did. it even give me the bare minimum. i decided to stop trying and maybe it's all my fault. i blamed myself. i then began to eat less. i had more nightmares, but this time about you. i would have nightmares about you trying to kill me in my sleep. i have a screenshot of a note that i wrote for you while we were together after a lot of big arguments we had where i attempted to communicate to you. some things i wrote down as a response to horrible and invalidating things you would say to me, which i never showed you, and some of it was just things i wrote down in my notes so i could word things in a certain way to you so that you would actually listen.
everything i tried never worked. the notes only caused more of a sigh and a mood from you. you did not hear me out. you did not listen. again. at this point in time, i knew i had to break up with you. i remmeber having an argument with you and then asking you to shower with me, you said yes but you must've forgotten. i then got in on my own and asked you to help me wash my hair. you were in a mood because i got in the shower without you. in that shower, i was thinking about how i had to end things. and how this wasn't going to be easy. i knew you were hurting me and i was questioning your love for me. a short while after this, your family member passed away. you were so upset and i was right by your side through it. i was making sure that i was there for you and comforting you and i really really loved you. throughout this time, you completely disregarded me as a person. your respect for me was gone. i was no longer human to you. i understood you were greiving but why me? when i had given you so much love and comfort why am i being punished? you would disregard my feelings, and you fully neglected my emotional needs. i was so lost. i had no friends and i no longer had a safe space or a comfort from you. all you would do was threaten to leave and shout at me.
my last straw with you was the night before the funeral you had. we had sex, but i think i ended it because i wasn't feeling up to it. either way, whatever happened there isn't important. becsude we did have sex. and i wanted to have a very important conversation with you about it. i said to you that "sometimes, i think i struggle saying no". you then took that and RAN with it. apparently i shouldn't feel like that bc "i know your trauma and what you went through" and "this is why we have a safe word" but i struggled to say the safe word. you don't know that, but i guess now you do. im going to say this now because i never got to talk to you about it and it has ruined my sex life, and maybe sharing it will help; i always felt pressured to finish you. whenever i was too exhausted, i would ask if we could stop and you would act fine about it but then later you would get moody with me and a few times you had started an argument about it. you used to say "okay well im going to the bathroom now to finish" and it would upset me. i would ask you to stay and then you would say that you "could do it next to me" instead. i would feel bad and then help you finish. you would say that you felt bad and didn't wanna pressure me and i would have to comfort you over it because of your trauma because i didn't want you to get scared but i really honestly did get pressured. it was so important for me to talk to you about this and it's just the fact that this is what caused the becsude you started a huge argument over it when i was trying to calm it down because i just wanted to have one small little conversation about it. all i said was "i feel like i cant say no sometimes". or at least i wanted to say it so that you were aware and we could talk about it another time. that wasn't good enough for you. you screamed at me until i couldn't take it anymore and almost threw up. i was gagging and then you decided to care. you tried to force feed me water from my favourite cup that you bought me for christmas, my barbie cup. i didn't like that i was being forced it so i knocked it oit of your hand without thinking. it fell on the floor and the lid fell off, spilling water all over your bag full of your new comics. you went ballistic over this even after i apologised for it. you told me i ruined them even though it was not purposeful. and you screamed while you picked up my barbie cup from the floor and smashed it to peices right in front of me. you then grabbed my comfort and favourite book ever snd threatened to ruin it, holding it in the air so i couldn't reach it. i was so scared. i felt like i didn't even know you. i was having a cptsd panic attack right in front of your eyes and you did nothing about it. once again, i was that little girl in highschool who nobody liked, being treated inhumane and abused all over again. you would then calm down, and say "baby, come to bed now" in a soft tone, so i did. i would still be having my panic attack so i was still crying, you would then leave the bed to sleep on the couch bc i was "disturbing you". you then did this a few times, which made my panic attack worse as there was no stability. eventually, you went to sleep in bed next to me, while i was having a panic attack still. i was left alone once again and neglected. the next day was the day of the funeral for you. i tried to talk to you about it, telling you how i was upset about my barbie cup and the way you treated me that night, you brushed it off and said you would "travel to college on your own" if i continued. i had to push it and push it, begging you not to leave without me at the same time, until i got a half assed conversation out of you where i still got no apology and instead ended up having to apologise to you. i bought you muffins to apologise for my inconvenience. on this day, we parted ways eventually, and i decided i needed space. i still checked in with you to see how the funeral went to see if you were okay, you said you were okay, so i went through with my plan for space. yo i'm u messaged me so much, making me feel guilty for needing space from you, you told me that "i promised i'd be there for you" and made me feel bad for asking for some space. i thought about it and decided that we needed a big conversation. a few days later, you met up with me in altrincham to talk about our relationship. you told me you "missed the old me" from when we were just friends and how i "could take a joke" and now im "sensative". this hurt me and made me feel unloved. but, i listened to you and decided that you were right. this was my fault. and i believe that because i loved you and trusted you. we decided to take a break instead of breaking up. i was so scared to lose you and i had no strength to leave. i still loved you. a few days into this, i was really struggling with this concept. we were on a break... but once again.. we were still the exact same, apart from i wasnt to expect any form of emotional support from you anymore. this was a hard concept for me. you were my everything and i could no longer go to you for anything, but we were still speaking. you were supposed to work on yourself and i was supposed to work on myself during this break for us... but i could not cope. it was not helping me and i knew that for once i had to prioritise myself. after a hard day at work, i facetimed you and i didn't quite know where i was going with talking to you, but i did end up breaking up with you. i comforted you over it. and i finally felt like everything was going to be okay. i finally didn't feel like a burden, i finally felt like myself after a long time. during this time, i still wanted a future with you. i wanted to part ways and have some healthy space, where we can work on ourselves and be apart for a while so that our future snd relationship will improve. i just wanted a few months. you said okay but you continued to harrass me, manipulate me and message me non stop. you would go from shouting and screaming at me on the phone to being nice with me and begging me to come back. this made is harder for me to cope and eventually you wore me down and i gave in. i let you back into my life and gave up on the future of us. i let you use me for 3 months instead of letting myself heal. you even tried to blackmail me into getting back with you by saying you were gonna start vaping again. i spent so much time with you during our relationship working on your addiction with you that it just felt like like you had punched me right in the face. i tried to be understanding but i just couldn't at that point. i was so done. i was so tired. you would then vape around me and i hated it. it felt disrespectful and my boundary was do not vape around me or in my house. of course you disrespected that.
we were supposed to go on a family trip to wales so you could meet my family. during this time, i decided that i did not want you to come. i was just so scared that i would say the wrong thing around you and another argument would start, ruining the trip completely. you came over to talk to me and my mum about it. me and you were ok. and my mum and you convinced me to let you come. this was before you started an argument over me being friends with M again. i understood that it worried you but it did not give you a right to shout at me and scream at me as i was trying to calm you down the whole time. it had been 2, almost 3 years since me and M liked each other and i wanted to rebuild my friendships back; no feelings attached. you instead took my phone off me, threatened to go through it, and added M on snapchat to "talk to him". i said okay. i asked you to stop shouting at me and i tried to talk to you to help you, making sure you felt "listened to" as you specifically asked me to in order to prevent arguments, but once again, it did not stop. it only stopped when you grabbed your vape and went to leave to go to the bathroom. i did not appreciate this as it was disrespectful to me so i took your vape off you and i sat on my bed. you then came over to me, still angry and asked me to give it back. i said no because i didn't want you using it in my house. eventually, i got tired of trying to calm you down. i finally shouted back. you didn't like that, so you covered my mouth (as well as my nose- not sure if that was purposeful or not) with your hand. i ended up falling back into the wall near my bed and i was scared again. before anything, i tried to pull your hand off me, scared to hurt you. it didn't move. i then mindlessly kicked you away from me. i kicked you in the stomach. i was scared at that moment and unsure on what to do, so i chucked your vape in your direction and told you to go. i then sat back up on my bed after you made me fall back into the wall and you then dragged me off my bed by my little finger. you fractured my hand. you claimed that you were scared because i kicked you, so you thought i was going to do it again. that is nothing but an excuse. i ended up apologising that night for kicking you before spending 8 hours the next day in A&E because of you. you ended up not coming to my family trip because of what you did and i had to lie to everyone about it. i will never forget how both physically and emotionally painful those 3 days were. that wasn't even the first time during all of this that you hurt me, you also jumped me and dragged me by the back of my bag because you thought i was going to kiss a new friend that i made. you made such a big deal over me not saying hi or good luck to you that day at college so i went up to you to wish you good luck and you and your friend who is also my friend, both walked past and ignored me. you then ended up telling me to "go and kiss" my new friend, so i made a joke saying "she's straight but i will if you want me to". i then walked away to avoid the rest of the conflict. you then jumped and dragged me by my bag. my friend was straight and she was helping me cope, giving me advice snd distracting me. i had a whole entire friend group and they would shout things at you when i wasn't there and i ended up stopping being friends with them because i still loved and cared for you. i was too scared to blame you for any of this. after this point, you were just back in my life and id given up. i was scared to trust you again and i was questioning your love for me, but through that time, you went above and beyond for me. for once. you would shower me with all of the things i begged for you to do for me, and that kept me attached. you would make plans with me and then make plans with another friend of yours, which upset me. i didn't mind you hanging out with friends, like i said, i was always so supportive of you and your friends but i felt so abandoned and ditched. you recently have informed me that you feel happy now because you don't have to worry about making plans with friends when you have plans with me. and i took that in. and blamed myself once again. for those 3 months in our breakup, you showered me with a lot of the things i begged for you to do, apart from my triggers. i've noticed this recently but throughout the 5 years of us being together, you would argue with me when i tried to communicate with you but when i wouldn't retaliate back, i had no reason to apologise to you, so you would purposefully set off my CPTSD triggers. you would threaten to leave. and that's why you wouldn't listen to me. you wanted that control in every single argument and you had it. you took advantage of me by triggering me to have a panic attack, so i would act irrationally and emotionally, so that i was easier for you to control. and then i was in the wrong.
for 3 months, you took advantage of me, and used me. you used me for comfort and to give you what you needed so YOU could get over me. you downloaded yubo and told me not to worry. you were talking to loads of different new people and told me not to worry. and then when you finally got everything you needed and wanted out of me, you abandoned me. out of nowhere. a few days before it you sent me 3 paragraphs about how beautiful you thought i was and how much you loved me. was that really a lie? this triggered me a lot and i can admit, i called and messaged you a lot and at first i said a few regretful things, which i later apologised for. when i was messaging and calling s lot i was looking for answers. when i broke things off with you 3 months prior i told you that you were harrassing me and it needed to stop but then you refused to admit that it was harassment and would give me excuse after excuse after excuse about why you were calling and messaging me non stop. i can admit, the way i was behaving was harassment. but so was your behaviour.
you did not have a conversation with me about this at all. you still did not listen to me. you just told me what YOU wanted and expected me to move past that. i just wanted a face to face conversation about everything, so you could listen to me as well. but no, you did not consider me in your decision at all, as usual. i instesd tried to seek comfort in you, hoping that you would at least comfort me through it like i did for you, but no. i was wrong. i told you about how this was affecting me and that i really needed to talk to you, and have a conversation about this. you kept declining. at college, i saw you and you didn't even look at me, so i had a melt down. i was taken in by the pastoral team and i was having suicidal thoughts. i then messsged you, to ask if you could come and meet me there so we could have a meeting together and you said no. that made me feel worse. on friday 24th may ,you told me you loved me. i got to tell you about what happened at college and apparently that was blackmail according to you and your mum. that night, i almost took my life. i ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and remained in hospital until about 12pm the next day. since then, i have had nothing from you to see if i am okay, your mum had messaged my mum but i have had nothing from you at all. i do not blame your mum at all, i love her to bits. she was doing what she could for both you and me and she wanted to stay out of it, and i understand that. i then proceeded to tell myself that you do love me, as you had told me, and i wrote you a letter. i don't want to disclose what was in the letter as i don't think you deserve to know anymore. very recently, i plucked up the courage to ask you if we could meet up to chat. this was so i could talk to you and give you my letter. you proceeded to agree and tell me you don't love me. you don't feel anything toward me anymore. you don't care about me and me saying that i love you basically meant nothing to you. this broke me. i tried to keep it together. i did on the phone. but i was a wreck. i still loved you. for some reason, i still loved you. i then decided that it was a good idea to just cancel the meetup, and block you on everything. through this, i went to block you on spotify. i saw a playlist named "hope". i didn't know if i was overthinking or not and i once again tried not to freak out over it. i then, stayed at my friends house and went to block you on facebook. this is when i later found you had someone added on facebook called "hope". i did ask you if you met anyone else, and you said no. i didn't look into it because i don't want to know. whether youre friends or more. 5 years... just for you to move on in a week and after telling me not to worry. the last time you stayed at my house, you initiated sex with me 4 times. i declined the 4th but we had sex 3 times. i had to say to you that i "didn't just want to fuck the whole time". and you got moody about it. less than one week after that, you went no contact. and if you were telling the truth and you haven't met anyone else, you can't tell me you loved me the whole time when you stopped loving me so quickly. i do not think you ever loved me through our relationship because of the way you treated me. i don't think you ever actually cared. i think you just liked the company. i don't know if this will ever get to you but tbh i hope it does. im sharing my story to take back the control you had on my life, and so that for once, someone is listening to me, whether it is you reading this or not. thank you for reading.
submitted by No_Wallaby_8368 to self [link] [comments]
i cannot call my ex (pineapple) by his name anymore, as it is upsetting. this is addressed to him but i will not be sending it to him. if it reaches him, that's fine, but i don't want a response from him. i have done this to heal myself.
we met during highschool. we both liked each other but were scared to tell each other. you eventually asked me out and i said no. i was scared because i was figuring out my sexuality and was terrified of commitment. i loved you still. i told you, i still loved you and could not date at this time. i then got together with the an online friend who i also liked. this felt easier for me because it was a slow relationship online and it felt less real. i could safely explore my sexuality at my own pace. eventually, that relationship ended and you left me at my lowest. you left me for a group of people and replaced me, making me feel like nothing. i went through so much pain and so much depression over it, i would not eat, i would not be able to sleep, i only had 1 friend, R. eventually, you started talking to me again, because i did something funny at school. this was at the end of year 9. i was very scared but very happy because once again, i still loved you. we would often play roblox together and you began making newer friends, which decreased the time you would spend with me. this upset me, but i knew that there was nothing i could do, because at the end of the day, i still loved you. there was a time when things got so much for me that i wanted to end my life. i told you, my best friend about it and you did not care. you were still on roblox and that destroyed me. in the end, my friend M reached out to me out of the blue, saving my life. We never spoke about this. we never spoke about year 9 and how you left me and we never spoke about how you left me at my lowest. i still loved you. eventually, 7 days after my birthday, you asked me out on our favourite game on roblox. i was excited. i loved you. and then, you asked me to be polyamerous with your online friend, K. i didn't know what to do, i agreed but i was scared. i didn't want to lose you again. a few days in to our relationship, i felt uncomfortable and lost. i tried to talk to you about it, and i insisted that you choose either me or K. you chose K. so i stayed in the relationship, too scared to leave it, i loved you. a few months in, i decided to get to know K. we haven close but they did not treat me very well. we later both ended things with K due to your jealousy and my reasoning. soon after, in october, we both had COVID and had to self isolate. this was hard and scary. you were on xbox all day and you were ignoring me because you informed me that you were attached to a guy called N. this broke me. i didn't know what to do and i was scared, i didn't want you to leave me again. i loved you. around this time, my dad and my relationship was extremely bad, and my mum ended up in hospital (for different reasons). this was a hard and scary time for me to go through and you were not there for me. you were ignoring me and replacing me. during highschool, i was not liked. you were. and your friends slowly became mine as my friend R stopped coming in to school. i loved having that friend group. after time, they were quite judgemental to me, they would often ignore me when i would tell them things that had happened to me due to the fear that they would be bullied for standing up for me. that is understandable. i forgive them. i loved our friend group, i don't know what happened to make us all split up, but me and you were always a duo, so we ended up like that. you later blamed me for isolating you during highschool, and you not having friends, but i was so badly bullied that if anyone was seen with me, they would lose friends too. that is not my fault. as we only had each other, i had all of these unspoken feelings toward you and i began to resent the relationship. i did not feel important to you. we were each others only friends, so we quickly became toxic. i can admit that i did start arguments with you, i was not a good version of myself and i did not know how to communicate with you. during year 11, i finally received counselling in school. it wasn't much, but it did help me to understand myself better and helped me to be able to communicate. i was not "fixed" but i was doing a little better. the relationship however, was not. you were adding people on your snapchat and allowing them to flirt with you, every day there would be a new person who liked you. i decided to do this back. you did not like that. eventually, the constant arguments were too much for me and i decided i wanted a break. you would not allow me to experience a proper and beneficial break from the relationship. we would still spend every day together, we would still go on dates, have sex, and do everything that a couple would do. i was desperate to escape. i was insecure and scared, i was scared to lose you again, i was scared to be alone, so i wanted to make a pact that we would not see other people throughout this time. this was not right of me, however i did not have the mental capacity to communicate this break/ breakup to you properly and you also would not allow it. i was scared. i was so desperate to leave this abuse, that i turned to my friend, M for help. we caught feelings for each other. i have spoken about this to professionals and have come to terms with the fact that i was so desperate to leave the cycle of abuse and take some control back that i ended up doing that. this is not an excuse as i know it was wrong, but understand that there were reasonings. i also spoke to a trusted friend of mine, who took advantage of me and used me for sexual things. this is something that i am still recovering from. i told you about both of these events and understandably you were not happy. i broke your trust. this is around the time when we began to get physical with each other. this is not something i am proud of at all but through therapy i have learned to accept this is what happened and move on from it. after this, we forbade each other from talking to random people on the internet. you lied to me about this with one of your friends. that hurt me but it was too late for me to say or do anything, i met this person before too, but it still hurt me. when we left highschool, i was excited. i vowed to myself that it would be a fresh start, i would be liked, i would have friends and that i would be the best i could ever be for you, i loved you. during the summer after we left highschool, i began to suffer from nightmares. i was later diagnosed with cptsd. i told you about this diagnoses. my cptsd was ruining my life at this point, i was having nightmares every single night, i needed so much reassurance about everything and i finally felt like i could finally communicate this to you, i felt like i had a better understanding of myself. at this point in time, my abandonment issues were getting a lot worse. whenever we would argue, you would threaten to leave and that would scare me. i would end up on the floor begging you to stay. this would overshadow everything we were arguing over before as now i was in the wrong for how i was behaving. i would jump on you, tightly hug you and hug your legs. i was always careful not to hurt you, and i know that because i was always careful to keep a distance from you when i needed. i would sit by the door, in hopes it would made you stay. this would go on for hours as you did not know how to comfort me. i realised this was a problem, and i knew that i needed to help myself while also receiving support from you. i communicated my triggers to you, and we decided to have "quiet time" instead of you threatening to leave. this was still scary for me but i tried my best, for you. i loved you. when we got to college, we were both excited for this fresh start. i couldn't wait for our bright future. i was in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) for my CPTSD and emotional regulation, which helped a lot with my abandonment fear. you shot this down. every time we would get in conflict, i would use my DBT skills to help us both understand each other better. i would then get accused of "therapising you" and you would tell me that DBT "doesn't work" and that it's "not for you". you are now in CBT therapy, which is very similar. this made me feel small, stupid and unimportant. you would not listen to anything i had to say. it was hard. i tried so hard for you because i loved you, and you did not. this is around the time when you also wanted to see a show with me, hamilton. my favourite musical of all time. you told me they were coming to manchester and i was excited. i sent it to my dad to show him and he surprised me a week or so after with tickets. i was over the moon. i told you about it. you were not happy. you didn't even like hamilton. yes, i wanted to go with you but my dad wanted to spend time with me as mine and his relationship was repairing. you were not happy. you argued about it constantly and every time i tried to listen to hamilton with you, you would make me feel bad for it and you made me not like it anymore. you controlled that. upcoming to hamilton, was also christmas. so for christmas, i bought you surprise tickets to see the rocky horror picture show. i was so excited about this as it would finally "make up for seeing hamilton without you". i bought these tickets before seeing hamilton. on the night me, my dad, and my little brother went to see hamilton, you messaged me non stop. you would spam me and tell me exactly how you felt about this. this ruined the night for me and my dad was very upset. he just wanted to spend time with me. he was really excited about this show and you ruined it for all of us with no apology. i was tempted to go to the rocky horror picture show with my brother instesd because i felt like you didn't deserve it at that point. you ruined a part of me that made me me that night. and it will never come back. i told you so much to please calm down and that i have made it up to you, but you wouldn't listen no matter what i said. i decided to take you to see the rocky horror picture show as planned anyway because i loved you and i wanted to make you happy. i regret it now. in college, you had a hard time making friends. i introduced you to my new friends and said you could hang out with us whenever you wanted. you did until you made your own friends. i loved that you were making friends. i supported and encouraged that all of the time. there was never a single second where i didn't. i liked all of your friends and i felt very happy with this little community of people and different friend groups around us, it finally felt like we were getting back on track. every time you and your friends would have a fall out, i would always encourage you to try your best to sort it out with them. i gave you advice, i listened to your rants, i even went as far as to message one or two of them for you to try to resolve things for you. you were so full of anger toward everyone with what you were saying all of the time that i felt like i was doing all of the work for you to keep your friends. you later told me that you hated my friend group, they were all transphobic apparently and you hated them. because i loved you, i believed you and distanced from them. i then had no friends. i had to start from scratch again. i would only hang out with you at this point as i had no one else to hang out with. occasionally, i would hang out with one or two people from my old friend group but it was rare. you had total control over me. i had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to other than my group therapy in DBT which you thought was pointless and my therapist. you did not like my therapist. you would constantly talk shit about her to me. this was you trying to control another aspect of my life. i did not stop seeing her. becsude of the arguing with your friends, you often would just hang out with me. i tried to hard to carry your friendship for you but nothing would work. eventually, i started to get quite unwell again mentally, and i needed a lot of reassurance. i would often speak to you and communicate very well to you and you would override it with how YOURE feeling. i would often try to communicate my needs to you, such as comfort and reassurance when you are not around and you not threatening to leave when in arguments. you would always shut me down, telling me i'm "carrying thinsg on" and "throwing a pity party for myself". and often when i've been trying to communicate with you instead of arguing back to you, you would sarcastically "listen" where you would listen to me pour my heart out to you, tell you things that were very important to me and things i needed from you and you would sit there stone faced, sarcastically saying "yes, okay, mhm" etc. this drove me mad. it was quite literally like talking to a brick wall. i tried to talk to you about this as well at my dads house and instead it turned into a big argument where you told me that you didn't feel listened to, apparently i always only told you negative things about your behaviour and that you didn't feel important to me. i listened to everything you had to say because i loved you and i wnated to do everything in my power to make things better for us. i began to validate you and prioritise you when i would try to communicate important things about my emotional needs to you, which still wouldn't work because i still wasn't saying what you wanted to hear. over time, i began to tell you that "i need to be with someone who will meet my emotional meeds". i had to apologise for saying this. it apparently did not help the situation and you were not going to listen like that. but how else will you listen? i communicated to you so much and i got nothing in return. you did. it even give me the bare minimum. i decided to stop trying and maybe it's all my fault. i blamed myself. i then began to eat less. i had more nightmares, but this time about you. i would have nightmares about you trying to kill me in my sleep. i have a screenshot of a note that i wrote for you while we were together after a lot of big arguments we had where i attempted to communicate to you. some things i wrote down as a response to horrible and invalidating things you would say to me, which i never showed you, and some of it was just things i wrote down in my notes so i could word things in a certain way to you so that you would actually listen.
everything i tried never worked. the notes only caused more of a sigh and a mood from you. you did not hear me out. you did not listen. again. at this point in time, i knew i had to break up with you. i remmeber having an argument with you and then asking you to shower with me, you said yes but you must've forgotten. i then got in on my own and asked you to help me wash my hair. you were in a mood because i got in the shower without you. in that shower, i was thinking about how i had to end things. and how this wasn't going to be easy. i knew you were hurting me and i was questioning your love for me. a short while after this, your family member passed away. you were so upset and i was right by your side through it. i was making sure that i was there for you and comforting you and i really really loved you. throughout this time, you completely disregarded me as a person. your respect for me was gone. i was no longer human to you. i understood you were greiving but why me? when i had given you so much love and comfort why am i being punished? you would disregard my feelings, and you fully neglected my emotional needs. i was so lost. i had no friends and i no longer had a safe space or a comfort from you. all you would do was threaten to leave and shout at me.
my last straw with you was the night before the funeral you had. we had sex, but i think i ended it because i wasn't feeling up to it. either way, whatever happened there isn't important. becsude we did have sex. and i wanted to have a very important conversation with you about it. i said to you that "sometimes, i think i struggle saying no". you then took that and RAN with it. apparently i shouldn't feel like that bc "i know your trauma and what you went through" and "this is why we have a safe word" but i struggled to say the safe word. you don't know that, but i guess now you do. im going to say this now because i never got to talk to you about it and it has ruined my sex life, and maybe sharing it will help; i always felt pressured to finish you. whenever i was too exhausted, i would ask if we could stop and you would act fine about it but then later you would get moody with me and a few times you had started an argument about it. you used to say "okay well im going to the bathroom now to finish" and it would upset me. i would ask you to stay and then you would say that you "could do it next to me" instead. i would feel bad and then help you finish. you would say that you felt bad and didn't wanna pressure me and i would have to comfort you over it because of your trauma because i didn't want you to get scared but i really honestly did get pressured. it was so important for me to talk to you about this and it's just the fact that this is what caused the becsude you started a huge argument over it when i was trying to calm it down because i just wanted to have one small little conversation about it. all i said was "i feel like i cant say no sometimes". or at least i wanted to say it so that you were aware and we could talk about it another time. that wasn't good enough for you. you screamed at me until i couldn't take it anymore and almost threw up. i was gagging and then you decided to care. you tried to force feed me water from my favourite cup that you bought me for christmas, my barbie cup. i didn't like that i was being forced it so i knocked it oit of your hand without thinking. it fell on the floor and the lid fell off, spilling water all over your bag full of your new comics. you went ballistic over this even after i apologised for it. you told me i ruined them even though it was not purposeful. and you screamed while you picked up my barbie cup from the floor and smashed it to peices right in front of me. you then grabbed my comfort and favourite book ever snd threatened to ruin it, holding it in the air so i couldn't reach it. i was so scared. i felt like i didn't even know you. i was having a cptsd panic attack right in front of your eyes and you did nothing about it. once again, i was that little girl in highschool who nobody liked, being treated inhumane and abused all over again. you would then calm down, and say "baby, come to bed now" in a soft tone, so i did. i would still be having my panic attack so i was still crying, you would then leave the bed to sleep on the couch bc i was "disturbing you". you then did this a few times, which made my panic attack worse as there was no stability. eventually, you went to sleep in bed next to me, while i was having a panic attack still. i was left alone once again and neglected. the next day was the day of the funeral for you. i tried to talk to you about it, telling you how i was upset about my barbie cup and the way you treated me that night, you brushed it off and said you would "travel to college on your own" if i continued. i had to push it and push it, begging you not to leave without me at the same time, until i got a half assed conversation out of you where i still got no apology and instead ended up having to apologise to you. i bought you muffins to apologise for my inconvenience. on this day, we parted ways eventually, and i decided i needed space. i still checked in with you to see how the funeral went to see if you were okay, you said you were okay, so i went through with my plan for space. yo i'm u messaged me so much, making me feel guilty for needing space from you, you told me that "i promised i'd be there for you" and made me feel bad for asking for some space. i thought about it and decided that we needed a big conversation. a few days later, you met up with me in altrincham to talk about our relationship. you told me you "missed the old me" from when we were just friends and how i "could take a joke" and now im "sensative". this hurt me and made me feel unloved. but, i listened to you and decided that you were right. this was my fault. and i believe that because i loved you and trusted you. we decided to take a break instead of breaking up. i was so scared to lose you and i had no strength to leave. i still loved you. a few days into this, i was really struggling with this concept. we were on a break... but once again.. we were still the exact same, apart from i wasnt to expect any form of emotional support from you anymore. this was a hard concept for me. you were my everything and i could no longer go to you for anything, but we were still speaking. you were supposed to work on yourself and i was supposed to work on myself during this break for us... but i could not cope. it was not helping me and i knew that for once i had to prioritise myself. after a hard day at work, i facetimed you and i didn't quite know where i was going with talking to you, but i did end up breaking up with you. i comforted you over it. and i finally felt like everything was going to be okay. i finally didn't feel like a burden, i finally felt like myself after a long time. during this time, i still wanted a future with you. i wanted to part ways and have some healthy space, where we can work on ourselves and be apart for a while so that our future snd relationship will improve. i just wanted a few months. you said okay but you continued to harrass me, manipulate me and message me non stop. you would go from shouting and screaming at me on the phone to being nice with me and begging me to come back. this made is harder for me to cope and eventually you wore me down and i gave in. i let you back into my life and gave up on the future of us. i let you use me for 3 months instead of letting myself heal. you even tried to blackmail me into getting back with you by saying you were gonna start vaping again. i spent so much time with you during our relationship working on your addiction with you that it just felt like like you had punched me right in the face. i tried to be understanding but i just couldn't at that point. i was so done. i was so tired. you would then vape around me and i hated it. it felt disrespectful and my boundary was do not vape around me or in my house. of course you disrespected that.
we were supposed to go on a family trip to wales so you could meet my family. during this time, i decided that i did not want you to come. i was just so scared that i would say the wrong thing around you and another argument would start, ruining the trip completely. you came over to talk to me and my mum about it. me and you were ok. and my mum and you convinced me to let you come. this was before you started an argument over me being friends with M again. i understood that it worried you but it did not give you a right to shout at me and scream at me as i was trying to calm you down the whole time. it had been 2, almost 3 years since me and M liked each other and i wanted to rebuild my friendships back; no feelings attached. you instead took my phone off me, threatened to go through it, and added M on snapchat to "talk to him". i said okay. i asked you to stop shouting at me and i tried to talk to you to help you, making sure you felt "listened to" as you specifically asked me to in order to prevent arguments, but once again, it did not stop. it only stopped when you grabbed your vape and went to leave to go to the bathroom. i did not appreciate this as it was disrespectful to me so i took your vape off you and i sat on my bed. you then came over to me, still angry and asked me to give it back. i said no because i didn't want you using it in my house. eventually, i got tired of trying to calm you down. i finally shouted back. you didn't like that, so you covered my mouth (as well as my nose- not sure if that was purposeful or not) with your hand. i ended up falling back into the wall near my bed and i was scared again. before anything, i tried to pull your hand off me, scared to hurt you. it didn't move. i then mindlessly kicked you away from me. i kicked you in the stomach. i was scared at that moment and unsure on what to do, so i chucked your vape in your direction and told you to go. i then sat back up on my bed after you made me fall back into the wall and you then dragged me off my bed by my little finger. you fractured my hand. you claimed that you were scared because i kicked you, so you thought i was going to do it again. that is nothing but an excuse. i ended up apologising that night for kicking you before spending 8 hours the next day in A&E because of you. you ended up not coming to my family trip because of what you did and i had to lie to everyone about it. i will never forget how both physically and emotionally painful those 3 days were. that wasn't even the first time during all of this that you hurt me, you also jumped me and dragged me by the back of my bag because you thought i was going to kiss a new friend that i made. you made such a big deal over me not saying hi or good luck to you that day at college so i went up to you to wish you good luck and you and your friend who is also my friend, both walked past and ignored me. you then ended up telling me to "go and kiss" my new friend, so i made a joke saying "she's straight but i will if you want me to". i then walked away to avoid the rest of the conflict. you then jumped and dragged me by my bag. my friend was straight and she was helping me cope, giving me advice snd distracting me. i had a whole entire friend group and they would shout things at you when i wasn't there and i ended up stopping being friends with them because i still loved and cared for you. i was too scared to blame you for any of this. after this point, you were just back in my life and id given up. i was scared to trust you again and i was questioning your love for me, but through that time, you went above and beyond for me. for once. you would shower me with all of the things i begged for you to do for me, and that kept me attached. you would make plans with me and then make plans with another friend of yours, which upset me. i didn't mind you hanging out with friends, like i said, i was always so supportive of you and your friends but i felt so abandoned and ditched. you recently have informed me that you feel happy now because you don't have to worry about making plans with friends when you have plans with me. and i took that in. and blamed myself once again. for those 3 months in our breakup, you showered me with a lot of the things i begged for you to do, apart from my triggers. i've noticed this recently but throughout the 5 years of us being together, you would argue with me when i tried to communicate with you but when i wouldn't retaliate back, i had no reason to apologise to you, so you would purposefully set off my CPTSD triggers. you would threaten to leave. and that's why you wouldn't listen to me. you wanted that control in every single argument and you had it. you took advantage of me by triggering me to have a panic attack, so i would act irrationally and emotionally, so that i was easier for you to control. and then i was in the wrong.
for 3 months, you took advantage of me, and used me. you used me for comfort and to give you what you needed so YOU could get over me. you downloaded yubo and told me not to worry. you were talking to loads of different new people and told me not to worry. and then when you finally got everything you needed and wanted out of me, you abandoned me. out of nowhere. a few days before it you sent me 3 paragraphs about how beautiful you thought i was and how much you loved me. was that really a lie? this triggered me a lot and i can admit, i called and messaged you a lot and at first i said a few regretful things, which i later apologised for. when i was messaging and calling s lot i was looking for answers. when i broke things off with you 3 months prior i told you that you were harrassing me and it needed to stop but then you refused to admit that it was harassment and would give me excuse after excuse after excuse about why you were calling and messaging me non stop. i can admit, the way i was behaving was harassment. but so was your behaviour.
you did not have a conversation with me about this at all. you still did not listen to me. you just told me what YOU wanted and expected me to move past that. i just wanted a face to face conversation about everything, so you could listen to me as well. but no, you did not consider me in your decision at all, as usual. i instesd tried to seek comfort in you, hoping that you would at least comfort me through it like i did for you, but no. i was wrong. i told you about how this was affecting me and that i really needed to talk to you, and have a conversation about this. you kept declining. at college, i saw you and you didn't even look at me, so i had a melt down. i was taken in by the pastoral team and i was having suicidal thoughts. i then messsged you, to ask if you could come and meet me there so we could have a meeting together and you said no. that made me feel worse. on friday 24th may ,you told me you loved me. i got to tell you about what happened at college and apparently that was blackmail according to you and your mum. that night, i almost took my life. i ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and remained in hospital until about 12pm the next day. since then, i have had nothing from you to see if i am okay, your mum had messaged my mum but i have had nothing from you at all. i do not blame your mum at all, i love her to bits. she was doing what she could for both you and me and she wanted to stay out of it, and i understand that. i then proceeded to tell myself that you do love me, as you had told me, and i wrote you a letter. i don't want to disclose what was in the letter as i don't think you deserve to know anymore. very recently, i plucked up the courage to ask you if we could meet up to chat. this was so i could talk to you and give you my letter. you proceeded to agree and tell me you don't love me. you don't feel anything toward me anymore. you don't care about me and me saying that i love you basically meant nothing to you. this broke me. i tried to keep it together. i did on the phone. but i was a wreck. i still loved you. for some reason, i still loved you. i then decided that it was a good idea to just cancel the meetup, and block you on everything. through this, i went to block you on spotify. i saw a playlist named "hope". i didn't know if i was overthinking or not and i once again tried not to freak out over it. i then, stayed at my friends house and went to block you on facebook. this is when i later found you had someone added on facebook called "hope". i did ask you if you met anyone else, and you said no. i didn't look into it because i don't want to know. whether youre friends or more. 5 years... just for you to move on in a week and after telling me not to worry. the last time you stayed at my house, you initiated sex with me 4 times. i declined the 4th but we had sex 3 times. i had to say to you that i "didn't just want to fuck the whole time". and you got moody about it. less than one week after that, you went no contact. and if you were telling the truth and you haven't met anyone else, you can't tell me you loved me the whole time when you stopped loving me so quickly. i do not think you ever loved me through our relationship because of the way you treated me. i don't think you ever actually cared. i think you just liked the company. i don't know if this will ever get to you but tbh i hope it does. im sharing my story to take back the control you had on my life, and so that for once, someone is listening to me, whether it is you reading this or not. thank you for reading.