Summer dinner recipes

So my youngest sister graduated from college this weekend and let me preface this post by saying that I am extremely proud of her and that I love her very much.
That being said it wasn't the greatest of times and I expected it to be that way to some extent and my mom did to. So much so on my mom's end that she told me before and during the trip that it isn't about me when I wasn't making it about me in any way, shape, or form.
When we went to dinner Saturday night the place we went to didn't really have any options on the menu for me. Which was fine as it was my youngest sister's choice and her celebration so it was whatever and she let me have some snacks afterwards back at her place. But it just felt so awkward being the only one who didn't like the appetizers and who was just sitting there awkwardly and also the only one who didn't order something to drink (it was a winery). I tried my best to participate in conversation but group conversations aren't something I'm very good at and no one really tried to include me much.
The night got better in that I got a tour of my sister's sorority house and then we watched gymnastics at her apartment and she helped paint my toes with her gel nail polish kit. So I didn't feel completely ignored.
Then on Sunday we all went down to the venue for the graduation and my middle sister and I went to grab coffee for the four of us. Then we sat and waited until it was my sister's turn to get her diploma. After that we all got our pictures taken quickly (it started raining a bit later) and then headed over to my sister's apartment to hang out until it was time for lunch and we met her boyfriend for the first time.
He was nice and all. I kind of liked him and he wasn't bad looking either. I just have heard some things about him from both my sister and my mom that make me wary of him (in terms of thinking he might not be the best choice for my sister long term but it's her choice of course).
Then we went to lunch at this cute little eatery place for what was more of a brunch. Everyone quickly fell into conversation with Emma's boyfriend. Mind you my mother did most of the talking and loud laughter.
I've already come to the conclusion that she is emotionally immature at best but that there is probably something bigger at play with my mom's behavior in terms of a mental health condition. She refuses to pursue therapy though so I have no clue what it is.
Anyways she did a lot of talking about herself and trying to make herself seem amazing and everything when in reality she was just making a fool of herself. She at one point said a man gave her a dirty look and I don't doubt it because she was literally acting like a drunk at that point with no regard for others in talking exaggeratedly (leaning forward excessively, almost knocking drinks and food over, and constantly trying to touch the person closest to her which this time around was me) and laughing very loudly and excessively. She also made a lot of jokes about us that were in bad taste and unnecessary. Even making blatantly innapropriate jokes.
Then after dinner we went to my sister's apartment for one last bathroom break and to say goodbye (despite my sisters coming back with us tonight but we are coming back in separate cars) and as we were leaving because everyone was praising my sister for her being in college and shit I just made a little joke that I'm the least expensive daughter. It was just a silly joke and probably a bad one but my dad played along whereas my mother went on to say that I'm the most emotionally taxing daughter. I just responded that I didn't ask to be born and especially not with multiple disabilities. They chose to have me so...
We also were talking before we left as I said I needed to take my Gabapentin for the two hour road trip back home. My mom immediately wanted for me to justify why I am taking the medication and was not pleased with my answer. I told her honestly that it's due to nerve pain in my left gluteus maximus. She then went on to say that I didn't take it during the trip to which I said yes and I was dealing with the pain as a result of not taking the medication.
We also saw some college students in a convertible with the roof down, when we were leaving, my dad said that it wasn't very smart. My mother responded that they were college students in that phase of life. To which I made a joke about how I was never like that cause I didn't go to college. It didn't go well at all. I got scolded and then I said to my mother that she shouldn't make jokes if she can't take a joke.
Now we haven't been talking and I'm dreading going back home. I feel as this summer is going to be all about my little sister as she is moving back home for the summer. I'm regularly treated as just a housemate/roommate at home (I pay rent to my parents and run errands for them regularly and they aren't super old or anything) and emotionally neglected. But it will be harder to take with my sister back in the picture as they will coddle her but ignore me like always.
Trust me if I could move out I would but as I've said before I'm disabled and make a very limited amount of money and then I get SSDI but half of that goes towards rent for living with my parents. I also don't qualify for any other government benefits state or federal since my parents started a mutual fund in my name when I was young and it's grown to a point where it disqualifies me from basically everything that would be of help. Mind you I have zero access to this mutual fund and it has never been used to my knowledge. my parents and their financial advisor control it.

Some of you may have seen my recent newbie post seeking hot hot sauce recommendations.
In the end I picked up a bottle of Puckerbutt Extra Hot Gator, made with Pepper X. My excitement was immeasurable; it finally arrived yesterday!
My first taste was simply dipping a fingertip in and going for it, largely for the entertainment of my 12yo daughter, and also because I’d already eaten dinner but couldn’t wait to try it.
I had two observations. Firstly - and inevitably - it is hot af 🔥🌶️ Bear in mind that I am a seasoned fresh/dried chilli head (bhut jolokia, reapers, scorpions), usually using these in Indian curry recipes. My face was sweating, I panted for breath, I literally couldn’t speak properly, and my mouth felt like I’d just boshed a gram of gak. It lasted a good twenty minutes, the afterburn way longer. The tingle was not at all unpleasant; but it was a genuinely visceral experience! Probably the hottest thing I’ve ever put in my cakehole. Genuinely stunning, but with absolutely none of the unpleasantness of extract. The comments on the Hot Ones episode about the head rush are on point. Considering it was barely a smear on my fingertip, it was a real experience, but a good one…
Secondly, the flavour. Just honestly so so good… not as floral as a reaper, more fruity and with a distinct flavour profile unlike anything else I’ve eaten. Moderately rich, well-rounded, and despite the lava-like heat, not overpowered by the capsaicin.
This evening I made chorizo and tomato pasta, adding about a level teaspoon of the Gator. A little more came out of the bottle than I originally intended, and I was nervous… but it worked incredibly well, the meal was delicious and entirely edible, and the flavour well-balanced.
I love this sauce! Anyone else want to share their experiences with it? I’d love to know of any other sauces that might give me a similar experience in terms of heat, flavour and quality - and especially, how you felt about the Pepper X heat!

I'm cooking for a party for my dad in about 3 weeks. We are thinking about 50 people. We have done this type of thing before so I'm not worried about the logistics side too much. I have 2 neighbour's coming over to help.
I'm doing a tester round next weekend for 10 people to confirm the menu (some people are highly opinionated:) I let them know their opinion would be heard however I was making the final decision.
I'm looking for some overall thought on the menu as a whole as well as specific suggestions on the appetizers. I'm feeling confident on the main, however uncertain on appetizers. I don't want to do dips or anything too fusy. People have been told to come after 2 and Dinner around 5
Appetizers Bacon wrapped dates Tortellini skwers Caprese skewers Meat and cheese skewered (thinking various salami and a cube of cheese) Periogies (bought from a lady at the marker, served with sour cream)
Dinner (buffet) Steak (marinated and grilled and sliced either flank or short rib steak) Nappa cabbage salad with crunchy noodles Broccoli mandarin salad Spinach strawberry candied nut salad Roasted asparagus Potatoes (likely twice baked or looking at a gratin type) Garlic shrimp (debating grilling or sauting ) Rolls Mushroom casserole
Dessert Decorated sugar cookies (somebody else is making) Cake (bought) Fruit Homemade peanut brittle Homemade chocolate toffee crunch Maybe icecram but I think it is too difficult
Campfire Pizza Smores Summer sausage

"i tell you kids, back in my day, we had it so rough... or so much better, i can't tell anymore. anyway, every day, we would wake up at 2 in the morning and go to the table for breakfast. we all lived in a closet, you see, so it was one room. and we would ask, me and my 64 brothers and 27 sisters, "what's for breakfast mum?". she would smack us all with a shoe and say "cold beans". and if we complained and said "but we had cold beans yesterday" - because we had cold beans every day - she would smack us all five times with a shoe and say "tough its all we can afford. i'm trying to feed a family of 93 with just half a silver buckington", a silver buckington was about the same as half a penny back in the day. then we would head to school. we met up with the johnson kids from down the road, and walked the 1674 miles to school. on the way to school, we had to walk up a mountain so tall it extended to outer space. when we got to the top of the mountain, we would see the peterson boys on their fancy bikes - which they dont make like they used to, and we would race them down the mountain. then, when we got to school at 4 in the morning, the headmaster would come up to us and say "you bloody kids are late", then he would smack us all with the cane 10 times and tell us we had 7 years of detention. then, we went to class, and mr stevenson would say "ok line up kids", then he would spank us each 60 times, then hit us each with the cane 40 times each. then it was 7 at night and we had to walk home. then, when we got home, we'd ask "whats for dinner mum?", and she'd smack us each 50 times with a pan and say "rotten cabage". and if we complained, she would smack us each 100 times with a broom and say "im trying to feed a family of 154 on just one islet sliver, just you wait until your dad gets home" - now an islet silver was worth about as much as a grain of sand. then, when our dad got home from his job at the soot factory, he would hit us all 180 times with his belt. if we had been naughty, we would hit us all another 600 times. then, at 1:58, mum would say "ok time for bed". then, we got into our potato sacks, and she would hit us each with a shoe 8 times before we went to sleep. on saturdays, we went down to uncle bob's farm to work. we would have to walk 345 miles to the bus stop, then catch the route 4 bus for 56 stops. we would get on the bus and pay our fare of 3 teddy roses - now a teddy rose is worth about the same as a flake of skin. then, if the ticket inspector came to us, he would hit us all 4 times with his baton. if any of us had lost our ticket, we would hit us all 10 times again and throw us off the bus and we had to walk the rest of the way. when we got to the farm, uncle bob would drive to the gate in his tractor, hit us all 780 times with his crowbar, and tell us to get in his trailer so he could drive us to the farm house. then, we had to plow the fields with a toothbrush in the blazing summer heat - now, they dont make summers like they used to, so it was about 1345.4 degrees spencer, or 67 degrees centigrade using your new-fangled metric system. then, we would have to milk the cows - now, they dont make cows like they used to, so each cow weighed about 459 hog's heads, or 3.2 tonnes in your new-fangled metric system. if you touched a cows udder, it would kick you and you would die, so you had to be really careful when you milked the cows. then, when we were done, uncle bob would say "ok kids time for your pocket money". he would give us each 9 copper jemimahs - which are worth about one political promise each - and beat us each 6 times with his tractor before we left. on sundays, we would meet the johnson boys and go down to the river - now, they don't make rivers like they used to, so this river was about as wide as the whole of america, and as deep as the marianas trench, and it was filled with liquid tungsten. we would play by the old oak tree near the river, climbing on it and building tree houses and such. now - they don't make trees like they used to, so this tree had a trunk as thick as a city, and was tall enough that the branches on the top could scrape the moon. one day, little jimmy fell from the top of the tree. when he hit the ground, the only bit of his body we could recognise was his left eyeball. we picked up all his bits and rushed him to the doctors surgery. dr james said "oh its just a scratch little jimmy dont worry pop a plaster on it and you'll be right" and he gave little jimmy a plaster and a lollipop and he was ok. after we finished playing by the river, we would go into town and get some candy. now, back in the day, you could give the shopkeeper one bronze winglet - which is worth about as much as a ciggarette butt - and he would give you the entire stock of the store. so we would go and get our candy, and we'd go into the town square and eat it. now, we didn't have any of your fancy food laws back in the day, so there was all kinds of stuff in our candy. bleach, lsd, ecstasy, you name it. so we would always get a little hyper after our candy. one day, when we were hyper, we went up the mr boris's car, the only car in the town, and touched it. as we touched it, we saw dad storming down the street holding his belt. "you kids, having fun while i work all day in the soot factory just so you can have grilled water for tea every night, i oughta smack you all". we were sure he was going to smack us, but then he said "no, i got a better idea, ill take you to see mr henderson, he'll set ya right". now, dad had told us about mr henderson. mr henderson was a veteran from the great war, where he got a really bad injury, but we never knew what it was. dad walked us all down to the pub, and we saw a left testicle propped up on a pegleg. "mr henderson," said dad, "i have some kids here who need a good whooping". then, mr henderson picked up the entire pub, and hit us each 4006 times with it. then, dad said "right, i gotta go back to the soot factory, you kids run on home now". now, by now it was 1pm, which meant it was curfew. while we were walking out of the town square, we heard a man shout "oi you bloody kids, its curfew". we turned around and saw the constable holding his baton. he hit us each 160265 times with his baton, then put us in gaol for 60123865 years. now - they don't make gaols like they used to - this one had 5 mile thick steel walls, and a single hole in the top let in some light. we were in there for about 13526 years, until mum baked the constable some cardboard pie so he would let us out. then, she hit us all 1292 times with a washboard, and grounded us for the rest of our lives. so don't you come complaining to me about nonsense like not being able to breathe or not being able to feel your legs.

"i tell you kids, back in my day, we had it so rough... or so much better, i can't tell anymore. anyway, every day, we would wake up at 2 in the morning and go to the table for breakfast. we all lived in a closet, you see, so it was one room. and we would ask, me and my 64 brothers and 27 sisters, "what's for breakfast mum?". she would smack us all with a shoe and say "cold beans". and if we complained and said "but we had cold beans yesterday" - because we had cold beans every day - she would smack us all five times with a shoe and say "tough its all we can afford. i'm trying to feed a family of 93 with just half a silver buckington", a silver buckington was about the same as half a penny back in the day. then we would head to school. we met up with the johnson kids from down the road, and walked the 1674 miles to school. on the way to school, we had to walk up a mountain so tall it extended to outer space. when we got to the top of the mountain, we would see the peterson boys on their fancy bikes - which they dont make like they used to, and we would race them down the mountain. then, when we got to school at 4 in the morning, the headmaster would come up to us and say "you bloody kids are late", then he would smack us all with the cane 10 times and tell us we had 7 years of detention. then, we went to class, and mr stevenson would say "ok line up kids", then he would spank us each 60 times, then hit us each with the cane 40 times each. then it was 7 at night and we had to walk home. then, when we got home, we'd ask "whats for dinner mum?", and she'd smack us each 50 times with a pan and say "rotten cabage". and if we complained, she would smack us each 100 times with a broom and say "im trying to feed a family of 154 on just one islet sliver, just you wait until your dad gets home" - now an islet silver was worth about as much as a grain of sand. then, when our dad got home from his job at the soot factory, he would hit us all 180 times with his belt. if we had been naughty, we would hit us all another 600 times. then, at 1:58, mum would say "ok time for bed". then, we got into our potato sacks, and she would hit us each with a shoe 8 times before we went to sleep. on saturdays, we went down to uncle bob's farm to work. we would have to walk 345 miles to the bus stop, then catch the route 4 bus for 56 stops. we would get on the bus and pay our fare of 3 teddy roses - now a teddy rose is worth about the same as a flake of skin. then, if the ticket inspector came to us, he would hit us all 4 times with his baton. if any of us had lost our ticket, we would hit us all 10 times again and throw us off the bus and we had to walk the rest of the way. when we got to the farm, uncle bob would drive to the gate in his tractor, hit us all 780 times with his crowbar, and tell us to get in his trailer so he could drive us to the farm house. then, we had to plow the fields with a toothbrush in the blazing summer heat - now, they dont make summers like they used to, so it was about 1345.4 degrees spencer, or 67 degrees centigrade using your new-fangled metric system. then, we would have to milk the cows - now, they dont make cows like they used to, so each cow weighed about 459 hog's heads, or 3.2 tonnes in your new-fangled metric system. if you touched a cows udder, it would kick you and you would die, so you had to be really careful when you milked the cows. then, when we were done, uncle bob would say "ok kids time for your pocket money". he would give us each 9 copper jemimahs - which are worth about one political promise each - and beat us each 6 times with his tractor before we left. on sundays, we would meet the johnson boys and go down to the river - now, they don't make rivers like they used to, so this river was about as wide as the whole of america, and as deep as the marianas trench, and it was filled with liquid tungsten. we would play by the old oak tree near the river, climbing on it and building tree houses and such. now - they don't make trees like they used to, so this tree had a trunk as thick as a city, and was tall enough that the branches on the top could scrape the moon. one day, little jimmy fell from the top of the tree. when he hit the ground, the only bit of his body we could recognise was his left eyeball. we picked up all his bits and rushed him to the doctors surgery. dr james said "oh its just a scratch little jimmy dont worry pop a plaster on it and you'll be right" and he gave little jimmy a plaster and a lollipop and he was ok. after we finished playing by the river, we would go into town and get some candy. now, back in the day, you could give the shopkeeper one bronze winglet - which is worth about as much as a ciggarette butt - and he would give you the entire stock of the store. so we would go and get our candy, and we'd go into the town square and eat it. now, we didn't have any of your fancy food laws back in the day, so there was all kinds of stuff in our candy. bleach, lsd, ecstasy, you name it. so we would always get a little hyper after our candy. one day, when we were hyper, we went up the mr boris's car, the only car in the town, and touched it. as we touched it, we saw dad storming down the street holding his belt. "you kids, having fun while i work all day in the soot factory just so you can have grilled water for tea every night, i oughta smack you all". we were sure he was going to smack us, but then he said "no, i got a better idea, ill take you to see mr henderson, he'll set ya right". now, dad had told us about mr henderson. mr henderson was a veteran from the great war, where he got a really bad injury, but we never knew what it was. dad walked us all down to the pub, and we saw a left testicle propped up on a pegleg. "mr henderson," said dad, "i have some kids here who need a good whooping". then, mr henderson picked up the entire pub, and hit us each 4006 times with it. then, dad said "right, i gotta go back to the soot factory, you kids run on home now". now, by now it was 1pm, which meant it was curfew. while we were walking out of the town square, we heard a man shout "oi you bloody kids, its curfew". we turned around and saw the constable holding his baton. he hit us each 160265 times with his baton, then put us in gaol for 60123865 years. now - they don't make gaols like they used to - this one had 5 mile thick steel walls, and a single hole in the top let in some light. we were in there for about 13526 years, until mum baked the constable some cardboard pie so he would let us out. then, she hit us all 1292 times with a washboard, and grounded us for the rest of our lives. so don't you come complaining to me about nonsense like not being able to breathe or not being able to feel your legs.

"i tell you kids, back in my day, we had it so rough... or so much better, i can't tell anymore. anyway, every day, we would wake up at 2 in the morning and go to the table for breakfast. we all lived in a closet, you see, so it was one room. and we would ask, me and my 64 brothers and 27 sisters, "what's for breakfast mum?". she would smack us all with a shoe and say "cold beans". and if we complained and said "but we had cold beans yesterday" - because we had cold beans every day - she would smack us all five times with a shoe and say "tough its all we can afford. i'm trying to feed a family of 93 with just half a silver buckington", a silver buckington was about the same as half a penny back in the day. then we would head to school. we met up with the johnson kids from down the road, and walked the 1674 miles to school. on the way to school, we had to walk up a mountain so tall it extended to outer space. when we got to the top of the mountain, we would see the peterson boys on their fancy bikes - which they dont make like they used to, and we would race them down the mountain. then, when we got to school at 4 in the morning, the headmaster would come up to us and say "you bloody kids are late", then he would smack us all with the cane 10 times and tell us we had 7 years of detention. then, we went to class, and mr stevenson would say "ok line up kids", then he would spank us each 60 times, then hit us each with the cane 40 times each. then it was 7 at night and we had to walk home. then, when we got home, we'd ask "whats for dinner mum?", and she'd smack us each 50 times with a pan and say "rotten cabage". and if we complained, she would smack us each 100 times with a broom and say "im trying to feed a family of 154 on just one islet sliver, just you wait until your dad gets home" - now an islet silver was worth about as much as a grain of sand. then, when our dad got home from his job at the soot factory, he would hit us all 180 times with his belt. if we had been naughty, we would hit us all another 600 times. then, at 1:58, mum would say "ok time for bed". then, we got into our potato sacks, and she would hit us each with a shoe 8 times before we went to sleep. on saturdays, we went down to uncle bob's farm to work. we would have to walk 345 miles to the bus stop, then catch the route 4 bus for 56 stops. we would get on the bus and pay our fare of 3 teddy roses - now a teddy rose is worth about the same as a flake of skin. then, if the ticket inspector came to us, he would hit us all 4 times with his baton. if any of us had lost our ticket, we would hit us all 10 times again and throw us off the bus and we had to walk the rest of the way. when we got to the farm, uncle bob would drive to the gate in his tractor, hit us all 780 times with his crowbar, and tell us to get in his trailer so he could drive us to the farm house. then, we had to plow the fields with a toothbrush in the blazing summer heat - now, they dont make summers like they used to, so it was about 1345.4 degrees spencer, or 67 degrees centigrade using your new-fangled metric system. then, we would have to milk the cows - now, they dont make cows like they used to, so each cow weighed about 459 hog's heads, or 3.2 tonnes in your new-fangled metric system. if you touched a cows udder, it would kick you and you would die, so you had to be really careful when you milked the cows. then, when we were done, uncle bob would say "ok kids time for your pocket money". he would give us each 9 copper jemimahs - which are worth about one political promise each - and beat us each 6 times with his tractor before we left. on sundays, we would meet the johnson boys and go down to the river - now, they don't make rivers like they used to, so this river was about as wide as the whole of america, and as deep as the marianas trench, and it was filled with liquid tungsten. we would play by the old oak tree near the river, climbing on it and building tree houses and such. now - they don't make trees like they used to, so this tree had a trunk as thick as a city, and was tall enough that the branches on the top could scrape the moon. one day, little jimmy fell from the top of the tree. when he hit the ground, the only bit of his body we could recognise was his left eyeball. we picked up all his bits and rushed him to the doctors surgery. dr james said "oh its just a scratch little jimmy dont worry pop a plaster on it and you'll be right" and he gave little jimmy a plaster and a lollipop and he was ok. after we finished playing by the river, we would go into town and get some candy. now, back in the day, you could give the shopkeeper one bronze winglet - which is worth about as much as a ciggarette butt - and he would give you the entire stock of the store. so we would go and get our candy, and we'd go into the town square and eat it. now, we didn't have any of your fancy food laws back in the day, so there was all kinds of stuff in our candy. bleach, lsd, ecstasy, you name it. so we would always get a little hyper after our candy. one day, when we were hyper, we went up the mr boris's car, the only car in the town, and touched it. as we touched it, we saw dad storming down the street holding his belt. "you kids, having fun while i work all day in the soot factory just so you can have grilled water for tea every night, i oughta smack you all". we were sure he was going to smack us, but then he said "no, i got a better idea, ill take you to see mr henderson, he'll set ya right". now, dad had told us about mr henderson. mr henderson was a veteran from the great war, where he got a really bad injury, but we never knew what it was. dad walked us all down to the pub, and we saw a left testicle propped up on a pegleg. "mr henderson," said dad, "i have some kids here who need a good whooping". then, mr henderson picked up the entire pub, and hit us each 4006 times with it. then, dad said "right, i gotta go back to the soot factory, you kids run on home now". now, by now it was 1pm, which meant it was curfew. while we were walking out of the town square, we heard a man shout "oi you bloody kids, its curfew". we turned around and saw the constable holding his baton. he hit us each 160265 times with his baton, then put us in gaol for 60123865 years. now - they don't make gaols like they used to - this one had 5 mile thick steel walls, and a single hole in the top let in some light. we were in there for about 13526 years, until mum baked the constable some cardboard pie so he would let us out. then, she hit us all 1292 times with a washboard, and grounded us for the rest of our lives. so don't you come complaining to me about nonsense like not being able to breathe or not being able to feel your legs.

Hello, we are facing a dilemma. Me and my soon to be husband are getting married this summer and have booked our honeymoon just a few days after. Our daughter will be freshly one year old at the time. The vaccination will take place in Greece. Now, the dilemma.
We have two options here - either take her with ( we have booked her a spot) and chose a kid friendly hotel or leave her with her grandparents at home for a week. Honestly, my logical brain tells me it makes all the sense to leave her at her home, in care of her loving grandparents. On the other hand, we are so used to doing everything with her…she’s such a huge part of our lives and when we’re not with her for more than couple hours, we miss her intensely. I’m worried if we choose so go without her, the whole stay will feel empty and we’ll just be counting days to see her again. Then again if we do take her, we won’t relax much or enjoy the night life, late romantic dinners etc.
What would you do ?

As a child I was in day care from the age of 3 (preschool)to the age of 10(4th grade) for at least 12 hours a day on all weekdays. When I was in preschool I would start at 6 am and stay until 7pm when my parents would pick my brother and I up and we would then go to bed at 8 or 8:30pm. As we grew up we switched to before school care, school, and then after school care. School from kindergarten to about to second grade we had before school care in our school lunch room until it got canceled because we were one of the only families that would go, there were about 14 kids that would go to the morning care. But during that time we would get to school at 6:30 to 7:00, the morning care would start at 7:00 so my brother and I would just wait outside the school on the sidewalk. The actual school day would start at 8:00, we would then start after school care at 3:00. The after school daycare would start at 3:00 and end at 7:30 but most days we would be there until 8pm. After the morning care was canceled my brother and I would just walk ourselves to school, our parents would leave at 6-6:30ish. We would leave the house at 7:30 and normally get there early and would wait outside until school started,but the after school hours were still the same. This went on untill 4th grade when we would just walk ourselves to and from school everyday. Also on every school holiday we would also be at day care until 4th grade. During summer time we would also go to daycare every weekday. Also during this time from the age of 4-5 we would dress ourselves, make our own meals, and be responsible for all of our own health. After 4th grade we would do all the same but we would start waking ourselves up in the morning, and we would be responsible for cooking dinner for the family on weekdays and weekends. During covid when my parents worked from home (5th grade) I had gotten very depressed and I wouldn't feed myself, and because of that I would be very tired and not be able to get out of bed without either passing out or becoming very nauseous. My parents would get very mad at me for this and they would tell me to feed myself even when i was too sick to get up and I would just have to crawl to get food(my parents wouldn't bring me food or try to take care of me). Also in 4th grade i fractured my wrist and wasn't taken to the doctor untill weeks later because my parents didn't believe me when I said it was broken, this cause my wrist to start healing incorrectly and I had to have a full arm cast instead of just a lower arm cast. During this time i still had all the same responsibilities. I would also like to mention that when I was in elementary school we wouldn't have any food to pack for lunch so I would either have free crackers and candies from restaurants that I would steal. Or I would use birthday money to buy school food. I now have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and because I have not had any serious traumatic or abusive events I am wondering if this is the reason or if I am just forgetting something. I also was once thrown into a car by my father which caused me to have two dead front teeth, I don't remember this event exactly but I do remember all that happens after wards. Any way if anyone has an idea of weather or not this is related to my bpd i would really appreciate the insight.

As a child I was in day care from the age of 3 (preschool)to the age of 10(4th grade) for at least 12 hours a day on all weekdays. When I was in preschool I would start at 6 am and stay until 7pm when my parents would pick my brother and I up and we would then go to bed at 8 or 8:30pm. As we grew up we switched to before school care, school, and then after school care. School from kindergarten to about to second grade we had before school care in our school lunch room until it got canceled because we were one of the only families that would go, there were about 14 kids that would go to the morning care. But during that time we would get to school at 6:30 to 7:00, the morning care would start at 7:00 so my brother and I would just wait outside the school on the sidewalk. The actual school day would start at 8:00, we would then start after school care at 3:00. The after school daycare would start at 3:00 and end at 7:30 but most days we would be there until 8pm. After the morning care was canceled my brother and I would just walk ourselves to school, our parents would leave at 6-6:30ish. We would leave the house at 7:30 and normally get there early and would wait outside until school started,but the after school hours were still the same. This went on untill 4th grade when we would just walk ourselves to and from school everyday. Also on every school holiday we would also be at day care until 4th grade. During summer time we would also go to daycare every weekday. Also during this time from the age of 4-5 we would dress ourselves, make our own meals, and be responsible for all of our own health. After 4th grade we would do all the same but we would start waking ourselves up in the morning, and we would be responsible for cooking dinner for the family on weekdays and weekends. During covid when my parents worked from home (5th grade) I had gotten very depressed and I wouldn't feed myself, and because of that I would be very tired and not be able to get out of bed without either passing out or becoming very nauseous. My parents would get very mad at me for this and they would tell me to feed myself even when i was too sick to get up and I would just have to crawl to get food(my parents wouldn't bring me food or try to take care of me). Also in 4th grade i fractured my wrist and wasn't taken to the doctor untill weeks later because my parents didn't believe me when I said it was broken, this cause my wrist to start healing incorrectly and I had to have a full arm cast instead of just a lower arm cast. During this time i still had all the same responsibilities. I would also like to mention that when I was in elementary school we wouldn't have any food to pack for lunch so I would either have free crackers and candies from restaurants that I would steal. Or I would use birthday money to buy school food. I now have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and because I have not had any serious traumatic or abusive events I am wondering if this is the reason or if I am just forgetting something. I also was once thrown into a car by my father which caused me to have two dead front teeth, I don't remember this event exactly but I do remember all that happens after wards. Any way if anyone has an idea of weather or not this is related to my bpd i would really appreciate the insight.

As a child I was in day care from the age of 3 (preschool)to the age of 10(4th grade) for at least 12 hours a day on all weekdays. When I was in preschool I would start at 6 am and stay until 7pm when my parents would pick my brother and I up and we would then go to bed at 8 or 8:30pm. As we grew up we switched to before school care, school, and then after school care. School from kindergarten to about to second grade we had before school care in our school lunch room until it got canceled because we were one of the only families that would go, there were about 14 kids that would go to the morning care. But during that time we would get to school at 6:30 to 7:00, the morning care would start at 7:00 so my brother and I would just wait outside the school on the sidewalk. The actual school day would start at 8:00, we would then start after school care at 3:00. The after school daycare would start at 3:00 and end at 7:30 but most days we would be there until 8pm. After the morning care was canceled my brother and I would just walk ourselves to school, our parents would leave at 6-6:30ish. We would leave the house at 7:30 and normally get there early and would wait outside until school started,but the after school hours were still the same. This went on untill 4th grade when we would just walk ourselves to and from school everyday. Also on every school holiday we would also be at day care until 4th grade. During summer time we would also go to daycare every weekday. Also during this time from the age of 4-5 we would dress ourselves, make our own meals, and be responsible for all of our own health. After 4th grade we would do all the same but we would start waking ourselves up in the morning, and we would be responsible for cooking dinner for the family on weekdays and weekends. During covid when my parents worked from home (5th grade) I had gotten very depressed and I wouldn't feed myself, and because of that I would be very tired and not be able to get out of bed without either passing out or becoming very nauseous. My parents would get very mad at me for this and they would tell me to feed myself even when i was too sick to get up and I would just have to crawl to get food(my parents wouldn't bring me food or try to take care of me). Also in 4th grade i fractured my wrist and wasn't taken to the doctor untill weeks later because my parents didn't believe me when I said it was broken, this cause my wrist to start healing incorrectly and I had to have a full arm cast instead of just a lower arm cast. During this time i still had all the same responsibilities. I would also like to mention that when I was in elementary school we wouldn't have any food to pack for lunch so I would either have free crackers and candies from restaurants that I would steal. Or I would use birthday money to buy school food. I now have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and because I have not had any serious traumatic or abusive events I am wondering if this is the reason or if I am just forgetting something. I also was once thrown into a car by my father which caused me to have two dead front teeth, I don't remember this event exactly but I do remember all that happens after wards. Any way if anyone has an idea of weather or not this is related to my bpd i would really appreciate the insight.

I have two 13yo oranges🧡 My boy was just diagnosed with arthritis after developing a limp, but otherwise they are both in tip top shape for their age. Cat tax in comments
I am financially in a position to now spoil them and also want to do everything I can to help them physically as their joints age. Seeking advice or opinions on what your cats like and what’s worth buying!
Big ticket: - Litter robot - considering a petlibro automated wet food feeder so they can switch to an all wet food diet (currently just dinner) - switching out our cat tree for something easier to climb? no jumping - I’ve been looking for a good catio or plans to construct one. currently they go outside in the garden but I want something safer
Small: - pet stairs to get up to bed, windowsills etc - cooling mat for summer - cat tunnel, hides, ground level play & nest options - any supplements? currently giving fish oil

Planning out my Naxos itinerary - there for 4 nights later this summer.
Tentative plan (staying outside of Chora)
Day 1: arrive, pick up rental car, and drive down to enjoy beaches (we’re staying south of Kystraki).
Taverna Axiotissa for dinner. Do I need a reservation?
Day 2: enjoying Naxos beaches (Hawaii, Plaka, Agia Anna, etc) with a dinner reservation at To Elliniko. After dinner, walk down to Temple of Apollo for sunset.
Day 3: Naxos Happy Olives tour. Then driving through Chalkio, Apeiranthos, and Filoti. Back in time to grab dinner at Nostimon Hellas.
Looking for recommendations on places to visit/see in Chalkio, Apeiranthos, and Filoti.
Day 4: similar to day 2 (unless we want to drive back in to island), with sunset dinner at Rotunda.
Appreciate the help, particularly on what to see/do when going in-island!

Hello Freinds it was very scary experience for me and it's not fake it's not false it's my first time eyesighting of Ghost in my whole life so I live in India chhatisgarh in very small town Village so I'm a daily smoker so every night after dinner I go outside for smoking from my House so Just 15 walks away my neighbourhood government quarters it was very scary i can't even write down whole story it's late night and I am scared to talk about this things I will continue this story'in morning so please don't mind freinds I'm literally fucking scared that's why I'm writing this on reddit I wanted to express my feelings what others think about ghost actually from Today I hundred percent agree that ghost really exist they are always near by but we don't realise ok I will continue my story' but I'm scared so when I was smoking in my neighborhood there was very plants and trees and from there belong very small gate to come inside colony and go outside of colony very small gate in the back of the colony so I was standing there and smoking cigarettes and I i have some cold water From my freez because its summer season here suddenly Phone rang it's my girlfriend and I continued taking with her in phone call it never ever happened before i do this stuff daily going out after dinner in the backyard or beside of my House and smoking and talking with my girlfriend so today I was doing same thing.from where I was standing I rotate my head in upper direction From where roof of neighborhood quarters are visible and behind that quarters there belongs very old trees so once again this never happened before i rotated my head in upper direction I saw black humanoid figure for one second I was thinking someone from the quarter is there I think they are there taking there dry clothes and it's late night 11:30 something am writing this post on 12:49 so but the thing is I think it's dark here that's why thst js appearing black I thought someone From quarter is there but the scary part is there is channel gate in middle of 2 quarters and in channel there is stair s to go up so when I was coming here the channel gate is closed so i someone have opened the gate and came to rooftop so when I suddenly rotated my head I saw black humanoid figure I think that's also saw me just second I saw that thing that is going back and leaned in rooftop so I thought someone dryd there chips and here for taking it back inside but if there some person he will stand up again taking there chips and return to the stairs but this not happened that thing disappeared and my mind clicked that's not something normal I started coming back to Check channel gate but channel gate is closed no one opened the gate I was completely terrifyid till now my mind cannot process that thing what it was but I can say confidently k saw a ghost for the first time in my life my I you guys want see the picture of the area please comment I will post photos of that area and quarter building Freinds sorry my English is no so good but I have tried my best to express my feelings and what's happened to Me. Give your blessings and if you want pic do comment. Thanks guys reading my experience I don't want to experience this again in my life stay blessed freinds thanks.

I (21f) have been with my bf (27m) for 3 years. A week ago his grandmother passed. He was very close with her, my bf spent summers as a child and teen living at her house and we’ve lived at her house together during the summer last year too. I feel terrible thinking about how much he’s grieving her now and want to support him in any way I can. The problem is that I think our relationship has run its course and I was planning on ending things with him before she passed, her passing was pretty sudden. We’ve had our struggles as a couple good times (ex traveling, being at each others graduations, getting pets together) and bad times (ex, caught him messaging his ex and OF girls, caught him sexting men & women on apps, caught him lying about drug use). I gave him time to change and prove things would be different but I’m just not seeing the results I need to continue being with him. I sleep over at his place almost every night but even when I’m there I find myself alone in his bed watching tv while he’s upstairs or outside doing whatever majority of the time or he’ll be on his phone beside me when he’s with me. I’ve communicated my needs in the relationship before and not much has changed.
I don’t wanna make him look like the bad guy because Ik I haven’t been the perfect gf but I don’t feel like I can continue being with him anymore. I think I’ve outgrown the relationship and realized that our futures and goals do not align. I think he recognizes this too but we’ve both been playing chicken on breaking things off. We don’t communicate, barley have sex and went on our first date this whole year 2 days ago for my birthday dinner. He isn’t around to celebrate my birthday this weekend because he’s at his deceased grandmothers house cleaning things out, which I totally understand because it’s out of his control.
I’ve never been in a situation like this before and need some advice on a timeline here. I don’t want to sound insensitive to his loss but I also gotta put myself first. I don’t want to abandon him when he needs me the most to deal with his grief but I can support his as a friend going forward instead of as a gf. So when would be an appropriate time to end things with him? And how do I approach this situation without being insensitive to his loss?

Hello :) My name’s Christian Butterfield! I’m currently a collegiate competitor on Western Kentucky University’s national championship speech/debate team, and I’d love to offer some private coaching to students before NCFL/NSDA, or any students wanting to get ahead on the 24-25 speech season!
My Experience — On the college circuit, I’ve made multiple national final rounds in both Extemp and Impromptu, as well as Informative, After Dinner Speaking, Persuasion, Rhetorical Criticism, and POI. In 2024, I was the national runner-up in Individual Sweepstakes at NFA Nationals. In high school, I started and self-coached my school’s Congressional Debate team, where I won multiple state championships and made multiple national outrounds. Outside of speech, I was the National Student Poet of 2019, the nation’s highest award for young poets, as well as a YoungArts winner, and my work has since been featured in Adroit Journal, Kenyon Review, and North American Review.
My Coaching Experience — In Original Oratory, I coached the New Jersey state champion, the Bronx Science champion, as well as multiple state finalists and national qualifiers. In Limited Prep, I coached Extemp at Space City Camp last summer, and coached multiple NFA outround competitors in extemp/impromptu. I’ve also help cut/block multiple POI’s to qualify for NSDA.
I’d love to offer some help before nationals season arrives, whether that be assisting with main events, helping construct supplemental events for NSDA, or simply getting a jumpstart on the 24-25 season! Here’s some specifics!
— Congress: I can research arguments for any bill on the NSDA/NCFL dockets, and hold individual practice sessions to work on analysis/delivery! — Limited Prep: I can provide individual feedback on speeches (both analysis/delivery), and provide targeted lectures on extemp strategy or political content knowledge. I’d also love to help with polishing up Impromptu or Extemp Commentary for those attending NSDA — Public Address: I can help with speechwriting (whether it be line-level edits or major rewrites), and hold practice sessions to work on delivery. — Interp: I can help with intro writing, blocking/delivery notes, and finding/cutting literature. My particular skillset lies in book events (POI/Poetry/Prose), though I’d be happy to help with any event!
In terms of rates, my ballpark estimate is about 20 dollars per hour of time on my end, whether that be a direct practice session or time spent with research/edits. If that represents any financial hardship, I’d be happy to work with you! Feel free to DM to chat more on reddit or ask for my email!

Hello :) My name’s Christian Butterfield! I’m currently a collegiate competitor on Western Kentucky University’s national championship speech/debate team, and I’d love to offer some private coaching to students before NCFL/NSDA!
My Experience — On the college circuit, I’ve made multiple national final rounds in both Extemp and Impromptu, as well as Informative, After Dinner Speaking, Persuasion, Rhetorical Criticism, and POI. In 2024, I was the national runner-up in Individual Sweepstakes at NFA Nationals. In high school, I started and self-coached my school’s Congressional Debate team, where I won multiple state championships and made multiple national outrounds. Outside of speech, I was the National Student Poet of 2019, the nation’s highest award for young poets, as well as a YoungArts winner, and my work has since been featured in Adroit Journal, Kenyon Review, and North American Review.
My Coaching Experience — In Original Oratory, I coached the New Jersey state champion, the Bronx Science champion, as well as multiple state finalists and national qualifiers. In Limited Prep, I coached Extemp at Space City Camp last summer, and coached multiple NFA outround competitors in extemp/impromptu. I’ve also help cut/block multiple POI’s to qualify for NSDA.
I’d love to offer some help before nationals season arrives, whether that be assisting with main events, helping construct supplemental events for NSDA, or simply getting a jumpstart on the 24-25 season! Here’s some specifics!
— Congress: I can research arguments for any bill on the NSDA/NCFL dockets, and hold individual practice sessions to work on analysis/delivery! — Limited Prep: I can provide individual feedback on speeches (both analysis/delivery), and provide targeted lectures on extemp strategy or political content knowledge. I’d also love to help with polishing up Impromptu or Extemp Commentary for those attending NSDA — Public Address: I can help with speechwriting (whether it be line-level edits or major rewrites), and hold practice sessions to work on delivery. — Interp: I can help with intro writing, blocking/delivery notes, and finding/cutting literature. My particular skillset lies in book events (POI/Poetry/Prose), though I’d be happy to help with any event!
In terms of rates, my ballpark estimate is about 20 dollars per hour of time on my end, whether that be a direct practice session or time spent with research/edits. If that represents any financial hardship, I’d be happy to work with you! Feel free to DM to chat more on reddit or ask for my email!

I’m about to have a 1 year old cat. I’m planning on feeding a combination of these 3 foods. The dry food will be available at all times in a bowl. And I will be feeding the sheba singles for breakfast and the purina one for dinner. How much of the wet food should I feed her. She’s a small female cat, I don’t have her exact weight. She was the runt and was only bottle fed from day two of her life. I was thinking one or two of the singles for breakfast and half or a full can of the purina for dinner?
Foods:
Purina ONE Natural Dry Cat Food, Tender Selects Blend With Real Salmon
Purina ONE Natural High Protein Cat Food, True Instinct Chicken and Turkey Recipe in Gravy
SHEBA PERFECT PORTIONS Paté Adult Wet Cat Food Trays (24 Count, 48 Servings), Signature Seafood Entrée, Easy Peel Twin-Pack Trays

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter is brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.