Previous case
Victor hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the mechanic was going to become more aggressive. The only reason why this week wasn't my last was because I'd had Orion behind me as well as a plethora of precautions in place.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
For example, at Orion, all employees are advised to get lockboxes for their mail rather than regular mailboxes. It would be far too easy for a Neighbor to follow one of us home and fish out a piece of mail to find our names. This is only recommended for people who've had frequent or unpleasant interactions with the Neighbors.
You could also ward off your mailbox with iron. Salt, as always, would work as well, but I'm sure your mailman wouldn't appreciate getting seasoned every time he simply tries to give you your junk mail.
When it comes to monetary transactions, cash or pre-loaded debit cards are the safest, unless you can be certain beyond a reasonable doubt that the person ringing you out is human.
Another precaution that I've taken when it comes to the mechanic is that I've bought a cast iron fire poker from an antique store. Iron is one of the most effective weapons against the Neighbors, though it's best to think of it as an allergy rather than a perfect repellant. Some Neighbors will crumple instantly if they're within a few feet of it while others need direct contact in order to cause anything worse than hive-covered burns.
Given that the mechanic must have frequent exposure to iron during his daytime profession, I have to wonder how effective it is against him. I do see him wearing gloves from time to time, so it must do something, even if it's a minor skin irritation. Either it's a pride thing or he's just that committed to the ‘mechanic’ bit.
I've been keeping the poker in the company truck. Even if it's not lethal to him, I’m sure that getting smacked over the head with it probably wouldn't feel too good. Along with that, I've restocked my salt shells. If the mechanic decides to try anything, he'll have an arsenal waiting for him.
I don't have any delusions about being able to kill him. I think that's something only a true hero could accomplish. I'm talking about legendary individuals like Cú Chullainn, Beowulf, or Māui. People whose deeds are so great that their stories live on to this day. Find someone like that in the modern age. (Though, I would argue that Marc-André Fluery comes close. Flyers fans, don't interact.)
Reyna suggested bathing the hagstone in saltwater to amplify its deterring effects. She also wrapped red thread along the outside of the ring, explaining that it should help enhance its protective properties.
It's a good thing, too. Since my last interaction with the mechanic, promptly at dusk, I would hear the beating of wings outside, and always from the west. I risked a glance out the window one night to find a murder of crows. Ever since I saw that the birds’ shadows move independently of their owners, I don't look at them. I ignore their calls. I know who they serve.
After Reyna's additions, the hagstone vibrates against my chest whenever they're near.
However, in my case, these were only temporary solutions, unless I wanted to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and fearing death even more than I did before. But in the meantime… raccoons.
A client called about hearing scratching and chattering in her attic. Her uninvited guest also put a hole in her siding. In other words, it was enough of a mess to momentarily distract me from my own problems.
Raccoons are incredibly destructive, chewing up anything that they can get their little hands on. From the client's description, it sounded like we could be dealing with a nest. Mother raccoons can be especially feisty when it comes to protecting their young, so I had Reyna join me in case there were any kits.
At Orion, we are licensed to use humane trapping methods on smaller wildlife, so don't worry, no garbage kitties are being harmed. Though I want yinz to know that raccoons are not to be underestimated. They may not try to take your soul, like some pests out there will, but they can spread a variety of diseases, including rabies and roundworm among others. They also present a major fire hazard when they claw their way into a home since they can chew through wiring like nothing.
The first thing we had to do was identify the garbage kitties’ entry point. Reyna opted to go on the roof while I investigated the attic.
The first thing I noticed was the telltale stench of dried urine. Yup, those were droppings over there in the corner. Delightful. Looking around, I found that the raccoons had torn out a few chunks of the insulation, but nothing that wouldn't be too difficult or expensive to replace. All in all, it seemed like it'd be an easy call.
Then I felt the hagstone begin to tremble. Not long after, Reyna screamed.
I rushed out, my heart surging with panic as I was greeted with the frenzied calls of crows. Shit! They followed me.
She was on the ground, swinging her silver-tipped knife clumsily against the swarm of black feathers swirling around her. I heard her cry out again as I got closer to her, then suddenly, the cloud of feathers dispersed, twisting towards the sky with a cacophony of angered caws. Reyna had managed to get some salt on them before they could gouge her eyes out.
My hand was coated with blood as I guided Reyna towards the house. She'd managed to keep her eyes, but they’d shredded her with their beaks and talons. I could feel her shaking as we retreated from the horde. Reyna tried to hide it, but she was crying, the tears mingling with the blood covering her nose and cheeks like a bandit's mask.
The whole time, the hagstone didn't stop vibrating. I think that was the only thing keeping the horde from coming after us. Their calls were piercing as we took cover in the house.
The client was alarmed when she saw the state Reyna was in, “What psycho ass raccoons do I have?!”
I promised I'd explain later (I honestly don't remember what bullshit story I gave her) then asked her to watch over Reyna as I went out to get the emergency first aid kit we keep in the truck.
Reyna held me in a grip so tight that it left bruises, pleading, “Don't go out there! Please!”
Now that we weren't on the run, I could see the injuries on her face more clearly. The deepest one went through her right eyebrow towards the bridge of her nose. The rest were shallow, painful-looking cuts that criss crossed over her skin.
“They can't come near me. And I’ve got something in the truck that’ll make them think twice.” I assured her.
She didn't let go. I couldn't find it in me to pry her fingers off, so instead, I put my hand over hers, hoping that it was comforting.
The client gently pressed a paper towel to the side of Reyna’s face, her voice heart-achingly motherly as she uttered, “It's okay, honey. Everything's going to be alright.”
I'm not sure if it was from pain or something else, but Reyna noticeably stiffened when the client spoke to her in that maternal tone, closing her eyes as if to keep more tears from falling. Her clutch loosened until my wrist was freed, her hand dropping limply to her side.
The fucking birds sounded like they were laughing when I marched out to the truck. The sound grated on me as I snatched the fire poker and the first aid kit.
“Laugh at this!” I snapped as I swung the poker at the nearest crow.
It let out a squeal as the poker grazed its wing, hopping as far out of reach as it could afterwards. They didn't cackle after that.
After we cleaned Reyna's injuries up, they didn't look quite as terrible, but just to be safe, I dragged her to the hospital. Thankfully, the client was an absolute angel about the whole thing and understood that one of our employees being injured was going to be a setback. I called up Victor to inform him of the situation as well as the entry points that we’d found; he took over where Reyna and I left off.
On the way to the hospital, Reyna muttered, “So… does my little Alfred Hitchcock moment initiate me as an official Orion employee?”
Wearily, I gave her a small chuckle, “Yeah, you're one of us, now. Lucky you!”
“Hey, I’ll take the murder birds over Psycho Mantis.” She replied with a small smile.
Her nickname for the mechanic. I think it's from a video game. I don't know. Never quite got into them.
It was quiet for a moment. The smile faded away as she distantly said, “I think that's how they do it. They take your eyes, they take you, you know?”
I nodded, feeling a lump in the back of my throat, thinking about how the mechanic can control someone just by meeting their gaze. “I think you might be right about that.”
I couldn't help but wonder if the Hunt had attacked her simply because she's an Orion employee or if they were drawn to her because of something else. Was she grieving over something? I didn't know her well enough at that point to be able to tell. They hadn't hesitated to go for her eyes. If that was the case, that'd make her the most vulnerable of the three of us.
Another thing I want yinz to know when it comes to dealing with the atypical: if you or a loved one has been harmed, one of the best things you can do is to support the victim. And if you need support yourself, ignore that stupid little voice in your head that tells you not to bother anyone and reach out. Isolation will destroy you in more ways than one.
After I got Reyna settled at the hospital, I made a beeline to the river to find another hagstone. Clearly, Reyna was going to need one, too.
Naturally, the stupid birds followed me, causing my hagstone to quiver nonstop. I went into the woods armed with my toolbelt and the iron poker. I opted out of taking the shotgun simply because I was going to need a free hand to look for another hagstone. There was a part of me that hoped that one of them would try something so that I'd have the opportunity to smack the shit out of them.
While I was searching, among the crows’ calls, I heard whispers. They sounded close, like they came from behind some brush about twenty feet away, but I believed the False Egg when it said that the whispering thing likes to confuse its victims. Without listening to what they were saying, I glanced around as the river's cold water rushed around my boots, trying to figure out what was stalking me.
The whispers pretended to move further away. But still, I couldn't see the thing causing them. I clutched the poker tighter. The crows had stopped their chattering. They heard the voices, too. Hold on. What were they all looking at?
Gingerly, I pulled out the hagstone and held it to my eye in the direction of the crows' gazes. At first, it looked like one of the trees, until I was able to make out a triangular head with eyes the size of basketballs. It held up two massive, folded appendages that were lined with sharp spines. It looked to be as tall as a draft horse, yet it was so still that I couldn't even tell if this huge animal was breathing. The whispers were quieter than they'd ever been before.
Those huge eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t dare move.
One of the ‘crows’ glided to the ground near to the whispering thing, passing in front of my field of view. I stifled a shudder when I saw the state of its frail, humanoid body. Its skin clung like molten wax to its ribs and spine. Tattered wings extended from the sides of its torso, the feathers looking as if they were ripped from numerous other avians and fused to the miserable animal's stretched, contorted arms to make it fly. Where the eyes should have been were empty sockets. A curved beak had been forced onto the creature as well, driven into the skull hard enough to leave ridged, fleshy lumps.
Now that I've seen it, I think the crows were human, once. Transformed and disfigured to serve the Wild Hunt.
The crow shuffled a little too close to the whispering thing. Quicker than a blink, the whispering thing's folded appendage shot forward, curving around the crow's midsection, spikes driving into the crow's torso. My mind could barely keep up as the whispering thing then bit the crow's head clean off with a terrible crunch.
The other crows began to frenzy, shrieking as they dove towards the whispering thing. Without having to take a step, it snatched another crow out of the air. Flesh ripped with a wet tearing sound.
Since the animals were all focused on each other, I took the opportunity to dig frantically around for a hagstone, holding my own against my eye in the hopes it would lead me to another one.
There was a low hum that I felt more than heard. Deep within my chest, as if I was standing next to an amp at a concert. This was followed by an enraged screech from one of the crows. Still, I kept looking.
There had to be one. There just had to be!
One circular, black rock stood out among the rest, the water seeming to outline it from the view of my hagstone. There! I plucked it out of the water, looking over my shoulder to see if either the crows or the whispering thing were paying attention to me. They were too engrossed with trying to tear each other apart.
I shoved the black hagstone into my pocket and made a break for it, poker at the ready. One of the crows noticed and let out an ear-splitting cry to alert the others.
As I ran, I checked back to see that three of the crows split off to pursue me. I wasn't worried about them catching me. The whispering thing was another matter. This was only my second time encountering it and I hadn't had enough information to identify it, so I didn't want to find out the hard way if the defenses I had on me would be enough to stop it from tearing me apart like it did the crows.
There was another low hum that rumbled against my ribs as the whispering thing used one of its forelegs to swipe a crow out of its way. It had lost interest in them, its huge amber eyes focused on me once again. I prayed that the crows swarming around it would be enough to slow it down.
As I raced through the trees back to where the company truck waited, the whispers started anew. They became louder and clearer the faster I went, interrupted by the shrill cries of the crows tailing me. I did my best not to listen to any of them. The last thing I needed was to get led astray by any of my pursuers.
A crow swooped close enough for me to smack it with the poker. The sound the bird made when the iron scalded its skin made my teeth clench. The others joined it, bringing me to my knees, my ears ringing. High pitched, grating, like broken glass against a chalkboard. Disoriented, I swung desperately with the iron poker again, not hitting anything.
And among all that, the whispers hadn't stopped. My head rang, ears going numb. I swung again. One of the shrieks stopped as the poker found its mark. Even as the auditory assault continued, I got to my feet, grabbing the trees closest to me to keep myself going. The whispers became even more frantic as its prey got further and further away. The truck was right there.
The two crows tailing me had finally stopped their dreadful screaming and simmered down to furious clicking sounds with their beaks, as if they could think of nothing but stripping the flesh from my bones.
When one tested the limits of the hagstone as I got close to the truck, I swatted at it with the poker, the tip colliding with the creature's skull. The crow’s body crashed against an oak’s trunk, then went still.
As soon as I cleared the treeline, the whispering stopped. I looked over my shoulder. The whispering thing was retreating, only visible for a brief moment before blending in among the trees.
It couldn't leave the forest. That was good to know.
I closed myself into the truck, leaving the furious crows outside. They glared at me from the branches of a nearby oak. After taking a moment to collect myself, I drove back to the hospital, wanting to hand the black hagstone off to Reyna before anything else.
At a stop sign, I got a text from Victor: he had finished setting traps for the client's raccoon infestation and was going to meet me at the hospital.
Reyna was chilling in her hospital bed, face bandaged, wearing a hideous blue hospital gown decorated with faded green and pink squares.
“Guess who got her rabies shots!” She announced with a sleepy grin, holding her hand up in a shaka.
Someone was clearly given the good painkillers.
Victor arrived a few minutes later, wearing a black mask that covered his mouth and nose, smelling strongly of lavender. It made my nose itch.
“Why do you smell like an old lady?” I complained.
The mask intensified his withering stare, voice muffled by the mask, “Lotta blood around here. Probably wouldn't be too good if I smelled it.”
Reyna chimed in, slurring slightly, “If you're gonna eat anyone, go for the receptionist. He was reading Anne Rice, so he'd probably be into it.”
It was Reyna's turn to get The Glare. He said flatly, “You're high as a kite, aren't you?”
Reyna flashed a peace sign.
To summarize Reyna's condition, she's as okay as she can be. They had to close up her eyebrow and cheek, and they gave her a plethora of shots to make sure that she didn't catch any diseases from the crows. The hospital doctor wanted to keep her overnight to make sure that she didn't have an infection, then afterwards, she was going to take some time off of work to recover.
Also, I slipped the black hagstone into her purse so that it wouldn't be misplaced.
After we discussed Reyna's injuries, I decided to address the elephant in the room, “So… what can we do about the mechanic?”
Reyna shrugged, “Grovel and plead for our lives?”
Victor rubbed his eyes. “We might be a bit past that point.”
I asked Victor about the specifics of his deal with the mechanic. I knew that there had to be some sort of condition that had to be fulfilled before the mechanic could take someone, otherwise I probably wouldn't be alive to type this right now. Reyna was equally curious.
The boss seemed reluctant to speak on this matter, at first. I told Victor that he didn't have to share anything if there was any possibility of retaliation. The last thing I wanted was for him to be punished in some horrific manner for trying to help me.
He eventually shrugged a shoulder in resignation, “Whatever happens, I can handle it. It didn't take him long to figure out that I was the one that helped you find the hagstone. That wasn't pleasant, but…” He went quiet for a second, his eyes glazing in a way that reminded me of when I first came home from active duty. He then shrugged again, “I'm willing to risk it if that means getting a chance to hurt him back someday. Lord knows it's been a long time coming.”
He didn't tell us what the consequences had been for assisting me, and neither Reyna nor I pressed the issue. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Even though I was nervous to hear the answer, I didn't pull any punches and straight up asked, “Why hasn't the mechanic sent you after me yet?”
Victor considered for a moment, then explained, “I'm not sure on the specifics, since the mechanic doesn’t tell me anything other than what I need to know to get the job done. But from what I can tell, he takes those who are dead, dying, or… ‘dead inside,’ I guess is the best way to put it. Some souls appear to be harder for him to take than others. The hard ones need to be… broken down first. As of right now, he says you're not ready.”
Reyna numbly asked, “So if the birds tried to nab me, does that mean that I am ‘ready’? That they could take me at any moment?”
Victor hesitated before replying, “We won't let that happen. Alright?”
Reyna nodded, eyes low.
I wanted to ask her what was going on. Figure out why she was suffering in a way that made her fair game to the crows. But she'd been through enough for one day. That discussion could wait for another time.
My next question was another one that I dreaded the answer to, “And where do you come into all of this, Vic?”
Regretfully, Victor admitted, “I bring him the ones that are ready if he can't get to them himself.”
He glanced at Reyna, “As of right now, keep that hagstone on at all times. Even wear it when you're sleeping. The mechanic didn't know who you were initially, but I guarantee the fucking Lessers tipped him off. I think he’s more focused on Nessa, at the moment, but if I get sent after you, hit me with iron, salt me, do whatever and don't feel bad about it. Same goes for you, Nessa.”
I hated this. I hated that he was being used like this. I hated that he spoke about someday being sent to drag one of us to meet our fate at the hands of the Wild Hunt as if it was unavoidable.
The air suddenly felt like it was much thinner in the room. Somehow, I got enough oxygen to ask, “What if I learned the mechanic's true name? Would that end this?”
Victor let out a soft scoff, rubbing the bridge of his nose over his mask, “Probably, but good luck with that.”
I had already figured that the mechanic wouldn't dance around a fire singing his true name all willy nilly like Rumpelstiltskin. But I couldn't accept that all of us were screwed. There had to be a way. I had to believe that there was a way.
I announced that I'd be back in the morning. Reyna looked as concerned as her painkillers would allow, while Victor jumped out of his seat.
“What are you going to do?” He demanded.
“I'm going to talk to him.” I replied. “One of us is in the hospital and another one of us is undead-”
“I know it's looking bad right now, but they can easily get worse if whatever you're thinking of doing goes south.” He cautioned.
“I'm just going to see if there's some way I can… I don't know, talk him down? I haven't gotten that far yet, but something needs to be done.”
He didn't look convinced, and with how terrible my argument was, I don't blame him. “I'll go with you.”
I motioned towards Reyna. “And leave her alone?”
Reyna, looking like she was fighting sleep, groggily said, “I got the adder stone and I'm in public. I'll be fine. If you're going to confront Psycho Mantis, you're going to need Vic around more than I will.”
Victor agreed, “Like it or not, you're not handling this alone. Remember what I told you when you got hired in?”
We're not heroes, we're pest control specialists.
You know that thing I said about not isolating yourself? I can be bad about not following my own advice sometimes, especially that one.
Going forward, I do want to note that the decisions that were made on that night were extremely risky and I don't recommend for anyone to repeat them. Believe it or not, we are professionals.
On our way to our destination, we stopped by the 24-hr convenience store. Victor was about to question me until he saw me go for the whipped cream. I also got s'mores supplies, thinking that maybe some bribery would make the mechanic more amiable. I figured that if he rejected them then, hey, I like s'mores, too.
Afterwards, we followed the path to the skull trees.
During our hike, Victor whispered, “That fucker is hubris incarnate, but he's not stupid. If he offers you a deal, know that it's not going to be in your favor. And be careful with the way that he twists words.”
Something noteworthy is that the hagstone doesn't react to Victor. I think it's because he doesn't have the same malicious intentions as his captors. He may have changed after his murder (hell, anyone would) but at his heart, he was still Victor. Meanwhile, as we got closer to the skull tree clearing, I felt the stone gradually begin to quake.
Up ahead, orange light flickered. The mechanic had a small fire going. He lay on a blanket next to it, that cursed banjo on the ground beside him, one arm folded under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. His eyes were closed.
He didn't open them as he greeted us, “I was wondering when you two would show up.”
Keeping my nerves buried beneath the surface, I held up the bag of sugary goodness. “I'm here to negotiate.”
He laughed, still not looking at me. “Are you, now? And what exactly do you think a little thing of cream will get ya?”
“Not much, I imagine.” I said evenly. “But I thought it'd be a good jumping off point.”
Even though I’d originally protested Victor coming with me, I was glad that he was there. I don't think I would've been able to be so level-headed if I'd met with the mechanic alone. It would probably be interpreted as a sign of weakness, but I was counting on that.
As soon as I saw the mechanic begin to crane his neck towards us, I slammed my eyelids shut. He knew way more about me than I'd ever wanted him to know already, and I was afraid of giving him more.
Again, another potential sign of weakness. When it came to trying to get him to back off of Orion a bit, I figured it'd be best if he underestimated me.
I didn't have to see the mechanic to know that he had that wicked grin on his face, “Alrighty. Let's see what you've got.”
A hand that was as cold as the grave gently removed the bag of goodies from my grasp. Victor. Wordlessly, he brought the cavity-inducing offering over to the mechanic. I never realized how quiet his footsteps were until then. He moved like a shadow. He could've been five feet away or five hundred, for all I knew.
There was the rustling of plastic, followed by the trademark sound of whipped cream being sprayed from the nozzle. Sounding slightly less prick-ish, the mechanic told me I had his attention.
I had been trying to find the magic words that would make this whole situation blow over. Nothing that I came up with in my head fit that description.
So I decided to be straight forward, then go from there. “What will it take to de-escalate things between you and Orion?”
The whipped cream wailed once again. A moment later, the mechanic replied, “Why are you asking a question that you already know the answer to?”
“Other than my soul.”
He chuckled softly, the sound too casual and charming for this sinister discussion.
“You know, I’m curious, puppydog,” Fabric rustled. Without looking, I assumed he'd sat up, “Which o’ your parents are you most like?”
Here we fucking go.
I tried to redirect him, “With all due respect, that isn't relevant.”
“Oh, but it is.” His tone of voice brought chills to the back of my neck. “You see, I'd be willing to take a trade. Find a soul as mouth-waterin’ as yours, and all this goes away. Hell, I might even let you rest in peace! You know what choice your father would pick.”
I was hoping that the firelight wouldn't be enough for him to see my face flush and my jaw stiffen. That had touched a nerve, just as he knew it would.
That was also a horrible deal. One that I wouldn't even consider. There was no way that I could condemn someone else to an afterlife of torment. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even that weasel-faced client that I rescued the False Egg from. Not even my father.
Swallowing back the plethora of terrible emotions threatening to bubble up, I suddenly felt Victor subtly squeeze my shoulder supportively. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't hesitate to give anyone who insulted his employees a piece of his mind, but the mechanic was the last Neighbor to mouth off to. That was the best he could do for me, in the moment.
When I informed the mechanic that I wouldn't sacrifice someone else to save my own skin, he laughed again, “If only you knew how many times I heard those exact words! Thing is, I ain't even got started on you, pup. Given enough time, you might find you're more like your old man than you thought.”
I took a deep breath to keep the mixture of dread and anger confined to my chest, then calmly replied, “Sounds like you know exactly how everything will play out. Isn't that boring for you?”
The tension that filled the air after those words left my mouth made my chest feel tight.
The whipped cream can wheezed thoughtfully before the mechanic mildly admitted, “A bit, yeah.”
There it is.
“You already have all of the advantages,” I started, “It’s not much of a hunt if your prey can't even run, is it? There's no challenge in killing something that's already baited and trapped.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
Oh boy. I was about to do one of many things I warned yinz not to do: “The only way I can bring you the excitement you're craving is if I have a fighting chance. And a good one. I'll be searching for your name, but I need to know where to look first.”
His laughter made me suppress a shudder. I remember thinking that I should've known that he'd see through my words like he saw through everything else.
The mechanic then said, “I know what you're trying to do, pup. But the problem is, you're right! It's too easy anymore, especially since y'alls names are just available on the internet for anyone to find. I've been getting kind of soft lately.”
This was his soft side?
The mechanic continued, “You really think you can pull this off, pup? I know you're a fighter and all, but you're not a warrior, not really. Being a soldier ain't the same thing.”
“I may not be Cú Chullainn, but I'm as close as you're going to get in Mercer County. We've got a bit of a warrior shortage around here.”
He snorted, “You seem awfully sure of yourself for someone who can't even look at me.”
“I'm not sure about anything. That's why I'm here, isn't it?”
It was quiet for a moment with only the frogs chirping in the forest able to find their voices. Not even the whipped cream broke up the silence this time. I was tempted to risk peeking through my eyelashes, but managed to resist.
Just as my nerves started getting to me, the mechanic said, “So, you want me to give you a hint. That's a lot to ask, but you knew that already.”
“You want something in return.”
“Hagstone. Smash it.”
No way. It was too valuable. If I gave that up, I was dead. I promptly shook my head.
He sounded amused. “Shoulda known you wouldn't fall for that.”
Looking back, I wondered how many he'd tricked like that. Giving up some form of protection after being misled into thinking the mechanic was going to let them go, only to regret it seconds later. Probably far too many.
He continued, “Alright then, we'll talk for real. I'll give you that hint, but I got some conditions. You get three chances to guess correctly. Each time you guess wrong, you have to give me one of your names starting with your first, middle, then last name. Don't try fucking with me by trying to pass your middle name off as your first.”
That made my throat tighten even more. If I agreed to that, failure wouldn't just spell disaster for me, but for everyone I knew as well. I'd be dragging my mom and anyone else associated down with me. I'd essentially be doing what he already requested: sacrificing others to save my own skin.
I heard Victor faintly, from my right, “Don't!”
The mechanic wasn't pleased, “This ain't about you, blue eyes. This is between me and her.”
The stakes were getting way too high. I couldn't do this. But then what? The Hunt wasn't going to wait around for me to find another way, assuming that there even was one. Victor clearly thought it was a terrible idea. For the record, I did, too. I could feel the boss' eyes on me, willing me not to forget what he'd said earlier about dangerous heroics.
Maybe there was another way and I just couldn't see it. But desperation has a way of messing with your head.
“If I agreed to this,” I started, knowing that I was probably digging my grave even deeper. “And I haven't agreed to anything. just to be clear. If I did this, I'd need the assurance that you won't send your crows or hounds or any others that serve the Wild Hunt after those that I care about. That includes my colleagues and me, for that matter. Like you said, this is between us two.”
The mechanic chuckled and I heard him shift again. “You're feeling awfully bold tonight, aren't you?”
I reminded him, “You want this to be interesting, don't you?”
He considered, then with a click of his tongue replied, “You hear that, blue eyes? Means you, as well. On both sides, mind you. Same with that witch doctor. Yeah, I know about her. I keep mine out of it, if you keep yours out. All's fair, right?”
I didn't feel right with any of this, but the alternative was for things to continue as they were. If that happened, we were all screwed anyway.
“And if I agreed, the hint that you provide will have to be both true and helpful. And it'll also be given in easily understandable American English, no riddles or puzzles or any other forms of confusing phrasing. You’d also have to give it to me tonight. The whole thing would begin after that.”
Once again, he laughed, “Shit, you're not messin' around!”
I know how the Neighbors do deals. If I hadn't mentioned it, he probably would've given me the hint in the form of a riddle spoken in backwards Gaelic.
“Alright, pup, I get the picture. You know what you're dealing with. I’ll play nice.”
His voice had a subtle sardonic edge. Nothing about this was going to be nice, if I chose to go this route, but that wasn't news.
“Oh, and one more thing!” The mechanic added a little too cheerfully. “You have until Samhain. I’m sure you know why.”
It's June already; still a good while away from October, but this year feels like it’s flying by fast, like every other year following 2020. He didn't have to explain why: the Wild Hunt are at their most powerful during Samhain, which for those who don't know, was a Celtic holiday that eventually gave birth to Halloween. It's when the veil between the atypical world and ours is thinnest.
In short, it's a busy day for Orion. Looks like it’s going to be even worse this year.
Victor spoke again, “Can I talk to her for a moment?”
“Nope. You don't get a say. Either she takes it or leaves it.” The mechanic answered curtly.
As I deliberated, there were subtle taps on a tree nearby. Hold on. Morse code. M-I-S-S-I-N-G. What was I missing? Maybe it was because I hadn't clearly spelled out what I wanted to happen if I correctly guessed the mechanic's identity.
“If I accept this bet, then if I find your name, you’ll relinquish your claim on my soul, as well as all other Orion employees, whether they're living, dead, or undead. Have I made that clear?”
After a moment, the mechanic answered, the smirk blatant in his voice, “You have now.”
Of course. It was so simple. If I had gone through with the deal without being specific about the outcome, the mechanic wouldn't have been obliged to release any of us. I would've done all the work to identify him for nothing. Tricky bastard.
Thanks, Victor.
With a heavy sigh, I politely asked the mechanic to repeat everything that we'd just discussed to make sure that he wasn't going to conveniently forget something. To my surprise, he did it without comment, though he sounded like he thought the whole thing was funny. He left nothing out.
When I say that agreeing to this deal was one of the hardest things I've ever done, I mean it.
I instantly had second thoughts the moment I heard the mechanic stand up and cheerfully say, “Well, you ready for that hint? You’re gonna wanna open your eyes for this. I can show you better than I can tell you.”
Oh God, I made a mistake! No. I could do this. I had to.
Black cherries. He was in front of me. Steeling myself, I opened my eyes. The mechanic stood as close as the hagstone would allow, a dark silhouette in front of the crackling flames.
“Blue eyes, would you mind holding puppydog’s hagstone for her? Wouldn't want that gettin’ lost, now, would we?”
What?!
“Don’t get all frantic, I can’t do shit to you until you get your hint, per our agreement,” The mechanic said dismissively as Victor approached me. “You’ll get it back after.”
Victor looked apologetic as he gently removed the most powerful defense I had. He had an odd glint in his eye. Was that defiance?
I’ll get you out of this, Vic. I promise.
The very moment that he was able to, the mechanic grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
A church surrounded by black water… A great feast of viscera and wildflowers… Black thorns drinking the blood of the unworthy… The great antlered headdress of the White Son of Mist… Pricking his finger on those horns… He signed in blood…
Victor pulled me back, not giving the mechanic even a picosecond to take full advantage of being outside of the hagstone’s influence. If he hadn't been holding me up, I would've been on the ground, still recovering from what I'd just seen.
“You find that ledger, you find me.” The mechanic said coolly.
That church. It reminded me of something. In the morning, I’m going to check our records. For now, I just want to crash. I'll keep yinz updated.
On the bright side, there weren't any crows waiting for me when I got home.
(Here's an index of all the cases I've discussed so far.)

Imamat … Appostolic Succession
I came across an article titled ‘Imamate’. I really admired the tone, gentility and polite manner in which it was presented. I wish I could reproduce it as the style must be held up as an example to all of us who wish to argue their case in Islam.
Thus in keeping with the diction, I will also refrain from overloading the readers with too much ‘Theology’ and quotations, but endeavour to adopt a ‘common sense’ approach in argument.
WHAT IS BELIEF (EIMAAN): By ‘belief’ I mean an essential act of faith related to an article of ‘Deen’, which requires a formal ‘profession of belief’, uttering specific words, and which affects a person’s status as a ‘Muslim’. e.g., a declaration of ‘belief’ in Allah, and the Prophethood of Muhammad (saw). On the other hand, a person may ‘believe’ that the earth is flat … but this ‘belief’ is not related to ‘Eimaan’. We are not discussing this kind of ‘belief’.
‘Belief’, defined above, excludes ‘opinion’ or conjecture and admits only inflexible certitude, even though a person may not have any direct knowledge (by deploying five senses) of the object of ‘belief’. Whereas, there can be no difference of view regarding an item of ‘belief’… but interpretations can differ regarding matters of ‘detail’ .i.e., it is essential to ‘believe’ in Angels, but people differ regarding, say, their numbers or nature. Again, it is essential to ‘believe’ that Qur’an is the revealed word of Allah, but people can differ in their estimation of the manner in which revelation occurred.
Because eternal salvation depends on ‘Eimaan’, and without the profession of formal ‘belief’ actions are void, it will be seen that Allah Ta’ala, by His infinite mercy has kept matters of ‘belief’ to an absolute minimum. It is significant that the formula of faith requires ‘belief’ only in Allah, Angels, Revelation, all the Prophets, and the fact that every individual will be held responsible for their actions on the Day of Judgement. These are the five fundamental articles of ‘belief’ in Islam (Q. II:285). In this respect the addition of , ‘Ali’yun Wali’ullah’, is clearly and manifestly an innovation being supra-numeric to Qur’an and the Tradition.
NEED FOR ‘BELIEF’ IN THE DIETY: It will constitute an insult to the intelligence of the readers if I were to dwell at length in order to justify the importance and the need to express ‘belief’ in Allah with all His attributes. The rationale is as simple as it is obvious.
NEED FOR ‘BELIEF’ IN THE PROPHETS: The relevance of inviting ‘belief’ in the person of a prophet is also manifestly clear. He is the vehicle of revelation, and as such, ‘belief’ in, the prophet’s claim of appointment by Divine intervention, his infallibility, his freedom from sin (cf. Bible), total submission to his message as the Will of God (without any dispute or reservation), are of paramount importance and complementary to other articles of faith.
Denial of a prophet automatically puts a person beyond the pale of faith, and rejection of a messenger, therefore, is denial of God. Hence, it is (as it ought to be) a matter of untold relief, that Muhammad (saw) was the LAST ‘Haadee’, and this, mercifully, means that the Muslim Ummah is absolved from the ‘burden’ of ‘rejection’, and so forever protected from denying God. A natural corollary is that Qur’an will remain uncorrupted (unlike other scriptures), as Allah has guaranteed its pristine purity … till the end of time. This represents a supreme favour from Allah and another aspect of Muhammad (saw)being referred to as a ‘mercy to the world’. In pursuance of this fine point, I will make reference to the concluding two verses of surat Al’Baqarah and ask the reader to dwell a moment on the deeper meaning of ‘…Our Lord! Lay not on us such a burden as Thou didst lay on those before us! Our Lord do not impose upon us that which we have not the strength to bear’. This, in my humble opinion, is a veiled reference to the completion of Allah’s favour to mankind mentioned elsewhere (Q. V: 3). Allah has made Muhammad (saw)the last human in whom one has to express formal ‘belief’ in order to attain salvation. By this merciful act, Allah has released us from the ‘burden’ of continually agitating and looking over our shoulder in expectation of another prophet, a phenomenon that was an onerous ‘burden’ in past ages. Released from this ‘burden’, and coupled with the assurance of the preservation of Qur’an, the Ummah can now, thankfully, divert all its energies in realising the ‘Kingdom of God’ and in … ‘… doing the Will of God on Earth’ for ever more. Muslims are now in a very favoured and elevated position, compared with past nations. The whole Ummah, subsequent to the advent of Prophet Muhammad (saw) and by the ‘completion’ of revelation and preservation of the Qur’an, has now been installed as the ‘Vicegerent of Allah’. For, ‘His Kingdom’ has now arrived, and ‘His Will is now done on Earth as it was being done in Heaven’, prior to the completion of religion.
NEED FOR ‘BELIEF’ IN THE REVEALED SCRIPTURE: Revealed word of God is the only record which survives the person of the prophet and after his demise, the only testimony of Allah’s Will (if preserved). Expression of ‘belief’ in the revealed scripture is a natural progression of ‘Eimaan’ (belief) in the Deity and the prophets. This is a general proposition, but Qur’an is unique in that, as stated above, Allah has mercifully guaranteed its preservation. This was a logical consequence of the end of the cycle of al’Anbiya (the prophets). Therefore, with the advent of the last Messenger (A), preservation of Qur’an, and establishment of a unified Quibla, as a permanent ‘Guiding Light’, the function of the prophets has now devolved upon the shoulders of this Ummah (the middle nation) in the form of Dawah (propagation), Ijtihad (innovative adaptation), Qiyas (deduction) & Ijma (Consensus). (Q. II:143)
A REVOLUTIONARY MESSAGE DELIVERED 15 CENTURIES AGO: ‘Lo! The noblest of you, in the sight of Allah, is the best in conduct’ (Q. XLIX:13).
In pre-Islamic age, during days of Jahili’yeh, the twin institutions of Divine Right of the Monarch (determined by lineage) and the Office of the Priest (determined by caste) were the twin most pernicious means of ‘Social Control’ and exploitation. Islam unmasked the corruption and iniquity of these institutions, demolished them at a stroke … and raised the standard of a fraternal and a just social order based upon the supremacy of law and dignity of all humans. From hence on, the status of a person was determined neither by ostensible wealth, nor by rank of birth or class, rather by the quality of one’s actions and deeds in real life. Most important dynamic being the concept of accountability of each individual for their actions, on the Day of Judgement without any possibility of ‘ransom’ or ‘intercession’. It was stated clearly and unequivocally that all human beings have equal status, by virtue of being the children of Adam (A), and in order to lay humble any feeling of arrogance, it is clearly stated that Adam was created from dust. With the demolition of ‘Priesthood’, all barriers between the Creator and His creation are thus removed.
I will conclude this section by underscoring the point that area of ‘belief’, mercifully, has been restricted to a bare minimum, and both, the relevance and the importance of ‘good deeds’ has been duly emphasised. It is made abundantly clear, that in contrast with many other religions, Islam is a very simple and a very practical religion … and because deeds speak louder than words, Islam has always highlighted the need to ‘perform’ rather than merely ‘profess’. To me it seems self evident that more we expand the area of ‘belief’, greater will be the scope for fracturing the unity of the Ummah, dividing loyalties, thereby increasing the prospect of falling from grace. After Muhammad (saw), we are not required to formally express our ‘belief’ in any other person. This, in actual fact, depicts Allah’s great wisdom and infinite mercy upon this Ummah.
This concludes my primary submission. Hereafter, in the light of what has been submitted, I will raise a few dilemmas regarding Imamat as an institution, which Brother Tejani has mentioned.
My first dilemma.
What are the characteristics of a Nabi? A Nabi is appointed by Allah. A Nabi makes a declaration of his mission. It is essential to express verbal ‘belief’ in his office. A Nabi receives Divine revelation. By virtue of his mission, a prophet is infallible (ma’soom). Because he is considered infallible, his word is final and cannot be disputed. Muhammad (saw), in addition, had the unique status of being the last messenger, the Seal of the prophets, Khatam al’Nabi’yeen.
There have been many attempts by impostors, claiming to be prophets. They all claimed to be Divinely appointed, recipients of revelation, claimed infallibility, and invited ‘belief’. Down the centuries, Muslims of all Schools of Thought, including the Shias, collectively rejected each and every claimant without any hesitation. And, Muslims are manifestly justified in doing so.
If there is consensus regarding this fact, then to claim Imamat as a continuing phenomenon represents a contradiction which I personally find difficult to reconcile from purely a common sense perspective. Substituting another term like ‘Mujaddid’, ‘Zillee Nabi’, ‘Buroozi Rasool’, ‘Mazhar-e-Elahi’ or ‘Imam’ (as in Shia theology), these terms are a merely a matter of semantics and a play on words. If a person claims to possess the attributes of a ‘Rasool’ or a ‘Nabi’ (as used in the Qur’an), then no matter what term is used, it represents an attempt to circumvent the finality of Muhammad’s (saw) prophethood. Herein lies my first dilemma.
My second dilemma.
Br. Tejani points out the original deviation at the demise of the Messenger of Allah in not accepting the ‘Imamat’ of seyyedina Ali. He may well be correct. But seyyedina Ali is no longer present in person (neither are any of the Imams). In practical terms, how will it help me if I were to acknowledge their Imamat, and what practical difference will this retrospective change of ‘belief’ on my part make in me? How will this mere declaration enhance the quality of my Islam?
I am absolutely convinced that seyyedina Ali, without exception, reinforced the message which Muhammad (saw) brought, and followed his example faithfully. If that is the case, then what is the logic of expressing a formal allegiance to Ali, at this distant moment in time, why not simply follow the message of Muhammad (saw) and emulate his pious and illustrious example?
I can see some relevance of making a formal allegiance if a person was living in the time of seyyedina Ali, or if one was contemporary with his successors, to pledge allegiance to them in person in order to be guided in faith and practice. But to make a verbal declaration of ‘belief’, centuries retrospectively, in order, essentially, to comply with the teachings of the Prophet (A), seems somewhat superfluous and puzzling. It merely adds a ‘tier’ or a level of ‘belief’ without serving any practical purpose. Love and respect for ‘Ahl-e-bait’ is a separate issue altogether. Herein lies my second dilemma.
My third dilemma.
Qur’an clearly states that if there is any divergence or conflict of views leading to a dispute with ‘Ulil Amr’ (those in Authority) whether in the affairs of the Ummah, or in deciding a legal point, or in adopting a course of action, then the (without exception) the matter in dispute, should be referred to Allah (Qur’anic text) and the Prophet (Oral Tradition). From what has been stated above, there is no room for ‘dispute’ with the revealed authority (Allah & the Prophet). Hence, the very fact that there can be a dispute with contemporary, authority amplifies the point that no person, subsequent to the Prophet (A) can claim infallibility. Therefore, the Imam cannot be considered infallible because his interpretation or judgement is open to challenge. And, if the authority of the Imam is not ‘infallible’, the relevance of his office is in doubt, to say the least. It may be relevant to note that the status of an Imam, in Shia theology, is analogous to the Pope (when he speaks ex-cathedra) or a Priest (in other religions). But, by general consensus, there is no Papacy or priesthood in Islam. Herein lies my third dilemma.
My fourth dilemma.
That prophethood has come to an end is an undisputed ‘belief’ in Islam. If there was a need to continue guidance of the Ummah by the medium of continuing revelation (an undisputed authority), why did Allah bring the age of prophesy to an end in the first instance? The history of Bani Isra’eel (Children of Israel) is replete with the appearance of ‘minor’ prophets (prophets nevertheless) in the wake of Moses (A), the Lawgiver. In Islam, Jesus (A) is regarded as a Nabi (a prophet who does not bring a new dispensation), because he followed the Torah.
There is a well-known Tradition, which relates that the Messenger of Allah (A) observed that … ‘…The Ulema (scholars – in plural) of my Ummah will be like the (minor) prophets of Bani Isra’eel’. He is not reported to have used the word Imam or even Ahl al’Bait (household of the Prophet). Herein lies my fourth dilemma.
My fifth dilemma.
If the institution of Imamat, as understood in Shia theology, was to continue, then why did the last Imam go into ‘Ghaibat’ (Occultation). Who has been guiding the Ummah for the last millennium in his absence? The doctrine of Wilayat-e-Imam (representative of the Imam in absentia) is not a valid answer.
Even among the Shia Schools of Thought, there is no unanimity as to the identity of the Imams. Some sects believe in one set of Imams and some in another set. These schools do not even agree upon the number of Imams. Imamat does not seem to have solved the problem of guidance of the Ummah through the leadership of infallible Imams. Herein lies my fifth dilemma.
My final dilemma.
Far fetched ‘Esoteric’, torturous and exotic explanations from the Qu’an aside, the innovative belief in ‘Imamat’ seems to have solved no real purpose in preventing, repeated and extensive, ‘Schism’. It is a depressing fact that doctrinal rift between various Shia religions [mazahib] is greater and more fundamental than the non-Shia. In ‘Shiism’ there are as many [perhaps more] ‘sects’ than the Sunnis … Ithna Asharis … being only just one of these !! There even exists difference in the status and succession of ‘Imamat’. Many Shia doctrines consider Qur’an redundant in the presence of an Imam and ‘Imamat’ to be superior to ‘Risalat’ [even incarnation of Allah in person] … and a continuing phenomenon. If Imamat was meant to ensure preservation, pristine purity and unity of belief … it seems to have failed spectacularly? As for Shia ‘Fiqh’, even among the Ithna Ashari Ayatollahs, the divergence of opinion even in mundane matters is just as mind blowing.
How can one claim unity when there is such diversity? Truth is that once we peel off the ‘Sophisticated’ [from Sufism] conjectures and speculative interpretations of the Qur’an, very little remains that underpins the doctrine of Imamat, except what is commonly understood in the lexicology of Qur’an and plain Arabic.
I must reiterate that these are my personal views, observed entirely from my angle of vision, from the perspective of common sense. All I have endeavoured to achieve is to take a panoramic vista of the teachings and the spirit of Islam, and try to remain objective (in so far as possible) and consistent in forming an opinion. Since there is no compulsion in religion in Islam (Q. II: 256), rather full scope for freedom of conscience, I fully accord the right of adhering to one’s ‘belief’. In this regard I sincerely respect brother Tejani’s views and applaud his generously polite and judicious manner of diction in arguing his case.
Let me conclude by stating that, subsequent to the person of the Prophet (saw), I have special love and regard for seyyedina Ali. Had I been alive during the first decade after the Prophet’s demise, perhaps I may well have voted for seyyedina Ali [ra] as the ‘Fist among the Equals’. But that is neither here nor there. What followed is now history. Anyhow, I regard Caliphate as reflecting ‘collective’ leadership, as ordained in the chapter called ‘Consultation’… “And their affairs are conducted through consultation among themselves” (Q. XLII: 38). Thus, Qur’an does not employ the term ‘Imamat’ but ‘Shura’ i.e. consultation. Herein lies my final dilemma.
Conclusion.
It is my submission that irrespective of whoever was the ‘Khaleefa’, he did not impose a one-man rule. Seyyedina Ali was a prominent member of the ‘Shura’ (The Consultative Council) and remained involved in governance, at the highest level, for three decades. The Caliph was only the symbolic head of state. All the companions were very capable people and there was little to choose between them. No doubt each person was an expert in one field of endeavour or the other, and their combination represented a collective leadership of awesome ability and unmitigated integrity.
The recommendation of governance by ‘Shura’, having recourse to Ijtihad, Qiyas and Ijma, dispels all my doubts and confirms the superfluity of the institution of ‘Imamat’. These facts reinforce the view that with the advent of the last Messenger of Allah (A), humanity had received its final guidance and Allah had completed His favour by perfecting the ‘Deen’ and indicated, in no uncertain terms, Islam as the chosen path. The age of ‘miracles’ and spoon-feeding had come to a close, and truth had been differentiated from falsehood. By the revelation of Al Furquaan (i.e. the Qur’an) humanity had been transported from darkness into light. The whole human race had come of age. It now had to stand upon its own two feet and exercise the devolved right of ‘Freedom of Choice’ with virtual independence, together with all the rewards and consequences that flow from it. Each member of the race individually, and all human beings collectively (led by the Ummah) were to be held accountable for their deeds and actions on the ‘Day of Final Reckoning’, when we shall all be assembled before your God and mine.
This view, of the collective (rather than of one Imam) responsibility of the Ummah, is further strengthened by the verse, ‘Wali takun minkum ummatun yad’oona ilal khaiyr …’ (Q. III: 104).
In my view, the question of love, respect and consideration for the household of the Prophet, is a separate issue altogether. Those, whoever they may be, who violated their rights will be held answerable in the sight of Allah. We should leave this matter to His judgement. This is an equitable attitude. As for the virtuous station of seyyedina Ali, there can be no doubt that he was the ‘Gateway of Knowledge’ and, spiritually speaking, the most accomplished and towering personality of his time. But, this does not mean that he was the only person capable of leading the Ummah as the administrative (secular) head too. Spiritual leadership need not be synonymous, or coincidental, with temporal leadership. And, seyyedina Ali, as the most revered member of the inner cabinet and Consultative Council (al’Shura), was a leading light and part of the decision making mechanism at every step of the way. Seyyedina Omar rightly exclaimed, ‘We would have perished, had it not been for Ali’. Hence it is wrong to say that Ali had been marginalized in any way in shaping the affairs of the Ummah. That, he was not installed nominally as the Executive Head, is totally irrelevant. At the critical juncture of the demise of the Prophet (A), the Ummah went through a process of selection (or election), and the choice settled upon seyyedina Abu Bakr, by consensus (endorsed by seyyedina Ali himself), means that the matter of choice was satisfactorily resolved.
Another aspect of apostolic succession (although we are not discussing succession in this article, rather the institution of ‘Imamat’) is that if Ali were to be appointed as the succeeding first Khaleefa, the world would find it very easy, although quite unjustifiably, to accuse the Messenger of Allah (saw) of establishing dynastic rule and the democratic and egalitarian message of Islam would have been swamped by malicious propaganda. Hence the Prophet (saw), despite his preferences, if any (and we shall never know), rightly and sagaciously, left the choice open to the Ummah at large. The only mention of preference that the Prophet (A)is reported to have indicated was, ‘Al A’immatu min al’Koreish’ (The leaders shall be from amongst the tribe of Koreish’). This reinforces my view that after emphasising ‘conduct of affairs by consultation’, the Prophet (saw) did not intervene any further and the door was left wide open for the Ummah to exercise its prerogative of choosing the leader by suffrage.
In any event, majority view is that, the office of the Khaleefa (Caliph) is a political and not a religious issue and one, which is not tied up with ‘belief’ or Eimaan. Hence if a person were to denounce any of the ‘Khulafa-e-Rashidoon’ (merely a reverential term), they would not forfeit ‘belief’, deviant as this course of action may be. It merely represents a difference of opinion in the interpretation of history … not religion.
Hence, if we regard Imamat, as denoting collective spiritual leadership as separate from temporal office, there is no divergence between the Shia and the Sunni schools of thought. All the, so called, Shia Imams are also Sunni Imams. Without exception, all of them were revered beacons of integrity, spirituality and scholarship of their respective era. But, however exceptional in knowledge and pious in character, in Sunni view, they were, nevertheless, mortal beings.
My concluding plea.
After having made my views known (not as the last word), I implore all my Shia and Sunni brethren to respect each other’s point of view and cooperate against the common enemy. It is desirable, and indeed feasible for both, to achieve this unity in practice without ‘compromising’ the essence of their ‘belief’ system. We can sort out mutual differences when we can afford the luxury. At the moment we must stop the civil war and bury the hatchet in order to provide a united front against the ‘Yezeedi forces’. Seyyedina Ali [ra] and Seyyedina Hasan & Husain’s [ra] bright example is beckoning us to follow their lead, let us cry ‘Lab’baiyka La Shareeka Lak’a’ and make the leap.
With a slight amendment to the much quoted verse of a renowned medieval saint and scholar, I too subscribe to:-
‘Haqqa! Keh baqaa’ye La’ilaaha hast Husaiyn’ [Verily! Husain [ibn’Ali] immortalised the tradition of Islam]
…. Why? Because as another poet observed > ‘Qatl-e-Husaiyn asl meiyn marg-e-Yazid hai Islam zindah hota haeiy her Karbala key ba’ad’ [Martydom of Husain is infact the death of Yazid] [Islam is resurrected in the aftermath of each Karbala]
I will conclude by reciting a cherished supplication, please feel free to join me.
“O God! Forgive me my delinquency, mine ignorance, and my immoderation in my endeavours. O God! Forgive me for what I hasten and what I defer, for what I reveal and what I conceal, for my manifest error and my hidden design. O God! Set aright my faith, which is the safeguard of my Hereafter. Set aright my world wherein is my living. O God! In thy care I commend my soul, make me penitent and set aright my orientation, for unto Thee shall be my return. (Ameen)”.

🏆 Best 1000 lichess Puzzles by Theme 🧩

Below you find the best (= highest popularity score, ordered by number of plays) 1000 puzzles for each of the available themes 🎯, sourced from the lichess puzzles database 📊.
The CSV files contain two columns - the PGN of the puzzle, and the corresponding tags 🏷️ - and are compatible with the Anki-Chess-2.0 template 🗂️.
If you want to generate your own puzzles, filtered by popularity, rating, number of plays and puzzle themes, you can do so within the "Puzzle Database" tab of https://github.com/pwenkechessli2 ♟️.

Name	Description	Link to CSV
Advanced pawn	One of your pawns is deep into the opponent position, maybe threatening to promote.	Link
Advantage	Seize your chance to get a decisive advantage. (200cp ≤ eval ≤ 600cp)	Link
Anastasia's mate	A knight and rook or queen team up to trap the opposing king between the side of the board and a friendly piece.	Link
Arabian mate	A knight and a rook team up to trap the opposing king on a corner of the board.	Link
Attacking f2 or f7	An attack focusing on the f2 or f7 pawn, such as in the fried liver opening.	Link
Attraction	An exchange or sacrifice encouraging or forcing an opponent piece to a square that allows a follow-up tactic.	Link
Back rank mate	Checkmate the king on the home rank, when it is trapped there by its own pieces.	Link
Bishop endgame	An endgame with only bishops and pawns.	Link
Boden's mate	Two attacking bishops on criss-crossing diagonals deliver mate to a king obstructed by friendly pieces.	Link
Castling	Bring the king to safety, and deploy the rook for attack.	Link
Capture the defender	Removing a piece that is critical to defence of another piece, allowing the now undefended piece to be captured on a following move.	Link
Crushing	Spot the opponent blunder to obtain a crushing advantage. (eval ≥ 600cp)	Link
Double bishop mate	Two attacking bishops on adjacent diagonals deliver mate to a king obstructed by friendly pieces.	Link
Dovetail mate	A queen delivers mate to an adjacent king, whose only two escape squares are obstructed by friendly pieces.	Link
Equality	Come back from a losing position, and secure a draw or a balanced position. (eval ≤ 200cp)	Link
Kingside attack	An attack of the opponent's king, after they castled on the king side.	Link
Clearance	A move, often with tempo, that clears a square, file or diagonal for a follow-up tactical idea.	Link
Defensive move	A precise move or sequence of moves that is needed to avoid losing material or another advantage.	Link
Deflection	A move that distracts an opponent piece from another duty that it performs, such as guarding a key square. Sometimes also called "overloading".	Link
Discovered attack	Moving a piece (such as a knight), that previously blocked an attack by a long range piece (such as a rook), out of the way of that piece.	Link
Double check	Checking with two pieces at once, as a result of a discovered attack where both the moving piece and the unveiled piece attack the opponent's king.	Link
Endgame	A tactic during the last phase of the game.	Link
En passant	A tactic involving the en passant rule, where a pawn can capture an opponent pawn that has bypassed it using its initial two-square move.	Link
Exposed king	A tactic involving a king with few defenders around it, often leading to checkmate.	Link
Fork	A move where the moved piece attacks two opponent pieces at once.	Link
Hanging piece	A tactic involving an opponent piece being undefended or insufficiently defended and free to capture.	Link
Hook mate	Checkmate with a rook, knight, and pawn along with one enemy pawn to limit the enemy king's escape.	Link
Interference	Moving a piece between two opponent pieces to leave one or both opponent pieces undefended, such as a knight on a defended square between two rooks.	Link
Intermezzo	Instead of playing the expected move, first interpose another move posing an immediate threat that the opponent must answer. Also known as "Zwischenzug" or "In between".	Link
Knight endgame	An endgame with only knights and pawns.	Link
Long	Three moves to win.	Link
Master games	Puzzles from games played by titled players.	Link
Master vs Master games	Puzzles from games between two titled players.	Link
Checkmate	Win the game with style.	Link
Mate in 1	Deliver checkmate in one move.	Link
Mate in 2	Deliver checkmate in two moves.	Link
Mate in 3	Deliver checkmate in three moves.	Link
Mate in 4	Deliver checkmate in four moves.	Link
Mate in 5 or more	Figure out a long mating sequence.	Link
Middlegame	A tactic during the second phase of the game.	Link
One-move puzzle	A puzzle that is only one move long.	Link
Opening	A tactic during the first phase of the game.	Link
Pawn endgame	An endgame with only pawns.	Link
Pin	A tactic involving pins, where a piece is unable to move without revealing an attack on a higher value piece.	Link
Promotion	Promote one of your pawn to a queen or minor piece.	Link
Queen endgame	An endgame with only queens and pawns.	Link
Queen and Rook	An endgame with only queens, rooks and pawns.	Link
Queenside attack	An attack of the opponent's king, after they castled on the queen side.	Link
Quiet move	A move that does neither make a check or capture, nor an immediate threat to capture, but does prepare a more hidden unavoidable threat for a later move.	Link
Rook endgame	An endgame with only rooks and pawns.	Link
Sacrifice	A tactic involving giving up material in the short-term, to gain an advantage again after a forced sequence of moves.	Link
Short	Two moves to win.	Link
Skewer	A motif involving a high value piece being attacked, moving out the way, and allowing a lower value piece behind it to be captured or attacked, the inverse of a pin.	Link
Smothered mate	A checkmate delivered by a knight in which the mated king is unable to move because it is surrounded (or smothered) by its own pieces.	Link
Super GM games	Puzzles from games played by the best players in the world.	Link
Trapped piece	A piece is unable to escape capture as it has limited moves.	Link
Underpromotion	Promotion to a knight, bishop, or rook.	Link
Very long	Four moves or more to win.	Link
X-Ray attack	A piece attacks or defends a square, through an enemy piece.	Link
Zugzwang	The opponent is limited in the moves they can make, and all moves worsen their position.	Link

Hi! Hi! I am super excited to write my first review! Ever since I saw Jenee Naylor in these YSL sunnies I have been on a hunt for a pair of my on. I reached out to Vincent, but it was a no go. I posted them in the Desperately in search of thread and u/Migorengegg came through in a clutch. They reached out to Janie, a seller I was not familiar with who said they had them. Yay! Thank you so much u/Migorengegg. I love our community!
Author Expertise:
I am a RL alumni. I love reading reviews and making quick impulse purchases on AE finds. I will get maybe 2 rep bags a year. It takes me forever to decide on any type of purchase over $100. Often I am just putting items on my wish list.
I am a glasses girl. You can often find me with multiple pairs on my desk, in my car and in may bags. I switch up glasses based on my outfit. I got a Puzzle from HP last year which has become my everyday bag and felt that glasses from my optometrist and EyeBuyDirect really don’t match the bag. u/MrStealYourMemes69 wrote a fantastic Review on Vincent’s glasses which motivated me to step my eye wear up a notch.
Disclosure:
The seller is unaware that I am writing this review. I was given a $7.00 coupon that I could use if I followed their AE store but I forgot to use it as I was so excited to hit “Buy Now”. I will use the coupon on the next pair. I sent her a message after I received the package that I plan on writing a review on Reddit. Janie wrote back that I was a “friendly customer” but gave no incentive to write the review. I may share this on another SubReddit as I could use the karma.
Seller Contact:
Janie
What’s App: +86 166 251 87168
AE: LILI store
Album: https://www.szwego.com/static/index.html#/shop_detail/A2017111600500601108
4/17/2024 I reached out to Janie on to see if she had the SL frames. She Immediately responded that she had them and sent me the album and quoted me a price for frames and lenses.
I decided I might as well get 2 pair.
5/15/2024 I decided on the GM x MM and explained I was ready to purchase. Yes it took me a month to decide on another pair.
She requested a copy of my RX and PD and told me it would take a week to make the lenses due to my prescription. I have astigmatism and add was +1.50. My RX does not list my PD number so I called my eye doctor to get this info. My optometrist charged me $35 to measure the PD for my last glasses. Janie advised that my lenses are normally $60 but she will honor the $55 originally quoted.
5/16/2024 I was given a AE link to make purchase. Please note that the glasses on the site do not match what was ordered. I was told to order 2 of 2 different types of frames to bring order to the total that was quoted. It was a little confusing but everything worked out
5/25/2024 Glasses were shipped
6/1/2024 I received order!
Price Paid for Item:
$55 for each pair of frames.
It was an additional $55 for Gray Transition Prescription Lenses for the S*int L*urent and $45 for Clear Prescription Lenses for the G*ntle M*nster. My prescription was for progressive multifocal lenses for both frames.
A $2 coupon was applied to AE order
Shipping was free on AE site
Total paid $225.65 for both pairs which included shipping and Tax
Quality
The quality is very nice. Having owned acetate and regular plastic frames in the past, these feel like the advertised acetate. They both have good weight to them. I find acetate glasses to be smoother and more dense than regular plastic. The logos are etched in like the authentic and appear to be in the correct position.
Accuracy
GM x MM

• Factory Photos: https://imgur.com/a/W5wwLcE
• Auth Photos: https://www.gentlemonster.com/us/shop/item/maisonmargiela-mm11301/JVXY8659DT0D
• My Photos: https://imgur.com/gallery/gentle-monster-x-maison-margiela-tbB47pm

My GM X MM frames are tilted forward a little. They kinda look tilted forward on the model in the website for the Auth. The side view on the Auth site does not look like there is a tilt. If this makes any sense. The auth and factory photos show a white case for the glasses. I was given a Black Case. This is a minor detail for me. I will be lucky if I can remember to use the case. The case is squishy. I don’t know what the Auth case is like but I feel like it should be harder.
SL 545

• Factory Photos: https://imgur.com/a/VzpOEb2
• Auth Photos: https://www.ysl.com/en-us/sunglasses/sl-545-701422Y99031032.html
• My Photos: https://imgur.com/a/MqSCTVf

The Saint Laurent look identical to the auth online. You can not see the logo on the temples for the Auth online in black. However if you look at the yellow pair of the SL 545 you can see that Saint Laurent it etched on the temples. I am not the best QC’er but these look 1:1 to me.
The prescription of both pair are perfect. I got transition lenses darken to grey in the sunlight and are transparent indoors for the SL pair. The GM are transparent lenses and have a faint yellow hue like the ones from my ophthalmologist.
Rep Satisfaction
I am in love! I was so excited to receive these as it’s been on my wish list for a while. That being said was a little worried because I could not find anyone other than u/Migorengegg who had used this seller. However I am over the moon with the quality.
Seller Satisfaction
Janie was super responsive and very nice. Even when she did not know the answer she responded that she would check and follow up after work. Package was shipped on time as promised.
The Wrap Up
Run! Don’t walk. I had a fabulous experience with this seller for Prescription glasses. will say if you see something on the AUTH site but not in Janies album it is worth sending her a screen shot of the frames you are looking for. I couldn't find the SL in her album. My son now wants a pair of GM that I did not see in the album that she say's she has. FYI she quoted me $20 for blue light blocking lenses. That's a little steep compare to Vincent.

You can call me Bunny, its a nickname Ive had for a really long time. Anyway, Ive been fighting the idea that Im lonely, cuz theres no way right? My story isn't unique, Im not especially lonely, or going through a niche struggle. This is my confession, as I said and Im fucking lonely man, thats just how ive been feeling. I see advice online and I try to fallow in their shadow, surely the online millionaries are right... right? So I play the game, and genrelly fail, no matter what. Dating is out of the window but who cares right? Ive got friends, ill just stick with them. I try being a little more open and honest, and I get pushed away for that. "Woahhh dude, okay, when you hopping on COD though?" Sure, yeahh. Okay right, I think I understand. No dates, no friends night outs in awhile, ill ask and see whats up. Every inquiry is squandered with a "I work" or "ive got plans set" or the classic "I don't wanna". Maybe they are busy? But week after week, asking about every single day in a week ( all seven ) and every week in a month ( all four weeks ) and your busy every morning, day, and night? Its gotta be me. I play bass, pratice daily, I lift, 2-3 hours 6 days a week, I have a super toned body and Im even writting a book. Ask me how my day is, and ill tell you that its average, or that Im thinking about my next task. Ive seen some others in this sub talk about how life is happening to them, and that they are just reacting, however I don't feel this way. I feel more like, theres the world, every other person, and then theres me, a side character. Used for one sence, and thats it. Hes not an actor, but a peice of the puzzle. An extra. TRIGGER WARNING ( as per rules and regulations of the sub ), I can see why so many men k;11 themselves. Once mens homeless shelters turn into women's homeless shelters, being turned away and denied basic human nessecitites because your a man. Beaten down and ignored, is the average man. Im not talking about myself here, im talking about how %80 of men in the world, are involuntarily celibate. While the other %20 of men have the %90 of women. No one person here is the problem, but I cant help but remind myself of a single quote. "Hard times create hard men. Hard men create easy times. Easy times create weak men. Weak men create Hard time." Where are we right now in this cycle? Are the hard times just over the horizon?

• Bunny.

A lone Warlock, Harlow, dressed in yellow with fur and claws from various beasts he'd slain over the last decade scattered all over his armor sits at a campfire a few miles outside of the City walls. There isn't a single sound to be heard except the crackling of the fire. The stillness of the night and the absence of the Traveler reminded him of the eye of a hurricane; peaceful yet harrowing due to the knowledge of the chaos that looms just beyond the horizon.
“Chilling all by yourself?”
A familiar voice breaks the silence; a Titan, Parzival, dressed in silver and blue armor reminiscent of the Knights from centuries before the Golden Age of humanity. He had his trusty Gjallarhorn strapped to his back, a sight that Harlow had come to find immense comfort in. If shit hit the fan, Parzival would come prepared with an explosive response.
They had met 3 years prior. Ever since then, they'd been inseparable. Some had even speculated they'd been brothers, maybe even twins, in their past lives. There was no way to tell for certain as Wazo was an Awoken and Parzival was a human.
“Just enjoying the peace before we depart.” Harlow replied. “Mind if we join you?” Parzival asked. “We?” Harlow said, turning to look.
Parzival hadn't come alone. Beside him was another Titan named Rose. She was adorned in red and black armor with black fur around the collar. Rose was a powerful Titan who'd been with the pair since they first met. She was an Exo, like Parzival, but she was far more hot-headed than Harlow and Parzival combined. Some say her Solar flames were hotter inside of her than the pools of lava she left behind when she wielded her mighty hammer. Despite that, she was one of the best friends a person could ask for. She was fiercely loyal and wouldn't hesitate to give every one of her lives she could to save those she loved.
Beside them was another Warlock. His name was Jack. He was wearing a trench coat with a journal in a pouch on his hip. He studied the Darkness years before it was widely accepted. He had known Harlow longer than everyone and had seen Harlow through thick and thin. He taught Harlow how to be the Warlock Jack always knew he could be.
Lastly, there was a pair of Hunters. Munch and Demo. They had been his most recent friends but nonetheless impactful. Munch was the youngest, having only been resurrected for the first time a little over a year prior. She wasn't like your average Hunter. She was bubbly and full of energy, which was typical, but she had a very dark sense of humor and preferred the company of a fireteam. She was always easy to spot in a crowd with her brightly colored, pink armor.
Demo was her boyfriend. He had been showing her the ropes of Guardianhood since he first found her wandering the ruins of the Cosmodrome. He had also been a surprisingly welcome addition to Harlow’s circle, even though he was the most recent. His armor was a slick white and purple that looked more like athletic gear than armor. He had been quite the source of jokes and hilarious moments in times of great distress and even at the worst times, like staring down the business end of a Scorn wire rifle.
They all gathered around the campfire with Harlow and Munch handed out some snacks she had made just for this occasion. Although the mood had been lightened, not a word was said. They all knew what was coming. When the time came, they too would enter the Traveler and face the Witness head-on. They had room to fail because the fate of the universe was at stake.
“Let's face it,” Demo said. “It could be worse.”
Harlow and Rose shot him a confused look.
“It could have been Harlow cooking.” Demo said as he took a bite.
They all let out a laugh as Rose said between bites, “He's got a point.”
“Yeah, how did you manage to burn water?” Parzival asked.
“Twice!” Munch added.
Harlow took a bite of his snack and exclaimed “space magic” with his mouth partially full.
“I've seen a lot of things in my time but nothing puzzles me more than that.” Jack said.
When the laughing died down, they sat in momentary silence as they all looked up to where the Traveler now rests in the sky; far above the clouds and barely a dot behind them. Munch’s face saddened as her shoulders sank.
“What if we don't-”
Rose cut her off. “We will. As long as we stick together, we'll be okay.”
The group had then set all their worries aside for the rest of the night and enjoyed each other's company playing games they had learned from the children of the City, sharing stories, and, for the first time, they all slept peacefully. As the sun rose above the horizon, and the skies had cleared, they all woke up slowly. A voice rang out over the Vanguard emergency channel that brought them all to their senses.
“Attention all Guardians,” said the Warlock Vanguard, Ikora. “All available troops are to enter the Traveler. It's now or never. Today, we take back this system.”
Everyone immediately awakened as they all summoned their ships that came like bullets through the clouds mere seconds later and came to hover in a formation above them. All six fireteam members transmat into their respective ships and took off into orbit. Thousands of other ships broke through the clouds alongside them and gathered around the H.E.L.M. capital ship the Vanguard was within just in front of the Traveler’s portal.
“This is where the fun begins.” Harlow said.
He was terrified of what lied beyond the portal because he'd read the reports of the first parties who tried and failed at the cost of their lives forever. However, the confidence he'd found within himself was growing stronger with each second his fireteam was at his side.
“All Guardians,” Zavala’s voice now broke through the emergency channel. “Follow my lead. It's time to end this.”
The H.E.L.M. shot towards the Traveler at full speed and disappeared within the kaleidoscope of Light and Darkness that made up the portal.
“Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more.” Jack said, quoting an ancient poem.
“Take point, Harlow. We're right behind you.” Rose said.
“Always.” Parzival added.
Harlow pushed his throttle into full and shot towards the portal as the vast armada of Guardians around him rocketed into it as well. Pink, purple, blue, orange, and green swirled around his ship and bathed it in the unfathomable energy that the Traveler could create. It was like life and creation itself was dancing around his cockpit as his ship soared through the energy of the portal.
“We're coming up on the exit!” His Ghost, Juno, exclaimed.
A bright flash of white light and he had suddenly felt stronger than he had ever felt before in his one hundred and twelve year life as a Guardian. The Light within him was raw, untamed, and ready to be unleashed. He and his team transmat down to the grassy surface and they all readied their weapons to aid the Guardian forces in the greatest fight for survival humanity had ever, and will ever, see.

Writing in an emotional state. Currently listening to 'Somei Yoshino' by Itoko Toma on repeat. Can't stop crying.
I'll never forget when we first met. You brought out two chairs. One for me and one for you as you comforted me and teased me for losing my phone while abroad. Bold move for a hotel staff helping a customer check in on a police report. But the way -- your way -- of handling it was so charming and playful that my worries faded and all I could do was focus on you.
I'll never forget when you sent me the care package from half a world away. We only knew each other for a few months and it was so thoughtful. The stuffed bear, the handwritten, inspirational quotes, our photo, the hidden message that you turned into a puzzle for me to discover. The way my father said to me, "I think somebody likes you" as I opened it giddily like a school child in front of him on that hot, summer evening.
I'll never forget how you always made me feel special by giving me nicknames and asking me about my life. I never understood what intrigued you about me, but you always let me know that I was the only one for you.
I'll never forget the fights that we had that led me to go for late night walks only to come back to you as calm and loving as you always were. Thank you for never raising your voice and speaking so kindly with me, as if I deserved it even when I was in the wrong.
I'll never forget how watching you do anything reminded me of how life could be lived. Gracefully. Calmly. Peacefully. With purpose and intent. Your default, subtle smile that accompanied you even when doing the most mundane activities was, to me, a miracle to behold. An endless movie to be watched. A timeless piece of artwork to be admired.
I'll never forget how I gave up on our future together twice, never believing that we could work with the wall of religious differences between us. How you always believed. How you continued to love me regardless. How you waited until I realized how wrong I was. How you always told me that I was the only one you would ever want until I realized that you were the only one I ever truly wanted too. The only person I ever loved so deeply and more than I loved myself.
I'll never forget hearing the news about your blood disease and what it implied for us and you especially. Even exhausted you kept that smile of yours and never projected it onto me or anyone else around you. Knowing that you might only live to 50-years-old, just over 20 more years together, terrified me. I sobbed into my hands at work after waiting weeks to even look it up and face reality.
I'll never forget how difficult it was to finalize our marriage documents. Both from different countries. Living in away from our home countries. The paperwork. The stress. Down to the wire. We had approval the day before our marriage and uninvited the few people we even invited due to Corona because we weren't sure it would even happen. Remember? I do.
I'll never forget waiting for you to arrive at the Tea House. Talking with the few people who could attend physically. When you arrived they made sure that you were hidden from me and then asked me to go find you on the second floor.
I'll never forget when you uncovered your face from behind the bouquet of flowers. You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. To this day, you still are.
I'll never forget our friends and family joining from our respective countries by Zoom. My family and friends all gathered in one place, and your brothers, sisters, cousins, and random friends all joined separately. Your brother-in-law was riding his motorcycle and the angle was hilarious.
I'll never forget when I was finally able to call you my wife and you were able to call me your husband. Coming home to you was my life's greatest blessings. You always welcomed me. You turned on the outside lights. You hugged me and let me vent about my day.
I'll never forget the moment of reprieve when we heard that your treatment was working. That one-month period led us to believe that all would be okay. It was more than okay in many ways and I promise to you and anyone who ever reads this that even though the rest of the story is tragic, if I had the opportunity to live 1,000,000 times again, I would choose everything the same even knowing the outcome, just to have the absolute pleasure of calling myself your husband.
I'll never forget when your blood tests came back strange and even the doctor was confused. The waves of optimism and pessimism were already such a tough blow. We collected random plants on the way home that you liked. I even trespassed that empty lot for the ones you truly wanted. You made a bouquet of dried flowers that still sits in the kitchen.
I'll never forget hearing that it was lymphoma and wondering what was going to happen next. As veterans of receiving bad news at this point, I still remember how well you took the news. As always you didn't let it affect you or your relationships with those around you. How inspiring your commitment to being amiable was.
I'll never forget how strong you were on my birthday. You were in such pain from the tumor that you could barely walk but insisted we ride our bicycles to see the cherry blossoms. We went to the path I found and always wanted to share with you. We couldn't enter as your pain was too much and we returned home.
I'll never forget the letters we wrote to one another. You telling me to live my best life and try to carry on if you died during surgery only to wake up to me waiting pacing outside the hospital ready to notify your family of news good or bad.
I'll never forget how the doctors told us we couldn't see each other because of Corona but we found our ways and the doctor even broke the rules after seeing how we'd break them anyways. Even on days we couldn't talk for long, you would play Rock Paper Scissors with me through the window. Or you'd ask me to dance for you to see from your window. The scorching hot summer days and the bicycle ride to the hospital was worth it every time as I could see you.
I'll never forget cutting your hair in the hospital to ease the pain in any way that I could. I finally was able to bury it per your instructions alongside the pathway I wanted to show you.
I'll never forget hearing the news that it spread to your brain and was terminal. Again, in a shock that neither of us were prepared for, you were able to hold your smile. After we walked outside and your friend was there to pick us up from the hospital, you stayed calm and kind. I did my best not to show how sad I was but I know that you could see it. Feel it. It was palpable.
I'll never forget our decision to go back to your home country to try treatment there or get a second opinion. The scramble to move in less than a week was intense, but you made it bearable as you always did. We made a good team, didn't we?
I'll never forget meeting your family for the first time and being rushed to the hospital where we both stayed for almost a week. It was a miracle that they let me stay with you for that period of time.
I'll never forget experiencing your home country for the first time. The food, the music, the liveliness, the energy, the sights, the sounds, the hospitality of the people. All a reflection of you. The stories of your childhood and youth came to life as we went to the night market and explored the nooks and crannies of your neighborhood.
I'll never forget watching you ride a motorcycle for the first time. You told me you had a license but I was hesitant to believe it to be true. Watching you ride with such enthusiasm almost made me forget what was inside of you, plaguing your mind and your body. Everyone always said you didn't even look sick. We knew better, but in that moment... I understood why they might think it.
I'll never forget naively accepting that the first doctor probably got it wrong and believing at face value that these new doctors could possibly cure your cancer. Sending you to the hospital. Saying goodbye as if we'd live forever and see each other soon. As we discussed and agreed upon, I went back to our home and away from your country to settle things with intent to visit within the month as you received treatment.
I'll never forget that only a few days later receiving the news from the hospital that you were unconscious and unresponsive. It was only a few days. How could this happen? Why was I so naïve? Is this real? Am I having a nightmare?
I'll never forget buying the first available ticket back to you and how my heart sank deeper and deeper wondering if you'd be able to hold on until I arrived. You family was with you now. Everyone beside you. Your sister called as I was in transit, layover in a different city. The machines were the only things keeping you alive, she said. I told you I loved you and that I was on my way. If you could wait, I'd be there soon. Did you hear me? I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want you to leave me. Could you hear me? Can you hear me now?
I'll never forget seeing you in the mosque. Your face, at peace. I couldn't see anybody but you. I couldn't feel anything but shock. When I leaned in to kiss you one last time, how could you were after being gone for hours already. Riding with you to the grave site. Helping your brothers lower you into your final resting place.
Saying goodbye. I'm sorry for anything. Thank you for everything. I love you so much. We told each other often but maybe it wasn't enough.
Watching you move calmly, methodically, gracefully, and with intention was one of my life's greatest pleasures.
Hearing your voice in the morning brought me life.
Seeing you at home and receiving your nightly greeting when I returned home from work reminded me of why wars were fought over women.
Everything about you I was head over heels for. Your infectious laugh. Your subtle smile. Your deep oak colored eyes. Your everything was my everything.
Here I am, sobbing again late into the night. Sink full of dishes. Unfolded laundry on the ground. Things out of place. I could always rely on you as you were such a great listener. So wise and able to provide me with great advice, gentle reminders, encouragement, and ways for us to improve.
When you were sick you continued to inspire me through your character and courage.
My duty as your husband became clearer when you needed me most. I hope I didn't let you down.
You never let me down.
You were the best wife I could have ever asked for.
You were the best friend I sometimes didn't deserve.
And you are the love my life. My cutie cutie. My sweetheart. My sayang. My soul mate. My love.
Please forgive me for anything.
Thank you so much for everything.
I will never forget you. You will always live on in my heart. I hope to see you in my dreams every night from now until my eternal sleep.
I love you in a place where there's no space or time. When my time is finished hear on Earth, no matter what happens between now and then, I will always love you.
No need to wait for me, love. I will find you.

I've come back after a lengthy absence and updated this subreddit, making some changes. Apologies, life and stuff got in the way. Everything is updated so please feel free to join, get involved, and participate in the development of the Qultura community online here on Reddit.
There's links to the Qultura websites so you can become familiar with what Qultura is and what it's all about. I've posted some 'rules' as general guidance for new Redditors and removed restrictions on joining. Please keep in mind that participation in the Qultura community is always completely free of charge, free from ideology and belief systems, because it's an empathy focussed community. This means we come here to share our individual stories, perspectives, truth and experiences and through this our humanity which we all share and have in common with each other.
You can post whatever you like as long as it's coming from your own individual perspective and you understand that you're expressing it outwards into the community. You're also very welcome to post and ask questions for other members of the community to answer, seek advice and insights, or just let out what you're feeling.
I also want to bring to mind a quote by Timothy Leary

Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences.
For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”.
Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger?
Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.

This hopefully will give some insight into what Qultura and this subreddit is all about. Don't restrict yourself to just discussing the socially conventional and "normal" cultural stuff. Let's talk about the meta-physical stuff, the stranger stuff, the stuff you can't share with your friends and family because they'll think you're weird or loonie.
We all need a sense of affinity and feeling that someone will 'get' us when other people don't. It doesn't matter how weird, or strange, or freaky you are, you still need to experience that affinity, that sense of community, you need to have that sense of belonging. Even if you think of yourself as normal, you probably have some 'freak' side to your nature which you cannot let out easily. Well here's where you can let it out.
Does this do it for you and give you some insight? Why not give it a go and see who you can really connect with. Let's all share and participate in a community for no other reason than the fact that we're all human beings, irrespective of where we are on this planet, how we live, and the labels we all carry round with ourselves.
You'd be most welcome.

I've always been bound to death.
On my eighth birthday, a shadow strode into my house and shot me and my family dead. I remember it vividly, every detail, every angle, etched and stained and carved into my memory.
I sat very still with my knees to my chest, my gaze glued to my siblings.
Lily and PJ looked like they were sleeping, and I could almost believe it.
I didn't look at the shadow.
From the comfort of my knees, I waited for my brother to lift his head.
But his body was so limp, so still, every part of him faltering. My sister’s head was nestled in his shoulder, thick beads of red running down her face.
They're just sleeping.
I could tell myself they were— as long as I didn't look at the splatter of scarlet staining the back of the couch and pooling at their feet.
BANG.
Mom’s body dropped onto the ground.
I lunged forwards, slamming my hands over my ears.
BANG.
PJ’s head slumped forwards, a teasing smile still frozen on his lips.
BANG.
Lily gently tipped into PJ, like she was going to sleep.
Before she closed her eyes, Mom told me to run.
I can't remember how long I stayed under the shattered remnants of Mom’s favorite table. The shadow was waiting for me to move, to make a noise.
I watched booted feet crunch through glass, getting closer and closer, and slowly, fight or flight began to take over.
Making it halfway across the living room, my palms slick with my mother’s blood, I thought I was going to live.
Cruel fingers wound their way through my hair and shoved me to my knees. I remember the phantom legs of a spider creeping down the back of my neck when the shadow with no face dragged the barrel of his gun down my spine.
“Turn around.”
The shadow had a voice.
When I didn't move, the protruding metal stabbed into my neck.
“Turn around, kid!”
I did, very slowly.
Behind him, my siblings still weren't moving.
They were asleep.
Lily was still smiling, strawberry blonde ringlets stained red.
I couldn't see PJ’S face anymore.
BANG.
I didn't feel the gunshot.
I didn't feel anything.
Looking down, I glimpsed slowly spreading red blossoming like a flower.
It felt like being cut from strings.
I hit the ground, just like my mother, my body felt heavy and wrong.
Paralysed.
I remember being unable to scream, unable to cry, the salty taste of metal filling my mouth. It was like being winded. Rolling onto my side, all I could see was flickering candlelight.
The air was thick, so hard to breathe.
I rolled onto my back trying to suck in air.
The shadow took a step back, opened the front door, and bled into the night.
I don't remember the pain, and I don't remember dying. I couldn't breathe, couldn't conjure words in my mouth.
I felt warm and sticky, lying in my own blood.
I think I tried to move.
But I was so tired.
I’m not sure what death feels like, because it's like going to sleep.
I remember my last shuddering breaths, a lulling darkness beginning to swallow me up. I don't know why I wasn't afraid.
Oblivion almost felt like I was sinking into lukewarm depths on a Summer’s day.
Oblivion wasn't pain, and there was a peaceful inevitability to it.
It was endless nothing, a nothing I found myself gravitating towards. But before I could envelope myself in that darkness, it was spitting me back out.
The next thing I knew, I was in a white room, a slow beeping sound tearing me from slumber. I had a vague memory of slow spreading roses blossoming across my shirt, like summer flowers blooming.
Everything was white.
The walls, the ceiling, and my clothes.
Sensation hit me in slow waves.
Exhaustion.
I felt it tightening its grip around my brain, dragging me back onto a mountain of pillows when I tried to jump up. My Aunt May was sitting next to me on a plastic chair, her warm fingers entangled in mine. Aunt May and Mom were practically twins, with the same thick red hair and pale skin.
Mom wore her hair in a casual ponytail, while May preferred a strict bun.
I had to bite back the urge to yank my hand away.
Aunt May was asleep, used tissues filling her lap.
There was a nurse pottering around, checking my vitals and prodding my arms. My eyes felt heavy. I had to blink several times to keep myself awake.
“Charlie?”
The nurse’s voice was like wind-chimes.
I pretended not to notice her forced lipstick smile, the way she stood with her arms folded, staring at me like I was one of my cousin’s experiments. “You were in an accident, sweetie,” the nurse spoke up. I could see her trembling hands. “Just, um, try and rest, okay?”
I wanted to ask where my family was, but I already knew the answer.
I think she knew that too.
“You died, Charlie.” The nurse’s voice was eerily cold. “You were dead for thirteen minutes.”
She took slow steps towards me, her eyes growing frenzied, like she couldn't understand me, like I was a puzzle she could not solve– and it was driving her crazy. I could see it in her twitching hands, her wobbling lips that were trying and failing to appear stoic.
“In fact, I just pulled you out of the morgue, honey. I opened up your body bag that I had just zipped up, and told your aunt that you were a miracle I just… can’t understand.” The nurse sounded like she was trying to choke down a laugh, or maybe a sob.
“Charlotte, you were pronounced dead at 3:02am from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Taking a slow, sobering breath, the nurse tried to smile. “The bullet went through the right ventricle of your heart and severely damaged your left lung, rendering you unable to breathe. Your heart stopped, and after four attempts to resuscitate, we called it.”
Something slimy wound its way up my throat when she began to pace the room. “I… did all the paperwork. It took me two minutes. Your death certificate was signed, and your body was taken to the morgue to be prepped for transportation. Then I had my lunch. Tuna salad with a protein milkshake. I’m not a fan of the chocolate flavor.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, when I came back to you, you were awake inside your body bag.” Her voice was starting to break. “You were…um, alive, and asked me for apple soda.”
The nurse moved closer, and yet kept her distance.
I could feel myself moving back, panic writhing through me.
“So.” The nurse spoke calmly. “How the fuck are you still alive, Charlie?”
I think I passed out after that.
When I woke up again, my head a lot less heavier, the nurse was gone.
Slowly, my foggy brain began to find itself and connect dots.
My mouth was dry, full of cotton.
There was a sudden tightness, a sharp and cruel sting in my wrists.
Something sharp was protruding into my flesh, and no matter how many times I violently wrenched my arm, it was stuck. It didn't feel right to be able to breathe so easily.
I knew the second I woke that my Mom was dead.
Lily and PJ were dead, and it was like losing them all over again.
As clarity came over me, I found my voice, a strangled cry escaping my lips.
“Get it out.” I whispered in a shrill cry.
Tugging at the IV in my wrist, I tried to yank the needle from my skin.
“Get it out!” I shrieked, my gaze glued to the tiny spots of blood staining the insertion point.
I could see it again.
So much blood.
Mom was curled up on the floor, lying in slow spreading red that wouldn't stop, seeping across her beaded rug.
She was all over me, slick on my skin and caked in my fingernails.
I couldn't wash her off of me.
“You're okay, Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice came from my right, stabling me to reality.
The world started to move again, started to make sense again, when she cupped my cheeks and told me to breathe. When I opened my mouth to ask where my family were, she lightly shook her head and I swallowed my words. Aunt May handed me a glass of water, and I drained it in one gulp.
She told me I was a miracle.
Aunt May didn't say much, and when she did, she broke into sobs.
Her eyes were raw from crying, clinging onto me, her shuddery voice reassuring me that I was going to be okay.
She told me I would be living with her from now on, before wrapping me into a hug and leaving to get coffee.
Once my aunt was gone, another nurse came to prod my IV.
I tried to sleep, but the uncomfortable tightness of the needle sticking into my skin and the sterile white lights in my eyes made it impossible. I waited for grief to catch up with me, drowning me in a hollow oblivion I wouldn't be able to claw myself out of. But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel angry.
I wanted to know why my family were dead.
I wanted to know why I was breathing, and their skin was ice cold.
Rotting.
The sudden image of maggots crawling up my brother’s nose sent me lurching into a sitting position, my stomach heaving. Reaching for my glass of water, it was empty. The sensation of throwing up felt familiar, almost comforting.
Mom was always with me when I was sick, holding my hair back and lulling my hysteria with reassuring murmurs.
I was frowning at the trash can by the door, my cotton candy brain trying to figure out if I would be able to make it in time, when a small voice drifted from the doorway, startling me.
“I don't want you to come live with us.”
My cousin was peeking through the door, hiding behind a shock of dark brown curls. Jude was the only brunette in our family. The rest of us were redheads.
I wasn't sure why he was dressed up like a ghost, draped in a white cloak that was way too big for him. Jude was a weird kid. His mother, and my auntie, had inherited the family house, so in his mind, that made him superior.
Jude made it clear he didn't like his cousins, refusing to let us play with him and banning us from family gatherings.
When the adults were drinking cocktails and losing their awareness, Jude ordered us around. The times we did play with him, our cousin showed us his spider collection, or the raccoon brain he kept in a jar. PJ was convinced our younger cousin was a serial killer. Several months earlier, he'd happily showed us the roadkill he'd been growing bacteria on under his bed.
Jude’s ‘experiments’ were worrying.
He stuffed mushrooms down my brother’s ears while he was sleeping, to, and I quote, “Recreate The Last Of Us.”
When Lily had a nosebleed during Thanksgiving dinner, Jude collected all her bloody tissues and refused to tell us where he'd put them, and what he had done with them. Fast-forward two months, and I found them under a nest of spiders. Jude was trying to adapt the spiders to be able to feed on human blood. I was surprised my cousin hadn't immediately demanded to see my siblings’ dead bodies for autopsy.
Jude stepped into the room, shuffling his feet.
“I'm sorry about Lily, PJ, and Aunt Ivy.” He mumbled, glaring at the floor tiles.
My cousin made no move to offer real sympathy, instead speaking to the floor.
“But I don't want you to come live with us.” Jude lifted his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I don't like you, Charlie. I want you to stay away.”
Before I could reply, he stepped back like I was diseased.
“You should be dead.” Jude grumbled.
He scowled at me, getting my age purposely wrong as usual before running off.
“Happy 68th birthday.”
I was six months older than him.
In Jude’s eyes, I was ready for retirement.
Still, though, my cousin was right.
I was stone cold dead, and then I was somehow alive.
Which was wrong.
Growing up, I realized Death was not so subtly attempting to fix his mistake.
It started small. I'd choke on things I wasn't supposed to choke on.
Chips.
Candy.
Ice cream.
Aunt May had to perform the heimlich manoeuvre when I choked on a piece of chicken. I thought I was just really unlucky, but then I locked myself in a freezer that didn't have a lock, and almost drowned in the local swimming pool, catching my foot in stray netting.
At the summer fair, Jude convinced me to try apple bobbing, only for my head to conveniently get stuck underwater.
It started to make sense.
I was supposed to die with my family that night, and death was out to get me.
Death started to get clever, changing his tactic. Instead of using everyday things to try to kill me, he sent reinforcements.
I turned twelve years old, and my aunt threw me a huge party, inviting all my classmates. Aunt May was rich, rich.
Mom never explained it, but our grandparents left everything to May.
The house was like a palace, a labyrinth of floors I was yet to explore, and two swimming pools.
I was in the kitchen cutting myself a slice of cake, when, out of nowhere, a dead boy came rushing at me with one of my aunt’s favorite kitchen knives.
A dead boy who I immediately recognised.
Wren Oliver.
Several years prior, he'd gone missing from his parents' yard. The town launched a full investigation, only to find his body in a ditch a week later.
So, Death had sent a footsoldier.
Hiding under a hooded sweatshirt, Wren appeared older, like he had grown up with me. But there was a startling vacancy in his expression that drew the breath from my lungs, freezing me in place. Wren’s death was announced as an accident, though his wounds suggested the opposite, dried blood smearing his right temple and a cavernous hole in his chest, his clothes painted, stained, in bright red, glued in sticky mounds clinging to him.
The boy’s eyes were wild, feral, like an animal.
His hair was longer, a mess of reddish curls matted to his forehead.
Lip split into a demented giggle.
I remember taking a slow step back, my gaze glued to the knife.
Wren’s fingers were wrapped around the handle like he knew exactly how to use it, how to plunge it into my heart and kill me for good. He moved like a predator, zero self awareness or recognition, only driven to kill me.
The dead boy prided himself in slow, intimidating steps, shoving me against the wall and dragging the blade of the knife down the curve of my throat.
His eyes confused me, writhing with hatred that was artificial, programmed into him as Death’s official soldier.
He didn't speak, only smiled, revelling in my fear. I could tell it thrilled him, my trembling hands, my sharp, heavy breaths I couldn't control. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited to finally die.
I waited for the pain, and to lose my breath once again.
But death was playing with me.
When I opened my eyes, the dead boy was gone, and I was on my knees, screaming.
“Wren Oliver is trying to kill me!" I managed to hiss.
My aunt knelt in front of me, her expression crumpling.
*Sweetie,” She spoke softly, squeezing my hands. Aunt May was trying to appear calm for my sake, but I could tell she was scared, her frantic eyes searching mine. “Wren Oliver is dead.”
The kids surrounding me started to giggle, whispering among themselves.
In the corner of my eye, my cousin was leaning against the door, mid eye roll.
When my aunt was ushering kids back to the pool, Jude came to crouch in front of me. Ever since I started living with him, he'd made sure to keep his distance.
This time, though, Jude leaned uncomfortably close, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. Inclining his head, he rocked back and forth on his heels, prodding me in the forehead.
“If you see the dead boy again, can you tell me?” His lips curved into a smile.
“I did see him.” I gritted out. “I’m not lying.”
Jude shrugged. “I never said you didn't,” he lowered his voice into a whisper, “I wanna know when you see him again.”
“Why?”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“So, I can catch him.”
My cousin got closer, his breath tickling my cheek.
“I seeeeeeee dead people.”
After that incident, death left me alone for a while.
I was fifteen, walking through the forest with a friend, catching fireflies in bell jars. Aunt May was lucky to live so close to the forest, the entrance just outside her back door. When we were littles, PJ would drag Lily and I down the trail to escape Jude’s weird experiments.
I decided to invite Jem Littlewood on a summer walk.
Jem was cute, but in a dorky way. He was chronically clumsy, and dressed like he'd been spat out of a John Hughes movie. We hiked all the way to the end of the river and had a picnic, watching the sun set over the horizon. I was having conflicting feelings for this guy.
Jem was obsessed with fireflies.
Though he seemed more interested in photographing them than me.
The guy couldn't seem to sit still, jumping to his feet to marvel at tiny specks of light dancing in the air.
“I'm just going to take photos!” Jem beamed, holding up his camera.
I had to bite back the urge to say, “Don't you have enough photos?”
I nodded, and he turned and sprinted back down the trail.
Before his footsteps ground to a sudden halt.
At first, I thought he was snapping polaroids.
When I got closer, though, blinking in the eerie dark, I caught something.
Bending down, I picked up a bell jar still spilling fireflies.
Further down the trail, Jem was lying crumpled in the dirt, his camera smashed to pieces next to him, blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. There he was. Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was the ghost boy. Wren Oliver was growing up with me. Now, a teenager, and yet his face was carved into something else entirely, more of a monster, slight points to his ears and too-sharp teeth, eyes ignited.
Wren didn't look like a ghost boy anymore.
Death had dressed him in shackles of ivy, a crown of glass and bone forced onto his head, entangled in his curls. Death was torturing him.
Wren’s body was its canvas, and every time I got away, he was punished, painting his failures across scarred skin.
I should have been running for my life, but I was mesmerised by each symbol cruelly carved into his neck.
The boy did a slow head incline, like he couldn't believe I was standing in front of him.
His slow spreading smile caught me off guard.
I remembered how to run, stumbling over my feet.
But I couldn't move.
The burning hatred that death had filled him with, was stronger, hollowing him out completely. I managed two shaky steps, before I felt him, an unearthly force winding its way around my spine. This time, he didn't hesitate.
I watched his mouth move, a single curve of his upper lip that wrenched my body from my control, slamming me against a tree. There was something around my throat, choking the breath from my lungs, a thick fog spreading over my eyes.
Following his mouth curving into silent letters, I could feel my feet slowly leaving the ground, my legs dangling.
I was floating.
Hovering off of the ground, suspended by his words.
Through half lidded eyes, I caught the glint of a blade between his fist, but I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
He was drowning me, bleeding into my blood, spider webbing and expanding in my brain without moving a muscle.
Instead, the ghost boy stood silently, running his thumb down the teeth of his knife while he ripped my lungs apart.
It was like suffocating, sinking into that peaceful oblivion I met at eight years old.
This time, though, the darkness was starving.
“Charlie?”
My eyes found daylight, a scream clawing out of my mouth.
“Charlie, it's past curfew!”
Wren flinched, his stoic expression crumpling.
The dead boy’s lips moved again, this time in a curse.
Fuck.
“Charlotte!”
Staggering back, Wren’s eyes widened and the suffocating hold on me severed.
His head snapped in the direction my aunt was coming from.
“Charlie, answer me right now.”
He hesitated, his bare feet pivoting in the dirt, like he was considering finishing me off. Wren studied me with lazy eyes, sucking on his bottom lip. When my aunt's footsteps got louder, branches snapping under her shoes, something contorted in the boy’s face.
Fear.
I guessed the boy wasn't expecting other humans to intrude.
Wren fell over himself, shuffling on his hands and knees, before diving to his feet. When he turned and ran, I was released, slipping to the ground, trying and failing to draw in breath. I barely felt the impact, only a dull thudding pain. I could hear the ghost boy’s footsteps, his uneven, shuddery breaths as he catapulted into a run.
Under a late setting sun, I watched his dancing shadow disappear into the trees.
Mission unsuccessful, I guessed.
When I was fully conscious, Aunt May was checking over Jem, helping him sit up.
“Where did he go?” I managed to get out, scanning the darkness for Wren.
“He's okay, just concussed.” May whispered, dialling 911.
My aunt applied a dressing to Jem’s wound, ignoring the boy’s hisses.
“Keep still.” she murmured, smoothing his bandaid. “What happened, Charlotte?”
“She pushed me over.” Jem groaned, shuffling away from me. When my aunt told him to stay calm, he straightened up, leaning against the tree. “The psycho bitch tried to fucking kill me!”
When my aunt's gaze flicked to me, I shook my head.
“It was Wren Oliver.” I gritted, teetering on hysteria. I could tell she didn't believe me, but I couldn't stop myself.
I prodded at my throat, clawing for the indentations where his phantom fingers snaked around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
But there was nothing.
I could feel my mind starting to unravel. I nodded to my disgruntled classmate trying to dodge my aunt’s prodding.
“Ow, ow, ow! That stings!
“He knocked Jem out.” I managed. “Then he tried to kill me.”
Jem surprised me with a scoff. “You're seriously blaming your psychotic break on a dead kid?”
Aunt May pursed her lips, motioning for Jem to be quiet. Judging from her face, however, she agreed with the boy.
May forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay. Can you, uh, describe the boy to me, Charlotte?”
“He was wearing a crown,” I said, “And he looked my age.”
Aunt May cocked her head, and I saw real worry, like she was trying not to freak out. Jem made a snorting noise.
“I'm sorry, he was wearing a crown?”
“Yes!” I insisted, getting progressively more frustrated.
I tried to jump up, only for my aunt to gently lower me back down. “I know it sounds crazy, but death has sent Wren Oliver to kill me, just like my family. He tried to kill me when I was twelve, too!”
Jem let out a bitter laugh. “Your niece is a fucking wackadoodle.”
Aunt May’s eyes darkened. She grabbed my shoulders, her nails stabbing into my skin. “Charlie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” When my eyes found the rapidly darkening sky, my aunt forced me to look at her.
“Charlotte!”
She was as scared as me, her voice shuddering.
“Wren Oliver is dead.” My aunt said firmly, shaking me. Even then, though, I wasn't even looking at her. I was trying to find his ignited eyes lighting up the dark. “Wren died at eight years old in a terrible accident, and you can't keep using him as an excuse for your mental trauma.” There was something twitching in her expression I was trying to make sense of. When I risked a look at Jem, the boy was staring at me dazedly– like I really was crazy.
Aunt May pressed her face into my shoulder, and I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt. She was trying to hold it together, trying to understand.
“Charlie, I know you lost your family,” she whispered. “But you and Wren Oliver are not the same. You survived, and he didn't.” Her voice splintered.
“You need to come to terms with that, okay?”
When I didn't respond, she pinched my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice turned cold. “I ignored this when you were a kid, but if you continue to use this poor boy as a coping mechanism, I will have no choice but to send you to a specialist.”
When Jem was taken away by paramedics, Aunt May held my hand, squeezing my fingers for dear life.
I caught her gaze scanning the tree's around us, delving into twisting oblivion. Every little noise sent her twisting around. She was looking for something.
“I'm going to get you help.” Aunt May said in a low murmur when we were back at the house. Jude was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into the back of my head.
Aunt May set a cup of cocoa on the table.
“No more fairytales.”
By the time I was eighteen, I had bitten three therapists.
They refused to believe that death was coming to reclaim my soul, and was using a dead boy to do his dirty work.
For my 16th birthday, I braced myself to come face to face with Wren Oliver’s ghost.
I wasn't even in town, staying at a friend's house.
But dead boys, and especially dead boys moulded into Death’s personal soldiers, could materialise anywhere.
I locked every door in the house, and taped up my friend’s window.
Nothing happened.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was sick in bed with gastritis.
Still no ghost boy.
Death seemed to have finally left me alone.
On my eighteenth birthday, I was stuffing books in my locker when my cousin popped up out of nowhere, scowling as usual. After an unexpected growth spurt and losing a tonne of baby fat, my cousin had scaled the high school hierarchy, swapping his weird experiments for a varsity jacket and experimenting with his sexuality.
The two of us had come to an unspoken truce.
I kept quiet about his spider collection to his popular friends, and he tolerated my existence until I left for college.
“Your surprise party is cancelled.”
Jude leaned against my locker, running a hand through thick dark hair tucked under a baseball cap. Jude never admitted it, but he was definitely embarrassed of being the odd one out.
My siblings may be dead, but they were still redheads.
I pulled off his cap with a smile, throwing it in his face. “Sure it is.”
My cousin’s eyes widened. He lost his slick bravado, grabbing for his cap.
“Hey!”
According to my cousin, my party was unexpectedly cancelled every year.
I wasn't sure if it was his weird superiority complex, or just plain jealousy, but it was getting exhausting.
Jude followed me down the hallway, matching my stride.
“Can you just not come home tonight?”
I quickened my pace. “It's only a party. I'm having some friends over, and no, we won't go anywhere near your room.”
“No, I mean.” Jude stepped in front of me, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't trying to hide disdain for me.
His dark eyes pinned me in place for a moment, the world around us coming to a halt. Sound bled away, and all I heard were his slow breaths. There was something there, an unexplainable twitch in his eyes and lips, that twisted my gut.
Jude stepped closer, his lip curling. He shoved me back, losing his facade.
“Stay the fuck away from the house tonight.” He said, and his voice, his tone, was enough to send shivers creeping down my spine. Jude had always hid behind a ten foot wall in his mind. It was jarring to see something in him finally start to splinter. Fuck. I thought.
This kid had serious Mommy issues.
I blinked, and the world resumed, kids pushing past us.
Jude seemed to catch himself, slipping back under his mask.
“I'm having friends over,” he rolled his eyes, “Your presence will ruin the vibe.”
“It's my birthday?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yes, I know. But–”
“I think you can deal with the attention off of you for one night, Jude.”
“Will Wren Oliver be there too?” Jem Littlewood hollered.
Jude didn't respond for a moment, his lip curling.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat at Jem, who immediately backed down. With an audience this time, Jude forced an award winning smile. “Fine.” His lips split into a grin I knew he hated. My cousin clamped his hand on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. I could feel his fingers pinching the material of my jacket. “Have it your way, dude.”
Jude backed away with a two fingered salute.
“Happy 78th birthday!”
In a sense, I wish I listened to my cousin.
My party was a success, sort of.
Four of us, a crate of beers, and no sign of my cousin.
I was mildly tipsy, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the water when my friend demanded more beers.
I was also hungry for cake, so I stumbled inside in search of the goods.
The house was dark, lit up in dazzling blue from the pool's lights reflecting through the windows. Aunt May was in her office on the ground floor, and Jude was getting high in his room. In my drunken state, I found myself marvelling my aunt's house, and how much of it was left unexplored.
For example, in the foyer, past the spiral staircase she’d had custom made, was an elevator I had never questioned.
There was a girl my age standing on the staircase.
She was frozen, mid run, dressed in ragged jeans and t-shirt.
Everything about her stuck out to me, bringing me to a sobering halt.
The girl reminded me of my sister– or at least, if my sister had ever grown up.
I wasn't sure if I was drunk or hallucinating.
Her flower crown was pretty…
Lily had grown wings.
I was slowly moving towards her, a sudden bang sounding from the kitchen.
The bang of something shattering on the floor.
Twisting around, I found myself gravitating towards warm golden light.
The first thing I saw was the refrigerator door hanging open, and someone, no, something, rooting around inside it.
Glued to the spot, I dazedly watched them grab milk, guzzling it down, and then soda, cracking open each can and sucking them dry, before carving their fingers into my birthday cake.
But I wasn't looking at the spillage of food seeping across the floor. Instead, my gaze found a crown of antlers, both human and animal bone entangled with dead flowers and human remains glued to a head of familiar matted brown curls. There was something sticking from battered and bruised flesh, twin gaping slits sliced through a torn shirt resembling glass wings that were not yet formed, reminding me of a butterfly.
Wings.
But not the wings I dreamed of as a kid. These things were unnatural mounds that both did and didn't make sense on a human boy. I could see the trauma of them slicing through his flesh, monstrous, looming things protruding from what was left of a human spine.
Human, and yet I couldn't call his beautifully grotesque face human.
Wren Oliver had grown up with me, now an adult.
Eighteen years old.
His clothes confused me, a single white shirt and shorts.
Wren’s feet were bare, battered and bruised, blood smearing my aunt's tiles.
Angel.
Death had turned his footsoldier, and my future killer, into an angel.
But there was nothing angelic about the dead boy, his body and mind sculpted and moulded into Death’s own.
The boy no longer resembled a human, feral eyes and a manic smile, choking down pieces of cake. His face had been contorted into a monster, gnashing teeth and sharp points in his ears, a sickly tinge to malnourished skin.
And that's when it hit me, watching him stuff himself with food.
Something slimy inched its way up my throat.
The boy didn't move. I don't even think he'd noticed me, gorging himself on anything he could get his hands on.
Chicken, raw bacon, leftover salad.
When he moved onto cupcakes, licking frosting from his fingers, I glimpsed markings on his arms, a language I didn't understand, carved into him.
His wrists were shackled, bound, in entangled iron and vine, iron that was ingrained into his skin, vines and flowers and ivy entangling his bones, that were part of him, polluting his blood. Slowly, my eyes found stab wounds splitting open his torso.
Raw flesh, where his skin had been torched, melting, and then merging, ripped apart and put back together over and over again.
I found his heart, the gaping cavern in his chest where it should be.
And it was.
Marked, carved, and branded with a symbol resembling an X.
Wren Oliver was not dead.
But, just like me, he should have been.
I remember saying his name, my voice slurred slightly.
I didn't drink that much, but I could barely coerce words, my head spinning.
Wren’s neck snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing with resentment I couldn't understand, hatred that seemed to puppeteer him. Slowly tilting his head, the boy’s lips split into a grin, eyes filled, polluted, with mania.
I could see where his lips had been stitched shut, and then ripped open.
“Hi.”
He held up his hand in an awkward wave.
When one of my friends stumbled into the kitchen, Wren reacted on impulse.
He picked up a knife from the counter, throwing it like a dart, straight through the guy’s throat.
Something shattered inside my mind.
Ignoring my friend bleeding out, Wren stumbled over himself, abandoning his feast. He took a single step towards me, backing me against the wall, coming so close, close enough for me to feel his very real breath grazing my cheeks. Just like when he was a kid, he traced the teeth of his blade down my throat. I wasn't expecting him to burst out laughing, trembling with hysteria.
His eyes were wild, feral and wrong, almost euphoric.
With what all I could only recognise as relief.
BANG.
I was barely aware of the gunshot.
The bullet went straight through his head, the winged boy hitting the ground.
Dead.
I saw the blood stemming around him in a halo before the bleeding pool faltered, seeping back inside his head.
Like rewinding a VCR.
Wren was dead, and then he was alive.
Wren’s body contorted, his chest inflating.
His gasp for air was painful, strangled, eyes opening wide.
Terrified.
“You fucking idiot.”
Jude’s voice sent me twisting around.
My cousin stood in the exact same robes he wore as a child.
The world tipped off kilter, and I was on my knees, then my stomach.
I sunk to the floor, my thoughts swimming.
Jude’s murmur followed me, creeping into the dark.
“I told you not to come home.”
I can't remember how long I was unconscious for.
When I woke, I was dressed in an evening gown, a dress that used to be my mother’s.
My vision cleared, and I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar room resembling an abandoned swimming hall.
The pool itself was empty, the bottom stained revealing scarlet.
There were symbols carved into each tile.
Like a game.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte.”
I was sitting at a banquet.
Jude was in front of me, sipping on wine.
He caught my eye for half a second before averting his gaze.
At the far end of the table sat my aunt May.
Kissing the rim of her glass, her smile was twisted.
“I've been waiting so long to give you your birthday presents, Charlotte. Your memories should be returning soon.”
“Mom.” Jude muttered, hiding behind his glass. “Calm down. You're embarrassing yourself.”
Ignoring my cousin, May tapped her glass with a fork, and in walked my birthday presents.
No, dragged.
By their hair.
Wren Oliver, the dead boy, was in fact my aunt's prisoner.
Behind him, was the girl who looked so much like Lily.
I think that's why my aunt chose her.
Aunt May cleared her throat.
“For a long time, our family has lived among creatures who live in the forest you played inside. In exchange for keeping this town safe, they only ask for small favors. Wayward children who disappear into the woods are good enough payment. Charlie, you and your siblings do not share our inheritance. Your mother never wanted fae children. She wanted you to be human.”
Aunt May’s smile faded.
“After losing my sister, and my niece and nephew, I made a deal to give my last surviving niece 100 years of life.”
Her words were white noise, my gaze glued to my birthday presents. I couldn't call them human anymore.
I couldn't call Wren human, when his face was so beautifully grotesque, painfully hypnotising.
The monstrous things sticking from twin slits in his back were supposed to be wings, except they looked wrong, cruelly protruding from his exposed spine. Under the influence of alcohol earlier, the girl made me smile.
Her wings, to me, looked like one of a real fairy.
In reality, they were torn and shredded apart, bigger than the girl herself.
When she dropped onto her stomach, she was dragged back to her feet, her knees buckling under the weight. Her tiara of flowers and bone looked pretty to me when I saw her on the stairs.
Now, though, I could see the pearly white of a human child's skull forced onto her head, dead flowers threaded through cavernous, gaping eye sockets.
The two of them were violently shoved into the empty pool.
“Jude. Please demonstrate, sweetheart.”
Jude stood, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at the winged girl.
BANG.
The girl’s body hit the tiles, her blood seeping across stained white.
“Now, of course, our king did not give you life for free.” May continued.
“The King demanded a debt, as well as two heirs to join him in his court once your hundred years were complete.”
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“The king is smart. If a child cannot be stolen from the human world, they can, however, be made, moulded and shaped from their human forms, skinned of their humanity through their suffering, leaving a hollowed out shell in the child's place.” She was speaking so casually, ignoring Wren’s whimpers.
“The conversion takes a while. 100 years to birth a fully blooded fae heir, who will lose their human memories, in preparation to join their new family.”
Jude shot Wren in the chest, his eyes empty.
This time, he dropped his weapon, using finger-guns instead.
“Bang.” He deadpanned.
Then the neck.
I watched Wren come back to life, and then die.
Over and over again.
I think at one point, he screamed and cried.
But not now.
He was their puppet on display, dancing for their entertainment.
Half lidded eyes drowned in oblivion found mine, and I understood his hatred.
Before he was shot again.
Stabbed.
Branded and burned, and ripped apart.
At some point, I screamed at them to stop. I couldn't breathe, slamming my hands over my ears and begging them.
Aunt May didn't listen, ordering for my hands to be tied down.
“The King required two human sacrifices to suffer in your place.” She concluded. “For one hundred years.”
Aunt May’s smile was suddenly sad, and she lifted her glass in a toast.
I was watching their blood trickle down each tile in the pool, like every death, every time they suffered, my body became progressively less human.
I felt disgusting. I wasn't supposed to be alive. Every single year of my life, every breath I had taken, was stolen.
Aunt May nodded at me, her lips forming a proud smile. She stood up, and was handed a sacrificial knife.
Climbing into the swimming pool herself, she strode over to Wren.
The boy slumped to the floor, trembling, his knees against his chest.
Aunt May grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up, and sliced the blade across his throat.
His eyes flicked to me, and I swore he smiled.
Spots of red dotted yellowing tiles, a river trickling under my aunt's heels.
“Happy 78th birthday, Charlotte.”
Last night ended with me being locked in my room.
It's been almost 15 hours, and the door is still locked. Please help me. I'm fucking terrified of what my aunt is planning.
I can't stop shgajing. FycjbfucibFUCK
If she is telling the truth, I shouldn't be here, right??
And I can't stop thinking.
Is Wren Oliver trying to kill me, or himself?

"Follow your passion and you'll never work a day in your life." We've all heard it, right? It's the ultimate career advice. But what if I told you that this popular mantra is complete bullshit? Yes, you read that right. Here's why everything you've been told about passion is wrong—and what you should focus on instead.
How many times did you feel passionate about something, only to find out later that it was a fleeting interest? Remember that time you said “I’m for sure going to become a world-class chef after binge-watching 15 episodes of "MasterChef"? Or when you convinced yourself you were destined to be a rockstar, but then you gave up before the 10th guitar lessons? Yeah, I’ve been there too.
Think about it for a second. Your passions might be fun and all, but they rarely pay the bills. Do they even bring the satisfaction you’re looking for? Constantly chasing what you love can blind you to what you’re really good at and what the world needs from you.
So instead of following your passion, why not leverage the power of your dislikes?
Sounds crazy? Stick with me, and I'll show you why focusing on what you hate might just be the most liberating and productive decision you'll ever make.

When you’re blind and under water, it’s hard to see.

Last year, this time, I was a proud business owner. 10 employees, 37 contractors, Flipping 100+ homes per year. Sounds awesome, right?
Wrong.
That was the most stressful, unfulfilling time of my life. I was under so much pressure that I didn’t even realize I needed to get unstuck.
I was too blind to see I was chasing the wrong things, and didn’t want to let go of the thing I built 6 years prior. I was miserable, but I wasn’t smart enough to realize that I hated:

• dealing with employees and being a boss.
• handling client complaints.
• dealing with East Side Cleveland tenants all day.
• working on articles and videos I couldn't care less about.

It finally took a personal and professional burnout for me to realize that most of the things I was doing, I truly hated.
This brings us to a widespread misconception.. The Passion Fallacy. Or, as I like to call it: Society’s biggest myth.
You know that mantra: "Follow your passion." You see it everywhere. Posters, quoted by self-help gurus, and proclaimed as the ultimate career advice. Society glorifies the idea of finding and following your passion like it’s some sort of holy grail. The underlying message is simple: if you’re not passionate about what you’re doing, you’re wasting your life.
Think about how many speeches you’ve heard that go something like, "Find what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life." Yeah. Love the theory, but it’s also a load of crap.
Let’s get real. Most people don’t have a single, all-consuming passion. And even if they do, turning that passion into a career is often a different story.
You think Steve Jobs started Apple because he was passionate about building computers? No. His motive was the frustration with the lack of control over hardware and software integration.
Here’s the thing: when you chase your passion, you’re often setting yourself up for frustration. Why? Because passion alone isn’t enough. Passion can fade when faced with the realities of what it takes to succeed in that given field.
Sometimes, making your passion your job can actually kill the joy you once found in it. The pressure to succeed can turn something you love into something you dread.
Instead of obsessing over finding and following your passion, why not focus on what you hate?
I know.. I know. This sound counterintuitive. Just hear me out.
By identifying what you hate, you can gain clarity on what you should avoid. This negative clarity can often be more useful than the slippery search for passion. It helps you set boundaries and make decisions that align more closely with who you are.
What you need to understand is that passion is just one piece of the puzzle. You can’t forget about

• skills
• market demand
• personal values

So stop beating yourself up for not having a burning passion to follow. Embrace what you hate and use it to guide you towards a more fulfilling path.

The Power of Knowing What You Hate

When you know what you hate, you gain a powerful tool: clarity. Clarity to avoid unproductive paths. Clarity to set boundaries, and to make decisions that align with your true self.
For instance, I realized I hated the bureaucratic nonsense of corporate life. So, I started looking for things that valued autonomy and creativity. I didn’t just want a different hobby; I wanted a different kind of life all together.

Psychological Insight: The Science Behind It

Ever heard of Negativity Bias? This is your brain’s tendency to focus and remember more on negative experiences than positive ones. Sounds like a bad thing? Well, it isn’t—at least for our use case. Negative experiences stick with you longer and shape your behavior more than positive ones. It’s a real phenomenon studied by psychologists and has significant implications for how we navigate our lives.
I’m sure you don’t recall every text message you’ve sent in your life. But you definitely remember the time you accidentally sent a “Alex is really a piece of shit for making us work until 7pm. I mean, does this loser not have a life?” rant about your annoying boss... to your annoying boss. 😶
Avoidance Motivation is another powerful concept I think you should know about. It’s the drive to avoid negative outcomes rather than achieve positive ones. Think of it as a distant cousin to Negativity Bias. What this means is that you’re more motivated to avoid negative experiences than to seek positive ones.
Why do you think you keep showing up to a job you hate? It’s obviously not because you love it. It’s because you want to avoid the negative outcome of getting fired. This powerful force should be harnessed to propel you towards better decisions.
Look at Travis Kalanick, the founder of Uber. He didn’t start Uber because he was passionate about ride-sharing. He was fed up with the inefficiencies in the taxi industry.
When you understand what you don’t want, you can more effectively pursue what you do want.
By embracing what you hate, you gain the clarity and motivation needed to steer clear of unproductive paths and focus on what truly matters to you.

Embrace Your Dislikes to Find Your Path

Let’s talk about being brutally honest with yourself and pinpointing the pain points in your life. Think about the activities you do at work or in your business that you absolutely hate. You know, the ones you procrastinate on, the ones that suck the energy out of you and make time drag. I’ll go first.
For me, it was my Tuesday morning meetings. 15+ people on the call, each with their hidden agendas, trying to do anything but take responsibility for not following processes put in place.
Managing an out-of-state team of real estate contractors at a distance? Yeah, that was a good idea, buddy. No control over the outcome, which made relying on teams to provide results I was responsible for a living hell.
The pressure of having all these employees? It became unbearable. When business was good, no problem. But during tough months, the thought of having all these families depending on the company's performance (me) to pay their bills was dreadful. Best part? Some thought it was the best time to ask for raises.
Anyway, I made a list of the things I hated the most:

• Long, useless meetings with a lot of people. Meetings.
• Relying out-of-state teams to provide results I was ultimately responsible for.
• Having a bunch of employees.

Once I identified what you I hate, finding the opposite become easier:

• I will not have meetings.
• I will have a one person business.
• I will choose who I work with.
• I results I produce for my clients will be 100% in my control.

Now, I focus on writing and consulting. No employees, no pointless meetings, no pressure from managing a large team. Just me, my thoughts, and my words.

What’s the takeaway?

By focusing on what you hate, you gain a level of clarity that the concept of “passion” just doesn’t provide. It’s like clearing away the clutter to see what’s truly important. When you identify and eliminate the things that drain you, you make room for those that energize and fulfill you.
Don’t follow your passion. Focus on what you hate.
Let your dislikes guide you to a more authentic, fulfilling life. Don’t settle for mediocrity and frustration. Take control, harness the power of what you hate, and use it to propel yourself towards real success.

What Can You Do Next?

Reflect: Take some time to identify the things in your life and work that you truly hate.
Act: Start eliminating these elements, one by one, and notice the clarity and energy that follow.

Christianity is Objectively True
Christianity isn’t based on any abstract belief system. It’s based entirely on historical events which took place. If Jesus existed, did mighty miracles, was crucified, and rose again on the third day in glory, this would mean His message is one of truth and authority. If someone came with the power to override the laws of nature you would believe what they tell you regarding how the universe works. So the question is did these events really take place or is it just some fairytale?
The first thing to do would be to examine the documents in question. The primary documents proposed comprise of the New Testament, which consist of the four gospels Matthew, Mark, Luke and John (the first 3 were written before 70 AD, John was written around 70 AD). Then there is Acts (early church history), the epistles (letters detailing instruction to early churches), and revelation (a book of prophecy).
The first 4 gospels are all written with the express purpose of being eyewitness accounts, written either by direct apostles of Christ or those who knew the apostles. All four of these are what you generally would expect with these sorts of accounts. There are slight contradictions (as expected), however they all combine together to create the same detailed message. At the same time they consistently get an impressive amount of historical and geographical details correct for the time, showing they were written early as they wouldn’t have been able to google the info. Conveniently, they get so many details right that the gospel accounts fit into history like a jigsaw puzzle piece. What this tells us is that the writers were concerned with the utmost accuracy in their recording of events. Sources outside the bible exist commenting on early Christianity, and none of them deny that Christ existed. Rather than deny He did any miracles (as the evidence was overwhelming) they instead only slandered Him (ref. the Talmud, Julian the Apostate). Rather than present His dead body, they falsely claim His disciples stole it.
If we check other historical sources such as Josephus, we can fill in omissions of information in stories reported by the gospel. Matthew’s gospel writes that Joseph was afraid to return somewhere because of Archeleus. We know from other writings outside the bible that Archeleus existed and was very bloodthirsty. This is just one example out of many.
The writers of the gospels also were thoroughly convinced that they had witnessed and interacted with the Risen Christ, as their lives show they spent the rest of their days going and preaching the gospel to the Jews and foreign nations. They would often be beat up, flogged and punished severely for this, which would make no sense at all if they were making it all up. It would have been easier for them to just remain in their ordinary lives, with their families, rather than be ousted from their home country for being “criminals”. At the very least some of them died for their confession. They cared very deeply about accuracy (as referenced before), but now we can see they were thoroughly convinced of their experience. Their writings are not that of mad people, since mad people rarely ever work together for long periods of time. Yet we see complex philosophical concepts in the New Testament which would be impossible for mentally insane people to make. This demonstrates the absurdity of claiming they stole His body.
Aside from personal miracles I’ve experienced (you can see my testimony on my profile), the God of the bible actually challenged every so-called god to do what only He has ever done. That is, to foretell the future with incredible accuracy. He said of Himself that He reveals the end from the beginning.
Firstly, is Christ Himself. During His time on earth in Israel, as part of the Old Covenant, they required a temple in order to fulfil the ceremonial law. This temple was absolutely huge and very beautiful. The gates were so large that they required 20 men to open and close, and at night they were bolted with iron. Christ foretold of its destruction, saying:
Luke 21:5-6 5 Then, as some spoke of the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and donations, He said, 6 “These things which you see—the days will come in which not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down.”
Luke 21:20-24 20 “But when you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation is near. 21 Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains, let those who are in the midst of her depart, and let not those who are in the country enter her. 22 For these are the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled. 23 But woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing babies in those days! For there will be great distress in the land and wrath upon this people. 24 And they will fall by the edge of the sword, and be led away captive into all nations. And Jerusalem will be trampled by Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.
And we know from history, approximately 40 years after the crucifixion of Christ, the second temple was totally destroyed by the Romans, who killed many of the Jews with the sword, taking them captive into their own nations.
Historians such as Josephus (a Jew who fought for Rome during this siege), and Tacitus (a pagan Roman govenor), and the Talmud all wrote of this event which took place. All of these sources state that miraculous omens took place in the second temple before its destruction, such as the gates of the temple (which require 20 people to open and close), opening by themselves at night, voices telling things to people in the temple, amongst other things. What is striking is the Talmud (which is a collection of Jewish rabbinic writings) says that these signs appeared after 30 AD (matching the crucifixion of Christ). The Talmud also mentioned how each year the Jews would celebrate the day of atonement, in which a scapegoat would be sacrificed for the sins of the nations would lead to a crimson thread miraculously turning white, showing the sins of the nation had been forgiven. After around 30 AD this never happened again, which fulfils what the prophet Jeremiah foretold, saying God would create a new covenant.
Christ has been written of many many many years before He was even born. Psalm 22, is quoted by Jesus when He is on the cross, saying “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”. If one then turns to it, and reads through it, we can see crucifixion being described. It was written by King David around 1000 BC, whereas the earliest records we have of crucifixion is 600 BC. King David was never crucified in his life. And yet, halfway through the psalm it begins to speak of all the foreign nations turning to worship the God of the Jews, which has come to pass after His crucifixion. The chances of this actually taking place are very small, yet it has happened, defying all odds.
Isaiah 52 and 53 prophesy Christ dying for the sins of the world, and rising again, justifying many in very strong detail. To quote a small section of it: He is despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows well acquainted with grief. We hid, as it were, our faces from Him. He is despised and we did not esteem Him. Surely He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. Yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement for our peace was upon Him and by His stripes we are healed.
Genesis 22 shows the LORD, who had just promised Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars of the sky, then commands him to slay his son, Isaac. Therefore Abraham reasoned within himself that Isaac would be raised from the dead, as God could not fail to fulfil His promise. Isaac carried the wood up the mountain, just as Christ carried His cross. Abraham was very old at this stage, so Isaac could have easily resisted him and fled, yet it seems he wilfully gave his life, fearing God, just as Christ did the same. And then the place was called "the LORD will provide", after the event.
Daniel 7 shows that the Exalted Messiah, the Son of Man would come with clouds. Christ gave Himself the title. Interestingly the Son of Man is to receive worship from all nations. The Aramaic word used is pelakh which is used exclusively of deities. This gives the Son of Man the status of God, being distinct from the Ancient of Days.
God even foretold the destruction of Tyre (which used to be a trade hub for the whole world) in really really strong detail.
I could give more examples, but suffice to say. I’ve looked at a lot of the criticism the bible gets, and it still stands. So with all this being said, even though I am 100% sure He is real, good and Lord of all (cos I know Him), to an outsider there is compelling evidence that the Messiah of the Jews and Saviour of the world is Jesus Christ.
Good sources: Mike Winger (YouTube) Testify (YouTube - he recommends books) InspiringPhilosophy (personally I disagree with some of his videos but good on this subject) https://www.equip.org/articles/the-jewish-talmud-and-its-use-for-christian-apologetics/

Christianity isn’t based on any abstract belief system. It’s based entirely on historical events which took place. If Jesus existed, did mighty miracles, was crucified, and rose again on the third day in glory, this would mean His message is one of truth and authority. If someone came with the power to override the laws of nature you would believe what they tell you regarding how the universe works. So the question is did these events really take place or is it just some fairytale?
The first thing to do would be to examine the documents in question. The primary documents proposed comprise of the New Testament, which consist of the four gospels Matthew, Mark, Luke and John (the first 3 were written before 70 AD, John was written around 70 AD). Then there is Acts (early church history), the epistles (letters detailing instruction to early churches), and revelation (a book of prophecy).
The first 4 gospels are all written with the express purpose of being eyewitness accounts, written either by direct apostles of Christ or those who knew the apostles. All four of these are what you generally would expect with these sorts of accounts. There are slight contradictions (as expected), however they all combine together to create the same detailed message. At the same time they consistently get an impressive amount of historical and geographical details correct for the time, showing they were written early as they wouldn’t have been able to google the info. Conveniently, they get so many details right that the gospel accounts fit into history like a jigsaw puzzle piece. What this tells us is that the writers were concerned with the utmost accuracy in their recording of events. Sources outside the bible exist commenting on early Christianity, and none of them deny that Christ existed. Rather than deny He did any miracles (as the evidence was overwhelming) they instead only slandered Him (ref. the Talmud, Julian the Apostate). Rather than present His dead body, they falsely claim His disciples stole it.
If we check other historical sources such as Josephus, we can fill in omissions of information in stories reported by the gospel. Matthew’s gospel writes that Joseph was afraid to return somewhere because of Archeleus. We know from other writings outside the bible that Archeleus existed and was very bloodthirsty. This is just one example out of many.
The writers of the gospels also were thoroughly convinced that they had witnessed and interacted with the Risen Christ, as their lives show they spent the rest of their days going and preaching the gospel to the Jews and foreign nations. They would often be beat up, flogged and punished severely for this, which would make no sense at all if they were making it all up. It would have been easier for them to just remain in their ordinary lives, with their families, rather than be ousted from their home country for being “criminals”. At the very least some of them died for their confession. They cared very deeply about accuracy (as referenced before), but now we can see they were thoroughly convinced of their experience. Their writings are not that of mad people, since mad people rarely ever work together for long periods of time. Yet we see complex philosophical concepts in the New Testament which would be impossible for mentally insane people to make. This demonstrates the absurdity of claiming they stole His body.
Aside from personal miracles I’ve experienced (you can see my testimony on my profile), the God of the bible actually challenged every so-called god to do what only He has ever done. That is, to foretell the future with incredible accuracy. He said of Himself that He reveals the end from the beginning.
Firstly, is Christ Himself. During His time on earth in Israel, as part of the Old Covenant, they required a temple in order to fulfil the ceremonial law. This temple was absolutely huge and very beautiful. The gates were so large that they required 20 men to open and close, and at night they were bolted with iron. Christ foretold of its destruction, saying:
Luke 21:5-6 5 Then, as some spoke of the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and donations, He said, 6 “These things which you see—the days will come in which not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down.”
Luke 21:20-24 20 “But when you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation is near. 21 Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains, let those who are in the midst of her depart, and let not those who are in the country enter her. 22 For these are the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled. 23 But woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing babies in those days! For there will be great distress in the land and wrath upon this people. 24 And they will fall by the edge of the sword, and be led away captive into all nations. And Jerusalem will be trampled by Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.
And we know from history, approximately 40 years after the crucifixion of Christ, the second temple was totally destroyed by the Romans, who killed many of the Jews with the sword, taking them captive into their own nations.
Historians such as Josephus (a Jew who fought for Rome during this siege), and Tacitus (a pagan Roman govenor), and the Talmud all wrote of this event which took place. All of these sources state that miraculous omens took place in the second temple before its destruction, such as the gates of the temple (which require 20 people to open and close), opening by themselves at night, voices telling things to people in the temple, amongst other things. What is striking is the Talmud (which is a collection of Jewish rabbinic writings) says that these signs appeared after 30 AD (matching the crucifixion of Christ). The Talmud also mentioned how each year the Jews would celebrate the day of atonement, in which a scapegoat would be sacrificed for the sins of the nations would lead to a crimson thread miraculously turning white, showing the sins of the nation had been forgiven. After around 30 AD this never happened again, which fulfils what the prophet Jeremiah foretold, saying God would create a new covenant.
Christ has been written of many many many years before He was even born. Psalm 22, is quoted by Jesus when He is on the cross, saying “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”. If one then turns to it, and reads through it, we can see crucifixion being described. It was written by King David around 1000 BC, whereas the earliest records we have of crucifixion is 600 BC. King David was never crucified in his life. And yet, halfway through the psalm it begins to speak of all the foreign nations turning to worship the God of the Jews, which has come to pass after His crucifixion. The chances of this actually taking place are very small, yet it has happened, defying all odds.
Isaiah 52 and 53 prophesy Christ dying for the sins of the world, and rising again, justifying many in very strong detail. To quote a small section of it: He is despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows well acquainted with grief. We hid, as it were, our faces from Him. He is despised and we did not esteem Him. Surely He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. Yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement for our peace was upon Him and by His stripes we are healed.
Genesis 22 shows the LORD, who had just promised Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars of the sky, then commands him to slay his son, Isaac. Therefore Abraham reasoned within himself that Isaac would be raised from the dead, as God could not fail to fulfil His promise. Isaac carried the wood up the mountain, just as Christ carried His cross. Abraham was very old at this stage, so Isaac could have easily resisted him and fled, yet it seems he wilfully gave his life, fearing God, just as Christ did the same. And then the place was called "the LORD will provide", after the event.
Daniel 7 shows that the Exalted Messiah, the Son of Man would come with clouds. Christ gave Himself the title. Interestingly the Son of Man is to receive worship from all nations. The Aramaic word used is pelakh which is used exclusively of deities. This gives the Son of Man the status of God, being distinct from the Ancient of Days.
God even foretold the destruction of Tyre (which used to be a trade hub for the whole world) in really really strong detail.
I could give more examples, but suffice to say. I’ve looked at a lot of the criticism the bible gets, and it still stands. So with all this being said, even though I am 100% sure He is real, good and Lord of all (cos I know Him), to an outsider there is compelling evidence that the Messiah of the Jews and Saviour of the world is Jesus Christ.

Sometimes a wind comes before the rain and sends birds sailing past the window, spirit birds that ride the night, stranger than dreams.

Welcome all. I have the honor of writing the capstone for this group read. First, I'd like to thank u/Old-Monk-7766 for organizing and leading the group. I'd also like to thank u/SwampRaiderTTU and u/No-Improvement-3862 for volunteering and leading weeks 2 and 3, respectively. I'd also like to thank all of the contributors to the weekly posts.
The Intro post did a fine job of introducing two themes salient to the novel, the "haiku war" or "war in three lines" and the relationship of film to time, perception, and consciousness. I read the former as a metaphor for human brains imposing structure or logic on objective reality in order to "make sense" of life. Of course, this includes the attendant risk of distorting that objective reality in the service of other human needs, especially our needs for self-importance and control. The A and B plots also mirror the 24 Hour Psycho installation bookends in that Finley and Elster are moving frame by frame in slow motion while Jessie and Dennis are moving in something closer to real time.
The Week Two post introduced the novel and asked several questions. Clearly following DeLillo's lead as he sets the stage with characters and themes, concluding with the introduction of the most tragic figure in the novel, Jessie. The A plot supported by Finley's project provides motivation for Elster's philosophy with commentary by Finley. These scenes support the themes introduced in the Introductory post. Namely, our desire to classify events retrospectively and to control that narrative, providing some illusion of control over the events. There is a parallel to the 24 Hour Psycho installation here - where one of the most iconic films of all time is manipulated in an incredibly simple and obvious way, and how that manipulation significantly transforms our relationship to film, and by extension, to events. This is obviously highlighted by the impact the installation makes upon Dennis, the antagonist of the B plot.
The Week Three post highlighted the influence of French thought on both DeLillo and the novel, particularly Baudrillard. The post followed the novel in shifting focus from the A plot to the B plot, primarily through the disruptive introduction of Jessie. Elster's relationship with Jessie has some parallels to his relationship with the war and objective reality in that he describes her in fragments and attributes her with mystery. That supports her purpose in the novel - her abrupt appearance breaks the A plot and her abrupt disappearance merges the A and B plots.
The Week Four post covers the resolution of the novel and the conclusion to the bookend Anonymity chapter. True to form, Elster and Finley approach the disappearance from perspectives consistent with their respective approaches earlier in the novel. The mystery of Jessie's disappearance isn't explicitly resolved. However, DeLillo provides enough information to piece together what actually happens. The reader has an advantage over both Elster and Finley because we have an omniscient presence in the Anonymity sections. However, the limits of both Elster's and Finley's approach to navigating objective reality create blind spots that prevent both men from putting the puzzle together. The reader's experience is parallel to the A plot. Many reviews praise Point Omega for it's prose and atmosphere, but make false claims about the lack of any real plot or underlying narrative. There is an incredibly tightly woven plot, leading to death, as is DeLillo's custom. A close read that keeps track of the trail of bread crumbs dispersed throughout the non-linear narrative of the novel links the A and B plots and definitively points to Denis as Jessie's murderer. That Elster and Finley fail to resolve the novel's plot is also consistent with their respective characters, i.e. - a man attempting to justify the inhumane as an abstraction serving a greater good compared to a man attempting to document such an effort, with perhaps the intention to undermine that narrative to serve his own personal goals.
Which brings me to the quote with which I started this post. The spirit birds riding the night, stranger than dreams may represent the lies we tell ourselves so that may live with the consequences of our actions. Or, they may represent the unknowable objective reality, which we have opportunities to witness, but may never fully understand.

chinese history can’t be separated from the problem of eunuchs, a political class, that was in theory supposed to be loyal to the emperor but turned out to be as self-interested as any other clique
a particularly messy rebellion against them
as a matter of interest, they also had the penis as well as the testicles removed giving rise to urinary tract problems that were highly unpleasant and even so, the imperial concubines usually took eunuchs as lovers
i think on balance they probably did facilitate many centuries of highly centralised rule, a role today filled by communications and surveillance technology
the bottom line of any addiction is what is it excluding ?
what is the opportunity cost ?
usually its so high because you have recognised it as an addiction
human beauty
i have none of
its not sadness that leads one to grasp it
too fragile to be held
but a deep melancholy
death is too close
to
beauty
the female world
sorta isolated
its own bubble
sorta tangential
to reality
propaganda and dictatorships work by controlling information and hence beliefs and opinions and it is amazing how easily we driven by these into various insanities
from the control point of view, any creativity is a threat or poison and is dealt with by the force of suppression or aversion
in delusian terms "creativity is an act of resistance"
when on reddit and you get downvoted, just repeat to yourself "a downvote is an upvote" which it really is since you have distressed an idiot !
the freedom
of good health
in old age
there
is
no
other
women
the burden of ovaries
undercuts
an entire life
seeker and sought
the religious parlance
meaning
nothing
"zen" is a wrapped up box with some writing on it saying "i promise the answer’s inside" and when you open it up, its empty
i would guess the royal family has been boosted to the gills for covid and king charles and princess catherine both getting cancer makes me wonder
the precipice’s edge
unstable
dangerous to be there
walking
back
takes
time
on the other hand
stability
is an illusion
st. isaac the syrian
quotes I
quotes II
“ for it is more expedient to be bruised than dead ”
he’s very underappreciated
the
female
need
for
faces
deep
genetic
programming
han china
umpteen million
one
grain of sand
amongst many
must alter your perspective
the
system
can
do
without
you
existential angst
when tears roll from a baby’s eyes
its a bit early to be thinking about these matters
pillars of salt
we are always looking behind
but at least we can see
what has gone behind
what we can’t see
is
what is behind
other pillars
of
salt
plucked from life
unto death
another state of being
the former from the latter
distinctive is
but how the latter
views the former
we can never know
ed. a poem i wrote on looking at a photo of emily dickinson’s nephew, gilbert dickinson who died of typhoid aged eight, the rhythms and semantics of the poem make it seem like it could have been written by emily ?
a non traumatic demonstration of how a caesarean delivery is done
its not a trivial procedure, i’ll say that
something i had never thought about
not surviving an operation
it happens
even
with
the
routine
the unwanted
stalks
us
everywhere
.
something i had never thought about
surviving an operation
it happens
even
with
the
routine
the unwanted
stalks
us
everywhere
feeling
the travesty
of how ill it fits
with the way this world works
the thought of nothing squared
halve it
then triple it again
is still nothing squared
travelling and living in a new place you like for a while and then leaving again
its like falling in love and then breaking up, what can you do ?
continuities
dreams
stitching together
what is discontinuous
interior stresses rend
apart
what is held together
for a while
all rivers run
as coleridge said
to oblivion
ed. these lines below from coleridge’s most famous poem have always puzzled me, now i think about it, my poem is an alternative, more abstract version of his full poem which has always puzzled me and now it has sort of solved itself, i can’t believe it has sat in my brain for thirty or forty years as a puzzle looking for a solution
where alph, the sacred river, ran
through caverns measureless to man
down to a sunless sea
i give credit to coleridge claiming the poem is unfinished, but i am not sure that level of intense creativity can be sustained and even in terms of the existing poem it was starting to fall apart by the end
this is such a zen/religious thing, taking other’s words and paintings, not a single thing is their own
this is because the moment they say something or draw something of their own its laughable
you can’t tell 'em, diet and exercise are extremely important in keeping good mental health “ recent research published in the journal clinical nutrition reveals a significant link between high consumption of ultra-processed foods and an increased risk of developing depression
this study, conducted in brazil, indicates that individuals adhering to diets rich in ultra-processed foods are more likely to experience depressive symptoms over time these findings underscore the potential mental health risks associated with dietary patterns characterized by processed and convenience foods ”
i nearly ran into a cyclist a week ago on a windy back road because neither of us was keeping far enough to the left, then a little later nearly hit a car because, again i was not keeping far enough to the left
hopefully i have learnt, i think i was driving like i drive at night when you can assume you will see any oncoming traffic well ahead because of their headlights
daylight gives no such clues and cutting blind corners seems to be a local habit
“ taken together, our data highlight the profound impact of exercise in rejuvenating aged microglia (ed. reverting their gene expression signature to that of young microglia), associated pro-neurogenic effects and on peripheral immune cell presence in the ageing female mouse brain ”
julliard
clone factory
squashes
creativity
assembly line
performance
when OP’s bleed
their writers
in denial
about their injury
but
a portion
of
their
brain
cries
ed. certified GPT-free
the double edged sword
cuts
its holder
as one brought up on a very patriarchal version of english history its interesting to see that william the conquerer’s success was in part due to having a very politically competent wife
ed. video has 3 parts
also interesting is that due to harold godwinson having been captured in normandy and kept there for a while, he knew both mitilda (possibly even having an affair with her) and william very well and should have been more au fait with norman battle tactics and strengths i have a theory that the middle ages and somewhat later had in effect a breeding program through intermarriage within the nobility/aristocracy creating a politically competent class, because politics is not a natural skill to the species, same thing for ancient egypt, in fact today’s international politics suffers a lot from people lacking any sort of the rationality and largeness of mind required

It is a common misconception in this community that most dragons hatched from eggs put into a young Targaryen baby’s cradle. In a previous post I have examined the Targaryens prior to Jaehaerys and Alysanne and established that just as the book say there were no cradle eggs prior to those two.
Of most other Targaryens we learn, where they got their dragons from, but Laenor is a bit puzzling. His birth is acknowledged and then he reappears as a seven-year-old boy in 101, already with a dragon. But we never get told of any cradle egg. And especially in light of the following quote, suggesting that putting eggs into cradles only really became a thing during Viserys’ reign, I wonder whether he didn’t actually get a living hatchling:

Many consider the reign of King Viserys I to represent the apex of Targaryen power in Westeros. […] Not all of these eggs hatched, but many did, and it became customary for the fathers and mothers of newborn princelings to place a dragon’s egg in their cradles, following a tradition that Princess Rhaena had begun many years before; the children so blessed invariably bonded with the hatchlings to become dragonriders.

Giving hatchlings to their kids had been a tradition older than cradle eggs. Aenys had gotten his hatchling at barely one year old, his firstborn Rhaena at the age of nine, Maegor was presented with plenty of hatchlings to choose from. And even after the eggs of Jaehaerys and Alysanne were hatched, Rhaena still pushed her daughter to claim a hatchling rather than try to breed an egg:

The eggs that Dreamfyre had laid on Fair Isle had all hatched once on Dragonstone, and Rhaena Targaryen had made certain that her daughter made their acquaintance. “Choose one and make him yours,” the queen urged the princess, “and one day you will fly.”

When Daenerys fell ill, Jaehaerys didn’t call for an egg either, but rather a hatchling from Dragonstone:

Near dawn, Jaehaerys bolted to his feet shouting that a dragon was needed, that his daughter must have a dragon, and ravens took wing for Dragonstone, instructing the Dragonkeepers there to bring a hatchling to the Red Keep at once.

And even though later generations didn’t get their dragons as hatchlings, they didn’t hatch them from eggs either. Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa all claimed their dragons from the Dragonpit. As did their children Rhaenys, Viserys and Daemon. And their grandchildren. Laena, Helaena and Aemond claimed dragons, while Aegon the Elder got a dragon directly from Dragonstone (maybe as a hatchling?):

And there Aegon might have remained, hidden yet harmless, dulling his pain with wine and hiding his burn scars beneath a heavy cloak, had Sunfyre not made his way to Dragonstone. We may ask what drew him back to the Dragonmont, for many have. Was the wounded dragon, with his half-healed broken wing, driven by some primal instinct to return to his birthplace, the smoking mountain where he had emerged from his egg?

It seems like they had stopped (or never really started) giving cradle eggs to their babies. And there is a good explanation for this. After the birth of Aemon, Jaehaerys and Alysanne had given an egg to him. But, as him claiming a dragon from the Pit shows, this egg seemingly never hatched. Which might have dissuaded them from trying the same with their other kids.
But this still doesn’t answer the question, why Laenor got a hatchling early in his life rather than claiming his own dragon once he was a bit older.
For this we have to look at the circumstances of his birth. Rhaenys had just been passed over in the line of succession two years ago by naming her uncle the new heir. And Corlys and House Baratheon saw this new son as a legit contender for the throne:

Prince Baelon was firmly ensconced as heir apparent by then, yet House Velaryon and House Baratheon clung to the belief that young Laenor had a better claim to the Iron Throne

And as the Great Council of 101 shows, dragon riding and owning a dragon could be seen as a sign of legitimacy:

Viserys had also been the last Targaryen to ride Balerion … though after the death of the Black Dread in 94 AC he never mounted another dragon, whereas the boy Laenor had yet to take his first flight upon his young dragon, a splendid grey-and-white beast he named Seasmoke.

Even though it didn’t work in the end, at this point it would have seemed imperative to make sure that the young Laenor would have a dragon. And that as quickly as possible. With the last attempt to hatch a dragon egg in the cradle failing, it might have seemed too risky to try the same, especially seeing how unlike some other boys later there would be no question about the parentage of Laenor.
And with that Laenor would also mirror Aegon II. Another boy who would be at the centre of a succession crisis and who too didn’t get a cradle egg or claim an elder dragon, but instead got a hatchling from Dragonstone.
So, what do you think? Was Seasmoke given to Laenor as a hatchling?

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This case seems to be very polarizing not just on this sub but on the Ace attorney community in general, with many claiming that it's the worst final case, i've read many of the complaints and i do understand them, however on a personal level i really think this case is one of my favourite cases of the series and i wish to share my thoughts with everyone here.
Personally this case was just incredible for me, the opening is already thrilling, for the first time the game is speaking to you, the player, breaking the fourth wall, something that I don't think the series had ever done before, while people may argue that Phoenix is talking to Lamiroir i think the game wants you to interpret it as he's talking to both, after all Phoenix is looking directly at the screen the whole cutscene seemigly having no interlocutor there's only you and him.
Then the case starts, the first day is very damn good at creating suspence both in the investigation and in the trial, you finish your investigations looking at Drew's paintings of all the last murderers Apollo solved, the reveal is honestly chilling, then you go to the trial and while I admit that Spark Brushel may be a bit... difficult to look at (some of his animations are seriously too ugly, also fuck that damn sweat stain) to me it was all worth it to get to Vera's testimony (she must be protected guys), i WAS NOT expecting her to be the real forger in the slightest, moreover, you learn that SHE'S ALSO the one who forged the evidence that got Phoenix disbarred which then brings the best scene of the first day, Klavier is visibly in disbelief and starts badgering Vera for more information and then he asks about her client... then THIS HAPPENS
"I remember clearly... I remember who gave me the book... the diary..." "Who was it!?" "The... De...vil..." thump I still get the chills rewatching that scene. Now here comes a way more controversial section, Phoenix's disbarrment trial. I'm gonna be more brief here, first i think the mistery in itself is pretty entertaining and well structured overall ans Valant is a great witness to be honest, some people say that Phoenix cockiness is "out of character" but I disagree, this is the man who defeated 3 previously "undefeated" prosecutors, beated and got aknowledged by Mia's mentor, and succesfully brought the arrest of the corrupt District Chief of Police, Phoenix is a VERY popular and experienced attorney at this point and he's now against a rookie prosecutor, I think getting a bit cocky is pretty justified also trilogy Phoenix is way less humble than people give him credit for. With that said, his reason for disbarrment is still... a bit forced, it's one thing to get cocky but I can't imagine Phoenix trusting evidence obtained randomly from a child he barely knows so much especially after establishing that he's an experienced lawyer. I understand how this flaw was a dealbreaker to many, i fortunately wasn't very affected by it.
Now onto the Mason system, i've seen this part pretty criticized as well but this time I just disagree. First of all i LOVE the puzzle nature of this final investigation, figuring out the many psyche locks was incredibly fun, the "Phoenix uses evidence from the future in the past" thing I admit is silly, but at the same time just like the fourth wall break at the start i simply thought this whole section was another "meta" part of the case. The Mason system is fundamentally simply a tool to give the player an unsual final investigation compared to the previous games and I like it this way. Also this section has two particularly great moments, the first is Phoenix and Brushel in Drew's studio, that's when you learn how UNSETTLING Kristoph is: "You know he always felt like he was being watched? You know... i felt watched too!" "Maybe not just me. Maybe you were being watched too!" Second time this case has given me CHILLS and it's with Spark Brushel on screen of all people! But seriously, Kristoph is one of my favourite villains for how creepy and insane he is, his motive is petty yet VERY realistic, his behaviour is one of a madman and yet he very rarely loses his composure, While Manfred's presence made me feel intimidated, Kristoph made me feel genuine disgust and FEAR and I think that's what separates the two. ALSO, something i forgot to add in my original comment, people tend to undermine Kristoph's plan by saying that "it relies on luck" to get Phoenix disbarment, and myself i couldn't quite put finger on how to justify it, until it hit me... Kristoph's plan isn't to just to disbar Phoenix, it's to SET UP Phoenix for failure NO MATTER WHAT. Think about it! Once Phoenix points the IV bag contradiction the trial seems about to end, however Klavier suddenly objects bringing up the diary with the missing page claiming that since the victim intended to keep writing his diary if he stayed alive, but didn't, it must mean that he got killed by the first visitor, Zak... the Prosecution has now regained a case and the judge (as always) gets quickly conviced, Phoenix himself says that if he doesn't present evidence now the trial is going to end, most likely with Zak's conviction, It's very possible that Kristoph instructed Klavier on how to act during the trial, he KNEW that Phoenix would be backed into a corner with only having two choices: either lose the trial or present the forged evidence, which would then lead to Klavier calling it out and making Phoenix lose the case (and his badge ad well) anyways. Phoenix was set up for failure no matter what, THAT was Kristoph's goal, he's overly jelaous of Phoenix and couldn't bear the idea that someone would prefer to have him as a lawyer and over a stupid game of poker at that!! Now, i don't really know if this justifies Phoenix presentino the diary page or not, i will leave it to you guys to decide.
The second great moment genuinely made me cry, something that rarely happens for me, it's Trucy's and Phoenix talking in his office, this post is already long enough so i'll just quote you Phoenix's words:
"To be honest i was pretty lost those first few days. Thinking back on it, it was a pretty dark time in my life. But Trucy... happy, smiling Trucy... she was my light." Trucy is my favourite assistant and this scene just solidified my love for her character even further. Such a strong girl even at a young age, it melts my heart...
Finally we reach the conclusion, the second trial. This is admittedly a much weaker part, i'm gonna start with what I like: Kristoph's percieve was very cool, I really enjoy Klavier's part in all of this, and Kritoph's breakdown is top notch to me, with that said the ending itslef is a bit... anticlimatic, on one hand I like that the jurist system is a massive middle finger to Kristoph on the other hand the conclusion doesn't really feel as satisfying because you never really "corner" him, he gets fucked by the circumstances not you specifically which is a bummer.
Overall, while this case certaintly has some apparent flaws the whole journey was such a great ride, there's more stuff i could elaborate on, but i don't want this post to be too wordy, so i'll leave it to the comments to ask me any questions if they wish so. My goal isn't to change anyone's mind, what affected me of this case could have causes 0 impact to someone else and that's fine, I only wished to write about a case to which I often read long ass paragraphs of complaints and very short comments of praise.

This post is inspired by the reviews of Alex Tilinca's training I've seen on this subreddit. I searched and saw no one has really reviewed Devon's one on one training, so I thought I would just to help people out. This is going to be a long one. As the title says, I'll be providing a review of Devon Spears' one on one personal training.
Before I get into it, I want to make some things clear:

1. I am a current client of Devon, and am reviewing as I am one month into working together with him. He didn't ask me to write this, he doesn't know I'm doing this, I'm not paid to promote him and I'm not an influencer lol. I will explain everything necessary to know about his process, and as such if he sees this he may be able to figure out who I am. I'm fine with that, but I just wanted to have that disclaimer (and if he asks me to remove some information, I will.)
2. I will be explaining how and why I choose Devon, which is just as important as the actual process of working with him. I feel this will be helpful in guiding others who may be looking for a trainer, to have an idea of how one person came to their own decision. During this part, I will also explain other trainers I've interacted with that you all may know. Let me be clear: when mentioning these trainers, I am in no way bashing them, or their services. In fact, in every interaction I'll list, I had a relatively pleasant experience. Any issues I may mention with my experiences is personal, and has nothing to do with these people as persons. They are only there to provide context onto how and why I chose to train with Devon. So forgive me for the rambling lol, I promise it's relevant to the review.
3. Just in case anyone asks or is curious, I have no idea really who Alex Tilinca is, beyond the ads I've seen for his training on IG and the reviews I saw on this subreddit. I don't follow him, know him/his personality, couldn't tell him from a can of paint (respectfully). I say this to be clear that I'm not comparing Devon to Alex (or vice versa) even though I mentioned being inspired by the reviews of Alex. I just thought to review Devon because of the reviews I read of Alex.

Alright, with that out of the way:

How and Why

So first, I just want to explain my background/ my how and why I chose Devon. This is important to what I was looking for in a trainer. I'm athletic and always have been, but never played on a sports team besides ultimate frisbee in high school. I always loved the gym and weightlifting, that was a passion of mine, but being AFAB no one in my area was interested in really helping me learn and develop that so I stuck to a lot of self study and inconsistent gym workouts. I had a NASM textbook I would study from top to bottom in high school, but again, very inconsistent in putting it to practice. Would watch YouTube videos on exercise, bodybuilding, gym culture in general. That's all to say, I had a lot of knowledge but didn't know how to well apply it to myself.
A couple years back (like literally weeks before covid hit), around the time I was figuring out I was trans-something, I bought a workout plan from Sahara Gentry. At that time if I'm remembering correctly, Sahara hadn't publicly come out as trans (and neither had I). I was fresh in college, scrawny (about 130lbs consistently). I only mention this because my mindset was, "I too want to be a buff lesbian", and that's what inspired me to both follow Sahara and purchase the plan. The plan was only about $35 dollars, very affordable, the transaction was done through DMs, and everything (plan and a nutrition guide iirc) was emailed to me. However when I tried to do the plan I felt very overwhelmed. It was a very heavy bodybuilder centric plan, intense and not beginner friendly or tailored to me at all (as expected.) And while Sahara had offered to review my forms, I don't recall ever taking him up on the offer. In fact, I did that workout plan maybe 4 times, and had to modify it for my scrawny weak body.
The pandemic hits and we're all indoors. At some point I realize I want to try another trainer-- this time, I sign up for BodyByDaddy's training. If I remember correctly, it was advertised that there would be community where all of BBD's clients could talk and connect with one another. That's what appealed to me as I hoped that would keep me accountable. However, in actuality, I didn't have any attachment to anyone in the group and as such ignored when messages were sent and rarely followed the plan. I was also severely depressed at this time, so I don't fault anyone for that. But I can only ever remember getting one message from BBD the entire time I was in the training, which I think was 2-3 months long (memory is funky from then lol). BBD was checking in to see why I wasn't working out lol. I quit the next day.
When the pandemic loosens up (and therapy tightens down), I go back to campus and am determined to get my body together. I was serious. I picked up a P/P/L split from AthleanX and followed that program religiously for months. It was a very basic program, but it was free, and from that I built an athletic foundation that allowed me to lift more than 10lbs for lifts lol. This is also when I start microdosing T. But two things: 1) although I did this, I wasn't tracking or taking care of my nutrition. Just fuck it we ball, lol. 2) After 5 months on the program, I was hungry for more. The gains I saw on it were good strength wise, and my body looked nice, but it wasn't what I wanted. I wasn't looking like Jeff Cavalier lol. This is when I stop following a trainer and start figuring things out for myself.
After a while of that, I manage to get my weight up to 150lbs which was a miracle in my eyes. I had no real idea of how to track macros fr, was a struggling college student that ate varying degrees of cooked chicken breast, rice, broccoli everyday, so I became aware as I tried to elevate on my own that there was a limit to my knowledge and that I needed a mentor to guide me. Then I fall off of training for a while (like 7 months). When I graduate college, I know I'm transmasc, I know my body isn't what I want it to be, and I know firmly I want a personal trainer for real. It takes a while for me to get to actually looking for a trainer because of a big move and a lot of other stuff, so in the meanwhile I subscribe to Jeff Logan's playbook. Jeff Logan, if you don't know, is a real beast and warrior -- his workouts are intense**.** The workout I followed was advanced muscle building, which was a bodybuilder split athletic workout where everyday was PAINNNN but muscle development was rapid. But it tired me out so bad I knew I couldn't keep it up. And, while Jeff Logan's body is tea (and he knows it too lol) his body was built as a cis man who played football since he was young, trained intensely, benched 505 lbs twice, almost went to the NFL, then slimmed down. For a transmasc like me following a generic plan with him, I wasn't going to get to his physique. And his physique is damn near my goal.
So by the point of me finally being ready to look for a personal trainer, I know several key things:

• My goal physique, and what I want to look like
• What I like and don't like (I don't like bodybuilder splits. I do like PPL splits)
• That I'm looking for a mentor to help me learn
• That I don't know shit about nutrition
• That I don't really care for a community
• That I don't want a pre-made, generic, one size fits all plan. I want something tailored to me and my goals.
• And, that I'm realizing trans bodybuilding IS different from cis bodybuilding, and that I have to take that into account if I want to get where I want to be efficiently.

(As a side note, that last part made me more aware of biology affects my training results.)
So because of that last point, I decide to look back at trans trainers. I didn't really look far. Didn't consider BBD again tbh (not trans afaik, and I wanted someone who understood transmasc identity and what its like yknow) so my only real option at that point was Sahara. Sahara's a cool dude! I love his content, he's approachable, relatable. Ended up on the phone with him and he offered me a spot in his new one on one training system. It was actually cheap, maybe a $200 for 3 months? I don't remember. His system also had the community feature like BBD's (I think) and he may have mentioned otp using the same company as Alex Tilinca to develop the platform (but don't quote me on this-- remember that I have no idea who this dude is, Sahara said a name then "popular trans bodybuilder", I said idk that guy and now months later I'm doing my best to remember for you all lol.) Mostly due to personal reasons I didn't accept at the time. But also, I looked at his clients' progress as well as his own -- and realized that although Sahara is a cool dude, his results didn't align with my goals. And I want to achieve my goals, not take a detour on the way there.
Couple months pass, and that's when I stumble upon Devon. Devon's body is great, his content is informative, and he had a cool personality. His body being close to my goal physique is what really made me decide to reach out, and I thought to do one month at first to get a feel for who Devon is as a trainer. Also, his clients' progress was DEFINITELY aligned with what I was going for. As such, I reached out to him.
So without further ado, here is the review of the training (finally lol):

Review of Devon's All Inclusive Training

First, you have to apply to his training by filling out a google doc. You tell him your goals, motivations, etc and what you're looking for. He basically decides from that if he wants to work with you and then reaches out to you via email. After I filled out the form, which I honestly didn't expect to hear back about for a week, he had emailed me the next day. I told him my goals (build muscle, reach a certain weight, etc.) and then he and I spent a week corresponding (with me asking questions, clarifying, and him doing the same) before we finalized working with one another (mainly due to time zone differences and my own vacation I took at the time-- Devon bro I'm sorry I would have waited to fill out the form if I knew you would email me so fast lol). (For anyone looking for a trainer, I advise you to ask as many detailed questions as possible before sending over money. I personally want my trainer to fit me like my Jordans -- perfectly, and I should look fly as hell because I got you with me. I questioned him to make sure all the points I laid out above about what I wanted out of my experience weren't just met, but exceeded. Devon was very prompt and detailed in his explanations, which helped me to feel like this was a relationship I wanted.
Devon's training cycles for all inclusive training are offered in 3 packages: 1 month, 3 month, and 6 months. 1 month is $200/month, 3 months is $525/month and 6 months is $765/month. So bundling saves you $75 for 3 months and $135 for 6 months -- 12 - 15% discount for bundling. If you are ever training with him and have to stop for any reason, he does allow you to pause and resume training, so long as you communicate with him. So for example, if you have a 3 month bundle and then say, top surgery falls in the middle of that, he will let you pause during your surgery/recovery and then resume when you're good.
I opted for all inclusive training because as I mentioned before my nutrition was lacking (and I was eating wingstop nearly daily) and I felt like that was the missing piece of my puzzle. Within a week of payment I had my training plan, my meal plan, my supplement guide, a copy of his cookbook that he sells (recipes are fire btw) and a custom check in google form. Unlike the other trainers I used, Devon communicates through WhatsApp one-on-one -- there's no group chat of all of his clients (afaik) or third party training platform like playbook. We use the app Hevy to log training, MyNetDiary for logging macros and that's...pretty much it. I actually really like this set up. It makes me feel as though Devon and I are actually building a relationship, and it feels so simple and less like there's a wall between us. I can message Devon at any time about literally anything -- but I try to keep it related to training lol. And for me, like I mentioned before, I don't really need to feel like I'm in a "community". That doesn't do much for me, at least where I am right now in my life. But that mentor relationship is important for me, to have guidance and a relationship, and this feels perfect in that regard.
My training plan is set up according to my PPL preference. Devon looked up the gym chain I go to and tailored my exercises around the machines commonly at that gym -- he's GOATed for that level of detail. The workouts take me about an hour to complete every day (if I'm not distracted or waiting for machines) and an hour and a half at the latest. There are notes on how to best increase the difficulty or set up the exercises. I feel I leave every workout with a noticeable pump.
My meal plan is a bit simple -- he gave me macros to follow for our current phase of training, I do my best to follow them. Adjusting to this has been a bit of a challenge, but Devon has been there giving advice and guiding me in where I fall short. When I started following his cookbook, I got better at doing this. Still not perfect, but we're making progress.
Both plans have "[My name]'s [Training/Meal] Plan" across the top, which makes it pretty clear that everything is tailored to me.
I can confidently say after one month of following his training plan pretty consistently and getting on the meal plan, I have noticed changes in my body. We're keeping my weight the same right now, and I've been at the same weight for roughly a few weeks now. I have noticed that despite not changing weight at all, I am less fat and more muscle. I look skinner than I did when I was 135, but it's all muscle! Even my friends have noticed, which is typically not usual -- I heard someone say once only you notice your gym changes in a month, your friends at 3 months, and the world at 6 months. So for my friends to notice in a month even though I'm the exact same weight -- yeah Devon really raw.
Every week I have to fill out my check in google form and submit progress photos, form videos, etc. The google form is manually edited by him every week to reflect things we've talked about over the week or just in general ask about how I am. It's very nice and feels personal because it is. Based on my responses to the google form, he'll send me videos discussing my answers, asking to clarify, and giving me more guidance. He's always very extremely chill during this, and he's super understanding. He meets me where I'm at. If I don't respond to something by mistake, he checks in and clarifies. And he's always open to hearing what I have to say. If I have questions he answers and he's modified my plan on the spot based on what I've told him. He really does fulfill that mentor role extremely well. He won't do the work for me, but he does encourage and keep me accountable to what I want to achieve, and that's what's really helped me during this month.
Based on the form videos I send, he'll send me over videos either explaining corrections (with demonstrations) or showing me how to better engage the muscles (with demonstrations). He's very detailed, scientific, and it's just easy to tell that he knows what he's talking about and isn't just trying to make it seem like he does because he has a lot of followers. Also, he's a trainer that calls out the good things. There have been times I fell short, and he'll hold me accountable for that. Then, when I make the changes (or if I make any incremental positive change) he'll call it out even in passing. "Good job, you did this." Even if I didn't realize it myself. That extremely supportive atmosphere is what I'm here for, and it's what pushes me to continue working with him. As a client, he really meshes well with me. If you notice, he checks all the marks I set out to have, and even more.
Honestly, all in all, my experience with Devon so far is a 19/10. He shows up, he shows out, and I don't feel stagnated and frustrated as a result. I'm always learning, still growing, and I feel like every day I incrementally make progress with him. I've never had such an experience with anyone else, and honestly feel as if I'm like Ryan Terry or Brandon Hendrickson with a dedicated coach for me lol. Anyways, if you made it this far thanks for reading. If anyone has any questions, I'll try to answer what I can.