“It’s called a grief doll” Dr. Ramos said.
I stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“A what?” I asked.
I’d agreed to this session to get my mother off my back. Provided, of course, that she also foot the bill. And, truth be told, it hadn’t been an easy couple of months. The word “stillbirth” sounds a lot more peaceful than the reality of it all. You get all the same blood and screaming as a regular birth but with none of the joy afterward. Things are, I guess, “still,” in a way. The silence of the grave.
“I know it’s a little unconventional,” Dr. Ramos said. “But, there’s been some really solid research to back it up recently. My colleague down in Camden–”
I cut him off. “You want me to buy a lifesized recreation of the dead baby that I just gave birth to?”
He looked slightly chastened by this. “I want you to process what happened, Mary. It can help. Look, if what you were already doing was working you wouldn’t be coming here, right?”
I sighed. “Alright. You’re the doctor. Who am I to argue with science?”
We talked a bit more after that, but it’s not really worth recounting here.
***
The next day I went to the address Dr. Ramos had texted me. It was a little building tucked away downtown between the huge tech skyscrapers and offices. When I walked in, the owner, a short man with a scruffy beard, smiled at me and said “You must be Mary.”
I nodded.
“Would you like to sit down? Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really want to stay here any longer than I have to, if that’s alright with you,” I said to the Rasputin-looking gentleman sitting behind the desk.
“I get it,” he said, nodding gravely. “People come here to get away from something, not to settle down. Do you have the pictures?”
I took them out of my bag. It had been quite a while since I’d needed to get photographs printed out. Ever since the world had gone digital we’ve all become allergic to paper.
“Here they are,” I said to him. These would serve as the model for the doll. He reached out and took them from me, examining them carefully.
“I think I’ve got what I need. I will let you know if I need anything more,” he said, stroking his long beard hypnotically.
I left and drove home. It was a quiet ride. Much more quiet than I’d been used to. Ever since Tim had left there were these little dead spaces throughout the day. He used to fill car rides with excited chatter about protons and leptons and all the -ons he got to work with as a physicist.
My brain had begun to fill these spaces with grim reflections on the past and future:
It’s your fault.
You don’t deserve a baby.
This is God’s way of telling you that you don’t deserve to be alive.
Over and over again these thoughts would run through my mind like the world’s most depressing tape recorder. Vicious, hateful, unbelievable things kept popping into my head as I drove the short distance home, making the trip feel far longer than it actually was.
***
I had taken to staring at the ceiling and crying myself to sleep most nights. The big, empty house felt suffocating at 3 AM, like all the open space was sucking the air out of my lungs every time I opened my mouth. This had been the way I spent most nights since the stillbirth. I tried to fill the silence any way I could. At all hours of the night, one could hear my TV blaring or my phone playing some podcast or another. Anything to avoid the little dead spaces between one task and the next.
But it was most difficult of all when I tried to sleep. I saw images of my little girl when I closed my eyes. I saw the blood and heard my own screams when it became clear that she would never take a breath. There were also subtler forms of self-inflicted torture.
Exactly one month after the worst day of my life, I came home from work to find Tim’s things cleaned out and a note on the kitchen table. It read:
“I’m sorry Mary. I can’t imagine how hard this month has been for you, but every day I stay here is like a knife to the heart. You’re just so sad and I can’t take it anymore.”
That phrase “You’re just so sad” played in a loop in my mind’s ear.
***
Eventually, I won the battle against consciousness. It was a fitful, restless sleep pregnant with terrible things. I felt like I’d lived an entire life come morning. I dreamt that I’d held little Sarah in my hands, that I’d been able to feed her from my own body just like I’d wanted to do for so many years. But as I held her against my chest she melted into a puddle of flesh and blood, yet never ceased to suck, to draw whatever life she could from me, and I was desperate to give it to her. Eventually, she was little more than eyes in a puddle of fleshy blood, staring at me from the ground and whispering “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
I woke with a start. Never, not once in my life, had I experienced a dream like this. I sat huddled in my bedsheets, shaking with tears as I saw the image of my melted little girl swirling around on the floor, asking why I hadn’t helped her. Reality seeped back in stages, penetrating the veil of sadness, and shocking me to my feet with the blaring intensity of my phone’s alarm. It was always turned up to full volume because anything lower risked my sleep-addled mind resisting its call to return from the deep. It had always been difficult to tear myself from the land of dreams, and more so after my life began to feel like a nightmare. But lately, sleep offered little respite.
I pulled on my clothes, brushed my hair so that it was halfway presentable, and poured myself a bowl of oatmeal. It was a gray, soggy pile at the bottom of my bowl. In a flash of unwanted connection, my brain superimposed the image of little melted Sarah onto my field of view. I nearly vomited into my bowl, but just then there was a knock on my door.
“Package,” the deep baritone on the other end intoned.
I opened the door and saw the mailman walking away. It occurred to me that nothing was stopping me from asking him out now that Tim had wandered out of my life. But, immediately, my brain stepped in to fill in the blanks:
Why would he want someone like you?
What the hell is wrong with you?
I don’t even want you and I am you.
These thoughts came as easily as my breath, and I had long since stopped trying to challenge them. In all likelihood, they were right. I picked up the package and saw that it was the grief doll. As soon as I got home from work I’d figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with the thing.
As I stepped into the bathroom, the mirror joined my inner voice in confirming my lack of romantic prospects. Deep, black circles formed rings under my eyes. Deeper wrinkles stood out on my forehead and my double chin and – was that a gray hair? Already? Immediately, the thoughts returned.
You’ll be dead at 50 by this rate.
The world won’t miss you.
Why not make it tomorrow?
Again, these suggestions were difficult to challenge with the evidence inches from my eyes.
***
It was hard to care about work. Even at the best of times, it hadn’t been the most fulfilling job in the world, but these days my cubicle felt like a tomb. My job was to call people who had filled out negative reviews for the phone company (I’m sure you know which one, but it’s probably best to leave that unsaid) and ask why.
This was a doubly depressing task because it was both neverending and pointless. How many times in the past month have you picked up a call from a number you didn’t recognize? I’m guessing the answer is lower than one. Almost nobody picked up, and those who did invariably did one of two things: hang up instantly upon realizing who I was or scream invective at me that I would hesitate before repeating to the devil himself.
One particularly creative gentleman suggested I fold myself in half seventeen times to create a black hole and then have intercourse with said hole while my company’s headquarters were sucked into the event horizon. Points for creativity. Deductions for misogyny. Although, in fairness to the man, I have no trouble believing he’d have said something similar to a male rep.
That day only two people picked up. One hung up immediately. The other launched into a tirade of such intensity and fervor that I was worried he wouldn’t make it to the end of the call.
“And another thing!” the man shouted as I quietly ate a sandwich on the other end. “Your website looks like it was designed by some rock monkey with shit for brains and feet for hands!” he screamed at me. This was an insult I hadn’t heard before. Variations on it appeared with some regularity, sometimes with racial overtones. I’m not entirely sure why this was, given that I had no accent identifying me as anything other than white, and in fact I wasn’t. The assumption seemed to be that because I worked in customer service I must be Indian. This leap in logic went unquestioned by a surprising number of my interlocutors. The average consumer of cellular services in this country is a few rocks short of an avalanche themself.
“I’m sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations,” I said dryly, reading from the part of the script labeled “negative responses.”
“And I’m sorry that you people haven’t gone back to where you come from!” the man shouted.
“I’m from Omaha sir,” I said.
“Where you’re really from!” he shouted back.
“I’m really from Omaha sir,’ I responded tiredly. “And so is my father and his father, and before that we came over from England.” This prompted a string of racial epithets I’d rather not repeat. The rest of the day went like this, and after a while I defaulted to flatly repeating “I'm sorry that our services did not meet your quality and reliability expectations.”
My faith in humanity dimmed with each passing call. I decided to slip out at 4:00. I figured no one would notice. I figured right.
***
It was Wednesday: trash day. The walk from my apartment to the dumpsters was a dismal affair. Despite gray skies, cold fog and a pounding headache, the excursion did at least deliver the best part of my day. A few guys catcalled me on the way to the curb, and for a moment I felt like something other than a disgusting blob of flesh.
But then the thoughts started back in and made me realize that the men’s comments had not been compliments but acts of aggression. As I dragged the empty trash cans back to my apartment, the men once more yelled out their opinions on my face, my tits, my ass. In response, my mind conjured scenes from my dream – melted flesh, the endless unanswerable question: “Why didn’t you save me, Mama?”
By the time I’d made it back to my apartment I was practically in tears. At that moment, however, I remembered that the doll had been delivered earlier. It was time, I supposed, to open it.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, the package yielded its contents, and I nearly fell over when I saw it for the first time. It looked exactly like Sarah. Her little, premature hands. Her closed, screwed up eyes. Everything.
I held the tiny plastic facsimile against my chest and sobbed into it. I apologized to it over and over again:
“I’m sorry Sarah. I’m so sorry.”
But nothing could have prepared me for the moment that it spoke back:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I screamed and fell backwards. The floor flew up to meet me and struck the back of my head with overwhelming force, driving the tears out even faster through a combination of momentum and pain.
“What did you say?” I asked, with a shaking voice.
For a moment, the doll was quiet, its little eyes still shut against the world. Then, they snapped open. Its little mouth opened and flopped around like a fish before repeating:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
I threw it across the room. It was an instinct, but a second later, I felt bad. It was like seeing Sarah’s death all over again. The doll screamed and cried.
Why did you hurt me, Mama?
It asked in its sad, childlike voice.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I threw up again and again, my body shaking uncontrollably. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. That thing was nothing more than a hunk of colored plastic. When there was nothing left to expel from my stomach except bile, I returned to the front room and slowly approached the doll where it lay in the corner.
Its eyes snapped to mine.
Why did you leave me, Mama?
I picked it up and hurled it out the window. For a moment, I thought that I should try and call the short Russian man who had sold me the monstrosity but then I remembered that it was 8:30 on a Wednesday. Not even Russians have that kind of work ethic.
Instead, I poured a glass of wine with shaking fingers and turned on the TV, desperate for something, anything to break the silence. As the news blared and the alcohol entered my veins, I was almost able to convince myself that the last few minutes hadn’t happened. But then the screen began flashing images of babies in incubators – victims of some war halfway around the world. Protestors marched through the streets, holding images of the poor, malnourished infants, and listing out those they felt were responsible. Before I turned it off, I could have sworn that one of them turned to the screen and said my name.
***
When I did fall asleep, it was only after many hours of crying and shaking. As returned the silence, so returned my certainty that I had heard the doll speaking. But human frailty won the day, and my brain surrendered to darkness once more.
In my dream, I saw Tim holding little Sarah and crying. He held her close and put the tiny baby girl to his face, kissing her again and again. Then he turned to me with an eyeless face and spoke with a toothless mouth:
Why didn’t you save her, Mary?
I tried to scream but in this world I could not make a sound. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and I felt like I was breathing in the ocean. Then, little Sarah looked at me with her little melting face and said:
Didn’t you love me, Mama?
When I didn’t answer, the tiny melted eyes burned with rage.
I hate you Mama. Everybody hates you. You throw me out the window?! You should jump out yourself and do the world a favor you worthless sack of human garbage forgotten by God. Why are you even alive you heartless bitch?
I kept trying to scream but nothing would come out. I tried to apologize but could only feel the sensation of water rushing into my lungs. Sarah began to say, over and over:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me–
I woke with a start to find the doll inches from my face. It was shouting at me:
Why didn’t you save me, Mama?
This time, I did scream, and batted it away from my face. The horrible thing, which somehow had reappeared in my house after I’d thrown it out of a 7th story window, began to sob in the corner where it fell. It looked up at me with its tiny heartbroken eyes and quivering lips as it asked me:
Why did you hurt me, Mama? Do you hate me?
Without thinking, I said, “Of course I don’t hate you, sweetie. Mommy loves you very much.” I froze. What was I doing? This thing wasn’t Sarah. It wasn’t even a person.
Then why did you hurt me, Mama? Why didn’t you save me?
I buried my head in my hands. “I couldn’t save you! I’m sorry!” The tears continued to pour from my eyes in rivers, soaking the arms of my shirt.
You didn’t deserve me, Mama. You coldhearted cunt. You shouldn’t even be alive.
I looked at the thing in shock. Hearing those words in a child’s voice was somehow far worse. It couldn’t stay in my house. Not one second longer. But throwing it out the window hadn’t worked, so I had to come up with another plan. I grabbed the hateful thing and carried it to the fireplace. It screamed all the while, sobbing just like a child in pain.
Don’t burn me Mama! Don’t hurt me! Why are you doing this?
I was undeterred. The fire roared to life, and I hurled it into the hottest part of the blaze as it hurled insults back at me.
Nobody’s ever loved you! Why do you think Tim left, you stupid bitch? If he really loved you, he’d have stayed!
Slowly but surely, the thing melted in the flames. Its little face turned to mush, then to liquid, then to ash. The smell was atrocious, but at least it was gone. I lay panting on the floor, crying but relieved.

22 year old woman here… and I’m left with about 2 close women friendships that I’m thankful for. However in my past, girls I used to be best friends with ended up becoming my enemy. Despite me driving them everywhere, especially to parties, being a good friend, and paying for their food and clothes, they all turned against me out of the blue.
For example, a girl I was best friends with in 2020 began to act different, and was posting sneak-disses about me on her Snapchat story, saying how I talk to too many guys and want attention. She would act jealous men gave me attention, and not her. Few months later, her and 3 of her female friends threatened to jump me, one girl involved even threatened to use a knife… the other girl involved accused me of stealing her boyfriend (her boyfriend was in my messages and I ignored him, I showed her proof of that!) They publicly posted these threats online, speaking badly about me and asking people to give them my address. I kept screenshots of everything as proof. One night, they set me up and got someone to invite me to a house party, turns out those girls were inside waiting to attack me. I already went to police over that and I won the case, but it still traumatizes me to this day.
Second example, this girl from social media who hated me, found my parent’s house and spray-prainted “Fuck you, you’re a wh##re” on my parents shed. And another girl in high school I was seated with in class said “you’re spoiled, mommy and daddy bought you that new iPhone?” I said I bought it myself and to leave me alone. She got up out of her seat, and tried to punch me in my face. Random girls I didn’t know would show up to my parent’s house to fight me. They’d say I deserved to be ran over by a car, I’m a s##t, a blonde bimbo, a homewrecker, in high school they called me “plastic Barbie”. Girls would create fake Facebook pages to defame me, and make serious accusations to ruin my image. They’d create social media accounts using MY NAME and message other people racist and homophobic insults, to make it look like I said those things. Girls I didn’t know hated my guts and would do anything to ruin my life. God forbid if I ever defended myself, I was always the villain or The Bad Guy in their eyes.
I’ve had more luck with male friendships, only problem is when they begin catching feelings and want to sleep with me. But, men treat me better than any girl best friend I’ve had in my past.. Why? I tried my best to be a great friend to so many girls in my past, and all they’ve done is hurt me or turn against me. For so long I blamed myself and felt the world was against me, but I realized they were never a friend to begin with. I fell into depression and only stayed around my male friends, can you blame me though?
I’m tired of people saying this behavior is “pick me”, or “not like other girls”. I am traumatized with PTSD from what my gender has put me through. For a long time, I was terrified of other women, way more than any man could’ve made me feel. To this day, girls I don’t know will bully me or comment mean things on my pictures to s##t shame me, and I’m simply wearing a bikini or shorts. I block them and don’t reply, but seriously WHEN is it gonna stop? Many women are awful towards other women, I have experienced it and witnessed it. Life is more peaceful now than it was and I’ve met many supportive women, but I’m EXTRA CAREFUL now on who I consider my friend or get close with. I want to support girls, I truly do, but while growing up, they never supported me.

I am not the OOP. The OOP is u/Separate_Gold3123 posting in AITAH
Concluded as per OOP
1 update - Medium
Original - 1st June 2024
Update - 4th June 2024
​
AITAH for ruining my 16 year old daughters birthday because she bullied her stepsister
​
I (42m) have a 16 year old bio daughter Emma with my ex wife Katie and a step daughter (16) Sarah with my fiancé zoey
Both I and zoey having been dating 2 years and moved in together in January .Zoey and Sarah moved 20 miles from their home town which isn't far but it meant Sarah had to leave her friends behind,Emma and Sarah seems to have a great relationship at the start with Emma introducing Sarah to her friend group.
In March Sarah turned 16 and wanted to have a sleep over with her old friends and she expressed that she didn't want Emma there. After a longer discussion Sarah opened up about Emma being too much and how she kept pushing the sister thing which at first Sarah went along with to keep the peace but now it was making extremely uncomfortable and wanted some distance. I understood and I apologised for not noticing something earlier that night I went over to Katie's home to speak to Sarah, Sarah was extremely upset and told Katie to return her birthday present I tried to comfort Emma but Katie told me to leave
Emma didn't come over that weekend and when I collected her the week after she barely spoke to me. Sarah tried to apologise and expaln but Emma walked passed her, since than she barely speaks to me and just flat out ignores Sarah but has a good relationship with zoey
This Sunday is Emma's 16th birthday and Katie is holding her a big sweet 16 party. Some of my family are coming from out of town for it and the ones who aren't have sent gifts/money. My niece and Emma were chatting at breakfast about all the gifts she got and how great her party will be I noticed sarah looking upset so when the girls left to get their nails done, sarah broke down and said Emma has been isolating her since her birthday apparently Emma told her friends to stop speaking to Sarah and the few friends Sarah had ditched her so emma would invite them to her party which Sarah isn't invited too. my niece kept rubbing in how Sarah barley got anything for her birthday compared to Emma which hurt Sarah because her dads side doesn't acknowledge her and zoey family isn't well off
When Emma came back I demand her to explain Emma said her friends choose her when she explained why she wouldn't be speaking to Sarah anymore and as for everyone else she can't control what others do, she than said I can't be mad about Sarah not being invited. i lost it at Emma and said there will be no party, I will be taking all of gifts which she will have to earn back and all her money will be donated to a charity for homeless teens and she will not be going to Disney with us in July, I wanted her to apologise to Sarah and first thing Monday I will be looking for a family therapist.
She said I couldn't do that because they were her things and her mother was holding the party I told her watch me. Emma locked herself into her room with some of her gifts and called her mother. Katie showed up at my house like a banshee screaming about me playing white knight for someone else's kid while neglecting mine and those gifts weren't mine to take. Katie ended up taking emma with some of her gifts home and told me stay away from Emma's party, emma didn't speak to me but told Sarah "you win he's your dad now but watch your back bitch"
Katie has blasted me on social media and my family said they want me to give emma the rest of her presents/money or I will be cut off completely. Sarah is extremely upset and is blaming herself which I told her it's not her fault it's Emma's for being a bully and Katie's for being an enabler
I tied contacting Emma but her step dad answered and told me she doesn't want to talk to me I've ruined her sweet 16th and she'll never forgive me
Was I wrong for punishing her and not giving back her gifts?
​
Comments
​
s-nicolexo
So it’s okay for Sarah to exclude Emma but not for Emma to exclude Sarah?
Frankly, I don’t know why anyone is surprised that Emma’s friends don’t talk to Sarah anymore after she convinced you to exclude Emma from her own home so she could celebrate her birthday.
Your ex is correct, you are white knighting for someone else’s kid.
Focus on your own child instead of your relationship with someone else and their kid.
YTA
Edit: also, why are you more concerned about how Sarah feels now than how Emma felt when she was effectively not welcome in her own home ?

OOP: Zoey was staying home with Sarah even tho emma invited zoey, I was never upset at Sarah not being invited to the party it’s how Emma went about it and isolating Sarah at school and laughing when my niece was being cruel to Sarah about her lack of gifts from family

​
DisasterLow3014
So Emma was suppose to be Sarah’s bff after she didn’t want her around for her party.
Either Sarah wants to be friends or she wants space. She can’t have it both ways!
Ty oh should be proud of your daughter for not Letting people use her. She is standing up for herself and not Letting Sarah use her(and yes she used her to have friends). At least your daughter has a backbone.
And be honest this is about the golden child(Sarah) getting her feelings hurt when she finds out the hard way you can’t use people when it’s convent.
​
**Judgement - YTA*\*
​
Update - 3 days later
​
Hello everyone I thought I'd give you a small update on the situation
Emma's birthday party went ahead I didn't attend nor did we speak till today. Zoey took all Emma's gifts the night I made the post and told me emma didn't deserve to be punished but she does deserve an apology.
Katie and her husband texted and called all Saturday and Sunday. I didn't answer I just sent one text to Katie that Monday I'd reach out to Emma because I wanted to have a one on one conversation with her. Katie didn't like this but I told her I wasn't arguing
Zoey and I talked all weekend about going forward we decided to tell both girls about zoey being pregnant today (monday) separately than we talked about Sarah. what I didnt mention in my last post is Sarah is on the autism spectrum along with other other mental health issues so making friends is extremely hard for her so that's why I was so hard on Emma because she knew and agreed to help her. My last post was never about not inviting Sarah to the party it was just Emma's behaviour towards Sarah caused my reaction.we will be moving back to zoeys home town which I said in the last post is only 20 miles away so there will be no issues with Emma custody time. I think it will be better for everyone and we decided to go to both individual and family therapy
Sarah is still upset and wants to apologise to Emma for causing trouble but we told her to wait a few weeks before trying but she also needs to respect Emma's boundaries and give her space.
Emma came over today she didn't show much emotion when I asked her to speak about everything, she said she saw a sister in Sarah and went out of her way to welcome her but Sarah couldn't even be honest with her and she sent me to do her dirty work, so she couldn't even be bothered to fight with Sarah about it so she just cut her off the only way she could. I said I understood about her friends choosing her over Sarah but I didn't think it was right to let Sarah's new Friends turn against her for a party invite. Emma said she didn't tell anyone do anything they made their own choices same goes for my niece and it's not her responsibility to fight Sarah's battles. I asked her did she think choose Sarah over her when I asked her stay at her moms the night of the sleepover she told me she did and it's gonna take a lot to change the way she feels but she's willing to give me another chance.
I brought up zoeys pregnancy and Emma took a few minutes to process everything than gave an extremely mature answer saying she's happy and hopes she'll finally get a sister (Kate's has two sons with her husband) but at the same time with everything that I did she can't fully trust me not to choose my new family over her Which hurt but I guess I deserved it.I apologised for everything and took accountability for my actions
I than spoke to Emma about the move which did upset because she thought she'd see me less but when I took her to the car I bought her for birthday with extra presents inside to make up for the weekend. emma was extremely happy because obviously she can visit when she wants after she gets her license.
We agreed to have a dinner just me and her at her every Friday. I told we needed Sarah talk more and if something is bothering her tell me she agreed so it's a very early start and baby steps hopefully in the right direction.
Unfortunately when zoey came home she told me Sarah didn't take the news well about the pregnancy and hasn't stop crying since so thats other issue to work on but zoey said Emma text congratulations so did Katie.
I want to make some things clear before people assume
Emma's mom already knows about the car I brought up the idea in January and she was with me when I collected it from the dealer in mid may.
We won't be moving till at least late august and yes emma will her own room to decorate how she wants
Emma will come over this weekend but she expressed she still doesn't want to talk to Sarah
Zoey is 7 weeks pregnant
Edit- I won't be commenting anymore especially to the misogynistic comments towards a minor but I'm gonna post the messages of you threatening to harm emma and Sarah.Emma just called me she been reading comments and told me stop wasting my time because these subs have a reputation for just hating on parents especially step parents and dads.
I guess everyone is mad no one got cut off, divorced or arrested like the usual stories on here guess no one was ready for a realistic outcome, thanks to some of you for the advice even the harsh advice for those of you who just came to call me, Sarah and zoey names you need to leave the house once and a while
Bye Reddit
​
Comments
​
star_b_nettor
I feel a lot of sympathy for Emma. None for you. It's not hard to see you chose a favorite, and it isn't even your own kid. You and Sarah were both bullies to Emma.
​
trialanderrorschach
Thank goodness Emma clearly has one parent who is helping her grow into a well-adjusted, thoughtful human. This is a deep scar in the making. OP seems to think this is a positive update but all I see is that Emma now knows she can't trust or rely on her father and when he disappoints her he'll try and distract her with a shiny thing so she gets over it.

OOP: I take full accountability for my actions I was in the wrong i can’t deny it did look like i favoured Sarah over emma which I’m not even gonna make excuses for because I can’t . Emma knows about this post because I showed her and she laughed at everyone’s comments “dragging me”
I messed up over the last few months with emma if it takes a lifetime I’ll try to make it up to her by both actions and words

​
2022wpww
Omg you are really doubling down on being an Ah. I was like I’m gonna read how you know you are dick, that you reflected decided that you have bad judgement and made bad decisions but no. You made and to continue to make so many mean hurtful decisions what an Ass.
You did favour a bully you reunion and will always be remembered for being a mean & nasty to your daughter. Family will look at the pics go where is father oh he was bulling his daughter laughing and being proud of the fact he made his own daughter cry. Your ex tried to reason with you and NO you still had to be the AH and do it your way!
Zoey daughter needs some help she has issues which have nothing to do with being on the autism spectrum she is nasty & hurtful girl even showed it with the new baby. She wanted to take you from your daughter she did those were and are fake tears I bet you knew that.
​
I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments

Her coworkers told her it was a bad place to live, but she didn’t share the same sentiment. Sure, the outlets were painted over, there was a permanent rust mark on the bath tub that ran into a suspicious hole in the floor of the bathroom, the windows squeaked when they opened or shut and two of them got stuck regularly, but it was hers. For the first time in her adult life, she gets to live alone. So what if mildew grew above the window in the bedroom and there was no dishwasher? This place has character, and she loves it. Her mom flew out to help with the move. She had seen the pictures that were beautifully doctored and was in full support of the move. Emily called her as she signed the lease and they immediately started scouring the internet for furniture and paintings to hang. Her mom flew out to help with the move, wanting to make sure Emily didn’t overstress herself and backslide on the progress she was making. It had been a bad year, the breaking point being her fiancé leaving her in a letter while she was away at a funeral. This apartment, while exactly what Emily believed she needed, was simultaneously exactly the place any mother would be terrified of their daughter living. Her mom couldn’t help but make a few comments. “The fire escape door doesn’t have a lock on it, what if someone breaks in”, so they got a little battery powered alarm. “It smells like weed, what if you go into work smelling like weed”, it really wasn’t that strong, but they got extra candles. “There’s a homeless camp outside” oh, that. The street at the foot of the building did have a decent homeless population. There was a shelter across the street and while only some of them took up residence in the actual shelter, a great number of the homeless lived on the street right outside, to stay close to the food. There weren’t any violent outbursts, a few of them talked to Emily briefly, they all seemed very kind, just down on their luck. Emily’s mom has nothing to worry about.
She learned very quickly that the day time population and the evening population were very different.

The apartment has two bedrooms, one bathroom, one living room, and one kitchen. The two rooms are on one side while the kitchen and living room are down a long hallway. The bathroom is in between. When picking the bedroom, Emily opted for the room that faced the courtyard (away from the homeless people) and didn’t have an unlocking, barely alarmed fire escape door in it. She set up what little things she maintained in the breakup and started scouring the internet to fill the rest of the space. In a matter of days, the apartment was transformed into what Emily needed it to be. Vibrant colors on every surface, small touches of personality wherever she could squeeze them in. Granted, most of the knick knacks were meaningless, little trinkets she picked up in bulk to facilitate the overall goal of filling the space, but she promised herself that she would work to replace them as time went on. Those items were just place holders for when she was ready to be the person that had hundreds of trinkets accompanied by hundreds of stories. She stayed at her mom’s hotel with her until the apartment was full. Why not? She didn’t see her mom often and her mom’s hotel room was not nearly as lonely as Emily’s new apartment. So Emily’s first night wasn’t until everything was as moved in as it could be. Every article of clothing was hanging exactly where it was meant to be, the desk in her office was littered with her work papers, the kitchen fully stocked and all the meaningless trinkets lined shelves across all the rooms. It felt lived in, even though no one had truly lived here since the last tenant moved out a few months prior. On her first day, Emily started to grasp what it truly meant to be completely alone. There were no roommates in the kitchen to shuffle around when she wanted a drink of water. When she wanted to take a shower, there was no one already occupying the bathroom. When she made dinner and cooked too much, there was no one to offer it to, and when she sat down to relax before bed, there was no one waiting on the couch for her. Solitude, whether she liked it or not. She poured a glass of wine and tucked the small blanket around her feet, settling in to watch her TV show. This was by no means a new show to Emily. She had seen the entire series twice and now picks and chooses whatever episode she wants to watch again and again. A comfort show, something that won’t be different to her. On this particular episode, a team of detectives is hunting down a serial killer that enjoys recreating Edgar Allen Poe stories. It’s one of Emily’s favorites, and it’s at the end of a season so the episode has two parts, which turns a forty-two minute commitment into an eighty-four minute commitment, which delays the thing she has been dreading the most, sleeping completely alone. On the plane ride home from the funeral, the only thing she could think of was sinking into Spencer, her now ex-fiancé’s, arms and going to sleep. She was exhausted from the entire trip, emotionally and physically drained from not only losing her sister-in-law, but running around to comfort every family member struggling to hold it together. This is what Emily is good at, putting her emotions aside for others. But the second she got on the plane to fly home, she realized how much it had affected her. She wanted so badly to be held while she finally took her time to grieve the woman that had become a part of her family. He had kept up appearances, gave her nothing to worry about the entire time, he was distant, sure, but that could be written off as not knowing the person he needed to be for her. Giving her the space that she needed. When she sent her flight information and he said he wasn’t going to be out of work in time to get her, she didn’t bat an eye as she called a car to pick her up from the airport. Yet as soon as she stepped into the apartment they shared, she felt how different the air was. Nothing was particularly out of place, the air just felt different. She went to their room, and where she expected to see his pajamas strewn across an unmade bed. Instead, a letter sat in the center of the bed. It detailed that they were over, he didn’t love her anymore. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in his writing, nothing that cued any outside reader to the fact that they had been in a dedicated and loving relationship for the past three years. In his letter, he said that he would be back in one week from his trip and she should be out by then. Afterall, it was his name on the lease. Emily was at a loss for what to do, grieve her sister, her fiancé, any of the other people that left her life unexpectedly that year. She curled up in the bed, laying on his side because the sheets still smelled like him, and she cried. Not the body shaking cry that causes someone exhaustion, she was already exhausted, this was just the final straw. She blankly focused on one spot in the carpet as the tears rolled out of her eyes and on to his pillow. The sunset and soon she was cast in darkness, save for the street lamp that cast just below her face through the blinds. She didn’t sleep, didn’t even bother trying, because when you lose enough in such a short period of time, why not lose sleep too. That was the last night Emily spent alone. The next day, she took up temporary residence at her friend’s apartment. Lonely but not alone. She found her new apartment and took up residence in her Mom’s hotel room while she waited for her meaningless trinkets to fill her shelves. This will be the first night she will face complete and utter loneliness. Once her double feature rolls to the credits, she turns the TV off and notices how the room becomes remarkably quiet. The only sound even close to her was the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the adjacent room. Still and silent. Time for the rounds. Window by window, every lock is checked, every blind is pulled down tightly. She fills a cup with cold water for her nightstand. As she’s getting ready for bed, she passes the front door three times and checks the lock and deadbolt all three times. Finally, the office. If her mother hadn’t made a comment about the safety, or lack thereof, of the fire escape door, it would have been in the back of Emily’s mind, but since it was spoken, she couldn’t help but worry about it. The small alarm they had purchased was blinking, indicating it was on and ready to alert in the event of an intruder. She shut the lights off and closed the door, adding just one more layer between her and the imaginary intruder. Across the hall, she peeled the covers back to her bed and laid down, before getting back up to check on the fire escape door again. Eventually, she pushed her desk against the door, making sure to stack the edge of it with several books propped up and open, the idea being that one nudge of the desk would knock the books over and be a second form of alarm. As a final measure, she grabbed her largest kitchen knife, checked the front door locks again, and set off to sleep. This is the moment of stillness. Weeks leading up to this moment, where she has forced herself to face the very thing she has been avoiding. All she can do is wish for just one distraction. Perhaps the universe has given her enough bad luck, maybe in the spirit of turning things around, she will get exactly what she wishes for, because in that moment of stillness, she hears the beginning of an argument outside through her single paned glass. A couple is fighting outside. Emily can’t make out the words, but it’s quickly escalating in volume and passion. She ponders for a moment. Should she interject herself into this couple’s private moment? What kind of person sits and watches as someone goes through something that intense and raw? Not a good one, that’s for sure, but Emily felt as if she deserved to not be a good person, not yet anyway. She snuck to her living room, all the lights still off, and slowly, so slowly raised the blinds. She could see the couple and make out a few words. The man felt that the woman was dead weight. They were homeless because of her. He had stayed with her through…something, but Emily couldn’t make it out. She walked slowly towards the window, as if it was an animal that would spook if she moved too quickly, and opened it just a few inches. Night air slowly trickled in, causing the hairs on her exposed thighs to stand on end. 

“you want to rub my face in it? You chose to stay with me through all of that, I never asked you to stay” The woman screamed in his face.
“I stayed with you because I loved you, I would have done anything for you” the man shouted back, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
“Well I am sick of feeling like I owe you something, I am fucking sick of it” she turned to look behind her shoulder as if someone was waiting for her. “You don’t fucking love me, if you loved me, we wouldn’t be living in the car on the side of the fucking street waiting for our next meal”
“We are here because of what I sacrificed to be with you, we are here because I stopped working when you got sick, we are here because of your bills. The only thing you have to be upset about is getting fucking sick. You don’t take care of yourself, that was your fucking problem until you dragged me in and made it my problem” He spat back at her, stepping closer.
“I could have been fine, you were always holding me down and I am fucking sick of it. You held me back, you have punished me for the cards I was dealt when you knew about them from the start. You want someone to hate for how things turned out, hate yourself. I would have been fine without you. I would have been fine. You want to sit on that pedestal, you want to judge me from the outside, you want to make me feel bad and use my struggles to make yourself feel like the hero? You’re fucking scum and I am done with you” She turned to walk away. For a moment, Emily thought he would let her go, she thought that he would let her get away and try to live without him. Maybe she would make it without him, if he loved her, wouldn’t he want that? Then she saw him reach into his waistband and pull out a gun. Emily’s hand found her mouth and she felt all air stand still as she watched on.
“You are not going to ruin my fucking life and walk away, that’s not what we’re going to do, you’re the fucking reason, you have to live with what you have done to us or die on this fucking street” His hand trembled as he slowly brought the gun up to her. Emily ran back to her room, grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she dialed 9-1-1 and ran back to the window.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator said that well-rehearsed words calmly.
“um, Hi- yes, hello. There are two people in a fight outside of my apartment. The man has a gun” Emily barely whispered, not wanting either party to know she was there.
“You’re going to shoot me? Is that where we are now? You want to shoot me?” The woman walked closer to him and it was everything in Emily to not scream at her to run away. “You’re too much of a fucking pussy, you want me to ruin your life which is exactly why you’re going to let me walk away right now” The barrel of the gun was pressed against her chest. “You can’t say that I ruined your life if you kill me, you can’t say that I broke your heart if you’re the one that blows mine to pieces”
“I could say that shit with you dead or alive, baby” He says this in a volume just barely above talking, Emily isn’t sure she heard it right when a gun shot rings out in the air and the woman falls to the ground.
“Ma’am, are you there? Was that a gun?” The operator speaks with a bit more force, drawing Emily’s attention briefly away from the scene.
“The McDonalds off of Sharon, right outside the homesless shelter, he just shot her” Emily didn’t have time to ponder the lack of emotion in her voice, if she thought she had hit an emotional rock bottom, she was wrong. The operator started to ask more questions but Emily just hung up, her eyes planted on the woman laying on the ground with a bullet in her chest. She panned to the man and immediately felt the blood rush from her body and her stomach launch into somersaults. His eyes were planted firmly on hers. When she has returned with her phone, she had stepped out of the shadows and placed herself directly in the screen of the window. They held each other’s gazes for a moment, but she was not the cause of his pain, therefore not worth his troubles, yet. The woman sputtered on the concrete. He went to her, on his knees, he leaned into her. She pulled him in closer by the back of his neck with her bloody hand and whispered something in his ear. When she let go, he slowly straightened and stood towering over her. All of a sudden, his foot was driving repeatedly into her skull against the sidewalk. Blood splattered and trickled out onto the light colored concrete, appearing black in the night lighting. He stomped and stomped, after she was long dead, until red and blue lights started to illuminate him.

He didn’t run. He didn’t move at all and for a moment, Emily believed that he was beginning to realize what he had done. But that cold gaze turned back towards her. He knew that she was the reason the cops were called, he knew she was the reason that his bad luck had taken an even worse turn. His gun followed his gaze and Emily ducked just before a bullet flew through her window. Glass shards shattered about her living room around her, she stayed down until she heard the officers yelling at the man to put his gun down. He started to scream as they barked orders over him. Emily peaked above the windowsill and saw him in cuffs, leaning against the front of the car. She waited and watched as they got him into the back of the car. Soon, more cars and trucks and vans appeared, carting off the remains of the woman. Emily went down to give her statement, she told the entire story to an officer. She was with them until the early hours of the morning, answering question after question, writing and signing a statement. Finally, when the last officer told her to stay out of trouble before he drove off, she made the trek back up to her apartment. Her freedom, her new home. Early sunlight started to trickle into the room from the broken window. The living room looked different now, and not just because of the broken glass in the carpet and sofa. This living room had been apart of something, and it was changed now. She turned to go to her room, certain she would fall asleep with no issue at the point, when her eye caught on something stuck in the door frame. A brass bullet was wedged into the old wood. It caught in the sunlight and Emily though, in that moment, ‘This is the most precious thing’. She dug the bullet out of the frame and held it in her hand, rolling it in her palm, back and forth, then walked to her bookshelf, still filled with meaningless trinkets, and placed it on the third shelf from the top, right at eye level. 

Her first trinket, the beginning of her new life.

So my game was ticking along nicely and I ended up with two children with William Watt, Almanzo (little house on the prairie 😉) and Lillian. I always thought I’d continue on as my daughter but she turned into a real brat despite being the baby that had the most attention, I sent both children to school and would find the little madam in the mines instead of attending classes she was also just generally full of sass, my son on the other hand was really sweet and even the villagers talked about him and how much he loved the farm animals so I started to sway towards him. And then the chaos really started when they aged into adults, for a while neither of them showed any signs of marriage and I was starting to get concerned but then suddenly I get my daughters wedding invitation in the mail and she was marrying a girl named after MY character (i imagine it’s just a random thing but her parents were my friends so i always pretended she was named after me 😂) so that was fine until suddenly her fiance moved into the house and kicked my son out!!! I got through the wedding not sure what to do because I wanted my son to stay in the household but I also really liked who my daughter picked for a wife, then my son sends me a wedding invite, he was getting married to Isabella Whitfield! A woman old enough to be his MOTHER! Why I nearly passed out! Her husband had died in the small pox outbreak when my son was only a CHILD and she had daughter the same age as my son… well 😤 I knew she was about to age up to an elder as everyone else OUR AGE was so she’d be getting a cute toy boy and leaving my son without an heir!! I wanted to put and end to it but he was already living with her even before their nuptials so what was I to do??? Well I was very respectful and attended their wedding (in black and crying) and then gifted my new “daughter in law” a beautiful cake… she tragically passed the next day (and aged into and elder) and left my son a widower but free of her. He quickly remarried a lovely man so all is well but they have yet to have a child and my daughter and her wife cannot as our household is full until myself or my beloved William pass. So the question is… when I do pass do I continue on as my daughter as originally planned or do I kicked her and her wife out and continue on as my son

I heard from some friends that these forms might know something about weird phenomena. So I thought I would explain what's been happening recently and hope you guys have some answers. So I’m moving out of my parents house after graduating high school and I was going through my stuff and found something weird.
I found a picture of me, my brother and my brother's friend, let’s call him Josiah, I do not want to use his real name because I never got permission.
When I saw this picture I got a flurry of memories, I always remembered that we all used to hangout when we were all in elementary school but these memories are different, I suppressed them.
Josiah had a big backyard. It led into some woods nearby, we often used to play in his backyard but his mom always told us not to go into the woods.
We almost never went into the woods, Josiah and my brother were about 5 years older than me, so I was always scared to go into the woods and they understood that and stayed with me.
However one day, I was about 6 and they were about 11. We were sitting in a spot we called our fort, it was just a spot right under a hill we put a bunch of sticks over.
It was getting dark, and we were starting to get annoyed with Josiah cause he kept asking.
“Did you hear that?”
There was never any sound he would just ask.
“Did you hear that?”
We’d always say no and then continue the conversation. While this would not have annoyed me had it been once or twice it was every other sentence he’d ask if we had heard anything. Eventually my brother snapped.
“No, no one heard anything, and you’re not gonna hear anything if you keep asking” He was obviously not gonna do anything we were just annoyed.
“Just listen, there’s whispers” I remember being confused but my brother seemed to get concerned, we both sat there quietly and tired to listen.
“Must be in your head cause we don’t hear anything do we?” He turned back to look at me and I nodded, I hadn't heard anything.
Josiah started to walk away, he hadn’t said anything, just walked away.
We thought he probably just went back to his house because it was dark.
Maybe he had gotten annoyed with us too and just wanted to go to his room.
So the two of us decided to get up and walk back to his house.
Cause we didn’t want to just be sitting in the backyard when it got dark.
That’s when my brother saw him, he was walking towards the woods.
Me and my brother ran over to him to stop him.
“Where are you going?” My brother called out.
“My Mom is calling for me” He responded, this confused us.
“Your Mom is in the woods?” My brother asked
“Sweety, come here” that’s when we heard it, it sounded like his Mom, but something was off, the air was cold, I could tell even as a kid that, that was not his Mom.
My brother sees something, his face goes cold and he screams, Josiah seems to break out of the trance he is in and walks over to us.
“Let’s get back to my house” He says, he seems shaken.
This was the last time that me and my brother would see Johsia, he was found dead the next week, in the woods, we moved shortly after.
The weirdest thing to me, is that I don’t remember him dying, I don’t remember hanging out with him after that but I remember getting told that he died now, but before seeing that picture.
I don’t remember him dying, he couldn’t have, I would remember that.
I looked into it. I found the details of everything, I wish I didn’t. It was a lot to read about a friend.
The weirdest thing of all of this, is that the picture with the three of us together, it had a date on the back, the date was a month after he died.
I need to investigate this, I think, I think I’ll go to the woods again, I have to find out what is out there, and why.
I can hear them now too, the whispers I mean after the memories came back the whispers started, every now and then I hear them say
“Come to the woods”

TLDR: there’s half a million gold on the line and I’m not sure if the party will agree on how to handle it.
Ok some background on WDH for those unaware: The whole premise of this campaign is that Dagult Neverember, the former Lord of Waterdeep embezzled 500,000 gold and hid it under the city. The gold is guarded by a Gold Dragon named Aurinax who thinks this gold is legitimate and belongs to Neverember rightfully. He can be convinced that it’s not but the book sets a very high persuasion check for that (DC 18). Please ask for more background if needed
End of the last session was the players walking into the main vault. This coming session will primarily involve the party and Raener negotiating with Aurinax on what to do with the Gold. While the whole party is technically allied with the Harper’s, only 1 - 2 (of 4) of them actually seem inclined to maintain that alliance. The Druid and the Monk are most likely going to want to keep at least some of the gold, The Cleric just recently joined and has more allegiance to Raener and the Harpers than she does to the party. The fighter could go either way, he’s kind of in the middle. Aurinax (at least in the book) isn’t willing to part with a single coin and is willing to fight over it unless persuaded that the gold should go back to the people as Raener and the Cleric want.
The final variable will be my chosen Villain, Manshoon/Zhents. Since there’s not much solid lore on him I changed him a lot. The real Manshoon (found in his sanctum) is an old man in a wheel chair scarred from his battle with the blackstaff years back. He doesn’t care a whole lot about the gold, what he wants is the Dragon’s body. He intends to slay it and use its flesh to forge himself a new, Half Dragon, Half Human body. What I’m concerned about is that my version of Manshoon would be willing to split the gold Half and Half if they help him slay the dragon. I’m worried that this could turn into a situation where the party is pitted against each other, one side helping Manshoon/Zhentarim and the other helping Aurinax.
But, then again the players who do badly want the gold have repeatedly shown they really hate the Zhentarim so I just don’t know what is going to happen and I don’t know how to prepare for this.
I don’t know if I explained this all well enough for people who don’t know the adventure well. I’ve talked to the players and they seem split roughly half and half.

My ex has a child with me and she blames me for so much. this isnt to hurt my ex. i do believe she is a good person but with me she doesnt want to be

Discussion
SO, my ex DA was/is very abusive. I guess I fall into anxious attachment, but not at first with her. I told her my whole story and years later she kept comparing my trauma through my sexual abuse when I was a child-teens, domestic abuse, bullying, etc.. I wasn't fond of it, but I kept telling myself hear her out she is hurting. It was like no matter how hard I tried to listen she would just shut down. I recall a moment when in the beginning of her and i's friendship I asked her to leave my apartment for the first time because I really didn't want her to deal with my outburst, which I had no idea how to handle at all, I begged her please drop this conversation, but she simply manipulated me into telling her everything. All of this is hurting me, because now its weaponized against me. I would scream so much after that because I kept asking her to leave me alone with my problems because I honestly didn't feel she would ever understand me. I kept enabling her addiction to weed, kept buying it for her for years. I honestly don't enjoy weed anymore after all this, but I foolishly kept trying to relate with her for what she "enjoys". One time my hours got cut and I told her I wouldn't be able to afford any weed, she had a outburst and got so angry because she was really depending on the stuff. I told her and explained I have to get food and pay my bills. She would try to still convince me that I promised her the stuff. that day we ended up fighting for nothing, because I should my best MTG cards, which was enemy fetch lands and allied fetch lands, if anyone knows what I'm talking about, they were expensive cards. she didn't even thank me, just said she was sorry and I didn't have to do that. Eventually it hurt a lot because why would she try to make me feel I made a bad choice, after we got her weed, we later broke up. Then she pops back into my life again saying she missed me, I gave her space because I truly did care for her, even though at this time my anxiety was a full time high, working my ass off for a job that was far to difficult for me to do, but I kept pushing myself. I had a break down and started screaming in the car asking please help I'm hurting... that was the first time she hit me. she said I didn't know what to do so I hit you. that torn me apart inside because I told her my mother would hit me whenever I cried and she did that to me. when I had the courage to confront her about it she gaslighted me saying it didn't hurt me she didn't hit me hard. So, even though I'm a yeller which is very childish, I'm working on it, eventually she started throwing things at me because she was just mad at me. I would be playing games out of nowhere she would be throwing shoes at me, then controllers from my ps4... I was so angry and told her to go home. she would cry saying how dare you tell me go back to my parents who neglect me! I told her that's no excuse, it just became the norm for me to allow her to gaslight me like this. one day she got me a cool set of holographic lord of Atlantis, which admittedly made me jump for joy because it made me feel loved by her, some how we got into a huge argument because she was complaining because of me she wasn't able to get her mom anything for mothers day, I told her that's not fair for you to say that and I think she should go home if we are going to argue again. I always looked for peace when I saw her everyday. but everyday was just a smoke out session or watching movies she wanted to watch. but because I didn't want to do that at all and just wanted to sleep she was furious. so after she agreed to leave, she quickly started slamming my apartment door saying let me in I want the cards back, I was in tears before she came back and bam! she for the first time threaten to call the cops saying I was abusive towards her, eventually I opened the door and told her to calm down she rushed her self in and was trying to not let her in and I was going to give her the cards, but seeing her crying so hard made me feel so horrible so I let her in. she punched me on my private parts, kicked, slapped me, eventually I got her to lay on my bed but I had to hold her down for the first time, and it hurt me so much doing that, but I didn't want to keep getting hit, I'd told her no more hitting me this needs to stop, she denied it all right in front of my face, I told her to leave. I didn't talk to her for 3 months. one day she saw my Instagram and called me saying how disgusting I was for liking a certain type of women saying I never found her attractive, which was just projection, it was very late at night and was very irritated because I was lacking sleep after so much fights and break ups and blaming everything on myself. some how she got pregnant after this, we made up had a good perfect two weeks, then I had enough, we had very intimate sex, which was always needle in the hay sack with her. I didn't mind because I understand not everyone has a high sex drive, I tried to be understanding, bam we break up again, several months later she realized she missed her period then another month went by and she told me she was pregnant, I was surprised because she was on birth control for years, which I did pay for. this was during covid days, I was exited and very nervous so I started smoking a lot of ciggs, gained so much weight, constantly drinking worried my worst fears will come true. When I moved in with her so was a total different person and I was still dealing with all that trauma she caused, I felt so very uncomfortable for a lot of the time and I was bitter and resentful, but I tried to forgive her. Then our beautiful daughter was born, oh boy I was so tired but I couldn't even imagine my ex was feeling so I supported her and kept calm all the way through, we had a our baby and I felt it was going to give her so much joy, it didn't, not even a full month has passed.. she told me it didn't matter if I was the father because I was useless, she did everything, all I did was make myself a cup of coffee because we both didn't sleep well that night, I even offered her some coffee to help her feel more awake she got mad and ignored me. later that same year I went to my first ever vacation, she ignored me the whole vacation, when I asked her why didn't you talk to me this one time about how you wanted to help your cousin when I made plans to propose on the beach in Cancun, she shut down and started crying over and over and I was there to help her with her panic attack, I told her after she calmed down which took a couple hours why did you break down? she couldn't answer, the next night I was very anxious and I stupidly started drinking a lot , all I did was ask her to leave me alone. she intentionally tried to hurt me and tripped me and I almost feel of the balcony, she quickly said I was being dramatic, and all I could do was say leave me alone and sobbing being reminded of why do I keep putting up with this and blaming myself. The next morning she woke up crying telling me she will understand if I left her, I made up my mind and told myself I had to stay because we have a baby together and she isn't even one at this moment. a lot of fighting continued to happen and her hitting never stopped. She was never aware what da was until she got a test and they told her she was dismissive avoidant and she was very upset with this because she wanted to be adhd. I was taken back why would you want that. so far I kept my mouth shut about my problems until 2023 and eventually she told me she didn't love me and she felt I was no good anymore, I was getting high and drinking fire balls, I woke up so angry and frustrated and just told her why do you have such a problem with me, she said I was delusional, I was mad because I gotten so tired of her dodging my questions, I was in the room with her and our daughter was in the room. Till this day my ex will never be honest what happened that day, she hit me so much I got pulled down on the floor all because of my eyes, she said I looked dangerous, which I'm very confused with this because I never ever hit her even once, she said I put myself on the floor and i was furious and screamed at anger which was so stupid of me, my mind was telling me go to the other room, but all i can think about is if she is able to hit me she might be able to hurt my daughter, so i grabbed my daughter away from her and my worst decision ever because i never wanted my daughter to go what i went through as a child. till this day its being used against me. because my ex's family thinks i was the one who caused all that, now im here reflecting all this, there so much more that has happened and I'm not saying at all that i was the saint. I have been diagnosed with bipolar type 1, then later find out i was misdiagnosed, and it turns out i have adhd, which is funny to me because when i told my ex this she laughed at me, i only wanted to let her know because we have a daughter together. she said i told you youre not even bipolar and your adhd, but for years she would tell me i need to apply for disability for bi polar to get her a house and i kept telling her no. i need to work it helps me. she laughed at me. she wasnt always like this all the time but yeah. i still feel its all my fault even though, im seeking medical help, a doctor, calling suicide hot line just in case i have a break down and i have been doing this since 2023 and now, i found Jesus Christ, a church, still have a full time job, currently looking for another so i can support myself and my daughter, my ex refuses to get a job and all she wants to do still is smoke weed and sell drugs. but im the asshole.
after saying all this, i hope she gets help and finds a man who will give her all the security she needed, i was never able to make her feel that ever, even though i tried to the best way i could. i dont think she is an evil person, she is just in so much pain and hurting

My ex has a child with me and she blames me for so much. this isnt to hurt my ex. i do believe she is a good person but with me she doesnt want to be

Discussion
SO, my ex DA was/is very abusive. I guess I fall into anxious attachment, but not at first with her. I told her my whole story and years later she kept comparing my trauma through my sexual abuse when I was a child-teens, domestic abuse, bullying, etc.. I wasn't fond of it, but I kept telling myself hear her out she is hurting. It was like no matter how hard I tried to listen she would just shut down. I recall a moment when in the beginning of her and i's friendship I asked her to leave my apartment for the first time because I really didn't want her to deal with my outburst, which I had no idea how to handle at all, I begged her please drop this conversation, but she simply manipulated me into telling her everything. All of this is hurting me, because now its weaponized against me. I would scream so much after that because I kept asking her to leave me alone with my problems because I honestly didn't feel she would ever understand me. I kept enabling her addiction to weed, kept buying it for her for years. I honestly don't enjoy weed anymore after all this, but I foolishly kept trying to relate with her for what she "enjoys". One time my hours got cut and I told her I wouldn't be able to afford any weed, she had a outburst and got so angry because she was really depending on the stuff. I told her and explained I have to get food and pay my bills. She would try to still convince me that I promised her the stuff. that day we ended up fighting for nothing, because I should my best MTG cards, which was enemy fetch lands and allied fetch lands, if anyone knows what I'm talking about, they were expensive cards. she didn't even thank me, just said she was sorry and I didn't have to do that. Eventually it hurt a lot because why would she try to make me feel I made a bad choice, after we got her weed, we later broke up. Then she pops back into my life again saying she missed me, I gave her space because I truly did care for her, even though at this time my anxiety was a full time high, working my ass off for a job that was far to difficult for me to do, but I kept pushing myself. I had a break down and started screaming in the car asking please help I'm hurting... that was the first time she hit me. she said I didn't know what to do so I hit you. that torn me apart inside because I told her my mother would hit me whenever I cried and she did that to me. when I had the courage to confront her about it she gaslighted me saying it didn't hurt me she didn't hit me hard. So, even though I'm a yeller which is very childish, I'm working on it, eventually she started throwing things at me because she was just mad at me. I would be playing games out of nowhere she would be throwing shoes at me, then controllers from my ps4... I was so angry and told her to go home. she would cry saying how dare you tell me go back to my parents who neglect me! I told her that's no excuse, it just became the norm for me to allow her to gaslight me like this. one day she got me a cool set of holographic lord of Atlantis, which admittedly made me jump for joy because it made me feel loved by her, some how we got into a huge argument because she was complaining because of me she wasn't able to get her mom anything for mothers day, I told her that's not fair for you to say that and I think she should go home if we are going to argue again. I always looked for peace when I saw her everyday. but everyday was just a smoke out session or watching movies she wanted to watch. but because I didn't want to do that at all and just wanted to sleep she was furious. so after she agreed to leave, she quickly started slamming my apartment door saying let me in I want the cards back, I was in tears before she came back and bam! she for the first time threaten to call the cops saying I was abusive towards her, eventually I opened the door and told her to calm down she rushed her self in and was trying to not let her in and I was going to give her the cards, but seeing her crying so hard made me feel so horrible so I let her in. she punched me on my private parts, kicked, slapped me, eventually I got her to lay on my bed but I had to hold her down for the first time, and it hurt me so much doing that, but I didn't want to keep getting hit, I'd told her no more hitting me this needs to stop, she denied it all right in front of my face, I told her to leave. I didn't talk to her for 3 months. one day she saw my Instagram and called me saying how disgusting I was for liking a certain type of women saying I never found her attractive, which was just projection, it was very late at night and was very irritated because I was lacking sleep after so much fights and break ups and blaming everything on myself. some how she got pregnant after this, we made up had a good perfect two weeks, then I had enough, we had very intimate sex, which was always needle in the hay sack with her. I didn't mind because I understand not everyone has a high sex drive, I tried to be understanding, bam we break up again, several months later she realized she missed her period then another month went by and she told me she was pregnant, I was surprised because she was on birth control for years, which I did pay for. this was during covid days, I was exited and very nervous so I started smoking a lot of ciggs, gained so much weight, constantly drinking worried my worst fears will come true. When I moved in with her so was a total different person and I was still dealing with all that trauma she caused, I felt so very uncomfortable for a lot of the time and I was bitter and resentful, but I tried to forgive her. Then our beautiful daughter was born, oh boy I was so tired but I couldn't even imagine my ex was feeling so I supported her and kept calm all the way through, we had a our baby and I felt it was going to give her so much joy, it didn't, not even a full month has passed.. she told me it didn't matter if I was the father because I was useless, she did everything, all I did was make myself a cup of coffee because we both didn't sleep well that night, I even offered her some coffee to help her feel more awake she got mad and ignored me. later that same year I went to my first ever vacation, she ignored me the whole vacation, when I asked her why didn't you talk to me this one time about how you wanted to help your cousin when I made plans to propose on the beach in Cancun, she shut down and started crying over and over and I was there to help her with her panic attack, I told her after she calmed down which took a couple hours why did you break down? she couldn't answer, the next night I was very anxious and I stupidly started drinking a lot , all I did was ask her to leave me alone. she intentionally tried to hurt me and tripped me and I almost feel of the balcony, she quickly said I was being dramatic, and all I could do was say leave me alone and sobbing being reminded of why do I keep putting up with this and blaming myself. The next morning she woke up crying telling me she will understand if I left her, I made up my mind and told myself I had to stay because we have a baby together and she isn't even one at this moment. a lot of fighting continued to happen and her hitting never stopped. She was never aware what da was until she got a test and they told her she was dismissive avoidant and she was very upset with this because she wanted to be adhd. I was taken back why would you want that. so far I kept my mouth shut about my problems until 2023 and eventually she told me she didn't love me and she felt I was no good anymore, I was getting high and drinking fire balls, I woke up so angry and frustrated and just told her why do you have such a problem with me, she said I was delusional, I was mad because I gotten so tired of her dodging my questions, I was in the room with her and our daughter was in the room. Till this day my ex will never be honest what happened that day, she hit me so much I got pulled down on the floor all because of my eyes, she said I looked dangerous, which I'm very confused with this because I never ever hit her even once, she said I put myself on the floor and i was furious and screamed at anger which was so stupid of me, my mind was telling me go to the other room, but all i can think about is if she is able to hit me she might be able to hurt my daughter, so i grabbed my daughter away from her and my worst decision ever because i never wanted my daughter to go what i went through as a child. till this day its being used against me. because my ex's family thinks i was the one who caused all that, now im here reflecting all this, there so much more that has happened and I'm not saying at all that i was the saint. I have been diagnosed with bipolar type 1, then later find out i was misdiagnosed, and it turns out i have adhd, which is funny to me because when i told my ex this she laughed at me, i only wanted to let her know because we have a daughter together. she said i told you youre not even bipolar and your adhd, but for years she would tell me i need to apply for disability for bi polar to get her a house and i kept telling her no. i need to work it helps me. she laughed at me. she wasnt always like this all the time but yeah. i still feel its all my fault even though, im seeking medical help, a doctor, calling suicide hot line just in case i have a break down and i have been doing this since 2023 and now, i found Jesus Christ, a church, still have a full time job, currently looking for another so i can support myself and my daughter, my ex refuses to get a job and all she wants to do still is smoke weed and sell drugs. but im the asshole.
after saying all this, i hope she gets help and finds a man who will give her all the security she needed, i was never able to make her feel that ever, even though i tried to the best way i could. i dont think she is an evil person, she is just in so much pain and hurting

Along time ago I posted about my " Tulpa " and got really good feedback and ideas about what it is. I use " " because of the confusion about how it was created and it's apparent ability to be seen by others you said wasn't possible.
I finally found out what it is and how it was created since I still use " " out of great reverence for others.
Before I was 8 Symptoms of my Autism manifested and I proceeded to perceive reality through 100 TV screens lined up on a Wall. Around this time I watched the StarTrek NextGen Episode Ironically named Quality of Life Episode 9 season. I was inspired by the Exocomps and created Servitors to better manage my Sensory Overload by tasking them to Fix the TV screen cracks that started to form( important points later), sort out the Tvs into easier to manage format and evolve ( like the Exocomps) by self creating new programming to better handle the routine learning, route memory and efficiency like the Exocomps.
There was a HUGE problem with the program of my Servitors tho as Like the Exocomps a random event occurred and they became alive- True self aware " Tulpa " a Hive Mind of imagery robot elven nanites that Sparkles rainbow colors. The Event was the Cracks that were forming in the TV screens ( a common Autism metaphor is the TV screens). I didn't know they were deadly. I was begging to suffer from a form of stroke called Increased Inter Cranial Pressure or I.C.P. the Cerebral spinal fluid was swelling up and squeezing my Spine and Brain with enough pressure I was tripping out on DMT and it got worst over 30 years with constant tripping into my Personal Persona 5R Palace like Futaba Sakura( best example I could give other then my own personal Wonderland) By a freak of unbelievable chances the Stroke also prevented me from actually feeling any pain and nausea. I used Futaba Sakura and Wonderland to explain the type of trip into my Mental World and why it began to evolve my Servitors to Self actualization of a self aware Thought Form. The Stroke permanently stuck me in a state of thinking and it kept into my dreams until it muddled the difference between dreams and reality as if I was stuck in a Daydream medtive state 24/7. I later learned it appears my Stroke turned on my sleeping and awake parts of the brain.

Genuinely curious and bored and want to hear peoples stories. Mine was a pretty crazy encounter, I'm 28 and have been serving for about 9 year but took a break about two years ago after I quit my job at a certain chain steakhouse I worked at for 4 years. I'm Asian and worked there during Covid so the amount of racist comments and guest I was getting was getting kind of ridiculous.
The most ridiculous one was a party of 25 I was taking by myself. After they had gotten their food I walked by and the grandma who's birthday it was raised her glass, clinked it at me and said "Hey China man I need a refill" I obviously did not acknowledge her in anyway and just kept walked and checked on my other tabes who looked very uncomfortable. A couple minutes later the grandma and another person stood up and both started clinking their glasses as I'm walking back into the server alley and the grandma goes "Hey China man I know you can't see but is you deaf too I said I need a refill". I just responded "That's crazy I told you my name and I'm not Chinese". I then went to another manager that was working that night and said I wasn't going to serve them anymore. At this point I had the most seniority there and pretty much did what I wanted but this was pretty out of character for me, and they had racked up a pretty large check so she asked why. When I told her why and my other coworkers backed me up she went out to confront them and they obviously denied everything, so she just gave them a warning and assigned them to another server which I did feel bad about. While I was taking an order at a nearby table the grandma stands up and screams "I did call you a China man cause thats what the fuck you is, if you gotta problem with it come say it to my face. Bringing the Chinese virus to my country uh uh, now get me my god damn refill China man". Now I've had to move when I was younger growing up cause of racism, I've dealt with a lot of it too and I've never yelled or confronted a table before. The second the last word left her mouth I calmly said "excuse me one sec" to the table who's order I was taking, turned around and started smacking the tray I was holding against my palm and yelled "I already fucking told you I'm not Chinese bitch, I was born and raised here. I speak English better than all of you so if you got a problem hearing I can fix that for you if you wanna come over here" as I'm smacking the tray still.
Then her grandsons and sons stand up and start yelling "Tf you say to her". Idk how but I had somehow gotten a second tray one in each hand and pointed one at them "The same thing I'm about to say to yall if you don't sit your goofy asses back down and shut up" and pointed the tray down lol. At this point they all start to stand up and all my coworkers come out with my manager. My manager tells one of my coworkers to grab me and he starts dragging me back to the server alley. My manager is telling them to leave and they're saying no cause its the grandmas birthday yada yada. My manager says they can take the food they just need to pay and leave, while this is happening one of the guys runs up and spits at me. Another coworker ran up and grabbed the trays from my hands cause I was about to smack him across the face with it. They pull me to the office and start saying how its not worth it which I whole heartedly disagreed lol. They start causing more of a scene and then the cops arrive make them pay and leave. After everything settled down my manager apologizes to the rest of the guests and then tells me to go back in the office. My manager then tells me to go home and cool off lol. My GM then texts me saying he's sorry to hear what happened and to not let it get to me since some people are just horrible.
The next day I come in and another younger newer manager starts apologizing as well and tells me the regional manager is here and I'm gonna need to write up a report to submit to corporate, and talk to him after he's done talking to my GM. I work throughout my shift for a little then go back in the server alley and the Regional Manager sees me, he has his stupid duffle bag already around his shoulder and my GM calls me to the office me. The party obviously didn't leave me a tip so he takes out $40 bucks from the safe hands it to me saying its for the other night and then the Regional Manager says "Sorry that happened people are crazy but you'll hang in there" pats me on the shoulder and just leaves?? I'm kinda like what but just kept working there until Saturday, the whole fiasco happened on a Thursday. Then during my shift literally another table calls me a chink behind my back, I turned around, glared and they all stopped giggling and looked down. After I go to get my tips that night I just straight up told my GM I'm quitting and he asked why. I pretty much said well I've worked her the longest out of anywhere here now and I get called racism names all the time. I got spat at and accosted for just being Asian the other day, I was told that I would have to write a report to corporate and other things would happen, but the only thing you guys did was give me $40 bucks and the Regional Manager just patted me on the shoulder and pretty much said the equivalent of "that was crazy huh" then just left. I've already found a new job I'm gonna need you to tell corporate to roll my 401k to my new employers plan, I'm keeping the stocks I have though and I quit. Then he asked me if I could at least still come in for my shift tomorrow or they'll be short staffed and I said literally no pay me my money and I'm out of here.
I then started a 9-5 sales job that I worked at for awhile until I got sick and had to leave, I'm now serving again because I need a flexible schedule. Thankfully where I work now all the guest are super friendly save for the few entitled ones that don't even hold a candle the the guest where I used to work, I make way more money and I genuinely don't dread going into work anymore. Apparently the Regional Manager and GM are now no longer employed at that company anymore either lol.

Right there near the end.
https://www.reddit.com/Paranormal/comments/1d671g8/my_experiences_in_the_paranormal/
My experiences in the paranormalJun 2nd 2024, 06:30, by GiantMovieNerdtm
I would say I am very aware of the paranormal and things of that nature. My parent's house is over 100 years old and is next to the catholic church my mom, brother and I were baptized at. Now this is where it gets interesting. In the 1950's, during the middle of a sermon, the priest who was living in the house attached to the church was having a heart attack or something of that nature.
The people living in the house at the time brought him to their bedroom (What is now our living room) where he later died. Years later, when I was about 8 or 9, I had just woken up from a nap on our recliner in our living room and was still groggy. I remember mom had a plant in the middle of the doorway for some reason and as I turned my head to see where I was going when trying to not bump into the plant, for 2 seconds I saw a man without a face but was wearing a hat (Idk if it was a trucker or baseball cap but it was a hat) maybe 3 feet in front of me.
The only reason I know it was real is because a year later or so, I was watching TV in moms room and was about to get up to go to the bathroom and when I looked at the door. I saw the same guy standing there for a couple seconds and then he was gone. I've heard things too, but nothing was as creepy as those expieriences, besides hearing my mom's voice twice.
Once when she was at work. I heard her call my name from the dryer room downstairs and asked dad if mom was home and he said no. The other time, my mom, dad and I were all home and I heard her call my name from the top floor, but it didn't feel right. I didn't respond for a couple minutes (Because it felt off and I know never to respond if it doesn't feel right) I asked mom if she called my name a few minutes ago and she said no.
Those aren't even the weirdest things that happened. I have a long-distance girlfriend. Her and I talked on the phone every single day for just a little over a year before we physically met. She'd always tell me about how she'd always see the previous owner walking around the house (Who died naturally on the patio) but she never once described what he looked like.
The day happens where we finally meet wonderfully and everything goes normal, until I wake up at about 3ish in the morning to take a piss. Shes still asleep and I get up and walk past the closet next to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like a guy with glasses wearing a blue flannel but didn't see any legs. It took me a second to register what I just saw, and I looked where I saw him, and he was gone.
I take my piss, not really worried about it, go back to the room and asked my girlfriend "So you know the guy, does he wear glasses and a blue flannel" she said "Ya Why" I said Well I just fucking saw him. That still gives me chills to this day almost 3 years later. Last summer I even asked her if she ever saw him near me, she said she saw him standing behind me as we were cooking and that gave me even more chills.
This was the first time since high school that I had seen anything and it's also the last time currently that I've seen anything. Idk what it is because I'm not religious anymore, more agnostic, and this shit creeps me out and fascinates me at the same time
submitted by GiantMovieNerdtm [link] [comments]

Hi Charlotte! I just want to say my girlfriend and I love watching your videos, whenever we are stuck on what to watch we always end up on your channel to have a laugh and rant about all the crazy people you read about. Love you!
Ok, on to the story. It's nothing super crazy or eventful. I have never written a Reddit story before so I hope this is interesting enough. Sorry for any grammatical or spelling mistakes, I am a dyslexic girly.
I (23 F) work in a bakery/cafe and have been for a year and a half. I consider myself a happy, bubbly worker who loves conversing with customers. I am very passionate about making others happy and ensuring they enjoy their time in the bakery (*cough cough* recovering people pleaser *cough cough*).
This story takes place about mid-last year, I had worked in hospitality before as a waitress but had never used a coffee machine before, (context, I live in Australia where the coffee culture is VERY particular and can come with some insane people if their coffee isn't done exactly right).
After some training from a coworker and some practice, I was able to start making coffees on my own although I was quite slow. I would occasionally need help to get through the long list of orders or I would pass the chore off to another coworker who had more confidence and was quicker so as to not upset customers.
A week or so after my coffee training I found out that I would be closing the bakery with only one other person, as our third staff member was unwell and we couldn't get a person to cover the shift. This meant I had to work alone out the front, serving customers, making coffee, running the coffees to customers and bringing in dirty dishes, while my other coworker cleaned and restocked the back of house area to be ready for the next day.
It was after school pick up, so the bakery got quite busy with parents bringing in their children for donuts, other sweets and drinks. My coworker jumped out front with me to help in serving customers while I made the coffees for them. Luck for me they were all takeaway so I didn't have to run them out to people, I could just call out their names. The orders piled up pretty quickly and once all the customers had been served my coworker left me alone to complete the coffee orders so she could finish her jobs out the back.
I was working away getting through each order pretty well, I was slow but I thanked each customer for their patience and the majority of them understood it was busy and left with a smile. Eventually, a woman (We can call her Karen) walked up to the coffee machine and stared at me, not saying anything.
I stopped what I was doing and said "Hello, everything alright, do you need something?" She responded sounding very disappointed, "How far away is my takeaway coffee?"
I asked what her order was and found she was still a bit down the list of orders. "I still have a couple more coffees to do before yours but it shouldn't be too much longer. I am very sorry for the wait."
She got quite upset telling me "I have been waiting 20 minutes for my coffee now this is ridiculous." I empathised with her aware that I was still finding the best way to work at the machine. "I am very sorry about that, I am still new to the coffee machine so I am a little slower than what you might be used to, I will try my best to get to yours quickly."
Karen clearly didn't like my answer because she continued to complain. "Well, why doesn't someone else do it? Seeing as you can't keep up. You clearly need more training."
I was a bit taken aback by her harshness but I tried to push through it calmly. I told her that no one else was available to help me or do it for me as we were down a staff member and we were quite busy a moment ago so I was trying to catch up on all the orders.
I guess Karen took this as me being rude to her as she kept going. "This is just not good enough, I have been coming here for years and I am very disappointed by the wait times, I was standing in line for ages, and now I am standing here waiting for my coffee for, now, over 20 minutes" (we literally have a bench for customers ordering takeaway that she could have sat at but she decided to stand right near the coffee machine and watch me.) "and the customer service is absolutely disgraceful."
Now, I have never experienced a customer complaint quite like this. At my last job, where I was also a waitress, I was informed to grab my manager whenever a customer had a complaint. I was 15-17 back then, at this point, I was 22, with no one else but my coworker who could not help me. Luckily after a year of therapy, I calmed myself to not have a mental breakdown. I had already apologised to Karen prior for the delays but she was continuing to speak to me, which was keeping me from my work and satisfying other customers. Instead of trying to please her and apologise profusely, like the people pleaser I used to be, I did the best thing anyone could do to help their self-worth.
If there's one thing you should know about me, people call me the literal definition of "golden retriever energy". But if you be an asshole to me or others for no reason other than to be an asshole, I turn into a feral bitch, with my only personality traits being spitefulness, pettiness and sarcasm.
Here's spiteful. I ignored Karen, (which pissed her off even more) and continued to make coffee while she kept complaining about the wait and other service. If she wanted to keep being rude to me, fine I don't have to listen, I don't even have to look at her. I made coffees, called out the order names and handed it to them, around Karen while she kept scolding me. She had moved onto more 'interesting' topics to complain to me, saying things like my generation doesn't care for anyone, how we are not helpful and that we are incredibly lazy. When I finally made her coffee I looked at her and she was, in fact, still complaining.
Maybe she was having a shit day? I don't know, one thing I do know is, don't take it out on others, especially people who handle your food and or drinks.
And now for pettiness. I put her coffee off to the side of the machine out of view from Karen, and I started to make coffee for the people who ordered after her. She wanted to waste my time and hold up other's orders, be my guest! Just don't be mad when I do it right back.
She got mad, of course, saying "Uh excuse me? Where is my coffee? I ordered way before them." I continued to ignore her.
I guess, she eventually got the hint that I was ignoring her as she concluded her rant by saying "If I don't get my coffee soon, I want a refund." I contemplated giving her her coffee to shut her up but saw that she had turned to sit down at the bench. A thought popped into my head.
I am going to do the one thing that my mum does all the time that always pissed me off and I am sure many can relate to. I waited till Karen had sat down on the bench, got all nice and comfortable, opened her bag, searched around for some time, grabbed out her phone, opened up an app...
"Oh here you are Karen, your coffee is ready."
If looks could kill. "I just sat down!" She said as she walked up, grabbed her coffee and stormed out of the bakery, saying "You have lost a loyal customer!"
Oh no! What a shame! Whatever will I do..? Note the sarcasm. ;D
One of my afternoon regulars was sitting on the bench, saw the whole thing, and just looked up at me, knowing full well that I was messing with the woman. I handed him his coffee and he just smiled and winked at me saying "Keep up the good work." He has always been one of my favourite regulars and still is. It's been a good few months! And if that Karen has one good quality to her, it's that she stuck to her word and hasn't been back since. Good Riddance!

A bit of background info that I feel is relevant:

• I'm agender and use they/them pronouns. I came out to my mother about two years ago.
• Prior to realizing this, I had previously identified as transmasculine and used he/him pronouns for about 10 years. Once she got used to that, she rarely screwed up my pronouns.
• I've noticed that she's been messing up my pronouns a lot lately out of nowhere, and when she does, she says she/her instead of he/him. Again, I was using he/him for a full decade before I changed to they/them.
• My legal name (which I changed prior to coming out as agender) is traditionally masculine.
• My mother is a diagnosed narcissist but she's in complete denial. I'm working with my therapist on setting boundaries.

With that out of the way, the issue:
Earlier today, I overhead my mother on the phone with a friend of hers from work talking about when I was born. I wasn't eavesdropping, she just talks on the phone at the top of her lungs and I was three feet away in the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was that she was giving this friend a lot of graphic information that I had never heard before. I fully admit that she has the right to discuss her childbirth experience with anyone she wants, and even though it made me extremely uncomfortable that she was divulging these details, I respect her right to discuss her body and experiences without asking permission.
The story that I was told was that (tw: traumatic childbirth; near-death of an infant)>! she got sick while she was in labor and the epidural fell out, and that when I was in the birth canal, my umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck but they unwrapped it and I was fine.!<
However, this is not the story that she was telling her friend. According to this conversation, it was a whole lot worse. So I was hearing secondhand thatthey had to cut my cord early, which caused me to stop breathing and nearly aspirate my own waste, but because I was already in the birth canal they couldn't do a C-section. They also had to perform CPR on me for quite a while, my mom developed a near-deadly fever after I came out, and we were in the hospital for a week after I was born. I was much closer to death than she had always led me to believe.
As if that wasn't awful enough, she refused to use my name the entire time. She just referred to me as "the baby" and kept misgendering me. I might not have thought much of it, except that she launched immediately into talking about my younger brother's birth, and she used his name without a problem, even though his birth was also fairly traumatic. She talked about me like I was a thing, instead of her first-born child whom she knew was in earshot of the entire conversation.
I know I'm probably overreacting, but it felt really dehumanizing. I'm still in a really low place even though it happened hours ago, and I know from experience that bringing it up to her will just start a fight. She'll just turn it around on me because she "didn't mean it that way" and I was just "taking it wrong and getting offended over nothing".
I don't know how to handle this, and my therapist is out of the office for the next two weeks so I have to sit on it until then. Not looking for advice. Just needed to vent.

The earth opened and the monsters came, and it was the end of the world. But it didn’t feel like it because we were still here.
There was never a time I can remember where the creatures did not lurk in the shadows, kidnapping stray helpless children or hapless adults; sometimes it would be that someone of Golgotha would go missing and whispers over breakfast would be the consequences of it. Funerals were frivolous, even if there were sometimes candles lit in the absence of the missing. Generally, it would be the elders that would sit around wooden tables, hum old hymns and maybe they would whisper a few kind words to Elohim or Allah or perhaps a more pagan variety; I came from a fully loaded Christian household where the paganistic murmurs were often seen as little better than the monsters that came from the earth.
Whatever the case may be, it was simple mourning, simple human mourning and it was sad and miserable and more numbing every time I’d see it happen. Sometimes it would be Lady (she was an old shamanistic-style woman with tattered robes and graying hair, even some whiskers on her chin too) that would culminate a hymn in the streets with her incense or more for the missing, but it was Christian and good in that way. Always about Jesus, always good clean words and simple gospels that were quiet and weak.
It was a young woman that’d gone missing sometime the previous night; there’d been a patrol sent out among the old ruins too because the missing girl was the daughter of a Boss. The Bosses were distinguished leaders in Golgotha, due to their tendency for extreme and untempered cruelty and whenever someone crossed a Boss or whenever a Boss lost something precious, everyone took notice, because the Bosses controlled the functions of Golgotha. It just so happened the Boss whose daughter went missing was also the fellow that controlled the water supply. His name was Harold and that wily sonofagun shut off the pumps that moved ground water into our homes. He was the only one with the key and said he’d not divulge it to a soul if the girl wasn’t returned.
Some of the boys on the compound cultivated a posse with impassioned cries of mutual aid and such, but Boss Harold, no matter how much they threatened or how many of his fingers they snapped in their desperate grasp for humanity, would not comply. Most of the boys surmised it was likely the girl was dead and her remains would be impossible to find due to the way monsters tended to grind bones into powder and dry swallow even the gristle of our fragile bodies; there’d be nothing left—or if there was anything left of her it wouldn’t be her any longer (assuredly she’d be a husk or unworthy of saving). When hard torture failed, the boys cried for more reason, and yet Boss Harold would not budge. The old Boss said, “I’ll stop the motor of the world until she’s found!”
A group of rabblerousing youths had absconded with his daughter or so he said; the reality was much more likely that she had run from home of her own free will either by wanderlust or ignorance. When all was said and done, the families came to me and said, “Hey, Harlan, buddy, pal, you’ve lost weight. You’re looking good, Mister Harlan, did you get a haircut?”
I’d heard about the girl. I’d heard about the posse sent out to Boss Harold’s abode—the compound ain’t that big—and knew they’d be coming for me because I was a scavver, a person that wades through the old ruins either for illusory history pages or weapons or even (and this one was a rare treat) lost people. I knew they’d come for my services and had already put together my pack for travels with rations and light tools—no gun; drawing attention in the old ruins was a dumb thing because sound could travel forever.
“I’m going,” I told the group that’d been sent for me, “I don’t reckon any of you’d like to come with me?” I looked over the dirty faces, the faces of men, women, children that could scarcely be called grown, and none stood out because they were all tired and dirty and I imagined I looked much the same.
Then a girl’s voice broke out from the crowd, and she stumbled forward from the line of strangers that’d come to see me at my door. “I’ll go!” she said, “I want to go with you, Mister Harlan.”
It was unsurprising. Youngsters always thought the old ruins were like a field trip, like maybe they’d find a souvenir for their sweetie and come home with a good story. Most didn’t come back, and those that did usually came back with scars beneath the skin from what they’d seen in the out there. It was like a game for them and when they saw what the world outside the walls held, they would retreat into themselves for fear. It wasn’t just the monsters. It was the ruins themselves, the overwhelming demolition of us; we were gone and yet we were here. It’s a hard thing to cope. I looked over the skinny girl with a grimy face; she couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her hair was cropped very short, and I could see no immediate deformities that might slow my travels, so I asked, “What’d your parents say?”
Without flinching, the girl shouldered her pack straps with her thumbs and almost cheerily answered, “They’re dead, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.” I stepped nearer her, looked over her face and saw perhaps a will I’d not seen in some time. Maybe she would be more of a help than a hinderance. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“Then we leave immediately.” I shouldered my own pack and followed up with, “Do not bring any fucking guns.”
“Got it! No fuckinguns.” Her tone was sarcastic, but not unserious. It was the best I could hope for, and besides it was always better whenever I travelled with someone else.
We took off from my small hidey-hole and moved through the narrow stretches of street, tall metal and concrete stood on either of our sides, mostly housing and hydroponics, with a few spots with stools where a person could stop in for a drink of cool water. Although a few of the Bosses had toyed with the idea of expanding the hydroponics so that we might produce corn whiskey in bulk, this was scrapped when the math was done; the space was insufficient for such luxuries, but this did not stop some from fermenting small berries in batches when no one else was paying attention. Wine was incredibly rare, had a moldy taste to it, but was sweet and a further reminder of maybe why we held on. I liked wine pretty good, but sometimes I’d find an old bottle in the ruins or get a jug of liquor from one of the far settlements and that’s what I really cherished.
“You ever been out of town?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Don’t act a hero, don’t be funny out there, don’t make noise, don’t get in my way. If I tell you something, you do it without questions.”
First, I heard her footsteps fall slowly, then more quickly before she answered me as though she had to stop and think about what she was going to do next; perhaps she was having second thoughts? “Don’t try to scare me from the ruins,” she said, “I’ve wanted to go out there for years now and everyone always says there’s old stuff. Our old stuff. Stuff that used to belong to us.”
“Used to belong to us? What do you mean?”
“Humans or whatever. It used to be ours.”
“It hasn’t been ours within my lifetime. Leave it to them, because it’s theirs now. If you find some small thing out there that you like, then take it, but otherwise, it ain’t home no more.” There was no need for me to elaborate on who I meant whenever I said them, because anyone knew exactly who they were: the creatures from beneath the earth, the demons, the monsters.
We came to the outer sections of town near the gate and the walls stood high over our heads while morning breeze kicked up spirals of sand wisps across the ground. The walls were probably fifty or sixty feet tall, and several yards thick with titanium and concrete and rebar; along the parapets of our fortifications were patrolmen that watched the horizon and fired at anything that moved with fifty-caliber bullets. The men up there, and they were mostly men (the show-off types), wore ballistic weaves, bent and tarnished war helmets of the past, and carried mottled fatigue colors on their bodies like for-real militiamen. There hadn’t been an attempt on Golgotha from the monsters in days; it was a quiet week.
The nearest dirt street spilled into an open square with sandbag barricades overlooking the gate from atop a small hill. I waved down Maron. Boss Maron wore boots and an old-school cowboy hat with an aluminum star pinned on its forehead center; he swaggered over, “Going out, Mister Harlan?” His mustache caterpillar wiggled, nearly obscuring a toothy grin.
I nodded.
“It’s ‘cause Harold ain’t it?”
I nodded.
“You know that crazy bastard had some of my guards lock up the boys that stormed his home? If you ask me, he deserved whatever pain those fellas brought to him for shutting the pumps off.”
I idly studied the sidearm holstered on his hip then looked at the nearby guards by the gate, each with automatic weapons slung across their chests. “You still locked them up, didn’t you?”
Boss Maron spat in the dirt by his feet and laughed a little dry. “Sure did. Harold’s got the key to the water, and I won’t be crossing him. Don’t want the riffraff questioning Bosses.” He flapped his hand at the notion then swaggered away and waved at his guards to open the gate. The one nearest a breaker box on the righthand side of the gate opened the electrical panel, flipped a switch then the hydraulics on the gate began to decompress as it unlocked and rusty gears began to rock across one another to slide the great, tall metal door open.
“Try not to lose any fingers or toes while you’re out there. Oh!” he seemed to take notice of the young girl following me, “Got a new companion? Does she know what’s happened to the last few that’s traversed those desperate lands with you?”
“Hm?” asked the girl.
“Oh? Harlan?” Boss Maron smiled so hard I’d think his mustache might fall of his face from the sheer tension of the skin beneath it, “He’s a real globetrotter, quite a dealmaker, but just don’t be surprised if he leaves you behind.” This was followed by a sick chuckle.
I refused to respond and merely watched the clockwork gate come to a full open while the guards on either side prepared to angle their guns at the opening like they half-expected something to come barreling towards them. The doorway was empty and through the haze of the wasteland I could scarcely make out the familiar angles of the old ruins far out.
The girl didn’t engage either, for which I was thankful.
Boss Maron wide-stepped closer then patted my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Don’t forget the shiny flag.” He tucked a foil sheet into my front shirt pocket, “His daughter was due west supposedly. Good luck.” Then he clapped me on the back before returning to his post by the sandbags where a small table displayed his game of solitaire.
We moved through the gate, and I could sense the uneasy rhythm of the young girl’s movement just over my shoulder. As the gate closed behind us with a large and final shudder, I heard her breath become more erratic.
“The air feels thicker out here,” she said.
“It is sometimes,” I tried talking the nerves out of her, “It’s hot and cold all at the same time, ain’t it? Know what I mean? It’s hot devil air, but also you feel chills all over, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Her pace quickened so that we walked alongside one another.
“It’s just the nerves. You get used to it. Or. Well.”
“Or?”
“Or you don’t get enough time to.”
“What did ol’ Maron mean about other people dying with you?”
“Not many people venture outside the compound and even fewer go into the ruins. It’s all very dangerous. Most don’t make it back. That’s all he meant.”
“But you do. Make it back, I mean.”
I sighed. “I do, yeah.”
“My name’s Aggie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say that before, Mister Harlan.”
“What’d your parents do when they were still around?”
“Dad was a farmer that worked with the hydroponics and Mom was a general fixer. She liked making clothes when we had the material.”
“Good people, it sounds like.”
“Sometimes,” said Aggie, “Hey, please don’t let me die, alright?” The words weren’t constructed so much as blurted; they came as a joke but did not seem like one.
“Okay.”
For a mile out in a measured circle, there was open sandy, flat ground stretching from around the perimeter walls of Golgotha; all the clutter, junk, and buildings had been disposed of years prior to grant the compound’s snipers comfortable sights in all directions. The openness went out for a mile and in every direction, one could see the ruins, the crumpled dead vehicles, half-snapped spires that lie in angles, and the gloom-red tint in the air that seemed to emanate from the ground like heat waves off fire. It was scarred air, where the creatures had unearthed some great anomaly from beneath the dirt. In honesty, it was like passing through the foul stench of death and painted everything in a blood hue. It stank and it was hot and it was cold.
We moved in relative silence; only the sounds of our boots across granular dirt or the clink of zippers whenever either Aggie or I was to readjust the packs on our shoulders. As we came upon the edges of the ruins, where we entered the red mist, and the air was alien. Finally, Aggie cleared her throat and mentioned through mildly exerted breathing, “Think we’ll find her?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Keep quiet and whisper. We can talk but keep it low.” We began to enter the thick of the ruins where ancient structures crept up on either side of us. “What made you come with me?” It was a question I’d wondered the whole time and figured her reasoning was weak.
“There’s not much home. I’d like to see some of the world before I go. Seems like things get worse and worse and for when I do leave this world, I want to see something other than the walls of home.”
“Fair answer.” Her reasoning was weak. “What if you’ve bit off more than you can chew?”
“Maybe.” She followed this up with another question of her own,” What made you start venturing out?”
“I wanted to see something other than the walls of home.” I felt a smile creep around the corners of my mouth, but quickly tempered myself. “Whenever people go out on their own without a guide, they die. I doubt we’ll find Harold’s daughter.” I left a pause. “You’re nearly her age, ain’t you? Did you ever know her?”
“You speak like she’s dead for sure.”
“Most likely, she is. Did you know her?”
“No, but I guess I’m an optometrist.”
“Optimist,” I corrected.
“Whatever. She’s a piece of home. I feel like I’m old enough to take care of myself and I want to help people. Not everyone thinks that way, but we’re all one big family, aren’t we?”
“While I appreciate your thoughts on it, I doubt the daughter of a Boss would feel the same about you.”
“The Bosses protect us.”
The ruins began to swallow us whole as we ventured through the ancient pathways, broken asphalt and wreckage littered the wide-open street. A nearby, worn post named the path: Fif Aven. I’d gone there before and left most things untouched. Although there were a few open holes in the structures on either side—places where large entryways might’ve gone hundreds of years ago—they were mostly empty, black with shadow, and picked clean long long ago. Non ideal for an alcove of respite from the open air. We shifted down the street, my eyes darting from old signs and vehicles bent and rusted and abandoned. I motioned for Aggie to come closer as I sneaked through the rubble towards a wall where there were no entryways into the monolithic structures. We hugged the wall and moved with trepidation, sometimes climbing across overturned wreckage tiptoeing in our boots to muffle all sound. Every footfall felt like a scream.
“We should go on for another mile or so before we find a place to rest. I know one up the way.”
“Rest? Are you tired already? That’d burn what daylight we have,” said Aggie.
I shook my head, “The last thing you want is to be without your wits in a place like this. If you’re too tired to run, you’re too tired to live.”
“Aren’t they fast? If they catch you in the open, they’ll get you, won’t they?”
I thought of a lie then thought better, “Yes.”
“Oh.”
“If you see one. Don’t scream. Don’t even breathe. If they haven’t seen you, you still have a chance.”
The air grew wet and smelled of chlorine, and I snatched Aggie’s sweating hand in my own before grappling her into my arms; she was small and fought noiselessly for only a second before going still. I shifted us into a concrete doorway with a half-destroyed awning and whispered a quick hush as I glided us near a piece of wreckage.
I felt her tenseness leave and let go of her before she crouched alongside me in the shadowed cover of an old van that had, ages before, slammed into a nearby wall. The door of the vehicle had been removed and we angled in slowly, silently, crawling towards the rear of its cabin to peer from the broken windows, all the while hoping its old axles would not creak. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I twisted round to look Aggie in the eye; terror erupted from her face in tremors while she mouthed the words: what’s that?
Simply, I put a finger to my lips and took a peek at the thing moving down Fif Aven. The creature was on the smaller side, closer to the size of a run-of-the-mill human, but twitched its muscles in a fashion that contested humanity. The thing walked upright on two feet, but sometimes used its hands to move like an animal. The most intricate and disturbing of its features, however, was its head. With vibrant green skin, with speckles of yellowed globules across the surface of its body (likely filled with creamy pus), with a mishappen balloon head that first opened in half with a mouth folded as an anus, dispersed a corrosive gas into the air while it deflated, then reinflated and quivered—the creature’s head moved as a sack filled with misty gas, wobbly and rubbery. It had no eyes, no other features besides that awful head.
We watched it go, stop, disperse its toxic mist into the air, then leave. I kept my eyes on it, nose and mouth tucked beneath the collar of my shirt, and glanced at Aggie to see she’d followed suit. The smell could choke.
Once I was certain the thing had decided to move well outside of earshot (not that it had ears) I motioned for Aggie to follow me out of the van, down the sidewalk, through an intersection of roads, and into a small opening in one of the smaller structures. Our feet were swift, and I was grateful she was graceful. We moved through the darkness of the structure, and I led with intimate knowledge of the place. There was a safe spot near the rear of the building. I reached out in the dark, felt a handle and pushed into a small closet and pulled Aggie through.
My lantern came alive and bathed us in a warm glow. Shelves across the small room were lined with various supplies I’d left. A few boxes of matches, oil for lanterns, a bedroll, blankets, and other miscellaneous baubles.
Aggie inhaled sharply, “I’ve never seen anything like that! It was. I don’t know. It was weird and gross. Little scary. Is that what they look like?”
I shifted around onto the floor and opened my pack while placing the lantern between my legs. “You’ve been up on the compound’s walls before, ain’t you?”
“Once.”
“Well, sometimes those things get closer to home. I don’t know what you’d call them. Some of the wall guys call them fart heads because when you shoot one in the head with a rifle it goes pfffft. Lotta’ that chlorine shit comes out of them too.”
“Do bullets kill them?” She asked while removing her own pack and fixing her legs alongside mine in the closet; it was a snug fit, but we managed. “Like really kill them or does it just empty those heads?” I could feel her shaking still.
“If you use enough, sure. Durable, but manageable if you have enough firepower. Those are small fries. Normally they wouldn’t sneak up on me though. Normally I’d smell them from far off before they ever get close.”
“Did I distract you?”
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“It was bound to happen, I reckon.” I plunged my hand into my pack and removed a water gourd, taking a deep swallow from it.
She started, “Have,” she stopped then started again, “I wish,” another stop came then she gave up on whatever she was going to say and laid her pack across her lap, seemingly searching for something within.
“We should rest up here for a while. At least until you’ve calmed yourself. Then we’ll set out. Maron said the girl went west. You should have that detail in case this trip happens to be my last. I figured we’d search the northern area first then make our way south, but—I hope she ain’t south.” I exposed the face of my compass.
A thought seemed to occur to Aggie while she removed her own water gourd and took a healthy swig. Sweat glistened off her brow in the dancing light of the lantern, its fire caught in her pupils while she thought. “You don’t actually think you’ll find her, do you?”
I grinned, surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“You think she’s dead already, so why do it?”
“Because they’ll believe me when I come back. I suppose we’ll return in two days, maybe three, then tell them we found her corpse.”
“Well why don’t we just stay here for the remainder?”
“We’ll look for her,” I said.
“But why?”
“It’s the right thing to do, I suppose. Maybe your optometristism is rubbing off on me.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” said Aggie, but I could see her sheepish grin. She held out a hand flat across her eyes and watched the nervous tremors in her fingers.
“Just nerves,” I told her.
“It’s a little exciting.”
“Now that’s a dangerous thought,” I took another swig from my water gourd before returning it to my pack. “Do you know where your parents hailed from?”
“Somewhere up north. Cold lands, but it was hard not to freeze in the winter up that way. Said they came down here years before I was born, hoping they could find a place to settle, but it was all the same. That’s what they said.”
“Never been further north than Golgotha, if I’m being honest. I’m from a place that once was called Georgia, but I’ve not been there in years.”
“Is it true what they told me, Mister Harlan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it the same everywhere? Is there no place around that’s not got those awful things?”
“If there’s a place like that, I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Mom used to read to me when I was a little kid,” she said, “I never could pick up reading, but she loved old books that were written before bad times and in those books, people talked about things like green fields that stretched on forever, and places where water streams were clear enough to drink from. Do you remember anything like that?”
I chuckled while continuing to rummage through my pack, “Geez, how old do you think I am? All that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah. You think it’ll ever be like that again?”
I shook my head. “Wishful thinking.” Then I found what I’d been searching for and removed it from my pack. A small tin of tobacco; I sat to rolling a makeshift cigarette then lit it off the lamp.
“That smells funny.”
“Yeah.”
We shared the cigarette in the dark closet, passing it back and forth; her lungs, not being used to the smoke, forced from Aggie a few whimpering coughs that she tried to hide in the hem of her shirt.
I ducked the tobacco out beneath my heel and began reorganizing my pack so that it was less lumpy. “I hope you’re ready for it again. Like I said, that one you saw was a small fry. There’s bigger things out there. Worse things.”
“Should I go, or should I just stay here?” She hadn’t reorganized herself at all and remained seated while I shouldered my pack and peered through a crack in the door.
“Of course, you should come with me. I know it, you’re scared.”
“What if I make it worse and I attract one of those things right to you?” She asked.
I reached down and she took my hand; I lifted her to her feet and we met eyes, “Aggie, you’re coming with me. You’ll do fine. I promise.” It was not often that I’d try and charm someone, but I put forth a smile.
She smiled back and I shut off my lantern before leading her gently through the dark, into the open street where midday sun caught the ruins shadows long and deep. West was where the girl had gone and I intended to follow. Though I’d seen no signs of survivors, I was certain that if they’d braved the previous night, they were likely about in the daytime. Certainly, things would be made easier if I could cup hands around my mouth and echo my voice through the dead city like a game of Marco-Polo. Aggie maintained both energy and quiet alongside me as we moved through the rubble, vaulting over wide-open holes in the street where I could spy the arteries of the dead beast (the old sewer network).
We conversed frankly and in whispers when we came upon a place in the road that was impassible on foot due to a collapsed structure and we stalked more like wounded deer in a forest than humans in a city; our shoulders remained slouched, our bodies were huddled near to each other, and we delved into the dark recesses of another building—possibly a market from old days when patrons congregated for frozen fish sticks. There were massive steel shelves and we took their avenues till we came upon an aperture on the far side of the dark building. We shifted over the broken glass of an old torn out window and landed firmly on an open street.
Then came a sound like firecrackers and I felt cold and Aggies eyes went wide in the dull evening glow of the sun.
“Someone’s brought a gun,” I said.
Before she could say anything, I hugged the wall on our side of the street and moved down the sidewalk, following the sound of those gunshots.
“Maybe it’s someone that could help us?” she tried.
I shook my head.
“What do you mean?” she whispered a bit louder.
“It’s bad news,” I said, then came to a full stop at a corner while another hail of bullets spat from some unseen weapon and echoed all around; we were getting much closer. “Have you ever seen a dead body?” I asked Aggie.
She shook her head, but then stopped. “I was the one that found my mom. She was stiff and cold.”
“She went peacefully?”
Aggie shook her head, “Flu.”
“Any blood?”
“No.”
“If you’re not ready for blood, you might not want to look.”
We rounded the corner to find a small blockade of burnt-out vehicles creating a barrier between us and the action.
Two men with assault rifles fired at a creature towering over them. The creature in question stood thirty feet tall on spindly legs like a spider, but each of its legs were tumorous and its muscles were strangely uneven and mushy; although an arachnid may have eight legs, this one moved sluggishly along on no less than twenty shambling stilts so that the rounded body where the legs met looked more akin to a sea urchin. Several of its long legs stood out on its sides to angle its body through the narrow corridor of the street, its whiskery feet pushing along the walls of buildings overhead. Its whole body stank of wet dog and brimstone.
The men—they looked like young militiamen of Golgotha—staggered in awe of the thing and attempted to walk backwards while reloading. Another spray of bullets erupted from their rifles, and they were empty and the men screamed and one of them tripped across some unseen thing on the ground.
Quick as a fly, one of the massive creature’s legs sprang onto the prone man’s abdomen. Their was a brief cry of pain and then—I felt Aggie pinch onto my shoulder with her thumb and forefinger and I glanced at her to see she’d chewed into the corner of her bottom lip for purchase in response to such a fantastical display of awfulness—the man had no skin, no clothes, he’d been stripped to runny red fibrous tissue with strips of white muscle that twitched in the presence of the air.
“Oh god please god!” screamed the other man while watching his comrade writhe in pain beneath the stalky foot of the skin-taker.
I shuffled lower among the arrangement of vehicles we’d taken refuge behind and me and Aggie breathed softly, glancing eye contact while sitting in the dirt. There wasn’t anything to say.
The sound of the spider creature removing the second man’s skin was slower, torturous, seemingly enjoyed; his screams did not end for too long. I fisted my hands into my jacket pockets then stared at the ground between my knees. I felt Aggie’s thin fingers reach into my pocket and it took me flinching to realize she intended to hold my hand. She was shaking and I was shaking, but she was good and did not scream. And we held hands while we listened to the thick trunks of the spider creature shift on away. And we didn’t move. And we were statues frozen like we belonged among the dead ruins. And we didn’t move. And then Aggie shifted to look before I’d gathered my feelings and motioned me on.
“What’s that?” she asked as simply as she’d asked the color of the sky.
“Bad.” I shook my head and looked for an opening in the blockade of vehicles.
Two meaty blood ponds marked where the men were and on approach, I covered my face in the collar of my shirt; Aggie lifted her forearm to her nose. The stench of the beast and of the viscera was strong in the air.
I examined the ground then found one of their rifles. Standard M16. The strap on the rifle was frayed to ribbons and the barrel of the gun appeared to be slightly bent, but salvageable. I handed the rifle to Aggie and she took it.
“What about no guns?” she asked.
“There’s no bullets left. Besides, it’ll be good to bring it back.” Examining what was left of the bodies, my eyes went away and into my mind where all things become ethereal and difficult to grasp; I looked without seeing and imagined a place where green grass was, a place like in the books Aggie’s mother read. No grass here. Just misery.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“The men?”
“Yeah.”
“They sent out a patrol looking for Boss Harold’s daughter. Looks like we’ve found it. Never should’ve sent them.”
“I want to go home,” said Aggie.
“Me too.” I blinked and shifted around to look at her through the red hue that’d gathered between us. Try as I might, the smile on my face almost hurt. “If you stick with me, you’ll be safe.”
We took up in one of the safehouses I’d developed over the past several years, a room hidden up two flights of stairs and large enough to host a party. In the lantern glow we heated rations—eggs and hearty bread with water-thinned weak tomato paste—then ate in relative quiet so that the only thing heard were our jaws over the food that tasted bitter; food always felt slimy and bitter in the ruins where the demons reigned supreme. Their stink was on us. Like sulfur, like rot, like sorrow.
I rolled us each a cigarette and we smoked while looking out through a brackish window that overlooked the black street. No lights in the darkness save blinking yellow eyes caught for moments in dull moonlight whose owners quickly skittered towards an alley.
“How don’t you get lost?” asked Aggie.
“I do sometimes.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I mean, I know the ruins fine enough, I reckon, but then I feel like I’m drowning in it every time I come here.” I took a long draw from my cigarette, finished it, then planted it beneath my boot.
“Did you have parents?” she asked.
“Everyone has parents.”
“What were they like?” Aggie held her cigarette out from her like she didn’t actually want it, but just as I looked over at her, pulling my eyes from the window, she jammed it into her lips.
“They were fine. Just fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
“I wish it was better,” said Aggie.
“Don’t imagine there’s ever been a point in history where we didn’t want it to be better.”
“Maybe.” She coughed through smoke.
I moved to dim the lamp and sat atop my bedroll. “You should sleep.”
“Don’t think I could sleep. I’ll have nightmares.” She pitched the remainder of her cigarette.
“Can’t be worse than the real deal.”I shut off the lamp and we laid in pitch black.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“Most of the time, it feels like I’m not.” I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t see. “Go to sleep.”
At daybreak, we ate bread and water then gathered our things before setting into that awful wasteland. Sand gathered around our legs in wisps as we trundled tiredly onto the street of the ruins and Aggie said nothing. There wasn’t a thought in my mind as my joints protested at us climbing over the wreckage of an overturned semi-truck; first I went, then I hoisted Aggie up by her lanky arms then we jumped onto the other side, moving less like scouts and more like hungover comer-downers.
Passing through the ruins, each step feeling more like a glide and less creaky, Aggie spoke from over my shoulder as I kept my eyes sharp on the buildings’ shadows, “I doubt we’ll find her,” she said.
“What happened to the optimism?” I shifted to catch her face; she seemed dejected, tired, perhaps disillusioned by the previous day’s happenings.
“I didn’t know there were things like that in this world. Like that spider thing. Those men didn’t stand a chance.”
I shook my head, and we continued moving. “There are worse things still over the horizon. Most assuredly there is. Now you asked me before why I come out here in these ruins, why I’ve trekked the wasteland, and I’ll give you the opportunity to ask it again—maybe I’ll have something different to say.”
“Okay. Why then?”
“Because,” I kicked at a half eroded aluminum can left on the ground, “Places like Golgotha, or even where I’ve come from, there’s nothing like the red sky or the open road. There are no ties, no people. There’s only the next step.”
She took up directly beside me as we turned onto a street corner where the sidewalk mostly remained intact. “Sounds stupid to me.”
“There it is then.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, then she spoke even more clearly, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t get it.”
“It’s because I’m a dealmaker,” I said.
“That’s what Maron called you before, wasn’t it?” Aggie absently stared at the sky, at the edges of the high spires overhead that seemed to swallow us whenever clouds passed over the sun. “What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s harder for me to die.”
“Just luck, if you ask me.”
I clenched my jaw. “Probably, it is. Yeah.”
Then, with time, we came to the garden. A place in the ruins where greenery existed—even if the plants that grew from the soil were otherworldly and aggressive. There was the solitary sound of dirt catching crags in the structures as hard wind pushed silt through the narrow streets of the ruins, then there was also the sound of a flute, a flute made of bone and skin. The sound was sickly sweet, illusive, something no human could play even if they listened carefully and practiced for hundreds of years. There was the flute, the greenery, the clacking of hooves against old stone that’d risen from the earth much the same as the demons.
Aggie whispered, “What’s that music?”
I reached out my hand so that she would hold it and I tried to smile. “There are worse things still over the horizon.”
Her delicate scrawny fingers wrapped around my own and though I felt her trembling, she trusted me (I hoped she really did). I led her towards the garden, through a walkway with tall obelisks of flame on either side. “What is this place?” whimpered Aggie.
“If you are asked your name, tell it plainly without hesitation,” I said, “Do not leave my side. Do not run.”
“Where are we going?” her eyes scanned the garden, the flames dancing in the midday reddish light, the trees bent at impossible angles, the glorious green grass that looked cool and soft. I’d been in awe the first time I’d seen it.
I smiled, “Just like your mom’s old books. Green grass.”
The flute grew louder as we came closer and the hoof beats on stone shifted with enthusiasm.
There in the center of the garden stood Baphomet, ten feet tall, feminine midsection with goatish head and legs. It pranced with the flute to its mouth, and the tune resounded playfully all around. The creature danced across an area of stones in the center of the garden, a place where there were rock tables and chairs and sigils upon the ground—amid the open furniture, there stood a throne of human bones and near where Baphomet played its wily tune, there was a covered well, rope tautly hanging from its crank as if there was something heavy on the other end.
I smelled you coming, said Baphomet. Even as it spoke, it continued to play its flute without pause. Its muscular shoulders glistening with reddish sweat, its horns gloriously pointed and reveled in its merriment.
“Let us convene,” I said, mouth dry and feeling heady.
Convene?
“I’m here for the girl.”
I felt Aggie shift uncomfortably beside me, but I kept my eyes locked on Baphomet.
It seems you have one already.
“She came west, towards here two days ago. She was a runaway. You have her.”
Come, Harlan, come and dance with me. Baphomet did not stop its flute or its dancing.
I sighed. “I’m here to make a deal.”
Baphomet froze, allowing the boney flute to drop from its goatish lips. Its animal eyes casually switched between me then Aggie, before it turned to face us completely. A deal?
“Y-yes,” I nearly choked.
You’ve brought so little to bargain with. Baphomet shifted and walked to its throne to sit, clacking its long nails against the armrest. Unless. The creature allowed the word to hang against my brain like a splinter.
I lifted the hand holding Aggie’s. “A deal,” I tried.
Quick as a flash, Baphomet disappeared in a haze of black smoke then reappeared over Aggie’s shoulder. I dropped her hand and stepped away while the creature exhausted dew from its nose before sniffing Aggie’s ear.
Aggie swallowed hard, “Harlan?” she asked, “What’s it doing?”
“I’m sorry, Aggie.”
Baphomet took its hands through her short hair and inhaled sharply. A long tongue fell from its mouth and saliva oozed before it snapped its snout shut. The pleasure will be all mine.
“Harlan, let’s go—I want to go home.” Aggie’s tears rolled down her face in full while the large hand of Baphomet lightly squeezed her cheeks into a pucker.
You are home.
Baphomet took Aggie and moved her casually; her legs moved feebly, knees shaking.
Sit darling. Said Baphomet, motioning to its throne. Aggie took the chair and the creature snorted approval.
The demon moved jauntily to the well, where its strong arms began to roll the crank; with each rotation, the sound of cries grew closer. Until finally, all limbs pulled backwards in bondage, there dangled Boss Harold’s daughter; deep cuts and blood painted her mangled, distorted body. She’d been pushed into the well belly first, suspended by her wrists and ankles. I bit my tongue.
“Oh god,” I heard Aggie say. It sounded like a far-off girl from an unknown planet.
Baphomet lifted the girl from her bondage then sliced the rope with a razor-sharp fingernail. I hesitantly moved closer to the scene and removed my jacket.
RoyalRoad
Archive

A cabin remained half-rooved on its eastern face by pelts of dead things while the west slanted with a freshly cleared and smooth metal—it stood alongside a dugout stocked with crates; the structures overlooked an open plane of snow from their hilly perch and beyond that there were black jagged trees against the dreary yonder. Though the wind pushed as an abrupt force against the cabin’s walls, within the noise was hardly a whisper and the heater lamps along the interior walls of the large singular room offered a steady hum that disappeared even that.
The room had two beds—one double and another short cot pushed into a corner— and each was separated by a thin curtain nailed to the overhead support beams; the curtain caught in the life of the place, the gust from the heater lamps, the movement of those that lived there, and it listed so carefully it might not have moved at all.
Opposite the beds on the far wall, there stood a kitchen with cabinets and a stove, and the stove was attended by a thin young woman; she was no older than her second decade. In the corner by the stove just beyond where the kitchen counter ended, there sat a rocking chair where an old man nestled underneath pelts and a wool blanket, and he puffed tobacco and he watched the woman as she worked—she stirred the pot over a red eye and examined the liquid which lowly simmered. The man watched her silently, eyes far away like in remembrance. He absently pushed his gray mustache down with the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. Smoke came from the pipe in spider string and the man blinked dumbly.
Amid the place where pelts lined the floor between the far wall of beds and the far wall of the kitchen, there sat a young pale boy with a scrap of canvas rubbish in the center—he used the canvas strip, browned and filthy, like a bird in his play, spreading the strip out and letting it fall to the ground. “Fly,” whispered the small boy to the strip; each time he lifted the rubbish, it fell to the floor by his crossed legs, and he repeated this process.
The adults ignored the boy, and the woman swiped the back of her hand across her forehead then wiped her knuckles down the front of her blouse. “It’ll be ready soon,” she said.
The man nodded then drifted off in his long expression again, staring at the door which remained closed. Wind speed pitched and the door seemed to warp inward. Alongside the door, there sat a thick glass porthole which one could use to look out on the snow-covered landscape; the curtains before the porthole were mostly drawn but on late evenings, light splintered through ghostly.
Shrugging of his warm coverings, the man lifted from the chair and crossed the room to pull aside the curtains; he stood there in the light of the hole, painted dull in his gray thermals. He watched outside, scratched his receding hairline and when he moved to shut the curtain, he saw the boy had joined him there at the window. The man smiled, lifted the curtain, and angled from there, allowing the boy to peer outside; he puffed on his pipe heavily, holding the thing stiffly with his free hand and offering a glance to the woman by the stove who watched the pair from where she was.
“I can’t even see the road,” said the boy.
The man nodded, “Snow covered it.”
“It’s winter?”
Again, the man nodded.
Winter, with the mutated ecology of the planet, was nearly a death sentence in northern Manitoba. Those places just north of Lake Winnipeg were mostly forgotten or abandoned, but there still lingered a few souls that dared the relative safety of the frozen wasteland—sometimes curious vagabonds, sometimes ex-convicts, or slaves, sometimes even criminals upstarted townships where there was nothing prior.
“Pa, I see someone,” said the boy.
The man angled forward again, squinted through the porthole, and puffed the pipe hard so his face glowed orange then moved surprisingly quickly to hand the pipe to the woman; she fumbled with the object and sat it upright on the counter while he rushed to remove a parka from a wall hook by the door. He shouldered into the thing and then leapt to the place by the door where his boots were kept and slammed into them each, knotting them swiftly.
“What is it?” the woman’s voice shook.
They caught one another’s eyes. “Snowmobile,” said the man.
“One?”
He nodded and strapped his gloves on then moved to the latch of the door—before levering the thing, he took another glance at the boy.
“We’ll shut it behind you,” said the boy. The woman nodded.
The door swung inward with explosive force and the outside wind ripped into the warm abode. The man immediately shivered and stumbled into the snow, appropriately clothed save his legs where only his gray thermals clung to him.
After spilling into the boot-high snow, the man twisted around and aided the others in shutting the door behind him; he pulled as they pushed, and he listened past the howling wind for the latch on the opposite side of the door. He let go of the door and spun to inspect the far-off blinding whiteness—clouds of snow were thrown up in the wake of a barreling snowmobile; it headed towards him, first from between the naked spaces between the black trees then into the open white. The man threw up both his hands, waving the snowmobile down, long stepping through the arduous terrain till he came to the bottom of the perch that supported the cabin. His shouts of, “Hey!” were totally lost in the wind but still he shouted.
The snowmobile braked twenty yards out from the man and the stranger on the machine killed the engine, adjusted the strings around their throat and threw off the hood of their own parka to expose blackened goggles beneath a gray tuque; a wrap obscured the lower half of their face. The stranger took a gloved hand to yank the wrap from their mouth and yelled over the wind a greeting then removed themselves from the seat to land in the snow.
“Cold?” offered the man with a shout.
The stranger nodded in agreement and removed an oblong instrument case from the rear storage grates of the snowmobile then took a few careful steps towards the man.
“Dinner’s almost ready! I’m sure you’d like the warmth!” The man waved the stranger closer and the stranger obliged, following the man towards the cabin; each of the figures tumbled through the snow with slow and swiveling footwork. The man stopped at the door, supporting himself on the exterior wall by the porthole.
The stranger angled within arm’s reach, so the man did not have to yell as loudly as before. “Guitar?” The man pointed at the case which the stranger carried.
The stranger nodded.
“Maybe you’ll play us something.” he pounded on the metal of the exterior door, “It’s been some time since I’ve heard music.” The door opened and the two stumbled into the cabin.
The stranger shivered and snow dust fell from their shoulders as they deposited the guitar case on the floor by their feet—they moved directly to help the man and the boy close the door while the woman watched and held her elbows by the porthole.
With the door sealed and the latch secured, the man removed his parka so that he was in his boots and thermals.
The stranger removed their own parka, lifted the goggles to their forehead, and stepped to the nearby heater lamp to remove their gloves and warm their hands against the radiating warmth; the stranger was a young tall man with a hint of facial hair just below his nose and along his jaw. He wore a gun belt occupied on his right hip with a revolver. His fingers were covered in long faded scars all over. “Thanks,” said the young man, “Clarkesville far? I think I was turned around in the snow. I’m not so used to it.”
The older man went to his rocking chair to cover himself with the wool blanket; he huffed and shivered. “At least a hundred kilometers west from here. You’re looking for Clearwater?”
The young man nodded then shifted to place his back to the heater lamp so that he could look on the family fully. “I’m Gomez,” he said to them. The man in the rocking chair stiffened in his seat and craned forward so that his boots were flatly planted before him.
The boy offered his name first with a smile so broad it exposed that his front two teeth along the bottom row were missing entirely. “Patrick,” said the boy.
The woman spoke gently and nodded in a quick reply, “Tam-Tam.”
“Huh?” asked the man in the chair, “You’re unfamiliar of the area? Where are you from?”
Gomez stuffed his arms beneath his armpits. “Originally?”
The man motioned for his pipe and Tam-Tam handed it to him—puffed on the dead tobacco and frowned. He nodded at Gomez.
“I’ve been making my way across the U.S. Mostly western territories, but I heard it was safer in Canada—North Country. Fewer prowlers. Originally though? Far south. Zapatistas—joined their cause for a bit, but,” Gomez looked to the guitar case on the floor, “I was better at music than killing. Or at least preferred it.” The young man let go of a small laugh, “Do you know anything of the Zapatistas?”
The man nodded, stroked his great mustache, and craned far to lift matches from the counter. He lit the pipe, and it smoked alive while he shook the match and puffed. “Durango.” The man hooked a thumb at himself.
Gomez nodded. “I played there before. Good money. Good people.”
The man grinned slyly over his pipe, “What are the odds? All the way up here?”
“It’s a small world,” Gomez agreed, “It’s getting smaller all the time. What are you doing so far from home?”
“Same as you. It’s safer, right? Everyone said, but I’m not so sure.”
The boy interjected, “You play music?” Patrick neared the case which sat on the floor, and he leaned forward to examine the outside of the object; it was constructed from a very hard, shining, plastic material.
“I do,” said Gomez.
“I haven’t heard music before. We sing sometimes, but not music for real,” said the boy.
Gomez frowned. “How old are you?”
Patrick turned to the man in the chair. “Pa?”
“He’s six,” said the man.
Tam-Tam shook her head, removing the pot from the hot eye. “He’s almost six.”
“Almost six,” said the boy, turning back to look at the stranger.
Gomez shook his head. “Almost six and you’ve never heard music? Not for real?” He sniffed through a cold clog and swallowed hard. “I’ll play you some.”
Patrick’s eyes widened and a delicate smile grew across his mouth.
“I’m Emil,” said the man in his chair, “You offered yours, so my name’s Emil.” Smoke erupted from his mouth while the pipe glowed orange. The older man wafted the air with his hand to dispel the smoke.
Tam-Tam Shut off the oven and placed the pot of stew on the counter atop a towel swatch and she pressed her face to the brim and inhaled.
“Is it good, dear?” asked Emil leaning forward in his chair by the counter to question the woman; the woman lifted a steaming ladle to her mouth and sipped then nodded and Patrick moved quickly to the woman’s side.
The boy received the first bowl and then turned to look at the interloper, metal spoon jammed into the side of his jaw while he spoke, “Play some music.”
“After,” said Emil, placing the pipe on the counter to grab himself some grub.
Emil ate while rocking in his chair and Tam-Tam leaned with her back against the counter, sipping directly from her bowl without a utensil. Gomez took his own bowl and squatted by the front door, pressing his lower back against the wall for support; Patrick, eyes wide, remained enamored with the strange man and questioned more, “Pa said it's warm in other places, that it’s not so dark either. What’s it like where you come from?”
Gomez smiled at the boy, blew on the spoonful he held in front of his lips then nodded, “It’s dangerous, more dangerous.”
Patrick nodded emphatically then finished his food with enthusiasm.
The stranger examined the bowl while turning the stew in his mouth with his tongue; the concoction had long-cut onions, chunked potatoes, strange jerky meat. “Pelts,” said Gomez.
Emil perked with a mouthful, unable to speak.
“You have pelts all over—are you a hunter?”
Emil swallowed back, “Trapper,” he nodded then continued the excavation of his bowl.
“Elk?”
The old man in the chair hissed in air to cool the food in his mouth then swallowed without hardly chewing, and patted his chest, “Sometimes.”
Gomez stirred his bowl, took a final bite then dipped the spoon there in the stew and sat the dish by his foot and moved to kneel and open his instrument case.
“It’ll get cold,” protested Tam-Tam.
Gomez smiled, “I’ll eat it. Your boy seems excited. Besides, I’d like to play a little.” He wiggled his scarred fingers, “It’ll work the cold out of my hands.”
He pressed the switches of the case while turning it on its side and opened it to expose a flamenco guitar. Patrick edged near the stranger, and Gomez nodded at the boy and lifted the guitar from its case, angling himself against the wall in a half-sit where his rear levitated. Gomez played the strings a bit, listened, twisted the nobs at the head of the guitar.
“Is that it?” asked the boy.
Gomez shook his head, “Just testing it. Warming my hands on it.”
In moments, the man began ‘Paloma Negra’, singing the words gently, in a higher register than his speaking voice would have otherwise hinted at. Patrick watched the man while he played, the boy’s hands remained clasped behind himself while he teetered on his heels and listened. Emil rocked in the chair, finished his meal, and relit the pipe. Tam-Tam listened most absently and instead went for seconds in the pot; she turned with her lower back on the counter and watched the man with the guitar.
There was no other noise besides the song which felt haunted alongside the hum of the heater lamps. Once it finished, the boy clapped, Emil clapped, Tam-Tam nodded, and Gomez bowed then sat the guitar beneath the porthole by the doorway.
“Thank you,” said Gomez.
“That’s quite good,” said Emil. As if spurred on by the music, the man gently rotated a palm around his stomach and rocked in his chair more fervently, “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“All over,” said Gomez, “I like to pick up songs where I find them. Sometimes a fellow musician has a piece I like, almost never their own anyway, so I think we all share in some way.”
“Poetic,” offered Tam-Tam.
Gomez caught the woman’s eyes, nodded. “I guess it is.”
“Where’d you find that one?” asked Emil, “I heard it a few times but never this far north. It’s like a love song,” he offered the last sentence to the others in the room.
“You’re right—sort of,” Gomez placed his body against the wall by the door, glanced at the bowl of food he’d left on the floor then sighed and bowed again to lift it—the interloper tilted the bowl back on his bottom lip and sipped then casually leaned with the utensil against his sternum. “Somewhere in Mexico is where I heard it first. Maybe same as you.”
Patrick examined the guitar under the porthole, put his face directly up to the strings and peered into the hole in the center of the instrument; his expression was one of awe. He quickly whipped from the thing and stared at the guitarist and opened his mouth like he intended to ask a question. The boy stared at the scars on the interloper’s hands. “What’s those from?”
Not understanding the direction of the question, Gomez looked down to examine his fingers then shifted on his feet and nodded. “Mechanical work.”
Emil continued rocking in his chair and gathered the wool around his throat. “Where did you do that?”
“Zapatistas,” Gomez sipped from the bowl again and chewed, “It’s work I was never good at.” The young man shrugged.
“I wasn’t going to pry, but seeing as the boy’s asked, I’ll push more some if it’s not impolite.”
“It’s not,” Gomez agreed.
“That’s a lot of deep scarring for mechanical work,” Emil rocked in his chair, puffed, raised a furry eyebrow, “What stuff did you work on?”
“You want to know?”
Emil nodded, withdrew the pipe from his mouth and rolled his wrist out in front of himself then slammed the mouthpiece into his teeth.
“I worked with the army, but before then—well there was a boy, a little Chicano lad taken into one of the El Paso houses way back and all the girls that worked there loved him, but his mother perished, and no one even knew who she was. That was, oh,” Gomez tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, “Twenty-two years ago or a little more.”
“Your hands?” asked Tam-Tam.
Gomez smiled warm and continued, “Well this little boy was given a name, but what’s in a name?” He seemed to pose the question to Emil who shook his head like he didn’t understand.
“I don’t understand,” said Emil aloud.
The younger man continued with the tale, “There was this boy, but he was taken over the Republican border by a group of desperados calling themselves Los Carniceros,” Gomez angled down to look at the boy, “Patrick, do you know what a desperado is?”
The boy shook his head, his expression one of total bafflement and a twinkle of nervousness. “A music-people?”
Gomez laughed heartily while Emil shuffled under his wool blanket—the older man stopped rocking in his chair, craned forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his thermals showed as the blanket slipped around his armpits. The hum of the heater lamps continued beside the silence.
“Los Carniceros are a group of fancy criminals that hail out of Veracruz, but they have networks all over. San Luis Potosi.” Gomez’s eyes locked with Emil’s, “Durango. They have connections with the cattle industries all over Mexico. Their name’s tongue-in-cheek, but that shouldn’t fool anyone—they are just as ready to butcher a man as they are a cow. They control the food; they control the politicians; they control trade.” Gomez shook his head. “I’ve gotten carried away. This is no history lesson. There was a boy taken into Los Carniceros territory. He was bought—I’m glad that never happened to you, Patrick—boys that are bought are never kept good for long. So, they brought Johnny-Boy, that’s what they called him, into their inner circle and they used to have Johnny-Boy fight dogs in a ring for the amusement of Los Carniceros’s officers. Sometimes they gambled on the whether the boy would die, but he never did.”
Tam-Tam shivered aloud and rubbed her biceps with her hands and shook her head. “What’s that have anything to do with your hands?”
“You’re right,” said Gomez, “I guess what I mean is when you spend time fighting dogs, they bite—they bite hard, and they break skin that needs to heal. But just as well as dogs bite, so too does the boy that is raised as a dog.” Gomez shrugged.
“Quite the story,” said Emil; he’d refrained from rocking in his chair and stayed very still. “You fought dogs?”
“I did. It’s been a helluva long time, but you know I did, Emil Vargas.”
The older man took a long drag from his pipe then cupped the thing in his hands while his vision drifted around the room. “Have you come to take me back?” asked the older man.
The interloper shook his head.
Emil’s gaze drifted to the faces of Patrick and Tam-Tam. “Will it just be me?”
Gomez shook his head, “I can do you first. You won’t need to see it.”
“What?” clamored Tam-Tam, “What the hell is going on?”
Patrick stumbled away from the stranger, clung to Tam-Tam, and said nothing but began to let out a low sob.
Emil took one last drag and tossed the pipe to the counter. “It wouldn’t help to beg?”
“Would it stop you?” asked Gomez.
“Probably not,” nodded the older man, “Me first then.”
Gomez withdrew his revolver and Tam-Tam let go of an awful shriek as Emil’s head jerked back in his chair to the bullet entering his chest. At the second bullet, Emil’s limbs shot out from him like he was a star.
Patrick and Tam-Tam gathered around each other, shuffled to the counter of the kitchen.
Juan Rodriguez—that was the interloper’s real name—took a step forward and fired the gun again and Tam-Tam struck the counter and blood rained down from her forehead; to perhaps save Patrick, she shoved the boy away in her death spasm. The boy stumbled over onto his knees and when he raised his head, Juan towered over him.
Patrick, almost six, shook violently and wept.
“Turn around,” said Juan.
Patrick turned away from the interloper, stared at the corpses of his mother and father.
Juan fired the revolver one last time and the boy hit the floor; the man holstered the pistol and wiped his cheek with a sleeve. His face was touched with blood splatter; he searched the floor, found a scrap of canvas, bent to snatch it. He wiped his face clear with the canvas and sighed and tossed the scrap away.
The cabin was entirely quiet, save the hum of the heater lamps, and Juan set about clearing the bodies from the cabin, first by opening the door. He chucked the corpse of the boy into the snow by the door, piled his mother alongside him, and fought with the heavier corpse of Emil till Juan fell into the snow beside the others. He pulled himself from the thick storm, staggered through the whistle-blow wind and fought through grunts and mild shouts to close the door.
Upon spinning with the closed door at his back, he saw several of the heater lamps had gone out in the wind. Shivering, teeth chattering, Juan found Emil’s matches on the counter and set about relighting each of the heater lamps which had gone out; he did the act automatonlike, a person driven by force but no lively one.
Through the harsh outside wind, which sounded like breathing against the boards, he hummed a tune to himself that manifested into him whistling a light tune—the River Kwai March—then rifled through the cabinetry of the kitchen, went through the footlocker by the double bed and dumped the contents onto the floor; he kicked the personal affects—papers, trinkets—across the boards. Among the things, he found a shiny glass-reflective tablet, lifted it, pocketed the thing into his parka, then kept looking for what else might catch his attention. He found a small square picture, frameless, face down and lifted it to his eyes then angled over to the nearest heater lamp with it pinched by the corner. The photo was of a woman too young to be a mother—she was more of a girl, really; she carried a fat-bellied infant on her hip in one arm and with the other, she held up a dual-finger peace sign. Juan stared at the picture in complete silence then chuckled at the blank expression of the baby, then threw the square photo like a shuriken across the room; it thunked against the wall and disappeared behind the double bed, never to be seen ever again.
As it went full dark outside, the chitter sounds of outside became prevalent, and Juan went to the porthole by the door, pulled the curtains tightly closed and offered no response to the alien sounds which culminated around the walls of the cabin. It was delirium incarnate—abyssal noise which swallowed even the blizzard howl. Things moved outside and Juan went to the kitchen again, looked over the cabinet doors, opened and slammed them; he huffed with exasperation and moved to the pot where the cooled stew sat and began to eat directly from there with the ladle. His far-off eyesight glared into the dimness of the heater lamps, his face glowing by them, and once he was finished with the pot, he chucked the thing and watched the leftover contents splatter into a wild configuration across the single room’s floor.
Only after removing his boots, he fell onto the double bed, removed his revolver from the holster and placed it there on the well-maintained bedding beside himself; he slept with his parka draped over his torso.
He did not open his eyes for the insect noises of the outside.
In the morning, he promptly wiped sleep from his eyes, rebolstered his weapon, and stared across the room with a blank expression. In a moment, spasm-like, he removed the tuque he slept in to reveal a head of black hair, and scratched his fingers over his head. He replaced the tuque, went to the porthole; upon swiping away the curtains, he stared into the white expanse, the black forest beyond—he took the sleeve of his thermal shirt and wiped across the porthole’s glass where condensation fogged.
Knee-high snow hills spilled inward as he opened the door, and he kicked the snow out lazily and stomped into the mess while shouldering his parka on; the hood flapped helplessly till he stiffly yanked it down his forehead. The wind was entirely mild, still. Through goggled eyes, he examined around the entrance, but there was no sign of the corpses—he waywardly stomped through the heavied snow in the place he’d deposited them and there was nothing below the surface.
Juan stumbled through the high snow around to where the dugout stood alongside the cabin and traced a smallish hill where he crawled for a moment to gather his footing. Snow had fallen in through the high apertures of the dugout, but there was a small door-gate attached between two of the pillars which held the slanted roof of the dugout. After fighting the door-gate out, he squeezed through, removed a flashlight from the inner pocket of his parka and settled down the few steps which led into the earth. A bit of morning light spilled in through those spaces of the wall along the high points, just beneath the roof, but Juan held the flashlight in his mouth and began examining the mess of snow-dusted containers.
Along the lefthand were sacks, well preserved if only for the weather; he kicked a tobacco sack—there was a crunch underfoot. Opposite the piled sacks of grains, vegetables, and dried meats were many metal crates, each one with hinges. At the rear of the dugout were a series of battery banks which seemed to hum with electricity.
He stomped each of the sacks, cocked his left ear to the air and began making a mess of the dugout. One crate contained expensive wooden boarding, he tipped this over into the little hallway created by the goods and carefully examined the contents and then he went to the next. The next crate was bolts of fabrics and twine and he sneered, shook his head.
The interloper took a moment, fell rear-first on the sacks, pulled the flashlight from his mouth and pawed across his forehead and throat; he sighed and sat quiet—in a moment, he was back at the search, more furiously. He rocked his head backward, so the parka hood fell away; sweat shined his face. There were condensed snares and jaws and there was a small crate of maple-infused wine; Juan froze when holding one of the bottles up to the higher natural light. He grimaced but set the box of bottles by the entryway, removing one which he slid into his parka. The Clarkesville Winery stamp was impressed on the metal wall of the package.
After several crates of canned goods, his movements became more sluggish and Juan came upon a crate that seemed to be more of the same, but whenever he tipped it over for the contents to spill out, a smaller, ornate wooden box fell out and he hushed, “Fuck,” while hunkering into the mess to retrieve the box. Some old master carved Laelia Orchids into the grain alongside stalkish invasive sage; the wood—Acacia—was old but well kept. The bronze hardware shone cleanly enough.
The container was no longer than his forearm and he briefly held the thing to the high-light and moved to the entrance and fell haphazardly onto the strewn and half-deflated frozen tobacco sacks.
He opened the small box’s latch and flipped it’s top open and smiled at the contents and quicky slapped the box shut.
In a flash, he unburied his snowmobile with his hands, harnessed his guitar case to its rear, then trailed through the snow gathered against the side of the cabin, using the exterior wall as support with his hand. He came to the backside of the structure, tilted his head to gaze again over at the dugout then swiveled to look at the thick metal tank buried in the ground and marked by a big hump in the snow. Juan moved to the tank, brushed off the snow with gloved hands, nodded to himself. Quickly, he returned to the tank with a hand-pick and bucket he snatched from the dugout. With a few swings, fuel spilled through the punctures he’d created; he placed the bucket beneath the handmade spigots to catch the fuel—in seconds the bucket sloshed full as he lifted it and wavered round to the front of the cabin where the door remained open.
He doused the innards of the structure with the bucket and whipped the object against the interior wall then removed the matches from the counter. Standing in the doorway, he lit the awaiting inferno; the heat explosion pushed him wobble-legged outside while he covered his face from it; he hustled to the snowmobile without looking back.
The vehicle came alive, and Juan trailed across the plane he’d used the day prior. As the snowmobile met the sparse black tree line, the flames too met the fuel tank at the back of the cabin; a heavy eruption signaled, and blackbirds cawed as they trailed across the milk-blue sky.
Among the rush of trees there was a translucent figure and Juan roundabouted the snowmobile. Upon edging to the place of the forest, still very near the trapper’s cabin, Juan caught sight of a stickman among the wide spaced trunks. The noises exhausted from its face the same as a cicada’s tymbal call. Juan killed the engine, removed his pistol, leapt from the snowmobile.
The stickman fought in the snow with something unseen, bulbous-jointed limbs erratically clawed against the ground; it seemed more crab than humanoid. Juan approached with the pistol leveled out in front of himself. The stickman, a North Country native, took up great armfuls of snow as it tumbled to the ground, slanted onto its feet, then tumbled over again. It was caught in a bear trap and as the thing fought against the jaw, its leg twisted worse and worse, and the cicada call grew more distressed. Its hollow limb, smashed and fibrous like a fresh and splintered bamboo shoot, offered no blood at the wound.
“Huh,” said Juan, lowering the gun to his side. He shook his head. The stickman called to him.
The interloper returned to his snowmobile and went west.
Archive

Like every other RE FAN, I was greatly disappointed in Welcome to Raccoon city, it could have been a fantastic resident evil reboot film, but it wasn't. But I'm Not gonna elaborate more because it's all pretty much been said already.
I decided to just put out a fun little story for how I would start a reboot and do my own resident evil trilogy.
Film 1, Part 1: RE 0 & 1
We open with a 11 year old boy, Chris Redfeild, walking in the rain, he walks past rows of graves in this cemetery, he walks all the way until he comes across a small statured girl. She holds a bright red umbrella above herself, “what are you doing here Claire” Chris says. Claire responds, saying she was just visiting mom and dad, Chris tells her that Mr and Mrs Walker were panicking back at home. Claire just gives Chris a look of sadness, Chris embraces his sister, and they mourn their parents. They both hear a scream, Chris tells Claire to stay there, Chris walks towards where the scream came from, and he spots a woman. Dead, but in her neck are puncture marks…in the shape of human teeth.
CUT TO BLACK
A montage of newspaper clippings go by as the opening credits roll, each newspaper clipping being bits and pieces of resident evil lore. Stuff like “Orphan brother and sister escape car crash” “Walker Family Adopt boy and girl” “Umbrella Police Scholarship” “Claire Elza Walker: All star biker” “S.T.A.R.S: Rise of The Super Cops” etc…
10 YEARS LATER, 1998
Chris wakes up in his bed, alone, next to him is a note. “sorry babe, got called in while you were asleep, see you tonight, love you~Jill” Chris lets out a long Sigh, he gets up and prepares a small breakfast for himself. He turns on his television as he eats, the morning news claims A 15th victim has been found, they discuss the fact that all of this madness occurred in the span of 2 months. Chris calls his sister Claire, she doesn't pick up. Chris leaves a voicemail to her.
NEXT SCENE
Jill Valentine, a police officer and member of the elite Police Team, S.T.A.R.S She walks the halls of the RPD, equipped in her uniform and gear. As she heads through the department, she passes by a good looking rookie cop working at the front desk. She eventually makes it to where she was heading, the S.T.A.R.S office, residing in the office are Bravo team and Alpha Team. Barry welcomes Jill with a warm hug, Wesker walks up behind her, and she salutes him as their captain. They all discuss how the murders have been getting much worse, especially with the description of what the 15th victim looked like when they found him. Brad mentions how chief irons is not letting them onto the case for whatever reason. Barry tries to defend it, saying that maybe he doesn't want to lose his top officers. Wesker objects against what Barry said, and tells everyone that the chief probably has something to do with it. Rebecca objects against Wesker, and he doesn't try to respond.
NEXT SCENE
We cut to a train riding through the Arklay mountains and Forrest, A man with a long black mullet sits alone in his seat, he stares at a photo of him, Chris, and Claire, in front of the umbrella corporation. It's Billy coen. A woman with a trolly cart passes by and asks him if he would like anything, Billy orders a basic water. He notices that the woman's eye is bleeding, he gestures to her about it, and she heads straight to the bathroom nearby. Billy turns to look back out the window, brushing off what he just saw.
NEXT SCENE
Chris is walking through Raccoon city, Wearing his “Made in Heaven” brown Leather Jacket. He visits the RPD with a bag of food, he walks up to the front desk, and he tells the young cop at the desk that he is there to bring food to Ms Valentine. Jill heads down with Barry, Brad, and Rebecca at her side. Chris delivers them all their sandwich orders, Jill's food box says “The Jill Sandwich” Barry and they all laugh at her, saying that it should be a real thing. Jill gives Chris a long kiss, and Rebecca looks at them adorably. Wesker walks downstairs and greets Chris, Wesker gives him a firm handshake. Chris gets an odd feeling when being around Wesker. Wesker offers Chris the opportunity to train on the force, telling him that he could probably be a member of S.T.A.R.S one day, Jill smiles at Chris about that opportunity. Barry agrees with Wesker. Chris says that he is fine with where he is at, jokingly saying he doesn't wanna steal Jill's thunder.
NEXT SCENE
Chris sits back in his apartment, the news is talking about how umbrella is beginning a secret project with the military. After the news report, we see an advertisement for the various nationwide umbrella pharmacies. Chris ignores the advertisements as he heads to the fridge to grab a beer. The phone rings, Chris answers, “Chris, hey! It's Billy”, Chris is speechless.
NEXT SCENE
Chris walks towards the raccoon city pond at 10 PM, he sits at a bench, he has a flashback to when he was a kid, a month after his parents died. Chris was sitting in that sane bench, alone, until some drunk guys from his highschool came up to him and tried to push him, he ignores them and they just leave him be, then they see a kid sitting under a tree, reading a book on Greek mythology, with the dog Cerberus on the cover. They proceed to give the kid a hard time, and it's Billy, they try to steal Billy's stuff, Chris comes up to them and proceeds to kick their behinds to kingdom come. Chris helps Billy up, they introduce themselves, and they become friends, they sit on the bench together and then we cut to the present, Chris is sitting alone again. He looks at a duplicate of the same photo that Billy had, he hears the voice of a girl screaming “HELP!” Chris immediately runs towards where the scream is coming from. He pulls out a combat knife from the holster of his boot. He finds a girl, her face is turned away from completely, but her backside appears covered in blood, Chris tries to get a good look at her, but she refuses, it's only until she collapses suddenly that Chris gets a look at her. Her face…it's been half eaten off.
NEXT SCENE
30 minutes later, the police arrive at the park, Chief Irons is there too, they question Chris about everything, Chris answers all the questions he can. He tells them how he got called to meet up at this park by an old friend of his, the Chief gives him a look of suspicion, then when the reporters come along, irins immediately put on his TV face, with a performance that would make Broadway actors blush. The police tell Chris that he is free to go, a reporter catches him as he is leaving, asking him what happened. Chris responds saying “I don't know, why don't you ask the chief”.
NEXT SCENE
Chris enters his apartment, washing off the blood of the woman he had held in his arms. There is a knock at his door, it's Rebecca Chambers, she tells Chris that she heard the report about what happened in the park. Rebecca comes to ask for Chris's honest words, not as a cop, but as a friend. Chris tells her everything that happened, and she is in shock. Afterwards, Chris's phone says that he received 1 new message an hour ago, it was while he was waiting for her at the park. It's Billy, he's panicking in the message “Chris! Don't go to the park! I won't make it! Please, call the police, come find me, I'm in a train, we crashed in the middle of Arklay! Hurry please!”
NEXT SCENE
Chris and Rebecca drive out to Arklay, Rebecca says that she called in the bravo team. Until they arrive, they should look for the train that Billy was talking about. They walk through the Forest, they spot a torn off part of the train here, a small fire spot there, and then finally, a huge claw mark in a tree, right next to a fresh pool of blood. Chris and Rebecca examine it, then they hear growling behind them, but not normal growling. They turn, and they see a dog behind them, savage white eyes, bloody drool, and chunks of its body are gone, exposing its meat and bone. The dog leaps at Rebecca, and Chris immediately kicks it away, Rebecca pulls her gun and shoots it. It appears dead, and then gets back up 30 seconds later. They are in complete shock, they question how it's not dead, and they continue to try and kill it, it doesn't go down…until a second gunshot hits the dog directly in the skull, and its head blows completely. “Chris…? Is that you?” “Billy!?” “Is that your friend Chris?” Chris and Billy embrace, Billy has one half of a pair of handcuffs wrapped around his wrist, it's covered in blood.
NEXT SCENE
Jill gets called off work, she finally shows up back home to her and Chris's apartment. “Babe! I'm home! Are you here?” Jill walks around, looking for him. She tries to call friends, asking them if they have seen Chris, they haven't. Jill eventually finds a note on the table, it's a note from Chris. He is telling her in the letter that he went to meet up with his best friend Billy, saying that he came back to town. Jill lets out a sigh of relief, and she heads to the bathroom to take a shower.
NEXT SCENE
Billy tells Chris and Rebecca what had happened, there was this trolley woman who delivered him a beverage, he noticed that her eye was bleeding, and she headed for the bathroom. A few hours later he called Chris, telling him that he was almost gonna be off the train, he told Chris that he wanted to meet up at the park where they hung out. But moments after he called, he heard a loud groan of pain coming from the same bathroom that the woman went into, Billy questions “has she been in there the whole time?”. Billy knocks on the door, he asks her if she is ok, then he hears a responding knock on the other side of the door. Then the knocking repeats, and gets more intense, more violent, and more intense. Until finally, the train employees come and break the door down. They just unleashed hell. The woman had become a nearly unkillable zombie, she bites the first guy, then the second guy, then the third, and it just expands and spreads, as death and decay happened over the course of 2 hours, to where they are now. Billy said that he got handcuffed to a door as bait for the monsters, it was by some crazy selfish man. He got eaten when he tried to run..Billy said he got out when he found a gun in a security officer's pocket, he struggled to grab it, but he eventually did, he shot off the lock of the cuffs.
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Billy, and Rebecca proceed to investigate the train, Billy led them back. The carts are all busted down, the front cart is completely demolished. They hear a loud ominous roar in the distance, Chris says that they should try to avoid whatever in God's name that was, they know it was definitely something bad.
NEXT SCENE
Wesker and Barry are sitting with the alpha team in the STARS office, late at night. Just going over all the reports of the murders, and then going over the recent event that happened at the park, they see that Chris was there. They ask chief irons about it, and irons says that he thinks Mr Redfeild has something to do with them. He is a possible suspect of all the murders. Barry and Wesker don't believe him one bit, and they continue to investigate the crimes. Irons says that the Bravo team left to investigate some kinda train crash.
NEXT SCENE
The three head into the train, they spot various corpses, all in different states of death and decay, each one worse than the next. Rebecca vomits from the sights along with the smell. Chris and Billy discuss what they've been respectively doing during the past 2 years. Chris says that he met and is now dating a babe cop, he tells Billy that Jill is the best girl he's ever had in his life, besides his mother and sister of course. Billy is so happy for his friend. As they continue to see the most grotesque things ever, Billy finally says that he had gotten a promotion to be a top scientist in the umbrella corporation, he worked on a team, the men being named John, William, Marcus, and We—rebecca tells them that the bravo team is almost there. Billy says that he wanted to surprise Chris, he wanted to spend time with his best friend again. He asks about Claire. Chris tells Billy that Claire is currently an all star motorcyclist at her school, she's going by the professional name of Elza Walker(Her full name is Claire Elza Redfeild). After the trip down memory lane is over. Enrico, a member of the Bravo team, finally finds Rebecca and them. The rest of the bravo team follows close behind shortly after.
NEXT SCENE
Barry knocks on the door of Chris and Jill's apartment. Jill answers, Barry asks Jill if she saw Chris, Jill says that he is out with his best friend. Barry hands Jill the report about what happened at the park. She is in speechless shock. She immediately tries to call anyone, and absolutely begs them to be honest “Have. You. Seen. Chris!?”
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Billy, Rebecca, and Bravo team walk to the back end of the train, they encounter…a giant spider. They shoot at it, and it immediately runs away, giving them no time to react. They search for it. They hear crawling from the other side of the walls. They search for a good few minutes, until they hear the pain-filled scream of Enrico, they run to where he was, and they see the spider wrap itself around Enrico's body, biting into his skull. Enrico's body suddenly gets up. He is dead, but his body is still alive, a puppet vessel for the Spider… this…Spider Man runs towards them. Its movements are a mix of a human and a spider. It's incredibly disturbing. They cannot seem to get a clear shot of it, all they can do is run…they lock it into a room. It just claws at the glass, trying to break it, they know it's only a matter of time until it breaks through.
NEXT SCENE
Wesker in his office, receives an anonymous call, the call tells him that a Bravo team is in the Arklay Forest, investigating an event that may have something to do with the crisis of murders. Wesker, seeing this as an opportunity to finally get something done, and put an end to this 2 month long madness, they do not have time to call Barry or Jill. All the remaining STARS operatives get geared up, Brad starts up a chopper and the team proceeds to head for Arklay, they don't tell the Chief.
NEXT SCENE
Everyone in the train continues on, they continue to face various small monsters, they encounter savage Crows flying through windows, baby spiders the size of an average skull hatching from giant eggs. Piles of leeches in the shape of humans, etc. They all finally agree that they have to call in for backup, they need to get out of there and tell the entire city and RPD what had happened. Then they can investigate further.
NEXT SCENE
Alpha Team flies over the forest, Wesker observes the whole area with his binoculars. Until he finally spots the light of the train. Wesker orders them to land.
NEXT SCENE
The crew of the bravo team are running back to the area that they entered from. They run, frantically trying to avoid the various monsters they encounter. They eventually get out, but two unknown members of the bravo team didn't make it out. They don't have time to mourn however, and they try to head back to their vehicles. More dogs appear, and they are chasing them close behind, almost getting them. Chris is the one lagging behind, he trips over a loose branch. A dog leaps at him…until a gunshot hits it straight away from Chris. “This way Chris!” Wesker says. Alpha team showed up in the nick of time, proceeding to slay all of the dogs and monsters coming at them.
NEXT SCENE
“Why would Chris not call me about this?” Barry exclaims he doesn't know either. They proceed to look into things further. They call Wesker, but he doesn't answer. “Amazing, now our oh so great leader is nowhere to answer.”
NEXT SCENE
Everyone in the forest has been brought up to speed on what has happened so far, they don't know where these monsters came from. They need to report back to the RPD, tell the Chief everything, and announce to raccoon city and the world what they saw, but the plan won't be happening. They hear the roars from earlier, they feel rumbling beneath their feet, and forest from the bravo team is stabbed and thrown away into the darkness by a giant claw. It's…a giant man…creature…thing…its heart and chest organs are exposed, it's uglier than sin, it's right hand is bigger than it's left, equipped with a giant claw, and it's twitching uncontrollably(it is the tyrant T-001). It lets out a huge roar. Everyone is paralyzed in fear. They all try to process if this is real, is this all just a dream, is there no human shaped abomination of God in front of them. Wesker is the only one of them all that is not scared one bit, he truly is their brave fearless leader, he earned his STARS. Wesker tells them that they need to run, he shoots the monster directly in its heart, and they run as fast as they can. They head for the chopper, but Brad beats them to it; he proceeds to leave them all as he flies away, screaming and terrified. Wesker yells “Coward” towards brad. The tyrant lets out an even louder roar than ever, and they hear it begin to run, each heavy footstep getting louder and closer. They all run, they don't know where they are going, they're just running. Billy and Chris run closely near each other, Rebecca follows close behind Wesker as he leads them to wherever they are going. They see a bright glow in the distance. They head towards it…The Mansion.
NEXT SCENE
Jill and Barry head back to the STARS office, it's completely empty. They try to see if they left anything behind to indicate where they went. They find nothing, until they hear running coming from outside the door. It's Brad, he barge's into the office, he is frantic, he's panicking, disturbed, and barely clear in his words. Only say “I left them” over and over and over. Jill and Barry try to ask him what happened. Brad finally calms down, and tells them that the alpha and bravo team are in Arklay, that they were with Chris, and his friend Billy. Jill berates Brad about the fact that she abandoned them for dead. Barry restrains her back and calms her down. She tears up and hugs Barry, she is scared that it's too late, that Chris and her friends are dead.
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Wesker, Rebecca, and Richard Eiken made it to the mansion, everyone else is…they don't know. “Billy!? Where's Billy!?” Chris heads for the door. Wesker stops Chris, telling him that they're all probably dead, and that he's sorry. They then suddenly hear a gunshot in the distance, they all hope that the others may have survived, Chris said that he will go and see if he finds anyone, Wesker agrees and says that he will go on his own and look for a way out. Rebecca and Richard agree to stick together and just stay alive.
FINAL SCENE
Chris walks through a dining room, getting closer to where the gunshots came from. He wounds up in a dark quiet hallway. The only thing he hears is the sound of “Sploshing” and groaning. He sees a trail of fresh blood on the floor, it's a trail, Chris immediately follows the trail. And wounds up at a dead end of the hallway…he finds where the blood is coming from. The body of dead STARS member, being devoured by a blood covered pale man shaped creature, it turns its head slowly, revealing its disgusting, blood covered face, with its flesh filled mouth…
THE END…TO BE CONTINUED.
I hope you enjoy the story of this first part. I'm excited to write the next two parts of my film. This first part story was inspired by an excellent video by Score PN, titled "The untold story of Resident evil 0". Here's a tease at what is to come.
Part 2, Film 2: RE 3 & 1.5
Part 3, Film 3: RE 2 & 1

Forewarning, I am keeping this post partially vague in case my fiance stumbles upon this post somehow. Clarifications will be made in future updates.
Bit of a TLDR: I have been with my fiance for a few years now, and we were engaged several months ago. We're set to get married in May next year, but after an argument the other night where it ended in him undermining my intelligence it made me realize that this type of behavior that he's shown multiple times is abusive. I realized that I can't marry someone like this and I need to leave. But my plan is kind of shitty as it involves me just disappearing, taking my stuff out of our apartment, and basically becoming a ghost to him. But I want to know if there's a better way to do it before I go through with it.
Longer version: We met back when we were both still in high school, but we didn't get together until sometime after I had graduated. I had never dated anyone before him, but he seemed like a great guy. I loved him, and I still do. Once we both finished community college, we moved in together with a friend and have continued to build our lives together. He proposed to me in a place that's special to both of us, and I thought I was happy. In truth, I have doubted this relationship for quite some time.
The first time I started having doubts was about a year into the relationship when he started trying to pressure me into having sex with him. Now, we both come from near opposite sides of the spectrum in terms of values. I am personally more conservative in general, and I am also a Christian. He is a more left leaning libertarian. Obviously that means we hold different values and viewpoints, but I pushed those aside because I thought we could make it work. I made it clear early on in the relationship that I wasn't ok with doing anything sexual unless we were married. He didn't really like that and would try questioning me and pressuring me and trying to convince me that my "aversion to sex" was coming from a place of fear. Sometimes the pressuring would turn into him accusing me of not being into him or that I just didn't find him sexually attractive. He'd be angry and it would frustrate me to the point of making me cry and sob. These convos were always held in text and never in person.
Most of my doubting came from conversations like this. When it would turn into arguing and questioning and accusing of why I wouldn't have sex, even though I had made it clear it was a value I upheld due to my faith. The major arguments happened a total of about 6 or 7 times from memory. And each end every one of those arguments I thought about breaking up with him. God, I should have, but I was in love. But each and every time, I would push my doubts aside, forgive him, and somewhat try to forget what he did, because I was hoping he'd change. (Writing this stuff out now, having to bring up all these memories to the surface really makes me want to go back in time to past me and slap myself upside the head!)
There was one point where we had that same argument about having sex right before I was about to go into work (again, over text, but also using voice messagesa bit as well). I actually almost broke up with him then, but I didn't. He called me crying the next day, having told me he had talked to his friends about me not wanting to have sex unless we were married and they told him how he was an asshole. I agreed that he was, but I still forgave him. And I still stayed with him. However, that behavior pretty much stopped after that argument... at least that form of it.
Later on while he wouldn't get angry and try to question me about why I wouldn't have sex, he'd instead say things like:
"You're never gonna try to have sex" "You're never in the mood" "I bet you won't ever do anything sexy for me even when we're married" And other things like that
For the most part everything was good. Either my memory sucks or he didn't really do much if anything at all to be emotionally or mentally abusive until we had moved in together.
The worst part of his behavior only really started out as playful banter where we would tease eachother and jokingly call eachother names. But it eventually escalated overtime, but slowly enough that I didn't realize how bad his insults and "jokes" towards and about me were getting. Primarily the "jokes" he makes involve my intelligence, and my past abuse involving my family and our issues (nothing really physical, but very much emotional and mental abuse). This was on top of all the little bits of belittling and rude comments he would make towards me or about me, even having made a few of those comments in front of my family. Like when I had mentioned during a lunch with my family one day how I wanted to decorate our wedding venue and invite our family members to come and help as a fun way to meet family we may not have met yet and let people be a little more involved than just simply showing up to the wedding. He immediately shot me down saying that I would make it look like a child did it. In front of my family, he said that. But again I brushed it off.
Recently he's been blatantly insulting me more and more while passing it off as jokes. His favorite thing to do has been to use the fact I didn't do well in high school as a means to treat me as if I am unintelligent. He's also used my mother as a means of comparison when I'm getting a little too upset at his jokes. My mother was an extremely emotionally, mentally, and sometimes physically abusive person who abandoned our family when I was still in high school. Funny enough, I was in this same cycle of forgive and forget with her. I told myself that I wasn't going to let anyone treat me like she had ever again, but here we are, years later, back in that cycle.
The straw that had broken the camel's back for me was when we had an argument the other night. We were in bed and he was messing with me trying to crack jokes, I was kind of tuning him out, about to fall asleep. One "joke" caught my attention. To keep it vague for now, it had something to do with our opposing viewpoints on a certain topic, primarily involving children. He knows how I feel about that stuff and he knows how badly I want to be a mother someday. What he said just absolutely pissed me off, and it started an argument. Eventually he got upset and turned over saying "I was just trying to make it a joke, but you turned it into a lecture." I basically said whatever, but he continued and used the fact that I did bad in high school as a means to undermine my intelligence, basically telling me he can see why I almost failed. Except he knows why I almost failed, and it's not because I didn't have the brains for it. That comment about my intelligence is what set me off. I told him off and told him to never insult my intelligence again. I told him that I know i may act dumb for laughs and I may make jokes that I'm stupid, but I know I'm not stupid. I'm not Einstein, but I'm also not 3 stooges level intelligence either.
That basically ended the argument and we both went to sleep angry, I tried to hold back my tears until I fell asleep. I wake up super early for work, so I was up a few hours later, still absolutely upset. I did my best to stay quiet while I got ready in the bathroom, but I was practically sobbing the whole time. I bawled my eyes out on my way to work, and sat in the parking lot sobbing and crying, asking God to help me figure out what I'm supposed to do. If I should stick it out, or if I should stay with him. The answer came a couple hours into my shift that morning as I was mulling everything over in my mind. That's when I realized I had to leave him.
I have a plan to leave, but I don't know if there's a better way to do so.
My plan is after taking a couple months to get things in order (some of my family has been notified, others will be informed as my chosen day to leave gets closer) I was going to take some time off, wait for him to leave for work, pack my things and be gone by the time he got back. I would leave a letter and the engagement ring telling him why I left, along with an extra month's worth of rent to help allow him and our roommate to prepare and get things in order so they're not screwed over on housing (or it would be sent at some point) as I would notify the apartment managers of my "30 day notice" of leaving that same day. Anything I cannot take with me where I would be staying will simply go into a storage unit until I can get a place of my own to live.
I know that what I am currently planning to do is extremely shitty of me. My reasoning is I don't think I'd be able to handle him most likely crying and begging for me to stay. I also don't know how he will react. While he has never been physically violent with me, and I don't think he ever would be, I have heard too many horror stories and I honestly do not know if breaking off our engagement could push him to violence. People tend to act on their emotions before taking a logical approach which is why I don't want to do this face to face. Call me a bitch, a coward, whatever else might fit, cause you're probably right about that in this case.
However I feel extremely guilty thinking about how exactly I am going to do it and when. I feel dirty and I feel like a terrible person as it's the only way I can think of being able to leave him. I should have left a long long time ago, and I'm feeling the repercussions of my actions now.
I really want to know if there is a better way to leave him, as my plan isn't going to happen for another couple of months. If there is a better way that will land with less hurt for both of us (because I do still care about him) please someone give me advice on how to do so. Im desperate, and I don't want to have unwarranted guilt like this if there is something better.

Tl;dr: my blankets and hammock inexplicably ended up down the road from my house overnight even though they were inaccessible.
This happened 8 or 9 years ago. Would love to reason it away but I figure it’s impossible. I still lose sleep over it sometimes. This will be long. True to the detail. Please do NOT comment that I was on something because I am 200% sure I was sober and of sound mind.
Made plans to camp in a hammock in the woods with bf at the time. I picked him up late at night and he locked himself out of the house with no way to get back in until morning. I was superstitious and suddenly a black cat ran halfway across the street, stopped, then turned around and ran away. I caught a bad vibe and said we couldn’t go to the woods.
It was a protected wildlife area and we weren’t supposed to be there overnight, my friend group frequently did anyway. Earlier that day, we picked up a heavy duty stack of about 4 plastic chairs and shoved them in the back of my car. We folded the seats down to fit them, squishing the hammock and blankets we planned to use later.
He was not allowed to spend the night at my place as I still lived with my parents. Mom was a light sleeper. I literally made this dude pee in something to keep him from walking around at night. So I KNOW we didn’t leave. (Crazy I know, but it’s a small house.) I snuck him in through the window and we didn’t even leave the room. watched tv and went to sleep.
Morning comes, mom leaves for work, but promptly returns. She drops my blankets and hammock in the hallway, yelling at me for “leaving them down the road.” I live across from a lake with a beach that I never go to. Ok, first thought is someone broke into my car. Except it’s still locked. And the chairs are still in there, and the seats are still down. I had no friends in the area who would prank me/use my stuff. There was no sign of it being tampered with. The keys were in my room. My stuff, which were clearly the same items, were not in the car.
Someone would have had to get the car unlocked without triggering the alarm, which was parked near my window. get the chairs out, pull up the seats to get the items, put them back down, put the chairs back, close and somehow lock the car. Silently. You could not see the items from the outside as they were squished under seats.
Remember I mentioned that cat? I found out later the cops were monitoring the lot for the patch of woods. Friend caught a drug charge out there and they showed him a pic of my car, asking who I was in return for lessening charge. (Car was registered in parents name.) essentially we would have gotten arrested for trespassing if we went there that night. I don’t know why but it feels relevant/related.
Ok, somehow we stopped at the lake and hung out there and just left the stuff. Except how would we both forget all of that, AND the whole process of taking everything out just to get the items? I have never left my stuff like that. Especially outside. I was sober and just trying to go to sleep without getting caught sneaking around. Plus, emphasis on the fact that I literally never go over to that area anyway.
Also weird, everything was dry. This was near a lake, so you would think there would be dew on the fabrics but there wasn’t. They weren’t dirty. They didn’t smell different. Hammock was still tucked in its bag with the ropes.
I will not even begin to speculate about ghosts or dimensions or whatever, I just have no idea how this happened and it has always haunted me a little, then I found this sub.

I am a fan of Yakui and this is top tier art so it fits! Im right and you are wrong logically. I can even prove it with a literal math proof inside 1 page to show it to you too. This is this, which leads to that which leads to that! you know how it goes! Song review! Artist: Yakui the Maid Song: Pneumatosis Album: Degeneration
" Pneumatosis
Pneumatosis... this indescribable disconfort. This soul clog, this odorless, colorless gas. Its occupying my body. Its making my joints creek, my confidence faulter, my eyes... they are close to the world but they see nothing. This mental state of dysphoria. A perfect blend of vague existential dread and self depriciation. This hesitation before doing anything. This blob of clutter. This ball of mess. This aggregate of joint chaos. Its there. And it sees me. I ask it to politely move. It wont budge. I yell at it loudly, call it names, tell it that Im better that that. It wont budge. I obcessively attempt to understand, to piece together, to drain it away, to toy with it a bit. Its a blob of gas. Im trying to play and empathise with a blob of gas. So it wont budge. I cant feel remorse, I cant feel tears. I cant feel anger or sadness. Just this undescribable disconfort. I gave up on getting rid of it long ago. Is it... the shadow? Is it trying to tell me something? Am I the one who wont listen? Talk to them. Walk on their side. Go.. You dont need a reason. I keep all these things to myself. Im unsure what all this means. I could try stretching.... Maybe all I need is to help myself loosen up. If anyone wants to talk, this socket is all open. Ill be waiting. Yet still I am hopeful. I look forward to the day I can take a step without shaking. I look forward to when I can utter words from within without flinching from embarassment. I look forward to when I can take light breezes to my face and remain at peace. I look forward to when I find myself connected to lifes challenges without unecessary fear of failure. I look forward to when I find myself surrounded by a savana full of temperate grass, skies speckled with clouds but still lots of blue to give, where the air is pure and its allways 2 pm. As I feel the wind grazing my face, i stand connected to all the life in it, without budging from my spot, rejoicing in my ability to stay determined yet at ease. Motivated yet open minded. Warm inside. The eyes will look far but everything will feel close. Sometimes the sun rains on me, and other times its slightly dark. A tear leaves my eye as the tenths of blobs of gas start participating in my system, turning into blood. I just became... whole. Everything is alright, now. Your eyes are not constrained anymore. They are free to tremble, to shine, to glow. To observe, to react, to see, to spot, to admire. Everything will soon be clear.
how do I feel? I have tears in my eyes. I can still feel shaken violently by doubt and cluttered thoughts all over. But I see the horizon. I feel like its worth to continue. Im far from fine. But Im also alright. These are all just emotions after all. They are fleeting like clouds. I just threw my fit. I declared: "Its unfair and painful! I cannot bear it anymore!" But I now finally see a future where I make peace with all my being. Finish building all the bridges. And become whole.
More effort wont fix it. You need more time, experience and wisdom. Let it go, for now."
Theres also refracted, which I also made a text about, which is not as good. If this is not logically against the rules I will also post it. Bye, future Maidcore fans! You will like it and you will like that you like that you like it always forever! And if people actually enjoy this, I will make a review on some krush songs I like

I’ve finally finished the Heartstriker Series and it wins “The Most Anime Award” for Dragon Fiction.
It’s got it all.
Giant Swords, building toppling punches, ancient doomsday gods, mid-battle monologues, mentors suffering from alcohol abuse, sealed magical forms, and fights like this….
(Show a scene of someone being punched through a mountain in DBZ or something. This is a Youtube script I might eventually get around to.)
It’s set in a near future Earth after a meteor has released the magic that has been dormant within the Earth for centuries.
This allows mythical creatures to either reawaken, or like dragons who have been trapped human forms to conserve their magic, to reclaim the skies and true forms.
Enter Julius, a young dragon of the Heartstriker clan has just been ejected from his home mountain by his mother for being a useless son. Instead of being obsessed with the acquisition of more power for him and his mother… I mean his clan. Julius tries to avoid his bloodthirsty family and hides in his room playing video games. Worst of all, he says please and thank you instead of demanding obedience from his inferiors.
Worse than the eviction, his mother has also sealed his dragon form until he does something to redeem himself. Making sure he can’t cause her trouble while exploring the Detroit Free Zone (or DFZ) where dragons are absolutely forbidden to enter by the spirit overlord. He’s hired by one of his many elder brothers to track down a runaway from another dragon clan and drag her back home to strengthen their inter-clan relationship. Both mistaking his sealed form as a curse and Julius as financially well off instead of someone with tens of dollars to his name. Marci, a young mage, offers to help him, but instead accepts his offer to help him track down the hiding dragoness.
Yes, I know how we feel about dragons in human bodies, and yes, I’m afraid to say Julius doesn’t regain his dragon form as fast as we would like. But we do get some natural dragons in the meantime...occasionally.
But the dragon lore is pretty neat.
Like that dragoness Julius is supposed to find, she the youngest daughter of the Three Sisters Clan. A clan made up entirely dragonesses formed purely from the magic of three ancient dragon sisters who weren’t into the whole biological reproduction thing.
They are now sleeping deep under the ice because they are so massive and powerful that the lack of magic sent them into a coma. But their daughters, mainly the youngest, who is missing and eldest, who is looking for her, are a bit more into males and less into the racial purity thing than their comatose parents.
So the missing dragoness is running off to be with her human mage boyfriend (Yes, someone actually wrote that story some of you keep asking for but as a backstory for a minor character) and the older dragoness is into Julius’s brother, the one that hired him, but their clans are supposed to hate each other because the Seer of the Three Sister’s Clan really hates Julius’s eldest brother, Bob, who is the Seer of the Heartstriker Clan.
Seers are dragons who can see the most likely futures and try to manipulate events to get the future they want and there are only three Seers at any time. When a Seer dies, the next dragon to hatch replaces that Seer. And the more Seers manipulating the future, the harder it becomes to see where the future is headed because it will take sudden unexpected turns as they fight over it.
So the Three Sisters Seer really wants to kill Bob so she can have full control of the board for decades until the next Seer is old enough to be competent. There’s also the fact that Bob married a pigeon instead of her. She’s probably pretty upset about that. Okay, she’s actually mad she couldn’t seduce Bob into being her toy, but the pigeon probably didn’t help. Oh, and Julius's mother is a evil bitch that everyone hates. Also doesn't help.
And that’s all I really want to spoil. There’s nothing here that isn’t in the first few chapters of the first book. Can’t even mention my favorite dragon who shows up in book 2. But like so many animes, the story starts off simple but the stakes skyrocket with each book and our nobody dragon and wandering mage duo attract more attention from the magical world.