I love my father.
He sits in his yellowing, threadbare sofa with its many patches and spill stains that bloom like misshapen ochre flowers and watches the television, chuckling along whenever the blonde man with his blinding teeth teased into a smile cracks a joke that tickles him, shaking his head in amusement. He brings a biscuit to his mouth, absent-mindedly brushing away the crumbs that fall off the side. His hand shudders.
I walk towards him, and he turns to face me. His eyes crinkle into a smile as he grins up at me, empty patches of darkness where he has lost his teeth. I smile back at him softly, nudging forward the medication I have neatly placed on a plate, and his smile falters, his eyebrows creasing into a frown. It pains me as much as it pains him, to wait in agony, unable to do anything as his dementia eats away at his once brilliant brain, rotting away his memories inevitably. As the days flick by, it is more of a rarity now that he looks at me with warm familiarity in his eyes, rather than the cold terror, gazing at not his daughter, but a nameless stranger.
I wonder sometimes about the things he remembers, and the memories that left without a goodbye. Does he still recall those times when he rocked me to sleep as the stars watched us from behind the curtains of clouds, held my hands gingerly as I walked stubbornly with my podgy legs, ran after me while I cycled shakily for the first time, beamed at me proudly as I attained my first job? Does he remember the daughter he raised single-handedly, the daughter who blossomed into the vibrant flower she is today?
I am selfish, I know. He is all I have left, and I his. On the days he looks at me guardedly, shaking in fear, I try to soothe him, jog his memories, bring him down the long-winded memory lane. The time that elapses as his memories click in and he recognizes me once more has been slowly, but ever so persistently, increasing. I sometimes want to scream at him, for how can he forget his own daughter? His own pride and joy? But it is not fair to him, not fair that the most basic of tasks make him flustered and dazed, not fair that his daily activities limit to only watching brainless television and dogmatically following my orders, not fair that the memories of his daughter is reduced to one of the many feathers tickling his brain, just out of his reach.
My father frowns tiredly, picking up the chalky red pill right in front of him, and with a moment’s hesitation, pops it into his mouth, swallowing it down with the water I brought to him. I hold back a fatigued sigh of relief, quietly rejoicing that I did not have to force him to take his medicine. Dementia is resilient. It rushes in, like a tidal wave, biding its time, before abruptly gathering speed and crashing devastatingly onto shore. The red pill tries its best to hold it off, but it will not matter one day. Eventually dementia will win, taking my father’s mind along with it like a morbid war prize, pushing him into the beckoning arms of Death knocking on his door.
My father looks at me with watery eyes. “I still remember, you know,” he takes my hand in his own gnarled one. “I remember that tomorrow is your birthday.”
I love my father. How can I not, as I look at him, and he looks back with all the love he holds in his eyes? His love that has enveloped me over every day, from the moment I was born till now. My father, who struggles to piece together his own name, but cherishes me in his heart, refusing to let me go, refusing to relinquish me into forgetfulness. I smile back at my father, softly holding him up and bringing him to his bed. I tuck him into his worn blankets and wait till his eyes droop and his breath steadies into deep, rhythmic pulls before I convince myself he will live through the night before finally tiptoeing back to my own bed, falling into a restless, interrupted doze of my own.
My dreams shift in flashes of color and nothing more. I wake sleepily, eyes still gritty from sleep and instantly, like always, my heart seizes with anxiety. The silence is always deafening in the morning, and I have to pray that my father is still asleep soundly in his bed instead of wandering in a disoriented blur outside our house. I make my way shakily to his room, my bare feet growing numb on the cold tiles of the floor. Creaking the door open, I nudge my head into his room, my eyes slowly getting used to the faint light from the cracks of dawn peeping through the windows.
The bed is empty. Blankets and covers are rumpled into an untidy heap in one corner, and the gaping absence of my father in his bed mocks me, punishing me for my carelessness and disregard for his fragile safety. I am sure I left the door locked, but panic seizes me like a taut rubber band, and I rush downstairs, flying two steps at a time, my dress hampering around my legs as I burst into the kitchen, only to find my father sitting on the dining chair, nursing a hot cup of coffee. He smiles at me in warm greeting, only for it to dim ever so slightly as his eyes travel over my haphazard state and the wild frenzy blazing in my eyes.
No matter how many times I remind my father that life is unkind and unjust, that it is not, and will never be, his fault if he does something like this, it pains him to think of himself as a burden for me to constantly worry and fret over. I have to tell him over and over that there is nothing he can do that will make me resent him. Ever. Yet he always looks at me forlornly, his disbelief set like a cold and heavy stone. Time passes in a hazy cloud, and he falls deeper and deeper into the gallows of his diseased brain, and I wonder who it is I am trying to convince more, my father or myself.
Guilt and shame harden his eyes, but I interrupt him before he can open his mouth to offer his heartbreaking apologies for causing me such trouble, choosing to instead focus on making him breakfast, fussing over him as he eats slowly, savoring each mouthful of his pitiful meal of whole grain bread. It is only then I consider his tired eyes, still droopy from sleep, his wrinkled clothes, smudged with dirt and what looks suspiciously like mud.
“What’s all that on your clothes?” I try to keep my voice light, hoping he takes the tremble in my voice for mere prying curiosity rather than shaky fear. I swallow the lump on my throat, trying to stop all the qualms roaming around my head, screaming at me all the deadly things he could have done, or that could have happened to him. I quickly scan for any injuries on his body, but other than dirt accumulating under his fingernails and the small yellowing bruise from a couple of days ago when he bumped his head on the sofa, my search comes up clear.
My father smiles at me, his lips turning up into his achingly familiar kindly smile, eyes crinkling into its fine lines. He seems…happy. Really happy. This makes me soften my demeanor, relaxing a little. It has been so long since I have seen my father truly, genuinely happy. Not forced laughs at my pitiful attempts at making jokes, not soulless guffaws at the numerous TV shows flashing in neon all night, and certainly not the little chuckles from observing the antics of our neighbors next door with the raucous kids giggling barefoot around in their overgrown backyard. I grin back at him, wishing this moment could stretch on to infinity, so that time will not creep on us and steal this rare burst of joy away.
“What is it?” I ask him, a teasing note in my question as I begin sweeping away the little brown crumbs that have dribbled out of my father’s mouth as he finishes his tasteless bread. “I got you a birthday present,” his smile widens. I straighten up, my heart swarming with all kinds of emotions. I consider, fleetingly, if the fluttering in my stomach is excitement, but it is cold trepidation instead.
“I invited your sister to come today for your birthday,” he grins, quiet triumph making his eyes glitter. My heart clenches and I freeze, trying to comprehend his words, unraveling them slowly like delicate silk. “W-what?” I splutter, trying to search my father’s oblivious face for any grasp of information. It cannot be. It simply cannot. My father nudges his head in the direction of our living room. His smile grows wider still. “See for yourself.”
I cannot get my body to move at first, so resolute it is in warning me that danger is lurking in the living room, in the shape of my sister’s complicated, twisted soul. But I manage to shuffle slowly in the right direction. The hallway seems to stretch to eternity, looming and ominous, shadows lengthening and taunting me with its mimicry of fabled devils. The television is turned on, as though my father just fell asleep in front of it like always. Static blares out, interrupted by snatches of words from forgettable broadcasters. I stand at the entrance, forcing myself to look at the silhouette framed by the light from the television on the battered sofa.
My sister looks back at me, her teeth widened to a lopsided smile.
“I thought she might like to watch something nice while I talked to you about your surprise,” my father appears noiselessly behind me, making me start. His breath tickles my cheek, making the hair stand up on its end, erect with alarm. I watch him as he meanders his way through the labyrinth of carefully folded stacked clothes that have fallen gently to its side and towers of newspaper my father has hoarded where you can see his manic scribbling in aged crossword puzzles and stands over my sister’s overly relaxed form, gingerly patting her head fondly. “I told her you would be excited that she came by,” he adds nervously, his eyes flicking from the top of my sister’s head and at my frozen state. I tear my disbelieving eyes from my sister and gaze back at my father. I watch his nerves wreaking havoc in him, looking at me with plea, like a child begging their mother for a forbidden toy. I try to relax my face, hoping my half-hearted smile abates his anxiousness. I cannot watch him despair at my expense. “Of course it’s ok,” I say, the strain in my voice not as hidden as I thought it would be. I screw my eyes shut and stumble back to the kitchen, resting my head against the cool granite counter, wishing for my heart to stop racing and my mind to quieten. My father’s happiness and peace of mind...that is all I wish for now.
I love my father. And in the beginning, so did my sister. We loved him when he raised us by himself, working tirelessly to make ends meet, put a roof over our heads and kept our stomachs full. We grew together, just the three of us, a tiny, wounded family, my sister and I taking shelter from the many insurmountable hurdles that life threw at us behind our reliable father. My sister was the life of the party– sparkling, bursting with color like a crackling firecracker. She was always the star of the show, commanding the stage with nothing but brazenness and sheer optimism. She was electric with life.
That was until the day my father was diagnosed with early onset dementia. The day the doctors sombrely told us that there was nothing we could do but watch our beloved father spiral into fugue dreams. The day we knew the father we knew-the brilliant, hardworking, intelligent, selfless man- will never be the same again. The signs were always there, tiptoeing towards the diagnosis. He had begun to forget the days of the week, misplacing everyday items, taking too long to answer our questions, gaping at us blearily as we repeated ourselves painfully. But my sister and I danced around the issue, never quite bringing it up, treating it like a curse, neither of us wanting to break the tranquility, until the day my father woke up and did not remember where he was.
My sister fell apart, like a puppet with its strings ruthlessly cut. She was old enough to remember when our mother had died tragically, and she could not bear to see the loss of another parent, one whom she loved so deeply. I woke up one morning to see her bed empty, her blanket still crumpled, hanging off a corner, her wardrobe doors held ajar, stripped bare. I was not surprised. She did not even leave a note explaining her flight. She simply disappeared.
While my father spiraled, I heard whispers. People in our neighborhood offered sympathetic smiles or avoided their gaze and did nothing more. Their hushed whispers turned more sinister, darker as time ticked by like a sullen clock. Innocent speculations as to where my sister had run off to turned into filthy, dirty rumors that she was living on the streets, begging strangers for money, shooting herself up and living in a cloud of hazy drugs. I listened quietly, knowing the stories were all true. I knew they were, because my sister, in the five months she had run away, had only called once, high as a kite, asking for money to cover her expensive drug habits. I hung up on her while she was still talking, her unnaturally shrill voice ringing in my head. With my sister gone, I knew I had lost my family, and only my father remained to me.
I look at her now, still grinning up painfully at me, and a stabbing pain shoots through me. She smiles like she was there all those times our father wandered through the streets barefoot, and I had to tear through the town frantically calling out for him; those times he asked about her, wondering where she was, and I lied through my teeth that she was just away and would be back soon. My father holds her by the hand and brings her to the kitchen, beaming with utter joy. He looks so happy. I sigh and drag myself into the kitchen, where my father has already pulled out my birthday cake that we made together the previous day from the fridge and placed it in front of my silent sister. I stare at the icing on the small, slanted cake. My father had insisted on decorating, and his almost illegible, childlike writing of ‘Happy Birthday, Daughter Dear,’ had made me feel a rush of affection for my father, but now fills me with quiet, cold dread. Like someone had walked over my grave.
My father pushes the knife into my hands. I hold it as he bursts into the birthday song, his voice warbling with emotion, tears running down his face as he wraps his arm around me and gave me a kiss on my temple. I try to feign a smile at him, but my stomach rolls over at the sight of my sister sitting behind my father, her empty eyes gazing directly through me, and I read the unspoken accusations in them, the utter hatred and disgust. I swallow and pull myself out of my father’s loving embrace and shuffle away. “Aren’t you going to cut the cake?” My father turns to look at me, puzzled. I pause for a moment before slicing the cake slowly with my trembling hands. I pull a slice of the gooey mess onto a plate and slide it over to him, and after he discretely nudges his head towards my sister’s eerily still self, I give her a plate too. For a few minutes, there is nothing but the sound of spoons scraping against the flimsy paper plates as we tuck into the slightly bitter chocolate cake, until my father notices my sister’s untouched meal.
Concern makes him grab her wrist, his fingers easily encircling her small frame. “Haven’t you been eating? Look at how small you’ve gotten!” He exclaims, feeling her spindly, twig-like arms and fragile fingers. I say nothing, my eyes trained on my food, my stomach churning like a pack of worms, but my father has other plans. “Don’t you think your sister is too skinny?” He asks me, and I shrug non-committedly. I feel him glaring at me, his eyes burning holes through me. As I get up to throw my plate away, he grabs me and brings me into the empty hallway.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you stop this silly fight with her?” My father says wearily. I look into his tired, anxious eyes, and I want to scream at him. Does he not remember what she did? All the awful, awful things that had happened? I restrain myself and force my lips to turn up into a smile. Don’t snap, that is the first rule when dealing with dementia patients. “I’ll talk to her,” I promise him, the lies easily falling from my mouth like all the others I had fed him over the past few months. He relaxes, and snakes his hand along my shoulder, enveloping me in a tight side-hug, whispering a muttered ‘thank you’, before heading back to the kitchen and uproariously inviting my sister to watch television with him.
I do not go with them. I hide in the kitchen as long as I can, cleaning all the dishes slowly and methodically, as my thoughts race faster than I can comprehend them, tumbling over one another, wrestling to take control. I toss my sister’s uneaten cake into the trash. Even through the walls separating us, I hear snatches of many commercial breaks, punctuated by my father’s hearty chuckles. Whatever he thinks my sister is telling him must be very funny indeed. I sit on the cold kitchen table and watch the clock, willing time to fly quickly and throw me into the embrace of the future.
The yellow rays of the amber sun fade to make way for the gloom of the night to settle in. Already I hear the crickets singing to their hearts’ content from our garden. Wiping my hands on my clothes, I make my way through to the living room, my mind made up, calm and collected. My sister sits upright on the couch, facing the television impassively. My father is sprawled on the sofa next to her, his head lolling on the armrest, soft snores drowned by the television still turned on. A tense silence settles between my sister and I, somehow louder than the crickets and the television combined. She avoids my gaze and resolutely watches the screen flashing. My hands curl to fists, but I tiptoe to my father.
“I think it’s time for her to go, don’t you think? It’s getting late.” I whisper in his ear. My father shifts, bloodshot eyes blearily blinking up at me. “Tell her goodbye for me, won’t you?” He mutters, his eyes screwing shut again. I do not have to wait long until his breaths become full and steady once more, and without a word, I hold my sister by her hand and bring her out of the house. She offers no resistance, like as though she knows where she is going. Her defenses are down, like someone who has given up.
The garden is a handiwork of my father, and my father alone. The doctor recommended me to let him create a hobby for him to exercise his mind and keep it alive as long as possible, a tiny shred still linking him to reality for when his mind wanders too far away from our reach. He spends whole days pottering around, watering freshly sown seeds and admiring the pretty kaleidoscope of flowers. A slice of heaven on earth, he calls it. In the winter, it has shriveled up, protecting itself from harsh winds and pelts of snow, but my father is certain that the garden will nurse itself back. The resilience of life. We stand there, side by side. The moon looms over us, and I spot two small stars winking down below. I like to think that one is for either of us. I stand there with my once lovely sister until the coldness wraps me like a freezing blanket and numbs my fingers, and then I bring her to the back of the garden to the tulip patch.
Tulips have always been my sister’s favorite flowers. My father, as much as he has forgotten, still holds on to this like sacred knowledge. The tulips have withered, hiding their faces in shame with what is left of their dull petals. There is a big hole right beside it, hastily dug. My father must have referred to this when he mentioned he was gardening earlier today. The shovel leans on the mound of soil next to the gaping hole. I push my sister down and bury her for the second time.
I love my father. I know what you are thinking, but I assure you, everything I have done, and everything I ever will do, is for him only. I want him to be happy, I always have, something any dutiful daughter would say. I did not know I would have to sacrifice my sister for that.
Last month, after I received a call from my drugged out sister trying to persuade me for money and I had hung up on her unceremoniously, I went back home from work like I always did. The door hung ajar, the lock twisted off, and I knew something was wrong. My father must have wandered out again, somehow managing to pry open the lock and fled to the streets wrapped in his delusions. But then I realized the floor was slippery, and the soles of my shoes stained a deep red. Fear clamped onto me like a starving beast, I do not remember what happened next fully, only in snatches of pictures then run in my head like an endless loop of film. Blood that splattered the hallway, leading to the living room. My father sobbing, his hands clamping his mouth, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, riddled with guilt. The bloody knife that shook in his tight fist. My sister lying stiffly on the floor, her own blood pooling around her, oozing from her wounds. Her eyes unseeing, her body tinged with blue. The smell of copper so thick it hung like a heavy curtain, and I could almost taste it in the back of my throat. My father asking me, “Who is she?”
My brain had instantaneously locked into survival mode. I thought of my father when I tore the shower curtain and wrapped my sister’s corpse in it, tying it with knots of fraying string and duct tape. I splashed bleach all over the house until it tingled my eyes and nose and rubbed furiously at the splashes of blood that had begun flaking like dust. I tossed my father’s splattered clothes into the washing machine where they spun in a muddy mess, but the stains remained, so I threw them into the fire I set in the backyard. I washed my hands raw, scrubbing my skin until my fingers bled.
I found bloodstained money in my sister’s backpack. I knew at a glance it was mine and she had come to the house for this very reason after I had rejected her plea. The bag contained nothing else other than a packet of tissue, with pinpricks of blood, a small syringe, cotton wool and the laminated driver’s license of my once beautiful sister. When I looked at her old photo of her, I saw the secrets in her smoke and mirror eyes. They all went into the fire, bleeding into each other until they curled up into charred remains. I waited for night to enshroud us with shadows before I dragged my sister’s corpse outside to the garden, and I began to dig, flinging mud until my arms ached and my body shuddered with something more than coldness. I dug until I could go no more, my body racking with quiet sobs, the soil turning dark with the tears that rolled off my face. I cried for my sister, the one who was with me in my darkest moments, the one I prayed every day would return to us, to complete our family of three. I cried as I rolled her body into the grave and I cried more when I shoveled the earth onto her face, her agony of the last throes of death still etched on her gaunt face, her empty eyes staring up at me.
When I finished, I looked up to see a shadow by my father’s window, watching impassively down at the garden. I could not face my father, the man who killed my sister, so I sat near my sister’s grave and wished her goodbye.
I never went to the police. My father was all I had. I could not let him go to prison, waking up everyday to unfamiliar prison guards roughing him up, to bars of steel to protect others from him. I quit my job and stayed home to take care of my father, flinching at every knock on the door, every ring of the doorbell, expecting the police to swarm the place and ask for my sister reported missing. But they never came, and slowly my unease left, though the guilt never did. She had disappeared off the face of the earth; my father had erased her off, like she had never existed. The day after I buried my older sister in my garden, I watched my father plant tulips near her grave.
I hide the shovel this time round. My father had never once mentioned my sister after the incident. I had hoped against hope this was due to his failing memory, but I know now that in some deep recess of his mind, he must have known the answer would have haunted him, as much as it haunts me. I used to envy that his mind was failing him, for I so wished to forget. Instead, I woke up almost every night gasping, shaking, from nightmares, of images of bloody hands dragging me into the fiery pits of hell, of my sister’s maimed body crawling after me. I make my way back into the house. My father has not moved since the last time I saw him. His snores reverberate around the cramped room, his hand still clutching onto the remote. I watch him, wanting to enter his tricky mind, wanting to know what he is thinking. This man who stayed up at night when I fell ill. This man who posed my sister’s corpse around the house, so that she could leer at me with flesh rotting off of her face. Did he think digging my sister’s body up will give her life again? That she would walk and talk and laugh like she used to? I spot the kitchen knife inches away from his hands, on the cluttered table, along with remains of the cake. When he wakes up, will he greet me with a smile like always, or will he lunge for the knife? It is always a guessing game with him, every chance a risk, every choice leaving me breathless with fear. I dangle from a tightrope on the precipice of a cavern that is his brain riddled with his dementia, his forgotten memories and the illusions he create for himself.
I move the knife away from his fingers and grasp onto it tightly and look down at it. A month ago, my fingers were stained with my sister’s blood. Now, they are gritty with filth and soil from her makeshift grave. I wish to give her a proper burial someday, in a decent grave, with a nice headstone, finally at peace.
My fingers tighten on the blade. My repressed memories flood in, drowning my thoughts with all my pain and hurt. I see my sister’s death immortalized on her face. Her remaining eye sewn shut, swarming with maggots. My father whimpering as his daughter lay bleeding at his feet, his shame rolling off of him in desperate waves. My father beaming at me, pruning his lovely tulips, each leaf falling gently on the grave below his feet.
I love my father, but I wish he were dead.

Title's a little stupid. Didn't know how else to phrase it. Lol. I'll do my best to keep this short and sweet, stick to the details, but this will be long. Don't know what's actually important to the question/title but feel free to ask if things aren't clear.
So last year my mom contacts and tells me that she, my autistic brother, and elderly grandma are moving out of my late grandpa's home due to it "stressing her out" and she didn't want to board it up and abandon it. And offered it to me. Take care of the house, land, and pay a fraction of the bills I'm paying for my apartment. Heck yeah why not! Also our relationship has been rocky so this was a chance for us to fix it.
This is where some would ask, what was wrong? Through my rose tinted glasses at the time, not much. I was a mama's boy really. But I started to go through a change and we got into an argument over the phone prior to her asking me to move down here. If I remember correctly, I was the type to ask my mom for advice about everything. So we'd talk at least once a week. But it had gotten to point where she couldn't give me advice anymore, not bad advice. Just advice that didn't help. and also I started not to like our conversations anymore. Again forgot why, simply felt like they weren't doing me good. so I started to withdraw from here. And the argument was like I need to figure how to do things without you cause your not helping me anymore I need to figure it out on my own type. But a tad more emotional.
So about 2-3wks later she offers the house. Again rose tinted glasses didn't think about it at the time. So I go for it. And the plan was to move at the end of the summer. But me being anxious and impulsive, I asked her if it was OK I move at the beginning. She encourages me. Now the house is in the western suburb of Illinois. Meaning you need a car to do anything. Which I didn't have. It was during this conversation where I swear my mother states that she'll allow me to have her car here at grandpa's house so I can use it. I'll be on the insurance, help out with the maintenance, and drop it off when she needs it. It'll help me save up for one, and on top of that she offered to buy me my own car, but I didn't take her seriously and even stated it.
So I move at the end of May. 2 weeks before I move she calls me to tell me that her and my grandmas new living situations are in limbo. Grandmas insurance hasn't kicked in yet, and basically my mom has to pay more money in order to get the house she wants. So we'll be living together for awhile. I assume no more than 2 months. Boy was I wrong.
Another thing I should mention is me and my mom are two peas in a pod. Damn near think and act alike. Just different genders, with different beliefs, born in two different times and different ways of going about things. So I knew if we lived with each other for too long, it's not gonna end well. And I was right. I just wish I articulated It better then.
So I moved and unloaded. Got as settled as someone sleeping on a couch, living with 3 extra people for an indefinite future, could get.
So to keep this short, from may 29th to mid December, I lived with my mom and brother. Grandpa's place went through after a month. Mom had to pay more money on top of what she had to pay. Took her time to debate that, she could afford it she was just debating if she wanted to, and she decided yes. But a week later she finds out she needs to pay more on top of the more. Again, she could afford it, but she debated again for a long while till she decided no. Then out of all the finished places in built communities, she chooses a newly building one. So to clarify timeliness, She decided again the house mid July. She acquired the newly building house in September. So it didn't get finished till December.
So for 6-6 1/2 months I lived with my mom. First month was OK. Good actually. But then the arguments started. Began small, till it got to the point where I yelled at my mom for 1st time in my entire life. All the arguments were the same. She would mis some. Mis-understood, mis-interpret, mis-communicate. Hell even got mad at me for overly communicating. But she would do one or all these and me being overly emotional I be the more angry one. Then I would not talk to her for a day or two, then come to her. Explain my feelings and why I acted like that. Hoping she would recognize that she is either unintentionally triggering me and crossing a boundary which would start literally all over again. The one that culminated into me yelling at her.. as I was leaving to pick up legal medicals, she calls me and instead just asking me to buy cleaning materials to cleaning up the toilet, cause I tore it up. Lol she kinda danced around it like "hey could get cleaning stuff" for what? "To clean the toilet" no I don't wanna spend my money on cleaning stuff "well you left it pretty dirty and it needs to be cleaned" OK, just say that then..... she says something else, but I'm trying to explain to her that I have stuff all she needed to do was ask me clean it, but she cuts me off like a child. "Okaayy okaayy fiiine" so I literally pulled the car bar into the driveway, literally ran back into the house and screamed to the top of my lungs. I admit this was dumb, but again emotional. And what does this woman do? Smiles half way through my rant, as I finished, begins laughing and then starts Tearing into me. Not about me Tearing into my mother. Not about the subject. Can't even remember what. Can simply tell you her rant was dumber. So I'm in my feelings cause I'm hurt. Not only did I just yell at my mom. I felt ridiculed and unheard. Then sometime later she makes fun of the situation. I'm visibly hurting. So I write a quick letter on my emotions and read it to her. Again. Ridicules me.
Now 2 things happened after this. 1st, I got into an accident in her car. I was not at fault, so I filed the claim through guys insurance. Mind you during this entire process she did not once couch me or tell me how to go about this. Should I have asked? Possibly, but I think it should've been evident especially how I'm going about it at the moment, but I thought I was doing everything right. So a month and a half later the insurance company cancels the claim. And me being in a depressive state of mind and didn't have the energy to go through that suing process, I. Me. I'm the person who decided to bite the bullet to pay her back to fix her car. Never once did she suggest, hint, nor mention i needed to do that. But after tha 1st payment we have a conversation due to her misunderstanding and now I'm finding out she got a bad memory. Remember when I said in the beginning ish, that she let me keep her car at grandpa's house when she leaves... completely forgets that part. Doesn't forget the buying me a car part though. Mind you now this is 3rd time she's said she would buy me a car. But back to point, she also tells me that she intends on suing the guy to get the money to fix her car. Whatever money I've given her up to that point she has no intention on paying me back. Didn't outright say it, but she might as well have. Sometime later she buys me my car. And I do want to be clear I am appreciative of her for doing that for me, she absolutely didn't need to regardless of the situation of my city life. But I need to be clear on something. Not once. Did she ever say I need to pay her back. Never mentioned. Never suggested. Nor hinted. (Is there some type of unspoken rule on this stuff that I'm Unaware about?)
So It dawned on me that the original arrangement made no sense and I did not like it, so I felt out of moral obligation I need to pay her back for the car. So I switched the payments without telling her. Didn't think it mattered truthfully.
But then I started to lose hours at my job... do to me losing em willingly. Had a hard time not finding the work I wanted in this new state and when I did it was like my resume meant nothing. So I told my mom, via text, that my hours were cut and I'm going to struggle a bit and need to cut her payments down by half. She wanted to have a person talk but I was like naw. So a little time passed, a gave her a payment. And she contacts me asking for the rest.. a discussion happens. She believes that this is a landlord tenant situation and that I need to pay her in full and struggle. I'm like naw, this was never a landlord situation to begin with and the only why I assume she thinks that is due to the rental agreement I ASKED HER TO SIGN in order for me to get food stamps and so paying her back can be somewhat legit. And the only reason why she's getting money is because I decided that and if I wanted I could cancel it all together. She didn't like that. Like I said, 2 peas. Just simply believe we love our control. Lol so that's the last we speak(texted. After she moved out all this has been through texting) Back in April, she tells me Grandma wants to move back in the house. And her and my brother and moving back in to help her. Now grandma moving in I do understand that. Other 2. Nope. Especially mom. She straight up said this house stressed her out. And she is right. I've only been here for a year and I'm stressed. Basement has cracks in the walls, doors, and beyond water damage to the windows(wood/stuff holding the windows) so the basement full on floods. Really bad pipes. Like corroded on top of corroded pipes. Structure is failing. Slowly but surely. And to top it off, mom redid the bathroom, and the contractors half assed it. Not going to go into that. Just wow. And she lives literally not even 10min from here. So I ask questions. Literally only 1 was answered, why is you and my brother moving back. Any other question was silence. Like after I asked the initial questions I asked what I am supposed to do? She says"well I have several suggestions, but your going to do you anyway" now correct me if I'm wrong, wasn't the initial ask, meant I wanted to hear those suggestions? Or should I have actually asked again? Cause I took that as a oh she want me out without saying it.
So I'm obviously pissed. Uprooted and moved for literally nothing. Didn't do crap out here cause I spent 6+months being depressed due to living with this woman, spent months getting out to just about to, to tell me oh we moving back.
And the icing on the cake. She asked me if I could move out sooner. So she can fix stuff. I said with what money? I need the money I've given you back and I'll start that back up when I get situated. No reply. So I asked if she is using or saving it. Once again, "if this was a landlord situation you wouldn't be asking yo landlord what they do with the money. And it doesn't matter so I don't wanna argue" Last message I sent to her was basically reiterating that this ain't that. Haven't really spoken to her since. Don't want to really.
If you managed to read all this I'm sorry for it being long and thank you for "hearing" me out regardless of your opinion. I'm not doing a tldr cause I would've just did that to begin with instead of all this. I know some parts were vague, unclear, possibly incohesive in some areas. Lol feel free to ask and I'll clear things up.

I don't even know where to start. At the moment I am just feeling so confused and angry.
The planning of my wedding with my fiance has begun early enough. I was so nervous and wanted to plan and finish everything early. Everyone calmed me down and told me that we have enough time left.
I asked around and requested offers for decoration, for the venue, food etc. Again, everyone told me they had it under control. My FIL took over the venue, my fiance and I decided on the menue. It wasn't that much to think about but still, I wanted it done.
I was deciding on which offer I should take for the decoration of the restaurant we chose. My Mum's best friend which also happens to be our neighbour said she would do that and decorate for me since it would be a lot less expensive. I said that it was fine as long as she was sure she could do it. So we started looking at decoration online and I ordered everything she told me to order. I also told her that money doesn't matter I would rather have more of something than not enough. She said that it would be enough and to order just as she said. I did and told her that it his her responsibility now and she has to take the lead. She agreed and also told me that she know of a great florist where she can get all the flowers from and that she would organise vases for them too. I let her do her job.
Turns out she didn't do her job. She called me twi days ago and asked me if I ordered any flowers and vases. Immediately I was angry because she told me she would do it. And now months have passed and nothing happened? I stayed calm and told her that I didn't do any of that. The wedding was 4 days away at that point. She then said it would be fine and she'd do that the same day.
She also told me my Mum has been crying because I wouldn't follow any of the traditions of our home country. Like that the groom and his family come with multiple cars to pick me up at our place etc. Turns out my FIL spoke with my fiance about this and my fiance said he would organise that. He didn't. I never knew about it because my Mum hasn't said anything to me. I didn't even know about this tradition until she screamed it at me over the phone while I was at work.
I then started to organise this (while at work) because the wedding was 3 days away. I ordered everything and too much of it I'm sure but I didn't care. My Mum has been picking and scolding me for the last 4 days and every day she found something different that hasn't been taken care of and she blames it all on me. I literally don't understand if it's really my fault that the flowers weren't order, that the vases haven't been purchased, that the tablecloths I was told to order weren't long enough, that I didn't have any idea about the tradition of being picked up. Is it my fault?
Last night I finally burst. I cried and screamed at my Mum when she came into my room and told me that "I would even tell you all of this if your FIL was here" reffering to the scolding and how everything is my fault. I started crying and told her to not speak to me like that when I'm getting married in just 3 days and I'm emotional anyways. I told her that how could she tell me stuff like that and get angry with ME when it wasn't MY job to order and organise everything. I asked her how could she swear at ME when I didn't know that they would come pick me up until yesterday. I asked her how she could seriously tell me (more than once) that I srewed up and cause 100 problems for HER to fix. Of course she denied she ever talked to me like that. (She's been like this my whole life, denying everything and putting herself in the place of the victim.)
During my breakdown my mother was on the phone with my older sister (27F) who wanted to show us things she had left from her own wedding a few years ago. She heard my cries and tried to calm me down saying how she knows exactly how I feel. When she was getting married my mother and her whole family told my sister to have her wedding dress shortened by a friend/neighbour of our uncle. My sister was hesitant and would've rather did it professionally but my Mum somehow convinced her. Everyone told my sister that the woman does her job right etc, Well, guess what, She fucked up massively. And everyone turned on MY SISTER and told her it was her own fault and she should've let it done professionally. Including my mother.
I understand that she gets me and knows how I feel, but it doesn't help me. I just couldn't listen to any more bullshit about how everything is my fault from my mother.
I went to my room to cry and she eventually came in to swear at me even more. I totally screamed at her and asked her if she even listens. If she even listened to any word I said? If she even listened to any fucking word SHE said to me? Does she listen to herself? How could she deny literally everything? She then got up and said she would get her phone to prove to me she didn't say any of those things. I literally just screamed at the top of my lungs at how ridiculous she was. She wanted to get PROVE that she was in the right? Against her own daughter who is about to get MARRIED? I couldn't believe my ears.
It didn't even matter if she was in the right or if I was. I just got so hurt because she thought whe has to prove to me and everyone that ma feelings and the things I said are wrong.
I just picked up a random hoodie and stormed out of the house and ran into the woods nearby. When I found a spot I sat there crying and bawling my eyes out for almost 3 hours. It was cold and raining but I just didn't care.
My little sister (16F) texted me asking where I was and if she could help me in any way. She heared the whole screaming contest at home but didn't interfere. I ignored her and everyone else (my mother didn0t even try to call or text me).
I got home after it got dark. Our neighbour was in our living room planning something, actually doing the job she said she would do months ago. I didn't care. I didn't spare her or anyone else a look and went straight to my room and to sleep.
I definitely got a little sick from being out in the cold yesterday and my eyes were never this puffy from crying so much.
Please, I just want my wedding day to be good and drama free. But I just know I cannot look my mother in the eyes in 2 days because of how angry I am at her. How do I calm down? What do I do? Any advice is appreciated.
TL;DR: I am getting married in 2 days and stuff hasn't been organised by the people who said they would do it. Now my mother has been telling me for days how everything is my fault and that I caused every problem. How do I calm down and ignore her continuing scolding?

Well, well, well, what have we here, then?
Oh blimey! That doesn't look good.
Yeah... that bone definitely shouldn't be where it is. And your neck, that angle...
What's that? You're cold?
Can't do much about that, I'm afraid.
I don't think humans have thermostats, let me check... Nope.
Are you dead? Umm, I don't know. Do you feel dead? You look pretty dead, give or take.
I mean, you're looking kinda... blue. Are you supposed to be that colour?
I imagine I'd be pretty blue if I was on the brink, haha.
You're scared? Yeahhh. Makes sense.
You must have fell from quite a distance. Concrete is sorta high impact. I guess you learned the hard way.
Who's that screaming over there? Your mom? I see. And that one's your little brother, he looks scared too.
It what? It hurts? I'm not a doctor.
I'm just a guy passing through, having a look at what's going on. Checking out the situation.
I'll tell you what though, I think we're pretty lucky. Look at that sunset. Gorgeous.
Also... I don't think dead people talk. So, what does that tell you?
"I'm not dead?"
Nope. Not yet, anyway; close to it.
If an ambulance doesn't arrive within, say, oh I dunno, four minutes, there's a good chance the blood leaking into your lungs is going to kill you, though.
There's been quite a bit of traffic on that road today, they might not make it in time.
Who's that over there?
"G-Gemma."
Oh yeah, and who's that? A girl from your school, I see. She looks really upset too. And you should hope so.
Alright, you twisted my arm.
I'm not a doctor, but I'm sure I can work something out.
You'd be surprised what a little jiggery pokery can do on an evening like this.
No, no. Don't cry. Just watch the magic.
1, 2, 3!

I am a 58-year-old male - culturally Greek, raised in Australia, migrated to the U.S. and have lived in NYC for over 20 years now. My parents raised my two older sisters – 9.5 years older with 3 children and 4 years older with two daughters, and myself, the only son and youngest of three, Down Under. I left my family in Australia upon moving to NYC in 2004 with my partner. It was tough leaving them behind because as dysfunctional as we were, we all loved each other.
Unfortunately, in the 8 year lead up to the pandemic – first, I lost my father to colon cancer; 2 years later my beautiful mother to vascular dementia; 2 years after that my 14 year marriage dissolved after my partner admitted he had been having an affair with a work colleague for several months; 1.5 years after that my middle sister and dear friend died from a brain aneurysm; followed by my eldest sister who died of lung cancer the following year.
I fell so ill from stress that I developed severe IBS and had to have emergency surgery. I thought I was going to die. If that wasn’t enough, I hadn’t even healed when I caught COVID; lost my job a few weeks later; and, then I managed to survived a home invasion during which I was assaulted and threatened with a knife but, somehow, I managed to get the two criminals out of my space in 7.5 minutes, without a single item stolen. I’ve been through a lot but I’ve always battled through.
My middle sister had two daughters, M1 aged 40, and M2 aged 38. Until my sister passed away in early 2018, I had a great relationship with M1. I was always there to support as she tended toward “unlucky in love” and was also diagnosed with lupus over a decade ago. Her mother and I were always solid support for her, and she would speak to me about any personal problem.
Her younger sister M2 is a very different character and was I was unable to build as strong a relationship – it was not purposeful nor deliberate. I made attempts and managed to get closer to her after she was married but she always tended to be more distant. As hard as I tried, M1 & I sensed that she somewhat resented my relationship with her older sister.
After my sister passed away suddenly aged only 56, we were all devastated. I flew in from NYC and was in Australia for 9 days for the funeral. I spent 7 of the 9 days with my brother-in-law (BIL) - a good man – and my two nieces M1 & M2. It was an emotionally draining stay, with a relentless stream of visitors to pay their respects.
I spent the other 2 days house-sitting for a dear friend which I gladly accepted to secure some peace and solitude. I slept at least 16-18 hours on each day. Upon returning to my BIL’s home for my final two days, M1 approached me and asked to speak to me outside in their back yard. She proceeded to tell me how very disappointed she was in me; that she felt I was an “absent mourner" and not supporting her in her grief in the way she expected; I was also not grieving "appropriately," and that her mother /my sister would be disappointed.
I had travelled 24 hours, in a blur, halfway across the globe to bury my sister and was now receiving bereavement advice from my niece. I told her to quit with the nonsense and that she should mourn her mother any way she likes, but she is not to tell me how I should conduct myself when I’m grieving.
Her voice quickly escalated, and she proceeded to then scream at the top of her voice about how disgusting I was that I wasn’t “there” to respect her mother; and be there for her. I reminded M1 that her mother, was also my sister and I knew her for a whole lot longer than she did. I also reminded her that staying for 7 of 9 days with her, does not constitute “being absent” in anybody’s language.
It was midnight, she continued to scream, yell, abuse me with neighbors being woken up on all sides. I stood up and decided to leave and not put up with her bullshit any longer. I walked inside and caught her sister, M2, ears to the door, listening to everything … and it made me realize they were bothin on this effort to publicly “dress me down”.
M2 proceeded to "stand with her sister" and yell at me, too. I was seriously flabbergasted by their accusations. My BIL certainly did not feel the same way and he told the girls to explain to him what their problem was!?! If there was a real problem – he should be the first to be complaining about me. Their anger and resentment was shocking, inexplicable and totally unfounded. I flew home to NYC two days later devastated not just at losing my beautiful sister - but at my nieces’ disgraceful performance.
In November 2020, I flew back to Australia to visit family for the holiday season as COVID enveloped the globe. I struggled to feel fully comfortable with my nieces, and one thing is for sure: they never apologized to me for their outburst at me less than two years prior. This time it was the festive season and I decided to stay some of the time at BIL's house. Upon arriving, I was shocked - the house was spotlessly clean, as my sister liked to keep it, and everything in the house was unchanged - everything was in the exact same spot, as the day my sister died. I was concerned, M1 was clearly struggling, not dealing with her mother’s death. Even her father, my BIL had started casually dating another woman, and I threw support behind him which he appreciated. M1, on the other hand, was vehemently against this, and refused to give her father’s new relationship her blessing.
Eventually, the inevitable happened – M1 starts to relay a story that I recognized as my own, and after a few erroneous details, I reminded her of the facts that she was actually deviating from. She literally exploded for not allowing her to relay my story… incorrectly.
Yet again, her screams and anger were so loud, that I actually saw neighbors peering over their fencing. She screamed at me to leave "her house" and that I was the devil. (I need to add here that both nieces became born again Evangelical Christians.) I reminded her that the house belonged to my sister & BIL, and she had no authority over whether I stay or not.
Her screams & verbal attack, (the second one now), was so loud, aggressive, and her enraged face so red, that she looked unhinged. I went to grab a mug to make a coffee and get as far away from her as I could. As my hand reached into the cupboard for a mug, she used the cupboard door to p.a. me I saw stars.I stared at her in shock and said: "You just p.a. your mother's brother," at which she just screamed even louder
My BIL arrived shortly after and I told him that I needed to leave. I gave him the facts and then told him: "She doesn't support your new relationship - not because its "too soon" - but because she's miserable and unhappy… and she begrudges anyone their happiness - it eats away at her." She screamed at him to throw me out until he yelled "Shut up!" at her. She then called us both devils and stormed into her room.
Now, a brief focus on M2. It was summer 2017, and M2 was due in November with her second child. Her husband is American and M2 moved here from Australia and were living in the Midwest. I attempted to build a closeness with her since she was living in the US. During a call to her in July 2017, she invited me for Thanksgiving that year to be with her family, as well as see her mothemy sister and BIL who were spending several weeks there to welcome their new grandchild.
I was so excited. I even told M2 that I would stay at a nearby hotel, so as not to burden them with a newborn at home. A few weeks prior to Thanksgiving, I called to confirm my dates, etc., and without missing a beat, she proceeds to tell me that it is now all too much for her and she retracted her invitation …I was dis-invited. I sat there in silence, in shock.
I had discretely asked my sister several weeks prior, whether she would consider visiting NYC with my BIL, even for a weekend, as they were going to be with M2 for over 6 weeks and were so close!
She said to me, "Do you think we haven't thought of that? We'd love to come to come to NYC and see you. But we'll never hear the end of it from ‘you-know-who’."
So, I spent Thanksgiving on my own, with no family in NYC, less than 1.5 hours flying time away from a warm, festive house that contained M2, her family, my BIL and my dear sister.
Less than 3 months later … my sister was dead. And I never got a chance to see her one last time.
That opportunity was taken from me without so much as an "I'm sorry that I did that to you." In fact, I never received an apology from either M1 nor M2 for all the things they did to me.
When I got back to NYC from the disastrous Aussie trip, M2 refused to communicate with me any further, so I knew M1 had been in her ear about our fallout and likely never even mentioned the p.a. I contacted her and mentioned that minimally, I expected her to at least hear me out.
Her response???
"In my experience, I would describe you the same way my sister would, so I tend to believe her, and my role now is to protect my family."
I replied, "What, so your family is in danger now? From me?!"
She curtly wrote: "I wish to focus on my family, my sister, and the Lord." ...or something to that effect.
I can genuinely, authentically state that I still have no idea why they turned so viciously nasty, so vindictive, and without sounding too dramatic – so evil towards me. I have my other nieces, family, friends to back me up wholeheartedly. It was ironic to me that the two evangelicals ended up being so mean-spirited, and emotionally abusive.
I knew I had to make a big decision, so I sought the counsel of some wonderful loved ones in my inner circle, and their guidance was unanimous: walk away from the toxicity. I knew I had no other choice. I have not spoken to my two nieces for four years now.
My Question: have others walked away from toxic family members and how did they have dealt with any sadness, grief, hurt, pain, etc that they may experience??

The Whole Thing

4/14/94

I stepped back from the guy in disbelief. He held his bandaged hand up to his chest, hugging it and turning away from me like he was ashamed of it.
"Oh my god! You're bitten, aren't you?" I gasped.
He nodded sheepishly. "It burns," he whimpered.
"Wha... When did it happen?" I asked.
"I dunno. A week ago, I think. I… I just wanna be like them already," he said as tears filled his eyes.
"But you're not sick, right?" I said.
He shook his head and started to sob, "I... I just want this to be over," he cried. “I hate how they all look at me.”
I stepped forward to comfort him as he balled.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's your name, dude?" I asked sincerely, gently putting the back of my hand on his forehead.

He wasn’t lying. He was cool to the touch, and I couldn’t feel any fever. 

"Daniel," he sniffled.
"Daniel, huh? I'm Mel. Can I... Can I see the bite?" I asked.
"Are you a doctor?" Daniel asked.
"No, but I'm the closest thing to one you have right now," I pointed out.
Daniel tentatively gave me his wounded hand. I took it and gently unwrapped the bandages. The wound looked well-dressed, but he hadn't changed the dressing in a while, or ever. The bandages had yellowed, and it stank as I peeled them off.
"Who wrapped this up for you?" I asked, trying to take his mind away from any pain.
"My friend, Elise," he sobbed.
"Did she turn? Is she one of them now?"
Daniel nodded.
I unwrapped the last few turns and saw the wound. It had started to heal and scab, just like mine had all those months ago. My eyes grew wide, and I gasped in shock.
"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Daniel asked frantically.
"Err... Nothing. You said it burns, right?" I inquired.
Daniel nodded.
"But you're not sick, right?" I continued.
"Yeah, everyone got sick but me," he pointed out.
"Daniel, I think you're gonna be ok. I think you're immune," I said with a hopeful smile.
"What do you mean? How do you know?" He asked.
"Look," I said, turning my head to the left and pulling back the collar of my Dad's bomber, revealing the ugly bite scar on my neck. "One of them got me right around the time this whole thing started, and I'm still here. Still breathing."
"You... You think I'll be ok?" He sniffed.
"Well, why don't we find out, huh?" I said, giving him a pat on the arm. "Here. Let me dress that up for you."
I dropped my Go Bag and pulled out my first aid kit. I grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage. I opened the bottle, offered my hand, and he gave me his. I took it and pulled it towards me to inspect the wound. I poured the bottle on it without warning, and Daniel screamed, leaping back and pulling his hand away from me. He cried and yelped loudly, clutching at his wrist and contorting his hand in agony.
"Dude! I'm sorry, but you gotta keep the fuck down!" I growled through gritted teeth, apologising for the pain I'd just inflicted.
I checked left and right for any dead ones who might have heard this six-foot, farm-boy-looking guy screaming his lungs out over a little splash of disinfectant. I knew it hurt; I'd done it to myself on the bites I'd received, but Daniel couldn't take it.
"Calm down! You'll attract them!" I yelled over his cries.
The fear of the dead ones showing up made him gulp it in and stand up, whimpering and holding his wounded paw. I reached out, and he pulled his hand back.
"Please! No more of that stuff," he pleaded.
"Don't worry. I'm not trying that again," I said, rolling my eyes as I started to bind the wound with a bandage. "You can get gangrene for all I care if that's how you're gonna take it. You gotta keep it down, dude. How else did you guys survive this long?"
"We had Father Jim," Daniel sniffled.
"Yeah? I heard about him. He sounds like a real stand-up guy," I said, trying to make conversation while I finished dressing his hand.
"Did you know him?" Daniel asked.
"Only through what I found. I ran into your little expedition about a month ago. They were looking for medication, right? Did Father Jim get better?" I asked.
"No. He died. They all died," Daniel said, tears returning to his eyes.

I gave him a second. He wasn’t even looking at me, just looking through me, lost in shock and wherever his mind was taking him to protect him from confronting all he’d lost. “Hey,” I spoke softly, “You’re gonna be ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re not alone,” I guided him back to the RV. He lumbered slowly behind me and struggled to keep pace, but I gave him time. For the next few days, we cruised around rural Kentucky. We didn’t even see a single dead one. Daniel took the back bed my Dad used to sleep in, and I slept above the cab, my Beretta under my pillow, just in case. 

Daniel took his time recovering. Physically, the guy was OK. The bite wound recovered well. I told him it would turn into a gnarly scar like mine, smiling and trying to cheer him up, but he didn’t react. The poor guy was like a lost, lonely child. He spent most of his days catatonically staring, and at night, he would cry quietly. I just gave him his time. I had no idea how to handle this. I was barely able to understand it myself. I had been alone, living in my own fiction with Dad and Madeline, hoping that I might find another living person. And here that person was a crying, broken young guy I now had to care for.

Daniel had been too shocked or scared to leave the RV. He hardly ate and barely got up from the back bed, but I'd had enough by the time the fourteenth rolled around. I didn’t care if he wanted to stink up the place; I wanted to get showered and changed. “Look, dude. We’re both getting a little ripe in here, and I’m not getting changed in front of you,” I reasoned, but poor Daniel was timidly sitting on the back bed. “There aren’t any out there, man. Trust me, it’s ok,” I said. 

I tried my best to understand his fear of the dead ones. It was crippling him and trapping him here in my RV. Whatever trauma he'd been through, he was lugging around inside him. No matter what I did or said, I couldn't coax much out of him besides simple answers. I knew his name. I knew he'd been with a group of survivors at that complex in March Ridge. I knew they had their pastor leading them until he died, along with the rest of them, and that had turned poor six-foot Daniel into a lost little boy.
“Hey, Daniel. You can come back in now,” I said when I was all cleaned up, opening the door and letting him back into the RV.
Daniel climbed slowly up the steps with his head down, walked to the back bed and sat back down. I put a jay in my mouth and stood by the door.
“I'm gonna go for a smoke, dude. The bathroom’s all yours,” I said, trying to hint him towards getting washed up, but he wasn't listening.
It was like he wasn't even there. Like a lost, stray dog that didn’t trust humans anymore, he timidly lumbered around, reeking of mange and b.o. I shook my head, stepped, and lit my jay, closing the door behind me.
I'd parked us by large open fields of farmland on the edge of some woods. I could see for miles around in the warm spring of the late Kentucky morning. With nothing better to do, I took a stroll along the woods until I was far enough away from the RV to talk out loud without being heard. Despite being around another living person for the first time in almost a year, I felt so alone. While Daniel struggled to adjust to his new reality, I was adjusting to mine and having no one to talk to. So, hoping to find solace, I slumped against a tree at the edge of the woods, smoked my jay, and closed my eyes.
“Hell of a find, huh, Songbird?” Dad said, leaning in next to me against the tree.
I beamed out a relieved smile, opened my eyes and turned to see him smile back.
“He didn't turn. He's immune, like me,” I said.
“He ain't doing much else, either,” Dad scoffed.
“It must have been traumatic,” I reasoned.
“You got over it, Mel. The end of the world passed you by, and you rolled with it,” Dad pointed out.
“Did I, or did I go just as insane as he did?” I asked rhetorically, looking my dead Dad in the eye with a raised eyebrow. He paused for a moment, curled his lip and shrugged.
“Touche,” he admitted.
I leaned back against the tree, took a drag and held the smoke in my lungs a little longer than I would normally. I let it all out in a sigh through my nose and closed my eyes.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with this guy, Dad?” I asked.
Dad took a few seconds to consider, then said, “Well, you could start by finding him some fresh clothes.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “I didn't think about that.”
“Maybe you have been alone too long,” Dad pointed out.
He wasn't wrong, but I hadn't realised how out of touch I'd been. It was a sudden realisation of how much I'd forgotten what real human contact was supposed to be. I hadn't had to think of anyone but myself up until this point. Dad and Madeline had just been along for the ride.
“I have an idea,” I said aloud, hauling myself to my feet and walking back to the RV.
I climbed into the driver's seat and told Daniel we were hitting the road and that he should buckle up. Daniel didn't even ask where we were going. He had yet to ask since I found him. I had no idea if his head was so full of trauma that his thought process wasn’t functioning or if his mind was completely empty. Neither would have surprised me.
I drove the RV to the intersection south of West Point. We were gonna kill two birds with one stone; I needed fuel, he needed clothes. I didn’t know how long he'd been wearing the rags hanging off him, but I felt guilty that it had taken me this long and a conversation with my Dad to notice. It also worried me slightly that he hadn't even mentioned it himself.
“Hey, Daniel,” I called out to him as we hopped out of the RV after I pulled it up to the gas pump and killed the engine.
He craned his neck and looked at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Can you give me a hand with something?” I asked.
“Uhh… yeah… ok,” he nodded.
He followed me around to the side of the RV, where I opened one of the cargo hatches. Inside was a generator I'd been keeping for power on the move and most of my tools. Being used to doing this alone, I grabbed the generator with both hands and lugged it towards the gas station.
“Can you grab my tools, dude?” I asked, and he obliged.
“Do you… can you handle that?” He asked as I hauled the genny and lowered it down about a foot from the gas station power box
“Nah. I got it. I've been doing this kinda shit for a while now,” I said, gesturing that it was no big deal. “Thanks,” I said as he placed my toolbox beside it.
“Do you need to fix it or something?” Daniel drawled.
“Nope. I need to hook it up to the gas station to power it up so I can fill up the RV and a couple of gas cans. I have something for you, though,” I explained.
I returned to the RV, reached into the storage and pulled out a folded-up duffle bag. Carrying it in one hand, I strolled towards the Barg'n'clothes at the north side of the intersection.
“Come on!” I shouted cheerily as I turned around and gestured at Daniel to follow with a smile.
He followed me across the parking lot and through the double doors of the huge outlet. The place was dark and dusty, but enough of the midday sun beamed through the windows to see the racks of clothing—all shapes, sizes, and styles of cheap, off-brands.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the folded duffle bag against his chest and letting him take it from me. “I'll get the RV gassed up. You do some shopping,” I said with a wink.
“What? I just take stuff?” Daniel gawked.
“Of course, dude. Take whatever you want,” I shrugged.
“But, like, isn't it stealing?” He asked.
That question visibly struck me because how I looked at him made his face drop slightly in shock. My confused frown must have made me look angry.
“Daniel, there's… there's no one left to steal from. The world ended, man. Whatever you don't take is gonna rot here, dude,” I explained.
“You're sure no one will care?” He asked sincerely.
“Where do you think I got my winter clothes from? Trust me, no one's alive to care,” I said, waving my hand and heading for the door. “I’ll be by the gas station if you need me. Take your time. Try stuff on. Get cleaned up.”
I left Daniel on his shopping spree while I hooked up the genny to the gas station. With the afternoon heating up, I peeled off my plaid shirt, tied it around my waist and got to work. I was filling up some gas cans when Daniel finally emerged from the store in fresh clothes and a stuffed duffle bag. He wore a plaid pattern similar to mine, only yellow instead of red, some baggy jeans and a green and white Kentucky ball cap. He looked less like the rag-clad shell of a person I'd pulled out of March Ridge and more like someone who was, at least outwardly, looking better.
“Looking good,” I said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Daniel said, returning it. “I didn't know that covered your whole arm,” he said, gesturing at my snake tattoo.
“Yeah, cool, huh?” I said, giving him a good view of my right arm. “You got any?” I asked.
“Nah. My Mama never liked 'em,” he said.
“She probably wouldn't have liked me then, huh?” I asked.
“Well, you seem like a good person, Mel,” he said, smiling but not looking at me.
Daniel turned to look inside the gas station, now powered up with the lights on inside. His eyes grew wide as he stared down towards the ground inside.
“That's the fucker that gave me this,” I said, pointing at the bite scar on my neck.
He took his eyes off the skeleton with a missing skull that I'd left on the floor that day in late July and turned to see me craning my neck.
“He wasn't the only one either,” I stated.
“You've been bitten more than once?” Daniel exclaimed.
“Sure, the other one was a high school kid. Got me right here,” I said, pointing at the bite scar below my collarbone. “Almost bit my fucking tit off,” I said with a wry smile.
Daniel winced at me. I didn't know if it was due to seeing the scar or if me using the word “tit” made him uncomfortable. In either case, I quickly changed the subject.
“So, it's pretty hot, and I'm pretty hungry. I’m gonna get the grill out and cook us some fish. How about it?” I suggested.
I grilled, we ate, and I brought out some beers and lit a small fire in the middle of the intersection, tossing wood and whatever crap was lying around that would burn. I offered Daniel a beer, but he refused.
“Mama used to tell me that my Dad was a drinker, so I never wanted to,” he explained.
“That's fair,” I said. “Was it just you and your Mom?” I asked.
“She uh… she was the only one who got me, you know?” He said. “She was all I had until, you know, then I had Father Jim, Elise, Beth, Derrick, all the others,” he listed before going silent. “They're all… them now,” he said as he curled in on himself, teled in his eyes.
It took me a while to come up with something to say, but I jumped in before his quiet sobs turned into whole cries.
“I know that feeling, dude. Believe me, I do. You can't let them get to you, though. They're just part of the world now, and we can beat them. I've done it,” I claimed.
“Huh?” Daniel said, looking at me with glossy eyes.
“See that over there,” I said, nodding towards the burned-down dealership and blackened burnt-out cars. “Not long after the whole end of the world, when people outside Kentucky stopped broadcasting, I cleared this place out—learned my lesson, though. They can creep up on you, but they're slow and stupid. Now, the only bunch around for miles are up North in West Point.”
“How many have you killed?” Daniel asked.
“Fuck if I know, dude. I don't exactly keep count when they're all burning in a pile,” I scoffed, sipping my beer.
“Are they still, you know, them?” He asked.
“I… I don't even know if it was just me going crazy or if I really did hear it, but I've heard a few of them talking. Just a word here and there, nothing more than that. If whoever they were is still in there, it isn't coming back. Putting them down for good is, well, it's mercy. Madeline taught me that,” I said quietly over my beer.
“Who's Madeline?” Daniel asked.
“She was my girlfr… my wife,” I corrected myself.
Daniel looked at me confused, gawking with that slack-jawed look under the brim of his cap.
“I know, I know, girls can't get married to other girls, but Maddy was raised Catholic, and she always wanted to be married,” I started. “One day, before all this end-of-the-world crap, she put this ring on my finger,” I said, fiddling with the silver wedding band. “She died a few weeks after,” I went on, as tears started to fill my eyes and reality started to dawn on me. “And for those last few weeks, she didn't call me anything but her wife,” I said, choking on the last word and trying to hold down the sobs, but everything hit me all at once.
The fabricated world I'd built out of frosted glass in my head suddenly shattered in Daniel's presence as I told him about Madeline. I had spent almost a year surviving the apocalypse when any average person would have been grieving. And now I grieved for Madeline, out loud and in the open, in front of the first living person I'd seen in what felt like a lifetime. I balled up my hand and held it against my mouth as my body shook with quiet, subdued sobs. My aching heart punctured the lump in my throat as the real world poured into me like cold, icy water and the fact that Maddy was dead, buried, and gone slapped me in the face once more after almost a year of refusing to see it. I turned away from Daniel as the tears rolled down my cheeks. He said nothing as I kept my eyes tightly shut, trying to compose myself. I sniffed, wiped the tears from my cheeks and took a deep breath.
“Yeah, Maddy was my wife. It might not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to her,” I paused. “It was real to me,” I added, looking back at the ring on my hand. “I haven't talked about it to anyone. I haven’t been able to talk about it to anyone,” I admitted. “She died right before all this went down, and I've been alone ever since.”
The two of us sat silently as the fire cracked at our feet and the sun fell below the treeline.
“Sorry for unloading on you there,” I sighed aloud, trying to chuckle awkwardly to lighten the mood.
“It's ok. You've really been alone this whole time?” He asked.
“Yeah. I guess it wasn't all bad, but yeah, just me,” I answered.
“I… I was trying to get help for my Mama when it happened,” Daniel started. “She was getting sick. She got really hot, and then she stopped breathing. I went to get help, but they… they were everywhere. Derrick from the store where I work grabbed me. A bunch of people were running for the army barracks.”
Daniel paused there. It was his turn to get choked up. I let the tears fill his eyes without judgment.
“I tried to get them to help my Mama, but they said it was too dangerous. I didn't leave until… until there was no one left but them,” he gasped before crying.
I let him ball it out as the memories of the trauma he'd suffered came bubbling back up to the surface.
“I just wanted to be like them. I hate how they look at me. They look so mad, like they hate me,” Daniel sobbed.
“I don't think they hate you. I don't think they can hate anything, Daniel. They're dead,” I stated.
“But they can't be. They're walking around,” he retorted.
“I don't know what kind of disease caused it, but some of the shit I've seen happen to them. Some of the shit I've done to them, you can't survive that. They're dead, dude, and nothing is bringing them back,” I said.
Daniel took a long pause as he composed himself.
“What do you think caused it?” He asked.
“Fuck if I know, man. There was this one guy, though. I saw him with his family right at the beginning of it all. He worked at the military base, and I’ve been trying to find it since. I found his home in Ekron and some dead special forces dudes. They seemed to know more than anyone else did. Not that it even matters anymore,” I sighed.
“Derrick said it was something in the Spiffo burgers. He said they had human meat in them, and it made people go crazy or something,” Daniel said, looking over at the Spiffos on the other side of the intersection.
“For real?” I laughed. “Dude, when I thought I would turn into one of them, I ate everything in that place. I wanted to be the last person alive to enjoy a Spiffo burger.” I said, gesturing at the same Spiffos
“Mama never let me eat fast food. She said it was full of junk. Maybe Derrick was right?” Daniel sighed, staring into the fire.
“Maybe,” I sighed as well.
For a while, we sat there staring in silence. Daniel was lost in his thoughts while my slightly buzzed brain was half baking a plan.
“I have an idea,” I said, smiling.
I got up, walked over to the Barg'n’ Clothes and grabbed the first t-shirt closest to the entrance. Then, I marched back to the RV and pulled out one of the gas cans I'd filled earlier. I took them to Daniel by the fire and carefully filled my empty beer bottles with gasoline.
“What are you doing?” Daniel asked curiously.
I filled the last empty bottle and started ripping the t-shirt into rags.
“We're gonna take our revenge on Spiffo Burger on behalf of all mankind,” I said with a wicked laugh.
As I jammed the t-shirt strips into the tops of the bottles and the gas inside, we were left with four Molotovs ready to go.
“Here,” I said, handing two of them to Daniel. “Let's have some fun,”
With my two in hand, I marched towards the Spiffo Burger and stopped when I was within my throwing distance. I put one down at my feet and turned the other upside down to soak the rag while I lit it with my lighter.
“Fuck you, Spiffo! You killed the human race!” I shouted as I hurled my Molotov right through the window.
The glass smashed, and fire lit up the inside. Flames danced through the window, and an orange glow shone against the waning light of the evening in the large, empty intersection.
“Woo!” I cheered, laughing with delight. “Come on, try it,” I said to Daniel, offering my lit lighter.
He carefully held out one of his Molotovs and pulled away timidly as the rag caught fire. He readied himself, smiled and hurled it.
“Fuck you, Spiffo!” He yelled as he did.
Daniel, as it turned out, didn't have the best throwing arm, and his Molotov landed a few feet in front of the doorway to the old-world fast food chain.
“Dude,” I said, giggling, which made Daniel look away from me, embarrassed.
I picked up my second Molotov, lit it and cocked my arm back.
“This is for discontinuing the Fluffyfoot Ribs!” I yelled as I hurled my second Molotov, laughing hysterically as it landed on the roof.
Daniel held his second Molotov towards me. I lit it, and he walked a few paces closer to the burning building. He said nothing this time and hurled it at the door, which shattered the glass and added to the flaming interior.
“Woo! Fuck yeah!” I cheered, clapping.
I jogged over to the RV, opened the driver door and leaned in. I grabbed the first tape my hand could find and looked at it. “Mel's”, it read simply. I smiled, put it in the tape deck, turned the ignition on and cranked the volume as high as possible. The opening notes to Heroes started to play and put a big beaming smile on my face. I walked back to Daniel and the fire pit. David Bowie began to sing, and I half drunkenly danced as the Spiffo Burger burnt down.
“Can you smell that?” Daniel asked, sitting by the fire and staring at the conflagration we'd caused.
“Yeah, it's fry oil. Smells like french fries, huh?” I explained.
I finished a fifth beer and smashed the bottle on the ground. I spun around, dancing to the music, before I tripped and almost fell over. Daniel and I both laughed. I sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. We let our smiles subside, and the moment passed as the sun set and the building continued to burn.
“Do you think everyone is gone?” Daniel asked shyly.
“No, just most of us,” I sighed. “But I found you, didn't I?” I said cheerily, nudging his shoulder with mine.
When I looked at him, my words didn't seem to comfort him. He looked into the fire and got lost in its licking and crackling. I stood up to get another beer but stopped and looked down at him.
“Hey, Daniel, I'm gonna make you a pact,” I stated.
He turned to look up at me with puppy dog eyes.
“You and I are gonna find some more people, living people. I promise. And we'll do it together,” I said, offering my hand.
Daniel took my hand gently; his soft hands felt like they didn't have a single callous. I grasped it firmly and shook it once with a smile. Daniel smiled hopefully back at me, and we celebrated while Spiffo's burnt down in front of us.

Synopsis:
An engineer in another world—blending science and magic to achieve greatness in a world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — Runecrafting is slow burn. — What to Expect: - Weak to very strong progression - Hardcore wish fulfillment - A balance of action, kingdom building, and runecrafting. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine.
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Chapter 06

• 1 -

There were fifteen wolves in total, their white fur stained with dried blood as well as ash from the forest itself as their maws opened to reveal sharp teeth. There were several gashes on their body and one of them seemed to be in a really bad state.
Roland had a tight grip on his sword. Roland spotted Ethan’s head poking out. “Lord Theodore, please hide inside!” Roland yelled. Ethan didn’t respond, however. Is it dumb that I want to fight?
The guards were surrounding the beasts and held their swords ready. However, the wolves weren’t attacking. Instead, they snarled and bared their fangs, but didn’t lunge.
They weren’t attacking. They were protecting. And that changed Ethan’s thoughts almost instantaneously. At the center, a female wolf, bigger than the rest, growled in pain. Blood trailed down her fur and a gash ran across her body. It was a wound that seemed to be bleeding a lot, but she kept it covered with her paw, snarling whenever anyone got near. Ethan stared from his carriage. The situation seemed to have taken a turn, but not a bad one, at least, not yet. The guards were ready to attack, but the wolves didn’t. And Ethan was certain that the guards would kill the creatures unless he ordered otherwise.
Ethan stepped outside. Roland and the rest of the guards were alert as they glanced at him.
“Wait,” Ethan said, his voice calm. “Don’t attack.”
The wolves immediately relaxed, albeit only slightly. Interesting. They understand me?
He stepped forward and walked to them. “Can you understand me?” He said.
“Lord Theodore!” Roland yelled, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. “Please step back.”
“Wait,” Ethan replied, holding up a hand, his eyes focused on the wolves. The guards didn’t move. The wolves snarled at him and bared their fangs, but didn’t make a move. “I’m not going to harm you.” Ethan raised his hand. “Calm down. You’re hurt, right? I can help you.”
The wolf’s snarl faltered. She looked at Ethan with a confused gaze, then growled again. Ethan, too, was confused now. Could she really understand him?
“You can understand me, right?” He said. “I need to know.”
“Lord Theodore, what is happening?” Roland asked.
“Shh. Be quiet, Roland. I’m trying to communicate,” Ethan replied, raising a finger, and silencing Roland.
The female wolf snarled, looking at the guards and baring her teeth. Then, her gaze landed on Ethan, and her snarl was gone.
“She can understand me. I think.”
“How?” Roland asked.
“That’s not important,” Ethan replied. [Myriad Tongue]... I didn’t know it stretched to animals—no, beasts as well...
Ethan stepped forward; his hand extended towards the beast. “I won’t hurt you.”
The wolves growled and bared their fangs at him. The female growled, then they stopped. Ethan neared, then knelt a couple feet from the biggest wolf. The gash on her chest stained her white fur, the blood flowing and dropping to the ground. The creature was panting.
“What happened?” Ethan asked.
The beast looked at him. Her eyes held strange intelligence. It’s a magic beast, obviously she’s intelligent.
“Can I look at your wound?”
She growled and bared her fangs, causing Roland to slash his sword at the ground in a line. The intention was clear, neither side could pass, or a confrontation was inevitable.
Ethan held up a hand. “Stop, Roland.”
“But Lord Theodore—”
“Stop.”
Roland didn’t respond.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Ethan frowned. “If you want me to help, let me have a look.”
The wolf stared, her red eyes piercing, her ears folded and tail stiff.
The tension was thick, and everyone waited. Then, she removed her paw from her wound. The cut was deep, and the fur around the gash was charred. It seemed that it wasn’t a natural wound. Ethan could guess it was the result of magic. The cut’s too deep, and we don’t have a [Healer]...
Suddenly, the wolf spoke, “{I don’t want healing, human.}”
Ethan blinked, surprised. Her voice was deep, yet feminine. It wasn’t the type to scare children, but it wasn’t soft, either. More surprisingly, he could indeed understand her.
“What happened to you?” He asked, glancing at her, wondering how [Myriad Tongue] worked. He knew he was still speaking the common tongue of Nur—Leineh—and that the wolf was still growling, but he could understand that growl.
She looked at him, “{That is none of your concern.}” Then, she looked below and moved her muzzle to the ground, and moved something. In a few seconds, a small pup appeared from beneath.
Ethan widened his eyes, “A baby!”
“{You are to take care of him,}” she said—no, she ordered him.
“What?” Ethan said, taken aback.
“{You will take care of him},” she repeated.
Ethan was flabbergasted.
“{You’re touched by the light, and the light has guided me to you,}” she said, then growled. “{I trust the light. However, if anything happens to my Wynd, know that your death will not be painless.}” Saying so, she looked down at her pup, and nudged it forward.
Ethan was still flabbergasted.
The female wolf looked at him, her red eyes piercing, and the snarl in her voice gone, replaced with a soft tone, “{Please.}”
The pup was still far too young to know what was happening so it curiously tilted its head toward Ethan. Its red eyes stared into his, and it yapped.
“I...” Ethan blinked, about to deny.
The [Quest], Guardian of the Wild, has arrived.
“I...” He repeated, and then stopped to look at the [Quest].
~Guardian of the Wild (Uncommon)~
You have encountered a pack of magical wolves led by a gravely injured female. Through a surprising twist of fate, you understand their language through [Myriad Tongue] and learn of their plight. The female, gravely wounded by a magical attack, entrusts you with her newborn pup, Wynd. She believes you, touched by the “light” (the nature of which remains unclear), are the best hope for Wynd’s survival. Why and how, and many other questions, however, remain unclear.
Objective:
● Take care for the young wolf pup, Wynd. (Uncertain Duration)
Rewards:
● The eternal gratitude of a magical wolf pack. (Potential Ally)
● Unlocking the secrets of the “light” may grant unknown benefits. (Uncertain)
● Levels
● Skill Tokens
● A chance to get an invitation to [???]
Failure:
● Should Wynd come to harm, the wrath of these magical wolves will be swift and merciless.
● You may lose the trust of the pack, and of [???], potentially putting yourself and others at risk.
● You may lose the interest of the “light”
Would you like to accept the quest?
YES NO
So, this is what’s been coming since I arrived in this world? Are these wolves related to my arrival? Or whoever this “light” is? Why’re they injured in the first place. Does it have anything to do with that humanoid creature? I do recall Roland saying that the humanoid creature was fighting wolves. It seems likely, given these wolves’ injuries, but what happened after? Is that humanoid creature dead? If not, where did it go? Should I be worried? What if it attacks Holden?
His mind churning with multiple questions, Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll take care of him.” He said, and mentally selected ‘YES’.
She stared at him for a second, then turned to the pup and licked his forehead. “{Thank you},” she said to Ethan. “{And now, I have to go.}”
Ethan’s lips parted, but she didn’t let him say it. Black tendrils of shadows enveloped her and the other wolves, then they all disappeared.
...
After Ethan entrusted the pup to Roland, who was also surprised and confused. Regardless, they all set back on their journey. The pup slept most of the way, curled up in Roland’s arm.
“What a strange encounter,” Ethan murmured.
He glanced at the wolf. It had a white coat and a black streak on his head. He was cute, though he still drooled a lot, and that was gross. However, it wasn’t hard to accept.
“Lord Theodore,” Roland said. “How were you able to have a conversation with the beasts?”
“I’m not sure,” he lied.
Roland looked at him. Ethan shrugged.

• 2 -

Back in Holden Town. The gates opened, and Ethan could see people move aside as they drove their carriages to the estate. They all looked at him with respect and bowed—more out of fear than respect, really. Theo hadn’t been a respectable fellow, but he’d certainly been one to be afraid of. This kind of reaction had taken Ethan off guard for the first time, but now, he didn’t quite care. When he entered his manor, he immediately wanted to head for the one thing he was craving—a bath.
Before that, however.
“Lord Theodore, what of the pup? Where should I put it?”
“The pup?” Ethan paused for a second, then walked and extended his arms out, “Give it to me.”
Roland was surprised but obliged and gave Ethan the young wolf, “If I may ask, why are we keeping the beast?”
Ethan made a thoughtful noise, his gaze focused on the baby wolf as the pup yelped at being given up to the stranger, but after a little while, he sniffed a little before settling in Ethan’s hold, his head finding itself a comfy. It was strange to think how quickly the creature had accepted his place there. Ethan chuckled a little, his voice becoming gentler than Roland had ever heard it as he took care to keep the wolf upright against himself.
“This is no ordinary pup.” His gaze shifted from the animal onto Roland. “That wolf, she could talk with me. I do not know how, but the fact is that she could.” Ethan gave Roland the lie he’d concocted. “She was intelligent, not a beast. And she entrusted her son to me.”
“A Beastkin?” Roland made a surprised noise. “On this part of the world?”
“Beats me,” Ethan said. “Regardless, she could talk. And I...” Ethan sighed. If he wanted to have a good life here, he needed someone he could trust in, and Roland had proved to be capable enough as well as trustworthy enough. Roland had taken care of Theo, even though the bastard was a worthless scum of a human being.
“Yes, my lord?” Roland asked.
“I got a [Quest].”
Roland’s eyes widened, his voice louder, “A [Quest]!?”
“Hush, be quiet, now, be quiet, Roland,” he said and patted the pup gently on his back, murmuring to soothe the waking animal. [Quests] were a rare phenomenon and the rewards were always worth the trouble, or so he’d gathered from Theo’s memories. He just hoped his decision wouldn’t come back to bite him in the future. “So, I will keep him, at least until she comes to claim him. Which she will.”
“My lord, you would require specialists... [Beast Trainers], I don’t believe we have many in town, only a few. Or else, a [Druid] perhaps? But finding one is not easy—”
“A [Beast Tamer] is fine. We don’t need much, just someone to take care of him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ethan spent the next hour in a bath.

• 3 -

The pungent smell of wood ash filled Ethan’s nostrils as he peered into the large cask. Lye, a strong alkali traditionally made from wood ash and crucial for soap-making, needed to be extracted from the ash. With a grunt, he grabbed a thick wooden paddle and plunged it into the gray mixture, stirring it vigorously. This was the beginning of the leaching process—a crucial first step in his soap-making endeavor, where lye is coaxed out of the ashes by boiling them in soft water and then allowing the water to seep through the ash.
Thus, this wasn’t just about mixing; it was about coaxing that exact lye out.
Across the room, Roland watched with a furrowed brow. “My lord,” he finally spoke, “what precisely are we engaged in here?”
Ethan straightened; wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Patience, Roland,” he chuckled. “This is the art of soap-making. We’re separating the good stuff—the lye—from the leftover ash, like sifting gold from sand.”
Roland’s expression remained dubious, his gaze lingering on the murky concoction in the cask. “Ah, I see.”
“Yeah, once we’ve extracted it properly, it will be the foundation for our very own soap. It’ll be my very first masterpiece—gentle on the skin, fragrant, and oh-so-satisfying to use. Blight-repellent properties would be a bonus, though that still depends on Jack. He hasn’t graced us with his findings yet.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Roland replied, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “Master Jack has been... unresponsive lately. He insists we leave him to his work and promises to report back when he has something concrete.”
“I see.”
With the leaching process nearing completion, they left the cask to settle, its contents swirling like a slow, gray storm. The next step awaited.
“Did you manage to save the fat from the recent butchering?”
“Yes, my lord, I took the liberty of asking the cook to—”
“Excellent. No time for formalities, bring it here!”
Roland scurried away, returning moments later with a large, heavy wooden tub. Inside, a mound of white fat, glistening faintly. “My lord,” Roland said. “Got all the rendered beef fat you requested,” he said, holding up the tub. “But are you certain it’s for…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the tub.
“Absolutely, Roland,” Ethan replied with a smile. “The fat needs to be rendered first, which means melting it to remove impurities. Then, we can boil it to separate the tallow, the perfect white fat for soapmaking, from the glycerin, a byproduct with its own uses. I need the white, creamy layer that forms on top, and the clear liquid underneath.”
Roland appeared to be confused regarding the terms he used, so he spent the next few minutes explaining the boiling process to Roland.
...
The next day dawned, and the routine began anew. It needed to be repeated after all. The charade of noble life continued as usual, and as the day waned, Ethan returned, Roland in tow.
“This should suffice,” Ethan declared. “The impurities have settled at the cask’s bottom. Now, we only need to collect the lye water, combine it with fat, and voila—soap!” Noticing Roland’s confusion, he offered a brief scientific explanation. “The interaction creates saponification, a chemical reaction that transforms fat into a solid surfactant.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“Precisely,” Ethan confirmed with a grin.
The following morning, Ethan followed his usual routine, attempting to maintain focus. Yet, his steps carried him back to their quarters with a scale, a bag of oatmeal, and a water jug in tow.
Soap-making time had arrived.
For a superior tallow soap, the fat and lye mixture needed a specific ratio—which took some experimentation—to the combined weight of tallow and glycerin. Ethan meticulously measured and combined the ingredients, allowing the mixture time to undergo saponification, gradually forming a solid bar of soap.
Once the reaction finished, he introduced the scentless oatmeal. Its purpose was threefold: to provide a gentle scrub, enhance the lather, and leave the skin feeling soft—pure luxury. Finally, a few drops of a floral scent, along with the vibrant red dye extracted from a flower’s petals, were incorporated. With a final stir, the mixture was poured into a cake pan lined with wax paper.
Given the limitations of their tools, Ethan had essentially performed a rudimentary form of alchemy to create this supposed pinnacle of soap. He had never really been much interested in learning soap-making, but he thanked his science teacher sincerely. Had it not been for her enthusiasm, Ethan wouldn’t have been able to make soap today.
A few hours later, Ethan admired the beautiful pink soap atop his hand.
“Finally,” he said with a smile.
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Waking up in the middle of the night I find myself restless
So much has come into focus in the last few days. The station, my first steps on another world. It is all a bit overwhelming. Relaxing my thoughts drift off thinking about how I got here. A young girl on Europa, being selected for training after my aptitude tests, the Academy on Ganymede. Then as always my thoughts drift back to… her…
Lucy…
We started at rivals at the academy, we were from different worlds. Literally, me from Europa a wet ocean world remote and isolated, her an inner worlder from the hot dusty plains of Venus. We were water and fire.
The professors pitted us against each other from day one, based on our aptitude tests we were the top of the class. They split the class into teams and gave us challenges. I like to say I got the better of her, I was fast out the gate winning a few challenges. But Lucy turned back on me in a vengeance, she had a magnetism to her that caused our classmates to almost be addicted to her. People from my team would defect over to Lucy. Soon I found myself vastly outnumbered.
One day after Lucy and her team thrashed me again in a simulated strategy challenge. I left and I needed to be alone. I showered, went into the sauna. Replaying the moves again and again. How was I going to get the upper hand. She outnumbered me so much.
Everyone knew to leave me alone in the sauna. It was where I thought, relaxed, my place of peace. I was frustrated, I lean back against the wall and let me hands wander. Gently down my body, letting my stress evaporate as I tease myself…Then the door opened…. And it was Lucy. A cocky grin in her face.
We had been thinking about nothing but each other and we had both become obsessed. When that tension broke. Let me just say in a sauna fire and water combine to make something beautiful. Lucy and I did as well.
She moved towards me quickly, letting her towel drop, she was direct with a purpose. Grabbing the back of my head and kissing me deeply. I was shocked.. surprised... Excited..
I grabbed the back of her head and kissed her back. A deep need inside of me welling up, our lips slid across each other's as our tongue intertwined. I poured my life water of passion into her. She flared up and accepted my passion. Her hands exploring my body as I moved my knees between her legs.
Fuuuccckkk…. When she arched her back… so beautiful… MMM nnngghhhh an orgasm washed over me in my bed while I thought of Lucy.
Panting… even after all this time, separated by a waygate and unfathomable distance my body still yearned for her, I still yearned for her. Rolling onto my side I stare out my window into the vastness of space and the void. My fingers still ryhmically dancing on my pussy. Fingers sliding in and out
Your taught at the academy not to develop attachments, especially since the top prize, the highest honor of our training, to one day fly a deep space exploration through a waygate. Which would put us alone, in a different system. Like I am now.
Even if I power up my waygate in record time and rush home. Lucy is most likely gone. She was my alternate, meaning had I been unable to go this time she would have. It also means she most likely the deployed to her own system and would be gone before I returned. Likely I would never see her again.
Biting my lips and pressing a hand out onto the glass…yes…yes.. there
Fuck again….Fuucckkkkk LLLLuuucccCC
EeeeeeeeeerrrrrreeeemmmmmAAAAAA, a beautiful black haired woman orgasms in a bed identical to Emeras save the ambient lighting is blue inside of pink.
Fuck…. That was good. I find myself panting as I step out into the hallway of my ship. 2 days since the waygate, 6 months since I last saw Emera. Since she departed through her gate. Stars know if she still lives.
It was a rare happening, another gate coming online shortly after Emera’s departure. I thought I would be flying routine patrols around the system. Now I'm alone. Alone with my thoughts of her, and my AI Julia. Fuck. Why couldn't we have gone together. Why only one pilot to a ship. Who knows maybe she's thinking of me. Technically the systems we are in are closer together than home. That's something…
You're probably wondering if I was outnumbered and Lucy normally had my number in competition then how did I get to leave first. Yes, I did sleep with high command. That was only my closing argument though. You see Lucy had her magnetism that caused people to be addicted to her, she drew people in. But I was better at strategy and nuanced maneuvers.
The rules weren't strict on the teams, people defected all the time. Keeping your people together was part of the challenge. I decided to break that challenge.
No Battleplan survives first contact with the enemy afterall. Why not break the competition itself
My enemy wasn't Lucy, trust me we had been together enough at this point my heart swelled when I saw her. My enemy was the rules, and proctors.
There had to be two team in the academy for the lessons to work. But the rules only set a minimum not a maximum.
Lucy and her best 4 left her team, and me and my best 4 left my team. We formed a new team with Lucy and I at the head. The proctors were fuming. I was called into their offices again and again. Which is what led to me sleeping with a few of them to get ahead. It is always good to solicit a meeting with superiors, you can always be turned to your advantage.
In the Academy, there were 50 of us girls. The proctors let us keep our 3rd team, but declared no one else could join us. It was the ten of us vs double our number on both the other teams. Not ideal… but we had Lucy and I together. My how we shined
We out maneuvered, out paced, and out thought the other teams again and again and again..
Entering into the final the proctors split everyone up, eliminating the team. Just to try and stop us from sweeping the competition. Instead there would be 25 teams of 2 members each of our own selection. Lucy and I naturally selected each other.
We set down on a terraformed valley on Mars, all the other duos were around. The mission was complex. Gather knowledge, survive in the wilderness, there were simulator villages where we had to set up relations, and if possible eliminate other teams.
The gravity is different from what I'm used to, my body feels heavy. Sluggish, they train us on this and soon I'll adapt. But first landing it hits me like a weight. Ffuuuccckkk I murmur as I land my account ship on the surface.
Lucy always compares a new celestial body to a lover. Well for me Mars just grabbed my hair, slapped my ass and pushed in
Fuck I can't imagine landing on Earth. Triple this, fuck that give me my moon mother's oceans anyday.
I suck deep and hard on the control in my mouth and all three extract from me. I am about to get up from the control seat when I feel a palm in the small of my back
“Lucy not funny, let me up” I say
She giggles, and rubs my ass cheeks before her fingers rub against my lips
I moan biting my lip as I push myself against her hand
“I knew the gravity here would give a Moonie like you a good fucking, you're so wet my love”
Rolling my head back and forth..”quickly we have to debrief and set up camp” I moan
She smacks my ass again and her fingers deftly slide to work, one hand pinning me to the chair while she teases my sex, her thumb rubbing in perfect circles on my clit and her fingers pulling on my g-spot
“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes uuuhhhhh my love it feel so good” shaking my hips back and forth I feel it building as I rock my hips on her hand
Squeezing….my leg….quivering… my voice squeaking… “uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ffuuuccckkk” I moan as I feel the orgasm wash over me…
Lucy slaps my ass playfully and licks her fingers… “let's go my love, stop playing around we have to set up camp” she giggles
“Oh!! You!!” I get up and rush after her slapping her ass when I catch up
Carryalls follow us out of the ship.. I immediately sent out the scout drones and assessed our landing spot. Allocating tasks and running diagnostics.
Lucy set about converting the ship to a shelter and arranging power arrays, and deciding on perimeter defenses
We were a perfect power duo. Our carryalls and scouts were soon all at work, and Lucy was finishing up the shelter
I needed to repay her, so I slowly walked up behind her. She heard my heavy steps in the gravity. Turning to look at me she beamed at me. My heart melted and grabbing both sides of her face I pinned her to the side of the ship. Our bodies intertwined and our lips locked.
She moaned at me giggling, pushing my knee between her legs, and we quickly undressed each other. Her mouth on my breast, as my hand glided down to her slick vagina.
Grabbing her chin roughly and up turning her head exposing her neck I sink my teeth into it as I push forward with my knee back and forth pressing my fingers in and out of her.
A deep moan emanates from her, licking my bite mark I kiss up her neck until my forehead is resting hers. Eye to eye, I watch the pleasure build in her. Thrust after thrust of my knee. My fingers pressing into her g-spot every time, my palms pressing and grinding onto her clit
“Cum for me my love, give me your sweetness, I want your water, the first drink I have on this planet” I breath
I feel her pussy tighten and grip my fingers. Her legs twisting around me… she goes silent… a flush rises in her flesh… we kiss deep, and long, and passionately as I feel her gush onto my hand as orgasm rapts her body..
I watch her eyes dilate and relax I kiss her gently again before kissing down, my lips brushing through her pubic hair tickling my lips. Opening my mouth and pressing my tongue in I drink of her orgasm
My fingers inside pressing to work again, she cries out as she rocks her hips grinding her lips to mine. As she gushes another orgasm into my mouth..
I can even taste and feel it now on my tongue…
Releasing her, and helping her up I grin
Walking away the top of my leotard open my tits out in the sun
“I'm up by one my love, and you taste so GGGGOOOOoooOOooddddDD” I giggle setting back to work.
Days and weeks pass Lucy and I set up our camp. Wefind nearby teams before they find us. We quickly fall on them in the night, clearing our immediate area, eliminating them from the contest. We bathe in a nearby stream, sun ourselves on the rocks, make love on the soft moss of the forest.
I don't know if I've ever been happier, ever been more at peace l than I was then with Lucy. Her and I… her and I against the world.
We make good progress setting up relations with 12 of the 15 villages. Our camp is well stocked. We receive updates from the proctors from dead drops. Seems out of the 25 teams only 8 remain. Lucy and I have eliminated 7 ourselves.
We need to be the last standing, triumphant together.. so that maybe.. maybe we can convince them to send two of us on a ship. Imagine the wonders, this wouldn't be temporary, but would become our life.
Lucy and I talk about it often. We can convince them. We'll defeat the others then refuse to turn on each other.
It was our dream.. explore the stars together.. hand in hand..
I remember one evening as if it was yesterday. It is clear in my mind's eye. Lucy sitting in a tree eating stonefruit from a tree. I was swimming in a waterfall pool. We had just picked up the dead drop. We were far ahead of the other teams. Victory seemed in our grasp.
Breaking the surface, turning floating on my back. My torso from my breasts to my pubic mound above the water. The faint glow of Phoebus over head. The serenity…
Lucy dropped from the tree and sat on a rock at the pools edge. The waterfall cascading down the rocks behind. Dipping her foot into the water a light kick splashing me. An intoxicating giggle… the tension.. I felt it urge inside me.. the desire to have her, she felt it too
Swimming to her rock, taking her foot in my hand I raise it to my lips kissing it gently. My hands rubbing her foot, and up her taunt legs kneading the stress from her.. one.. then the other..
Lucy leans back onto her elbows lavishing in the attention her flesh bare, form lithe, look sultry…
She loves when I worship her body, I emerge from the water my grip, skin, and kisses cooling to the touch. Her body heated, taunt, and wanting…
The desire is killing me, as I kiss my way up her body. Her head rolls back and forth. Lucy grabs the back of my head as I reach out and grab hers.
The look in her eyes I'll remember forever. Rarely is so much said with no words. I pull her head up as she pulls my head down. Our lips lock, passion explodes in my chest as an electric charge jolts into my veins. Soft moans onto her lips. Lucy's knee spreads my legs and presses against my vagina. She pushes on my shoulders, grinding her knee into my. My slick pussy aches for her touch, as I rock my hips against her leg. Moaning into her mouth with every subtle change of pace.
She turns us to the side, I slot my knee between her legs as we writhe together intertwined urging and moaning as we devour each other.
Hands gliding and sliding, pinching and pulling. My cool slick body, smashed into her hot taunt form. She bites my lip and I roll my head back and moan as she snacks my ass
“Fuuuuccckkkkk yyyyyeeessss Luuucccyyyy, Fuuuccckkk Mmmeeeeee darling” from my lips
“I thought you'd never ask, darling” she coos
She grips my ass hard and uses it to flip me under her. Her hand down my body dancing down my body. As I writhe, rock, and hump her knee between my legs.
She grips my jaw tightly staring down at me.. dominant and in control, her finger pushing inside me and pressing against my button, pulling up steady and persistent. Her thumb deftly circling my clit. She plays my body like a master violinist. Slow beautiful notes building and building. The pleasure grows inside me. My muscles grow taunt. Her eyes locked on mine as my toes curl, my leg squeeze her knee and hand. Quickly her pace quickens building into a crescendo, my muscles burning I feel the flush coming, a squeak escapes my mouth, I feel my eyes dilate, my body tight like a string…on her instrument
Lucy plunges her face and kisses me deep and passionately and I explode
My body quivering and shaking, as orgasm crashes into my like a rouge wave. I can't contain myself as I scream and moan into Lucy's mouth my life breath leaving my body as my pussy spasms around her fingers. Overstimulated I shake side to side my hand digging into her skull.
Primal lust surges inside me, face to face my forehead pressed into hers. I grab her inside leg and arm and turn us. Lucy land son her back as I bite hard into her leg. A snarl of lust escaping my lips as I need to feed on her body. I press my hands into her body. Feeling the soft flesh, filling me.. driving me
My own legs still suffering aftershocks. I kiss down her body, biting, pinching , and sucking Lucy's nipples, ribs, stomach and my lips slip down her smooth pubic mound… to her pussy
Pushing Lucy's legs apart I dive in with my tongue. The taste of her sex becoming my everything. My fingers spreading and entering
Taunt vaginal walls greet my tips with a velvet soft grip. As my tongue flicks onto her clit. Lips enveloping and sucking I hear Lucy's breath sharply pull in, her hand land lands on the back of my head as I grab her other hand in mine. The grip tight.
Pushing upwards again and again and again with my hand and fingers inside her pussy I feel it spasm. Gripping and milking my fingers tighter and tighter as the dance in the soft ridges of her. Up and down head bobs as I suck on her kxit my tongue swirling around it, moaning and humming. Vibrations from my soul spreading across her enraptured body.
Her grip tightens on mine, nails digging in…
“Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesssssssssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” she moans sharply
Leg squeeze down in me . Her whole body go still tight…..
A gutteral deep moan erupts from her mouth as he roussy gushes onto my fingers, I move my lips to taste her. Our hands gripped tight together as wave after wave of orgasm wash over her as I keep my my pace and tenacity.
“FUUUUCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!?” Lucy screams her back arched pussy driven into my mouth…
Her body collapses, as I roll to the side panting managing to crawl up. Holding each other close. Soft gentle kisses, like rain drops in storm.
“Mi amor” we whisper to each other foreheads pressed together
Time passes.. we clean ourselves in the pool. Giggling and laughing like lovers do. Helping each other back to camp. Walking through the forest hand in hand back to our bed
Our dream died that night…
We were naked, curled up in each others arms when the alarm sounded..all the alarms
Proximity alert for 14 signals… they had teamed up on us. 14 on 2 they were going to eliminate the front runners while they still could.
Fuck
Lucy and I turned and quickly downed our emergency biotic vials just as a concussive blast hit our ship shelter.
“Fuck! They aren't supposed to attack equipment!” I yell
“The proctors must have sent them, they should be intervening with that!” Lucy says
“You're better in a fight, charge them and I'll flank” I yell
We nod at each other and we are off naked as the day we were born
Lucy bursts from our ship her shield bursting out in front of her
I dart out the side and task our scouts and drones to make dive bomb attacks on the intruders
I leap over a blast, grab a tree branch and swing. I land my legs on either side of the head. Of one the attackers, twisting my flip her over and knock her out. Back on the run, I see Lucy take out another one as drones dive in and out of the chaos.
Lucy blocks to her right and charges blasting herself high into the air, twirling before blasting herself downward tackling her target to the ground and eliminating her.
She's about to get blasted from behind when I take the attackers in the flank, knee to the solarplex. My hand on the side of her neck I thrust up hard with my knee. In the low gravity she turns and flies off into the trees as I raise my hands and blast another in the side.
She turns just in time to block my attack, when Lucy rockets into her side with her elbow. Her lithe form is lit in by the light from Phobos in the night. Gleaming with the slightest amount of sweat.
Without looking Lucy backflips and bounds over a concussive blast in the low gravity. The blast takes the other girl in the side, eliminating her. Lucy rights herself as she gracefully glides to the ground. The moonlight catches her nude form perfectly. The girl who fired before at her takes aim. Lucy rockets behind herself and strikes downward with wicked speed, dive bombing her opponent.
The girl FIRES, Lucy does as well two shots!
The blasts collide and send shockwaves out, nearly knocking me from my feet. Lucy's second attack smashes into the girl eliminating her, Lucy flips through the air almost as if she was flying. I've never seen another person with the same amount of control in low gravity as her.
She lands one knee and hand on the ground head up and charges the next enemy
Amazed at Lucy's tenacity I start up again picking off another girl as Lucy charges at a group of four her shield tall and strong in front of her at running at full tilt.
I sweep to the side to take the group in the flank
I launch my assault firing concussive blasts again and again. I hear Lucy scream.. I look over and see her taken in the back from a cheap shot hiding in the trees above.
They all turn on me 8 on 1
Despair flows into me… then is burned away replaced
RAGE… RAGE OVERWHELMS ME
MY LUNGS light with fire
NOOOOOOOOONNNOOOOOOOONNNOOOOO YOU COCKSUCKING PUTAS!! ME CAGO EN TU PUTA MADRES!!! I WILL RIP YOUR ARMS OFF AND BEAT YOU WITH THEM!!! I WILL NOT BE STOPPED BY YOU!!!
I start moving faster than ever before, the passion and bloodlust over taking me. Gone are the strategic calculations. Only battle remains! Only the Rage! Seething up inside me!
They all fire on me, and in the air above me expecting me to leap.
I fire 2 blasts behind me then 3 more in front of me concussive impacts quake the air as it seems to heave. The kinetic impacts bringing the air to broiling. It sears my flesh as I rocket through the small opening.
Their faces are slack jawed. Dumbfounded as I unleash pandemonium and chaos. I blast not them but the trees around them
Sending trees and debris crashing in the wake of the concussive blasts.
Leaping I land on a falling tree running up the trunk
Firing again and again and again.. one of their shield breaks and I dive at her my knee taking her straight in the jaw, I hear the crack as she hits the ground. Not a moment sparred I grab a log and fire it at another two girls caught off guard by me behind their shield wall.
Somersaulting through the air, I hook a girl's neck behind my knee just as she is about to fire. Swinging around her body I grab her arms as she fires and aim them at her allies. Just before I fire directly into her back
Her concussed body goes flying at her allies they drop their shield so as to not hurt her, only to find me blasting through behind her. My feet hit a still standing tree and with both my arms out I fire again… and again… and again..
Both go down hard screaming in pain
Pain that is nowhere near my emotional pain
I hit the ground and scream
STAND AND FIGHT YOU CUNTS!!! FACE ME!!! I AM EMERA TRIUMPHANT!!! DAUGHTER OF EUROPA!! UNBENT, UNBOWED, UNBROKEN!!!
I scan around me.. all I hear is groans and whimpers and cries in pain.
My chest heaving up and down, my body dripping a primal sweat running down my nude form.
I hear a crackle of a speaker
All combatants defeated!
Victory to Emera of Europa!
I fall to my knees exhausted, crying, overextended, Lucy comes over to me rubbing my back and takes me into her arms. Rocking me back and forth
“They ruined it! They ruined everything! They'll separate us now!!” I yell my head buried into her chest shaking back and forth. My whole body overwhelmed and quivering with emotion.
“Every little thing is going to be alright mi amor” Lucy says as she cradles me…
I jolt awake on Lupis IV alone.... Lucy's smile filling my mind…

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott
Episode 9: The Sand Witch Project
"Last time, on Total! Drama! Action! A girl with vision. Vision that took her past everyday thinking. But when the chips were down, and even when the chips came back up again, she was the only one who could rescue them."
"Searching for a cure to the disease that was afflicting her dearest friends, a challenge was won. A cure found."
"But will-" Chris began to munch and crunch on something, though, so the rest of his sentence was completely muddled and unintelligible. The recap footage ended and the shot cut to Chris sitting on the amphitheater bleachers with popcorn at his side.
"Hey, what can I say? Gross disease movies make me crave a little corn!" He picked up his snack and smiled. "But, it's time to put the snacks away, kiddies," he tossed the bag over his shoulder, "because after this totally terrifying episode," the scene cut to a nighttime shot of him walking past a portable toilet near the cast trailers, "there won't be a stomach left unturned!" A horrible growling noise came from inside the toilet that made the host flinch, but he recovered his composure quickly and walked over to a nearby campfire. "Hold on to your buckets. It's time for some Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode began with a shot of a soccer ball rolling across the shot and the camera zoomed out to show Jasmine and Justin kicking it back and forth to each other. Brick was also in the background sleeping on a lounge chair.
The camera panned to the right to show Anne Maria, Izzy, MK, Ripper, and Scott playing cards at a picnic table. "Sorry, wimps," Ripper said with a triumphant grin, "but I won this round!" The bully put his cards on the table. "Whose turn is it to deal?"
"Mine," Izzy said, grabbing the cards. “Watch this!” She then did a number of intricate moves to shuffle them, much to her competitors’ amazement.
Confessional: Scott
"Izzy's such a showboat," Scott told the confessional camera. "She's always there to demonstrate how “cool” she is, but can she smash twenty kitchen rats in under a minute? No.”
“I just wish that my team loses the next challenge so we can vote her off, and I know how to handle that if it comes down to the wire,” the farmer said sneakily.
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back with Millie and Chase sitting on the steps of the boys’ trailer, Millie holding a small basket of sandwich wedges.
"I can't believe how many of these were leftover after lunch!" Millie said before tossing one of the sandwiches into her mouth.
“I can't believe you managed to steal these in the first place!” Chase chuckled.
"I can't help it," Millie said giddily. "Egg salad sandwiches are super tasty, and it's not like Chef will notice."
“I clearly taught you well,” Chase said. “You know, it's great to hang out with each other given all the times we've been separated.”
“We still have to manage until the merge, Chase,” Millie reminded her boyfriend. “Things have been crazy though with Trent's jealousy over you and Sky and his challenge throwing.”
“I didn't even know about all that until you told me a few days ago,” Chase said.
“Sky told me all about it, and I didn't have the time to inform you,” Millie admitted.
“I'm still cool with Trent, but if anybody thinks that I'll drop you for another chick, then they don't know a thing about me,” Chase declared. “I'd rather get poison ivy then cheat on you.”
“Your loyalty is one of the reasons why I'm in love with you,” Millie admired before giving Chase a peck on his cheek.
"I wouldn't be Chase without that, Millie!" Chase smiled. "Now watch this!" A fast-paced and hectic tune began as he did a front handspring, landed, then jumped into the air, twirled a few times, and landed in splits. "This is how you speed eat, folks," he said as he did his routine. He stood up from his splits, took out a few sandwiches from his pockets, and tossed his snacks into the air, catching them all with his open mouth. He took a bow after he finished swallowing.
The contestants applauded politely. "Nice one," Anne Maria said. “I've seen monkeys swallow less bananas than we do with these sandwiches."
"Chef's food has gotten so good," Justin said with a mouthful. The sound of loud snoring filled the air and everyone looked over at Brick, the camera zooming in on him as a ripple effect transitioned the scene.
It was a dark and stormy night on the film lot, and a rat scurried by past the craft services tent before lightning flashed and the camera zoomed in on the light coming from the kitchen window. A few jarringly tense notes played as the shot focused on a kitchen knife in Brick's hand before the music softened out and the knife was used to spread egg salad on a slice of bread. Cheese and lettuce were added next, followed by another slice of bread, and Brick was shown looking at the sandwich with a smile on his face – a stack of similar sandwiches was on the counter nearby.
Just then, Chef made his presence known in the background after another flash of lightning and shouted "Lunch!".
Brick squeaked and held his knife out in front of him in an attempt to protect himself, and Chef began to slowly clap his hands in a deadpan manner.
"We need to stop all this cheating," Brick begged. "Being in this alliance is seriously going against everything I stand for as a cadet."
"This is not about right or wrong, son," Chef declared remorselessly. "It's about you and me winning that cool mil."
The footage rippled back to the present.
Brick was still snoring peacefully as the camera panned away from him and back to the picnic table where Millie and Chase had joined most of the others.
"So, what're you guys doing?" Chase asked the card players.
"We don't think there's gonna be a challenge today," Ripper explained, "so we've just been playing cards against each other."
“And it's kinda getting borin’ with Big and Blue winning a majority of our games,” Anne Maria shot a grim look at Ripper.
“It's not my fault I'm better than you all at Go Fish, Rimmy, and the sort,” Ripper scoffed.
“Now I wish there is a challenge,” Izzy grumbled.
“I second that,” Scott nodded.
The background music became tense as the loudspeakers squealed on. "Attention Total Drama victims!" Chris announced dramatically. "Please meet me in the northeast corner of the studio-palooza! Bring lozenges!" he added over a shot of Chase chewing and swallowing one of his sandwiches while looking up. "The screaming is gonna hurt!"
"Wishes do come true," Izzy laughed humorously as she looked at the others around her.
The footage cut to a view of MK and Izzy through a small monitor looking unamused. "We walk all the way out here," the techno girl said, "yet Chris hasn't arrived yet!" The camera pulled out to show that the monitor was part of a larger recording device pointed at the Gaffers, who along with the Grips had assembled at an open-air set in what looked to be the middle of nowhere.
"Maybe he's racked up too much overtime figuring out new ways to torture us," Justin suggested, leaning against a light in the middle of the shot.
As if on cue, a familiar shout came from above that startled the handsome boy. He and the other castmates looked up in time to see none other than the host falling back-first from above, a small square of red just barely visible on the bottom of his shirt. He landed just below the screen with appropriately dramatic music and a burst of something thick and red that splattered the horrified contestants.
The camera cut to a tilted shot of Chris McLean impaled on the same light which Justin had just been leaning up against. All of the castmates screamed.
"Huh. Guess the producers don't like paying overtime," Justin commented.
"I'm worth every dime!" Chris said, suddenly sitting up with a grin and a shrug.
"I was just about to go out looking for your car and hightail it out of here," Chase spoke up in disappointment.
"It's the magic of cinema, boys and girls!" Chris declared, ignoring the comment. "I'm absolutely, perfectly, Chris-ily fine!" He took the top of the light off his body, revealing that, in fact, he hadn't been impaled at all. "Wanna see how it's done?"
"NO!" every contestant shouted and scowled angrily at the host.
Chris explained anyway, and blood appeared to pour down over the camera turning the whole screen red before the shot zoomed out to show the red was all inside a small square packet similar to what had been on the host's shirt. "Our cracker-jack effects team seals fake blood into a thin membrane of plastic," Chris said before the shot of him falling was shown again, "called a 'squib'." A top-down view of the fall appeared on the top half of the screen that showed the host smiling, while a yellow-and-black silhouette scene on the bottom depicted two interns carrying a mattress to the landing sight.
"This baby bursts on impact," the host said as the screen was splattered red again, which dripped away to show footage of the mattress being lowered into a hole in the ground behind the light, Chris falling down into it with a burst of blood before the ground the light was on descended into the ground and a platform with Chris on the fake light rose to take its place. "An old-fashioned optical illusion helps sell that I get impaled!" the host said as another silhouetted scene slid in from the right showing the fall from a side-view, with the quick change of platforms and lights.
"Can you not make like a sloth right now?" Jasmine groaned. “Get on with it.”
"Time for today's totally terrifying, blood-curdling, Horror Movie Challenge!" Chris announced before starting to walk around in front of the castmates. “To figure out which team gets which challenge, a scream-off! Think of every great horror movie you've ever seen.”
Izzy gasped in excitement. “Oh my gosh, you guys. Did you see that one with the possessed rug that learns to walk and smother cats? Or did I make that up?”
"All horror movies have one thing in common: fantastic screaming from actors. And," Chris added as he walked back past the Grips and lingered in front of Justin, "the killers that snuff them." The pretty boy looked nervously shocked, but Chris paid him no heed. "Each team, pick a serial killer," he told the castmates. "The rest of you will be the screamers. If your serial killer can make you scream the loudest, your team wins!"
A roaring chainsaw swiped down across the screen, accompanied by a sudden but dramatic twist to the background music as the screen was splattered red again.
The 'blood' effect drained away, transitioning the scene to Jasmine talking to the Killer Grips outside the numbered studios while holding the mask and bottle of ketchup. "We have to go with Anne Maria. I'd do it, but my height would be a dead giveaway."
“She scares me on a daily basis,” Millie agreed with the plan.
“And though the mask offers good protection for my beautiful face, I already performed a role in the third challenge,” Justin added.
Jasmine was about to give the mask to Anne Maria until Chef came in and grabbed the object. "Brick's gotta do it!" he claimed furiously.
"But we already agreed to a plan," Jasmine argued.
"Brick… is doing it." Chef said again.
"I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to tell us what to do in the challenges," Anne Maria talked back.
Chef grabbed her hair and held her off the ground. "Do you like having your hair shaved off of your head? Cause I can make that happen," the large man said to Anne Maria threateningly.
Confessional: Anne Maria
"I love my pouf," Anne Maria said. "Not only do I get to style it into whatever the heck I want, but I can also stash things in like spray cans, phones, food. Anything goes as long as it's not overly big. And the last thing I want right now is to lose my hair because of a dumb decision."
Confessional Ends
Chef dropped Anne Maria onto the floor, grabbed Brick by his collar, and shoved the mask onto his chest before stomping off in a satisfied manner.
"Since when does Chef buzz into challenges?" Jasmine asked. "This smells fishy to me."
"Oh, my bad," Anne Maria pulled a sandwich out of her pouf. "I was saving this for later."
“You guys have to let me be the killer!” Chase told his four teammates. “I have a lot of experience with scaring people on Halloween.”
“Okay, I am such the better scarer,” Izzy interjected. “My own dog is terrified of me, okay?”
“Most of my classmates are terrified of me, so I think that triumphs more over that,” Ripper argued.
“I wanna be the killer,” Scott grunted. “This is a role I was born to play.”
MK cleared up her throat. “Can everyone just-”
“But I was the one who scared my teammates last season with the bear costume,” Izzy pouted.
“I was one of them, and I won't be fooled by you again,” Ripper huffed.
MK gritted her teeth before shouting “I'm going to be our serial killer and that's final!!” Everybody stopped arguing and looked at the shortest member of the team. “You guys being the killer would be predictable and boring, and I'm just as worthy of being scary as you all.”
Confessional: MK
“I haven't done much lately other than puke my guts out and sweat uncontrollably,” MK admitted. “If we were to lose this challenge, no way would they consider voting me off if I do my best as the killer.”
Confessional Ends
The footage skipped ahead to night, showing a close-up of Chase walking somewhere around a wooded part of the film lot.
“Looks like we've been lumped into this together,” Jasmine said as the shot pulled back to show the Australian woman wandering around the woods as well.
"Who would've thought?" Chase asked rhetorically.
"Alright, Jasmine and Chase," Chris announced as the shot pulled out yet again to show the host sitting in a director's chair just off what was revealed to be an indoor forest set. "Prepare yourselves for your killers to enter!" The viewpoint shifted in front as he continued excitedly. "And then, I want huge, massive, ginormous screams! We'll be measuring the volume on our Scream-o-Meter!" He pointed above him as a bright green volume icon appeared; a stock screaming sound effect was played that caused the volume meter to rise from left to right, green to yellow to red.
"Lights!" Chris commanded, a dramatic note playing as a stage light was shown turning on. "Camera!" a camera was shown popping up and turning on to another dramatic note. "Action!" A film slate was held in front of the camera filming Chris and clapped.
Chase was shown in the distance with his back towards the camera just before a hockey mask was put 'on' over the shot. The camera moved forward a few steps towards some bushes as tense music built in the background, and the viewpoint shifted to show what was obviously a masked MK watching her teammate from hiding.
The music peaked as she jumped into the open with a roar, prompting Chase to scream… for a few seconds before stopping himself.
"Seriously?" MK asked in annoyance.
“I told myself that you'd be coming any time, so I had to prepare my scream,” Chase told his teammate.
The Scream-o-Meter only registered a few bars.
The camera cut to Brick peeking out of a tree. "I would've preferred if Anne Maria was performing this rather than me," the cadet said, making Chef pop up and scare Brick away with a roar.
Brick bumped into Jasmine while running away. "Oh, hello Brick," Jasmine greeted after turning around.
Brick looked at Chef one last time before putting the mask on and growing, leading Jasmine to scream and make the Scream-o-Meter register all the way to the first red tick.
"With a solid 55 on the Scream-o-Meter, let's notch one up for Brick, Jasmine, and the Killer Grips!" Chris announced.
The scene changed to a portable toilet set up in a smaller indoor forest set. “They cannot be serious," Anne Maria said as the camera cut inside to her filing her nails. "Who do these people think they are filming us in here?" The shot zoomed out slightly, showing that she was, indeed, sitting on the toilet. "I'm not giving them the satisfaction of using the toilet."
A flash took the scene to Scott's turn alone in the portable toilet. "Why don't we just give up now?" Scott scoffed. "There ain't nothing that can scare the Scottmeister much, and MK is no exception."
As if on cue, the techno burst into the toilet and growled loudly, causing Scott to let out a blood-curdling scream.
The camera cut back to Anne Maria, and Brick came into the toilet. "Were you in the middle of…."
"Wasn't even thinkin’ about it. Now do the scene," Anne Maria encouraged Brick, who let out a simple roar.
Scott was still screaming as the camera cut back to him and MK to the point where the Scream-o-Meter topped out.
Suddenly, the sound of peeing was heard, and Scott became quiet in his moment of embarrassment.
"I bet you never made anybody wet themselves like I did to you," MK took her mask off while snorting.
"Sorry, Brickhouse," Anne Maria said as the shot cut back to her and Brick. "You just don't scare me at all. You're kinda a marshmallow."
"I am large and in charge," Brick pointed out. “You're too tough to frighten.”
"And that's round two to MK, Scott, and the Screaming Gaffers!" Chris announced as the camera cut to him in the director's chair. "With a pee-fueled 85 on the Scream-o-Meter!"
After Chris left, Chef snuck out from behind the potty. "If Brick won't step up, the other half of the alliance has to."
The footage flashed ahead to another set, this time a couch in what appeared to be a small cottage in the woods. Ripper and Izzy were sitting on it together with scripts in their hands, while Chris stood a few feet away. "Alright guys," he told the two, "this is the tiebreaker scene. You're gonna have to act your faces off!"
Ripper read the script and his eyes went wide in excitement. "We get to make out! Brilliant!" he grinned.
"Those are one of my favorite parts of any horror movie," Izzy added.
"I love movie life!" Ripper smiled as Izzy sat on his lap and they began to kiss.
As the sounds of their make out session got louder, the camera panned over to Chris standing there with an awkward look on his face. "Awkward," he told the camera.
Millie and Justin were on the couch for the Grips, the camera focusing on the writer as she scanned the papers in her hand. Her eyebrows shot up and she dropped the papers. "No," she said. "Not this. Especially when I'm already dating Chase."
"I'll let you know that I'm a pretty good kisser," Justin told her.
Chris poked the top of his head up from behind the couch, looked between the two teens, and raised himself even further with a grin on his face. "Don't forget, kiddies," he told them, "it's a million bucks!" He ducked back behind the couch again.
With no other choice, the two leaned towards each other with their eyes clenched shut and puckered up. Their lips only barely touched before they recoiled.
“Glad I got that over with," Millie said frantically.
“It was a millisecond kiss, not a kiss of death,” Justin stated as Brick popped up from behind the couch and growled, but the two ignored the killer.
The camera cut to Izzy still making out with Ripper. MK crept up from behind them, brandished her knife, and said, "Ready to be chopped into sushi?!" She was ignored. "Uh, hello?!" she asked in irritation.
The duo looked over at her and gave half-hearted screams that barely stayed green on the Scream-o-Meter, making MK facepalm.
The shot panned over to the three sulking Grips until they looked up and saw a hockey mask wearing Chef brandish a revved up chainsaw and they all screamed. It was enough to put the Scream-o-Meter all the way in the red, and Brick managed to pass out and fall forward onto the couch.
"Well, looks to me like Brick and the Killer Grips have won this one," Chris announced as he walked onto the set, "seeing as they buried the needle. Join us after the break to see if Brick is still alive," he said as Justin and Millie looked over at Brick with concern. "Brick!" Chris called lightly. "Come in, Brick!"
(Commercial Break)
The footage came back with a bottom-up shot of the other nine campers looking down in a circle; counterclockwise from a gap at the top of the screen were Scott, Jasmine, Izzy, Millie, Ripper at the bottom, Anne Maria, Chase, MK, and Justin.
"Is he still breathing?" Anne Maria asked.
"I think he's saying something," Jasmine said before the viewpoint moved to a close-up of the unconscious cadet.
"I'm sorry. I can't take this anymore…" Brick murmured before his face turned scared and he shouted "NO NO NO NO NO!" while turning around.
“Okay, time to wake this doof up,” Ripper said before grabbing Brick's body and sitting him on the couch. The moment he did so, the bully smacked Brick hard on the face.
This act woke Brick up, and he looked around in confusion. "What happened? Why am I here? And where's Chef?"
"Chef's in a meeting with the producers," Chris explained. "A disciplinary meeting. He's in trouble! Not allowed to mess with the challenges."
"I had a feeling something smelled fishy, and not the sandwiches," Jasmine said suspiciously.
"Moving right along," Chris interrupted as the camera pulled out to show the full cast. "It's time to pack up those overnight bags, loser Gaffers!" The camera focused on the five in question. "You and your sleeping bags are spending the night in the dining hall!" All five of them slumped in disappointment. "Grip winners, back to the comfort of the trailers for a little R&R! I'll see you there in half an hour."
The scene flashed over to the craft services tent, the lights within already on. “The craft services tent isn't a bad place to spend the night,” Chase was heard saying before the camera cut inside. "We still have some good memories of the food we ate in here."
Izzy popped out from under a nearby table. "More than memories. I just found half a piece of cheesecake under here," she demonstrated the food.
“Could you split that into one-fourth so I could at least take a piece?” Chase suggested as he looked over the cheesecake.
"Guys!" Chris called from off-camera. "You mind joining us here?" A creepy tune began as the shot moved onto the host on a stool in the middle of the tent, the other three Gaffers seated on the floor around him as Izzy and Chase walked up.
"I'm about to tell you why this film lot was abandoned and closed!" he told the teens in a low voice.
"Because it's a death trap?" MK deadpanned.
"Hush, my child," Chris told her. "This film lot is perfectly safe! On this plane. But in the other dimension...," he trailed off, picking up a flashlight and shining it dramatically up from under his chin, making Izzy, Chase, and MK's eyes widen as they gasped.
"Juanita Rentacop, a dedicated security guard who worked here for twenty-five loyal years, until her mysterious death," he told them slowly. "Right here...," the music built quickly and sharply as the camera pulled back and he stood up and pointed at the ground. "ON THIS VERY SPOT!" Even Ripper and Scott flinched slightly from his sudden exclamation.
"Now," Chris continued as he looked from Gaffer to Gaffer, "her desperate and uneasy spirit walks the lot." He tilted his flashlight towards the wall and doorway, shadows of the bare tree branches falling on the outside of the tent. "No one has ever managed to spend a whole night in this craft service tent!"
"Because the falling sets killed them?" MK asked in a dry tone.
"'Cause," Chris told her as he returned the light to under his chin and the background music rose again, "of the HAUNTING!" he leaned away from her and turned off his flashlight. "Your task," he said with a grin in the center of the group, "spend the whole night here, without leaving this tent. If all or one of you manage to do so," he began to walk off to a table near the kitchen, "your team gets invincibility, and nobody goes home."
"Track any psychic phenomenon using these ghost meters," the host said as the camera zoomed in on a trio of handheld electronic devices resting on the table along with a ouija board. "And just in case," he added as Scott walked over to him, holding out his flashlight before clutching it to his chest and handing the boy a tiny keychain flashlight instead.
"Gee, thanks," Scott said as he held up the light and turned it on, completely unimpressed.
A flash took the scene to the campfire in front of the cast trailers, where the five Grips awaited an approaching Chris McLean. "The Screaming Gaffers are sitting in the craft services tent like sitting ducks," he told them as the camera panned from his close-up to eager Brick and confident Justin, then excited Millie and smirking Jasmine. "Your task is to make like special effects gurus, and frighten the pants off them!" He laughed, then told a skeptical Anne Maria "Or at least scare them enough to get them out of the tent before sunrise."
"How are we supposed to scare them?" Anne Maria asked.
"It's your call," Chris answered. "But if you get them out, your team wins invincibility and nobody goes home. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "just so you know, I told them some cockamamie story about a security guard who died on set." He chuckled, then walked away.
"How are we going to pull this off?" Brick asked his teammates.
"Chase is probably going to get mad at me for this, but I say we turn out the lights," Millie suggested. “Me and him experienced a blackout when we hung out at his house and he couldn't handle it.”
"I've got it!" Jasmine declared with a snap of her fingers. "Let's go. We have work to do." The others shrugged and followed the Outback girl away from the trailers.
The footage skipped ahead to the Grips outside of the tent watching Jasmine hold a white sheet, pillow stuffing, and a red bird in her arms. “Now that we have our things required, allow me to tell you the plan.”
“Why is a bird even on a film lot?” Justin asked.
“This bird just tends to fly around and rest on my branch,” Jasmine explained. “More importantly, I'm going to place the bird in-between the stuffing in order to give it some space to flap its wings, and with the sheet covering both the bird and the stuffing…”
“...the Screaming Gaffers will think that a ghost is haunting them!” Millie realized.
“You hit the nail right on the head,” Jasmine said while ripping some of the stuffing off before placing the bird inside.
“Let's get down to business then,” Brick agreed.
Inside the tent, Ripper, Izzy, Scott, and Chase were shown playing cards at the table nearest the closed-up meal counter while MK sat in front of them feeling bored.
“Do either of you have a seven?” Ripper asked attentively.
"Augh! How did you even know I had that?" Scott groaned as he put a card from his hand down on the table. “I hate to say it, but you really are good at cards, Rip Van Winkle."
Chase noticed something behind him and began to scream, and his teammates looked at him oddly. "Is something wrong?" Izzy asked as her teammate pointed to the air behind him. A few deep notes played as the shot cut to the flapping ghost moving left and right by itself.
Scott, Izzy, and Ripper joined Chase in screaming before they dashed towards the exit.
"Hold on!" MK cried out, but they didn't listen. "I said HOLD ON!!!" This made the team come to a dead stop just as they were about to exit outside. "The ghost meter's aren't reading a thing." She held the ghost detector up.
“Then how do you explain that thing hovering over us?” Chase raised an eyebrow in annoyance.
“Something has to be inside that sheet, and it has to be…” MK said before she took the stack of cards and chucked it at the stuffed sheet, making it drop to the ground.
MK approached the “ghost”, and her teammates gasped in horror as she grabbed hold of the sheet and threw it off, revealing the stuffing inside it and the bird escaped from the stuffing and flew away.
"Great Scott!" Scott declared while the bird flew past him. "It was just a hoodwink!"
Confessional: Chase
"If the Grips are trying to scare us so bad, then they must be doing a great job doing so," Chase told the confessional camera. "Putting a bird inside a sheet was genius."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut back outside, where the Grips turned away from the window they'd been watching from.
"Well, that didn't work," Brick sighed. "Sorry about your bird, Jasmine."
"It's no big deal. I'm not the bird's mother," Jasmine said.
“Does anybody else have any better ideas that don't involve stuffing animals into sheets?” Anne Maria asked impatiently.
“Leave that to me,” Brick spoke up.
"Don't you tend to get scared easily?" Jasmine wondered.
“Admittedly, I do, but I want to provide cooperation for this team,” Brick said. “And I will not take no for an answer.”
The team looked at each other for a brief while before giving in. “You are a Grip after all. What's our plan?” Jasmine asked.
Back in the craft services tent, the Gaffers had resumed their card game. "Give me all your two's!" Chase said.
The lights in the tent then shut off. "Uh, I'll give my two's later," Izzy said frightfully as she and the other Gaffers were shown looking around in confusion.
The scene moved outside, to where Brick was standing by a power box. He had already pulled the main switch down and took out a walkie talkie. "The power has been cut," he whispered into it.
As the Gaffers looked around their tent, the camera panned to Justin watching them just outside a window. "Nice work, Crew Cut," he whispered into a walkie talkie of his own. "Speed Writer, are you there?"
"At the ready, Dashing Devil," Millie replied from outside the tent.
"Remember, this is just Chris or the Killer Grips trying to scare us," MK warned her team.
“Yeah, you may be right,” Chase said optimistically. “This team doesn't give up.”
“Or die trying,” Scott added.
An odd, scratchy moaning began around them. The camera cut back to Millie, the author holding a megaphone and producing the moans.
Inside the tent, the viewpoint shifted to reveal Jasmine dressed in a security guard's uniform swaying in the air above them, her hat conveniently lowered over her eyes. She was obviously in a makeshift harness, and the camera followed the rope attached to her up to the rafters of the tent where Anne Maria was shown clinging to a beam with the other end of the line in one hand and a walkie talkie in the other.
"That's a go from Metal Hair and Long Legs," Anne Maria whispered.
The Gaffers all watched the supposed ghost sway about. “Now THAT is a ghost!” Ripper freaked out.
"I'm too hot to die!" Chase shouted before the team started to run off screaming.
"Are you serious?!" MK hissed. "The ghost meters are not going off!"
From his position, Justin threw a fork intending to aim for the detector, and just when the fork was about to hit its target, MK quickly saw the silverware hit the button on her detector, and despite it going off, the AV girl simply stood still and did not move.
“Yeah, nice try!” she laughed with a smirk after picking up the fork. "I know you're not a ghost, Jasmine!" MK pointed at the 'ghost'. “You can come back now, team!”
Jasmine lifted her hat and revealed her surprised face. "Abort now! We failed!" she said above her.
Up in the rafters, Anne Maria's eyes went wide as she began to pull up. At ground level, MK's teammates returned to the tent and watched in bewilderment as the 'ghost' began to ascend.
“How are you so good at not being scared?” Scott asked MK.
“To make it short, sweet, and to the point, I'm not a dummy,” MK said smugly.
An air horn was sounded off as Chris entered the tent with one in his possession. "The Screaming Gaffers win the challenge. And the Killer Grips are heading to the elimination ceremony!"
The Gaffers all cheered for their victory.
The scene cut to the communal bathroom where Brick was in the middle of washing his hands. After finishing, the cadet was about to step out until he saw Justin enter.
“Hey man. I want to talk to you,” Justin said.
“What could it be about, Justin?” Brick wondered.
“Earlier today, you were mumbling something while you were unconscious,” Justin mentioned. “You even sounded frightened like a bear was coming to kill you.”
“You still remember that?” Brick felt embarrassed.
“I do, but I feel like now is the perfect time to bring it up,” Justin continued. “You've been avoiding us lately and it's confusing us.”
“That is true,” Brick sighed, “but it's not…”
“Jasmine's really concerned about you,” Justin cut him off. “You and her have a bond going, Brick, and is hiding whatever you're doing worth ruining it?”
This caused Brick to fall silent for a bit as he reconsidered his actions before he opened his mouth. “I think I know what I have to do,” he said with a stern look on his face.
The footage faded straight into the opening sequence of the Gilded Chris Awards, followed by a flash to a long-distance shot of the amphitheater as the host approached his podium. The five losing teens were shown voting, with the trio of Millie, Justin, and Anne Maria in the upper row while Brick and Jasmine sat in front.
"And now, fraidy cat Grips," Chris said as the Gaffers were all standing on the stage alongside him, "it's time to announce who will not win a Gilded Chris this week. Who deserves to go home bitterly disappointed, tears in their eyes?"
“I hope someone takes a picture if that happens,” Ripper whispered to his team with a snicker.
“Watching the elimination ceremony is already our reward, but that would be sweeter,” Scott said.
Chef arrived in his usual dress with several golden awards. He bitterly took out an envelope, to which Chris quickly snatched up.
"And! The Gilded Chrises go to...," he announced as the Grips were seen sitting anxiously. "Anne Maria, Millie, Jasmine!" One by one, the three caught the awards that were tossed to them. "Still on the chopping block, Justin and Brick!" The camera panned from one boy to the other, the former looking calm and the latter feeling settled.
"Chris, I'll have to stop you there!" Brick stood up and walked onto the stage, much to everyone's confusion. "I volunteer for elimination. I do not deserve to stay. I did not follow my own code."
"Brick!" Chef yelled in frustration, but quickly chuckled nervously and walked over to the guilty boy. "Why don't you and I have a chat before you do anything stupid!" he whispered menacingly.
"I'm done listening to whatever you tell me to do!" Brick declared to the taken back man and then turned to the others. "Ever since the third challenge, me and Chef were in a secret and illegal alliance."
Everyone gasped at the dropped bombshell as Chef smiled nervously. "He's been attempting to build me up and coach me through the challenges just so we could split the money, and I do not want any part in this." As Brick spoke, Chris could be shown sending an outraged look at his assistant.
"Wait a minute!" Chase cried out. "All the food we've been eating. The pizza, the cheesecake, the sandwiches. That was you?"
"Why leave when you've been making our stay here better?" MK questioned with genuine sadness.
"Yeah!" Justin said in agreement while he and the Grips got on stage with the others. "Can't we just vote Chef off instead?" The model ignored the glare he was receiving from Chef.
"I'm sorry, but I have to make my conscience clean again," Brick responded. He then noticed Jasmine looking at the ground with disappointment. “Jasmine, are you feeling-”
“Like you said, it's best that you stay away from the film lot,” Jasmine said with an upset glare. “And more importantly from me. You lied to me, and a long distance apart is what's best right now.”
Brick hung his head in shame. “Understood!” he obeyed dejectedly.
The scene flashed to Brick stepping into the waiting limo with a sad wave. Chris walked up to it just as the door slammed shut and it drove off, leaving the host standing at the end of the red carpet with a vague smile on his face.
"Well folks," he told the camera. "Looks like everyone just lost their best chef and most moraled man. Now that they've survived this week's fright fest, they'll be forced to bear the most horrific, stomach-churning, gut-wrenching challenge ever! Chef's cooking!” The man laughed gleefully. “I love this game.”
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
“I know I did the right thing, and I don't regret admitting to my wrongdoings, but that doesn't mean that I can ignore the consequences,” Brick said inside the limo. “My fellow competitors will have to go back to eating Chef's less than quality food, and cooking is something I've taken passion in doing now, and my friendship with Jasmine is more or less strained.” He frowned sadly. “I never meant to hurt her at all. I could've told her the truth earlier on, and she still would've been disappointed, but at least she'd see that I was the noble man I told her I am. Now all that's left for me to do is hope that she wins the season.”
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Brick - 10th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott

Long post alert. Believe it or not, there is a lot I left out of this post. If something seems confusing to you, please ask. There is more context, unfortunately.
I have many people telling me to leave, but I feel many of them do not understand the family trauma my fiancé is working through. Any trauma-informed responses here would be greatly appreciated. I don’t want to abandon him as he works through something very difficult. I just need to figure out how to take care of myself, too. Anyone who has escaped an enmeshed family, I would love your opinion. Anyone who sees boundaries I can set without abandoning him, I would love to hear it.
The relationship:

• We began dating May 2021. We got engaged October 2023.
• Very loving relationship, we have built what could be a beautiful marriage. Many shared values, good communication (to an extent, see below), shared interests, shared life goals. There is a lot of good here and we are invested in each other. We continue to try to choose each other. It’s why I haven’t walked away.
• From the start of our relationship to the time we got engaged, he set many expectations for wedding timelines. They all fell through. He was dealing with some hard stuff he couldn’t communicate at the time, and I can understand why it took him a while to propose, even though he kept promising me timelines and not following through on them. He asked for forgiveness, and I gave it happily. However, a pattern of saying he’ll do something and not taking action started here.
• i have made major financial decisions based on these timelines. I have not purchased a home which I have wanted since we started dating, recently purchased a nicer vehicle than I wanted on his insistence, because in his words, we will be married in just a few months. It may sound naive. It probably was. We were engaged. I trusted my fiancé’s word.
• We are waiting to move in together until we are married. There are many reasons for this, but it may have saved me a lot of hurt if this doesn’t work out.

The family background:

• The oldest sister of the family (31F) is in charge of most plans. She and her husband are very financially stable, provide dinner for everyone most nights, house the grandma with Alzheimer’s and the younger (25F) sister’s baby daddy, make most of the plans for family time, and financially take the burden for things they probably shouldn’t have to… this has created a pretty unhealthy balance where everyone is in some way dependent on her.
• Unless I specify the younger when I say sister, I mean the oldest.
• His parents have a delicately balanced marriage, and most of the family avoids conflict in that area because they are afraid of the family splitting up. They have found “peace” with their differences, which means not talking about anything they disagree on. I suspect their inability to talk through conflict is what has gotten us to this point in the first place.
• I have begun to think the entire family is pretty severely enmeshed. They are all dependent on one another and don’t address problems, but show up and pretend everything is fine.
• My fiancé has lived on his own for 6+ years now. Early in our relationship, it became clear to me that he had taken a step away from this family dynamic, though he maintained a close relationship with everyone. Attending family dinner twice a week was not uncommon.
• I come from an emotionally and physically abusive childhood, and was functionally independent at the age of 16. I have a lot of trauma from being abandoned, thrown from place to place at the whim of people who don’t care about me, living out of a car or suitcase… as an adult, home and housing security is very important to me. I have built myself a life I’m very proud of with my dream job, an extensive support system I love, lots of found family. Though it took a decade, I learned how to set healthy boundaries with and have safe relationships with my family. We are by no means close, but we are friendly and support each other where we can.
• His family seemed happy to have me around at the beginning. There were a few weird things they did at the beginning of this relationship that I didn’t think much of, but looking back, I can see it was a symptom I wasn’t able to recognize.
• There are multiple instances of the family not caring about our schedule: not bothering to include us in group trips to the grandparents, planning family trips when they know we will be busy, inviting us to dinner 30 minutes before it starts when everyone else knew all day. They all live in two houses that are 10 minutes apart, and spend every day together. This all has not bothered us too much, as we show up when we can, though I think not being considered has hurt my fiancé. The important point here is that the family has a pattern of not recognizing our needs.

What happened:

• We got engaged October 2023.
• The sister offers to help with wedding planning, as she is an event planner. I have extensive experience planning events as well, and kindly declined her running it but said I would love to have her support in some ways, and I’ll reach out when I need help.
• Engagement party planning: I ask her if she’s seen any cool activities for engagement parties, as I would like to have some. She tells me they’re not needed and that everyone will just be talking anyway. I try to ignore that comment and handle this with support of my MOH. (Btw, we did some prompts for people to fill out like “give the couple advice” and “what’s your favorite thing about the couple”with some nice cardstock and pens. Turned all of it into a collage and it’s so cute! Also my fiancé, who is an incredible artist, created a coloring page of our dog holding the ring, and I created a scavenger hunt for the kiddos. It was so cute!!! Very happy I had activities. Sister sat in the corner with her immediate and talked to basically nobody else. Her loss.)
• At a family dinner, she asks how engagement party planning is going. FH tells her we are just needing to decide on the catering order but everything else is good. She tells him to pull it up on his phone, steps in between us with her back to me, and tells him what he needs to get, without asking either of us our opinions. 2 weeks later I asked him if we could sit down and decide on the catering order, and he claims it’s done. With discussion, he realizes he just meant that his sister told him, but he hadn’t considered our budget, talked to me, or even remembered what she said. Like I said, she’s been running the family for years. This is a pattern I have seen time and time again.
• I begin to look at the calendar for a wedding date. We have always wanted to get married in the fall, and are wanting Sep/Oct. I send a few courtesy texts to close friends and family to ask if there’s any blackout dates that I can try to avoid. 0/10 would not recommend, there were literally no good dates. All my friends/family said just pick the date that works best for you, it’s a wedding and you won’t please everyone. His sister tells us that she is planning a month-long vacation in September and October, and she needs to know as soon as possible if she should change her plans. She and her husband travel very frequently. In 2023, they spent about three months total on vacation. It is almost a part-time job to them.
• September 28 is a very special day for us, it holds a lot of significance. It happens to also be the date with the least conflicts for our schedule and the blackout dates I stupidly asked many people for. The only conflict is the potential vacation. I will reiterate that out of 8 weeks, she immediately told us she wanted 4 of those for vacation. She also offered to change it, so I didn’t have a big concern at first.
• At a family dinner a bit later, my fiancé approaches her to let her know she will likely need to change her vacation. She asks if we have found a venue yet, we explain no but we will have one in about a month (this was peak holiday season and things were very chaotic). She tells us she needs the date by one week because she wants to book flights. The only thing she has officially booked is mostly refundable, canceling would only cost $500, and she says she’s willing to cancel that if we tell her now. I reiterate that we can’t give her the exact date, but we will be looking very hard for that date, and she should not book flights. The entire family gets incredibly frantic very quickly. The sister starts telling us dates that would work better for them, claiming we should go look at venues the next week (again, holidays, work was crazy, it was not an option), the father asks me to go to a venue alone and FaceTime my fiancé (who was leaving the next day for a trip), the mother tell us to just get married at another time of the year. I become pretty firm and say September 28 is important to us and fall is important to us. We will be finding a venue within a month, and if that date is available we will be taking it. Sister looks like she’s about to snap. Fiancé steps in here and says “well you’re more sentimental about dates anyway.” (Prior to this conversation he had told me he would prefer that date. I truly think he’s used to giving in to her and didn’t want her to explode. You will see why later.) She asks me to just tell her it’s that date. I say I can’t promise that because we’re not looking at venues yet, but it’s very very likely and she should wait to book.
• After we leave the house, I break down crying to fiancé and explain how hurtful it was to be dismissed by the family, but it also hurt that he shut me down in front of the family. I told him it felt like he took their side and just caved in. He hears me, tells me he understands why that would be hurtful and apologizes. States he will follow up with his sister and make sure she understands within the month. This did not happen. Again, I think the man is terrified of going against the family grain.
• We do a lot of venue research, and find one we have sentimental value with (we have danced here at events before), it will make our wedding band sound incredible, it is dirt cheap, all DIY (which I heavily prefer), and all the proceeds go toward rebuilding the community with rehab programs and affordable housing. This is the only place we tour. We immediately fall in love and want to book. They have only three dates available in September and October: Sep 14, Sep 28, Oct 19. His mother’s birthday is October 19, which we are avoiding for SO many reasons. She is 100% the kind of person who would resent us for this every year: we would want to celebrate our anniversary and she would be hurt we wouldn’t celebrate her birthday, and we don’t want to deal with that every year. September 14 is very bad for several reasons, the least of which that I would be bruised and scraped from a big race the weekend before. I don’t want to look like a domestic abuse victim in my wedding photos. We would also be missing many people important to us, it is the weekend of a big event in one of our communities. We would also be missing this event.
• I ask my partner if we can go ahead and book the 28th, and he can tell his sister. He said he wants to think about it for a while. I give him about two weeks, asking him occasionally if he’s decided what he wants to do. He does not make a choice. I remind him she made it clear that she said she was willing to change her vacation, she just needs to know soon. He does not say anything to either me or her, even though this is within the month he said he wanted to talk to her.
• While watching a game at sister’s house, his mother asks me if we found a date. I explain that there’s not a lot available, and it’s been hard to work around. She looks over my shoulder at my calendar I’m working on and says “October 19 is open”. I say yes, but that’s your birthday. She states “I’d rather you get married on my birthday than for (sister and her husband) to move their vacation.” I sit pretty silently and leave the house a bit later. I should have confronted this here, but did not feel comfortable doing so with how fiancé had responded to family pressure the first time. Kicking myself for it now.
• Quite a bit later, he finally says we can decide on the 28th, he just has to be okay with his sister not coming. We go to tell them in person, and ask them to come, and she reacts quite poorly. Insinuates we should have cancelled holiday plans to plan our wedding, says she doesn’t want to lose her PTO, or her money. States pretty harshly that if her friend she’s going with gets sick, maybe she can cancel and then she could make it. Fiancé shuts down completely. Understandable.
• We have a few one on one conversations with people trying to get to the bottom of the situation and explain that it’s hurtful she didn’t listen to us when we asked her to make good on her offer to change her vacation. Each person defends her and tells us we should have just planned it quicker. The father said he offered to pay for their vacation to be cancelled, but can’t afford it. They are now claiming it would take $20K to move their vacation. (I cannot believe this number. Also, they have travel insurance on the entire trip.)
• We invite sister and her husband over to talk. I tell her it hurts that she didn’t listen, that I was trying to let her know where we were so she could plan. She and her husband both say we are blunt people and you need to be more blunt with us or we won’t hear you. I say that doesn’t seem fair, I told you what was happening clearly, but you seemed to only want an official date, which I couldn’t give you then. She snaps at me and says “that is exactly what I wanted and it’s what you needed to tell me that day.” Shuts down and refuses to keep talking to me. Her husband and I leave the room to give the siblings time to talk. They talk for 3 hours. When they leave she barely says goodbye to me.
• Both sisters reach out to fiancé and ask to meet. He says he’d like me to come too. They say they would prefer a sibling meetup but if I want to come they’ll figure it out. I receive this comment as slightly hostile, and do not feel comfortable pushing my way into it. He goes.
• After this meeting, I ask him if he can set up a meeting with the sister to talk again. He calls to ask. She says she would meet up but she thinks she needs a “lawyer (younger sister’s name) present to translate”. I get pretty panicked about this and say I’m not comfortable with that. She was quite aggressive over the phone.

The blowup:

• Fiancé asks the entire family to meet so we can talk about things. This day is a nightmare. I was in and out of tears this entire time, but for the most part was able to keep talking, right until the end.
  • Family tells us all that this is completely my fault for not making sure to give the sister a date.
  • We both try to explain that it’s not even the date that’s a problem, it’s about our feelings not being heard. The mother and father state that if they knew what was happening when we asked them to change, they would have spoken up in a different way and made sure we were heard better by their eldest daughter. (This is a bit hard to stomach. Both of them told us that day to just move the date to a different time of year. They both dismissed me that day.)
  • I get vulnerable with the family and explain that since my family isn’t close, I would very much value a closer relationship with them all. I make sure to make eye contact with the sister. She rolls her eyes and pointedly looks away.
  • I begin to explain how hurtful the earlier conversations have been, I get cut off multiple times. My fiancé steps in (this was hard for him and I’m so so proud of him for doing this) and tells the people who cut me off to please listen because that’s not respectful and I deserve to be heard. The younger sister takes this very hard and leaves the room because she is enraged. She returns later.
  • The father says “emotions are just chemicals, so we can’t rely on those. We have to look at the facts.” Then proceeds to just say everyone needs to move on. This was immediately after I explained that how we were treated hurt us.
  • The conflict has still not been resolved or even explained, so I try to explain that “I feel like this would happen again” and the father quite literally blows up at me saying “that’s not fair, if I understood what we were talking about that day, I would have stepped in”. I explain again that I’m still feeling like it would happen, not just because of him and wanting to still resolve things. The family all blows up at me and tells me what I’m saying isn’t fair. Father is shaking and screaming at me. (But emotions are just chemicals, right? Lmao.) Again, I’m trying to address the conflict, and was shut down quite harshly.
  • I try a different approach. I explain to them that they are not the only people we are concerned about with scheduling, and that there were, quite literally, no perfect dates. We decided on the 28th because it made the most sense, it’s our wedding, and it means a lot to us. I tell them “I am not expecting you to move your vacation” and literally all 5 family members scream at me “yes you are”. I shut down and begin crying again. (What I would have said there is that if they do not respect our opinions or preferences for our wedding, I can’t control that. I can’t make my life dependent on them, and so if they’re not willing to come to us a bit for our wedding day it is out of my hands.)
  • As I shut down, the father starts talking about needing to treat each other better in the future. I perk up, hoping we can address the conflict. He instead says we can’t change the past, so just move forward with your wedding, and sister keep your vacation. Fiancé starts crying.
  • I try, one last time, to say this is making me uncomfortable, we haven’t really addressed what happened and I’m afraid it will happen again. The sister has not spoken at all, except to scream at me “yes you are”. I decide to address her directly. I calmly explain a few specific things she did that hurt us, and then I tell her I would really value knowing her perspective and I want to know how she’s feeling.
  • ****here it is.**** She stands up out of her chair, starts laughing, screams at me “I promise you don’t!” puts her head on the table, banging her fist and screaming. Her husband and my fiance are asking her to take a breath, but she is uncontrollable. She stands up, lets out a sustained scream at the top of her lungs, goes upstairs pounding her feet and screaming the entire time. She locks herself in a bathroom, screaming and pounding (I’m not sure what, probably her feet? Could have been punching the wall. Idfk.)
  • Fiance says to family “If we’re talking about how to treat each other in the future, this needs to be addressed. This is not appropriate.” (Again, claps for this man. Yay.) The rest of the family says that this is just how sister is and she just needs time to cool down. (This feels a bit like “the emperor has no clothes” kind of situation. She is the self proclaimed matriarch, and nobody wants to stand up to her because they are dependent on her for various things.) Younger sister leaves and says she is going to check on older sister.
  • Without either sister in the room, we actually get somewhere for a bit. I explain that I’m trying to share my emotions and perspective but until we’re heard, I don’t think we can move forward. I explain again that I want a relationship here but it’s looking difficult. From the sister’s husband, mother, and father, this is received quite well and we all seem to be getting closer to a resolution. Everyone seems to be connecting a bit more while we wait for the sisters to return.
  • Sisters come back down. Oldest has a notebook in her hands. She stands at the table and says she’s sorry that she has to read things from a paper, but that’s just where she is. I say that’s totally okay and fiance does too. She says “number one, I’m sorry we’re not on the same page emotionally. And number two…… these are just not worth saying”. She flips her notebook shut dramatically. Fiancé says “it’s worth it to me, and I know it’s worth it to my future wife.” Sister says “If I said them, it would ruin our relationship forever.” She sits down and smiles at us.
  • I am frozen. I cannot talk. I am quietly sobbing in my chair, and continue to cry until we leave.
  • Father says “okay, so do we just wanna move on, or pick this up later?” Many people chime in that they just want to move on. It feels like a switch flips. Everyone starts small talk and telling each other to have a good week. The sister says “I want to beat someone at something. Does anyone want to play a game?” I am crying and trying to move towards the door. The mother and father approach me and give me hugs. The sisters and husband do not acknowledge me at all. Everyone else says their goodbyes and fiance and I move towards the door.
  • As I reach the door, sister calls out to me “goodbye, (me).” She sounds annoyed, but I’m grateful she said something. I turn around to try to go say goodbye. It takes me a second to move through the people in the hallway, but I pop in the room. She is faced away from the hall. Her mother tells her to turn around, and I wave goodbye and say “bye, (sister)”. She rolls her eyes, scoffs at me, and turns to her mother while throwing her hands in the air. I begin crying in earnest, get pretty angry, and run out the door to the car.
  • I message her on the way back home, and saying I was trying to give her space and wasn’t trying to leave without saying goodbye, I just didn’t know what she needed and didn’t want to trigger her. I said thank you for saying goodbye, and I really hope you have a good week. To this day, has never responded to this. I wish I had never sent it.

The aftermath:

• Fiance asks me to change the date to September 14, but tells me his sister won’t get an invite until she apologizes. I tell him all the things that would suck about that date, that it would really hurt. He says he wants to come their direction a bit but hold a boundary with the date. I tearfully agree after several days of discussion, but tell him I need him to just be ready to plan with me, and I need a lot of reassurance why we’re doing this. He says if we do this he will focus on our wedding and we can just build a happy date, and that he’ll be here for building our marriage.
• The next week he goes to tell his family the date is changed. They apparently apologize to him. They ask him to ask me what they can do to make things better, but not one of them reaches out to me, or offers an apology.
• I try to sit down to plan wedding things with him, and he tells me he just doesn’t have the energy for it. This continues for a full two weeks after we change the date. As I mentioned above, he had a conversation with them… this took up a whole evening, and a day before and after for him to decompress. After two weeks, I tell him this is too painful. We need to not get married this day. It’s using a date to send a message, and it is not only inconvenient and would cost me a lot, but it’s also not what the day is supposed to be about. It is our day, not the family’s day, especially with how we’ve been treated. We cancel the 14th.
• About a month later he finally tells them they need to talk to me, not through him. They each reach out, but each attempt is pretty rough and clearly not wanting to make things right, just argue their point more. I don’t respond to these.
• He begins to go to family events without me. He asks each time if it would hurt my feelings if he went. Every time, I say yes. I want to be there too, but I want to feel safe to go, and that we need to resolve this before I’m comfortable going. He goes anyway. This happened 4 times.
• I beg him, time and time again, to please set a date. We begin to talk of eloping on September 28th and doing a party later. I tell him I’m great with this plan, and when he’s ready to, start the conversation to out details like location for eloping and a date for a reception. I ask him to take the lead on this because I don’t know what he wants anymore and he’s been holding it up since December. He agrees and says he wants to take charge of that. He never does.
• Four. Long. Months. No action. Several friends and our counselor encourage him to just select a date and move forward with building a future together, that the family stuff can get ironed out later. He does nothing.
• I beg him to choose me, set boundaries with the family, explain we can’t show up until things are resolved. He says he wants to, that he agrees boundaries are needed. He doesn’t set one.
• April 6, he says he wants to talk more about his feelings before setting a date. I say okay, but if we can’t have a date by a month, we need to call it quits. I can’t hang on much longer. He agrees, confidently tells me that by May 6, it won’t even be a problem, he’s so sure of it.
• We spend a lot of time talking about family and needing boundaries in April. No concrete discussion of a date, but when I ask about a date, he keeps saying he’s “planning on Sep 28”.
• May 6 comes and goes. No date. I am dejected, despondent. I leave the ring on, trying to give him some more time, and honestly because I can’t handle taking it off yet.
• Mother’s Day comes. He doesn’t attend family gatherings. We did not discuss this. It was his decision. I am not even with him this day. Younger sister texts me and asks “Is (fiance) allowed to come to Mother’s Day.” I immediately panic and start sobbing. I screenshot to fiance and ask him to handle. I tell him this is why I’ve been asking for boundaries. Asking if Alex has permission from me like I’m a parent is inappropriate and I’m not comfortable with being treated this way.
• He tells younger sister this was inappropriate and finally sends a message in the family chat, explaining this has all not been handled well and apologizing for not taking charge of the situation before. He tells them that priorities will be changing, and while he loves them all, I am his first priority. He explains this will take some time before we’re able to talk again. (Again, snaps. It took a long long time but it was well said and a huge step.)
• His younger sister sends an apology that is literally “I’m sorry my message hurt you. Everyone’s feelings are valid but you don’t have to like them I suppose.” She also begs me to help her understand what’s happening from my end and please let us enjoy each other’s company. I do not respond that night.

The broken engagement:

• On May 14, I take the ring off as gently as I can, explaining that if he isn’t ready to set a date with me, it doesn’t seem he’s ready for marriage, but I’m not abandoning him and I still want a future with him. He tries to stop me from doing this and says he was trying, that he would mention aiming for September 28 to elope. I ask him if he thinks he needed to be more specific. He say yes. I remind him he agreed to lead the conversation of planning our day together, and that hasn’t happened. He says he understands and he’s sorry. The ring comes off that night.
• I spend some time alone last weekend, processing in nature. Took our dog camping and trail running. Left him with some questions to process. Came back to him explaining that everything in his life is falling apart right now, he’s terrified he’s behind at work, and he needs a bit of time to right those things before getting married. Explains he knows all these things are bad because he’s not set a date or taken action. Tells me he wants me to have no question that he’s prioritizing me, but needs a second to organize his life. I say this is a good idea, and that I could also use more time to process.
• I finish a kind and calm response to his younger sister, explaining in vague terms our hurt, saying I can’t show up for a relationship without kindness and respect, asking for clarification on her apology from Mother’s Day, and explaining that while I can’t share details, we can’t move forward right now.
  • The response is….. a lot. She explained away her sister’s tantrum as a meltdown and says that I need to recognize that’s how she processes feelings, it’s just neurodivergence. Tells me it’s my fault for not showing up and obviously I just need more time to be okay with it, which is why I’ve been removed from all group chats. Says she’s talked to everyone in the family and has heard the same thing about me, and that if anyone needs to change their minds, she will handle talking with them about that. (?!?!?) Tells me it’s up to me to fix this and when I’m ready they’re all waiting for me to come back so we can be a family again. Thanks me for opening up to her, says she’s honored. Tells me kindness is a given but respect has to be earned and they haven’t disrespected me at all. Says they’re all ready to move on.
  • Fiance has not yet seen this message, but it has caused me a lot of pain. He knows it was sent and has heard some of my frustration with it. Told me he wants to set boundaries with his family, this is all his fault for not taking action, and he’s very sorry. I tell him I appreciate it but I can’t forgive him anymore until he takes action.
• That text made me realize I can’t just continue talking to him like everything is fine. I told him today that I love him very deeply but until he can take steps to protect me, he has become a part of this unsafe pattern for me to stay in. He apologized, profusely, for not being able to take care of me how I deserve right now, told me he just needs a bit of time to get his house in order, and we set a date next week to meet up.

I see all of this as (ex?)-fiance struggling to break from this enmeshment cycle. It seems to me he struggles to confront things in his family and say how he feels, likely due to how the family reacts. I know how hard it is to learn to set boundaries, especially with toxic family. He is trying, taking steps, moving towards me, but it is so slow. I don’t want to abandon him, but I also need to figure out where my limit is. I cannot do this forever. I am in an apartment that I have to leave in October, as I told my landlord I would leave then when we originally set a date. I have a car that I can afford, but would downgrade if we were not merging our lives to save some money. I’m trying, so hard, to be supportive and help him open up about his feelings, but I don’t know how to protect myself. This is incredibly traumatic for me: a family who is emotionally abusive and gaslighting me into thinking this is all fine, people screaming at me and pounding things, not knowing where I’m living, my future being dependent on people who don’t care about my needs or apologize for hurting us.
We have gotten advice of one counselor, and recently he got the perspective of a friend. He isn’t talking to any other people about this and I believe it’s hard for him to see the situation clearly with 5 family members telling him to do one thing, and just me, a friend and our counselor telling him to prioritize our marriage.
Anybody who has been through similar things… help? How do I support him while also protecting myself? Any tips for helping enmeshed partners break the cycle?
TLDR: fiancé is trying to break out of an enmeshed family, and struggling with setting boundaries for the first time. Has not set a wedding date in 6 months because of all the stress. How do I protect myself here?

Before telling about my experience, let me introduce myself. I am Ahmet. In August last year, I lost my wife Ceyda and my daughter Gamze, my only princess, in a traffic accident. The car Ceyda was driving went under a truck. After my parents' deaths, I thought nothing could hurt me more than this. I'm all alone now. Believe me, I have never gone out in the past year except to go to work. I work in a quarry. Most of the time when I'm at home, I just stare at the wall and think about them sitting across from me. One day, I was browsing a second-hand product site on my phone. I came across the colorless statue of a very beautiful woman who was combing her hair. It strangely caught my attention. As I looked at the woman, it was as if I saw Ceyda. I immediately called the seller.
"Hello?"
"Hello, hello. I'm Ahmet. I saw the statue you offered for sale on the internet. If it is still for sale, I want to buy it tomorrow."
"Of course, I will text you the address."
"Okay then, see you tomorrow."
After I hung up the phone, the seller sent me the address via text message. He wanted me to be there at 07:30 pm.
I felt like I was really going to see my wife tomorrow. A feeling I had never experienced before was swirling inside me. I don't even know how to describe it. I couldn't sleep until the morning. After work, I got ready and took my car with a box at the back and headed towards the address. I was driving by looking through navigation. I never opened it and looked until I started going to the address. The address showed a village 27km away from the city. I was starting to move away from the city. I started to see the signs of the village and now I entered a path. There was a real gloom on the road. The trees were so thick and looked like they came out of a horror movie that they blocked out the sky and cast a slight darkness on the ground. When I finally entered the village, I took out my phone to call the seller. The village looked as if it had been abandoned. There was no one outside. As far as I could see, there were 6 houses not too close to each other. The houses were made of wood and none of the lights were on except for one house. The seller did not answer my phone call. I pulled the car over and went downstairs. As I looked around in the darkness, I had the feeling that I was being watched.
At this exact moment my phone rang. The seller of the statue was calling.
"Hello?"
“Brother, I think you have come. “I see a car outside.”
"Yes I came. Where are you?"
“I'll be with you in a moment.” He said and hung up the phone.
I put my phone in my pocket and took out my cigarette from my other pocket and lit it. While I was looking around again, I saw a black silhouette in front of the white curtain of the house in front of me, the lights of which were off. This image scared me a little. I think he realized I was looking at him and slowly ducked under the curtain and disappeared. It was getting darker and the dimly lit street lamps were illuminating the areas directly below them due to their distance from each other.
“It was Ahmet, wasn't it?”
Startled, I turned back.
"You scared me. “Y-yes, Ahmet.” I said.
"Welcome. "I'm Recep, let's go to the house right across the street." Said. Pointing to the house whose silhouette I had just seen.
“Your village is very quiet. "It looks like no one is alive." I said with a small smile.
“Let's say they are not actually very hospitable. They don't go out much when they know someone is coming. "Get off, the genie plays ball, you see." He said with a straight face.
We started walking towards the house and Recep started talking again.
“This house was my grandmother's house. It wasn't long ago that he passed away. He was dealing with slightly different things. Anyway, I started selling the valuable things I saw in his house. She has no children other than my father, and I am her only grandchild. In short, whatever remained of him became mine.” Said.
“My condolences, Mr. Recep. If you don't mind, there's something I'm curious about. What kind of different things did he do? I said curiously.
“You'll see it when you enter the house.” He said sternly and unlocked the door.
I stepped inside behind Recep, trying to reassure myself by thinking that what I had just seen in the window was some kind of optical illusion.
There was a strong musty smell inside. The items were really old. Some of the rooms had things hanging from the ceiling. I couldn't understand what they were. But from the moment I entered the house, I felt like someone was walking with me right behind my neck.
“There it is!” said Recep in a loud voice. The moment I saw the statue, I literally forgot everything. I approached him and touched his face.
“How can you be so much like her?” I said.
"To who?" asked Recep.
"Ha? Well, nothing important. I just thought out loud, I guess.” I said. Recep continued talking.
“I have seen this statue in this house for as long as I can remember. But I guess my grandmother couldn't find a place for this statue. Every time I came, I would see it either in a different place or in a changed direction. Who knows what difficulties that old woman had to endure. Anyway, as you can see, my grandmother was the healer of this village.” He said, turning towards my face. I just looked at him like I didn't understand and he continued talking.
“I always saw him making amulets for someone. Protective things. Although I don't understand much, he used lard, soap, little dolls and always a piece of paper. I've never been someone who knows much about this business. "He always said he did it to protect someone." He said and put his hand on the statue's shoulder. Just because I don't understand much about these things;
"Really? How nice. “My condolences again.”
"Thank you. Well, let's carry this to your car. You're taking it, aren't you?
“Y-y-yes I get it.” I said and grabbed the statue by its feet. Just as we picked up the statue and walked towards the door, the door slammed shut. I suddenly turned my head in that direction with a start. Recep motioned with his head for me to take down the statue and open the door.
"I told you. They are not very hospitable. “They started playing games with us.” said Recep.
"Is it a game? Kids? "I didn't hear any footsteps, maybe the wind blew it." I said, but there was really no wind blowing outside.
“Not the kids! Not the wind! JINNS!” he said, looking into my eyes and continuing his words.
“This happens every time I call someone to sell something from this house. "They don't want us to take the furniture out of the house, they have adopted it all." He said in a flat and steady voice.
“Look brother. "I don't know much about such things, but if it means getting into trouble, let's not do this transaction." I said.
“Nothing will happen, open the door and let's load this into your car.” Said.
We loaded the statue into the car and I made sure that the lock of the back case was securely locked. I turned around and extended my hand to greet Recep, but he wasn't behind me. He walked a little towards his grandmother's house, stopped, and had his back turned to me.
"Recep! "You didn't take the money." I called out.
“..." he didn't answer.
"Recep!" I called out again and he turned around and came to me. He reached out and took the money.
"Take care of yourself." He said dully and took a few steps back.
“You too.” I said and started walking towards the driver's seat to get into my car. As I opened the door, I saw Recep looking at me from my rearview mirror, one step behind me, and I quickly turned back. But he wasn't behind me. He was still standing in the same place and looking at me expressionlessly.
“What the hell kind of place is this?” I mumbled and got into my car and started driving home. There was about 5 km left until I reached home, and since I started going back, I had a deep sense of peace inside me. Finally, I returned home and barely dragged the statue and left it in my bedroom, right in front of the window. His face was turned to the glass. I looked at the clock and it was showing 11:27 pm. Not being away from home for a long time and carrying the statue really tired my body. I immediately threw myself into bed and fell asleep immediately. When I woke up to go to work in the morning to the sound of my alarm, my eyes first fell on the statue. His face was turned towards me. I'm pretty sure I turned it towards the glass. How can this happen? Thinking that maybe I woke up groggily at night and turned it around like this, I got ready and went to work. 2. At night I went back to bed to sleep. A clicking sound coming from the living room caught my attention, but I ignored it and tried to sleep. I was about to fall asleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The statue was still facing me. She looked like Ceyda. I ran my hand over her stiff hair, turned her towards the window, and returned to my bed. But it's still the same feeling. I was feeling restless, angry... and many other emotions that I cannot describe at the same time. The living room lamp turned on and went off by itself.
“What the hell is going on!” I said to myself.
The lamp blinked again. I stood up feeling very frightened and started walking towards the living room. I stuck my head out and looked around in the darkness, but I couldn't see anything. I took 3 steps forward and turned on the living room lamp. It looked empty. When I turned off the lamp and turned around, I saw a woman's silhouette entering my bedroom with quick steps.
"HEY!" I shouted and ran into the room after him.
There was nothing in the room, but the statue caught my attention. He was looking towards the living room. Well, I didn't do that. When I turned back, I saw a silhouette walking towards me from the living room. I extend my hand forward.
"DON'T DO THAT! PLEASE! WHO ARE YOU?"
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in bed, sweating profusely. I looked at the statue. He was facing the window and it was 03:27 am. I realized that I was dreaming.
I went to the toilet to splash some water on my face. When I started washing my face, a sound of scissors started coming from the shower cabin with its doors closed. When I suddenly turned my head towards the frosted glass of the shower cabin, I saw a black silhouette standing behind it.
I slowly pulled the door aside. Inside was a woman whose body was black from burning and full of wounds. He was cutting his dirty hair. When she started to turn her head towards me, I saw that it was Ceyda. He looked at my face and started grunting as if he was trying to say something.
“C-C-Ceyda?” I said, surprised and scared.
In front of Ceyda, my daughter put her burned body forward, just like her mother, and looked at me. His eyes were completely black. I stepped back from the toilet and closed the door.
I turned around and lifted my head. Ceyda screamed in my face.
When I opened my eyes again, I woke up in my bedroom. The statue's face was facing me. It was 03:28 am. I heard walking coming from the living room to my bedroom. I immediately jumped up and ran to close and lock the door. Just as I was about to close my door, the bell rang. I was torn between whether to open the door or not, and it rang again. I started walking slowly towards the apartment door. I looked through the door hole and there was no one there. As I was about to turn around and go back to the bedroom, this time someone literally punched the door. I suddenly turned and opened the door, but again there was no one there. I shut the door.
"No matter what happens in the morning, I will take the statue of my pussy code back to that man." I said to myself and went back to my room.
The fear inside me was now replaced by irresistible anger. I returned to my bed, kicking and punching the furniture in the house, and pressed my head into the pillow and started crying. I heard a knock on the bedroom door, which was open at the time, and I turned around. My wife and daughter were looking at me by the door. Their skin was rotten and their eyes were black. They were smiling at me in a disturbing way. My body was literally locked up. I couldn't even scream. I don't know how long they stood there, but when the morning prayer began to be recited, they turned around and walked towards the hall. After about 2 minutes, I looked all over the house but there was nothing. I immediately loaded the statue into my car and headed towards the village. It was 07:02 am when I arrived at the village.
"Which house does this guy live in? RECEEEEEP!" I shouted as I took the statue down from my vehicle.
"RECEEEP! I DON'T WANT YOUR STATUE, NOR YOUR MONEY! JUST TAKE THAT BACK FROM ME!" I shouted. As I raised my head and looked around, something terrifying caught my attention.
There were black silhouettes in the windows of each of the 6 houses and they were literally watching me. Their faces or clothes were not visible. Just black silhouettes.
"FUCK! ENOUGH!" I quickly jumped into my car and headed home.
Maybe I'm going crazy, or maybe loneliness isn't that good for me anymore. But as God is my witness, I saw everything I experienced with my own eyes. After the incident, I called Recep, but the answering machine said there was no such number. Ever since I removed the statue from my house, everything has been fine and everything is the same as before. Actually... in a way it is. Namely, every night after this incident, there is a knock on my bedroom door at 04:00. My wife and daughter are looking at me, holding hands with their rotting bodies. But... they're not smiling anymore. In one way or another. I'm not crazy and... I still enjoy sharing my bedroom with my family.

The saying that Dazai left the mafia only because of Odasaku and that he doesn't care about being on the light is a famous saying in this fandom. But is it really true? No it isn't,and I'm not saying this because this is my head canon, I'm saying this according to the canon content.If you pay attention to Dazai's character development until now, you will realize that Dazai wanted his life to have a meaning more than he wanted to die, but he was unable to find that meaning.When he was 15 years old, he hoped that he could find this reason in port mafia, but as time passed, he realized that there was nothing for him there. But despite this, he continued hoping that he might finally find a reason, but deep down he knew that he wasn't going to find it.

“I want to see the Port Mafia burn.” “Didn’t the Port Mafia take you in and care for you?” “They did.” “Then why do you want to see it burn?” Dazai surely heard his question, yet he did not reply. His eyes wandered in silence as if he were searching for some far-off place until his lips eventually curled into a smile—a grievous smirk that would make anyone shriek at the sight of it. “I’m bored of it already.” Verlaine’s eyes narrowed. He stared intently at Dazai, seemingly in search of his true intentions. Dazai glanced back at him, perhaps amused by this, then he muttered as if he was talking to himself, “I couldn’t find anything in the end.”(storm bringer)

Dazai didn't realize that the deeper he fell into darkness, the more impossible it would be for him to find a reason to live.After all, he was not the same person he had been in the beginning.At first, he was a damaged child, but after working in the mafia, he became a killer, a killer whose hands were stained with the blood of many people.He was doing what was logically beneficial to the mafia without any morals just like Mori, Because no matter what, mafia should do what is most rational and profitable for them.

“Well, there you have it, Dazai,” Mori said, smirking. “Chuuya is the most violently powerful person in this room. But in the Mafia, violence and brute force are merely a couple of tools at our disposal. Our true strength lies in controlling rational action by any means necessary. In this case, the disadvantage of opposing me outweighs the advantage. Just some food for thought.” “I guess I see what you mean, but what are you lecturing me for?”(Dazai, Chuuya, Age Fifteen novel)

I think the things that happened to Odasaku was a flip for Dazai.What Mori did to Odasaku was not unfamiliar for Dazai, a logical rational move for the advancement of port mafia without regard for morality. Deep down Dazai knew that Mori's move was cruel. He realized this when this logic hurt someone dear to him.He felt that there was someone in the world that he didn't want to lose, something that made life better for him.

you purposely invited the enemy organization to Yokohama.” “Dazai.” Ougai, who had been listening in silence, cut Dazai off for the first time. “What remarkable inference. There is nothing that needs correcting. I have just one thing I’d like to ask: What’s wrong with that?” “……” “I told you—I am always thinking about the organization as a whole. Just like you see here, I received a Skilled Business Permit, so the government has more or less given us approval to conduct our illegal activities. And right now, Sakunosuke Oda is risking his life to eliminate a troublesome, violent group. It’s a win-win situation. So why are you so angry?” Dazai didn’t say a word. That was just about the first time he’d ever been unable to articulate his feelings. “I…” —“There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.” —“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.” “I just…” His voice came out strained. “I just don’t get it. You were the one who tipped Mimic off about the orphans’ safe house. No one else could’ve found out about the location I chose. You killed those kids to get Odasaku to fight Mimic’s leader because he is the only one who can defeat him.”(Dark era novel)

The second flip was given to Dazai when Odasaku told him that he was not going to find the reason he was looking for in the mafia. And this is the part where I think some people may have misunderstood.It is not out of character for Dazai to be willing to leave the mafia because this was Odasaku's last wish.And Odasaku certainly wished he could help Dazai.But Dazai didn't take Odasaku's words as Odasaku's last wish, but listened to them as Odasaku's last advice.It was at the moment of Oda's death that Dazai realized how much Odasaku understood him, Odasaku was someone dear to him and now he realized that he also understood him? Dazai was helpless at that moment,The last foundations and hope that had kept the mentality that he could find a reason to survive in the mafia were completely shattered in an instant, and his friend was dying before his eyes. It was at that moment that Dazai desperately ASKED Odasaku for help, asking him what he should do? And Odasaku said in response to go to the side that saves people.

“Dazai… There’s something I want to say.” “Don’t. Stop. We might still be able to save you. No, we will save you. So don’t say such—” “Listen.” Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai’s. “You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live…” “Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that—?” “You won’t find it,” Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. “You should know that. Whether you’re on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.” —“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.” That was when Dazai first realized: Sakunosuke Oda understood him much more than he’d ever imagined—right up to his very heart, almost to the center of his mind. Dazai didn’t realize until then that someone had known him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted from the bottom of his heart to know something. He asked the man before him: “Odasaku… What should I do?” “Be on the side that saves people,” Odasaku replied. “If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.” “How do you know?” “I know. I know better than anyone else.” Dazai gazed into Odasaku’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction. It was clear that those words were supported by some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Odasaku was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that. That was why he could bring himself to believe it. “…Okay. I will.” “‘People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die,’ huh…? He was…right…” The color in Odasaku’s face gradually disappeared until he was almost completely pale. He smiled. “I could really go for some of that curry…” With trembling fingers, Odasaku reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before sluggishly placing one in his mouth. By the time he pulled out a match, his fingers were too weak to hold it anymore. Dazai took the match and lit the cigarette for him. Then Odasaku closed his eyes, smoking the cigarette as he smiled, filled to the brim with satisfaction. The cigarette fell to the ground. Dropping onto his knees by Odasaku’s side, Dazai looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. His tightly shut lips faintly trembled. The smoke from the cigarette rose straight up to the top. Nobody said a word.(Dark era)

Chaos
A night incomprehensible power that corrupts and controls all that it touches. So deep does the power run that even your very mind may not be your own, your limbs controlled like puppet
But there is one day where the power wains. The day you first fell
For many the day is lost to time. Many wouldn't care even if they could remember, though for some it's the one day they keep living for
Today is that day. The day they all fell so many years ago
So too does a burning meteor fall to the surface of the desert world. Dusty sand turned to glass by repeated impacts. But it's the only spot on the entire world.
Here Atalanta lands, bellowing in rage as she rips apart a deamon with her chain axes. Painting heavily the axes fall from her hand, landing in two preexisting trenches, the only time they leave her hands now
She stumbles forward. Pain wracks her body, as she fights against the nails embedded in her skull. Psychic red lighting starts crackling down her body as she falls limp into the sand. A bellow of pain to the sky, terrible terrible pain, almost more then she can bear, pain that intensities each year as the nails bite deeper and deeper
But she endures. She has too. It's the only day she can remember her Rose. Tears flow from her eyes, from the pain and sorrow. She remembers how her Rose would wipe away those tears, and tell her everything would be alright. Of those soft fingers, so unaccustomed to battle, running through what was left of her hair. Of the song that always came with it. The only way she could sleep
Struggling to form words, both from her mutated mouth and through the pain, she manages to barely croak out "You. Are. My. Sun. Shine. My. Only." Tears flow freely as she chokes her way through the song
Elsewhere at the same time a figure orders guards to stand by the door. Orders to execute any who dare to try and enter. As the doors shut and lock behind a trap clicks into a ready position. Primed plasma waits to greet any who enter the door. The figure walks forwards. Withdrawing a key from inside their shirt. Unlocking a chest to reveal bloodstained sand within
The figure falls to their knees. Staring at a picture taped to the inside of the lid. It's her, Atalanta and the figure. Rose sighs and she looks over the sand taken from Nuceria. The blood from the last stand of her friends. Tears form holes in the sand, as she recalls her face. Of her calloused hands that would grab her to calm down. Of the way what left of her hair felt. Of how adorable her face looked when she was asleep. Of how calm her face looked
Pain shoots through him, coming from his hand. He gasps and doubles over, pain shooting from the one nail he manged to take into himself. He cries, unable to fulfill his promise of offering her a normal life. Bitting through the pain he starts singing to the picture "you are my sunshine, my only sunshine.." It's all he can do to remember her
//////////////
Rusted iron gates slam shut. The ruinous powers kept at bay through sheer force of will. A gaunt pale figure kneels amongst the garden. Tending to the plants, taking special care of the Lillys. They where her Lillys favorite. Tears watter the ground as Morticas hands fall still, memories of the two of them in their garden. Of the first plant she managed to have bloom. Of how her love looked with a flower tucked behind their ear
She cries openly as she keeps working. Determined to keep the garden in as best of shape as she can by herself. Making sure to set some of the best flowers to press over the year. To show her Lilly of what she managed to grow all by herself. A fresh sob as she wishes she wasn't so alone, never once regretting sending her away for her own sake
On Barbarus a Lilly rests in the mud. Gathering it he starts to apply it to his armor. Mental checklists being ticked over as he prepars to make another excursion into Nurgles realm. Care must be taken to avoid infection. But the special mud of her home can offer sanctuary, temporarily at least.
She takes care with a special package. Lilly looks upon a flower of the same name. A memo she plans to leave this time. Uncaring if it cause him to be be detected. Determined to at least remind his love that she hasn't been forgotten. And that they will see each other again
////////////////
A crystal note rings throught the room As a chest descends. As Magnolia takes it and opens to reveal loose sheets of paper, several books, and a few miniatures. She sets the supplies lovingly on the table as she reads through the notes of their past adventures.
Of dragons and kings. Sorcery and sword. Fortune and glory. Tears flow from her singular eye as she looks upon the figures so loving painted by her Starlights hand. Of the two of them on their adventures. Of them as two thieves planning to steal the kings crown. Of the two fighters trying to find glorious death together. Of the two wizards on a quest for knowledge
She said that Starlight didn't need to paint them. That her magic could make them better and have them move around the board. But he always insisted with a smile and kept painting. Tounge sticking out from the corner of his mouth.
Tears blur the figure as she is grateful for his instance on painting them. On being able to have a way to remember the better days
Starlight falls down upon a figure,strange and wrapped light that would cause madness to any who looked at it. But with practiced eased does Starlight gaze upon it. Desperately searching an always shifting sky for a crystal palace.
He sighs as the sky remains muddled. Looking down he sees the figure he just finished painting of them. Of the two of them happily holding each other. Tears fall, threating to ruin the paint. He wraps it back up, determind to place it in her hands
////////////
A statue flies through the air. Impaling the marine that dared to present it. "FAILURE, ITS HORRIBLE" the voice of Fulgrim berates the dying marine "HOW DARE YOU TRY AND SCULPT HER" she slithers away from the corpse and slams the door shut behind her. Into a room completely unbecoming of a servent of the prince of pleasure. Plain and simple, only a few sculptures and paintings adorn the room, faint music playing. Each one causing tears to flow down the angelic face.
Each statue is of her. Back when she still had legs. Back when she still had her Muse. The statues are of good quality. Nothing matching what she or her marines could produce. But each one was painstaking carved by her Muses hand, and for that they were perfect
The music some she composed. Nothing fancy, simple happy tune, no awe inspiring notes that took centuries to hit. No modified body's to better play the instruments.
Collapsing in front of the painting Fulgrim weeps. It's of the two of them. She had it commissioned, it wasn't Muse who painted it but it was a gift. And it showed the two of them happy, rolling in the grass laughing at each other. Pure and simple happiness that could never be replicated by anything in this realm. A wail echos down the hails as the palace goes silent. Everyone living knowing better then to disrupt
Soft notes play around a campfire. Played by a skilled hand as they recall the times spent together. Muse looks off in the stars, wondering why she left him, wondering if it was his fault. Still waiting for an answer
Tears spring to his eyes as he remembers the last time he saw what looked like her. Of the way the beauty remained only skin deep. Of the horrible way she spoke. Of the promise he couldn't keep. The song takes a sour tone as more and more notes are missed. Still he plays on. Knowing that she would always compliment his work
///////////
Petra gazes upon the fortifications she installed. Each one to keep her and her Glove safe. Turning she takes the elevator down into the fort. Down to where he is. She gazes upon him. Knowing she's doing everything to keep him safe.
He hangs, suspended by ambilical cords. Each one connected to a pump regulating his body. A set of bellows pumps his lungs. A wheel forces his heart to beat. Electric shocks force his brain to stay alive.
A tear flows from her eyes. She doesn't feel it over the metal that now replaces her checks. She reaches out and brushes his face with her cold metal fingers. Knowing that she will keep him safe
/////////
Aurelia wails desperately into the void. Today is the day her little light dies. She sobs over his lifeless body. Knowing that tomorrow he will resurrect and be fine. But even a day apart is more then she can bear. After all she sacrificed to get him back. She rocks, craddiling his body in her arms as she counts the seconds for when this day ends.
Elsewhere little light, the part that wasn't corrupted and brought back by chaos, finishes slaying a deamon. Finished extracting information on where she is. A tear flows from his eyes as he knows that he will have to kill his other half to be at peace. Knowing what that will do to her. He sets out, determined to fix himself so he can bring her back into the light
/////////
A figure stalks through the ruined mansion. Treading a path clearly marked in the dust. Heading into the ruined keep.
There she takes a seat on the floor in front of the throne. A skeleton lies on the ground in front of her. Sword through its heart.
Tears land on the aged ribcage as she kneels over the figure crying. The one life Kassandra did care if it was taken. She sobs, tears washing the bones clean as she recalls what should have been her fate. The same sword that should have taken her life.
She sees the flask he left on the ground. And she throws back her head in a howling wail. Rembering in his last moments how he had tried to comfort her
She falls upon the hilt, looking upon the blade like she wants nothing more to take it and end this here and now.
She can't force her body to do such a thing. Remembering the promise she made to him. Of how she wouldn't hurt herself anymore
///////////
Inspired by the postfrom u/KhaosTheory98 on what the corrupted primarchs do to remember their SOs.
Check out my other works here

First/Previous
There’s a place for mourning, but I’ve never known it long enough for comforting myself—the girl wanted to cry and I could scarcely move and when I did work the courage to exercise my muscles, I found the task possibly too great but eventually leveled myself into a sitting position; I was burned badly—the skin of my body up the left side of my body stung like hell and my jacket remained on me only by fate because it was so burned through that it hung off me like a dry heavy rag. The left side of my face didn’t feel right, and I didn’t dare to ask the mourning girl what damage there was.
When I did speak, I croaked out for help in getting to my feet and Gemma, seemingly remembering me, cut her eyes in my direction; there was something nasty in her and it took no prodding from me to get from her the nastiness.
“How many people need to die so you live?” she asked it bluntly and petted the dog that remained by her side. It was the question I’d asked myself so many times already. I didn’t have the answer for her. She added, “Maybe if you’d done something.” Her head shook and twinkles remained in her eyes; the dog went from her, trotted across the dry earth, and sniffed the corpse of the Alukah—or what remained of the beast anyhow.
Somehow, in the last moments of the boy’s life, he’d gotten a shot off on the thing, but whatever the struggle, it seemed too late to save his own life. “Help me up?” I asked the girl again.
Gemma opened her mouth like she wanted to say something then stopped, clapped her mouth shut then she angled herself onto her own feet from where she’d been sitting and moved to me, and I climbed her arm to stand. My left leg was hobbled near useless beneath me and so I held around the girl’s neck on that side, and she walked me near the terrible scene where the boy lay beside his kill.
Trouble, being a dog, did what a hungry dog does and sniffed the boy’s body and pushed its snout where the open throat was, the place where the head should’ve been; in a moment I was let go and fell to the ground, landing hard on my knees; the pain which jolted through me as I slammed onto the ground sent my vision white entirely and only once I’d blinked I realized the girl had gone after the dog. She lifted her leg, and the end of her boot met the animal’s ribs, “Get away from it!” she shrieked at the animal. It squealed perhaps more from surprise than hurt and scampered towards the road, but remained yards out, watching us with its head lowered.
“It’s only a dog,” I tried.
She ignored me and was to the ground too, beside the fallen boy. I sat and watched, and she punched the dirt till finally she did cry, and it was heavy; the girl’s shoulders rolled and her whole-body shook, and she clapped her hands across her mouth like she didn’t dare scream. “We should bury him,” she said through a terrible muffle, “Burn him?” she posed the question to the air over her head. “We can’t leave him out here for anything to get. We can’t carry him. Something should be done about it.”
“Help me up.”
“And?” she twisted around where she knelt, a long expression, elderly, deep with grief, “We won’t make it.”
I shifted under my knees to relieve pressure from my left leg and nodded.
“No food. No water. Andrew’s dead,” she pushed her fingers into the dry earth by her hand and brought up a clump of it, letting it fall through her fist.
“I told you to stay home.”
She chucked the dirt at me and spat, “Shut up! You would’ve probably given him up long ago if you’d travelled this way with him alone. Coward!” She sobbed more.
I finally put myself into a seat on the dirt, tried to lift my arms to support my chin, but through the coughing, through the pain in my ribs, I could not—my vision listed lazily across to the dog and it still looked on at us, sniffing the ground, moving in semicircles, but slowly closing the gap between where it had run from us.
“You’re not a coward,” she said, “You’re not, but I hate you so badly.” Her voice was a dry growl.
I looked again at the boy’s corpse then at her. “I’m sorry. It looks like I’ve put you in a real bad spot.” I laid back tentatively, nursing my sides. A dirt nap would’ve done me well. “Take Trouble. Get on without me then. Just go west. If you’re quiet, you could travel at night.” I sighed and stared at the blue sky, the wisps of clouds. “Go quick. Follow the big road. I-40. Maybe there’s signs that say it—there once was. Follow it west until you see Babylon. It’d be hard to miss. Three or four days if you push it.” I sighed again. “If you’re quiet, you can travel at night. Quiet and low. Watch for fiends. Keep Trouble close. Quick now.”
I’d closed my eyes, and I heard her shift and then I felt a shadow over me; upon opening my eyes, Gemma stared down at me—a long frown was traced across the lower half of her face.
She blinked for a long second. “Get up,” she said, “Get up. I’m not going to drag you all the way there, so get up.”
I put out my hand for a lift and was surprised by both her finesse and her strength; she slipped beneath my arm, and we moved to the body—she said bye and stopped only for a moment to lift the shotgun beside him—she slid the strap over her own shoulder while I awkwardly held to her lightly by the shoulder. She called Trouble and the mutt came after at a distance.
We took down the road worse than tired, but the stink of the dead beast remained in my nose; the Alukah was dead—what other foul creatures remained ahead?
Delirious hours went by until it was night, and I could scarcely gather myself to know what direction I was headed; Gemma found someplace, some hole somewhere for us to sleep. Then it was day again and all I knew was that one leg fell after the other in a gross tandem limp. Consciousness was blinks like weird time travel, and it was only when it was night again and we’d found a dead old tree sticking from the ground—that image remains—and we sat by its massive trunk and looked out on the road (the road I thought was the I-40) and I’d only just closed my eyes when I felt something pressed to my mouth.
“Drink,” said Gemma.
I latched to the opening of whatever gourd or canteen she had, clamping my eyes tighter because if it was a dream, I didn’t want to know. I drank and drank until she yanked it from my grasp.
There beneath the tree, black like it was at night, a moment of cool clarity came to me; the water starvation had taken its toll. “Where’d you get that?” was all I could hope to ask.
The girl whispered, “I wanted it, and it was. It just was.”
I slept with the dog across my lap; I could feel no more pain from my left leg, but the smell of the wound tipped that it was likely festering. What should I do if I were to lose a leg?
The night we slept beneath the tree, I had a terrible nightmare about a boy in flames and I couldn’t tell if the boy was me or someone else; recollecting tends to obscure whatever original message there is in dreams and the further they’re recalled, the runnier they become. Maybe the boy was me or it was Maron, or it was Andrew. It doesn’t matter. What I know is that none of it’s good.
In waking, I remember only small pieces: the sound of others, the smell of horse manure, the smoke from an oil carriage. Someone took my pants and threw blankets over me. I rocked prone in the back of an oil carriage and Gemma sat alongside me and the driver spoke with her, but I don’t remember what was said. A dog barked—Trouble?
I tasted medicine and water—there was the stink of salve.
The hum of the oil carriage was broken by a moment of Gemma pushing me with her hand hard and she whispered, “The arch!” and I knew what she meant.
I had not another moment of clear thought until I awoke in a near sterile room. Whatever pain was in my body radiated rather than stung and I could see from the high bed the window which looked out on a wide city street from stories high. I blinked and for a moment wished a great catastrophe would take me from the delusion—it was no delusion and within moments, I accepted this and tried to raise myself to a sit.
My left leg was wrapped and looked strangely pale where it was left without a blanket and my sides ached and I felt dizzy. Blistered scarring ran like bumpy rivers up the left side of my body. I wanted to vomit, pushed myself against the head of the bed and steadied my breathing then called out a sickly question of hello.
From the far corner of the room, a woman in a wizard hat pushed her head through the doorway to look on me then rushed in to ask me how I was, and I told her, and she said to relax.
A light vegetable platter was brought with a pitcher of water, and I couldn’t eat enough for it to matter, but I drank plenty so that I refilled my cup several times.
Suzanne spilled through the doorway, a concerned expression locked on their face and they put those eyes right on me and I couldn’t squirm away and then the eyes softened and Suzanne approached the bed, waved the other wizard away and they sat on the bed by my leg and for a moment I thought I’d aged them by my presence because the shadow that cut across their brow when they glanced away twisted that stunning glow into a far caricature. Then Suzanne smiled a bit and touched my hand and they whispered, “They’ve not given you a mirror?” They nodded, “Sedatives.”
They reached into their flowy robes to withdraw a hand mirror and pushed it into my outstretched hand.
I’d set myself on fire, so it wasn’t so much a surprise when I saw the scarred skin where the flames had eaten their way up my body; the left side of my face was unrecognizable, purple, and still blistered. I touched the place there and traced my fingers along the scars till I came to the place where my ear normally sat—it was a shriveled scabby thing. The corners of my mouth glanced upward even though I felt different about it. I sat the mirror to my lap and looked at Suzanne.
They squeezed my hand. “You were late—very late—but I didn’t know why. I thought you were dead.” They stared at the floor again. “You’ve had a terrible fever for more than a week. It didn’t seem as though you’d wake.”
“Am I ugly now?”
Those hazel eyes met my own and I couldn’t hide my smile even though my eyes began to water—I blinked the wet away. Suzanne visibly bit their tongue and shook their head. “You were always ugly.”
I choked on laughter and held onto my ribs; the mirror clattered from my lap to the floor and Suzanne reached for it to deposit the thing back into their robes. They chuckled too and their shoulders relaxed even though the dark circles on their eyes remained, the tired look of a person—had they lost sleep for me?
I reached out and grabbed their hand as hard as I could manage—maybe I hoped for an electric jolt to go along with what I tried to convey, “I love you,” I said it so suddenly; I tried latching.
Just as suddenly, they snaked their own hand from mine and held their fingers together, locked across their knees. “Don’t,” they said, “You said you wouldn’t.”
My head shook, “I mean it. I love you.”
“You’ll stay?”
“I’ve got one more thing to do. One more trip.”
They stood from the bed, visibly shaking.
“One more,” I pleaded, “Then I’ll come, and I’ll stay.”
“Where are you going to go?” Their outrage exploded full force—their hands became fists by their sides, and they took a step from the bed, and I felt myself flinch. “Where could you go in that state?” They motioned at me wildly, “Tell me!”
“I ain’t gonna’ leave right away.”
“You’re delusional. Have they doped you into stupidity?” They screamed.
“This is the first time in a long time that I know what I gotta’ do.”
“No, I don’t think you’ve ever understood what you need to do,” they shook their head then held it in their palm, “No.”
“Please listen to me.”
“I won’t.” And they didn’t; they left the room, slamming the door behind them.
The pain came and went and sometimes it was really so miserable that I couldn’t sleep a wink and I’d spend eternities staring at the dark ceiling in the night and I’d smell the fresh air of Babylon—Alexandria carried in through the window. I’d decided that even if they took my leg because of an infection, I’d strap a peg on and continue on my way; it became a paramount goal in my mind to heal up, get back to Golgotha, and undo what had bothered me for so long. The wizards, with their tonics, their salves, and capsule medicines, took good care of me during my recovery and I was even able to plead a bit of liquor from the attendants to help me sleep through some of those long nights.
The days of bed rest stretched to the point of oblivion and boredom—not even the television on the wall could take my mind from the humdrum (books helped, but it was difficult to focus through the medication for long). Suzanne ceased their visiting, but Gemma came and brought Trouble with her, and the dog became fatter every time I saw it; the girl said the mutt remained anxious and often urinated unprovoked in inappropriate places, but the animal slept okay.
Upon Gemma’s first visit to me she was still a patient in recovery, and she came alone and sat in a chair alongside the bed and told me how I was a low-down liar, and I was.
“I asked about good places in the world, and you knew about this,” said the girl, “You knew about it the whole time.”
“Your dad wanted you home. I was gonna’ take you home. The way it was.” I frowned at myself.
A pang of sadness crept into the corner of her eyes, and she nodded it away, “We made it though.”
I sighed. “There was a time when we were travelling, and I was out of it. You found water. Where’d you find water?”
She cupped her hands, angled forward in the chair so that her elbows rested on her knees. “It just happened. At first, I thought it was something I’d forgotten about—like I’d be so dumb as to forget that I had a whole waterskin—but it just appeared. It just was.” Gemma seemed to think about it for a while—upon watching her there sitting, I noticed that the scars which decorated her skin had healed to the point of faint discolorations and I briefly wondered how long ago that was. “The people here. The pointy hats. They do things like that all the time here. I saw a little girl in the street earlier and she could pull candies from thin air. Things aren’t and then they are. Ish—the old doctor, I guess, that’s been watching over your recovery—he tended to me too—I asked him about it, and he said that lots of people can manifest—that’s what he called it—and that it happens when people are put under extreme pressure. He said quart-of-Saul causes it and once you’ve done it, you can learn how to control it willingly. With time. Like a skill.”
“So, you’re a wizard?”
“I don’t know,” she shook her head, seemingly in disbelief, “Ish said it can be fatal if pushed to its limits. He said that if it’s left unsupervised, it can lead to renal failure—that’s what he said. Lots of the people in this building are here because of it,” she whispered, “The patients here, they have a gray look to them—their skin.” Gemma paused and swiped her hands through her close-cut hair, “How much can a person manifest?”
I clenched my jaw. “The boy?”
She nodded.
“Don’t do it. Don’t you even think about it.”
Gemma swallowed long and audible. “You’re right.” She relaxed into the chair and crossed her arms across her chest, “You said the libraries were big, but I didn’t know there were pictures like what they’ve got.”
“Movies?”
She nodded. “It’s a ridiculous place. I like it. He would’ve liked it. It’s nothing like home. You know, I always thought they cast spells or had some secret pact with demons.” The young girl, looking more like one than ever before, pushed her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes and peered through the cracks of her fingers to look at the television on the wall; her expression remained with the still object briefly before she removed her hands, and she frowned and looked at me again. Gemma’s face hinted at sickliness.
“I can relax,” said the girl, “I can breathe more easily than I have in all my life and that’s because of you,” her frown deepened, “I won’t ever know Andrew’s touch or his smile again and that’s because of you too,” she put up her hand as I opened my mouth in protest, “I do not hate you. I don’t. I can see things better now. Andrew may have been destined to die,” she shook her head, “He had joy and that’s too much for this world.”
Finally, she smiled, “I would’ve died at home. He would have. I know you didn’t let him die. His death is on us both. Dave too. How have you lived with yourself all these years with such a burden, Harlan?”
Under her direct, cool stare I felt more uncomfortable than ever and shifted in the bed. “I don’t think I have.” The answer wasn’t enough but felt honest.
“You shouldn’t act so pitiable all the time.”
Time passed and I did not ache deeply so often.
Isher, the wizened wizard, wore a long beard and kept a tight leathery cap over his crown and moved slowly but spoke in abrupt chirps whenever he came to aid me. He helped me from the bed—as he had begun to do often—and I hobbled slowly with his meager support, and he moved me to the window where I took the wall for support to look on Alexandria from a high point—I’d never seen it from that direction—and the place looked magnificent. Perhaps it was not the magnificence of the place, but the sheer gratitude I felt in seeing it at all. Narrow streets cut through tightly packed stone structures and buildings matched the attire of their citizens with conical pitched roofs. Aqueducts rushed downhill freely and there was music and shows and laughter—I’d never noticed the laughter before. Though the wizard bureaucracy and parliamentary arrangement felt distasteful to me, I could not help but appreciate that I did not smell lingering death; there would be no public executions. When executions happened, it would happen somewhere dark and silent, and no one could look on the dead or defile the corpses (at least not openly).
“You’re quite resilient,” quipped Ish.
I smiled, “I reckon.”
“Suzanne asks about you still.”
“Where have they been?”
“They say it’s painful because you’re leaving. I told them you won’t be leaving until I’ve said so.” The old wizard wiggled his upper lip to dance the mustache there then swiped a hand down his waist-length beard.
“Will my leg heal right, doc?”
He nodded, “You shouldn’t travel for some time. You should stay. There is room.”
I cast my gaze through the window again and saw that he spoke honestly; there was more than enough room there in Alexandria. Their walls were tall, strong, well kept—even clean. Along the skyline, I saw the massive arch which stood higher than all else (the gateway to the west). “You’re very old,” I told Ish.
He snickered and nodded, “Thanks.”
“I mean, you’ve seen enough to know that some things must be done. Don’t you have any regrets?”
“Everyone does,” he said.
“I’ve got one. A big one.”
“You intend on making it right then?”
I nodded.
“If you leave—I’ve not left the city for ages, but I know its dangers well. If you leave, you will likely perish. Is it worth it? You will have ruined the time I’ve spent on your recovery. Worse, you will make at least one person greatly sad. Weigh it. How great is this regret?” He sighed, squeezed my sore shoulder only to release it upon seeing me wince, “You’ve said I’m old and I am. You’ve asked of my regrets. All of us that reach an age have many beyond number and each of us knows that to regret so greatly and live in the past would be a waste of the time we’ve left. Those of us with sense, anyway.”
“So?”
“Don’t be stupid. You’ve the wrinkles and the grays, so there’s no reason for you to play the role of a child.” He sighed once more. “The choices of your life are your own, of course. I will do what a doctor does, but I beg you to not cause unnecessary grief.”
We sat quietly, looking out on the skyline, listening to the cityscape, merely enjoying the glow of the sun.
“You intend on grief?” asked Ish.
“As always,” I said.
Once I was able enough to move on my own, I did so no better than the invalid I’d become and although the people of Babylon were cheery, I did my absolute best to keep from them, maintaining a level of distance. Among the walks I took through the streets, cane in hand, arduous steps, Gemma accompanied me with the dog Trouble, and I felt the girl followed me not because of her care for me but because of familiarity—pity too. I took to the streets at night, customarily to smoke and to take in the cool air; the city lights, predominantly electric, awed the girl still even though she’d spent better than a month there and I saw those lights perhaps for the first time in the way they illuminated her wide eyes. She’d catch me catching her glued to the electric lights and shrug and then she’d piddle about this or that and she talked of Andrew all the time and asked how I felt about things, and I didn’t feel much besides pain which ached through my bones. But I was kind as much as I could be and lied about how I felt.
We’d taken to the foot of the arch, nearest the place where there were cross marks to keep people from tampering with the monument, and I watched the great thing overhead and she did too and I took to a nearby bench; the streets were different from Golgotha both in concept and execution—they were mostly paved and kept clean, relatively. Where Golgotha stood as a testament to human survival, Alexandria was a place of innovation, creativity; it was as though it was a place constructed for living. The walls of buildings had cornices, graffities, there was craftsmanship and flourishes where there was woodwork and where there wasn’t a place for enlightenment through creation, there was at least the growth of trees or hedges lining the avenues; the sound of rushing water was pleasant—aqueducts, free piping.
I finished the cigarette I had and tapped the cane against the ground between my feet and she sat alongside me, ushering Trouble to herself where she withdrew some snack from her pocket, and she fed the dog.
“The first thing you thought of after waking was immediately leaving. I didn’t know someone could be so dumb,” she said.
I smiled and nodded. “Sure.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so dumb.”
“It’s not stupidity that takes me home. It’s—none of your business.”
“I could go with you?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“I’ll be damned if I need to watch you across the wasteland again. I’m done with that. You’re a sorry travelling companion.”
Gemma looked solemn before a smile that might’ve been imagined and then there was silence; moonglow caught in her lengthening hair—it no longer sat so closely to her skull and her face seemed fuller than I’d ever seen it before. Her complexion was clear enough that I could see she owned freckles across her nose. Or maybe I was only then noticing them; her scars—the marks from Baphomet—were nearly gone entirely. “It’s easy to deflect it, isn’t it?”
“Mm.”
“Ish said you’re a fool. Suzanne’s angry with you. Should I be angry at you?” she asked, but before I could say anything, she continued, “Maybe I should. I’m not mad and I don’t think you’re dumb, not really.” She lifted her leg up so that she could sit atop her left foot while lounging there on the bench alongside me. “You’re stuck in the past. Like me. I wake up scared almost every night and reach out in the darkness and—” Trouble nuzzled the girl’s hand, and Gemma petted the dog’s nose delicately with her thumb, “Yes, Trouble’s there to comfort me. But I wake up and I can’t breathe. Sometimes I think I’m going to strangle the poor girl from a bear hug before I can get myself under control. The worst is that I wake up—once I’ve figured out where I am, I know there isn’t anything to be afraid of, but I am. Even knowing I’m here doesn’t help. You’re family?” She left the last bit as a question, and it remained in the air for the quiet.
I took in a gulp of the night and nodded.
“If you are going to go,” she paused to casually examine my left leg along with my cane as though to emphasize her point, “If you can go, then please come back.”
I didn’t look at her. “Thank you.”
Many months passed until I could stand without becoming unbearably dizzy and the cane became almost vestigial, almost—I still required the thing over long periods of time or whenever I felt particularly weak.
I did not speak to Suzanne as much as I would have liked; I did not speak to them at all for a long time.
I caught them in the library, among cartridges of digitized media, in the back rooms of the place, caught in dust and darkness. “I’ll be leaving in a week,” I told them.
They didn’t even raise their head from the table where they catalogued what new treasures had been plundered. My presence had no effect whatsoever.
My chest filled up and I tried, “People talk about love all the time and I know that there’s better people to say it than me.” I slumped in the doorway to the back rooms, holding the frame of the threshold for support. “I wish I had better, prettier words for it. Poets talk about meeting the one they love over and over because two lovers are destined to meet infinitely through many lives. That’s nice.” I nodded to myself while Suzanne lifted a box from a table, shifted it to floor, then turned their attention to the next box. “I don’t know how I feel about life after this. Or God. Maybe. I know we’ve got this life and maybe that’s all we’ve got—if that’s the case then I’m glad I know you. I’m glad I love you.”
Finally, Suzanne spoke, “You should go lie down and gather your strength for when you leave.” They didn’t even look at me.
“Look at me?”
They did not.
“Please.”
Suzanne offered a mere glance in my direction.
“I will come back to you.”
It would have been good to get a goodbye and better to have them tell me they wanted me back or that they loved me too, but there was nothing.
There’s no blame for Suzanne.
Before I went off, the wizards said bye to me and showed in greater force than I would’ve imagined. There was a throng of them gathered at the entrance to Poplar Bridge; one gathered themselves away from the others and played a ditty off a harmonica and others seemed to want to wish me well with small trinkets or salutations. Gemma came with Trouble and Ish admonished me on my way out; they brought me a carriage, one which ran off oil, and Gemma gave me my shotgun.
“We cleaned it—they cleaned it,” said the girl, “Replaced the strap. You shouldn’t run out of anything.” Her eyes fell on the wagon which hummed to life under the guide of a short wizard woman that fiddled with its controls from the perched seat.
“Thanks,” I said.
Gemma pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back. “I’ll see you,” she said confidently.
I scratched Trouble on her cheeks and then pulled the dog into a hug too, lifting the dumb mutt from the ground a bit in doing so; I lost my footing and found it and the dog dropped and pushed in close to my legs to swing its ass widely in excitement.
Ish slapped a hand on my shoulder and the strength in his grip was weirdly great. “You can still change your mind.”
I shook my head. “Will Suzanne be here?”
It was the old wizard’s turn to shake his head, but he stopped then looked at the wagon. “How do you think it is we can afford to offer you that for travel? Oh!” Ish motioned to a nearby wizard and the young person came forward to offer something to his hands, “Suzanne wanted you to have these. At least.” The old man held out one of the signature dramedy masks in one hand and a wizard hat in the other. They looked familiar. “Incognito.” The old man tapped his nose with his forefinger. He looked at me seriously. “Be careful. I wish my Suzanne could’ve found a better someone, but if it’s to be you—come back.” Ish pulled me into a hug, patted me on the back hard.
I drove into the morning, across Poplar Bridge, over the dead Mississippi. Towards revenge? To my brother.
Loneliness had once been an ally—we’d become foreigners. With nothing more than the hum of the carriage and my own company, I became deranged beyond anything before.
First/Previous
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Lucifer and Mary were still eyeing each other, Lucifer trying to decide which move to use, while Mary was waiting for the best opportunity to strike.
“THE TWO FIGHTERS ARE LEFT AT A STANDSTILL! WHO WILL HESITATE FIRST?”
Heimdall announced from his speaker, standing on some rubble from Lucifer’s Jericho Quakes, as Lucifer inspected his broken wing.
“For a human, you’re a clever one, you claim to have no experience in fighting, yet your movements are that of a seasoned warrior”
Lucifer told Mary, as she began to wind up.
“I’m just patient enough to analyze your movements, besides, your helmet does everything for you, so what do you know of having combat experience?”
Mary taunts Lucifer.
“It’s more convenient that way”
Lucifer then finally grabbed his spear.
“ASMODEUS! SPEAR OF LUST! THIRST OF SODOM!”
Lucifer’s spear once again is covered in boiling water.
“Frankly, I’m still confused as to how only the boiling water and oil has been able to hurt you, but whatever, that means I can still kill you.
Lucifer then pointed the spear at Mary, before she then strikes the ground, using the debris as a wall and also mixing the dust and incense to cloud her movements.
“I see, still a coward? I can still see you, even if faintly”
Lucifer then concentrated the boiling water into a jet, firing it directly at where his helmet told him Mary was.
“Do you think mom will be ok?”
Jude said from the audience, as the audience grew worried, as they couldn’t see Mary.
“Relax, son, she’ll be fine, I’m sure of it”
Joseph calms down Jude, before a woman next to them also grows visibly upset.
“Mary…please no…not after all you did for me”
The clouds dissipated, and Mary was seen with a burnt arm, as she was covering it with myrrh, before she then walked out, swinging her thurible to spread incense around, obfuscating her movements, and Lucifer immediately refilling the spear with more water.
“That didn’t kill her…..damn it Helmet of Sloth, I aimed right at her neck….what do you mean watch out-”
Out of the cloud of incense, Mary’s thurible flew towards Lucifer, which caught him off guard.
“WHAT?”
Lucifer lunged his spear at the Thurible, wasting all the collected water as it splashes onto him, his armor protecting him.
“Damn it all, I couldn’t tell she was winding up”
Lucifer switched to his sword and shield, before looking around, getting an idea.
“LUCIFER! ARMOR OF PRIDE! JERICHO QUAKES!”
As Lucifer’s feet glowed with sin energy, he broke off pieces from the Sword’s extended sin blade, and then kicked both the shockwave and the shards at Mary.
“TAKE THIS!”
The shockwave shook the entire coliseum again, dissipating the incense, and showing Mary who catched the shards with her hand.
“I thought you’d try to use whatever hurt me before, you’re not as clever as you think you are”
Mary said, throwing the shards away, as they turn into frogs and oil.
Back at the audience, Joseph and Mary’s kids drew a sigh of relief, alongside the woman.
“Oh thanks God”
She said, before Joseph turned to see her.
“You seem to know my wife well, were you one of the people she saved after the Crucifixion?”
The woman turned to Joseph, nodding.
“She did that and more:she helped me get rid of the curse that devil ruined my life with”
Joseph grew curious, Jesus looking at the woman.
“I’ve heard of you, Lilith, and I am glad my mom was successful into redeeming you”
Simon and Joses were confused and scared upon hearing Jesus saying her name.
“Wait…THAT Lilith? Wasn’t she the mother of all demons?”
Lilith recoiled from that statement, turning away in shame.
“I……I was, but it was due to a curse from Lucifer and Asmodeus, which your mother Mary has helped me get rid of”
Lilith explained, Joseph looking at Lilith.
“I am glad she managed that, but I wonder how she was able to do so?”
Lilith’s eyes then light up.
“Would you like me to tell you?”
Joseph and the rest of the family nod, Lilith smiling.
“It all started in Gomorrah, where I was hiding, trying my best to use rags and shadows to hide my demonic horns and tail and to appear like a beggar in the streets, but unfortunately, Gomorrah was full of lustful people, so I had to constantly move around, taking risk after risk, after I’ve done everything I could to try and get my curse washed away, even…..even letting 100 of my children, demon or not, be sacrificed to Lord YHWH as compensation for my unfortunate role as the Mother of Demons, but one day, when I was hiding among some crates in an alley, I saw your mother, who approached me, claiming she was there to quell a lustful demon, but upon seeing me, her eyes filled with pity, and compassion”
Lilith began to explain.
“I panicked, telling her to get away or my curse would cause her great harm, but she stood there, kneeling down, and comforting me, she told me she could already figure out I was innocent, as I was a victim of a curse, and after some hours, with the cover of the night, she helped me sneak out of Gomorrah, as she took me as a refuge in Nazareth, where she, alongside a small sect of other kind priests and priestesses, began trying to find ways to help me, while I began to pray to Lord YHWH to rid me of this curse, as I was willing to do anything to remove it”
Lilith continues, Joseph and Jesus listening carefully while the rest of the family switches between Lilith and Mary. “One time, while Mary and I were praying, the archangel Raphael, the healing angel descended from Heaven, to deliver us God’s answer:baptism. Upon delivering that message, he decided to stay, and help us setting up the baptism ritual, as I had requested it to be public, to show that I will not be the Mother of Demons anymore”
Joses and Judith were amazed to hear the last part.
“You were willing to baptize yourself publicly, just to get rid of the curse? That’s very impressive”
Joseph compliments Lilith, who smiled.
“Lucifer must’ve had someone inside the sect, because when the baptism was about to begin, and I began to be submerged, the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus, crashed the ceremony, scaring the people away and claiming to “save” me from the evildoings of Mary, who bravely stood between him and me, holding a cross, before Raphael intervened, and fought off Asmodeus as Mary helped the priest finish my baptism, which, in complete honesty, was the most painful experience I’ve ever had, as my demonic characteristics began to melt off of my body, but it was completely worth it, as when I came out of the water, I was now a normal human woman, free to follow God’s blessings now that Lucifer had no power over me, and in the meantime, Raphael managed to fight off Asmodeus, forcing him to retreat”
Lilith finished, Mary’s family all clapping and Jesus smiling at Lilith.
“Mother truly is the Greatest Woman ever”
He said, Lilith nodding in agreement.
“Yes, she truly is”

Need to rant. Sorry this is long and a bit all over the place. 😭 I flew 7,000 miles overseas alone w my now 18-month-old toddler and spent thousands of dollars on accommodations to visit my family and, as usual, it is a nightmare. I don’t know why I hold on to hope that things will change. I do nothing but try to be friendly and amicable but these people treat me like an emotional punching bag. I don’t know how they survive when I am not here to be screamed and cursed at and to play therapist and mommy for them.
My mom keeps saying my son doesn’t like hehates hecan’t stand hedoesn’t want to be near her. I guess because he’s a normal toddler and it takes some time for him to warm up to people. And most of the time he just wants to do his own thing. Plus it’s not even really true. As soon as we landed, my toddler was smiley and trying to play peekaboo with her. She was ignoring him and looking at her phone. She did this several more times while he tried to get her attention. Without looking up from her phone, she said “Ohhhhh yeah really baby?” in the most disinterested, patronizing voice ever. She does this to me CONSTANTLY, literally multiple times per day, since I was a child. Straight up ignores me while she plays on her phone.
I have been absolutely seething inside watching her do it to my baby but I tried not to say anything bc I knew that conversation would go nowhere.
Well I lost my patience and mentioned it when I asked my mom to play with the baby while I installed his car seat in the Uber. She said, “I can’t. He doesn’t like me.” I said “You haven’t even tried” and when she asked me what I meant I just said he absolutely wants to play with you but you’ve been busy on your phone this whole weekend. She went silent for the entire car ride and then made a scene when we arrived at the airport. She loudly delivered her usual “Sorry I can’t do anything right and you’re a perfect mother. I know you hate me and you think I’m so horrible and useless” etc.
This time she called me tyrannical which made me laugh. It reminded me of the last trip when she threw a temper tantrum and called me controlling and neurotic because I asked her politely to put her hot coffee down before holding my infant. That same trip she spilled her coffee on herself and had a huge mean burn all over her chest. Oh sorry she also called me controlling because I asked her to use her rear-view mirror while switching lanes in traffic while my baby and I were in her car. Because apparently she turns her mirror towards her so she can stare at her own face while she’s driving. “I don’t believe in rear view mirrors,” she says. “The side mirrors are fine. And I need to check my reflection for reasons you wouldn’t understand.” Reasons probably referring to some psychotic delusion about demonic possession or something I don’t know.
And oh my god this morning I brought my bubba downstairs and he immediately lunged for a candle wax warmer that was turned on, on the FLOOR. Luckily I caught him on time. I very nicely asked my mom if she could please keep hot and dangerous things out of reach and she said “It probably wouldn’t have even burned him.” It was at least 180 degrees and I had to use an oven mitt to pick it up off the ground. It’s like she WANTS to hurt him. 😭
Today we went out to dinner with my extended family and my mom acted like Eeyore the entire time. She mostly sat silently scowling and she only spoke up to complain about: - the waitstaff - her headache - how her only grandson doesn’t like her - her ex husband and mother-in-law - the price of the food
But then she’ll go and tell everyone how amazing it is to be with her kids again and how she wishes she could be closer so she could “help”. We literally fought the entire time and I don’t think my mother has smiled once except a few fake ones for her Facebook posts.
Also she hasn’t helped me ONCE. I haven’t eaten a meal or showered or done ANYTHING without holding my toddler once in this trip. The TWO times I asked her for help so I could 1) shower and 2) install the car seat, she basically shrugged and said sorry she can’t because my baby doesn’t like her.
Edit lol I just went downstairs to find the wax warmer back in the same spot turned on again. ☹️ and there were a bunch of loose prescription pills on the end table WTF.

Frustrated with my body
I’ve been working out regularly for almost 3 years - I lost a lot of weight; as I was very morbidly obese and never done any regular exercise before - I sometimes blame my parents for allowing me to be so lazy and sedentary growing up; for example; I wanted to play tennis when I was a kid, because my cousins used to compete and I used to hang around them in the summer and wanted it so badly; but they told me I would turn out dumb like them if I just started doing sports- like I needed to be sitting around studying and getting good grades. Surprisingly, I used to lose a lot of weight every single summer that I hung around my cousins because they were such active kids; swimming, running, tennis- so I would just tag along them and kept eating normal, but lost so much weight, only to put it back on the rest of the year; as I wasn’t allowed to go out and play, I had to be the best student, so of course, I sucked in gym class, of course I got bullied, of course I got lazy, and of course I got really fat- until I was 35, I never really done any exercise except dancing- so I started slow at the gym, got a personal trainer, joined group classes, did CrossFit, running and now currently I’m into dancing like ballet and jazz which are very physically demanding and hard if you’re an adult. I’m probably working out like 5 times a week- even sacrificing social life because I need to workout. I have to sleep by 11 pm if I want to function the next day. However, being the most active I’ve ever been in my life, I’m seeing hardly any progress in terms of skills- 1. I can’t run fast, like it’s pathetic; I’ve seen people on oxygen tanks run faster than me in a 5K. 2 weeks ago I did my first 10 K, and it was a charity for ALS- there were actual ALS patients in wheelchairs doing the race and even they were faster than me. There’s a cool hip running club in my city where you can meet people sort of like a tinder situation and I can’t keep up because they are all so fit; I’ve trained in intervals, I’ve done a lot of races and I’m just so slow it’s frustrating - 2. CrossFit - I cannot do any gymnastic movements; pull ups, handstands, rope climbs, wall walks -because I feel so heavy and I simply can’t no matter how much I scale it down or train- I can’t Box jumps are out of the question - I cannot even do a step up with my right leg because I don’t have the strength to hoist my body up with my right leg 3. Gym stuff - I cannot do lunges because my knees are limited in motion and it hurts so much. Even though I can lift relatively heavy for a woman, there are other plyometric movements I cannot do like jumping too high. 4. Dancing/Flexibility- there are so many drills I cannot do in dance that I don’t know if it requires flexibility or mobility or strength or my body simply sucks - it’s embarrassing as I’m the only one in class that can’t do them; like doing a bridge, putting your legs over your head (I’ve seen very older ladies doing it in yoga and it’s frustrating I cannot do it)- and I do flexibility classes and yoga regularly I feel my body is not going to budge no matter how hard I work- sometimes I think I need to lose more weight, maybe these are consequences from being such an inactive child when your bones are still developing and I simply lacked the stimulus to develop normal movement ability, so now I cannot progress anymore - And my diet is 80% healthy, I don’t eat junk, I drink a lot of water, I walk around 15.000 steps a day- why does my body lack so much athleticism?

The copy you wrote about Amr Yamat Video is in quintals and inspiration is in grams herboriste and pharmacie Valdiki in the evening The bras are the pills of a cigarette. He lights his brother and turns it off Outside, our father turns around with a quilt and enters the house with a robe His tongue is hot to waste, running the state and the neighbor What turns gold into 24 karat Knowing men is treasures, I comploya kter milli pirates Here.. it came out with the entrance Unless Skull sits with Zamil Sik Raw and reads it to him F-ck their faces look different so that they shine sous la pluie He and I don't understand each other. We have a history of work with Al-Shanoy Balak your hands the wind We spread meanings and cover ourselves with rhymes. You don't give me water unless I sleep soundly Hip-hop is over, rap is dead and we are orphaned Where did he see them, Damo Hanna, other than him lying in front of him? [Second section: So-and-so]The copy you wrote about Amr Yamat Video is in quintals and inspiration is in grams herboriste and pharmacie Valdiki in the evening The bras are the pills of a cigarette. He lights his brother and turns it off Outside, our father turns around with a quilt and enters the house with a robe His tongue is hot to waste, running the state and the neighbor What turns gold into 24 karat Knowing men is treasures, I comploya kter milli pirates Here.. it came out with the entrance Unless Skull sits with Zamil Sik Raw and reads it to him F-ck their faces look different so that they shine sous la pluie He and I don't understand each other. We have a history of work with Al-Shanoy Balak your hands the wind We spread meanings and cover ourselves with rhymes. You don't give me water unless I sleep soundly Hip-hop is over, rap is dead and we are orphaned Where did he see them, Damo Hanna, other than him lying in front of him? I know where you are going and you can forget about raising you pec I'm out alone in the yard, let the pill come We would like to be rebelle and I have nothing on my mind And I was a boy, classy with me, bad Our plage is cool, so the table is okay. Deux pieces in This world remains rude... Your mother can marry a man The side that we don't touch my brother's head won't come out Câblage We don't forget and let it be light so we won't get anything It's fresh, it's hot, it's light, and I don't have it They will take us to the alley where there is no Autolike We don't know the concurrence we have in all the tournaments We have l'échec, cut it off, and go to poteau What did my eyes see? Let's catch up with you in lines Fiston Mam, I call a sheikh, we crush daddy, he tells me pistolet word men bullet and i have We know that the sun does not cover the storesI know where you are going and you can forget about raising you pec I'm out alone in the yard, let the pill come We would like to be rebelle and I have nothing on my mind And I was a boy, classy with me, bad Our plage is cool, so the table is okay. Deux pieces in This world remains rude... Your mother can marry a man The side that we don't touch my brother's head won't come out Câblage We don't forget and let it be light so we won't get anything It's fresh, it's hot, it's light, and I don't have it They will take us to the alley where there is no Autolike We don't know the concurrence we have in all the tournaments We have l'échec, cut it off, and go to poteau What did my eyes see? Let's catch up with you in lines Fiston Mam, I call a sheikh, we crush daddy, he tells me pistolet word men bullet and i have We know that the sun does not cover the stores fear You will wish you were blind if we gave you my eyes and you could see The reality is that every time you take off your stomach, it will hurt your stomach Here the shepherd is lying down, he is the one feeding the sheep What's the point? My heart is white and my eyes are full of tears He won't eat anything that kills me with hunger Dix and I struggle with depression every day Walking with one hand, my mind is clouded by hundreds of millions We're still here, okay? The bonheur left us and we both cried with laughter A cold breeze makes you shiver in the heat There are few of us who have a wire that they can close on Strike with a hot iron and spray with a cold palm The saving is an army.. In order to get your year back, you will come back Humble..my head is held high to the sky. I am okay. My nature is compassionate To narrow your souls, we eat you rap with scoopsles vrais y’respectiw les vrais, les faux y’respectiw fear You will wish you were blind if we gave you my eyes and you could see The reality is that every time you take off your stomach, it will hurt your stomach Here the shepherd is lying down, he is the one feeding the sheep What's the point? My heart is white and my eyes are full of tears He won't eat anything that kills me with hunger Dix and I struggle with depression every day Walking with one hand, my mind is clouded by hundreds of millions We're still here, okay? The bonheur left us and we both cried with laughter A cold breeze makes you shiver in the heat There are few of us who have a wire that they can close on Strike with a hot iron and spray with a cold palm The saving is an army.. In order to get your year back, you will come back Humble..my head is held high to the sky. I am okay. My nature is compassionate To narrow your souls, we eat you rap with scoops the real ones y’respectiw the real ones, the false ones y’respectiwfear You will wish you were blind if we gave you my eyes and you could see The reality is that every time you take off your stomach, it will hurt your stomach Here the shepherd is lying down, he is the one feeding the sheep What's the point? My heart is white and my eyes are full of tears He won't eat anything that kills me with hunger Dix and I struggle with depression every day Walking with one hand, my mind is clouded by hundreds of millions We're still here, okay? The bonheur left us and we both cried with laughter A cold breeze makes you shiver in the heat There are few of us who have a wire that they can close on Strike with a hot iron and spray with a cold palm The saving is an army.. In order to get your year back, you will come back Humble..my head is held high to the sky. I am okay. My nature is compassionate To narrow your souls, we eat you rap with scoopsles vrais y’respectiw les vrais, les faux y’respectiw fear You will wish you were blind if we gave you my eyes and you could see The reality is that every time you take off your stomach, it will hurt your stomach Here the shepherd is lying down, he is the one feeding the sheep What's the point? My heart is white and my eyes are full of tears He won't eat anything that kills me with hunger Dix and I struggle with depression every day Walking with one hand, my mind is clouded by hundreds of millions We're still here, okay? The bonheur left us and we both cried with laughter A cold breeze makes you shiver in the heat There are few of us who have a wire that they can close on Strike with a hot iron and spray with a cold palm The saving is an army.. In order to get your year back, you will come back Humble..my head is held high to the sky. I am okay. My nature is compassionate To narrow your souls, we eat you rap with scoops 

First Chapter
Around five minutes later, a new smell began to overcome the ambient scent of honeysuckle and lavender; it was initially subtle; a few of his nasal hairs quivered as the unfamiliar scents became more concentrated. That was until he got within ten metres of a tree with thin, spindly branches covered with long, narrow leaves, and he was almost blown to his feet by the ungodly stench emanating from the plant.
There were no words to describe what it smelled like; the closest he could do was an open sewer combined with sweaty, unwashed feet and just a hint of vulture vomit, which was a memory he sincerely wished he could forget.
Samuel clamped his hand over his nose and held his breath; he looked to his right to find that Tamara was not there. After looking behind him, he saw her standing ten metres away, apparently knowing not to get too close.
He held his breath until his lungs burned, his head became dizzy, and the desire to breathe was too great. With immense reluctance, he took in a gulp of the air and immediately felt his stomach churn.
He remembered what they were. Durian, famous for their pungent odour, and if he was right, many claimed they were the most wonderful food in the world. Now that Samuel knew what they were, he decided he must try them.
“Told you it was bad,” Tamara called.
Samuel tried to reply, but when he opened his mouth, he felt the air sting his tongue.
Deciding not to speak, he walked up to the tree. He heard a sickly squelching as his feet crushed the fruit rotting on the ground as he walked. Samuel examined the tree for a few seconds, carefully inspecting each fruit; each one was around the size of his head; they were a deep green similar to the leaves, and their skin was covered in an array of vicious-looking spikes.
Samuel found one he believed was ripe and then plucked it from the branches. As soon as the fruit was firmly in his grip, he turned on his heels and dashed straight for Tamara.
As he left the terrible miasma behind him, he stopped, hunched over, and practically drank the sweet pollen-laden air. However, he was sure that, by tomorrow, he would continue to complain that it was far too muggy beneath the trees.
“So, how was it?” Tamara asked, almost mockingly.
Samuel brought himself to his full height, took a deep breath and said, “Not too bad, actually.”
Tamara rolled her eyes at this pointless bravado.
“Well, at least he hasn’t got any brain damage,” Tamara spoke inside her head. She sniffed the air and noticed the unmistakable smell of the fruit. “I hope you don’t intend to kiss anyone after eating that thing,” she spoke aloud.
“I live alone in a cave. My only friends are a twelve-year-old girl and a centaur that is probably over two hundred miles away; just who exactly am I going to kiss?” he asked rhetorically.
They moved a few extra metres away to ensure the tree would not bother them and sat down under the branches of a particularly tall sycamore. After he had gotten himself comfortable, Samuel set about the task of cracking open the husk.
It was a tough job; the fruit was surprisingly unwilling to give up, but after making an incision with the knife he kept by his waist and a mighty pull, the skin finally fell away.
A fresh wave of pungent air attacked Samuel’s nose, and he let out a small splutter. The spike-laden husk made a few needle holes in his skin, but he dismissed them. He had suffered much worse. With a quick flick of his wrist, he discarded the husk and looked inside. The appeared to be a chamber, and inside was a large yellow mass that looked, if done so correctly, like a giant grub.
Tamara leaned over Samuel’s soldier and said: “you eat the yellow bit, but be careful; there are two or three large seeds inside there.”
Samuel grasped the soft flesh in his hands, part of him expecting it to squirm, and lifted it into his mouth. With only a moment’s pause, he took a small bite, and with that, the horrid smell became a distant memory; all he could think about was the heavenly taste on his tongue.
The flesh had the consistency of custard, but it tasted like caramel, and before he knew it, he was scarfing down every last piece, even small pieces that got caught on his clothes. The great taste was not unusual. Every food he had ever eaten in this place had been far superior to anything back home, but this fruit was, by a vast margin, the best.
“I suppose it’s good then,” said Tamara.
“Hmm,” was Samuel's reply.
“Well, do you think we could get moving now? You've been sitting there with your eyes closed for well over ten minutes,” Tamara brought up. Samuel suddenly realised she was right and snapped his eyes open, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
Samuel stood up and, without a word, started to walk toward the village. Tamara followed suit, but after about twenty steps, Samuel had an idea. He returned to the same spot he had sat and gathered up every durian seed he had discarded. He pocketed them and then continued.
It was another thirty minutes before the atmosphere of the forest changed. Where once there had been only the sound of rustling leaves, the calls of animals and Tamara and Samuel’s conversations, now there was the unmistakable noise of people. Now that they could hear the other residents, the pair knew they must soon part; Samuel was not welcome here.
It was not that he had done some great crime; in truth, he had saved many of their lives. Samuel was simply human; in this world, human was merely another word for monster or demon. Suddenly, the trees vanished and were replaced by a sizeable wheat-filled field.
Samuel stared out over the ocean of grass. He had seen it many times, but that was almost always at dusk. In the full light of day, it was far more magnificent. Something caught Samuel’s eye, and he sharply turned his head to see a figure in the distance heading towards them.
Instinctually, Samuel darted behind a tree and ensured that no part of him was visible. Tamara had not noticed the person coming towards them; she had been far too focused on trying to decipher what was being said in the distance, almost impossible, but she enjoyed it nonetheless and was startled by both Samuel’s sudden movement and when a voice said: “Hello Tamara.”
Tamara wheeled around to see the smiling face of Mrs Verity and instantly knew why Samuel had done it.
She smiled back and replied, “Good afternoon, Mrs Verity. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, a little tired, but that’s life,” Mrs Verity replied.
Mrs Verity was not a Lamia; she was a Cicindeli, meaning she was part insect. She had bright purple hair coming from beneath it were two antennae. Her eyes were compounded, like a bee’s, and shimmered with iridescent colours.
Her hands and arms were covered in purple chitin, which shone brilliantly in the sun and was reminiscent of an elegant long glove. She wore a dull brown tunic, uncommon amongst these people as they mostly wore vibrant colours. Finally, she wore no shoes as her legs and feet, which ended in two, almost claw-like, toes covered in the same material as her arms and travelled past her knees.
“But I’m surprised you’re usually out until dusk. Is everything ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” Mrs Verity asked, concern unmistakable in her voice.
Tamara face contorted into a faint scowl. Though her words were compassionate, they also contained fear and loathing of the man Tamara spent her time with.
“Why would I be hurt?” Tamara answered with a tiny flicker of anger.
Mrs Verity looked at the ground and rubbed her feet on the dirt. The people of the world had a fascinating ability; they could understand from the subtlest of gestures, muscle twitches and changes in posture, things that Samuel could not even detect, the emotional state of another, provided they had enough time to get to know someone.
So to Mrs Verity, Tamara's faint scowl was the equivalent of a massive scream of rage.
Tamara was angry, but mostly, she was tired. It had been over two years, and everyone was still frightened of Samuel. It was true that he had injured Mr Kimday and his dog, but that had only been in self-defence.
Tamara sighed and said: “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
Mrs Verity perked up; Tamara was quite frightened when angry and then asked: “so what are you going to do now?”
“I think I will just head home and work on these books,” she replied, patting the satchel hanging by her side.
Mrs Verity looked at the bag and said: “Oh, I’ve heard of them. Everyone keeps talking about them. Does it really have those squiggles in them that make words!”
Tamara was taken aback. No one since Aarush had ever shown any interest in writing. Tamara was silent for a few seconds until her brain caught up with her ears.
“Umm, yes, would you like to see one?” She was finally able to say. Mrs Verity nodded with unmistakable excitement, and Tamara reached into it and pulled out the first one she grabbed.
The title on the brown leather cover was “An Encyclopaedia of Local Fauna”, and she displayed it to Mrs Verity.
The Cicindeli woman’s eyes scanned the cover but could not find anything special or interesting, so she said: “I can’t hear anything.”
Tamara chuckled and said, “It doesn’t speak; you see these? Tamara ran her finger underneath the title, and Mrs Verity nodded.
Tamara continued, “Well when you learn how to read, you can.” She paused for a moment, “Umm, what’s the right word… understand them in your head.”
Mrs Verity’s face was still one of confusion; however, Tamara had expected it when Tamara was still learning she had been precisely the same. “It’s not something you just know you have to learn, just like everything else,” Tamara said reassuringly.
The young Lamia opened the book and started on the first page; this was titled “Romerolagus diazi (Volcano Rabbit)” Underneath this was an exquisite picture. On the next page was an in-depth description of the animal, including size, diet and habitat, to name a few.
Several minutes were spent explaining what certain words were and how each squiggle represented a sound. Mrs Verity kept pointing at words that caught her interest, and it only grew with each passing second until she asked: “How did you come up with this?”
Tamara looked at her and replied, “I didn’t; Samuel taught me.”
Mrs Verity's demeanour changed instantly. She recoiled from the book as though it was poison, and her face turned from fascination to fear. Mrs Verity’s breathing became heavy, and her eyes darted from the Tamara to the trees.
“He just wants to help,” said Tamara.
Behind one of the trunks was Samuel, his fist clenched tight with sadness and anger. He was used to this treatment, but that did not make it easier. He let out a faint but distinct growl as he tried to suppress his emotions.
Suddenly, a shout came, “What was that?”
Back by the wheat field, Tamara, who was not angry this time but deeply disappointed, as it had, after all, been going so well, said, “I’m sure it was just a deer.”
Then added, “Maybe you should head home, Mrs Verity. I think you have to discuss crop distribution with Mr Clachas.”
Mrs Verity nodded and headed towards the village, yet she seemed reluctant to entirely turn her back and put as much distance between her and the forest edge. When Mrs Verity was far enough away, Tamara headed into the forest and found Samuel sitting down with his knees tucked to his chest.
As Tamara entered his field of view, he looked at her and said: “well, that was fun.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tamara, her head drooped and her voice filled with sadness.
Samuel’s became confused. “What do you have to be sorry about?” he asked.
Tamara looked up from the ground and replied: “because of what Mrs Verity did, it was wrong of her to treat you like a monster.”
Samuel stood up and walked up to her.
When he was face to face with her, he said, “It’s not your fault, Tamara.” There was a brief pause. “And it’s not Verity’s either; she did not do that out of malice. She did it out of ignorance, and neither of you should feel bad on my account.” Tamara fell forward and rested her head on Samuel’s chest.
“You are impossibly kind,” she said in a hush.
Samuel smiled and gave her a giant hug, “Thank you. I try my best.”
After hugging for about a minute, Samuel patted Tamara on the back and said, “We can’t stay like this for too long. People will start asking questions,” after which he chuckled.
Tamara stood up and smiled back. “What are you going to do when you get home?” she asked.
Samuel gave a cheeky grin, “Well, I got a lot of other villages to terrorise, umm, some small children to frighten, and a few beds I got to hide under, so all in all, a lot of work to do.”
Tamara laughed, and Samuel laughed; between the laughs, Samuel was able to say, “I’ll probably work on that vest and check the garden.”
After this, Tamara replied, “After all the screaming?”
Samuel answered, “Of course, I mean, I’m booked in. What would the world do without a human to make it wet its pants?”
The laughter died down, but the smiles did not, and Tamara said: “I probably won’t be there tomorrow. I got some work to do, but I should be around the next day.”
Samuel nodded to show his understanding, and the two hugged once more. “Goodbye,” Tamara said.
“See you soon” he replied.
Samuel watched Tamara walk away, trailing her colossal tail behind her until she was entirely out of sight. He closed his eyes and took in the sounds of the forest and village. As the sound of all those people laughing, arguing and playing together filled his mind, Samuel suddenly felt a great pang of regret and longing. The feeling grew stronger; he felt as though he would drop to the ground and cry.
Suddenly, as if his emotions had tripped a circuit breaker, he remembered what the villagers had named their home “The Deep Forest Village” so named because it was a village deep in the forest.
“That’s so lazy,” he whispered. As this filled his mind, he suddenly felt better.
He opened his eyes and headed back into the forest. He did not enjoy travelling through the woods alone; it always seemed to take twice as long. Samuel looked up towards the canopy; the leaves blocked out most of the light, but there was still enough to see by. Now that he thought about it, this was the first sight that greeted him when he arrived here.
There was no explanation Samuel could give that made any sense, both to himself and everyone else. One day, he had been in his room, minding his own business, playing a video game; strange, but he could not remember what it was.
Then there was a blinding flash, intense noise, and he could taste pineapple off all things; he hated pineapple, after which he found himself here, alone.
Samuel rubbed his right ring finger. It was a coping mechanism when he was nervous, frightened or upset.
He sighed and said: “Oh, what are you complaining about, Samuel? You don’t have it so bad; you’re still alive for one thing.”
It took no thought to move through the forest; he knew it all so well it was no different than when he used to walk home from the shops, and though it did not feel like it, it did not take long to reach home.
Samuel stood before a cave on the side of a large mountain; the stone was rough, as though it had endured centuries of erosion. Outside the cave’s mouth was a set of wicker fences. Behind them were seven long rows of fruit and vegetables: potatoes, carrots, peas, parsnips, cabbage, yams and tomatoes.
These provided Samuel with the bulk of his food, with the forest's fruit and a steady fish supply rounding out the rest. Tamara occasionally brought him something different, like a steak or a kangaroo leg.
Partially covered by the cave roof was a fire pit with a wooden spit and several stands for cooking pots. The pit was covered in half-burnt wood, charcoal and a fine bed of ash.
He reached into his pockets and took out several of the Durian seeds. Samuel has a theory about the trees in this place; if he were right, no matter what he did, he would not be able to grow them.
Samuel headed toward the cave and took out a shovel resting against the cave wall. He picked a spot about one hundred meters away from the entrance; if he was wrong he did not want the stench of the fruit bothering him every morning, and began to dig.
He set up six holes and placed two seeds in each one. He covered them up and patted each one. This left him with only two seeds, but he pocketed them. Samuel would deal with them tomorrow. He set the shovel back in its place and inspected the garden.
He performed this ritual at least twice daily, once in the morning and once in the evening. He inspected the soil to ensure it was moist and that no animals infested it; leather jackets could be nasty. The earth was fine, and after a thorough analysis of the plants themselves, he found only a few snails and caterpillars had been munching away, so he removed them and placed them on a tree.
Samuel remembered back to the time he had first arrived. Back then, he had called this cave “the extension,” but he had stopped using it over time. Now that he did not need to hide as much as before, he considered it a full part of his home.
As he returned to the garden, he noticed that two carrots and one parsnip were missing; he stopped in his tracks. Samuel glanced over his shoulder, his head swerving from side to side, looking for anyone nearby and keeping his ears pricked for any voices, but he saw and heard nothing.
This was bad; the villagers knew where he lived, but they were so terrified of him that nobody, except Tamara, would come within half a mile of his home. This left him with only one option: somebody else, someone new, had arrived and taken his vegetables, and that meant that they had no idea that a human lived here, and that meant that if they saw him, all hell could break loose.
Then, after a terrible thought, he rushed into the cave and looked for a large black slab on the floor. Underneath this stone was the hidden entrance to his home, a massive underground cavern; he ran his finger through a small crevice around the slab.
His fingers shook from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and they frantically felt there way around until he grasped a small twig and breathed a loud sigh of relief.
That twig was a security measure; when the slab was moved, it would, without fail, fall into the tunnel below, so if it was still there, no one could be down there. Samuel let himself fall backwards, hitting the stone floor with a thud. He took deep breaths, and soon, he could think clearly again.
Samuel re-examined the garden; he considered that he had panicked for no reason. Perhaps an animal had taken his vegetables, but they more Samul saw, the more he realised that this was not the case.
Firstly, the fence had not been damaged in any way. Samuel had deliberately built the fence too high and placed too far away for any forest animal, the largest being deer, to reach across and snatch a quick bite.
Nothing had dug underneath because Samuel had placed a deep layer of stones under the earth. Finally, the plants had been pulled up firmly and cleanly; no animal could do that.
He found no footprints, but there was a small trail of earth leading back into the forest. Samuel followed it, but it petered out quickly, and after about thirty minutes, he could find no more signs.
“Bugger” he exclaimed.
Back at the cave, he considered how strange this theft was, assuming the thief had no idea that a human lived here. Not so unrealistic because until Samuel had shown up, he had been considered a myth similar to the bogeyman, and it puzzled him why they would steal from him.
The demi-humans had many unusual properties, and not all of them physical. Their most startling one, as far as Samuel was concerned, and that was linked to their ability to read emotions, was their ability to empathise; it was so great that none of them could even consider harming or wronging another or, to put it another way, there was no crime here.
Samuel was, of course, the exception to that rule. When he had first turned up, they had tried to run him down with dogs, strangle him and shoot him with arrows, but that had been motivated by fear, not cruelty.
The people of the village did not have locks on their doors; they could leave a treasured family heirloom in the middle of the street and be certain that it would either be left there or returned, and every single one of them walked around at night without fear.
“So I assume this was motivated by desperation,” Samuel mumbled to himself.
He would have to be cautious, keep his ears pricked and eyes open when he walked outside tomorrow, but apart from that, there was nothing more he could do. The day after tomorrow Samuel would discuss it with Tamara; hopefully, she might know who and what the culprit was.
For now, he still had chores to do and tea to cook. Samuel checked his wood supply; a large pile was arrayed at the back, furthest from the rain and wind, that was fine enough for several days at least.
Next to the wood was a large iron pail with a small shovel inside; the rest of the bucket was filled with ash, around a quarter full. This was far too low; he grabbed the handle, and his hand twitched slightly from the metal's uneven surface and cold temperature. He took it to the fire pit and began scooping the ash collected in the bottom.
The ash had several uses; it was great for putting out the fire at the end of the day, fertilising his vegetables, a fine de-icer in winter, a thin ring around his plants kept slugs and snails away, an excellent polish and cleaning agent for anything made of wood and metal, it was the only deodorant in this place, and Samuel could also use it to make soap, a handy little trick Tamara had taught him.
The pail was filled and put back in its place. Samuel checked the sky; it would still be bright and warm for a few hours, but it was best to start a fire when you didn’t need it rather than struggle when you did. He opened a pouch attached to his hip and took out some thin pieces of bark, flint, and an iron ring called a striker, one more gift from Tamara.
He hit the flint with the striker, and several sparks erupted from the iron. He caught them on the kindling, placed this in a larger pile and blew. There was nothing at first, but steadily, the papery bark began to smoke, and the ember became a flame.
Over the next five minutes, he added more wood until the fire was finally finished. Samuel had done this many times and became so proficient that it took little effort.
Samuel sat down on a raised, flattened rock by the fire pit. He looked to his right to see a large wooden box sheltered by the shade of the cave. It was empty right now, but come winter, he would use it to store all the fruit and vegetables he would need. Thankfully, that was still several months away.
It was moments like these that Samuel both loved and dreaded. It was utterly serene; the wind gently blew the tree leaves, the birds chirped and danced through the sky, and the sun shone brightly; the finest artist in the world would have struggled to capture this place’s majesty.
Unfortunately, this same tranquillity was the problem; he had nothing to do, and when this happened, his mind started to wander. “Hey,” someone called. Samuel, startled by the voice, glanced everywhere; for a moment, he believed that the thief had returned. Yet Samuel realised that the sound appeared to come from all directions.
He shook his head, trying to cast it from his mind, but the voice returned.
“Run!” It demanded. After the brief shock and tensing of his legs, Samuel relaxed and paid it no attention; he knew that the voice was not real, that it was just a figment of his imagination.
Samuel’s time and experiences here had not left him without scars; some of these had been physical, like the time he had broken his leg, but the worst, by far, were the ones you could not see. Whenever he was alone, his mind played tricks on him; he heard voices, not his or those of anyone he knew, and they always said the strangest things.
Sometimes, they would ask him pointless questions such as why is that rock bigger, but other times, they would tell him to do things or point out non-existent threats. What was aggravating was even though he knew the voices were in his head, whenever they actually happened, he was always caught out and believed, if only for a moment, that they were real.
Despite this, Samuel was proud that he had not listened to them yet, and he was not without relief. They would stop if he was with anyone or focused on a task.
Rubbing his finger, Samuel stood up and collected a piece of wood from the pile around the length and width of his forearm. Then, he took out his knife and began to carve.
There was no plan, just the resistance of the wood as his knife pulled off small shavings of wood. This knife was his most treasured possession; it was the first present Tamara had ever given him. The handle was made from Oak and carved into the handle has a very crude portrait of Samuel. The blade was iron and polished to a mirror sheen.
As he carved, the voice became more distant as though each slice was fighting it off until it ceased entirely. Samuel was calm once again, and the item was taking shape; it would have been a deer, but he made a mistake, and now it was a squirrel.
Samuel put the finishing touches; he realised that several hours had passed, the fire was dying down, the sun was low on the horizon, and his stomach was growling again. He chucked a few pieces of wood onto the fire and placed the squirrel carving gently beside him.
He returned the knife to its sheath and then stood up. He moved slowly toward the slab on the cave floor, carefully fished the small stick from the gap, and placed it on a stone. It was made from a smooth dark rock and was heavy, but with a bit of effort, he could lift it up and push it out of the way.
As the slab moved, a gust of dry heat rushed passed his face and sucked all the moisture from his lips. The dying light revealed a small set of stairs leading to a long, dark corridor. He descended to the bottom and waited. The sun did provide enough light to see by, but it still took a few moments to get used to the gloom.
Samuel looked back but was almost blinded by the stark contrast in light; he raised his right hand to shield his eyes and used his left to feel for a large wooden rack he knew was there. His fingers grasped around a soft, flat, scaly object, and he removed it from the frame with a small movement, up and back.
He climbed back up to the cave and sat back on his seat. The item he had grabbed was a smoked fish. The flesh had been tanned by the wood smoke and kept incredibly fresh by the dryness of the corridor.
Yet it was not at its finest at the moment; it was far too dry, so he reached for a clay jug and bowl beside the wooden chest. It was filled with water and delightfully chilled by the shade of the box and cave. It was not ideal; he would have preferred some orange juice but needs must. He filled the bowl with a small amount of water and then dipped the fish inside, covering every bit.
The fish was then skewered with a specially prepared stick, sharpened at one end and hardened in the fire. He then propped the fish by the fire so the heat could warm it, continually inspecting and turning it to ensure it did not burn.
It was done in just a few minutes, the water now floating away in a fine haze. Samuel carefully pulled off flesh strips and placed them in his mouth. It was marvellous; the water had done little, but even so, it still danced along his taste buds; the firm, slightly crumbly texture was fantastic.
The food here was beyond compare. Samuel had believed he had known the height of cuisine at that fancy restaurant his family used to take him to on his birthday, but this put all of it to shame, and although the effect had lessened with time, it was still marvellous.
There was no savouring it; Samuel devoured it in under a minute, and as the fish settled in his stomach, he felt great calm. He washed his meal down with the rest of the water in the bowl and placed both it and the jug in its rightful place.
Samuel then yawned and felt his eyes grow heavy; he rubbed his eyes with one hand and scratched his stubble with another.
“Almost time for bed,” he mumbled. He got up, collected the pail he had filled just a few hours ago, and poured shovelfuls over the fire. At first, the fire took no notice and continued to burn brightly, but as more and more ash covered the wood, the flames began to fade until only a few embers remained.
The shovel fell into the pail with a loud metallic clunk, and Samuel put it back in its place. There was, however, a slight deviation in his evening ritual; he took several steps out of the cave and scanned his surroundings, looking for any sign of the thief. After five minutes, he was satisfied.
He re-entered the cave and climbed back down the stairs, his footsteps echoing slightly down the corridor’s empty walls. Samuel sat on one of the steps and dragged the slab over the entrance. As the slab cut off more and more light, he took one last moment to examine the cave; it was still and silent but for a crackle made by the firewood.
“A problem for tomorrow” he whispered. The slab was lowered, and the darkness was now total.
If you like what you've read so far and want to know where it's going you can find the complete story by following the links below.
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Have you ever experienced something that shook you to your very core? Something that makes you remember every single little detail of your surroundings from that moment in time? Even years after? I can remember so vividly the moment I realized something was wrong with me. I was in my junior year of high school sitting in class, just like any other day. I remember the smell of erasers and cheap cologne that permeated off my classmate who sat next to me. I remember the scratchy tag on my t-shirt and how I was resisting taking it off in the middle of class just to cut it off. I remember what my teacher, Mrs. Brown, was talking about; 'the fall of Constantinople'. My mouth felt dry and I kept looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until I had lunch so I could get a soda. The sound of a pen clicking behind me was synchronized with the song that was stuck in my head.
All those things were going through my brain at once. My ADHD mind went a million miles per minute when it all came down to a cashing holt when I felt it at 11:23
I felt what I can only describe as a hand grabbing at the inner lining of my stomach. It didn't necessarily hurt, not at this point. That's not why I got so scared. You see, not only do I have ADHD. I also have OCD that manifests itself in the fear of anything growing or moving inside me. Even if I think about the concept of blood moving in my body or a heart that is beating in my chest, I have to think of something else. I've had full-blown panic attacks because of it. The closest term for this is 'Tokophobia'. That's technically the fear of pregnancy. I'm a guy, so it's not completely accurate but it's really the closest term. I mean, I also do have a huge fear of pregnancy. Not necessarily of me being pregnant, but even though I knew I could never get pregnant, the thought of it still made me feel sick
I bet you can imagine the terror that overcame me as I felt something moving in me. I made an audible groan and grabbed my stomach. My whole class turned to look at me. even my teacher stopped talking to ask if I was okay. I stood up and started to run to the nurses' office without even acknowledging my teacher. My first thought wasn't thinking that something was actually in my body. Even stomach aches and the feeling of gurgling in my stomach made me feel this way before. I didn't have anything on hand to help with a stomach ache, unfortunately. However, the nurse always did.
I sprinted across the school hoping and praying that my stomach wouldn't make that awful feeling again before I got there.
I turned the corner into the nurses' office with my tennis shoes squeaking in the process. I saw the school nurse, Mrs. Kennedy sitting on the couch in her office reading a magazine. She looked up at me with a sweet smile that quickly turned into worry.
"Sam, what is it? How can I help?" She said as she stood up and hurried over to me. Putting her hand over mine which was grabbing my stomach tightly.
"It's…It's my stomach. Something is wrong with it." I mumbled with a red face.
She shuffled her way over to her large medicine cabinet and she motioned for me to sit down.
She asked me questions about my stomach. Asking if it was pain, grumbling, cramps, nausea, etc. As she was asking me what my symptoms were and digging through bottles, The feeling happened again. However, this time was different. It felt like fingers grassing against the inside of my body. I screamed and wrapped my arms around my torso. Mrs. Kenneddy ran over to me to comfort me.
"This seems a lot worse than normal, maybe we should call your parents." She said as she put her hand on my back.
It felt like some days I saw Mrs. Kennedy more than my teachers. Any small ailment would distract me so badly from class that I had to go see her. Sometimes multiple times a day. She knew at this point when something was really wrong.
Within about 30 minutes both my parents were there with us. That may seem fast, but I'm an only child and my parents are very aware of my tendencies. They know I can spiral and like to be around if it happens.
They kept asking me where the pain was. I think they assumed by the way I wasn't responding to their questions the pain must've been really bad. The reality was that I just didn't know how to tell them what was going on.
I got so frustrated after they asked me over and over again that I just yelled at them.
"Something is inside me! Get it out, get it out, get it out!" I lifted my shirt and was ripping at my stomach. Leaving red nail scratches and cuts. My mom and dad ran to either side of me to grab my arms. Mrs. Kennedy had seen me go pretty crazy, but this was the worst I've ever gotten in front of her. My parents however had seen a similar situation before. Not exactly like this, but they didn't skip a beat on trying to help me.
"Sam. Breath, sweety. Just remember everything is in you for a reason. It's keeping you alive. Nothing is going to hurt you." My mom said softly to me. Trying to calm me down with the words my therapist gave her. "Ice cubes, get him ice cubes!" She said to Mrs. Kennedy as I started to hyperventilate.
Mrs. Kennedy grabbed a ziplock bag and started to fill it with ice cubes. My mom went over to her and grabbed an ice cube right out of the bag, opened up my hand, and put the ice cube in it. This worked in the past to distract me, I knew that's what she was doing, and trust me. I wanted it to work too, but this was different. I kept trying to tell myself that it was just a different feeling I hadn't felt before. That it wasn't possible something was physically inside my body. But I couldn't help it.
Everyone in the room could see that this was getting intense. I think they assumed it was just a mental breakdown and that nothing was physically wrong with my body but I didn't care. I just wanted help.
My parents got me into the car with my mom even sitting in the backseat with me. She kept trying to distract me with conversation but my mind was only on that awful feeling in my stomach.
We pulled up to the ER and my mom guided me in while holding both my wrists. It felt like she was walking me on a leash but I didn't fight it. I knew she was just trying to stop me from scratching my stomach.
We walked in and I spoke to the receptionist. All I said was that I had terrible pain in my stomach. I didn't want to sound too crazy. I just needed a doctor to look at whatever was going on.
After giving the receptionist my name and insurance information we went to sit down. I was sitting in between my parents and I could see my mom lean back to try and mouth something to my dad without me seeing. I didn't think much of it. I was way more worried about other things.
My dad then went up to the receptionist. He pointed over to me and she looked a little concerned. I saw her pick up the clipboard that had my information on it and she started writing something else on it. I asked my dad what he did and he just said to not worry and that he wanted to let her know it was urgent.
No more than 10 minutes went by and I felt a terrible moving sensation. I cringed and grabbed my stomach. Immediately followed by not just the feeling of a hand grabbing my insides but also scratching and pinching. I yelled out in pain as the other people in the waiting room looked at me mortified.
A doctor and a couple of nurses came running over to me and helped me up. But I couldn't stand up. I was in too much pain. They put me in a wheelchair and started to head for a room. However, they didn't take me through the normal big ER doors that went to the standard examination rooms, they took me and my parents through a smaller door to the side that had a padlock on it.
We walked through a white hallway that was very quiet. The doctor and nurses showed us to my room and helped me into my bed as I was wiggling and wincing. I had one parent on either side of me. Patiently waited to stop my arms from scratching.
The doctor was trying to ask further questions but he could tell it wasn't going anywhere. I knew that my dad probably told that receptionist about my OCD tendencies and that I needed to go to the psych ward. Not just to the stranded side of the ER.
I couldn't take it anymore and blurted out that something was inside my stomach and it was trying to get out.
The doctor just looked at my parents for a reaction and they gave him a sad nod. It was like they warned him that this could happen. The doctor didn't just think I was crazy, my parents did too. The doctor took a deep breath and came up to me. I knew I was about to hear some kind of dumb speech about how this was just my OCD and everything was going to be okay.
As he came closer to me, I pulled up my shirt and he gasped. Not only was my stomach scratched up like crazy, but we saw movement. It looked like when a pregnant woman can see her baby kicking. But this was so much stronger. It was stretching my skin.
My parents stood up and gasped while the doctor looked frantic and unprepared.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" The doctor said as he backed out of the room. "Hang on! We are getting this taken care of, just hang tight."
Just seconds later a nurse came in to give me some painkillers. I started to feel the pain slip away, but something so much worse started to creep in. I heard a voice. Not my own. Not some creepy-sounding creature, but the voice of a normal-sounding man that I'd never heard before. But that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was what he was saying to me.
"Get me out. Get me out. Get me out!"
It started in a normal tone, but slowly became more urgent and rushed. Then demanding.
The voice would coincide with the moment inside me.
It was getting so loud that I was having a hard time hearing the people around me. The doctor came in just a few minutes after I last saw him. He was red and sweaty. Like he'd just run a marathon. He told me they needed to do just a few tests on what was inside me before taking action.
I was trying so hard to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth but all I could hear was the voice. The voice stopped for just a second and changed what he was saying. Now he started repeating,
"Cut me out, cut me out, cut me out, now!" I now knew this thing didn't just want out but it wanted out now. I begged the doctor to just get it out now but he wouldn't listen. The voice spoke up again.
"This is taking too long. Don't be afraid. Get me out yourself."
I think it could feel me resisting. Without realizing it, I was looking around the room for something. It was like I didn't even have control over my head or eyes anymore. I knew the voice was looking for a knife but I was trying to ignore the feeling. I knew there weren't any knives around. I was in a very safe place.
Just as I had the feeling I was safe, it was immediately taken away. The thought passed through my head that my dad probably had a pocket knife on him. My heart sank. I knew this thing could hear my thoughts. I knew what it would try to do.
The next thing I knew, I was on my feet, leaping for my dad. My body hit his. luckily, he's in pretty good shape for his age and had no problems putting me in my place.
He got on top of me and pinned me to the ground. All while I could barely hear my mom in the background. Yelling at my dad to be careful. My dad knew something was going on and that I just needed to be on the ground until I calmed down.
My body tried to flail but it wasn't successful. The whole time the voice in my head, now yelling and screaming. Not saying any distinguishable words, but just having what felt like a tantrum. What made my dad the most uncomfortable was the kicking feeling coming from my stomach.
After a couple of minutes, the voice calmed down and I felt in charge of my body again. My dad slowly got up and attempted to help me up. At this point with an audience of hospital staff that looked like they were getting ready to take me somewhere for more tests.
Just as I stood up straight, I felt the voice take over and I lost all sense of my own body. I felt like a shell of myself. My dad gave me a soft yet worried smile, and in that instance, I grabbed him and reached into his pocket. My heart sank as I felt his pocket knife. The room started to panic and about 5 people tried to grab it from me. The last thing I remember is plunging the knife into my stomach. I felt a blinding pain and everything went black.
Several hours later I started to wake up. Everything was extremely blurry and fuzzy. I could hear a very faint voice telling me to relax. As the minutes passed by, things started to become a little bit clearer. I looked around and saw I was in a large room with a few other patients. A nurse was going up to all the beds and checking in on them. I tried to sit up a bit to get more comfortable and noticed an incredible sourness in my stomach. I moved my hospital gown out of the way and saw a huge scare. About 6" across. Most of the scare looked very surgical. Like what I'd imagine a c-section surgery would look like. Except where I remembered the knife going in. It looked like a bunch of extra stitches had to be added where it went in. It also looked pretty bruised. I can imagine that a dull 10-year-old knife that was harshly shoved into a body really wouldn't cleanly cut through and leave some damage.
The feeling of shock from looking at my stomach was quickly gone when I realized that meant whatever was in me was now gone. I didn't hear the voice, I didn't feel a hand in my gut anymore, I didn't see that vile kicking anymore. I felt like I could breathe.
I asked the nurse what they found and she looked flush.
"Uh, that's something that you, uh. Your doctor will talk with you once you eat something and can speak clearly." She said as she scurried off looking upset.
Shortly after that, I was wheeled into a recovery room and my parents came to see me.
As they walked in they had a very similar look on their faces as the nurse did. They looked pale and didn't want to look me in the eye. I kept asking them questions about what was going on but they said the doctor needed to discuss it with me and he wanted to make sure I wasn't feeling high from the anesthesia while we had a conversation.
The doctor didn't come and see me for another 10 hours. Which felt strange. And to add to the strangeness, my parents were taking shifts hanging out with me. There was only overlap when they switched and the other parent took over while the other one left the room. I would understand if they weren't both with me for the whole time. I'm not that needy, but they were only both in my room together for about an hour. That was the hour before the doctor came to my room.
Finally, the doctor came in to talk to me. When he walked in, the room was cold and quiet. It was evident he didn't feel the same relief I was feeling.
He seemed awkward. Like he was talking way too long to get over to me. He grabbed a chair and scooted it close to me.
"Listen Sam. I know this last 24 hours has been very challenging. I apologize for not explaining what happened during your surgery sooner, but we all needed time to figure it out, and quite frankly, process what happened. We feel we have enough information to let you in on what is going on." A silence filled the room. It felt like no one was brave enough to break it.
"And?" I said with confusion.
"I think it'll be easier if we just show you."
The doctor along with my parents helped me into a wheelchair and we started to make our way across the hospital to an entirely different section. I couldn't believe all the things running through my head at what we were about to see. It felt like cruel and unusual punishment to leave me in anticipation and not just tell me what I was about to see.
When I went around the corner I couldn't process what I was looking at. I thought they were showing me a large tumor or growth of some kind, but why would a tumor be in a big incubation chamber with tubes connected to IVs and machines coming out of it?
As I got closer, I started to see human fetchers on it. It was mostly just a 6-pound lump of flesh, but I could see a hand sticking out of it. It was small, but what made it creepy was it looked like a fully developed man's hand. Just small. I could see a patch of hair coming out of what I assumed was its head. It had no discernible facial features. Just a few teeth scattered in one section.
As I looked at it with disgust, coming to terms with this thing that was just in my body, I had a realization. I wasn't feeling sick at the thought of something being in my body. Sure, I was grossed out that this particular thing was just in me, but the thought of the bacteria in my body didn't make me want to throw up. I thought about all the blood pumping through my veins and I felt… normal. Not only was the voice and kicking gone. But my OCD was gone too. I didn't have a mental illness. It was just this thing. Trying to find its way out for years.
As I was staring at the creature, the doctor came and put his hand on my shoulder.
"We believe this is your twin brother." I immediately looked up at my parents who looked very disturbed and upset. I let the doctor finish talking. "We believe that you absorbed him in the womb and that he has been living inside you your whole life. This is an extremely rare condition called fetus-in-fetu. It seems he didn't quite have the best opportunity to develop normally. That's why he looks the way he does. Despite his appearance, he has all the organs he needs to survive. Looks like he's missing a lung and his gallbladder. Also a piece of his liver but other than that, it looks like he will live for at least a few years. He won't be able to leave this room due to him needing a feeding tube and a few other things that his body can not do on its own. He needs lots of support just to live. What makes this situation extremely unique is that your twin is still alive despite your body not sustaining him anymore. Even though we have him hooked up to a few IVs and machines, It is unexplainable how he is living while outside of your body."
I was in complete shock. I didn't want to believe it. I asked my mom why she never told me I absorbed my twin in the womb, she said she had no clue. There was never a sign when she was pregnant with me.
He also mentioned that sometimes even in pregnancies women will go their whole pregnancy without even getting a belly. It's called a 'Cryptic pregnancy'. I've always had a bit of a gut but never anything big enough to cause suspicion. I guess in my case I had a fetus-fetu and an experience similar to a cryptic pregnancy. Even though it was in my stomach. At least that was the doctor's best guess. Although, it all sounded like BS to me.
The doctor and my parents kept trying to explain more and more details to me. I don't know why they didn't slow down a little bit for my sake. How could they not tell I wasn't processing any of this?
I noticed something while they were trying to explain things to me. They kept calling it a 'He'.
Now listen. I'm not some kind of asshole that won't respect someone who wants to be called a specific pronoun. I've never been that kind of person. But this is where I draw the line.
Not just that. But this thing had a name. My parents named it and said today was its birthday. While they told me all this information, they didn't look happy about it. It seemed like they were forced to do all this nonsense. And now it was my turn to be convinced. I could tell they were trying to force it.
The doctor told me despite it not having a high probability for a long life that we should still try and give it the love it deserves. Of course, the doctor referred to it as a 'He' but I refused to.
This disgusted me. This thing tried to kill me and ruined my quality of life for so long, and now we are going to treat it like it's some kind of prince? No, absolutely not.
Luckily, it seemed like it would never leave the hospital, but my parents planned on going to visit it daily. Visiting it? Are you kidding me? it has no eyes, no ears, it's probably miserable and has no concept of people even being around it.
I'm refusing to ever see this thing again or acknowledge its existence again.
I could get in trouble for even talking about this. The hospital or anyone involved has signed NDAs to not share any information about this until it officially dies. This is because it's a medical anomaly and the first of its kind. They want to do the proper research on how this all occurred before coming out with a statement. I just have to get this all off my chest. I feel like I'm the crazy one here when I know I'm not. I don't care if I get in trouble.
I am scared that the doctors are trying to force my parents into giving this thing a proper life. I think that's why it took them so long to tell me. I think they scared my parents into keeping it alive and guilting them or even forcing them into being its parent.
I'm all for every life being important and all that stuff, but I have a feeling my parents are terrified of this thing just like I am.
I am convinced they gaslit my parents into believing this thing is my brother. If there wasn't any sign of him while my mom was pregnant with me, could this thing be something else?
This all happened about two years ago. It's still alive and they are still researching it. My parents continue to visit it despite everything. My therapist told me that I'm probably just struggling with jealousy now that I'm not an only child anymore and so much of my parents' attention is on him now, but it's so much bigger than just jealousy.
Since this thing showed up and my OCD is pretty much gone, I've hardly seen my parents. I know I'm not just jealous. There is something more to this. I know it.
Something just feels so off about this whole thing. What is this thing? Where did it come from? And what does it want?

Click this link to read Chapter 2
Chapter 3: How to Lose a Rig in 30 Seconds
“God damnit!” the salty old man ripped his headset from his balding head and he tossed it aside the radio.
“I’m on fire!” squelched a voice through the earpiece. “Oh my God I’m on fire!” he screamed, and the sounds of the garbled scream cut off into static decay.
“Bunch of idiots…” he shook his head. “Can’t listen worth a hill of beans!” He sat back with a deep sigh as he wiped the look of mild annoyance and defeat from his face. He just shook his head as he reached to press a green button on the radio, it switched to an open channel as he held it in place and picked up his headset to grumble into the microphone, “ObsidianFang to all outposts, the convoy is toast…I repeat, the convoy is toast.” He depressed the button and, again, tossed the headset down aside the radio as he stood from behind the counter in his shop. He looked up from his things to see outside as a man, long-haired and disheveled walked by and started shimmying up onto the roof. “What in the world?” Just out of Fang’s sight was a little girl, covered in filth and holding a tattered stuffed lion, both were heading up onto the roof. He stood to go outside but, just then, the radio static faded back into the sound of someone barely able to speak, pleading for help to the sounds of crackling fire and exploding things. With a grimace and a nervous laugh, the old man just tuned the radio channel over to Control Station 17 and its old collection of classic, upbeat music broadcasting on a loop.
That music…that music and it’s static-laden stream of blips and beeps that sat far off in the staticky background…sounding like some kind of Morris code, I think. Bah! I’m starting to ramble again…
Cool breezes were not the most common thing in the wasteland but, this morning, the air felt cool as ever as the breeze gently dipped out of the clear blue sky. In the breeze, a sullen steel squeal of a weathered windmill whined…how’s that for alliteration, huh? Heh! kinda proud of myself for that! Rhythmically, it turned to hush and whine, hush and whine, clatter, hush and whine. The mill sat fixed to the roof of the old gas station —the only gas station— and served as the water-pump for the area as it doubled to help charge up batteries (a commodity in the wasteland). The morning sun throwing the mills shadow onto the quarter-panel of my rig that sat parked below. But, as the breeze settled, so too did the windmill and, finally, its metallic whine hushed up for a long bit. Even though the windmill sat silent, still, the sounds of electronics hummed away from near the base of one of its legs. There, at the foot of the windmill, sat a darkly colored and armored casing with red glowing lights at one end, and grouping of red lenses on the other. A sentinel —one of many— keeping a watchful eye on things.
You should know that this “sentinel” that I said is “keeping a watchful eye on things” is not exactly keeping an eye to make sure things stay safe, not exactly. But we’ll get to that later. For now…for now all you really need to know is that it’s there. Watching…
The gas station, atop which the mill sat, usually stood abustle with many comings and goings but, for some reason, today it sat quiet, save for the salty old man screaming away into his radio. Yeah, he does his best to direct cargo convoys through the valley on the safest routes to the station but, sometimes, those convoys lose some cargo and he loses a gasket…literally as that’s what the cargo usually is: gaskets and other assorted mechanical items. And, metaphorically too with a little bit of anger to show for it. The stations only customers were the truck drivers of the convoys, and people like me, scouts for the local clans who were looking to re-up on supplies and resources from those convoys. Today, I was there for the fuel.
When I had pulled up there that morning, I thought it was odd to see some guy and his kid daughter milling around the mill on the roof, and no convoy to be seen. The usual trucker chatter on the overhead speakers had been replaced by the soothing and melodic sounds of AC/DC. And, what’s more, it looked like Fang had hired a new hand to help out at the station. I saw the punk getting up as I turned the rig off, heading my direction.
“Hell yeah!” I says under my breath as I got out of my rig, gave the punk a nod and says “I’ll be right out to get some fuel,” then, headed inside.
“Diesel…” the old man inside says to me.
“Boss,” I says back. Yeah, his callsign was ObsidianFang but, face to face, everyone called him Boss. “What’s with the yokes on the roof? … and where’s the shipment?”
“Don’t ask me about the shipment, Diesel.” He huffed, “It ain’t here, is it?!”
“Up in smoke, huh?”
“Burnt to a crisp…” he sighed.
“Oh, wow, dad!” I heard the little girl come hopping down the outside of the building with a thud onto some old sheet metal. “I can’t believe we got another one!” she rushed into the building with excitement written all over her, and a cracked-up sentinel in her hands.
“Hey hey hey, honey!” her father scaled his way down more cautiously, I could tell because there were no thuds of any sort. “Slow down there, your old pops ain’t what he used to be!” he said as he made his way after her.
“What you got there?” I axed the girl as she stopped cold, right in front of me.
She looked at me as though I had just asked her for her one and only heart.
“What’s wrong with your voice?” she finally asked with wide eyes.
“Oh…right…” I says as I ran a hand across my neck tracing the old jagged scar with my fingertips and, for the first time in forever, I had been embarrassed about the sound of my gruff, half-choked voice. Some have remarked that it sounds like I eat cigarrets.
“Christine!” her father started in through the door of the shop, close enough to place a hand in front of the girl and usher her behind himself. Flushed from exertion, and suddenly aware that his daughter needed corralling, he turned to look at me. “I’m sorry about that…she’s not used to interacting with other people.”
“But daddy, her voice…” the little girl whispered.
“Please,” he says to both his girl and myself as he blushed. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no…it’s okay,” and it was, and that’s when I actually heard my voice for the 1^st time in a long time. I guess I had tuned out the grizzled manliness over the years. I leaned down to be eye to eye with the little girl, “Christine, is it?” and she shyly nodded. “I hurt my voice playing with guns, so, don’t ever play with guns, okay?” and she nodded vigorously.
“Is that true?” her dad asked as I stood up.
“I got my vocal cords severed when a .50 caliber rifle misfired in my face.”
His eyes went wide as he looked to the old man who just nodded to confirm my story.
“As for the accent, possibly Eastern Seaboard USA…I think…can’t be too sure about it these days but what I do know is my name’s L.A. You got a name, yourself?” I axed.
“I-…” he stopped to look curiously at his daughter, then, back to me. “I’m Carl.”
“What’s a carl, daddy?” Christine whispered up at him.
“I’ll explain later, honey.” He says quietly out of the side of his mouth. “She’s never heard my name before…” he says to me with loss in his eyes.
“Ah, I get it…” and I did: they had lost her mother at some point before the girl could talk, and he’s only ever been Daddy to her. “Change of subject, then. You guys hunting down sentinels, huh?” I pointed to the contraption in the girl’s hands.
Carl scratched at his shoulder as he motioned for Christine to let him take the thing, and she slipped it into his hand. “Electronic parts, actually.” He held it up in view. “These peepers are loaded with the stuff.”
“That they are,” I says, “That they are…” turning to the old man and throwing my thumb up pointing outside. “Who’s the new guy?”
“Huh?” Fang looked out with a squint. “Oh, just some punk —said he’d work for cheap— told’em he could have whatever whoever gives him for helping out…”
“Alright…” I nodded in thought while I fished around in my back pocket for a surprise. “I’m guessing since there’s no shipment, that, whatever fuel you got left is gonna be at a premium, right?”
“Premium price for a premium account like yours?” the old man laughed. “And have your whole clan after my hide for trying to take advantage…no thank you!” he laughed again but this time a little more nervously.
“Well, take this anyways…” like an old coin I flipped a small electronic chip into the air and onto the counter, and I started to turn to leave the building. “Maybe you can trade Carl here, sounds like he needs the chip for something.” I stopped at the doorway, and saw that punk was eyeballing Snaggletooth like he’d never seen anything like it. “I’m grabbing about 60 gallons…10 in the rig and 50 in the barrel.”
“Have at it!” Fang said while happily looking over the gold-pinned electronic chip. On my way out the door I overheard Fang try to recruit Carl, asking if he’d like to try and recover any of the cargo that was just lost down in the canyon.
“I’ll even let you keep some of the scrap you find, sound like a deal?”
The music from the radio suddenly faded as the blips and beeps overtook the transmission fading from music to a pirated broadcast signal, “Breaking! Breaking!” It was a woman’s voice, cheerful even, “Reports are coming in that this week’s supply convoy from the Reconstructed Quarter has been stopped along the border entrance to the canyon,” oddly enough, the woman’s voice seemed a little too cheerful for the news being delivered, and it continued, “Looks like these boys don’t know how to ease big things into tight spaces.” I stopped suddenly at the callous nature of the joke…I mean, people were dead and all…but I brushed it aside and continued my way out of the building tuning out the report since I already knew about the situation.
“Is that the same cargo you’re asking me about?” Carl asked.
“The very same!” Fang chuckled. “You in?”
But that was the last I heard of it all. Outside, compared to inside that stuffy store, the cool breeze felt more welcoming than ever. There was even a different sound to the shuffle of dirt under my boots, as though the light gusts just carried the sounds away. The broadcast had ended and, just like that, the song it had cut into returned from where it left off, Hells Bells! There came a small serenity in the moment that I’ve managed to hold on to for all this time. The blue and crisp sky of morning, the cool and crisp breeze, the view of the desert dunes…crisp…all seemed perfect and serene. Except for the whining windmill. Hells Bells!
That punk looked like he was drooling when I walked up, and I couldn’t blame him because Snaggletooth was something else. About the size of one of those old Chevy Suburban trucks but about seven inches lower to the ground. Instead of four wheels it had six (two up front and four in the back) and each wheel had razor-sharp spikes welded to the rims. The grill of the truck had been fortified with sharpened steel pipes protruding forwards that could skewer a man clean through. A single metal spike had been welded just to the left where the headlights should have been, and this spike was angled downwards, looking a jagged tooth, hence the rigs name, Snaggletooth. I could go on for days about each and every blade and spike which covered that beast but, safe to say, you could lose a limb if you lean up against it.
“Yeah, what’doya want?” the question shot quick and rough from a high pitched and annoying voice.
Rattled and disturbed from my peace I gruffly answered, “You know what I’m here for…”
“Yeah? What’doya got?” the punk spat back.
“The usual wares, how much you want?” I was referring to the wires, batteries, and scrap metal that one in the wasteland usually barters with.
He didn’t think one more second and, just like that, he raised his crossbow right at me, “How ‘bout all of it!” he meant my rig.
“Aw crap!” A crossbow bolt zipped passed my head as I dove for the ground. Now, sidenote, I thought I was using some serious big-brained muscles when I grabbed at my pocket for the starter module but, as you’re about to see, that was not the best of my ideas.
The rig roared to life as I clicked the module in my pocket and, as I triggered its weapons systems, one of its handy-dandy drones popped out of the side and clobbered me right in the dome. Knock me right out. When I woke up, the module had been fished outta’ my pocket and the rig was gone. Fang and the others stood over me, vultures circled overhead, and a lone explosion sounded far off in the distance…and that cool breeze mocked me as it gusted up to tussle my hair, tickling the bridge of my nose while I laid there in the dirt. And, woefully, the smell of excrement permeating all around. The sound of the weathered windmill picked back up as I, too, picked myself up, and it whined into the wind as I grumbled and shuffled off into the distance.
Yeah, for those that can’t visually put things together, let me spell it out for you in this here black and white: I crapped my pants when I got knocked out by the drone. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…get it outta’ your system…these things happen. Meh… … …look, I’m sorry for getting antagonistic on you, there. Just, please, for the sake of everyone involved, try to work on that imagination of yours so that I don’t need to spell things out so matter-of-fact. It ruins the subtle mystique of reading between the lines. And, what’s a story without mystique? Well, it ain’t no story at all, that’s what.
Moving on!
Click this link to read Chapter 4

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Should I be worried?”
Why would you be worried?” Kim said. “Dean Lichman loves us.”
Dean Lichman had asked the two of them to stop by his office, though his brief message had not said what for. That left Vell to concoct nightmare scenarios in his head.
“He doesn’t love all of us.”
“Alex doesn’t count as ‘us’,” Kim said. She was a looper in purely a technical sense, mostly due to her own refusal to be a team player. “Besides, she’s been behaving lately. She’s only been an asshole, not an active liability.”
“That we know of.”
“If we don’t know about it, Dean probably doesn’t either,” Kim said. “It’s fine, Vell, he probably just wants to ask us for advice or deal with some problem he has.”
“That’s not much better,” Vell said. “How weird would things have to be that the Dean is asking us for help personally?”
“Only one way to find out,” Kim said. She gestured to the door to the Dean’s office.
Kim entered first, and found it in much the same state as it always was. The desk piled high with paperwork, a small bowl of assorted candies shoved into the corner of the desk, and Dean Lichman behind it, frantically tapping away on a laptop. Vell had not been in this office for several years, and it was vastly different than the last time he’d been here.
“Ah, there you are, come in, have a seat,” Dean Lichman said. “Unless you’d rather we have our conversation elsewhere, Vell.”
“Why would I want that?”
“Well, it’s my understanding you haven’t been in this office since my, uh, predecessor,” Dean Lichman said.
“Oh, right, the kidnapping,” Vell said. “No, I’m good, I don’t really get traumatized by things anymore.”
Vell had been killed too many different ways in too many different places to have a functional trauma response. A few days ago he’d gotten his legs chewed off by a vending machine, and still stopped by it to pick up a soda on his way to the office.
“That’s a very concerning response, Mr. Harlan.”
“Yeah. Anyway, what did you need?”
Dean Lichman gestured for the duo to take a seat, and both did so. He folded desiccated hands in front of himself before beginning to speak.
“I would like to ask you two to take a look at an experiment that will be occurring later this week,” Dean Lichman said. “I don’t have any reason to believe it poses a threat, but I would like to be assured it is a safe and ethical environment, and, well, you two have a knack for identifying trouble spots.”
“You could say that,” Kim said. It was more accurate to say that trouble had a way of identifying them -and then leaping at them and ripping their heads off.
“I’d appreciate it if the two of you could simply examine the laboratory and give it your approval, or disapproval, as the case may be,” Dean Lichman said. “Though if you’re too busy, I fully understand.”
“If you don’t think this is dangerous, why are you asking for our help anyway?”
“Simply for my own peace of mind, frankly,” Dean Lichman said. “The school’s policies on animal experimentation are...satisfactory, I suppose, but I do want to take extra precautions when the subject is a creature as smart as an elephant.”
“An elephant?”
“Yes, a resident of a reserve in Thailand,” Dean Lichman said. “An older elephant by the name of Mae Noi. She has cancer, apparently, and she is submitting to experimental treatment in the hopes it will be useful for younger elephants.”
Kim’s digital face briefly flashed with a facial expression of concerned skepticism.
“‘She’ is submitting to treatment? As in the elephant?”
“Yes. Apparently the elephant can talk,” Dean Lichman said. “No, I don’t know how it works, they said it was ‘more impressive in person’.”
“Well now I kind of want to go just to see the talking elephant,” Vell said.
“Same.”
“Well, do try to take a few glances at the experiment’s safety while you’re there,” Dean Lichman said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Vell said. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“I’ll be there too,” Kim said.
“Excellent. Thank you both, and I’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” the Dean said. He then bid them both a polite goodbye and returned to his mountains of paperwork. Vell took a step out of the office and then took a sip from the soda he’d recently retrieved from the evil vending machine.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think I really do want to see the talking elephant,” Kim said.
“Obviously, yeah, we all want to see the talking elephant,” Vell said. “I mean the whole situation. You think the elephant thing is going to be the daily apocalypse for that day?”
“Well, on the one hand, an elephant seems like the kind of thing that would kill us,” Kim said. “But on the other, I feel like the fact we have advance warning means it’s not going to happen.”
“True. The universe probably wouldn’t make it that easy for us.”
“Yeah, but the elephant thing still feels pretty threatening,” Kim said. “Only way to find out is to wait a few days, I guess.”
A FEW DAYS LATER
“Hello you two,” Dean Lichman said. “And Hawke.”
“Hey,” Hawke said.
“He also wanted to see the talking elephant,” Kim explained.
“Well, that’s not a problem, it was an open invitation,” Dean Lichman said.
“Thanks. Still, sorry for not saying I was going to show up in advance,” Hawke said. “It took me a long time to make up my mind whether I was more interested in or afraid of a talking elephant.”
“They are rather large, aren’t they? I suppose that could be intimidating.”
“I’m okay with elephants on their own, it’s the talking part that doesn’t sit right with me,” Hawke said. “What if the elephant doesn’t like me? What if I’m the first person to ever get insulted by an elephant?”
“You’re less afraid of getting trampled by an elephant than insulted by one?”
“I’m a little afraid of trampling, but elephants are chill,” Hawke explained. “They wouldn’t attack unless provoked. I kind of feel like one might call me a dipshit unprovoked, though.”
“You have oddly specifics fears, Mr. Hughes,” Dean Lichman said.
“Yeah.”
In spite of those fears, Hawke happily stepped through the door to the zoology lab. It did not take a long time to locate the elephant in the room, as it was a literal elephant. The towering pachyderm was in a makeshift pen in the center of the lab, with an ample supply of food and a strange pedestal in front of her.
“Dr. Chanthara,” Dean Lichman said, with a polite wave to one of the researchers in the room. “Good to see you. These are the students I told you about.”
“Hm. Nice to meet you,” Dr. Chanthara said. He was, perhaps not unreasonably, skeptical of why three seemingly random students were in charge of a safety inspection. The fact that one of the three was a robot made him even more skeptical.
“Hi, nice to meet you too, and, uh, don’t mind us,” Vell said. “We just have an eye for weird things other people might miss.”
“Sure. I- wait. Aren’t you that kid who got chosen by a god?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Vell said. “And her too, technically.”
Kim shrugged. She didn’t care for any extra attention on that point.
“Right,” Chanthara said. He was beginning to see why these students might know their stuff. “I suppose we should start by introducing you to Mae Noi. Say hello, Mae.”
The elephant shifted on her feet and poked her trunk at the wide pedestal in front of her twice.
“Hello. Friends,” a synthesized voice droned. Vell stepped a little closer to the pedestal, just enough to see that there were an array of buttons on the side facing Mae Noi.
“Oh, it’s kind of like a keyboard,” Vell said. He’d seen similar things used with dogs, though usually in a much simpler fashion. Mae Noi seemed to have a few dozen buttons at her disposal.
“Smart,” Mae Noi said, with another prod of her trunk.
“We initially put it into our sanctuary as a bit of a novelty, something elephants could choose to interact with,” Dr. Chanthara explained. “Mae Noi took to it a bit better than most. Especially once she found out she could use it to ask for food.”
“Food. Pumpkin. Pumpkin. Pumpkin.”
“No, Mae, no food until after experiment,” Dr. Chanthara scolded.
“Experiment,” Mae Niko said with a prod. “Pumpkin.”
“Yes, experiment then pumpkin,” Dr. Chanthara said.
“That’s not really a talking elephant, is it?” Hawke said.
“It’s more talking than most elephants,” Dr. Chanthara said.
“Elephant. Smart,” Mae Niko said. “Smart.”
“Yes, uh, right, elephant smart,” Hawke said. He took a step back, to avoid any further offense and any further risk of being insulted by Mae Noi.
“You’re very impressive, Mae, don’t mind him,” Kim said. “How many words does she know?”
“Our platform back home has around three hundred words, though she’s still learning some of them,” Dr. Chanthara said. “The ‘travel’ version we put together only has a hundred, just enough to make sure she can get her basic needs met and communicate about the experiment.”
“Right, speaking of, I do believe we should put some time into our reason for being here,” Dean Lichman interjected. “You’re welcome to stick around afterwards, at Dr. Chanthara and Mae Noi’s discretion, of course, but we should get underway.”
“We probably should get to business, yeah,” Kim said. She tapped the side of her metal head. “I’m going to scan the lab. Vell, you talk to the elephant and make sure everything’s above-board.”
“Abov- oh, right,” Vell said. “Sorry, not exactly used to being able to ask animals if they agree to animal experimentation.”
“Experiment,” Mae said.
“Yeah, experiment,” Vell said, as he turned to Mae. “So, Mae Noi, this experiment might hurt, do you know that?”
“Experiment. Hurt. Elephant,” Mae Noi prodded. “Experiment. Help. Elephant. Help. Baby.”
“Help baby?”
“Baby. Baby. Elephant. Sick. Baby. Sick.”
“We’ve explained the nature of her condition to Mae Noi as best we can,” Dr. Chanthara said. “She has several children, and is concerned they might be similarly affected.”
“Help. Baby,” Mae Noi said. “Experiment. Help.”
The way Mae Noi frantically tapped the buttons tugged at Vell’s heartstrings, but he choked those emotions down.
“So you want to do this experiment to help baby, got it,” Vell said. “Even if it hurts you?”
“Elephant. Old,” Mae Noi said. “Hurt. Okay. Help. Baby.”
“Huh. Well, that does sound like informed consent to me,” Vell said. “Passes ethical muster, at least.”
The campus rules allowed students to be experimented on, with their consent, so Vell saw no reason not to apply the same standard to an elephant.
“You speak up if you change your mind about the experiment, okay?”
“Stop. Stop. Stop,” Mae said, mashing the same button a few times. “Yes.”
“You got it. I’m going to go help my friends check things out,” Vell said. “Good talking to you, Mae.”
“Good. Talk. Friend,” Mae said. She waved goodbye with her trunk, and Vell waved back. He wandered away from Mae Noi’s pedestal and found Kim and Hawke carefully examining rows of beakers and various other supplies.
“Nothing sus yet, boss,” Hawke said.
“Nothing caustic, mutagenic, or explosive?”
“Well, something mutagenic, but it’s supposed to be,” Kim said. She had scanners built into her body much like those that had once been in Vell’s glasses, allowing her to analyze the complex chemical formulas at a glance. “They’re going for some gene editing similar to what we’ve tried to do on human cancer patients. Low success rate, but not harmful. Some adaptations to work on elephants, of course.”
“Run it by any of our chemistry and biology student friends yet?”
“A few,” Kim said. “Haven’t gotten anything back yet, though.”
“Maybe run it by Skye, too,” Vell said. “She’d recognize anything that’d mutate an animal.”
“She does love to mutate things,” Kim said.
“Benevolently,” Vell insisted. “Just show her. I’m going to check for any stray equipment.”
The presence of an unusually large test subject had resulted in the lab being rearranged and reshuffled, so Vell did a quick scan for any misplaced equipment that might pose a threat. He found, to his surprise, a tidy and well-organized environment, with any and all extraneous materials securely locked away. There wasn’t so much as a shrink ray out of place. Vell did another loop just to be sure, but returned to his friends empty-handed.
“This place has less safety hazards than my lab,” Vell said. Hawke stared at him for a while.
“Why does your lab have safety hazards?’
“I do runecarving, there’s like, hammers and chisels,” Vell said. “Those can hurt people.”
“Mm, true,” Hawke said. “So you really didn’t find anything?”
“Nothing,” Vell said. “This place is secure as I’ve ever seen a lab be.”
“It’s like I said,” Kim began. “We got an actual warning about it, so obviously nothing’s going to go wrong. That’d be too easy.”
“Maybe,” Vell said. “Things can get teleported in, or someone could cast a spell, or something.”
“Yeah, but that applies to anywhere, at any time,” Kim said.
“Kim’s right,” Hawke said. “I say we go business as usual.”
“I guess,” Vell said. “We have to branch out a little, at least. Can’t keep an eye on one room all day.”
The trio stopped sulking around the outskirts of the lab and returned to Dean Lichman and Dr. Chanthara.
“Everything looks good,” Kim said. “Probably the safest lab I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” Dr. Chanthara said.
“We have very high safety standards here at the Einstein-Odinson,” Dean Lichman said, defensively. “Relatively speaking. Innovation requires some risk.”
“I understand perfectly. So does Mae.”
“Hurt. Okay,” Mae said.
“Not that okay,” Vell said. “Nice meeting you, Dr. Chanthara. You too, Mae.”
“Wait.”
Mae prodded one of the buttons on her pedestal and then pointed her trunk at the three of them. Hawke looked deeply concerned, but stepped forward alongside Vell and Kim. Mae Noi appraised them with massive brown eyes, and then moved her trunk back towards the pedestal. Vell noticed a distinctive scar on the bridge of her long nose just as Mae Noi pressed another button.
“Joke.”
“...Joke?”
Dr. Chanthara sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Just go along with it,” he said. “She likes to tell her joke.”
“Uh, okay,” Vell said. “Let’s hear it.”
“What. Elephant. Favorite. Part. Tree.”
“Umm...I don’t know, Mae,” Vell lied. He’d heard this joke from a kid, once. “What part?”
“Trunk,” Mae said. She gave a loud bray of amusement and then slammed her trunk down a few more times to emphasize the punchline. “Trunk. Trunk.”
“Oh, ha, I get it,” Kim said, hoping her feigned laugh was convincing. She’d never tried to lie to an elephant before. “Good one, Mae.”
Mae Noi shifted from side to side, looking pleased with herself, while the trio took a step back and stopped their feigned laughter.
“Did you give her buttons just to tell that joke with?”
“She gets upset,” Dr. Chanthara said. “I’m not even sure she understands the pun, she just likes people’s reactions.”
“As long as she’s having fun,” Hawke said.
“We’ll get out of your hair now,” Vell said. “Good luck with the experiment, feel free to let us know if you need a hand with anything.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Dr. Chanthara said. Some of his earlier skepticism seemed to have softened, but he did not seem entirely onboard with three strangers mucking about with his experiment. Vell and his friends left before they stretched what little goodwill they had any further. Mae Noi waved her trunk goodbye as the three left the lab and stepped back onto the quad.
“I’m going to try and sneak some classes in,” Hawke said. “Later.”
“I’ll check some of our usual hot spots,” Kim said, before she too left. Once again alone, Vell headed to one of his own classes, and called up Samson.
“Hey, Samson,” Vell began. “See anything interesting while we were playing with the elephant?”
“Well, I thought I clocked someone acting suspicious, but it turns out he was only sneaking around to go see his boyfriend,” Samson said. “Nothing apocalyptic, but I did get called a homophobe, which is pretty emotionally devastating.”
“I’m sure you’ll recover someday,” Vell said. “Keep an eye out. Usually the safer things look, the more dangerous things end up being.”
“Will do,” Samson said, before saying goodbye and hanging up.
***
Vell got increasingly nervous the longer the day went without its daily disaster. He thought about checking in on Mae Noi again, but then recalled Kim’s warning about it being too obvious, but then remembered that nobody had seen anything suspicious anywhere else, but then remember that Mae Noi’s lab had looked perfectly safe-
“Vell.”
“Huh?”
“You’re spiraling,” Kim said.
“I’m not spiraling, I’m just,” Vell said, with a pause for contemplation. “Considering multiple options.”
“In a spiral fashion,” Kim said. “Eat the damn french fries. Honestly, what’s the point of ordering so many if you’re just going to let them get cold?”
“It’s not like they’re going to go to waste,” Vell said. The same time loop that allowed him to eat massive amounts of french fries without fear of gaining weight also allowed him to avoid food waste. One of the upsides of life in a time loop.
“Just eat, Vell,” Kim said. “You worry too much about all this shit.”
“I’m in charge, it’s my job to worry about it,” Vell said.
“It’s your job to handle it,” Kim said. “There’s no point thinking about this shit before it happens, you spend all day thinking about an elephant and then the universe drops, like, a bat with tentacles on your head. Just deal with as it comes, Vell.”
Vell leaned on the table and managed to chomp down on a french fry or two.
“You know, next year, when I’m not running the show anymore, I’m going to call and see if you still think it’s that easy.”
“I sure hope so,” Kim said. “I’m saying all this shit trying to make myself believe it too.”
“Oh good, you’re lying to both of us,” Vell said. “That’s cool.”
“Fake it ‘til you make it, Vell, that’s how it goes,” Kim said. “Eat your damn french fries.”
Vell rolled his eyes and returned to his fries, which were now starting to cool. Thankfully he would not have to worry about finishing them. A loud crash from across campus interrupted him mid-bite and nearly made Vell choke on his fries. He painfully swallowed the half-chewed food and then looked over his shoulder.
“Son of a bitch, finally,” Vell said. A few years ago he’d found it weird whenever he was relieved about a disaster, but now he was just genuinely glad to get it over with. The waiting was as killer as the apocalypse. He tossed his fries in the trash and headed toward the sound of chaos, with Kim right behind him.
“Already told everybody?”
“Well, I may or may not have left Alex and Helena out of the loop…”
“Kim.”
“They’d find out anyway,” Kim said. “I got to use my brain parts to get in touch with them, even over wi-fi that shit feels dirty.”
“Just get in- stop.”
Vell held out his hand. Kim froze in place and did not move. Not intentionally, at least. There was a small amount of unintentional movement. The ground was vibrating.
“Always love a good earthquake,” Kim said.
“That’s not a quake,” Vell said. “That’s...footsteps!”
Vell grabbed Kim and dove out of the way just in time for something to barrel through the walls of the dining hall and stampede across the room. Tables, chairs, and more than a few students were crushed under the feet of a hulking, brown-furred behemoth as it charged. Kim picked herself and Vell up off the floor and tried to trail its progress.
“That’s a- oh fuck me,” Kim said. “Please don’t say you told me so.”
Vell got his bearings and looked across the room at the titanic form of a woolly mammoth. Though it was definitely recognizable as an archaic mammoth, the ancient creature was also heavily mutated, unnaturally large even by mammoth standards, and with multiple curled, jagged tusks protruding from a slobbering maw.
“Well that could be unrelated,” Vell said. “Mammoths can come from a lot of places, cloning accidents, time machines…”
The mammoth reached a wall, and rather than barreling through, turned around, facing directly towards Vell. A prominent scar covered the bridge of its broad trunk.
“Oh, nope, that’s definitely Mae,” Vell said. The scar was in the same place and at the same angle. Even a clone wouldn’t have an identical scar.
Once the revelation had struck, Mae took her turn. Vell found himself staring straight down the barrel of a very angry mammoth coming right at him at Vell-squishing velocity. Luckily he’d been charged at by a lot of creatures over four years of looping.
Vell jumped up and to the side, and latched on to one of the curled tusks, which made for very convenient handlebars. Kim did the same on the opposite side of Mae, and punched her in the head.
“Wait, wait, hold off on the violence for a second,” Vell shouted. He tried to wave at Kim to stop, but Mae was thrashing so violently he had to grip the tusks with both hands.
“Good plan,” Kim shouted. “Can you get Mae on board?”
Another set of tables got crushed underfoot. Thankfully the other students were out of trampling range by now, but Mae Noi’s feet were still coated in the blood of earlier victims.
“Mae’s smart, maybe we can calm her down,” Vell said. He then ducked to dodge a swat from Mae’s mutated trunk.
“Call me crazy, Vell, but I think this is more than just a bad mood,” Kim said, as she climbed up Mae’s seven jagged tusks like a ladder.
“We have to try,” Vell said. The loopers rule against hurting other intelligent life forms had some flexibility for blood-crazed mutants on violent rampages, but they had to at least try to reason first. Vell climbed up on of Mae’s tusks and looked into one of her bloodshot eyes for any sign of recognition. “Mae! It’s Vell, do you remember?”
The only response Vell got was an enraged trumpet, which he didn’t think was a “yes”.
“Come on, bud,” Vell said. “What’s an elephant’s favorite part of a tree, right? The trunk?”
The massive brown eye staring at Vell blinked, and he felt a brief glimmer of hope. He then felt a brief glimmer of his lungs being crushed as Mae swung her head and slammed her tusks into the wall, and Vell along with them. Kim punched Mae in the throat and then jumped across the tusks to grab Vell and carry him to safety.
“You okay, Vell?”
He opened his mouth to respond, and a pint or two of blood came out instead.
“Apparently not,” he mumbled. “I might be down a few ribs. And a lung. Or two.”
Kim carried Vell a safe distance from the fight and set him down on the ground, where he promptly spat out another mouthful of blood.
“Okay, uh, you just lie there and try to die peacefully, I guess,” Kim said.
“Way ahead of you.”
***
“Was that last bit as funny as I thought it was?” Vell asked. “I think the blood loss was affecting my sense of humor.”
“It was kind of hard to appreciate in the moment,” Kim said. “But as far as dying jokes go, it was pretty good.”
Vell and Kim walked into the lair for their morning meeting and joined the loopers that had already gathered.
“Okay, what’d I miss while I was dead?”
“Well, after Alex was done getting herself killed,” Samson began.
“You’re saying that as if it’s something to be ashamed of,” Alex said. “Vell also died.”
“Yeah, but he got killed trying to do something good. You got killed trying to do something stupid.”
“Trying to eliminate a threat is not stupid,” Alex said.
“We don’t kill intelligent creatures,” Hawke said. “Sometimes we punch them into a coma, but we don’t kill them.”
“When a dog bites, you put it down, I don’t see why the same principle doesn’t apply to a mammoth that’s crushed seventy people.”
“That wasn’t Mae’s fault,” Vell said. “She got mutated, or something. On that note: did you guys figure out what happened to Mae Noi?”
“Nothing,” Hawke said. “Looked like Mae smashed up the entire lab, trampled everyone involved in the experiment too. Nothing left to investigate, and nobody left alive to interrogate.”
“Typical,” Vell sighed. “At least we have an easy out. Dean Lichman was really concerned about the ethics of that whole experiment. We raise some kind of complaint, we could probably get the whole thing shut down.”
“The problem is getting the complaint,” Hawke said. “That lab was airtight, Vell.”
“Apparently not completely airtight,” Kim said. “I can camp out in the lab and raise an entirely justifiable stink whenever something capable of making a murder-mammoth shows up.”
“And what if it happens so suddenly you can’t complain about it?” Samson asked. “For all we know that could’ve been some kind of dimensional rift, or time anomaly, or something. It might not be as simple as somebody just putting in the wrong syringe at the wrong time.”
“He’s got a point,” Vell said. “We might want to shut this down before it gets there.”
“Seems like our best option is to plant evidence, then,” Alex said.
Everyone else at the table spent a few seconds brainstorming ways to prove her wrong, and much to their frustration, could not.
“Okay, fine,” Vell said. “But it needs to be something incidental, not something anyone would get blamed for. We want to cancel the experiment, not get anyone in trouble.”
“I could have a seizure on some sensitive equipment,” Helena offered. “It’ll break something and nobody would dare get mad at me.”
“Can you fake a seizure?”
“No, but I’m allergic to elephants, so I’d probably have one anyway the moment I stepped in the lab,” Helena said.
“I don’t feel entirely comfortable sending you into anaphylactic shock for a bit,” Vell said.
“Offer’s on the table,” Helena said. “I’ll live. Wouldn’t have made it through that trip to the zoo otherwise.”
“Anybody have any non-medical emergency suggestions?”
“Seagull in the air vents,” Kim said.
“Will that work?”
“It happens now and then,” Kim said. “Seagull gets in, and Dean has to close down the whole lab for potential material damage and biohazard risks if they shit in the vents.”
“Really? We’ve never had to deal with anything like that,” Hawke said.
“It may shock you to learn that sometimes minor, tedious bullshit happens that we have nothing to do with,” Kim said.
“That is kind of surprising, actually.”
“Enough. Kim, can you grab a seagull?” Vell asked. He shouldered his bookbag, and stuck a hand into the extradimensional pocket that existed within it. “I can probably smuggle it in with my bag.”
“Yeah, I can get you a seagull,” Kim said. Since she did not need to sleep, she had to find ways to keep herself entertained at night, seagull-grabbing being among them.
“Alright, we’ll go grab one and put it in the bag,” Vell said. “The rest of you, be ready to meet us when I call.”
***
Roughly three minutes later, Vell put out the call and they reconvened in front of the biology lab.
“Yeah, that was much faster than I thought it would be,” Vell said.
“I’m great at grabbin’ birds,” Kim said. Seagulls were among the easier birds to snatch, even. They were suckers for food, and many of them were attracted to her shiny metallic body anyway.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Vell said. “I want this thing out of my bag ASAP.”
Even though the seagull was safely within a pocket dimension, Vell would swear he could still feel the bird thrashing and squawking inside his bag. He tightened his grip on the shoulder strap and led the way towards the zoology lab entrance. He grabbed the handle and held it as he froze for a second.
“Vell, what’s up? Is this bird escaping?”
“No, the handle’s vibrating,” Vell said. It was shaking the same way a wall near an incredibly loud speaker might. He pressed his ear to the door and listened closely. He opened the door immediately, and let all his friends hear the frantic trumpeting of a panicked elephant.
Inside the lab, Mae Noi was stomping her feet and trumpeting as loud as he long trunk would allow. She swayed from side to side in her pen, bumping against the walls not quite hard enough to damage them, but hard enough that it was clear she was doing it on purpose.
“What the heck is happening here?”
“Ah, Vell,” Dean Lichman said. He hustled over to Vell’s side and gestured to the entire room. “Maybe you can figure out what’s going on.”
Mae Noi stopped braying long enough to start mashing her trunk against her pedestal, mashing out the word “Bad” over and over again.
“Our test subject, Mae Noi, has been throwing an absolute fit ever since she got here,” Dean Lichman said. “Dr. Chanthara, these are the students I was telling you about earlier.”
While Vell reintroduced himself to Dr. Chanthara, Kim and Hawke stepped up to examine Mae Noi and her enclosure. It was a far cry from the peaceful, orderly scene they had examined on the first loop. They were half an hour earlier this time than before, but Kim found it unlikely that they had been able to calm Mae Noi down, clean everything up, and get back to work in such a short amount of time. They hadn’t mentioned any of this panic on the first loop either. They were soon joined in their confusion by Chanthara and Vell.
“We’ve tried everything; food, water, her favorite toys, even videos of her children,” Dr. Chanthara said. “We’ve even offered to call off the experiment, but she won’t listen.”
“She is an animal,” Alex said. “Sometimes they do things arbitrarily.”
“Not Mae,” Dr. Chanthara said. “Some of our sanctuaries residents from traumatic backgrounds can have outbursts, but Mae was injured in the wild. She’s never been like this.”
“Maybe some experiment on the island is upsetting her,” Vell said. “A sonic experiment only she can hear, or something…”
Vell stopped and thought about it. If there had been such an irritant, it would’ve been there on the first loop too. Everything always repeated exactly the same, except for-
“Could you, uh, take a step back for a second?” Vell mumbled. “I want to try talking to her.”
“Don’t get close,” Chanthara warned him.
“I’m not, I’m not,” Vell said. He didn’t need to get very close to tell a joke.
The massive brown eyes of Mae Noi stayed locked on Vell as he approached, and she continued to mash the “Bad” button on her pedestal.
“I know, I know, bad,” Vell said. “But, uh, do you want to hear a joke?”
Mae Noi stopped. She locked eyes with Vell for a few seconds, and then cautiously tapped a button on her pedestal.
“Joke.”
“Right, joke,” Vell said. He tried to recall the exact sequence of words Mae had used on the first loop. “What elephant favorite part tree?”
Mae didn’t blink.
“Trunk,” Vell said.
After a moment of contemplation, Mae Noi let out one final, fervent, trumpet, and then started mashing buttons on her pedestal again.
“Bad. Help. Help. Experiment. Bad. Help. Bad. Help.”
“Yeah, bad help, one second,” Vell said. He turned away from Mae Noi to look at Dean Lichman. “Hey, uh, excuse me, Dean? Hey, uh, if I remember correctly there are some pretty complicated rules on having intelligent animals on campus, yes?”
“Well, yes,” Dean Lichman said. After hearing of some questionable ethical practices involving an octopus back in first year, he had instituted a few clauses into the school’s ethical code of conduct regarding intelligent animals like elephants, octopuses, and dolphins. “Mae’s presence here is a bit of an outlier, but there were workaround, given her apparent consent to the experiment.”
“Yeah, about that, is she, uh,” Vell began. “Is she registered as a student?”
“Yes.”
Vell pursed his lips. It took a few seconds for his friends to catch on.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Samson snapped. He turned his back on the crowd and leaned against a wall while Hawke put his head in his hands.
“The first rule of looping,” Alex said quietly. “Loopers are randomly selected-”
She looked up and locked eyes with Mae Noi.
“From all registered students.”