How to finger yourself at school

r/HowTo

2008.01.25 15:59 r/HowTo

Welcome to HowTo! Where you can learn how to do anything and everything yourself! Need advice on how to start a podcast or how to fix your rocket ship? Ask away!

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2009.10.29 18:32 ucslug Law School Subreddit

For current and former Law School Redditors. Ask questions, seek advice, post outlines, etc. This is NOT a forum for legal advice.

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2013.08.01 20:37 LSAT_Blog Law School Admissions

The Reddit Law School Admissions Forum. The best place on Reddit for admissions advice. Check out the sidebar for intro guides. Post any questions you have, there are lots of redditors with admissions knowledge waiting to help.

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2024.06.05 14:10 Jollirat Definitely not a cry for help

My legs gave out.

It happened suddenly, but not without warning. This had been a long time coming.

But thankfully, before I hit the ground, one of my students caught me.
“Sensei?” Iori asked as she help me up, the concern evident in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
Oh, how I wish more people would ask me that question.
“It’s nothing, Iori. I’m just tired.”
Just tired. That’s the excuse I always give. Except it’s not really an excuse, because it’s true. I’m just tired.
“You sure?” She asked, still supporting my weight.
I’m pathetic.
“Yeah,” I nodded and tried to lift myself up off her shoulder, but couldn’t muster the strength.
I’m weak.
“Dammit,” I muttered to myself.
What have I ever done to be worthy of praise?
“Sensei,” Iori refused to let me go, pulling me in closer.
To deserve being held?
“Really, Iori. I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Students shouldn’t have to worry.
“I can get back to Schale on my own.”
They shouldn’t have to be burdened with responsibility.
“I’m an adult, so I’ll be fine.”
But there’s the kicker.
The message of this game, this wonderful, amazing, beautiful game, is ultimately a positive and hopeful one.
But it doesn’t apply me.
“Sensei,” frustration now joined the concern in Iori’s voice, “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard just because you’re an adult.”
No, that’s not true.
I’m not pushing myself. I’m laying in bed, staring at my phone and pouring my heart out on a shitposting subreddit for a gacha game.
So why do I feel like this?
Why?
“You’ve done so much for us, Sensei.”
I’m a 23-year-old high-functioning autistic male with neither the social battery for retail work nor the attention span for office work or the coordination for trade work.
“It’s only fair for us to return the favor.”
I had a rough childhood. My dad was abusive and I was constantly being bullied in school.
I hugged her tighter as she spoke.
But so what? What does that matter?
Tons of people have had past experiences far worse than anything I’ve ever gone through and grown up to a million times more functional.
“Thank you, Iori.”
What makes it worse is how I’m the only one who seems to think of myself this way.
As a kid, I was constantly told that I was an Old Soul.
I heard that phrase even more as a teenager.
“I’m sorry for relying on you like this.”
It’s true that I grew up fast, but it would be just as accurate to say that I haven’t grown up at all.
I’m 23, but I feel like I’m simultaneously twice as old and half as old.
Iori tightened her grip on me even further.
*In Volume 5, there’s a monologue about taking it til you make it.
Is this what that feels like?
She was clutching me as though she thought I might fall apart if she let me go.
I’m more confident. Quicker to offer a snide remark, or a helping hand.
It doesn’t feel like a facade.
“Sensei…” she started.
But it still feels fragile in a way I can’t explain.
Not a falsehood, but not quite the truth either.
Before I knew it, a single tear rolled down my face and on to her shoulder.
I’m not suicidal by any means. I want to live.
More soon followed, and I couldn’t stem the tide.
But the thing is, I don’t know why.
Fear of the void, perhaps?
I felt Iori flinch as the tears wetted her clothes, but she didn’t push me away.
Hell, maybe the reason I’m still alive is because of the cunny game.
Now there’s an interesting idea.
In fact, she hugged me even tighter.
I have hope for humanity, for the world. Far more than most people seem to.
“It’s okay, Sensei.” She felt so warm. “It’s okay.”
But what about hope for myself?
I’m not sure.
Her kind words made the tears fall even faster.
I know it’s pathetic, I know that it’s weak, I know I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
She started running her fingers through my hair.
I know that I’m an adult, that there are things people expect of me.
“Thank you, Sensei.” She whispered reassuringly.
But I still want someone to hug me and praise me.
“For everything.”
Just for being alive.
“For always having faith in us.”
For continuing to exist despite my complete lack of faith in myself.
“For helping us when we fall.”
For getting up every day instead of just falling back asleep.
“For putting up with so much.”
For doing the bare minimum.
Finally, the tears began to slow.
She loosened her grip and I began pulling away.
I’m an adult living in the real world. But sometimes, every once in a while, I want to be treated with the same kindness my self insert shows to the students in a gacha game.
“Feel better now?” she asked, as I regained my composure.
I have no idea.
“Yes,” I nodded shakily.
As I said, hope for the world, but not for myself.
“Good,” she replied with a nod.
Maybe that’s why I love this game so much.
It’s a message of hope that excludes me.
Because I’m the Sensei. The one people expect things of.
She smiled.
Growing up doesn’t mean giving up, but most people can’t tell the difference.
I can only pray I’ll never forget it myself.

submitted by Jollirat to SenseisKitchen [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 13:52 wk0017 How do I get a first kiss?

Well, I'm 21F going 22 in a few months. I've had some health issues and mental health from 17 to 21. I'm still working on it
During this time, I've met guys right and every time, I'm able to identify sth I don't like or they don't approach.
Long story short, I get guys who are emotionally unavailable or unavailable and idk I seem to be attracted to that ,maybe to prove myself that I get them
The ones who are love bombing and you've only met once or twice, I even blush. The ones who make eye contact and you feel chemistry and never approaches so at some point they don't look at you anymore and will do it when they have broken up with their ex. The one who is desperate for sex and you don't realize it till later cause of his behaviour and is creepy. The ones who you give a chance and then you see how they are and they are a turn off completely. No effort till it comes to sex. It seems easy to get sb to sleep with but not to date.
I'm not looking for love or maybe I am, idk, cause maybe if u sleep with this person you may connect or no.
I'm trying to figure out this new dating lifestyle we have but guys it gets lonely I'm not looking for marriage, but even looking for a date, I seem to get weird guys
I've had some instances where I could have got my first kiss but out of all these experiences, I've never found sb who actually gives a shit about me like do for them
I noticed being nice is a curse cause they take advantage and mess with ur feelings.
I get that datingtoday, there is not much expectation to how long it will last but sometimes you even lower ur standards cause its embarrassing to not even have dated or kissed by 21.
I was self conscious as I got sick and lost weight. I promise I don't have anorexia but the conditions I have made lose weight quick. Guys most of them are ignorant. And in my country they like curvy gals.nothing wrong with that, just don't ignore the slim ones or tall ones or tall and curvy ones.
It seems I keep depending on if this guy likes me,then I'm pretty. I'm so tired of wasting my time on such assholes who just want to sleep with you.a guy once asked me for sex openly and I was like, do I really seem that way.im thin ans I was so shocked cause what do you mean, you are asking me for sex like I don't think I'm thay type of person. I am seen as a bookworm but idk whether it's cause I'm desperate or what, I seem that way. Bt I'm afraid I may never get a makeout or anything like that.
But I want to makeout as well. I'm not wrong for this. I didn't have interest in college but I'm at home now and I may never get it cause I'm at home
Some people assume I'm dating but I'm not, infact it seems I keep getting creepy guys and idk why I dont get it, they aren't respectful to me. One grabs my ass after one day of hanging out. I was so pissed. I would like my bf ass but I wouldn't grab it to make them uncomfortable.
I'm actually tired of people thinking I'm just a pretty person with nothing to offer. I must say I chose a wrong degree though I'm graduating, I am going back to college once I'm able to manage my health issues properly
I had not drive for anything and it seems I keep getting creepy guys.
I took time to heal over an unrequited love. I think fron there I didn't want to dateat all. I lived this kid in primary but wheen I shot my shoot, he looked at me baldy all the time and showed me the middle finger and had a gf.he didn't tell me his friend told me a year later. Can u imagine how embarrassing it was. It was like the ugly gal with braces(I had braces too) who likes the popular guy but he hates her. He got my number after school ,wanted to visit me after 2 years but I refused. We went to the same uni and we beer talked. I hated him so much, not cause he didn't like me but how he treated me. Eventually I texted him, we were friends but alot of awkwardness still, we greet each other but if he tried that stunt again,,,,
It took a toll on me cause I thought maybe it as wrong for refusing him, then I realized I actually like guys who aren't interested in me. I never get them or they don't approach me as I like them. They don't notice me,
I want that to change, where I can be noticed by good guys not creepy guys desperate guys.
Maybe even get a first kiss and makeout
What do you guys look for in a guy? That days yes. I'll date him. Guys always want to rush with me and its annoying.
Anyone can relate?? How did you go about it? Is there anything I'm doing wrong? How do you love yourself if you don't know what you are good at anymore? What am I doing wrong tbh?

submitted by wk0017 to college [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 13:46 wk0017 Getting your first kiss at 21 /22

submitted by wk0017 to college [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 13:40 wk0017 Getting my first kiss makeout at 21/22

submitted by wk0017 to dating_advice [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 10:43 linkbuildingexperts Study Full-time Courses at Oakfields College

Introduction

Oakfields College, renowned for its practical courses and industry-experienced lecturers, stands out as a leading educational institute in South Africa. With campuses in Pretoria and Johannesburg, we offer a range of full-time courses designed to propel students into their chosen creative careers. This blog explores each of these courses, illustrating why Oakfields College is the go-to destination for aspiring professionals.
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1. Full-Time 3D Animation Course

At Oakfields College, we offer a full-time 3D animation diploma that is not just about learning; it's about transforming your passion into a profession. Located in the heart of South Africa's vibrant creative scene, with campuses in Pretoria and Johannesburg, Oakfields College is at the forefront of nurturing the next generation of 3D animation experts.
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Crafting Your Creative Portfolio

From the very start of your journey with us, you'll dive into the practical aspects of 3D animation. Our course is designed to let you design and produce a portfolio that reflects your unique abilities and talents. This portfolio serves as a vital tool, showcasing your work to prospective employers and setting the stage for your professional career.
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Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

Our 3D animation courses are crafted to provide comprehensive training for those aspiring to enter the professional animation industry. You'll receive intensive training in all aspects of animation production. This includes mastering the art of illustration and gaining proficiency in 3D production techniques. Our goal is to make you highly marketable in a field that's constantly evolving and always in demand.
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Learning from Industry Professionals

At Oakfields College, you'll be taught by industry professionals who bring a wealth of experience and insider knowledge. This ensures that by the time you complete the course, you'll have a deep and thorough understanding of the animation industry. You'll know not just the 'how' but also the 'why' behind successful 3D animation, equipping you with the insight and skills needed to excel as a 3D artist.
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Diverse Career Opportunities

Upon completion of the course, you'll be qualified for various roles in the animation and multimedia production industry. Our graduates find careers in 3D digital design, multi-media production, education and television and video production, including roles that focus on digital special effects. The course also opens doors to working in specialist 3D and visual effects production facilities.
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Oakfields College stands out as a leader of creative education in South Africa. Our approach to teaching 3D animation is holistic, blending practical skills with theoretical knowledge. Our small class sizes ensure personalised attention, and our curriculum is constantly updated to keep pace with industry trends and technologies.
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Apply for our full-time 3D animation course

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Register to study full-time 3D animation

2. Drama Course: Spotlight on Performance

At Oakfields College, we take pride in being one of the leading performing arts schools in South Africa. Our full-time drama course is a journey into the heart of acting, a path that leads you to the exciting world of performance arts. With campuses in both Pretoria and Johannesburg, we are ideally positioned to nurture the talents of aspiring actors from across the country.
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A Course Designed for Aspiring Actors

The drama course at Oakfields College is more than just learning lines and acting techniques; it's about immersing yourself in the very soul of acting. Here, you will engage in numerous performances and productions, experiences that are vital for building your skills and boosting your confidence. This course is your gateway to the professional world of acting; providing you with the necessary tools to shine in this thrilling field.
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Gaining Real-World Experience

Our focus on practical experience sets Oakfields College apart from other performing arts colleges. You will have the chance to partake in live performances, presenting the opportunity to hone your skills in a real theatre environment. These performances are not just exercises; they are your steps towards becoming a professional actor, allowing you to experience the thrill of live theatre.
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Learning from Industry Professionals

At Oakfields College, you will learn from seasoned professionals who bring a wealth of knowledge from the performing arts industry. Our instructors are not just teachers; they are mentors who have extensive hands-on experience. They will guide you through the intricacies of the acting world, ensuring that you gain the practical skills and theoretical knowledge required to excel.
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A Broad Spectrum of Opportunities

Whether you're born with a passion for the theatrical or aspire to develop your skills, our drama course caters to all levels of talent. The course is designed to continuously evolve your abilities, ensuring that by the end of your journey, you will be well-equipped to fit professionally into any role in the performing arts.
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Apply for our full-time drama course

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Register to study full-time drama course
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3. Fashion Design Training: Style and Substance

Oakfields College stands at the forefront of fashion education in South Africa, offering a comprehensive and practical fashion design training course. As a leading institution, we are dedicated to nurturing the next generation of fashion talent. Our course is meticulously designed for those who envision a future in the vibrant and ever-evolving fashion industry.
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A Showcase of Talent and Innovation

At the end of your journey as a fashion student at Oakfields College, you will have the unique opportunity to display your creations in a fashion show. This event, attended by industry professionals and peers, is not just a show but a celebration of your hard work and creativity. You will design and craft various garments, including skirts, dresses, shirts, pants, and evening wear; showcasing your individual style and skill.
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Embark on a Glamorous Career Path

The fashion industry is dynamic and demands a blend of creativity, commitment, and skill. Whether you aspire to be a designer, fashion buyer, merchandiser, or retail manager, Oakfields College's fashion design training is your first step towards achieving these ambitions. Our course is tailored for those who are driven to excel in this challenging yet exciting field.
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Practical Learning for Real-World Success

Our fashion design training is grounded in practical learning. We believe in providing our students with real-world experiences that prepare them for the competitive nature of the fashion industry. Our course is designed to equip you with both the theoretical knowledge and practical skills necessary to thrive in various fashion-related roles.
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A Focus on Conceptualisation and Innovation

Throughout our fashion design training programme, we place a strong emphasis on conceptualisation and innovation. We encourage our students to think creatively and develop unique design perspectives. This approach ensures that our graduates are not just equipped with technical skills but also with the ability to push boundaries and set new trends in the fashion world.
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Why Choose Oakfields College for Fashion Design?

Oakfields College is more than an educational institution; it's a place where fashion is nurtured and developed. Our course is a blend of in-depth theoretical knowledge and extensive practical experience, set in an environment that fosters creativity and innovation. By choosing Oakfields College, you are not just choosing a course; you are choosing a path that leads to a multitude of career opportunities in the fashion industry.
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Apply for our full-time fashion design course

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Register to study full-time fashion design
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4. TV & Film Production Courses: Behind the Scenes

At Oakfields College, we offer an engaging and comprehensive TV & film production course, perfect for those who are passionate about storytelling through the lens of a camera. Located in the vibrant cities of Pretoria and Johannesburg, our course is designed to nurture the next generation of filmmakers and television producers.
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Crafting Visual Stories

In our TV & film production course, you will embark on a journey of creative exploration. Your projects will range from making music videos and documentaries to crafting compelling advertisements and short films. These hands-on experiences are not just assignments; they are stepping stones to building a professional portfolio that reflects your unique vision and skill.
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Real-World Experience and Exposure

One of the highlights of our course is the opportunity to participate in filming major events like the annual Oakfields College fashion show, Oakfest music festival and drama productions. These experiences provide you with real-world exposure, adding substantial value to your showreel. This practical experience is vital in showcasing your talent and versatility to prospective employers in the film and TV industry.
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Unlocking Your Filmmaking Potential

Our film production course is designed to help you unlock your inner Spielberg. We focus on fostering 'out-of-the-box thinking', encouraging you to push the boundaries of traditional filmmaking. Whether it's through communicating dramatic information or capturing subtle moods and emotions, our course equips you with the skills to convey powerful stories through film and video.
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A Pathway to a Career in Film

The TV & film production courses at Oakfields College offer more than just education; they offer a pathway into the exciting world of the film industry. Our comprehensive approach ensures that you gain exposure to all aspects of filmmaking, from pre-production planning to post-production editing. This holistic understanding of the filmmaking process is essential for anyone looking to make a mark in the industry.
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Why Choose Oakfields College?

Choosing Oakfields College for your TV & film production education means choosing a path that leads to success in the entertainment industry. Our course is a blend of theoretical knowledge and extensive practical experience, set in an environment that fosters creativity and innovation. By enrolling at Oakfields College, you're not just learning how to make films; you're preparing to become a part of the film industry.
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Apply for our full-time film, TV & video production course

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Register to study full-time Film, TV & video production
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5. Graphic Design Courses in South Africa

Welcome to Oakfields College's graphic design course, one of the most comprehensive and creatively stimulating graphic design programs in South Africa. Whether you're in Pretoria or Johannesburg, or anywhere in the country, our course stands as a beacon for aspiring graphic designers.
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A Practical Approach to Design

Our graphic design course is all about 'learning by doing'. As a student, you'll engage in a variety of practical projects throughout the year. These projects are designed to cover a broad spectrum of graphic design work, including the creation of advertisements, posters, pamphlets, logos, products, and packaging. This hands-on approach ensures that you build a substantial portfolio; a key tool to showcase your talents to future employers.
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Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

At Oakfields College, we understand that graphic design is a dynamic field, constantly evolving with new trends and technologies. Our course is tailored to provide extensive training that covers both the fundamentals and the advanced aspects of graphic design. By joining our course, you’ll embark on a journey to turn your creative abilities into a lucrative and rewarding career.
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State-of-the-Art Software and Tools

We believe in keeping our students ahead in the industry. That's why the software and tools used in our graphic design course are always up-to-date. This forward-thinking approach means that when you start working professionally, you'll be familiar with the latest programmes and techniques, allowing you to work efficiently and effectively from day one.
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Developing Professional Skills

Our course starts with the basics of design and technical literacy. But it goes much further - nurturing your growth into a skilled professional capable of excelling in both print and interactive digital media. This comprehensive development is what sets our graduates apart in the competitive field of graphic design in South Africa.
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Why Oakfields College?

Choosing Oakfields College for your graphic design education means you're not just choosing a course; you're choosing a pathway to success. We provide an environment that fosters creativity and innovation, ensuring that our students are not just ready for the industry but are also capable of leading it.
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Apply for our full-time graphic design course

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Register to study full-time graphic design course
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6. Make-Up and Special Effects: The Art of Transformation

Oakfields College is proud to present its make-up and special effects course; a programme designed for those passionate about bringing art to life on the stage and screen. Our course, offered in the heart of South Africa's creative hubs in Pretoria and Johannesburg, is a gateway to the fascinating world of make-up artistry and special effects.
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Hands-On Experience in Make-Up Artistry

Our course is intensely practical, immersing you in the world of make-up and special effects. Throughout the year, you will embark on projects that challenge your creativity and skill. Imagine creating zombie faces, realistic cut-off fingers, detailed wounds and even designing a full body suit or undertaking a full body painting project. These projects culminate in a display of your work at the prestigious Golden Oak Awards ceremony, showcasing your talents to the industry.
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Comprehensive Learning in Make-Up and Special Effects

At Oakfields College, learning goes beyond the traditional. You will delve into all aspects of make-up and special effects. This includes everything from fashion make-up, suited for the glamour of the runway, to the intricate demands of stage and film make-up. Your education will be further enriched with exposure to various hairstyling techniques, ensuring a holistic understanding of the field.
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A Journey into Creative Realms

Our course is more than just learning techniques; it's about igniting your creativity. You will learn to conceptualise and innovate, essential skills in a field that constantly pushes the boundaries of reality and fantasy. Our emphasis on hands-on learning ensures that you not only master the technical aspects but also develop a keen eye for artistic detail.
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Preparing for a Dynamic Industry

The make-up and special effects industry is highly competitive and ever-evolving. Our programme equips you with both theoretical knowledge and practical skills. This comprehensive approach ensures you are well-prepared to enter this dynamic field; opening up a multitude of career paths and job opportunities.
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Choosing Oakfields College for your make-up and special effects training means choosing a pathway that will guide you to success. Our course is designed to nurture your talent and transform it into professional skill. You will be learning in an environment that hones your creativity and innovation; setting you up for a successful career in make-up design.
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Apply for our full-time make-up and special effects course

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Become a special effects artist
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7. Marketing Management: The Art of Influence

At Oakfields College, we offer a unique and comprehensive Marketing Management course, designed to set you apart in the fast-paced world of marketing. Our course is not just about theories and concepts; it's a practical journey into the real world of marketing, offering a blend of creativity, strategy and business acumen.
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A Practical Approach to Marketing Education

What makes our marketing management course stand out is its practical nature. Each subject within the course includes a hands-on aspect, ensuring that by the time you graduate, you are not just knowledgeable but also market-ready. You'll be actively involved in marketing all college events, giving you real-life experience in various aspects of marketing and event management.
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Kick-Start Your Career in Marketing

For those aspiring to a vibrant and fulfilling career in marketing, Oakfields College is the place to be. Our course is designed to jump-start your journey into the world of marketing, whether your interest lies in the retail, service or industrial sectors. The skills and knowledge you gain here will prepare you for a stimulating and prestigious career in marketing.
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Open the Doors to Endless Opportunities

A qualification in marketing management from Oakfields College opens up a world of possibilities. With the comprehensive training provided, you will have the tools to contribute significantly to any business. Our graduates are known for their ability to elevate businesses, taking them to new heights of success.
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Personal Attention and Quality Education

At Oakfields College, we believe in the power of personal attention. Our small class sizes ensure that each student receives individual guidance and support. This approach is fundamental to our high educational standards and is key to developing well-rounded, skilled marketing professionals.
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Choosing our marketing management course means choosing a path that leads to success in the business world. You will learn in an environment that not only teaches you the fundamentals of marketing but also encourages you to think creatively and strategically. Our course is for those who are serious about making a significant impact in the business world.

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Apply for our full-time marketing management course

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Learn how to become a marketer in South Africa
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8. Musical Theatre and Dance: The Stage Awaits

Oakfields College invites you to step into the world of musical theatre and dance, where passion, talent, and artistic expression converge. Our comprehensive three-year diploma is designed for those who are drawn to the magic of dancing, singing and acting. If the thought of being on stage under the bright lights excites you, our course is your gateway to the thrilling world of performing arts.
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A Journey of Artistic Discovery

The musical theatre and dance diploma at Oakfields College is more than just an educational programme; it's a journey of artistic discovery. Whether you're an aspiring actor, dancer or singer, our course offers you the opportunity to hone your skills and nurture your passion. The curriculum covers a wide array of performing art disciplines; providing you with a broad skill set that enhances future work opportunities.
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Learning from Industry Professionals

At the heart of our programme are experienced professionals from the performing arts, musical theatre and dance industry. Their guidance and mentorship are invaluable, offering insights into the industry's inner workings. Our course is strongly supported by industry role-players, including producers, agents, choreographers and directors. Many of these professionals attend our productions and conduct workshops, offering students a wealth of practical knowledge and industry insight.
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Exposure and Opportunities

Our diploma programme provides a crucial platform for exposure. Throughout your training, you'll have numerous opportunities to perform and showcase your talents. This exposure is key to your development and often leads to our students signing with some of South Africa's top agents. Our graduates find themselves well-prepared for a variety of opportunities, both in South Africa and internationally.
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Hands-On Experience in Performing Arts

Oakfields College is committed to providing extensive hands-on experience. This approach ensures that you are not just learning in a classroom but are also getting practical experience that is vital in the performing arts industry. From on-stage performances to real-world experiences, our programme is designed to prepare you for the challenges and opportunities of a career in musical theatre and dance.
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Choosing Oakfields College for your musical theatre and dance education means choosing a path that leads to success on stage and beyond. Our course is designed to nurture your talent and transform it into professional skill. You will learn in an environment that celebrates creativity and innovation, setting you up for a successful career in the performing arts.
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Apply for our full-time musical theatre and dance course

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South Africa's top college for musical theatre & dance
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9. Photography Courses in South Africa: Capturing Moments

Oakfields College is proud to offer one of the premier photography courses in South Africa, perfect for those with a passion for capturing the world through a lens. Whether you're in Pretoria or Johannesburg or beyond, our course is designed to quickly elevate your skills, turning you into a professional photographer in no time.
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A Journey Through the Lens

Our photography course is an immersive experience that goes beyond the classroom. You will embark on various outings, capturing diverse subjects such as South Africa's rich wildlife, stunning architecture, vibrant people, and tantalising food. These practical sessions are not just about taking photos; they're about experiencing and understanding the world from a photographer's perspective.
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Real-World Experience

At Oakfields College, we understand the importance of real-world experience. You'll have the opportunity to photograph college events; providing you with firsthand experience in client interactions and event photography. This practical approach ensures you are well-prepared to meet the demands and expectations of clients in any photography scenario.
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Building a Professional Portfolio

A key outcome of our course is the development of your professional portfolio. This portfolio is your visual resumé; showcasing the skills and creativity you've honed during your time at Oakfields College. By the end of the year, you will have a collection of work ready to present to prospective employers or clients; opening doors to numerous opportunities in the photography industry.
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Meeting the Demand for Skilled Photographers

The demand for skilled photographers has never been higher. From personal events such as weddings and anniversaries to professional needs like brochures and business documents, quality photography is in high demand. Our course equips you with the skills to meet these demands; offering a pathway to a stimulating and potentially lucrative career.
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A Comprehensive Approach to Photography

Our one-year photography course is designed to provide a comprehensive understanding of both the technical and business aspects of the industry. Through assignments and weekly group discussions, you'll not only develop your technical skills but also your creative vision, preparing you for success in the dynamic world of photography.
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Apply for our full-time photography course

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Master photography with Oakfields College
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10. Sound Engineering: Mastering the Mix

Oakfields College offers a comprehensive sound engineering course designed for those who are passionate about audio production. Our programme is not just about learning the basics; it's a deep dive into the world of sound engineering, where you will learn to edit, mix, and master like a pro. Located in the heart of South Africa's creative hubs in Pretoria and Johannesburg, our course is your ticket to a successful career in sound engineering.
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Practical Learning for Real-World Skills

Our sound engineering course is intensely practical. You will engage in projects that mirror real-world scenarios, such as recording advertisements, band sessions, and film audio (foley). This hands-on approach ensures that by the end of the course, you are fully equipped to work in a professional sound studio or even set up your own studio. For those interested in the excitement of live sound, our course provides the perfect foundation.
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Learn from Industry Veterans

At Oakfields College, you'll study under seasoned instructors who bring a wealth of industry experience. They know what it takes to succeed in the competitive field of sound engineering and are dedicated to passing that knowledge on to you. Their insights and guidance will be an invaluable part of your learning journey.
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State-of-the-Art Facilities

Our on-campus recording studios are equipped with the latest technology, providing you with ample opportunity to gain experience and become comfortable in a professional studio environment. Additionally, you'll have access to a professional on campus to assist with your sound engineering training, answer any questions, and provide advice on your projects.
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Software Mastery and Versatility

During your time at Oakfields College, you will become proficient in multi-platform software such as Adobe Premiere, Cubase and Pro Tools. This knowledge makes you versatile and adaptable as they are skills highly valued in the sound engineering industry.
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A Diverse Curriculum for a Dynamic Career

Our sound engineering course covers a wide range of subjects, giving you the ability and skills in many different aspects of sound engineering. This diversity enables you to pursue and specialise in the area of sound engineering that most aligns with your passions, whether it be studio production, live sound or audio post-production.
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Apply for our full-time sound engineering course

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Build a career as a sound engineer
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Why Study at Oakfields College?

Oakfields College, with its campuses in Pretoria and Johannesburg, is not just a college; it's a launchpad for creative careers. Each course is designed to nurture talent and provide practical experience; making us a standout choice for students across South Africa. Whether you're aspiring to be an animator, actor, designer, filmmaker, marketer or sound engineer, Oakfields College is where your journey begins. Join us and shape your future in the creative industries!Introduction
Oakfields College, renowned for its practical courses and industry-experienced lecturers, stands out as a leading educational institute in South Africa. With campuses in Pretoria and Johannesburg, we offer a range of full-time courses designed to propel students into their chosen creative careers. This blog explores each of these courses, illustrating why Oakfields College is the go-to destination for aspiring professionals.
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1. Full-Time 3D Animation Course

Crafting Your Creative Portfolio

Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

Learning from Industry Professionals

Diverse Career Opportunities

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2024.06.05 09:31 TranquilScrimmage I’m turning 24 on the 22nd and it’s genuinely terrifying. How do I catch up?

(23M) For the past 4 years, I have been going strong on a losing streak. Since 2020, I’ve striving to achieve ANYTHING!! Graduating university, losing weight and being attractive, be consistent in my artwork/Youtube, revive my athletic career, build some savings and maybe finally start dating again lol. However, I’m failing everyone and it’s ALL my fault.
Here’s the thing, on paper…I’m doing everything right. * I have a decent job in my home town that fits in my psychology field. * For the past 3 years… I was about 330lbs, as of my I’m back in the 200s at 270lbs. Even though I’ll probably ruin my progress soon. * I placed 4th in my strongman competition this year. * After being dismissed and fucked over a few years back, I’m about 3 semesters from graduating with a bachelors. I actually earned a B+ average last semester. So there’s something lol!
Not even trying to be self-deprecating but…I’m a pussy. All of my bullies were right! I’m a weak man and it’s a miracle that I’m even still here. Sure, I have friends! Friends that I love to death. Although, I crave intimacy (platonic/romantic). So idk what will satisfy me. There hobbies and outlets for me, but I CAN’T take my foot off the gas now. Too much to be done. * I go to uni in a different city. So I’m literally going to be a 25 year old man in a class with college kids. I’m already awkward and that fact won’t help. A good chunk of my friends are graduating soon and I’ll be here by myself. I need some social confidence and exposure doesn’t seem to work. * My stepfather is retiring soon, so my mom and I are going to have a rougher time helping pay for school. He loaned $9k to help me and I need to work two jobs this summer! Even though I’m burned out from school. * Therapy hasn’t really helped me either. They want me on meds but I don’t want to live my life relying on that stuff.
I just can’t stop myself. Let me be completely honest with all of you, I’m passively suicidal! I wouldn’t mind disappearing on my birthday. It’s like there’s two people in my mind. One of them yells:
“Why are you STILL trying?!” “Why do keep on letting yourself and others down?” “Are you trying to prove to everyone that said that you’re a soft, mediocre, pathetic and ugly waste of sperm correct?” “You’re 23! Being a shy, awkward dork has NEVER been cute. Nobody wants that.”
Every time before that voice finally pushes me to swallow those pills or buy that gun…the other voice makes a comeback. My spirit wants to give every obstacle and non-believer the middle finger and tell them to “STFU!!l” Someone that’s loved, helps other, has pride to their name and that’s an overall decent person that didn’t sell their soul. However, with how my life is going atm, the former is winning.
Sorry for this is being SOOO long. I don’t blame you for not reading any of it. I just needed to get that all out of me!

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2024.06.05 09:30 TranquilScrimmage I’m turning 24 on the 22nd and it’s genuinely terrifying. How do I catch up?

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2024.06.05 09:28 TranquilScrimmage I’m turning 24 on the 22nd and it’s genuinely terrifying.

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2024.06.05 07:09 Edwardthecrazyman [Hiraeth or Where the Children Play] Chapter 1

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

2024.06.05 02:24 torturedpoet0419 Taylor The Gladiator - Are You Not Entertained?

This is my first full fledged post on the sub. I apologize in advance for any formatting issues, the sheer length, any inaccurate takes, or if I’m potentially reaching. Constructive criticism is welcome (please be gentle though). I also humbly ask my elder Gaylors for their input on any Gaylore I may have missed weaving into this theory. I truly am a Baby Gaylor - having fallen down the rabbit hole before TTPD came out. I have devoured the posts on this sub as if I was starving. In some ways, I was. I now fully believe that she is laying the path to coming out. How this analysis ties into that story is beyond my knowledge; if anyone has great theories, I will happily add (with credit of course).
Disclaimer: I am not an expert in Roman history, so if I have any facts incorrect, please let me know. Additionally, in discussing gladiators, it cannot be done without a large caveat. Many gladiators were prisoners of war, criminals, or slaves. For the purpose of this analysis, I am exclusively focusing on those that chose to enter the arena under their own free will. I am not well-versed enough on this topic to speak to the experience of those that were prisoners of war, criminals, or slaves. I can only imagine they had a vastly different experience than their free-person counterparts that was instead characterized by horrid treatment and conditions that resulted in a death they did not choose.

On with the show - Please enjoy!

In the Times Person of the Year article, Taylor quotes the line “Are you not entertained?” from the 2000 film Gladiator. From the about section on Google regarding the film: “Set in Roman times, the story of a once-powerful general forced to become a common gladiator. The emperor's son is enraged when he is passed over as heir in favour of his father's favourite general. He kills his father and arranges the murder of the general's family, and the general is sold into slavery to be trained as a gladiator - but his subsequent popularity in the arena threatens the throne.”
The main character, Maximus (played by Russell Crow) makes that specific line at the end of a gladiatorial game. However, the full quote states: Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained? Is that not why you are here?” Source
Entertainment is why the spectators are there.
From the Times POTY article: I included more than what was just surrounding the use of “are you not entertained” because I think it ties into several of the theories I’ve read on this sub regarding the religious imagery, the performance art, and the use of drug metaphors.

“This is the proudest and happiest I’ve ever felt, and the most creatively fulfilled and free I’ve ever been,” Swift tells me. “Ultimately, we can convolute it all we want, or try to overcomplicate it, but there’s only one question.” Here, she adopts a booming voice. “Are you not entertained?”’ A few months before I sit with Swift in New York, on a summer night in Santa Clara, Calif., which has been temporarily renamed Swiftie Clara in her honor, I am in a stadium with nearly 70,000 other people having a religious experience. The crowd is rapturous and Swift beatific as she gazes out at us, all high on the same drug. Her fans are singularly passionate, not just in the venue but also online, as they analyze clues, hints, and secret messages in everything from her choreography to her costumes—some deliberately planted, others not. (“Taylor Swift fans are the modern-day equivalent of those cults who would consistently have inaccurate rapture predictions like once a month,” as one viral tweet noted.)”

Comparing the concert as a religious experience, is likely extremely accurate. I have not had the privilege of seeing Taylor in concert (yet), but I have been to other concerts where there is a high from being in the crowd. It feels more spiritual to me than any church service I’ve been to previously (not knocking church - just not for me). Like a church (or a cult) the audience is captured by the person speaking, performing, and absorbing the shared experience around them. If you’ve ever been in an amazing crowd, you can attest to it being an euphoric and intoxicating experience - AKA a drug. Again, the spectators (this time the crowd at Taylor’s shows) are there for the entertainment.... I'll show you every version of yourself tonight. "Put narcotics into all of my songs. And that's why, you're still singing along."

Origins of the Gladiator

This led me to start diving into the history of gladiators. The origins of the gladiator are subject to debate. Some believe they originated as part of the Etruscan Society as early as 1st century BC. Ancient Roman historian, Livy, believed the first games were held by Campanians in 310 BC as a victory celebration against their defeat of the Samnites.
One thing is agreed upon though, is that gladiatorial games began as....funeral rites. Source. Where have we seen funerals and death?
We gather here, weeping in a sunlit room... My Tears Ricochet Eras Tour
Zombie Taylor LWYMMD Music Video
Taylor at Her Own Funeral Anti-Hero Music Video
Why would anyone volunteer to potentially fight to the death? Money. Fame. Glory.

Successful gladiators were the movie stars of the first century – so famous that free men queued to take their chances in the arena...... The games were so popular that successful gladiators could become extremely rich and very famous. Source.

But did they fight to the death? Yes, but only between 10 and 20% of gladiators died during matches (Source). Gladiators were valuable. They trained for months in specialized schools. This was funded by sponsors or wealthy investors. They were an investment (looking at you Scott Swift).
Sponsors of private gladiatorial games had to front the expense of hosting the events. However, it was very effective in being used for self-promotion and provided exciting entertainment for their clients and potential voters. It became a business, a status symbol.
So if the gladiators didn’t fight to the death, what happened? How did you determine who won? The fighting progressed until one of them surrendered. Surrendering was done by laying down their weapons and holding up a single finger.
Taylor at QuestLove's Uno Party 2023. Note: the single finger and what appears to be pink wine.
Taylor isn't pointing here (far right), but there is a lot of pointing going on. Taylor is also reaching for white wine now. Wine theory?

Cool, but gladiators were men, right? Not exclusively.

"While sparse, evidence exists in art, laws and written accounts that women did participate in the brutal sport during the late Roman Republic and early Roman Empire, fighting each other fiercely with weapons for entertainment. But they didn’t fight nearly to the same degree as men did—and did so mostly as novelty acts." Source.

Roman marble carving depicting two female gladiators battling with swords and shields Found in present day Turkey
Female gladiators in ancient Rome are referred to as gladiatrix in modern usage; in ancient texts they were referred to as ludia (female performers in a ludi, a festival or entertainment).
An excerpt regarding women's time in Rome:

Women in ancient Rome did not have a lot of freedom and they were defined by their relationship with men. Brian K. Harvey, scholar, writes: Unlike men's virtues, women were praised for their home and married life. Their virtues included sexual fidelity (castitas), a sense of decency (pudicitia), love for her husband (caritas), marital concord (concordia), devotion to family (pietas), fertility (fecunditas), beauty (pulchritude), cheerfulness (hilaritas), and happiness (laetitia)…As exemplified by the power of the paterfamilias [husband or father, head of the house], Rome was a patriarchal society. Source.

And you were tossing me the car keys, "Fuck the Patriarchy;" that 1950s shit they want from me; I'm having his baby.... no I'm not.
Small Tangent: There are poems by Sulpicia (1st century BCE) who is believed to have been a female poet of the time. Her poems tell a love-story arc that can be found translated here. I do think an analysis of her work in comparison to Taylor's would be interesting. There are similar themes in them. However, this post is long enough already.
Back to the main event: how were gladiators trained?

Female gladiators were most likely trained by their fathers or in private lessons with a lanista. Wooden swords were used in training by both men and women following the revolt of the gladiator Spartacus (73-71 BCE) who had used the iron weapons of his school to launch the insurrection. Men and women were trained in different types of combat and there were four types of gladiator: The Myrmillo (Murmillo) had a helmet (with a fish crest), oblong shield and sword. The Retiarius (who usually fought a Myrmillo): lightly armed with a net and trident or dagger. The Samnite had a sword, visored helmet, and oblong shield. The Thracian (Thrax): armed with a curved blade (a sica) and round shield. Source.

Taylor has referenced combat, war, and daggers throughout her discography. More on this later.
However, women were not welcome in this space and were criticized by satirists and historians. A few excerpts below:

In his Satires, Roman satirist Juvenal (1st/2nd century CE) wrote: “What sense of shame can be found in a woman wearing a helmet, who shuns femininity and loves brute force...If an auction is held of your wife's effects, how proud you will be of her belt and arm-pads and plumes, and her half-length left-leg shin-guard! Or, if instead, she prefers a different form of combat how pleased you will be when the girl of your heart sells off her greaves! Hear her grunt while she practices thrusts as shown by the trainer, wilting under the weight of the helmet.” Historian Cassius Dio (155 - 235 CE) wrote: “There was another exhibition that was at once most disgraceful and most shocking, when men and women not only of the equestrian but even of the senatorial order appeared as performers in the orchestra, in the Circus, and in the [Colosseum], like those who are held in lowest esteem. Some of them played the flute and danced in pantomimes or acted in tragedies and comedies or sang to the lyre; they drove horses, killed wild beasts and fought as gladiators.” Source

I think it's interesting the idea of female gladiators preferring a different type of combat. Combat, I'm ready for combat, I say I don't want that, but what if I do? Furthermore, the idea of the Circus, Colosseum, and the orchestra all being forms of entertainment I think speak to
"I was tame, I was gentle, 'til the (Your - OG lyrics) circus life made me mean. Don't you worry folks we took out all her teeth." Is this further commentary how the circus (media/entertainment industry), the orchestra (the music), and the gladiator (Taylor Swift™) are all interconnected?
Battle: 17 uses

“Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur.” The Great War, Midnights “And every day is like a battle.” New Romantics, 1989 “The battle’s in your hands now” The Story of Us, Speak Now “And the battle was long, it’s the fight of our lives.” Change, Fearless

Weapons: 5 uses

“Memories feel like weapons.” Would’ve, Could’ve Should’ve, Midnights “When did all our lessons start to look like weapons.” happiness, evermore “And swords and weapons that you use against me.” Mean, Speak Now

Armor: 3 uses

“You come around and the armor falls.” State of Grace, Red “But I would lay my armor down.” The Story of Us, Speak Now

Dagger: 3 uses (Thanks u/Kai_the_Fox for the additions!)

“Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it’s morning now.” Daylight, Lover "Took this dagger in me and removed it." tolerate it, evermore "One less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen." The Albatross, The Tortured Poets Department

Swords: 2 uses

“And swords and weapons that you use against me.” Mean, Speak Now “In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords.” Eyes Open, Not released (note: this reminds me of the fact that they had to switch to wooden post Spartacus rebellion)

War: 21 uses

“Flesh and blood amongst war machines.” Clara Bow, The Tortured Poets Department "If we survived the Great War.” The Great War, Midnights “There’s no morning glory, it was war, it wasn’t fair.” The Great War, Midnights “So yeah, it’s a war. It’s the goddamn fight of my life.” ivy, evermore “Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep.” long story short, evermore “No more tug of war. Now I just know there’s more.” long story short, evermore “Hung my head as I lost the war.” Clean, 1989 “Why they lost their minds and fought the wars” You Are In Love, 1989 “Left yourself in your war path.” Innocent, Speak Now “And you were headed off to fight in the war.” Timeless, Speak Now “Everyday now they’re talking war and I know this time is like it’s never been before.” Can I Go With You, Unreleased “Looks like we’re going to war.” Let’s Go (Battle), unreleased “The war outside our door keeps raging on.” Safe & Sound, The Hunger Games

So tying it all together, aka TL;DR

Gladiators were used as a source of entertainment for the wealthy. Initially the gladiatorial games began as funeral rites; however, it evolved into a tool to be used by the elite to gain favor amongst each other and to garner support. Free men (and women) voluntarily chose to enter the games because if they were successful, they were the celebrities of the time, gaining money and fame. Evidence exists of women participating in the games, and they were met with heavy criticism for their participation. Lastly, gladiators did not always die in the games, but instead they would surrender by laying their weapons down and holding up a single finger. Taylor has referenced war, battles, swords, armor, and weapons throughout her entire discography.
I think we are continuing to see the duality of Taylor. Taylor Swift, the authentic person, has been fighting with Taylor Swift™. Only one of them can come out victorious. I think Taylor Swift™ is surrendering now, holding up a single finger in her final battle.

submitted by torturedpoet0419 to GaylorSwift [link] [comments]

2024.06.04 16:44 Smooth-Put-9228 Can we talk about WHAT Autism is (and isn’t), Neural Pruning🌳, Why Some Autistics Stim 💫, and Masking🎭?

I’ve been reading a lot on forums and find a surprising number of people in the autistic community (or with autistic family members) do not understand what Autism is, and what it isn’t. As an AA mom of “ausome” kids, I try to explain my understanding as best as I can. Autism is NOT a disease, it’s not an “act”, it’s not contagious, and it’s not something that needs to be fixed or changed.
Autism is a Neurodevelopmental Disorder, which means it is a condition or difference people are born with (mostly genetic), where their neurological system develops and grows differently. This impacts their typical development (could be speech, could be intellect, could be ability to process emotions and behaviors, or other factors.)
Most (maybe not all) autistics “stim” (self-stimulate), but it varies. I think it’s important to understand the sensory systems, stimming as well as masking. I don’t feel there’s enough conversation about, or understanding of, masking and that causes a lot of misdiagnosis, and harm to autistics.
You have to start with an understanding of the neurological system, which we all develop as infants and children. This system impacts nearly every aspect of our being. Think of it as all the the wires that connect everything in our bodies. Everything from from how we process fullness, hunger, indigestion (which is why many autistics have GI and other issues), how our brain processes all the information, inputs and senses, how we interpret language and the world around us, etc.
Many autistics have sensory challenges. Some are hyposensitive, where they are craving more sensory inputs (which is often resolved by “stimming”). Some are hypersensitive, where they’re overly sensitive or recognize more than most, and they can become overwhelmed or overstimulated.
More on that in a bit… but it’s hugely important to understand the concept of “pruning”, to understand how (and how much) information and inputs are processed by autistics. Think of gardening… gardeners will prune their plants to maintain only the most essential, strongest, desired, and healthiest branches. By pruning (cutting off the “other” stems and branches), the plant can better concentrate its nutrients to grow the plant.
In humans, as babies, our brains naturally prune our synapses - which are like the “wires” our brain uses to process information, senses, thoughts, etc.
In autism, synaptic pruning is missed, skipped, or not as prominent as it is in NT (neurotypical) brains. I don’t know the right term or the reason. Visuals help me to understand, look at this image here.
Autistics have a lot more synaptic connections than neurotypical people. It kind of looks like an extremely complex root system. This difference often makes EVERYTHING different from an experiential, processing and functional perspective.
Many autistics are more sensitive to things like sounds (and other senses but I’ll stick to sounds for simplicity.) - Maybe they hear more things than most, because they’re neurons are more complex and they can pick up on tones, pitches, volumes, etc. others can… -Maybe they become “overstimulated” from certain sounds or loud sounds. (A gym to a NT is just a little noisy, with bouncing balls, echos and kids yelling and playing. To autistics, it may be EXTREMELY loud, they may notice distinct sounds others miss, and for some each individual sound, smell, temperature, etc. is amplified compared to NTs.
Try to imagine it. Maybe it feels like the world is so loud it PHYSICALLY hurts, and you hear all the voices and distinct sounds much louder and more clearly, in your ears and your mind. It can be EXTREMELY overwhelming and distressing.
This might be considered a “hypersensitivity”, where their neurons and synapses essentially receive MORE than they can comfortably process (or ignore). Maybe these people wear headphones to muffle or quiet the noise some. (It is not always the superpower it sounds like to some.) Imagine trying to fall asleep and you hear a car driving two streets over, a front door slam 6 houses down, the ice machine downstairs, the AC running, etc., it’s A LOT. It’s usually not a pleasant experience when you’re hypersensitive to something.
Conversely, some people are HYPOsensitive, where they crave certain sensory inputs. Their body needs (not just “wants” for enjoyment) but often require more sensory inputs in order to function and process all the neurological actions, thoughts, etc.
SOME stimming (aka self-stimulatory behavior) is the result of autistics who are hyposensitive seeking whatever that might be. It could be sound related - maybe they have audible tiks, or need to hum during certain activities - but it’s not always sound related.
There’s a frustrating and outdated belief that most autistics are boys, who don’t “mask” (more on that later), and they flap their hands nonstop. Everyone should remember this sentence: “if you’ve met one autistic, you’ve met one autistic.” No two people are alike, and so many are hung up on 50-year-old (false) beliefs that autistics are only boys, or that they don’t have empathy, can’t make eye contact, are not social, and are “obvious” in comparison to NTs. This is WRONG, and a dangerous assumption. Don’t assume all autistics are alike, and don’t assume all autistics have disabilities. Autistics are different than NTs, but many (if not most) do not have intellectual challenges, and many do not consider themselves disabled. In fact, many autistics will agree they struggle not because of their disabilities or differences, but because of the perceptions, assumptions and lack of flexibility and accommodations from others.
Most autistics need certain sensations, routines, environments or experiences to help them find comfort and balance amid all the other (many) things going on in their brains and bodies. Things NTs don’t have to worry about generally. They may stim, and they may have posturing differences. This could look like: - holding hands in quirky positions and postures (kind of imagine T-Rex arm positioning and maybe they’ll also have their wrist, hand and fingers in an “unusual” position.) Maybe they keep their arms kind of close to their body, and hold one or more hand with pointer, middle and thumb touching as though they’re holding something, even if they’re not. (My child does this.) To that person, that position is either comfortable, soothing, or simply something that brings joy (feels really good) to them. They may not even be aware they’re doing it. -Sometimes these tense and rigid postures are a sign of stress or discomfort. Other times, it’s just simply comfortable (like someone else may be comfortable standing with just their thumbs in their pocket, and hands loose.)
In my experience, most “stims” are things that are either done to: - SOOTHE/COMFORT - FEEL GOOD (it’s a pleasant feeling), or - EXPRESS AN EMOTION (often happiness)
Autistics might express joy, excitement, glee, etc. by “happy stimming” - this is also common. Stimming often releases dopamine, because the act is giving them a pleasure response. Stimming is unfortunately frowned upon by many in society, and punished or suppressed by many parents. Kids are taught “stimming is weird,” and are often forced to feel shame and hide their stims. This is terrible!
In fact, the act of hiding your stims and autistic differences is called “MASKING” or sometimes camouflaging.
🎭 MASKING is the act of hiding or suppressing your body’s natural needs, in an attempt to make yourself appear “normal” (or whatever is expected and preferred by most.) - Some people may think of it like, “well I don’t want to bit my nails because that’s a bad habit and it’s embarrassing.” So, I don’t. That’s the same, right? No! It’s not the same! - sadly, many children have been, and are still being raised (some diagnosed, some not) in environments which force them to suppress, stop, or hide those behaviors.
Many children and adults “mask” most of their needs, their natural way of speaking or engaging, and will work VERY hard to sit, act, sound, look, posture, walk, etc. like everyone else. Why? Because they want to (and deserve to) fit in, be accepted and not feel ashamed. This is not a healthy solution, short or long term.
In some regards, many argue selective masking MAY be appropriate at times. As an example, maybe if you’re in church and your stim is to make interesting (distracting noises), or maybe you like to spin in circles, or run laps… Society is divided on whether it’s ever ok to force someone to suppress their stims, and to encourage masking (the effort that goes into trying to act, look, sound and behave in a way that is not natural to the individual.
In my opinion, the answer on whether or not anyone should feel self-conscious of their stims always depends. It depends on the autistic person’s values (do they truly care what others think), the person’s age, the setting/environment, and the action. Generally, I believe it’s acceptable and encouraged to stim, we just need greater understanding and acceptance.
Usually, stims are harmless to others, and are NECESSARY actions for autistics (neurologically, physically, emotionally and mentally NECESSARY).
I might encourage someone who can’t relate or understand to use chickenpox as a metaphor. They itch REALLY REALLY BAD. It’s NOT “in your head”, your brain and your body NEED to scratch. However, society (and maybe your parents) say you can’t. You can’t usually step aside as needed into a private room to satisfy the itch when you’re not being watched, and there are NO medications, OTC creams, or ANYTHING ELSE that will suppress this need.
Still, you find yourself frustrated and conflicted because you “must not” do what your brain and your body is telling you it NEEDS. (Maybe that’s a silly example, but I’m running with it.)
Each day, you have the symptoms, the itch and the need to scratch while you go to work, go to school, sit on the bus or train, eat dinner, etc… whatever you do, don’t itch! Not only is that frustrating, but eventually it will become EMOTIONALLY and MENTALLY exhausting. Eventually you WILL “burst”.
In the chickenpox example, maybe you finally stop fighting yourself and address the need. Maybe you finally give in and scratch the heck out of your body until you’re bleeding, but you’re feeling a sense of relief and thinking “finally.” It doesn’t just stop or get better though. You’ve needed to scratch all day, maybe you’re hypersensitive and emotional at this point, feeling annoyed with everyone around you and even yourself.
Similarly, if you’re autistic, maybe you spent all day with a painful, headache inducing smile permanently plastered on your face because you THINK you need to “look” happy or content, and you’re trying not to draw attention to any undesirable behaviors. This occurs in males and females, but is particularly common in females.
Maybe an autistic person has been “dying” to swing on a swing (that motion can be so freeing and comfortable). Maybe they want to spin and spin and spin, and giggle incessantly, because it’s both regulating and calming, AND it feels good. People might think you “look weird”, but they do not understand, often your stimm are your joy and sources of happiness. Or maybe you need to stim as a way to express yourself.
Stims can be many things. Maybe you need to chew on things (oral sensory seeking), or maybe you need to hold your arms and hands in an “odd posture”, but instead you keep your arms down, tense, tight/flexed with fists at your sides in an effort to control yourself and NOT do that. Maybe you like to hang upside down, to jump and crash, or maybe you like to demonstrate a unique behavior most can’t relate to. - I say, do it! Stim! Do whatever your body needs. Don’t hide it, suppress it, or feel ashamed. I feel it’s not much different than a sneeze… if you have to sneeze, then sneeze darn it. Don’t hold it in!
Eventually, every “masker” has to release what they’ve been withholding. Masking can be SO INCREDIBLY TOXIC, stressful, mentally debilitating, and physically exhausting… in my opinion and experience. After “holding” or “hiding” it for however long you have, you eventually can’t help but have a meltdown or a shutdown.
I’ll clarify meltdowns because they’re poorly understood. A meltdown is not a tantrum, because tantrums are generally a conscious behavior with a manipulative factor - you do something because you want a particular outcome. Meltdowns are a sense of overwhelm and losing control of emotions, and happen when people struggle to (or simply cannot) struggling to control behaviors.)
We tend to think of meltdowns as a “fit” or exclusive to children. Sure, they’re common in children and they hand in hand with disregulation, in my experience. However, they can look like a number of things. Maybe instead of what people envision as a person on the floor flipping around crying and yelling, maybe instead it looks like anger and aggression. Maybe it looks like severe anxiety, or even a panic attack. Don’t get hung up on labels, terms or stereotypical examples, bc everyone is different.
Similarly, autistics can experience an “autistic shutdown”, which tends to be more cumulative. Eventually, their brain sort of just shuts down and maybe they want to be mute, cry, sleep, withdraw, hide, not eat, etc. It may look like a severe and sudden onset of debilitating depression, but it is not necessarily actually depression.
Meltdowns and shutdowns often happen because the person is so overwhelmed, and so painfully exhausted, (physically, mentally and behaviorally), they just are “maxed out.” They may literally shut down, or maybe they experience a period (hours, days, weeks) where they sort of function, but are barely hanging on. The mental health and emotional distress autistics experience, I feel is sadly overlooked. When someone notices there may be a problem, it’s often misdiagnosed as something else. (Side note: many autistics have “associated conditions”, where they’ll ALSO have ADHD, depression, OCD, anxiety, etc.)
Sometimes we all (humans) just get worn out, exhausted and are spent. I’d argue everyone experiences most of these challenges, and I’m not making light of them for anyone. Instead, I’m pointing out how some of this might look, and how it’s often missed, or misdiagnosed in autistics.
Thank you for letting me work through my experience, and my interpretation. I just wish there was more understanding and acceptance. Personally, I don’t subscribe to the primary need of “awareness” in the general sense. I think there needs to be A LOT more education (maybe especially within healthcare providers, teachers and those in early childcare), and I hope for my kids’ sake we all work towards greater acceptance. Less stigma, less shame, less pressure to mask, and more ACCEPTANCE for everyone.
If I misspoke, feel free to KINDLY correct me if I mistakenly stated something as a fact. And, feel free to add to this, please.
—What do you wish people understood about autism?
— How do you describe autism?
— How do you feel about stimming?
— What are some of your stims?
— How do you feel about masking?
Thanks for sharing, and thanks for keeping it positive. 😊
Edited to add, bummer, I can’t add images. Search Google images for “autism synaptic pruning”. I particularly like tree diagram comparing NT to AU by “The Neurodivergent Brain” here.
I also like this image (scroll down a bit) showing scans comparing the neural differences in an AU compared to a NT child here, image by bioninja.

submitted by Smooth-Put-9228 to autism [link] [comments]

2024.06.04 13:23 No_Wallaby_8368 hi, this is my story that i am sharing to take back the control that i lost over my life. it is really important to me for my recovery with my CPTSD after a 5-7 year long traumatic relationship experience. Thank you.

TW; this contains emotional abuse, physical abuse and a small amount of sexual abuse. take care.<3
i cannot call my ex (pineapple) by his name anymore, as it is upsetting. this is addressed to him but i will not be sending it to him. if it reaches him, that's fine, but i don't want a response from him. i have done this to heal myself.
we met during highschool. we both liked each other but were scared to tell each other. you eventually asked me out and i said no. i was scared because i was figuring out my sexuality and was terrified of commitment. i loved you still. i told you, i still loved you and could not date at this time. i then got together with the an online friend who i also liked. this felt easier for me because it was a slow relationship online and it felt less real. i could safely explore my sexuality at my own pace. eventually, that relationship ended and you left me at my lowest. you left me for a group of people and replaced me, making me feel like nothing. i went through so much pain and so much depression over it, i would not eat, i would not be able to sleep, i only had 1 friend, R. eventually, you started talking to me again, because i did something funny at school. this was at the end of year 9. i was very scared but very happy because once again, i still loved you. we would often play roblox together and you began making newer friends, which decreased the time you would spend with me. this upset me, but i knew that there was nothing i could do, because at the end of the day, i still loved you. there was a time when things got so much for me that i wanted to end my life. i told you, my best friend about it and you did not care. you were still on roblox and that destroyed me. in the end, my friend M reached out to me out of the blue, saving my life. We never spoke about this. we never spoke about year 9 and how you left me and we never spoke about how you left me at my lowest. i still loved you. eventually, 7 days after my birthday, you asked me out on our favourite game on roblox. i was excited. i loved you. and then, you asked me to be polyamerous with your online friend, K. i didn't know what to do, i agreed but i was scared. i didn't want to lose you again. a few days in to our relationship, i felt uncomfortable and lost. i tried to talk to you about it, and i insisted that you choose either me or K. you chose K. so i stayed in the relationship, too scared to leave it, i loved you. a few months in, i decided to get to know K. we haven close but they did not treat me very well. we later both ended things with K due to your jealousy and my reasoning. soon after, in october, we both had COVID and had to self isolate. this was hard and scary. you were on xbox all day and you were ignoring me because you informed me that you were attached to a guy called N. this broke me. i didn't know what to do and i was scared, i didn't want you to leave me again. i loved you. around this time, my dad and my relationship was extremely bad, and my mum ended up in hospital (for different reasons). this was a hard and scary time for me to go through and you were not there for me. you were ignoring me and replacing me. during highschool, i was not liked. you were. and your friends slowly became mine as my friend R stopped coming in to school. i loved having that friend group. after time, they were quite judgemental to me, they would often ignore me when i would tell them things that had happened to me due to the fear that they would be bullied for standing up for me. that is understandable. i forgive them. i loved our friend group, i don't know what happened to make us all split up, but me and you were always a duo, so we ended up like that. you later blamed me for isolating you during highschool, and you not having friends, but i was so badly bullied that if anyone was seen with me, they would lose friends too. that is not my fault. as we only had each other, i had all of these unspoken feelings toward you and i began to resent the relationship. i did not feel important to you. we were each others only friends, so we quickly became toxic. i can admit that i did start arguments with you, i was not a good version of myself and i did not know how to communicate with you. during year 11, i finally received counselling in school. it wasn't much, but it did help me to understand myself better and helped me to be able to communicate. i was not "fixed" but i was doing a little better. the relationship however, was not. you were adding people on your snapchat and allowing them to flirt with you, every day there would be a new person who liked you. i decided to do this back. you did not like that. eventually, the constant arguments were too much for me and i decided i wanted a break. you would not allow me to experience a proper and beneficial break from the relationship. we would still spend every day together, we would still go on dates, have sex, and do everything that a couple would do. i was desperate to escape. i was insecure and scared, i was scared to lose you again, i was scared to be alone, so i wanted to make a pact that we would not see other people throughout this time. this was not right of me, however i did not have the mental capacity to communicate this break/ breakup to you properly and you also would not allow it. i was scared. i was so desperate to leave this abuse, that i turned to my friend, M for help. we caught feelings for each other. i have spoken about this to professionals and have come to terms with the fact that i was so desperate to leave the cycle of abuse and take some control back that i ended up doing that. this is not an excuse as i know it was wrong, but understand that there were reasonings. i also spoke to a trusted friend of mine, who took advantage of me and used me for sexual things. this is something that i am still recovering from. i told you about both of these events and understandably you were not happy. i broke your trust. this is around the time when we began to get physical with each other. this is not something i am proud of at all but through therapy i have learned to accept this is what happened and move on from it. after this, we forbade each other from talking to random people on the internet. you lied to me about this with one of your friends. that hurt me but it was too late for me to say or do anything, i met this person before too, but it still hurt me. when we left highschool, i was excited. i vowed to myself that it would be a fresh start, i would be liked, i would have friends and that i would be the best i could ever be for you, i loved you. during the summer after we left highschool, i began to suffer from nightmares. i was later diagnosed with cptsd. i told you about this diagnoses. my cptsd was ruining my life at this point, i was having nightmares every single night, i needed so much reassurance about everything and i finally felt like i could finally communicate this to you, i felt like i had a better understanding of myself. at this point in time, my abandonment issues were getting a lot worse. whenever we would argue, you would threaten to leave and that would scare me. i would end up on the floor begging you to stay. this would overshadow everything we were arguing over before as now i was in the wrong for how i was behaving. i would jump on you, tightly hug you and hug your legs. i was always careful not to hurt you, and i know that because i was always careful to keep a distance from you when i needed. i would sit by the door, in hopes it would made you stay. this would go on for hours as you did not know how to comfort me. i realised this was a problem, and i knew that i needed to help myself while also receiving support from you. i communicated my triggers to you, and we decided to have "quiet time" instead of you threatening to leave. this was still scary for me but i tried my best, for you. i loved you. when we got to college, we were both excited for this fresh start. i couldn't wait for our bright future. i was in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) for my CPTSD and emotional regulation, which helped a lot with my abandonment fear. you shot this down. every time we would get in conflict, i would use my DBT skills to help us both understand each other better. i would then get accused of "therapising you" and you would tell me that DBT "doesn't work" and that it's "not for you". you are now in CBT therapy, which is very similar. this made me feel small, stupid and unimportant. you would not listen to anything i had to say. it was hard. i tried so hard for you because i loved you, and you did not. this is around the time when you also wanted to see a show with me, hamilton. my favourite musical of all time. you told me they were coming to manchester and i was excited. i sent it to my dad to show him and he surprised me a week or so after with tickets. i was over the moon. i told you about it. you were not happy. you didn't even like hamilton. yes, i wanted to go with you but my dad wanted to spend time with me as mine and his relationship was repairing. you were not happy. you argued about it constantly and every time i tried to listen to hamilton with you, you would make me feel bad for it and you made me not like it anymore. you controlled that. upcoming to hamilton, was also christmas. so for christmas, i bought you surprise tickets to see the rocky horror picture show. i was so excited about this as it would finally "make up for seeing hamilton without you". i bought these tickets before seeing hamilton. on the night me, my dad, and my little brother went to see hamilton, you messaged me non stop. you would spam me and tell me exactly how you felt about this. this ruined the night for me and my dad was very upset. he just wanted to spend time with me. he was really excited about this show and you ruined it for all of us with no apology. i was tempted to go to the rocky horror picture show with my brother instesd because i felt like you didn't deserve it at that point. you ruined a part of me that made me me that night. and it will never come back. i told you so much to please calm down and that i have made it up to you, but you wouldn't listen no matter what i said. i decided to take you to see the rocky horror picture show as planned anyway because i loved you and i wanted to make you happy. i regret it now. in college, you had a hard time making friends. i introduced you to my new friends and said you could hang out with us whenever you wanted. you did until you made your own friends. i loved that you were making friends. i supported and encouraged that all of the time. there was never a single second where i didn't. i liked all of your friends and i felt very happy with this little community of people and different friend groups around us, it finally felt like we were getting back on track. every time you and your friends would have a fall out, i would always encourage you to try your best to sort it out with them. i gave you advice, i listened to your rants, i even went as far as to message one or two of them for you to try to resolve things for you. you were so full of anger toward everyone with what you were saying all of the time that i felt like i was doing all of the work for you to keep your friends. you later told me that you hated my friend group, they were all transphobic apparently and you hated them. because i loved you, i believed you and distanced from them. i then had no friends. i had to start from scratch again. i would only hang out with you at this point as i had no one else to hang out with. occasionally, i would hang out with one or two people from my old friend group but it was rare. you had total control over me. i had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to other than my group therapy in DBT which you thought was pointless and my therapist. you did not like my therapist. you would constantly talk shit about her to me. this was you trying to control another aspect of my life. i did not stop seeing her. becsude of the arguing with your friends, you often would just hang out with me. i tried to hard to carry your friendship for you but nothing would work. eventually, i started to get quite unwell again mentally, and i needed a lot of reassurance. i would often speak to you and communicate very well to you and you would override it with how YOURE feeling. i would often try to communicate my needs to you, such as comfort and reassurance when you are not around and you not threatening to leave when in arguments. you would always shut me down, telling me i'm "carrying thinsg on" and "throwing a pity party for myself". and often when i've been trying to communicate with you instead of arguing back to you, you would sarcastically "listen" where you would listen to me pour my heart out to you, tell you things that were very important to me and things i needed from you and you would sit there stone faced, sarcastically saying "yes, okay, mhm" etc. this drove me mad. it was quite literally like talking to a brick wall. i tried to talk to you about this as well at my dads house and instead it turned into a big argument where you told me that you didn't feel listened to, apparently i always only told you negative things about your behaviour and that you didn't feel important to me. i listened to everything you had to say because i loved you and i wnated to do everything in my power to make things better for us. i began to validate you and prioritise you when i would try to communicate important things about my emotional needs to you, which still wouldn't work because i still wasn't saying what you wanted to hear. over time, i began to tell you that "i need to be with someone who will meet my emotional meeds". i had to apologise for saying this. it apparently did not help the situation and you were not going to listen like that. but how else will you listen? i communicated to you so much and i got nothing in return. you did. it even give me the bare minimum. i decided to stop trying and maybe it's all my fault. i blamed myself. i then began to eat less. i had more nightmares, but this time about you. i would have nightmares about you trying to kill me in my sleep. i have a screenshot of a note that i wrote for you while we were together after a lot of big arguments we had where i attempted to communicate to you. some things i wrote down as a response to horrible and invalidating things you would say to me, which i never showed you, and some of it was just things i wrote down in my notes so i could word things in a certain way to you so that you would actually listen.
everything i tried never worked. the notes only caused more of a sigh and a mood from you. you did not hear me out. you did not listen. again. at this point in time, i knew i had to break up with you. i remmeber having an argument with you and then asking you to shower with me, you said yes but you must've forgotten. i then got in on my own and asked you to help me wash my hair. you were in a mood because i got in the shower without you. in that shower, i was thinking about how i had to end things. and how this wasn't going to be easy. i knew you were hurting me and i was questioning your love for me. a short while after this, your family member passed away. you were so upset and i was right by your side through it. i was making sure that i was there for you and comforting you and i really really loved you. throughout this time, you completely disregarded me as a person. your respect for me was gone. i was no longer human to you. i understood you were greiving but why me? when i had given you so much love and comfort why am i being punished? you would disregard my feelings, and you fully neglected my emotional needs. i was so lost. i had no friends and i no longer had a safe space or a comfort from you. all you would do was threaten to leave and shout at me.
my last straw with you was the night before the funeral you had. we had sex, but i think i ended it because i wasn't feeling up to it. either way, whatever happened there isn't important. becsude we did have sex. and i wanted to have a very important conversation with you about it. i said to you that "sometimes, i think i struggle saying no". you then took that and RAN with it. apparently i shouldn't feel like that bc "i know your trauma and what you went through" and "this is why we have a safe word" but i struggled to say the safe word. you don't know that, but i guess now you do. im going to say this now because i never got to talk to you about it and it has ruined my sex life, and maybe sharing it will help; i always felt pressured to finish you. whenever i was too exhausted, i would ask if we could stop and you would act fine about it but then later you would get moody with me and a few times you had started an argument about it. you used to say "okay well im going to the bathroom now to finish" and it would upset me. i would ask you to stay and then you would say that you "could do it next to me" instead. i would feel bad and then help you finish. you would say that you felt bad and didn't wanna pressure me and i would have to comfort you over it because of your trauma because i didn't want you to get scared but i really honestly did get pressured. it was so important for me to talk to you about this and it's just the fact that this is what caused the becsude you started a huge argument over it when i was trying to calm it down because i just wanted to have one small little conversation about it. all i said was "i feel like i cant say no sometimes". or at least i wanted to say it so that you were aware and we could talk about it another time. that wasn't good enough for you. you screamed at me until i couldn't take it anymore and almost threw up. i was gagging and then you decided to care. you tried to force feed me water from my favourite cup that you bought me for christmas, my barbie cup. i didn't like that i was being forced it so i knocked it oit of your hand without thinking. it fell on the floor and the lid fell off, spilling water all over your bag full of your new comics. you went ballistic over this even after i apologised for it. you told me i ruined them even though it was not purposeful. and you screamed while you picked up my barbie cup from the floor and smashed it to peices right in front of me. you then grabbed my comfort and favourite book ever snd threatened to ruin it, holding it in the air so i couldn't reach it. i was so scared. i felt like i didn't even know you. i was having a cptsd panic attack right in front of your eyes and you did nothing about it. once again, i was that little girl in highschool who nobody liked, being treated inhumane and abused all over again. you would then calm down, and say "baby, come to bed now" in a soft tone, so i did. i would still be having my panic attack so i was still crying, you would then leave the bed to sleep on the couch bc i was "disturbing you". you then did this a few times, which made my panic attack worse as there was no stability. eventually, you went to sleep in bed next to me, while i was having a panic attack still. i was left alone once again and neglected. the next day was the day of the funeral for you. i tried to talk to you about it, telling you how i was upset about my barbie cup and the way you treated me that night, you brushed it off and said you would "travel to college on your own" if i continued. i had to push it and push it, begging you not to leave without me at the same time, until i got a half assed conversation out of you where i still got no apology and instead ended up having to apologise to you. i bought you muffins to apologise for my inconvenience. on this day, we parted ways eventually, and i decided i needed space. i still checked in with you to see how the funeral went to see if you were okay, you said you were okay, so i went through with my plan for space. yo i'm u messaged me so much, making me feel guilty for needing space from you, you told me that "i promised i'd be there for you" and made me feel bad for asking for some space. i thought about it and decided that we needed a big conversation. a few days later, you met up with me in altrincham to talk about our relationship. you told me you "missed the old me" from when we were just friends and how i "could take a joke" and now im "sensative". this hurt me and made me feel unloved. but, i listened to you and decided that you were right. this was my fault. and i believe that because i loved you and trusted you. we decided to take a break instead of breaking up. i was so scared to lose you and i had no strength to leave. i still loved you. a few days into this, i was really struggling with this concept. we were on a break... but once again.. we were still the exact same, apart from i wasnt to expect any form of emotional support from you anymore. this was a hard concept for me. you were my everything and i could no longer go to you for anything, but we were still speaking. you were supposed to work on yourself and i was supposed to work on myself during this break for us... but i could not cope. it was not helping me and i knew that for once i had to prioritise myself. after a hard day at work, i facetimed you and i didn't quite know where i was going with talking to you, but i did end up breaking up with you. i comforted you over it. and i finally felt like everything was going to be okay. i finally didn't feel like a burden, i finally felt like myself after a long time. during this time, i still wanted a future with you. i wanted to part ways and have some healthy space, where we can work on ourselves and be apart for a while so that our future snd relationship will improve. i just wanted a few months. you said okay but you continued to harrass me, manipulate me and message me non stop. you would go from shouting and screaming at me on the phone to being nice with me and begging me to come back. this made is harder for me to cope and eventually you wore me down and i gave in. i let you back into my life and gave up on the future of us. i let you use me for 3 months instead of letting myself heal. you even tried to blackmail me into getting back with you by saying you were gonna start vaping again. i spent so much time with you during our relationship working on your addiction with you that it just felt like like you had punched me right in the face. i tried to be understanding but i just couldn't at that point. i was so done. i was so tired. you would then vape around me and i hated it. it felt disrespectful and my boundary was do not vape around me or in my house. of course you disrespected that.
we were supposed to go on a family trip to wales so you could meet my family. during this time, i decided that i did not want you to come. i was just so scared that i would say the wrong thing around you and another argument would start, ruining the trip completely. you came over to talk to me and my mum about it. me and you were ok. and my mum and you convinced me to let you come. this was before you started an argument over me being friends with M again. i understood that it worried you but it did not give you a right to shout at me and scream at me as i was trying to calm you down the whole time. it had been 2, almost 3 years since me and M liked each other and i wanted to rebuild my friendships back; no feelings attached. you instead took my phone off me, threatened to go through it, and added M on snapchat to "talk to him". i said okay. i asked you to stop shouting at me and i tried to talk to you to help you, making sure you felt "listened to" as you specifically asked me to in order to prevent arguments, but once again, it did not stop. it only stopped when you grabbed your vape and went to leave to go to the bathroom. i did not appreciate this as it was disrespectful to me so i took your vape off you and i sat on my bed. you then came over to me, still angry and asked me to give it back. i said no because i didn't want you using it in my house. eventually, i got tired of trying to calm you down. i finally shouted back. you didn't like that, so you covered my mouth (as well as my nose- not sure if that was purposeful or not) with your hand. i ended up falling back into the wall near my bed and i was scared again. before anything, i tried to pull your hand off me, scared to hurt you. it didn't move. i then mindlessly kicked you away from me. i kicked you in the stomach. i was scared at that moment and unsure on what to do, so i chucked your vape in your direction and told you to go. i then sat back up on my bed after you made me fall back into the wall and you then dragged me off my bed by my little finger. you fractured my hand. you claimed that you were scared because i kicked you, so you thought i was going to do it again. that is nothing but an excuse. i ended up apologising that night for kicking you before spending 8 hours the next day in A&E because of you. you ended up not coming to my family trip because of what you did and i had to lie to everyone about it. i will never forget how both physically and emotionally painful those 3 days were. that wasn't even the first time during all of this that you hurt me, you also jumped me and dragged me by the back of my bag because you thought i was going to kiss a new friend that i made. you made such a big deal over me not saying hi or good luck to you that day at college so i went up to you to wish you good luck and you and your friend who is also my friend, both walked past and ignored me. you then ended up telling me to "go and kiss" my new friend, so i made a joke saying "she's straight but i will if you want me to". i then walked away to avoid the rest of the conflict. you then jumped and dragged me by my bag. my friend was straight and she was helping me cope, giving me advice snd distracting me. i had a whole entire friend group and they would shout things at you when i wasn't there and i ended up stopping being friends with them because i still loved and cared for you. i was too scared to blame you for any of this. after this point, you were just back in my life and id given up. i was scared to trust you again and i was questioning your love for me, but through that time, you went above and beyond for me. for once. you would shower me with all of the things i begged for you to do for me, and that kept me attached. you would make plans with me and then make plans with another friend of yours, which upset me. i didn't mind you hanging out with friends, like i said, i was always so supportive of you and your friends but i felt so abandoned and ditched. you recently have informed me that you feel happy now because you don't have to worry about making plans with friends when you have plans with me. and i took that in. and blamed myself once again. for those 3 months in our breakup, you showered me with a lot of the things i begged for you to do, apart from my triggers. i've noticed this recently but throughout the 5 years of us being together, you would argue with me when i tried to communicate with you but when i wouldn't retaliate back, i had no reason to apologise to you, so you would purposefully set off my CPTSD triggers. you would threaten to leave. and that's why you wouldn't listen to me. you wanted that control in every single argument and you had it. you took advantage of me by triggering me to have a panic attack, so i would act irrationally and emotionally, so that i was easier for you to control. and then i was in the wrong.
for 3 months, you took advantage of me, and used me. you used me for comfort and to give you what you needed so YOU could get over me. you downloaded yubo and told me not to worry. you were talking to loads of different new people and told me not to worry. and then when you finally got everything you needed and wanted out of me, you abandoned me. out of nowhere. a few days before it you sent me 3 paragraphs about how beautiful you thought i was and how much you loved me. was that really a lie? this triggered me a lot and i can admit, i called and messaged you a lot and at first i said a few regretful things, which i later apologised for. when i was messaging and calling s lot i was looking for answers. when i broke things off with you 3 months prior i told you that you were harrassing me and it needed to stop but then you refused to admit that it was harassment and would give me excuse after excuse after excuse about why you were calling and messaging me non stop. i can admit, the way i was behaving was harassment. but so was your behaviour.
you did not have a conversation with me about this at all. you still did not listen to me. you just told me what YOU wanted and expected me to move past that. i just wanted a face to face conversation about everything, so you could listen to me as well. but no, you did not consider me in your decision at all, as usual. i instesd tried to seek comfort in you, hoping that you would at least comfort me through it like i did for you, but no. i was wrong. i told you about how this was affecting me and that i really needed to talk to you, and have a conversation about this. you kept declining. at college, i saw you and you didn't even look at me, so i had a melt down. i was taken in by the pastoral team and i was having suicidal thoughts. i then messsged you, to ask if you could come and meet me there so we could have a meeting together and you said no. that made me feel worse. on friday 24th may ,you told me you loved me. i got to tell you about what happened at college and apparently that was blackmail according to you and your mum. that night, i almost took my life. i ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and remained in hospital until about 12pm the next day. since then, i have had nothing from you to see if i am okay, your mum had messaged my mum but i have had nothing from you at all. i do not blame your mum at all, i love her to bits. she was doing what she could for both you and me and she wanted to stay out of it, and i understand that. i then proceeded to tell myself that you do love me, as you had told me, and i wrote you a letter. i don't want to disclose what was in the letter as i don't think you deserve to know anymore. very recently, i plucked up the courage to ask you if we could meet up to chat. this was so i could talk to you and give you my letter. you proceeded to agree and tell me you don't love me. you don't feel anything toward me anymore. you don't care about me and me saying that i love you basically meant nothing to you. this broke me. i tried to keep it together. i did on the phone. but i was a wreck. i still loved you. for some reason, i still loved you. i then decided that it was a good idea to just cancel the meetup, and block you on everything. through this, i went to block you on spotify. i saw a playlist named "hope". i didn't know if i was overthinking or not and i once again tried not to freak out over it. i then, stayed at my friends house and went to block you on facebook. this is when i later found you had someone added on facebook called "hope". i did ask you if you met anyone else, and you said no. i didn't look into it because i don't want to know. whether youre friends or more. 5 years... just for you to move on in a week and after telling me not to worry. the last time you stayed at my house, you initiated sex with me 4 times. i declined the 4th but we had sex 3 times. i had to say to you that i "didn't just want to fuck the whole time". and you got moody about it. less than one week after that, you went no contact. and if you were telling the truth and you haven't met anyone else, you can't tell me you loved me the whole time when you stopped loving me so quickly. i do not think you ever loved me through our relationship because of the way you treated me. i don't think you ever actually cared. i think you just liked the company. i don't know if this will ever get to you but tbh i hope it does. im sharing my story to take back the control you had on my life, and so that for once, someone is listening to me, whether it is you reading this or not. thank you for reading.

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2024.06.04 13:15 No_Wallaby_8368 hi, this is my story that i am sharing to take back the control that i lost over my life. it is really important to me and i would really appreciate you taking the time to read it and share it, i am sorry that it is so long.

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2024.06.04 13:13 No_Wallaby_8368 hi, this is my story that i am sharing to take back the control that i lost over my life. it is really important to me and i would really appreciate you taking the time to read it and share it, i am sorry that it is so long.

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2024.06.04 09:20 Yurii_S_Kh Pilgrimage Organizer, Speech Therapist, and the Mother of a Big, Second Family. Priests’ wives talk about their service in the Church. Part 1

Pilgrimage Organizer, Speech Therapist, and the Mother of a Big, Second Family. Priests’ wives talk about their service in the Church. Part 1

Lada Bayeva
On the feast of the holy Myrrh-Bearing Women, which Russian believers sometimes call “Orthodox Women’s Day” (this year it fell on May 19), we asked the wives of some priests of the Vyatka Metropolia of the ROC to talk about their Christian service in the family, in the Church and in society.
Many matushkas, as priests’ wives are usually called in Russia, perform their multifaceted labors in the sphere of education, developing pilgrimage itineraries, working as teachers, doctors, speech therapists, church choir singers or conductors, glorifying the Lord with their singing, meeting people in the church shop, instilling the gift of faith in children with special needs… And, of course, all of them see a special role of a woman in taking care of her family and helping her spouse. Talking about family traditions, their work and hobbies, these women have sincerely shared with readers what helps them overcome difficulties, what joy they feel when they observe the good fruits of their labors, and how happy they are in their service.
“There are trips that combine my service as an organizer of pilgrims and the family”
Nadezhda Shapoval, head of the “From Vyatka” pilgrimage service:
Fr. John and Nadezhda Shapoval
This May, our pilgrimage service turned twenty. Its work is based on Christian service. Our priority is to familiarize people with our shrines and churches of the land of Vyatka¹ of the Vyatka Metropolia. I think it is important for people to know the history of their churches, icons, and local saints.
I never imagined that I would become a priest’s wife. I married an ordinary layman. Ten years later, at the age of thirty-five, my husband told me: “I want to enter the Vyatka Theological College [now seminary], full-time.” I understood the responsibilities that a future priest’s wife had—both the inward, spiritual, and the outward, in the public eye—but I had to accept his choice. Father John was ordained by Metropolitan Chrysanthos of Vyatka and Slobodskoy. He served as a deacon for six years, and then Metropolitan Mark of Vyatka and Slobodskoy ordained my husband a priest and sent him to serve in the village of Istobensk. And for about twelve years now, batiushka has served as rector of the ancient Holy Trinity Church, which has never been closed.
Nadezhda Shapoval with pilgrims
There are trips that combine my service as an organizer of pilgrimages and the family. We have the following tradition: for several years in a row, on New Year’s day, I take pilgrims on a trip to the ancient monasteries and convents of Russia. We develop new, interesting itineraries every time. During our trips, we learn about locally venerated saints and attend services in the churches we visit. Fr. John Shapoval, who accompanies the pilgrims with me, supports people with spiritual advice. Among our pilgrims there are those who go regularly on our “prayer trips”, while others may be new to this. Recently, married couples have become more actively involved in such trips.
Nadezhda Shapoval
Greetings to all female pilgrims, colleagues, staff workers, priests’ wives and all Orthodox women of Russia on this wonderful feast—the day of the Myrrh-Bearing Women, which falls on the Paschal days when we all greet each other especially joyfully with the exclamation: “Christ is Risen!”
“My great-grandmother, grandmother and mother are priests’ wives”
Priest Mikhail Pentin and his wife Galina
Galina Pentina, singer of the parish choir of the Church of the Nativity of the Most Holy Theotokos of Kirov and teacher of church singing at the Sunday school of the parish, wife of the rector of the Church of the Protection of the Mother of God of the town of Sovetsk, Priest Mikhail Pentin:
Christian service is always about kindness, the ability to give, to sacrifice from the bottom of your heart, to bring joy to people. It so happened that I became a fourth-generation priest’s wife. My great-grandmother, grandmother and mother were all wives of priests. From childhood we had an awareness that a priest is the pillar in the church, and his wife is the pillar in the family, responsible for the microclimate and comfort at home. But a parish is a big family. A priest celebrates services in church and is engaged in organizational matters, while his wife creates a good atmosphere there, so that people can be drawn to church. For parishioners, she often acts as a guide, a connecting link to the church.
I was born after my mother Tatiana moved from Kostroma to Sovetsk and had begun to arrange the life of the parish. Then Sunday school was born there, which turns twenty this year.
riest Mikhail Kovalsky with his wife Tatiana and little Galina
My father was busy with his ministry and was responsible for many practical issues—churches always require attention—and my mother created an atmosphere inside the parish. There were regular parishioners and traditions—organizing Christmas and Paschal concerts. And if my mother devoted herself mostly to classes with children in the Sunday school, I inherited the cause from my father, Priest Mikhail Kovalsky, who as a priest paid great attention to choir service.
My father dreamed of becoming a choir director, but he entered the seminary. But he loved sacred music from his childhood. He selected the repertoire for the services of the church cycle and held choir practices. Sharing his aspirations, I have served in the choir since the age of two. Now that I sing in the church choir, I remember that as a child I listened to this or that spiritual work. In my understanding, the church choir plays a huge connecting role between the priest and the parishioners. The prayerful mood the choir sets will be conveyed to the priest and the parishioners.
Future Archpriest Peter and Grandmother Marina Bakhtina
A model of good Christian service in our family is my maternal great-grandmother Margarita. She has eight children, and she is a priest’s wife as well. When my great-grandfather, Archpriest Vladimir Stepanov, was transferred from parish to parish, the whole family moved with him. You must accept that your husband belongs to the Church, and you, his wife and children, are his family and cannot leave him. You should be wise and understand that this is your service—through him you should serve God. My grandparents, Grandmother Marina and Archpriest Peter Bakhtin, are also a model of Christian service.
When it comes to life in general, it is important to do everything for God. Do any work that you undertake for God. This way it will be possible to perform it efficiently, and most importantly—according to your conscience.
“Family comes first”
Ekaterina Churakova with Father Dimitry and children
Ekaterina Churakova, a speech therapist, wife of the priest of the Church of the holy Martyrs Faith, Hope, Love and their mother Sophia in Kirov, Priest Dimitry Churakov:
I see my Christian service in the life I live as a priest’s wife, combining raising the children with my job as a speech therapist. As an active and well-educated woman, I always wanted to do something for the good of society, while living exclusively for household chores is boring. Being a philologist by education, I received by qualifications as a speech therapist over a decade ago. When my children were small, there was no opportunity to take them to a speech therapist, so I decided to become one myself—first of all to help my children. Then I began to help others as well. And now that I’m busy with work, my children understand that their mother is a role model for them, thus she fulfils herself, and at the same time they are given more independence. They do some housework themselves, taking care of each other. Working as a speech therapist has become my vocation, because I love children. It is no coincidence that we have four of them, and I am able to help them and do my share in providing for the family simultaneously.
Ekaterina Churakova with her husband, Priest Dimitry, a cleric of the Church of Sts. Faith, Hope, Love and Sophia in Kirov
But the family comes first, so I work four hours a day at most. I reserve energy for my children. Our two older daughters and son go to school, and the youngest daughter is a preschooler.
Since weekends together are a rarity for us, because my spouse is a priest and celebrates services in church on weekends, we try to gather in the evenings in our family circle. My husband, Fr. Dimitry, and I try to support each other, and he takes part in raising our children.
We have a family tradition of getting together on the major feasts—Christmas and Pascha. At Pascha, we always bake kulichi (Paschal cakes) according to the old Russian recipe for our family, friends and acquaintances. My eldest daughter Lisa and I baked over sixty kulichi this year. We want people to feel the taste of real pascha cheese, cooked with love from exclusively natural, good products: butter, raisins, candied fruits and nuts.
We celebrate Victory Day with our family; we always place flowers at the eternal flame, sing military songs at home, and invite guests.
In the summer we try to take trips together. For example to Diveyevo Convent or to Blessed Matrona in Moscow. For the children, a trip to another city is always an occasion for joy. We try to think about our trip ahead of time, and to make it merry, interesting and informative for the children (with visits to museums, zoos, puppet theaters; the Nikulin Circus in Moscow made a special impression on them). On the other hand, these trips educate them in patriotic and spiritual terms, since they familiarize themselves with holy and meaningful places.
When planning my days, I keep a balance between my job, the children and myself, and my inner state. When there are many children, everyone needs to be given time and attention. You always keep your finger on the pulse so that you as a mother can provide support. And all this requires inner strength, so it is especially important for the mother of a large family to stay healthy, fit and balanced.
“Family traditions are about being all together”
Lyubov Boyarintseva with Fr. George and children
Lyubov Boyarintseva, director of the Nika children’s church choir, teacher of the First Children’s Music School in Kirov, wife of the priest of the Church of St. John the Baptist, Fr. George Boyarintsev:
I met my future husband when we were students of the conducting and choral college. In our last year of school we registered our marriage and got married in church. We had a student wedding: a male student quartet sang at the church; Vladimir Stromov—the bell-ringer of St. Seraphim’s Church, and then a second–year student who sang with us in the united student choir, rang the bells; and the cameraman was our classmate, now Priest Igor Shilyayev. The car for the newlyweds was provided by the then ruling hierarch, Vladyka Chrysanthos. It was very joyful, warm and sincere.
Lyubov Boyarintseva and the Nika children’s choir at the service in the Church of St. John the Baptist in Kirov
I have been studying music all my life, and my choice of this profession was obvious. I started teaching from the age of nineteen, and so far my occupation has not changed. It had always been a children’s choir. However, three or four years ago I began to lead an adult mixed choir, which consists of parents and graduates. It’s an amateur choir of people who can’t live without music.
A husband and a wife are a single whole, one mind and one vision of the world, and they complement each other. One other half always feels what is happening with the other and thinks about how to help him or her. Sometimes words of support are vital—it is very important that you are not alone in your vision of the world, that someone is ready to defend you with might and main. My husband is our choir’s father-confessor. He knows all my students, their interests and hobbies. He taught me how to edit videos of my students for competitions, type parts in computer programs, and write music; he also helps me organize concerts.
Fr. George and Lyubov Boyarintseva with children
My husband is a clergyman of the Church of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist of our city, and as part of his duties he sometimes travels to serve in churches of the district, where there are often no singers. Then I always accompany him, and we sing the service with the children’s choir.
Music is a subtle guide to the spiritual world. At the service, children feel their involvement in what is happening through music and spiritual singing, and it is easier for them to stand through the service and understand it. We so wanted our children to sing in church so that they could find friends and like-minded children in the choir. After all, who your children communicate with is very important.
For us, family traditions mean being all together: at work, at services, at children’s contests or competitions, or just spending weekends together. If we manage to organize a family trip, it is a great joy.
“For me the main thing is when love reigns in the parish and in the family”
Elena Izhik. Celebration of the blessing of a new belfry in the village of Sredneivkino
Elena Izhik, wife of the rector of the Holy Trinity Church in the village of Sredneivkino of the Verkhoshizhemye district, the Kirov region:
For seventeen years now I have been Father Stephen’s wife and the mother of three wonderful daughters. For me the parish is a large, second family—not only in Sredneikino, but also in Verkhoshizhemye, Zonikha and Voronye. For me, life as a priest’s wife has proved to be very unique, yet difficult.
Elena Izhik with Fr. Stephen and children
I try to share in all the difficulties that Fr. Stephen has to face as a clergyman, and my daughters and I try to support him. I help my husband in the service (I sing in the choir), I am always involved in the preparations for church events, and support charity works organized at the parish. Father and I try to bring our children to God and kindle the fire of faith in their hearts.
For me, the main thing is that love reigns in the parish and in the family. Because family is the most important thing in our lives. It is the most precious and valuable gift from God. I believe that a real family is built when the people dearest to each other support each other and do not abandon each other in difficult times, which motivates you to move forward and reach new heights. This makes them really happy for you.
Faith in God and trust in Him help me overcome various difficulties in life. And family is a place where you can be real, yourself; it is a reliable support that helps you solve any problems in life; it is a strong home and harmony.
“Church is a place where I sacrifice myself to God through singing”
Natalia Pistsova with her youngest daughter
Natalia Pistsova, singer at St. John the Baptist Church in Kirov, wife of the cleric of St. Seraphim’s Cathedral in Kirov, Priest Vasily Pistsov:
I started singing in the choir when I was a child. From the age of five I mastered singing and reading. I grew up in an Orthodox family—my parents raised me accordingly, instilling in me the most important ideas about God and my neighbor. Singing and Church are an integral part of my life, because as long as I can remember, I have always sung—this is my second self. The church is my home: it is a place where I offer myself to God fully through singing and serving Him.
Batiushka and I are raising four children—three girls and one boy. The oldest is sixteen, and the youngest is three.
Natalia Pistsova with her husband, Fr. Vasily, and children
The priest brings a moral element into raising children, instilling in them the most valuable concepts about God and people, and gives answers to their questions. I try to instill in them the right habits, the right approach to life and different situations, and most importantly, I help them learn how to make good decisions. It is a very interesting and complex process (because there is a struggle, free will is manifested, with each of them having his own). At the same time, it is important to understand that every child is an individual and needs an individual approach; and of course, I have the task of remaining a true friend and example for them.
My hobbies are drawing, academic singing and sports. I also really like needlework.
We love to relax together outdoors, which allows us to take a break from the fuss of life. The great Orthodox feasts greatly unite us, because each of us contributes to the creation and preservation of family traditions. The most important thing is to keep in mind that love, joy, humility and piety must accompany us along our life’s paths.
To be continued…
OrthoChristian

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2024.06.04 05:27 BlueFishcake Sexy Steampunk Babes: Chapter Twenty Nine

William certainly didn’t remember a dining table being present the last time he was in Griffith’s office.
Hell, how did they even get it through the door? He thought idly as he reached for a buttered scone.
As he did, his eyes briefly passed over the third member of their little post-match meeting.
Griffith was staring at him, as she’d been doing from the moment he’d been escorted in here. Her eyes peered at him like he was some kind of puzzle she couldn’t quite put together.
Which, while understandable, was more than a little eerie.
Still, that was at least a step up from the other person at the table.
Queen Yelena Lindholm was looking at him like a particularly juicy cut of meat. Which he supposed was also understandable, given that he’d effectively just saved her nation from a rather messy civil war.
For a time at least…
The loss of him and the Summerfield duchy by proxy was a rather large setback to the Blackstone’s plans for an easy coup, but they weren’t quite a deathblow.
Access to the Summerfield duchy would have simply made it a sure thing. Now the results of such a conflict were more… hazy.
“How long do you think I’ve managed to buy us?” he asked casually.
Griffith twitched at the casualness of his words, but in his defence, there was a reason this particular meeting was being kept under wraps. It allowed him a certain sort of glibness he’d never be allowed in a more public venue.
This was a negotiation after all.
Certainly, Yelena could have picked a more public venue to browbeat him into accepting her demands without too much trouble – but that would be a short term victory for her, one that would sour their relationship beyond repair.
And given that the woman had just been given a front row seat to watch what happened to those who tried to force him into arrangements he didn’t much care for...
No, this was about as close to a negotiation of equals as the two could possibly have.
The queen’s smile was all teeth. “A few years, perhaps. Any attempt to declare war now would be seen less as your ex-fiance’s mother championing the cause of her traditionalists and more a petulant attempt to soothe the pride of her heir.”
She shrugged. “Few enough ladies, even those deep in her camp, would be willing to pledge ships to such a flimsy cause. Not least of all because the humiliating defeat of the woman’s heir will have shaken their faith in the competency of Blackstone leadership.”
William nodded absently. “As planned. After all, if the own woman’s heir is so incompetent that she could be defeated by a mere first year boy, what must the state of her other forces be?”
“Exactly,” Yelena stated with excitement. “Never mind that your ex-fiancé was a talented mage-knight, one with a long list of victories to her name prior to her most recent loss. The opinion of high society is a fickle beast with a decidedly short memory.”
She paused, sobering slightly. “Today that is to our benefit, but tomorrow it will serve to aid our enemies.”
William nodded. Indeed, he could already see the narrative forming. Tala would be pulled out of her classes and sent either North or West for a year or more. There she’d achieve a few ‘crushing victories’ against either orcs or sky pirates and return a conquering hero ‘redeemed’ through a baptism by fire. Her most recent loss would in turn be blamed on the incompetence of the Academy’s teaching staff.
…Still, that gave them time.
“Two years at least then,” he said.
Yelena nodded. “Ignoring any other unexpected upsets, that seems a reasonable timeframe.”
“Not a lot of time to bring our own forces up to a standard where they could match the New Haven and Blackstone fleets,” Griffith said. “The temporary perception of incompetence on the part of our enemies will not make it so.”
Neither he nor Yelena could argue that point.
In theory the South held a numbers advantage, at two duchies to three, but that wasn’t strictly two in practice given the Northern Duchesses’ positions as marcher ladies.
Given the constant threat of ‘pirates’ to the West or orc rebels to the North East, both Northern duchies maintained navies in excess of their southern counterparts.
Indeed, they were required to as part of their liege levy.
In turn, the combined weight of both the Southern duchesses and the Crown was supposed to act as a counter-weight to that power. Plus the historical enmity between the pro-Elvish House New Haven and the pro-Human Blackstones.
No one ever expected the pair to find common cause in maintaining the slave trade.
Nor the fact that the ongoing conflicts with their disparate enemies would strengthen them over time rather than weaken them.
As evidenced by House Blackstone’s performance in the last two conflicts against the Solites and Lunites.
Rather than showing up a tired and wary force, their sailors and marine-knights – hardened by generations of conflict against the mountain orcs of their home – acted as the vanguard in both counter-assaults.
To devastating effect.
It was no exaggeration to say that the House Blackstone won the war near singlehandedly. Burgeoning their reputation to previously unseen heights. To the extent that William couldn’t help but wonder if said victories were what ultimately gave Eleanor Blackstone the confidence to challenge the crown on the issue of slavery but a few years later.
He certainly knew his current opinion on the disparity in military power between the North and South was borne of its performance in that conflict.
“Perhaps not under normal circumstances,” Yelena said, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “Even with access to a veritable bounty of mithril cores provided by William’s invention, the fact of the matter is that the royal hangers currently only have three empty hulls ready for restoration into full airships.”
Which would bring the Royal Navy up to thirty-five airships from thirty-two.
Sixteen in the hands of Crownland countesses.
Nineteen in the royal navy.
…Though that assumed all three of those hulls were slated for the royal navy and one wasn’t being set aside for him. Which was unlikely given his contributions to the Crown.
Just forming a new noble house and elevating him to a count in his own right wasn’t nearly enough of a reward for gaining Lindholm access to dozens of mithril cores.
So, he thought. Seventeen vassal airships, eighteen royal navy ships and… assuming a standard loadout, somewhere around seventy or eighty shards.
He frowned.
A not insignificant short term number change, but hardly game changing.
Especially given that both Northern houses would each have perhaps a little less than thirty ships to their name between their vassal houses and ducal fleets.
“A tonnage increase of just under a tenth. Less than a twentieth if we include the Summerfield and Southshore fleets,” he muttered.
“Short term,” Yelena reminded him. “Those are just the ships I could have put into service within a week if provided the appropriate cores. More than that, there are at least four other hulls dotted across Lindholm that I know of that belong to houses that have… fallen onto hard times. Houses that could certainly be convinced to join our cause by providing them a lease to new cores.”
Three, William mentally corrected as he had little doubt Marline’s family’s ship was included in that number.
“A fifth or a tenth increase in tonnage then,” William acknowledged. “Do you think that’ll be enough to make a difference?”
“Not reliably,” the Queen admitted. “Even prior to your… intervention, the loyalist faction already had a numbers advantage. The sad reality is that the current dichotomy in our forces is more an issue of skill than tonnage.”
Griffith’s face twitched indignantly, but Yelena cut her friend off before she could speak. “Make no mistake, while I’d happily place my Royal Navy up against either the Blackstone or New Haven fleets, I wouldn’t wager it against both simultaneously. And whichever we left unmolested would likely to cut through my ducal vassals like a hot knife through butter.”
The woman leaned back, blowing out a breath in a distinctly unladylike fashion. “For ancestor’s sake, some of their countesses still have wooden hulled ships. Wooden hulls! The damn things are more showpieces than weapons of war.”
William acknowledged the point. Certainly, in order for a house to remain a noble house in good standing, they needed to possess an airship powered by an aether core. That was written into law. What wasn’t written into law was the exact level of combat readiness of said ship relative to its peers.
With that in mind, more than a few of the South’s more inland houses – protected from pirates by their coastal neighbours and orcs by their northern ones – had allowed their warships to fall behind somewhat.
After all, the upgrading of a wooden galley into a true ironclad was neither a fast nor a cheap process. And it wasn’t like wooden galleys were suddenly useless.
Upgrades could wait.
…Right up until they couldn’t.
That was the issue with military equipment. It had an unfortunate tendency towards being useless right up until it became absolutely vital.
Unless you’ve got a constant low-level war going on, William thought.
Which the North did. Attrition alone meant that there ships were newer on average, as craft were brought down, had their cores recovered, and were then provided and given a fresh hull.
Nominally a ruinously expensive process, but the continued growth of the North’s slave trading practices had made the war… almost profitable.
Plus there’s the royal subsidies both duchesses received for being Sunland houses, William thought.
Hell, the royal hanger’s strategic reserve of hulls existed to be slated for the Northern fleets prior to the recent rise in tensions.
Yelena sat up. “We can and will build more hulls. The treasury can afford it now that I’m not paying my enemies to build a fleet to oppose me.
“But that requires time,” William said.
“We could see about sourcing hulls from overseas,” Griffith said quietly.
Though as she did, William couldn’t help but think about just how far this conversation had deviated from his initial question. Nominally the whole thing was so over his head it wasn’t funny.
Had Yelena simply allowed herself to be swept up into it? Or was this some sort of negotiation tactic on her part?
By showing him just how dire the strategic situation still was, was she hoping to force some kind of concession from him that he might otherwise balk at.
He didn’t know.
“It’s worth a shot,” the Queen said, giving him no clue as to her true motives. “But doubt we’ll have much luck. My people tell me the Solites and Lunites are gearing up for another go at each other. I figure we’ve got a few months at most.”
William could believe that. It’d been long enough that a new generation would be just about ready to be thrown into the meatgrinder.
That was generally how the continental conflict had gone for the last eight hundred years. A constant ebb and flow.
At this point it was almost like clockwork.
I actually wouldn’t be too surprised if Blackstones were planning to wait for the next bout to kick off in earnest before they launched their originally planned coup, William thought. Perhaps with the duchess of Summerfield suffering an unfortunate accident to kick off the Summerfield succession crisis.
The Blackstones were ambitious, not stupid after all. There was no point in them overthrowing the Crown, only to be invaded by Lunites or Solites in turn.
“Dwarf holds?” Griffith queried.
“Same problem,” Yelena scoffed. “I checked. The waiting list for hulls is measured in years. And don’t even mention Old Growth.”
This time it was Griffith who scoffed.
And William could understand why. The wood elves were dangerous enough on their home turf, but the less said about the druid’s abilities outside it the better.
With that said, he did have an idea. “A few mithril cores might change minds.”
Both women still, a look of confusion slipping over their features. A state that remained the case for Griffith, while Yelena actually turned contemplative.
“Trade mithril for steel hulls,” the woman said, as if tasting the words. “That’s insane. Truly deeply insane.” She smiled. “I’ll consider it.
Griffith looked momentarily affronted as she glanced at her friend, before shaking her head.
Then, though, a change seemed to come over the room as Yelena turned towards him – and William suddenly knew with bone deep certainty that they’d finally reached the true reason for him being here.
“That said, as novel as a suggestion as you’ve just provided, I can’t help but be curious as to what other ‘short term’ advantages I might be able to eke out of you, William.”
“Short term?” he asked.
“Short term,” the woman repeated as she tapped a nearby crystal orb.
A crystal orb that flared to life to reveal a birds-eye-view of yesterday’s match. The beginning specifically, the one in which he’d effectively jury-rigged an impromptu radio-speaker system from a spare dagger.
On the orb he watched his actions with a vague sense of disinterest.
He’d had three spell slots available to him and he’d used them all.
One slot had been an earth spell, intended to provide him with stone-skin. He’d used that to create a string of ear-beads connected by a thin wire.
They’d needed to be connected so he could enchant them all at once.
The next, a fire spell, intended to provide the propulsion for his spell-bolts. Instead, he’d used it to enchant the connected beads with the ability to receive and then repeat vibrations.
In short, a simple speaker system.
Finally, he’d had a lightning spell, either intended to be used for flashbangs or another type of spell-bolt propulsion.
Those he’d used to make the beads propagate electromagnetic radio waves to both trigger and respond to the aforementioned vibrations.
In short, a simple radio receiver and transmitter system.
Finally he snapped the connected buds from each other, weakening the enchantment in the process. That was fine. The buds didn’t need much transmission power nor ability to create noise. The arena was only so big and the buds would be right in his teammate’s ears.
And sure, by shattering the object into five pieces he’d made it so the enchantment would fade into nothing within the hour, but he didn’t need an hour.
He didn’t even need half that long.
“I don’t recognize the rest of it, but breaking an enchanted object is almost considered heresy in some circles,” Yelena observed.
Of course it was. The whole point of enchanting an object was to provide some means for a mage to cast ‘more spells’ than their daily allotment allowed. Something that was rendered moot by breaking the enchanted object as it made the spell within start to fade.
And that was ignoring the fact that physical material made for a shoddy medium for magic. Just by attempting to imbue physical matter with magical properties, the spell could weakened by more than a third.
What was once a devastating fireball would instead become little more than a flash of fire.
Mages got around that limitation by piling spells on-top of one another as best they could, but that meant you were effectively spending three times as many spells slots to attain to attain a result similar to what you could achieve with just one if you cast ‘in person’.
It was slow and inefficient in the extreme… while still being incredibly valuable.
It was no exaggeration to say that a house’s supply of enchanted cannonballs was in many ways more valuable than its treasury.
To that end, enchanting an object… just to break it?
Well, he could well understand why that might seem a little confusing from the outside looking in.
“I’ve never been much for tradition,” William said slowly, allowing the dance to play out.
Yelena nodded. “I suppose not, but surely you know that outside of earth-magic, there are rules against bringing enchanted items into the arena?”
He shook his head. “As you said. Bringing them in. I enchanted the item while inside the arena.”
In the starting area admittedly, but it counted.
“Hmmm.”
“I’d also point out that by that standard, supplying enchanted ammunition would be against the rules,” William said.
Yelena waved her hand dismissively. “Earth magic. Most cadets have enchanted armor to that effect and the rules allow for it. Me enchanting your ammunition to be more… effective in its role was simply an extension of that ruling.”
Now William had to wonder just who was playing hard and fast with the rules?
“Are the Blackstones not accepting that?” he asked.
The Queen quirked an eyebrow at him at the obvious change of topic from his radio, before she decided to magnanimously allow it.
“Not at all, they’re crying foul play on both the wax front and your new weapon. Fortunately for us, I acquired my permissions for the wax in advance and have ample means to prove your new weapon isn’t enchanted. Mostly through the Instructors who were sworn in on it prior to the bout.”
“None of whom are from House Blackstone,” William pointed out.
The high elf shrugged. “I don’t care or need to convince them. Just everyone else.”
Yeah, William could understand that. His attack on the Blackstone’s reputation was about hurting them in the eyes of other houses more than anything else.
“How long do you think we have before the Spell-Bolt’s design leaks or they figure it out on their own?” he asked.
Yelena glanced over at Griffith who sat up. “It will happen sooner rather than later. It was always a risk given the simplicity of the design. Such is simply the nature of the beast. At the very least, our foes will not be able to replicate the design openly which gives us the edge in manufacturing for now.”
Once more she was peering at him like he was a puzzle to be solved and it was all he could do not to puff up smugly at her expression. Oh, she’d certainly not tried to hide her disdain at him choosing to unveil said weapon in an academy match – and now she was undoubtedly rethinking that disdain as she realized just how deep his plans went.
“…And that assumes you don’t have other toys to show us,” the Queen said, drawing his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Like whatever you did to be able to instantly communicate with your team from across the arena with just three spells. Or the particular means you used to kill a beast that is almost entirely immune to magic, deep underwater… and the size of a galleon – by yourself.”
…And whether that method could in turn be applied to other things.
Like enemy warships.
Or fortresses.
Still, this was it.
The meat of the conversation.
And for just a moment William had to wonder just how many invisible guardswomen were in the room with him.
He’d be offended if it was less than six.
Because there was no way he was going to be allowed to walk out of this room without giving away a lot of information.
“I have conditions,” he said.
Once more Griffith frowned at his glibness – it probably offended her that he wasn’t just performing his patriotic duty and handing the methods over while hoping for a reward for such leal service.
She was a loyal idealist that way.
Yelena had no such expectation. “Of course.”
“I already have a mithril core in my possession, so it goes without saying that I want to be elevated into my own house.”
“Of course,” Yelena said easily.
“I also want one of those ship hulls you were just talking about.”
At that the woman hesitated, but only for a second. “Agreed.”
“Land, of course. Somewhere near the capital while I finish my schooling,” he said.
The woman twitched. “You still intend to complete your education?”
“It’s useful to me,” he said entirely truthfully.
As a testing ground for his designs, if nothing else. The fact of the matter was that the Academy and the capital in general had some of the best facilities in the country.
He’d need that.
More to the point, he wanted the contacts provided by continuing to attend with other nobles.
“Easily done,” Yelena said with a slightly quirked eyebrow.
“An introduction to the alchemists guild.”
“The alchemist’s guild?” The woman said, no doubt thinking about the positively decrepit organization – and why he might be interested in it.
And in turn if that related to how he’d killed Al’Hundra.
Even if common logic said otherwise. The homeopathic potions created by alchemy might not have used ‘fae magic’, but they were still magic.
Which meant any kind of explosive or poison would fail if one attempted to use it on a kraken.
Still, it was a clue he was sure his nation’s sovereign was storing away.
“Done,” she said finally. “Out of curiosity, would this in any way be related to the recent destruction of an alchemy lab and the death of two academy servants who definitely shouldn’t have been there?”
William shrugged. “Not at all. As I understand, it was an old building and alchemy materials have a tendency to be volatile. To me that whole thing sounds like an unfortunate accident resulting from people playing with things they really didn’t understand.”
“Quite,” Yelena didn’t quite snort.
He nodded, content, before he moved onto his most contentious ‘request’. “Finally, I’d like you to give up on whatever plans you have to tie me into your powerbase via marriage.”
“Impossible.” Her reply was instantanious. “At this point in time you’re too valuable. I literally cannot afford to leave you as a free agent.” Her tone turned commiserating. “Rest assured though, it will be a beneficial match.”
She raised a finger. “All the funds you could want. The ears of the city’s greatest guilds. Fuck, given what I’ve heard of your early years, as many lovers of as many types as you might wish for. Admittedly, whichever of my daughters I match you to might be less pleased about that last item, but they’d understand.” She paused. “It’s clear to me you have a love of invention. Accept my offer and I will give you the means to see that dream fulfilled in its entirety.”
All under her thumb. Likely ensconced within the Palace somewhere. His words conveyed through the servants there. Whatever resources he created or cultivated ultimately answering to the crown.
…As would any organization he created.
And he couldn’t have that.
Sure, his goals aligned with the Crown for now, but that wouldn’t always be the case.
Slavery was but one problem he intended to solve after all.
So no, he needed to cultivate his own power base.
One that truly answered to him.
To that end, he needed his own house. As free and independent as possible.
“I recall my mother saying much the same thing,” William said dryly. “Admittedly not the lovers part, or the inventions bit, but about her wanting the best for me. And I believed her when she said it. Marrying Tala Blackstone would have seen me set for life. Able to live in great comfort until my dying day.”
He eyed the high-elf opposite him. “Yet I declined regardless. As I am declining now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Yelena said, and to her credit she sounded truly regretful.
He smiled. “As I recall she said much the same. And how did that work out for her?”
Something dangerous flashed across the queen’s eyes, the military woman within coming to the fore. “That almost sounded like a threat, William.”
He stared back. “Take it as you will.”
The elf sighed. “And here I thought we understood each other. Yet now I am reminded that for all your brilliance, you’re still just a young man. Likely high on your recent, admittedly well earned, successes.”
She raised a finger and ten palace guardswomen shimmered into existence around the room.
“I am not your mother, William.” Yelena said. “I am indebted to you. Grateful to you. I have a duty to reward you for services rendered. Yet, before all of that, I have a duty to my nation. A duty that requires me to place you into my power. Because, unlike your mother, I understand not just the opportunity you represent, but the threat as well.”
He was unbothered. “I assume that’s a polite way of saying that without the counterbalance of the Blackstone’s protecting me any longer, there’s nothing stopping you from simply… disappearing me if I don’t play ball?”
Across from him, Griffith shifted uncomfortably as Yelena looked solemnly regretful. “You know the threat we’re up against here William. One way or another, I’ll have what’s in your head. Just as I’ll deny that information to my enemies. To that end, as much as I’d much rather use the carrot, the fact of the matter is that my duty to my country requires me to use the whip if you refuse to accept it.”
He understood that. Truly he did. He could give the woman all the assurances in the world that he was on her side, but this situation was simply beyond trust. His autonomy was simply a variable that she couldn’t afford with the stakes so high.
She would not and could not let him leave this room without a guarantee that he’d soon be encloistered within the palace – either in a guest room or the dungeon.
And that was now.
He wondered how bad she’d be when he really got to work?
…Fortunately, he had a means of cutting this little power play off at the pass.
“Then let me save you a little heartache,” he said slowly. “There’s no possible way of you getting total control over my autonomy without also seeing your opponents gain access to the same weapons you’re hoping will give you the means of triumphing over them.”
Yelena eyed him. “And why’s that? Because let me assure you, I have a few dungeons in my palace that, while quite nice to live in, wouldn’t allow for even an errant whisper to escape.”
“Because said errant whisper is already out,” he said slowly. “And while it’s contained in a little hidey-hole, it will only continue to do so just so long as I continue to make public appearances.”
A sudden chill crept into the air.
“You provided the means to someone else,” Griffith said slowly.
“Not quite,” he said. “Just a package to a third party, with some instructions to open should I… disappear.”
“Who!?”
William felt himself shoved down into his seat by the two palace guard beside him as Yelena stood up.
“Truth be told,” he grunted. “I don’t remember the organization’s name. Bonnlyn probably would. Her family set up the meeting.”
“The Mecant girl.” Yelena sagged at his words. “One of the banking clans.”
Indeed. One of the banking clans. Based out of the Western Dwarf holds.
And with that knowledge he knew there was not a hint of a doubt in the Queen’s mind that William’s words would come true if he didn’t continue to be seen in public.
More to the point, it wasn’t a group she could bully into coughing up whatever he’d provided them.
Ignoring the natural stubbornness of dwarves, the banking clans were oath-sworn to protect their client’s contracts.
“Release him,” Yelena said tiredly – and instantly the pressure on his shoulders relented as the two guards stepped back professionally.
Drawing himself up, as he patted down his uniform, William had to resist the urge not to smirk as the two elves stared warily at him.
Finally, after allowing the silence to drag a bit longer, he spoke.
“So? Is it safe to say that marriage is no longer on the table?” He paused. “Oh, and as an addendum, one of my other conditions is that I’d like to use that orb there.” He pointed to the object on the table, one that was still repeating his radio-creating actions on repeat. “I imagine my mother is rather upset with me right now, and if I don’t speak to my younger sister soon, I can’t help but think of what our mother might tell her.”
The two elves – and the palace guard for that matter – continued to simply stare at him.
“You can even listen in if you want,” he said. “I promise not to drop any information that might see our entire nation destroyed by civil war.”
Yelena sagged in her seat. “Just… do it, you madman.” She leaned backward, staring at the ceiling. “Blackmailed by an eighteen year old. Gods above, my ancestors are probably spinning in their graves. I can only pray you’re as much of a headache for our enemies as you are for me.”
William said nothing, just smiling, as he leaned over the table to pull the communication orb closer – though he did send an errant wink in Griffith’s direction.
Eliciting a fiery blush.
“And quit flirting with one of my instructors,” Yelena groused. “Seeing as you apparently don’t want to get married to anyone connected to me.”
William resisted the urge to chuckle.
It was nice to know that under all the audacity and agelessness of his nation’s queen, she was apparently also a sore loser.
It was… humanising.
So much so that he wasn’t even all that sore about the threat of being kidnapped.
That was just how the game was played after all.

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We also have a (surprisingly) active Discord where and I and a few other authors like to hang out: https://discord.gg/RctHFucHaq

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2024.06.04 05:15 taiyuan41 Napalm part 1

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.

submitted by taiyuan41 to bipolarart [link] [comments]

2024.06.04 04:34 shackraj2 This is my Unbound Race Checklist

This is my Unbound Race Checklist. Which I put together during my research in preparation for this weekend's event (2024). Posting here in case it can be of assistance to anyone doing the race in coming years. I got to race and beat the sun!
Thanks Brecht for answering my questions (via Insta)
Clothing

Shoes
Socks
Chamois Cream
Bibs (3x)
Base Layer?
Jerseys (3x) -
Caps
White sleeves
Glasses Photochromic Lenses/Oakley
Helmet
Bandana for dust
Gloves? Full finger?
- That will provide you grip even when wet and muddy
- But more importantly that will provide protection to your hands due to the constant vibration of your handlebar
Rain jacket
Vest
Sweatelong sleeve shirt to dump as we start the ride

Tools/Equipment

Ibuprofen or whatever you take
Bike (yeah, do not come to Emporia without your bike - lol)
Water Bottles
Bladder & Backpack/USWE/Camelbak/etc.
- I used a hiking bag with two bladders, one with water and the second with carbohydrates
Saddle/Handlebar bag
Lights: front and rear
Inner tubes - lightweight
Orange Seal
Boot for tire repair
Duct tape
Super Glue
Spare Derailleur hanger
Spare Derailleur
Spare Chain
Spare Quick Link
Chain Lube / Small bottle
Spare Shoe Clips
Paint Stick for Mud
Plastic garbage bag (in case you have stuff covered in sealant)
Battery bank and appropriate cables (Garmin/Phone)
2x dirt brushes/paint sticks, (the ones from parktool or simliar work great)
2x replacement tires - to leave at checkpoint - some people carried tires with them
Tires
- Maxxis Rambler - I ended up using these + Vittoria Gravel Inserts
- Specialized Pathfinder Pro S-works
- Pirelli Cinturato Gravel h
Double up bar tape
Patch kit

Need to buy in Kansas:

CO2
Wipes to freshen your face at checkpoints
Dates
Pickle Juice - excellent for preventing and making cramps go away (almost like magic)
Pickles

Sourced primarily from comments on this post:

Charge everything the night before
Run concentrated drink mix in my bottles and water in a hydration pack.
Some guys are going to hammer right from the start, don’t be ‘that guy.’ - pace yourself.
Don't risk wrecking your bike at the start line. It's really a mass start, and MASS is the key word, you will be elbow to elbow for the first few miles including some tight streets, and 90* turns.
Try to attach everything you need on your bike and not in your back.
If you get a flat, be very careful when you change the tire to not get flint rock between the tire and tube. You will hear that over and over, once you get a flat you will keep flatting.
NEVER RIDE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD OR IN THE GRASS. The sections of road worn down by vehicular traffic are less likely to puncture your tire. That nice looking patch of road in the middle with little blades of grass growing up has unworn flint rocks waiting to puncture your tire. Bunny hop over that and never ride in it. NEVER.
You should be swapping / refreshing your sealant just before you get there. Put in extra.
Keep the dynaplugs in easy reach, don't bury them in a bag. I have mine strapped to my seat stays, so they are always easy reach.
Hit your bike with cooking spray or some lubricant to help with mud

Race Strategy:

This is a very long race. Approach it in “chunks” - I told myself this was going to be 4x - 50 miles rides. And that helped me get through it in a more manageable way.
The race starts early in the morning, right as the sun is rising.
The temperatures are normally cool and the first leg of the race is slightly shorter. Because of this, you don’t need the same amount of hydration between checkpoints.
Someone recommended one 3-liter hydration pack and NO water bottles for the first leg. That will keep your bike light and you don’t need to plan for an ejected water bottle when using the hydration pack. Also, it’s hard to eat during the first 3-hour leg, so I added 900 calories of CarboPro and electrolytes into my hydration pack. I brought food to eat before the start, but did not eat anything solid during the first leg.
Make sure you have sufficient fluids between checkpoints - As the sun is rising and the day progresses you will need as much fluids as you can carry. MAKE NOTE OF THIS!!! I got burned here! Ran out of water 10mi before checkpoint 2.
The last leg of the race is the easiest of the three (only 58 miles)

Nutrition:
Plan for 200-300 calories per hour.
Pack a variety of flavors and textures to avoid taste fatigue. Dates, fruit, and rice cakes are great options.

Dates
Pickles
Gels/Gu
Cliff Bars
Honey Stingers
Apple Sauce
Salt Sticks
Roctane/Gu Powder
ZipLoc Bags for Pickles and snacks/prepare Aid station replenishments
3L Hyrdation pack + 2x 750ML bottles with mouth piece caps.
You can put elastic bands around the bladder to give it some positive pressure to "spray" it in your mouth

Breakfast:

Bacon/Egg/Cheddar - everything bagel (or whatever works for you)

Start of the Race - Mile 0 – EMPORIA, KS
Estimated time to 1st Checkpoint (70mi at 16/17mph) 4-5h -
At 250 calories/h - need around 1,000-1,250 calories.
Food to start with -

Hydration Bladder - 1L=34oz
- Bag 1: Water 2L / 68 Fl Oz
- Bag 2: Water 1.5L / 50 Fl Oz
- How many calories here? Never estimated this.
Bag #1 / Start of Race:
- Cliff Bar - Chocolate - 250
- Cliff Bar - Oatmeal Raisin Walnuts 250 (500)
- Gu Gel x 4 - 400 (900)
- Apple Sauce - 50 (950)
- Veloforte Gel x1 100 (1050)
- Honey Stinger Waffle 100 (1150)
Salt Pills
Pickles

• WATER OASIS #1: MILE 40 – ESKERIDGE, KS (WATER ONLY) - Did not stop.
Checkpoint 1 - Mile 70 – ALMA, KS CUTOFF 3:00 PM
Address: Downtown Alma 300 Missouri St., Alma, KS, 66401
You cannot last longer than 30-45 seconds if you want to stay with your group.
Stop the bike:
-> pee
-> reload hydration
-> take on food
-> lube chain
-> GO.
Estimated time to 2nd Checkpoint (78mi at 16/17mph) 4.5-5.5h
At 250 calories/h - need around 1,125-1,375 calories.

Bag #2 / Checkpoint #1:
- Cliff Bar - Chocolate - 250
- Cliff Bar - Oatmeal Raisin Walnuts 250 (500)
- Gu Gel x 4 - 400 (900)
- Apple Sauce - 50 (950)
- Veloforte Gel x1 100 (1150)
- Honey Stinger Waffle 100 (1250)
Salt Pills
Pickles

Food to have at station:

Casey’s Pizza - need to check if they are open
Glass bottle coke 2x
Station 1 Ziplock Bag

• WATER OASIS #2: MILE 112 - ALTA VISTA, KS (WATER ONLY) - Make sure you have enough fluids to get you to Checkpoint 2!
Checkpoint 2 - Mile 148 COUNCIL GROVE, KS CUTOFF 11:00 PM
Address: Council Grove High School 129 Hockaday St, Council Grove, KS, 66846
Checkpoint 2 to checkpoint 3 is by far the hardest effort during the race. The distance is longer, it’s into a block headwind, and the temperatures approach 90 degrees.
Estimated time to End (54mi at 16/17mph) 3-3.5h
At 250 calories/h - need around 750-875 calories.

Bag #3 / Checkpoint 2:
- Adjust for more gels / less solids?
- Cliff Bar - Chocolate - 250
- Cliff Bar - Oatmeal Raisin Walnuts 250 (500)
- Gu Gel x 4 - 400 (900)
- Apple Sauce - 50 (950)
- Veloforte Gel x1 100 (1050)
- Honey Stinger Waffle 100 (1150)
Salt Pills
Pickles

Food to have at station:

I was not able to eat solid food at this Checkpoint.
Glass bottle coke 2x
Station 2 Ziplock Bag
Make sure to reload fluids properly - because of the time of the day and the sun being out, this is where you will have to drink the most.

submitted by shackraj2 to gravelcycling [link] [comments]

2024.06.04 02:25 Memiiselgey23 The 8 Choir Girls-Part II-ML

After the gruesome death of Karla Reyes, her memory still haunted me. I found myself constantly thinking about her, replaying our last moments together, and wishing I could change the outcome. The guilt and grief weighed heavily on my heart, and I knew that attending her funeral was something I needed to do, not just for Karla but for myself as well.
Five days after the discovery of Karla’s death, the day of the funeral arrived, and I made my way to the cathedral Catholic church, my heart heavy with sorrow. My family wasn't particularly religious, but Karla's family was, and I wanted to pay my respects in the way they would have wanted.
I entered the church, the familiar scent of incense and candles filled my nostrils, bringing back memories of Sunday school and holidays spent in these halls. I spotted Karla's family seated in the front pews, their faces etched with grief. My own family was there as well, offering their support and comfort during this difficult time.
My dad approached Karla's father, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Reyes. Has Karla mentioned anyone who might want to cause her harm? Anyone who wished her ill?"
Karla's father, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shook his head. "I can't think of anyone, Sheriff Anderson. Except..." He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.
"There was a man, part of a pandilla, who wanted to kill my family. He had threatened us, but I never thought he would go after Karlita. I always kept my family protected, but maybe..." Mr. Reyes's voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs.
My mom, who had been comforting Karla's mother, shot me a worried glance, her eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Reyes clutched my mom's hand, her grief-stricken voice calling out, "Porque a mi niña? Why my little Karla? Why you took her away from me so early?"
I made my way towards the coffin, my heart pounding in my chest. The coffin was made of rosewood, adorned with delicate orchids. It was a closed casket, and I felt a pang of sadness that I wouldn't be able to see Karla one last time, to say a proper goodbye. I placed a white rose on top of the coffin, my fingers trailing over the smooth wood. "Rest in peace, Karla," I mouthed out.
One month later, I remembered being in art class, trying to focus on the painting in front of me—a vibrant blue jay perched on a branch. It was a peaceful scene, but my mind kept wandering, my thoughts drifting back to Karla.
Suddenly, someone brushed past me, and I looked up to see Mandy Lake. She was known for her Gothic attire and multiple piercings. "Oops, sorry," she mumbled, taking a seat next to Hannah, who was jamming to Haley Kiyoko through her headphones.
Brandon returned from his bathroom break and slid into the seat next to me. "Hey, Lily, I might have heard some rumors popping up," he signed, his eyes downcast.
I signed, "What kind of rumors?"
Brandon opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Ryan barged into the art room, his eyes landing on me. "Hey, Lily, I hear you're smoking a juul these days. You got hit this ganja with me?" he said with a smirk, walking towards us.
Brandon snapped, "She doesn't do that, Ryan. Leave her alone."
Ryan laughed, a mocking sound that grated on my nerves. "Maybe it's her twin Billie, then." He pulled out his iPhone 6, displaying a Snapchat video of me and Karla smoking a juul. I tried to make out the poster's handle, but Ryan swiped it away before I could read it.
Our art teacher, Ms. Taylor, appeared at Ryan's side, her eyes narrowed. "Get out of my class, Ryan, or I'm writing you up.”
“Geez, Ms. Tay-Tay. You're a buzzkill,” Ryan groaned and made a squealing sound, trying to mimic me. As he turned to leave, I purposely stuck out my foot, tripping him. He landed on his nose, as small specks of bloody boogers seeped from his nostrils. Getting up from his feet, Ryan stormed off, smearing the door with blood.
Ms. Taylor saw the whole thing and sighed in frustration. "Lily, I know you did that to defend yourself, but it's not the right thing to do," she said, her voice firm but understanding.
I signed angrily, "I don't care, Ms. Taylor. He shouldn't have bothered me in the first place.”
“Fair point,” Ms. Taylor's eyes widened at my response, and she shook her head, clearly at a loss for words.
In a rather abrupt manner, the speakers blared, "Lilibelle Anderson please report to the principal's office."
Everyone in the class turned to look at me, letting out ohss and whispers. Brandon had enough of it, slamming his hands on the table, "Shut the hell up, all of you."
“Don't sweat it,” I signed to Brandon, "I'll meet you after lunch," and left the room, my heart pounding.
Passing by the lockers, I stopped in front of one in particular—Karla's. It was covered in sticky notes, drawings, and pictures, along with flowers, all expressing grief and condolences. There was also a letter written by Mrs. Becker as well. The letter read.
“Dear Karla Reyes,
It is a tragedy to have lost a talented student like you. You were potential, shining bright like a star. Whoever monster did this to you deserves hell. Hope you rest in peace, and forever be singing in the choir of the heavens.
With much love,
Your Choir teacher.”
Alyssa appeared behind me, her voice soft. She towered over me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It must be tough, losing a friend. But you shouldn't blame yourself, Lily. You were a victim too."
I looked at her, surprised by her kindness. She gave me a small smile and said, "Take care of yourself, okay?" Then she walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. At least Alyssa didn't look at me like I was the one who killed Karla. Fiona being one of those people who after Karla's death, looked at me like I was a monster.
I continued on my way to the principal's office, my heart heavy. Principal Kelly was waiting for me, his expression kind but stern. "How are you doing, Lily?" he asked, motioning for me to take a seat.
I signed, "I'm okay."
He nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm so sorry about what happened to you, Lily. I wish I could take away your pain. But I'm afraid I have some disappointing news. You've broken a rule, and I have no choice but to give you a week of detention."
I signed, "Am I going to be expelled?”
Principal Kelly shook his head. "No, Lilibelle. I understand you've been through a lot, and I want to give you a chance to make things right. But I can't condone vaping on school property."
I crossed my arms, frustration building inside me. "Who told you about the vape video?”
He hesitated, his hands placed up high on top of his balding head. "I can't tell you that. But I want you to know that I'm on your side.”
I shook my head, my anger rising. "I'll find it out myself," I signed, my eyes flashing.
With that, I left his office, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I noticed a group of students huddled together, whispering and glancing in my direction. I recognized Brianne among them, and my heart sank. Whatever rumor was spreading, it was gaining traction.
I quickened my pace, eager to get away from their judgmental stares. As I turned the corner, I collided with someone, sending our books flying. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I signed, bending to pick up the fallen books.
The girl I had bumped into offered me a hand, her eyes warm and sympathetic. "It's okay. Are you alright?”
I recognized her as Sarah Miller, a fellow freshmen from a different homeroom and a member of the Journaling club. She was one of the girls. I always saw them hanging out in the school library, reading newspapers and what not. From word of mouth, Sarah was Alyssa’s cousin and used to be inseparable. Part of me wanted to know more about Alyssa, and maybe just maybe Sarah knew something.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I signed, taking her hand and hoisting myself up. "Thanks."
She smiled at me, her eyes kind. "No problem. Hey, um, I know we don't really know each other that well, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I know you've been through a lot lately."
I nodded, my throat tightening with emotion. "Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate it.”
“Mhm. Oh yeah, I was wondering if you had lunch B?”
“Who doesn't have Lunch B. Everyone and their mothers have Lunch B.”
Sarah let out a giggle, tucking one of her honey blonde strands behind her ears. “That's so true. Anyways….you wanna eat together or-”
Seeing how shy Sarah was made me like her a lot. She was endearing in a way, and of course I would want to be friends with a kind individual. “Sure, why not.” I gestured, with a welcoming tone.
After a few classes later, I headed to lunch with Matt and Brandon, my stomach rumbling in anticipation of the school's infamous chicken nuggets. Matt chatted about his plans to go grocery shopping with his mom after school, complaining about having to make the list during Allegra's class.
"I actually find grocery shopping fun," I signed, my eyes lighting up at the thought. "Especially when I get to pick out my favorite peaches."
Matt brows drooped, as he hugged on his gray sleeves. “Groceries can be fun, but try buying groceries in bulk. Mom always says it saves trips, but rolling 6 carts of food kills my back.”
“Oh..”
“Yep. That's one of the downsides of being filthy rich.”
I noticed Brandon's silence, his eyes distant as he lost himself in his thoughts. Matt, ever observant, asked, "You okay, Brandon? Still dealing with what happened the day of Karla's disappearance?”
Brandon lied, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."
Matt's concerned gaze didn't waver. "Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything."
Brandon nodded, his eyes flicking to me. "Actually, there's something I wanted to tell you both, but... it can wait."
Matt's brow furrowed, but he let it go, changing the subject. "Why don't you two find a table? I'll go grab our lunches."
As we made our way to secure a spot, Brandon blurted out, "I know who posted the video.”
I froze, my eyes widening. "What?"
Brandon took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. "I confronted Ryan in the bathroom. Pinned him against the wall and interrogated him."
I could sort of imagine that happening; out of our trio, Brandon was the most developed and could even pass for a sophomore. Some kids are early bloomers, others such as Matt and myself were late bloomers.
"And?" I prompted, my heart pounding.
"Matt suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and Ryan freaked out, blurting out the poster's name," Brandon continued, his voice tight. "Matt was confused as to why Ryan freaked out, but I knew it was because he was guilty.”
"Was it someone we know?" I asked, my fingers discreetly moved, mimicking a whisper.
Brandon nodded, his eyes meeting mine. "It's Mandy Lake."
I looked down at my lap, sadness washing over me. I knew it would be one of the choir girls, but to find out it was Mandy….I was surprised. She had always seemed so nice, but I guessed appearances could be deceiving.
Just then, Sarah appeared, her face lighting up when she spotted me. "Hey, Lily! How's it going?"
I smiled, my mood instantly lifting at the sight of my friend. "Good! Sarah, this is Brandon. Brandon, Sarah.”
Brandon shook Sarah's hand, a nervous smile on his face. "Nice to meet you. I'm a fan of your newspaper column, 'Unsolved Cases of Meadows Dale.' It's my favorite read."
Sarah laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, wow! I'm super into mysteries, so I guess it makes sense."
Matt appeared with three trays, placing them in front of us with a flourish. "Here you go, my friends. Wish I could be buff like Arnold Schwarzenegger so I could carry six plates at once."
He turned to Sarah, a teasing glint in his eye. "Have you adopted another stray, Lily?”
I signed, "Yes we did. We're a band of four strays, surrounded by purebred pups."
“Sweet!” Matt grinned, popping a fry into his mouth. "Anyways, well, I heard Brianne Becker started dating Ryan. Talk about the unholy couple."
Brandon groaned, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, I heard about that. They are perfect for each other."
“What? They are dating?” My mouth agape, It was sorta surprising that Brianne and Ryan were a thing, although such a concept wasn't out of reach.
"It's true. I saw them together yesterday, they were sharing a cone together.” Sarah chimed in, as she pulled out some books from her light pink backpack. She then added, "Also, before Brianne, Ryan tried to date Alyssa once, and she refused him."
“Oh really?” Matt nodded, taking a bite of his burger. "Obviously, if I were Alyssa, I'd do the same. Good call.”
I nodded, my eyes dropping to the book she picked up to read. "What are you reading?"
She held up the book, a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. "It's one of my favorites. It's about this shy, introverted freshman and his journey through high school. It's a beautiful story about friendship and self-discovery."
I smiled, recognizing the title. "I've heard great things about it. Maybe I'll give it a read."
Sarah's eyes lit up. "You should! And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. I love discussing books.”
Brandon raised one of his brows, while he took glimpses of the book. “Wait, was there a movie version with Emma Watson in it?”
“Mhm. That's the one. Emma Watson was so pretty in that movie!” Sarah confirmed, her eyes glued to her book. Brandon looked at me, I could tell his face was flushed in bright pink.
I took a sip of my chocolate milk, my eyes flitting between my friends. "You know, I've been meaning to ask... what exactly happened that day? The day of Karla's disappearance and mine?"
“Lily..”
“Tell me what I want to know.”
“Okay fine,” Brandon cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to Matt. "Do you want us to take you there? To the abandoned shed?"
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes. I think I need to see it."
Curious, while sliding a Harry Potter book mark inside her book, Sarah spoke, “What shed? You mean the one by the woods located near the Skating Rink?”
Matt winked “Bingo!”
“So you guys want to go there? Today, right?”
Brandon and I nodded, “Pretty much.”
I could hear Sarah darting her hand inside her backpack, loud rustling sounds indicated that she was searching for something. Her mouth formed into a smile, digging out a Polaroid camera out of her now disorganized backpack. “Here! Unfortunately I can't join you guys for your adventure, cuz of Journalism club. I hope this helps.” Sarah plopped the camera in my hands, it weighed a bit in my hands.
“Thanks, Sarah!” I signed in gratitude, fascinated by how it felt in my hands.
“No problem. Just be careful with it. My grandma got it for me on my birthday, okay?”
“Deal. If somehow my fat ass breaks it, you can definitely press charges.” Matt held up his hand as he made an oath. I couldn't help but laugh, while Sarah let out a worrisome whine.
Sarah shook her head with a defeated smile, placing her pink colored nail finger on her teeth. “Ah, I love you guys already.”
“Same-uh I mean nice,” Brandon exchanged a glance with me, sweat dripping in his temple. "Okay," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's go after school.”
We finished our lunches in comfortable silence, my mind racing with anticipation and trepidation. I knew visiting the shed would bring back painful memories, but I needed to face them head-on.
After school, around 6pm we made our way to the shed, located in a secluded area near the skating rink. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced eerily in the breeze. We approached the dilapidated structure, my heart began to pound in my chest. This was the place where I had been held captive, where I had endured unimaginable horrors. Where I saw that video of Karla.
Matt placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to go in if you don't want to, Lily. We can just show you the outside."
I shook my head, steeling myself. "No, I want to see it all. I need to."
Brandon opened the creaking door, and we stepped inside, the musty air thick with memories. The shed was empty now, but I could still feel the weight of the past lingering in the air. With Sarah's polaroid camera, I snapped a few photos. Matt grabbed the photos, shaking them up and down to see if the film developed.
I took a shaky breath, my eyes scanning the space. "This is where he kept me…” I trailed off, unable to continue. Brandon's arm slipped around my shoulders, offering silent support.
Matt's face was grim as he surveyed the shed. "We searched this place after you were found, but there was no sign of the kidnapper. It was like he vanished into thin air."
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the dusty floor. "He was careful. He always wore gloves, a mask... I never saw his face."
Brandon's voice was gentle. "But you heard his voice. Anything distinctive about it?"
I shook my head, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Just that it was deep and distorted, like he was using a voice changer or something.”
Brandon's jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides. "We'll find him, Lily. I just know our dad's are going to do something about this."
I nodded, grateful for their determination. "Thank you, both. I know it's not easy for you either."
We stood in silence for a few moments, each of us lost in our thoughts. Finally, I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Let's go. Being here brings back too many memories."
Matt squeezed my shoulder, his eyes understanding. "Of course, Lily. We can come back another time if you want, but for now, let's get the heck out of here.”
We stepped back into the fading light, the shed's creaking door closing behind us with a soft thud. I took a deep breath of the fresh air, grateful to be away from the suffocating confines of that place. Just to only feel a set of eyes watching me from the woods.
As we walked back towards town, Matt asked, "So, what's the plan for tonight? Movie night? We could do a horror flick, maybe something with Arnold Schwarzenegger."
I shook my head, signing, "No horror movies for me. I've had enough scares in real life."
Brandon laughed, punching Matt's arm playfully. "Come on, man, Lily's right. Let's go for a comedy or an action flick.”
Matt feigned hurt, his hand over his heart. "Fine, fine. No horror. But we're definitely watching 'Predator' next week. It's a classic."
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Fine. But only if we get pizza and ice cream."
Brandon grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Deal! Extra cheese and pepperoni for me."
That night, as we settled in for our movie night in my house. It was much closer, so I asked my Mom if Brandon and Matt could sleep over for the night. Mom was setting the pepperoni topped lasagna inside of the oven, as she said, “Sure they can stay! Just make sure you make them call their parents for permission, okay?”
“I will.” I assured my mother, before running back to the living. I hopped on one of the sofas, catching Brandon off guard.
“So…” Brandon and Matt asked.
“What happened?”
Matt brought up the topic of The Masked Man once again. "Lily, is there anything else you can remember about him? Any small detail could help us track him down."
I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the TV screen. "I've told you everything, Matt. I never saw his face, and his voice was distorted. I'm sorry."
Brandon spoke up, his eyes thoughtful. "What about his scent? Did he wear cologne or anything distinctive?"
I furrowed my brow, trying to recall. "I... I think he might have worn cologne. Something woody and musky. It was faint, but I remember catching a whiff of it a few times."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's something! We can ask around, see if anyone recognizes that scent. It could be a crucial piece of the puzzle."
I nodded, a glimmer of hope sparking within me. "Okay. I'll try to remember more details. Maybe there's something else I've missed.”
The movie began, and we settled in, our bowls of popcorn and soda within reach. Funny enough after watching Forrest Gump, we had fallen asleep on top of each other. About three hours later, I woke up, disoriented, and realized I had fallen asleep on the couch with Brandon and Matt. Brandon was sleeping on the edge, his limbs dangling off the couch, while Matt was hugging me in his sleep. I carefully slipped out of Matt's arms, not wanting to wake him, and groggily walked towards the darkness of the kitchen.
The glass back door loomed in front of me, and I remembered the night before, my dad had recently started to put his deputies to watch over our house every night. I had felt safe with them, and that was the reason I wanted to invite Matt and Brandon to have a sleepover in my house.
I yawned and stretched, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock. I made my way to the back door, my heart pounding. I knew I shouldn't open it, but something compelled me to do so.
With trembling hands, I unlocked the door and stepped outside into the cool night air. The backyard was bathed in moonlight, and I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass filling my lungs.
Suddenly, I heard a noise. It sounded like a twig snapping. My heart raced, and I froze, my eyes scanning the yard. I couldn't see anyone, but I knew I wasn't alone.
"Who's there?” Signing cautiously, I wait for a response. It could have been a cat or dog walking around. However it sounded like a hard boot walking.
No answer. I took a cautious step backward, my heart pounding in my chest. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. It was tall and broad, dressed in black from head to toe. That same mask covered their face, obscuring their identity. It was him again.
I backed away, my heart pounding. "Stay away from me, please.” I tried to communicate with the figure, my fingers becoming slippery with sweat.
He didn't respond, but continued to advance, their steps slow and deliberate. I turned to run back inside, but the door was locked. I frantically tried the handle, my heart pounding in my ears.
"Let me in!" I frantically waved my hands and screamed an awful ear piercing screech. My fists furiously banging on the door.
The Masked Man was getting closer, and I knew I had to act fast. I searched for a weapon, my eyes landing on a garden rake leaning against the wall. I grabbed it and swung it at the figure, connecting with their arm. They let out a pained grunt, but didn't stop. I swung again, this time hitting their leg. They stumbled, but quickly recovered, their eyes fixed on me.
I backed away, my heart pounding. "Stay back!" I tried to shout, my voice scratchy and whistling. None of the words that came out of my mouth were incoherent. It was horrible, that even my own voice betrayed me.
The Masked Man lunged at me, and I swung the rake again, this time hitting them in the chest. They fell to the ground, and I took the opportunity to run back inside, locking the door behind me. I leaned against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Brandon and Matt rushed into the kitchen, their eyes wide. "What happened? We heard you scream," Brandon said, his voice full of concern.
I signed, my hands shaking, "There was someone in the backyard. They tried to get in."
Matt looked out the window, his face pale. "I don't see anyone out there now. Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?"
I shook my head, my heart still pounding. "I'm sure. I hit them with the rake. They fell, but then they got back up and kept coming."
Brandon's eyes widened. "We need to call the police. This is serious, Lily."
I nodded, my hands still shaking. "Okay. But first, let's make sure all the doors and windows are locked. I don't want them getting in."
We spent the next few minutes checking every door and window in the house, making sure they were securely locked. My Dad and police arrived soon after, and we explained what had happened. They searched the backyard but found no sign of the intruder.
The officer took my statement, his face grim. He informed my Dad with instructions. "We'll increase patrols in the area, but in the meantime, stay vigilant. Keep your doors and windows locked, and be aware of your surroundings, Sheriff.”
“Thank you, Officer Devins,” My dad thanked the officer, before heading in my way. He looked at me with concern, before rubbing his eyes in a worried manner. “Hey Lilibee. You should go to sleep. Daddy's going to be staying awake for the night. It's to keep you safe.”
“Okay,” I hugged my father, my heart was still pounding from the encounter. That night, I had trouble sleeping, my mind replaying the events over and over. The Masked Man had found me again that night. I didn't know how or when, but he was back. I had a good feeling this wasn't his last appearance.
I hurried down the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest. It had been a long day, and I was eager to get this detention over with and go home. When I approached the office, I saw the old secretary, Mrs. Miller, gossiping on the phone, her eyes glued to her screen. I took the opportunity to slip past her unnoticed and make my way towards Dr. Wells' office.
The door was slightly ajar, and I knocked gently before pushing it open. Dr. Wells looked up from his laptop, a soft smile spreading across his face when he saw me.
"Lily, what a pleasant surprise," he signed, motioning for me to come in. "How are your painting classes going?"
I signed back, while sitting down on the couch. "They're going really well, thank you. I'm enjoying it a lot."
Dr. Wells laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's wonderful to hear. And how are you doing otherwise? Still dealing with the aftermath of what happened that day?"
I kicked my feet awkwardly, feeling a rush of emotions as I thought about the kidnapping. "I went back to the spot where he held me," I confessed. "I thought it would give me closure, but then I started having nightmares about him again."
Dr. Wells tilted his head, his expression concerned. "And how did that make you feel?" he asked gently.
I nervously averted my eyes to the paintings hanging on his walls, beautiful landscapes and abstracts in rich colors. "I thought I was doing better," I signed. "But then he came back again, and I realized I'm still scared. My dad is the sheriff, though, and he has cops outside my house, so I know I'm safe."
Dr. Wells' expression remained neutral, almost pensive. "It's good that you're taking precautions and seeking support," he said slowly, his lips twitching slightly as he formed the words. "I'm always here if you need to talk, Lily."
I nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for this kind man. "Thank you, Dr. Wells," I signed. "By the way, why do they call you 'doctor'? I thought you were just the school counselor."
A soft laugh escaped his lips. "Well, I do have my doctorate degree in forensic psychology," he explained. "I often work with the police on cases, especially those involving youth. It can be quite fascinating, although it keeps me busy at night."
"No wonder you always look so tired," I teased, a smile playing at my lips. "Did you get the degree to impress all the ladies?"
Dr. Wells laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Maybe," he joked. "Or maybe I just wanted to pay off my student loans someday."
Changing the subject, he stood up and opened a small fridge behind his desk. "Speaking of which, are you hungry? I have some bacon-chicken salads here if you'd like one."
"Sure," I signed, my stomach rumbling at the mention of food.
Dr. Wells pulled out two plates, each with a generous serving of salad. He handed one to me and took a seat across from me at the small table in the corner of his office. I dug into the salad, and it was delicious—the perfect combination of crispy bacon, tender chicken, and fresh greens. I savored every bite, feeling grateful for this unexpected meal.
As I popped a slice of hard-boiled egg into my mouth, Dr. Wells asked, "So, Lily, do you have detention today?"
I nodded, signing, "Yes, I do. I got into a bit of trouble for vaping, so I have to serve an hour of detention with Ms. Asinley."
Dr. Wells' expression softened. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I hope it goes well. Just remember that I'm here if you need any support or if you want to talk about anything."
"Thanks, Dr. Wells," I said, feeling a warm blush spread across my cheeks. "You're so sweet."
Before I knew it, an hour had passed, and it was time for me to head to my detention. I stood up, stretching my legs, and bid Dr. Wells goodbye, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment in my heart.
"Take care, Lily," Dr. Wells signed, his eyes warm and friendly. "Remember, I'll always keep an eye out for you."
I smiled and waved as I left his office, feeling a boost of confidence. Dr. Wells had a way of making me feel like everything was going to be alright. Making my way down the hallway towards the U.S. history room, I spotted Ms. Asinley, the pregnant teacher who was overseeing my detention. She smiled at me gently and motioned for me to take a seat wherever I liked.
The room was quiet, with only a few other students serving detention that day. I chose a desk by the window, the afternoon sunlight streaming in and warming my face. I pulled out my algebra homework and began to work, grateful for the peaceful atmosphere.
Ms. Asinley walked over to my desk, her hands resting gently on her swollen belly. "How are you doing today, Lily?" she asked softly, her eyes kind. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
I shook my head, signing, "No, thank you, Ms. Asinley. I'm just working on my algebra homework. It's nice to have a quiet place to focus."
She smiled and patted my shoulder gently. "You know where to find me if you need anything," she said, before moving on to check on the other students.
I settled into my work, grateful for this unexpected moment of calmness. As I worked through the equations, I felt a sense of satisfaction and peace wash over me. Detention didn't seem so bad as I thought, and I was making good progress on my missing assignments. That was until the door burst open, and two figures stormed in, bringing with them a gust of fresh air and the scent of grass and sweat.
Alyssa and Emma, dressed in their red and black soccer uniforms, strode into the room, their faces flushed from practice. "Hey, Ms. Asinley," Emma called out, waving a paper assignment in her hand. "Sorry this is late. I completely forgot about it."
Ms. Asinley, her hands resting comfortably on her pregnant belly, smiled brightly at the girls. "It's quite alright, Emma. No need to apologize." She took the assignment from Emma and made a note in her book.
Alyssa, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, turned to Ms. Asinley and asked, "So, when's the baby coming? You must be getting close, right?"
Ms. Asinley's face lit up, and she placed a gentle hand on her belly. "I'm due in about four months," she replied, her voice warm and happy. "I might start planning the baby shower soon, although I think I'll wait until I'm closer to seven months."
"Ooh, a baby shower!" Alyssa exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. "I can't wait! I love babies."
Emma smiled at her friend's enthusiasm and added, "We'll definitely be there. Just let us know when and where."
Ms. Asinley thanked them, and the two girls were heading to the door, still chatting excitedly about the upcoming baby shower. Alyssa caught my eye and waved before leaving the class. I waved back, feeling a sense of warmth despite my earlier envy. Alyssa had always been surprisingly friendly to me, and I never quite understood why. Honestly, I was just an asshole as a kid, and I wished I didn't need to be this way.
As I shifted in my seat, I realized I needed to use the bathroom. I raised my hand and caught Ms. Asinley's attention. "May I please be excused to go to the restroom?" I signed, feeling a bit self-conscious.
Ms. Asinley nodded and signed, "Of course, Lily. Take your time."
I gathered my things and headed out of the classroom, grateful for the opportunity to stretch my legs. As I walked down the empty hallway, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I told myself it was just my imagination running wild after last night's incident, but the atmosphere felt off.
I quickened my pace, eager to reach the girl's bathroom at the end of the hall. As I pushed open the door, I spotted a familiar figure—Mandy, one of the popular girls from my grade. She was taking a drag from a raspberry lemonade Juul, the sweet-smelling vapor hanging in the air.
"So, you're the one who showed the video to Principal Kelly," I signed, my eyes narrowing.
Mandy froze, her eyes widening in surprise. "Who told you that?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
I shrugged, signing, "Does it matter? You should be careful, Mandy. Maybe it's your turn to face the consequences now."
Mandy's face paled, and she took a step towards me, her voice urgent. "You can't tell Principal Kelly about this, Lily. You just can't."
I crossed my arms, a challenge in my eyes. "Why not?" I asked.
Before Mandy could respond, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the bathroom, causing us both to jump. Mandy grabbed my hand, her eyes wild with fear. She dragged me out of the bathroom, our footsteps echoed through the halls. “Come with me! Now!"
I followed her, my heart pounding in my chest. We ran down the hall, Mandy's grip tight on my hand. "What happened?" I frantically signed.
"There's a man—a masked man. He was peeking at us through the gap in the stall door," she whispered, her voice shaking.
My heart hammered in my chest as I frantically signed, "What? Are you serious?"
Mandy nodded, her eyes darting around the bathroom nervously. "We have to tell an adult," I signed, taking a step towards the door.
"No!" Mandy hissed, pulling me back. "We can't. He could still be out there. We need to hide."
I felt a rush of fear as I realized the gravity of the situation. "Where can we go?" I asked, my eyes scanning the bathroom for a possible hiding place.
Mandy grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the door. "Come on, we have to get out of here. We'll find a teacher and alert them, but we can't stay here."
I followed Mandy, my heart pounding in my chest. We rushed down the hallway, our eyes darting around, searching for any sign of the masked man. The school felt eerily quiet, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the walls.
Mandy led me towards the gymnasium, her eyes darting around nervously. "In here," she whispered, pushing open the door. "Hide in the storage closet near the mats. I'll try to find a teacher and come back for you."
I nodded, my heart racing as I stepped into the dimly lit gymnasium. The large space felt oppressive in the fading light, the rumble of the air conditioning adding to the eerie atmosphere. I hurried over to the storage closet and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind me.
The closet was small and cramped, filled with stacks of mats and sports equipment. I sat down, hugging my knees to my chest, and tried to calm my racing heart. The darkness and the constant rumbling noise made me feel on edge, and I found myself straining to listen for any signs of Mandy's return.
As the minutes ticked by, I became increasingly aware of the need to use the bathroom. The urge to pee was plaguing me, and I shifted uncomfortably, willing my bladder to cooperate. The darkness and the silence, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning, made the time feel endless. Just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I heard the door to the gymnasium open. I perked up, my heart racing as I waited for Mandy to enter. But it wasn't Mandy who stepped into the room.
The Masked Man stood in the doorway, his blood-smeared mask sending a chill down my spine. He crouched down, his eyes locking with mine, and placed something metal on the ground—Mandy's brow piercing.
Just as he walked away, almost like a cat dropping off a dead mouse, I felt a warm release between my legs. I had lost control of my bladder, the warm liquid spreading across my pants and soaking through to the floor. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, and I could do nothing to stop it. However, I was scared shit less to even react, and there I knew Mandy was gone.
Soon enough, the next day, the gym teacher, Mr. Woods, and his male gymnastics students were checking on the mats when they made a gruesome discovery. One of the gymnasts unfolded a mat, and there, wrapped up like a present, was fifteen-year-old Mandy Lake. Her jaw was ripped open, her ribs shattered, and her nails were peeling off, almost as if she had been clawing at a hard surface. Similar to Karla, Mandy's larynx was missing, ripped out of her throat.
Just like Karla Reyes….
I later found out why Mandy hadn't wanted me to tell the principal about her situation. You see, Mandy came from a single-mother household, and her mother worked at an adult-themed diner. Some busybody neighbors thought this wasn't a good influence on the children and called Child Protective Services, or CPS, on Ms. Lake.
Thankfully, CPS saw no issue with the situation. However, if Mandy were to cause any trouble or draw negative attention, it could risk not only her but also her siblings being taken away. Mandy was like a second mother to those kids, and her death hit Ms. Lake hard. Last time I heard of Ms. Lake was about a year ago. She was battling with a methamphetamine addiction, and that resulted in her death. All because of me. All because of him.
In the end, Mandy Lake was the second victim, but wasn't the last one. They're are 6 Choir Girls left.

submitted by Memiiselgey23 to MemisworldsStories_23 [link] [comments]

2024.06.04 02:08 Memiiselgey23 The 8 Choir Girls

I had always remembered my deeply rooted envy at a girl at my old high school. Alyssa Howard, Home Room 207. It hadn't been long since I graduated there. I was in Class of '22, in a homeroom that I simply didn't fit in. It was isolating since everyone in my homeroom was in groups of friends, everyone was their own designated groups. Alyssa was in the Choir group, consisting of 8 girls. They were girls that were a part of Choir Class, an elective that made no sense why I took it. Along with Alyssa Howard, there was Brianne Becker, Fiona Figueroa, Leslie Smith, Hannah Klidford, Emma Kelly, Mandy Lake, and... Karla Reyes. Karla Reyes was one of them I knew very well. In fact she is the reason why I'm typing this out.
Karla was my childhood friend, we met in 5th grade. Her family was from around Texas, and she recently moved to this small town of Meadows Dale. I didn't have friends at that age since most kids thought I was...well weird. I didn't comprehend why I was weird to them at the time, I just simply thought I wasn't cool enough. I remember vividly that I was walking far from the rusty playground, to a hill that pretty much if going more up north, you'll be at the Centennial Park of the town.
That sunny day in 5th grade felt like it was just yesterday. I was walking up a hill, my Elsa shoes making every step feel like a chore. I sighed, looking down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed that my mom had gotten them for me. All the other kids in my grade were wearing Converse or cool sneakers, and here I was, stuck with sparkly, princess-themed shoes. I flopped down on the grassy ground, feeling like the biggest outcast in the world.
I sat there, lost in my own thoughts, I noticed a girl with dark hair and tan skin walking towards me. She looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with her hands as she approached. I recognized her from my homeroom class.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "These hills look like a pair of butt cheeks, don't they?" She giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh too.
I signed back to her, using my hands to mimic the shape of hills and then making a silly face to show that, yes, they did look like butt cheeks. Karla laughed, and I was surprised. Not many people in my class knew sign language, and it was nice to have someone to communicate with in my own way.
"Do you know sign language?" I signed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Karla nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down. "Yeah, my aunt was born deaf, so I learned to communicate with her."
I signed back, asking her if she thought it was cool that I knew sign language too.
Karla grinned. "Yeah, that's really cool! I'm Karla, by the way."
“Lily,” I signed my name, and Karla sat down next to me on the grass. We chatted for the rest of recess, discovering that we had a lot in common. We both loved DreamWorks movies better than Disney, and our favorite music group was Fifth Harmony. I was obsessed with them back then, and Karla was too. We both wanted to be like Camila Cabello when we grew up.
From that day on, Karla and I were inseparable. We'd sit together at lunch, partner up for group projects, and even started a Fifth Harmony fan club in our class. Karla would always lend me an earbud so we could jam out to our favorite songs together. Our friendship was effortless, and I felt like I'd finally found someone who understood me.
It was perfect until the start of Freshman year of Meadows Dale High School. I held my scheduler tightly in my hands as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart sank as I scanned the pages, taking in the fact that most of my classes were designated for students with special educational needs. Homeroom and choir were the only exceptions.
I made my way to the living room where my mom was seated, tears brimming in my eyes. "Mom, why do I have to take these classes?" I signed, frustration etched on my features. "I don't need this kind of help. I can handle regular classes just fine."
My mom looked at the schedule, her expression sympathetic. "I know you don't seem to need help, sweetie, but the school requires you to take these classes. It's just protocol."
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. "I'm going to feel like even more of a freak than I already do," I gestured angrily, trying to hold back tears.
From the living room doorway, my father's deep voice cut through the silence. His ears perked up from the conversation. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I signed again, rapidly gesturing my fingers "I don't want to take Special ED classes, Dad. I can do normal classes. I can hear the teachers very well!"
My dad walked over to us, his eyes scanning the schedule. "I know it's tough, Lily, but the school is just trying to help. Plus, You're not a freak. Not in our eyes, anyway. If anybody gives you trouble, I'll personally see to it that they regret it." His tone was lighthearted, but his meaning was clear. He was the sheriff, after all, and his reputation preceded him.
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Dad, please. You're only making things worse."
Ignoring my pleas, he ruffled my hair affectionately before leaving the room. I retreated to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed in a heap of tears. The night passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for me to wake up and face another day.
I woke up to the sound of my dad calling me from downstairs. "Lily, time to get up! First day of school!" I groggily got out of bed, still feeling the emotional hangover from the night before.
My dad drove me to school in his police cruiser, which only added to my embarrassment. I remembered feeling weird being in the cruiser, with its flashing lights and sirens. As we pulled up to the school, my dad turned to me and said, "No matter what, you'll always have me and Mom, okay? We love you, and we're proud of you."
He hugged me tight, and I felt a lump in my throat again. I nodded, trying to hold back tears, and got out of the car. Finally me into the world of Meadows Dale High School.
The enormity of the building hit me hard as I stepped inside. The halls were bustling with activity, and the noise level was overwhelming. The classes flew by, and I couldn't help but feel like my Special ED classes were too easy for me. The teacher aides were sweet, but they were busy helping other students, leaving me to feel like I was just going through the motions.
As I walked out of my Literature class, I noticed a boy sitting alone next to a locker. He had ginger hair and was a bit overweight, and he was using a big headset to listen to music. There was something about him that drew me in, so I walked over to say hi.
He removed his headphones, looking up at me with a nervous smile. "Hi," he said, his voice a little shaky.
I signed back, "Hi."
He laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry if I'm a bit awkward. I'm not really used to talking to people."
I signed, "You're not awkward at all."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks. I'm Matt Weston."
I nodded, signing, "I'm Lily."
Matt's eyes lit up. "Sweet. What's your homeroom?"
"207."
Matt's face brightened up. "No way, that's my homeroom too!"
I smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That's amazing!"
Matt stood up, walking towards a bookshelf. "Homeroom's next class. Want to walk with me?"
I nodded, following him as the bell rang. We exited the class, and suddenly we were swept up in a sea of students pushing and shoving to get to their next class.
We finally arrived at class 207, which was already filled with students. I saw Alyssa sitting in the back with her group of friends, looking like a star athlete. Matt went to sit in the front seat, and I sat next to him.
Just as we were settling in, one of the guys from Jr high football, Ryan Peterson, hit a football at Matt, saying, "Can't believe we got 'Butterball' in our class."
Matt rolled his eyes, saying, "At least I don't have a father who cheats and spreads gonorrhea."
Ryan's friend, Warren, said, "Ohhh sick burn,"
Ryan huffed, whispering to Matt, "Just because you're special doesn't mean everybody likes you."
I got mad, flipping Ryan the finger, which made him laugh. "You're lucky I ain't telling the teacher, because I don't want any issues with your old man!" Ryan walked away with Warren, leaving me feeling annoyed.
The homeroom teacher arrived, a young guy in his 20s with cedar brown hair and a pair of glasses. "Hello Students! Like that you are all sitting in neatly placed groups. My name's Mr. James and I'll be your homeroom teacher for Freshmen till Senior Year. Hope you excited as I am!"
Just as he was about to start writing on the white board, a beautifully dressed Karla emerged late, looking older and more mature with a lot of makeup on. I looked up, happy to see her, only for her to not notice me and sit down next to Alyssa's group.
Matt whispered to me, "Do you know that girl?"
I signed, "No."
Matt nodded, looking curious. "She looks familiar, but I don't know her name. Was it Kayla or Karly?"
"It's Karla," I shrugged, feeling a pang of disappointment. It seemed like Karla had moved on to a new group of friends, leaving me behind. I don't know how this change happened, since Karla and I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida, three weeks ago. I thought we had the best of our life's during that trip.
I was stumped, watching from afar as Karla chatted with Alyssa and her friends. I felt a twinge of jealousy and sadness as I realized how easily Karla had seemingly moved on and found a new group to hang out with. I mean, I thought we were best friends. It felt like Alyssa had stolen her from me.
I turned my attention elsewhere, not wanting to dwell on it. That's when I noticed a teenage boy sitting alone a few rows in front of me. He had jet black hair and there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite place it. I wondered who he was and why he was sitting alone.
"Hey, Lily," Matt said, following my gaze. "Do you know that guy? He looks kind of like a mini Detective Loomis."
I shook my head, signing that I had no idea who he was, but now I was curious too. Detective Loomis had been a family friend for years, and I knew he had a son, but I hadn't seen him in a while.
Matt chuckled nervously and waved his hand as if to dismiss his own question. "Just wondering. He kind of looks like him, that's all."
Just then, the boy turned around in his seat and our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, clearly having overheard our conversation. "Yeah, that's my dad," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Why?"
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not expecting such a direct response. "Oh, um, no reason. Just curious, that's all."
The boy, Brandon Loomis, as I now knew him to be, nodded slowly, as if accepting Matt's explanation. Then, to my surprise, he introduced himself with a small smile. "Brandon Loomis. And you are...?"
"Lily Anderson. Nice to meet you, Brandon."
“I'm Matt by the way,” Matt chimed in.
A flash of something—was it pain?—crossed Brandon's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Nice to meet you both. Your dad's a good man, Lily. He helped me out a lot."
I could only imagine what Brandon had been through. I remembered hearing snippets about his kidnapping a while back, but I had no idea what he must have endured. No wonder he hadn't been in school until now.
"Well, I hope the rest of the year goes well for you," I signed sincerely.
Brandon smiled at me again, and I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. "Thanks, Lily. I hope so too."
As the homeroom continued, Mr. James had us all introduce ourselves and played some icebreaker games to help us get to know each other better. It was actually kind of fun, and it took my mind off Karla and her new friends for a while.
One of the things we had to do was share a fun fact about ourselves. When it was Matt's turn, he revealed that he was the son of Mayor Weston and a great friend of my dad's. No wonder he seemed so familiar! I knew my dad would be thrilled to hear that Matt and I had become friends.
Before I knew it, the homeroom was over, and Matt, Brandon, and I headed out into the hallway together. I was relieved to find out that we all had B lunch, so I wouldn't have to eat alone.
"So, where do you guys usually eat?" Brandon asked as we made our way down the crowded hallway.
"I don't know about Lily, but I usually just grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside," Matt replied.
I signed, "That sounds good to me. I like being outdoors."
Brandon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Although, I usually eat my lunch at Dillard's Diner since I work there after school. You guys should come by sometime. The food's pretty great."
"Definitely!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I love diner food. And hey, maybe we can even help you out sometime if you're short-staffed."
Brandon laughed. "Sure, why not? It can get pretty crazy on the weekends, so any extra hands would be appreciated."
As we made our way to the cafeteria, Matt started talking about his favorite band, Deftones. I had to admit, their music was a little too heavy for my tastes, but Matt was so passionate about it that I found myself getting drawn in.
"You know, you should check out their album 'White Pony,'" Matt said. "It's a classic. My dad actually introduced me to them, and I've been hooked ever since."
I signed with a smile, "My dad's always trying to get me into his favorite bands too. He's a big fan of The Beatles and Queen."
"Oh, those are classics," Brandon chimed in. "My dad's more of a country music guy, but I've definitely grown to appreciate some of the older stuff."
While we ate lunch, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing, something I often did when I was feeling nervous or needed a distraction. Matt and Brandon were curious and asked to see my drawings. I showed them some of my anime-style sketches, and they both complimented my work.
"Wow, Lily, these are amazing!" Matt exclaimed. "You're gonna be like Picasso one day."
I signed, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "Thanks, Matt. That's really nice of you to say."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "Seriously, you're really talented. I wish I could draw like that."
As lunch came to an end, Matt and Brandon suggested that they walk me to my next class. I was surprised but pleased that they wanted to stick together. My next class was Choir, and thankfully, it was just down the hall.
"So, Lily, do you sing?" Brandon asked as we walked.
I signed, feeling a little self-conscious. "A little. I mean, I really want to sing, but I'm not sure I'm any good."
"Don't be shy, Lily," Matt said with a grin. "I bet you have a great voice."
I felt my face flush again, but I was glad that Matt and Brandon seemed so supportive. As we reached the choir room, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the class might bring. I slowly pushed open the door to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. The room was dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the outlines of rows of chairs facing a small stage. The room had a strange beauty to it, with its blue and white color scheme and intricate design carvings. I made my way to an empty chair near the exit, wanting to keep a low profile.
Before long, a flood of girls began to pour into the room, chattering and laughing. I recognized many of them from the Meadows Dale Advanced Academic Program. My heart sank a little as I spotted Brianne Becker, one of the most popular girls in school, deep in conversation with Meg Peterson. They were giggling about some guy they both apparently liked. Brianne's eyes suddenly landed on me, and her smile faded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
Alyssa entered the room, and the atmosphere seemed to brighten. Brianne's face lit up, and she rushed over to give Alyssa a hug. "I'm so happy you're in this class!" she exclaimed. Alyssa smiled back, her warm hazel eyes shining. I felt a small sense of relief seeing her friendly face.
Following Alyssa were Mandy, Fiona, Leslie, Hannah, Emma, and Karla. They all seemed to be deep in their own conversations, and I felt even more alone. Karla was telling Fiona about getting her nails done, and Fiona was expressing her dislike for acrylics. I stood up and waved at Karla, trying to get her attention. She had been one of my few friends in middle school, but something had changed between us lately.
Alyssa, however, made her way over to me and offered a genuine greeting. "Hi, Lily! It's so great to see you in this class," she said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. I felt a small smile tug at my lips. At least there was one person here who didn't seem to mind my presence.
Entering through the red velvety curtains of the stage, a woman with brunette hair, who looked to be in her early 40s, emerged from behind the stage. She had an air of enthusiasm about her as she introduced herself as Mrs. Becker, Brianne's mother. I remembered hearing that they were related, and at the time, I had thought it was sweet that a mother and daughter shared the same class.
Mrs. Becker instructed us all to take our seats and explained that this class was for girls only. She then asked each of us to come up on stage and recite the Do-Mi-Re-Fa-So syllables so that she could group us into sections of eight. My heart sank as I realized I would have to sing in front of everyone.
One by one, Mrs. Becker called each girl up to the stage. Some of the girls had okay voices, while others were truly talented. Then it was Brianne's turn. Her voice was like an angel's, a beautiful soprano that filled the room. Fiona and Emma also impressed me with their deep, rich alto voices. Mandy, Leslie, and Hannah had high-pitched, yet well-controlled voices that blended beautifully.
Alyssa and Karla were the last to go, and they both had perfect voices. Alyssa's voice was like honey, smooth and warm. But it was Karla who really stood out. She sounded like a pop idol, her voice clear and powerful. I found myself getting lost in the music, forgetting my worries for a moment.
Then Mrs. Becker called my name, and my heart sank. I nervously made my way up the stairs to the stage, my hands trembling at my sides. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. As I opened my mouth to sing, an awful, screeching noise escaped. My throat instantly sting, as the aftertaste of metallic overwhelmed my mouth. It was so bad that Mrs. Becker immediately cut me off.
"Why are you in this class, Lily?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I looked at her sadly and signed, "I don't know. I didn't choose this class."
Mrs. Becker softened a little, seeing my dejected expression. "Well, you better discuss these matters with a counselor about switching, because there are better candidates out there who want a spot in this class," she said bluntly.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I made my way back to my seat at the very back of the room. I could feel the eyes of the other girls on me, and I heard their stifled laughter. Karla's laughter rang out the loudest, stabbing me like a knife. Alyssa was the only one who didn't join in, her face a mask of disappointment. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me or in the other girls' behavior.
It was next week, I got out of my algebra class heading towards the office. I had to wait till Monday, since during the first few days, my assigned counselor was not available. I was already antsy of finally getting out of that Choir class, I couldn’t deal another day with a class I clearly didn’t fit in. My schedule in my hand, I pulled the door open, being greeted by the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins. Nervousness ran through me, wondering what type of counselor Dr. Wells would be.
The door was wide agape, leading me into the source of that muffin smell. Sitting there on a working desk, was a man typing on his laptop. He looked a bit exhausted, almost to the point that he slumped on his chair. Tilting my head, I nudged on his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. I couldn’t help but feel warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“Huh? Oh, hello there Lily. What brings you here?” Dr. Wells jolted up, probably noticing how close I was to his face. I backed away, sitting down on a red couch next to him.
“I want to change classes please.”
Mr. Wells nodded off, scooting his chair back towards his mahogany desk. He searched up my schedule, turning his laptop to my view. “Oh, I see. In what class do you want to change?”
I nervously let out a breath, as I finally let out what emotions I was holding. “I don’t know why you assigned me Choir, but everyone in that class hates me. I really need that class changed, Dr. Wells.”
I saw my counselor's lip repeatedly twitched a bit, before he gathered his composure. Dr. Wells looked up from his desk, his kind face softening as he saw me. "Lily, I want to apologize profusely for putting you in that situation."
I signed, feeling a little comforted by his words. "It's okay. I did want to be in that class, but I just... I felt so out of place with all the other girls laughing at me."
Dr. Wells sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm truly sorry, Lily. I was told you loved music and thought you would enjoy the class. But it's clear that it wasn't a good fit. Do you have another class in mind that you'd like to take instead?"
I nodded and signed, "Art class. I heard my friend Brandon is taking that, and I've always loved drawing."
Dr. Wells typed something into his laptop. “Consider it done. I'll have the change processed by tomorrow, if not sooner. In the meantime, help yourself to a muffin. The library teacher made them for me, and they're delicious."
I smiled and took one of the muffins, taking a bite. "Are you and the library teacher... a thing?" I asked, feeling a little bold.
Dr. Wells laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "No, no, nothing like that. Just colleagues. She knows I have a sweet tooth, so she often shares her baking creations with me."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was probably one of the few times I'd developed a crush on someone, and as usual, it was harmless and something I'd get over quickly. Dr. Wells was one of those crushes indeed. I stood up from my chair, feeling much better than when I arrived. "Well, thank you, Dr. Wells. I better head to class soon."
Dr. Wells smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Lily. And remember, if you ever need someone to chat with, my door is always open."
Later that day, during lunch, I made my way to our usual table with Brandon and Matt. They were already deep in conversation about their morning classes.
"PE is a nightmare," Matt was saying. "All the athletes make fun of me because I'm not as fast or strong as they are. It's frustrating."
Brandon nodded sympathetically. "I heard you beat Ryan on the pacer test, though. That's impressive."
Matt shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "It was just luck, honestly. Ryan got too cocky and sprained his knee on the seventy-ninth lap. I just kept a steady pace.”
I signed to Matt, "You should still be proud. I bet your dad was happy."
Matt smiled. "He was. It's not every day I get to impress him, especially when it comes to sports. You know how Mayor Weston was a star athlete back in his day."
I laughed, and then took a bite of my sandwich. "Speaking of impressing people, I have some news. I'm switching out of choir class and into art elective. Hopefully, I'll be in the same class as you, Brandon."
Brandon's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so glad you'll be joining us. Art class is a lot of fun.”
Matt nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you, Lily. But why are you leaving Choir? I thought you loved singing."
My smile faltered, and I looked down at my lap. "It's just... it's not the right fit for me," I signed.
Matt frowned, chewing on his apple. "Is Mrs. Becker too mean? I've heard she can be hard on students who aren't part of the popular crowd."
"No fair," I signed, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Brandon nodded. "It really isn't fair, Matt. That's why I prefer to keep a low profile. Popularity contests aren't worth the hassle.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Karla standing there, a sad look on her face. "Lily, can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
I hesitated, signing, "Why?”
With a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she leaned in and whispered, "I want to talk to you in private."
I glanced at Matt and Brandon, signing, "I'll be back, okay?"
Matt nodded, his eyes curious. "We'll be here. Take your time."
I followed Karla to the girl's bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what this was about, but I sensed it was important to her. Once we were inside, Karla pulled out a juul vape from her pocket and took a hit. The sweet smell of watermelon filled the air.
"Want a hit?" she offered, holding it out to me.
I was curious, so I signed, "Sure."
I took a cautious drag, expecting to choke, but surprisingly, I didn't. Karla laughed, "I guess you already know how to smoke. Not so innocent after all, huh?"
I rolled my eyes. "I learned from watching Effy in Skins. It's not like I've never seen it before."
Karla laughed again, a genuine sound that seemed to break through the tension between us. "Look, Lily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the choir. I shouldn't have laughed. It was mean, and I'm sorry."
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. A part of me wanted to accept her apology, but another part was still hurt by her earlier behavior. Before I could say anything, Karla cut in, "I know it doesn't make up for it, but I want to make it up to you. How about I take you to the skating rink this evening? It's one of our favorite places, remember?"
I hesitated, considering her offer. Finally, I signed, "Okay, I guess."
Karla's face lit up, and she gave me a quick hug. "Great! I'll text you the details. See you later, okay?" And with that, she left the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walked back to the cafeteria, my mind racing. Matt rushed over to me, his eyes full of questions. "How did it go? What did she want?" he asked.
"It went okay," I replied, signing as I continued. "Karla invited me to the skating rink this evening."
Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, Lily. Karla hangs out with those choir girls. I don't think we can trust her, especially after what happened."
I bit my lip, understanding his concern. "What if I sneak you and Matt in too? That way, if anything goes south, we'll be together."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I'm in."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "It's settled, then. We're going skating."
That afternoon, I waited on the porch for Karla to pick me up. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over everything. My dad emerged from the house, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?" I asked, curious.
He chuckled, patting my back. "Got called into work. Something strange is going on. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
I signed, "Be safe, Dad."
“I will, honey. Have fun with Karla, okay.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before heading off. A minute later, a black Chevy pulled up, and I recognized it as Mrs. Becker's car. Karla leaned out the window and waved me over.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the back seat. Besides Karla, there were a few other girls from the choir class—Mandy, Hannah, Emma, Leslie, Fiona, and Brianne. Alyssa was noticeably absent.
Noticing my curious glance, Karla explained, "Alyssa had track practice. She couldn't make it."
I signed, "That's nice."
Brianne turned to Mrs. Becker and asked, "Can we get some McDonald's shakes? Please?"
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Of course, sweetie. Does anyone else want one?"
Everyone nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Becker placed an order for nine shakes. Emma and Leslie wanted vanilla, Brianne wanted the seasonal spice pumpkin flavor, Hannah and Fiona requested strawberry, Karla and Mandy chose chocolate, and Mrs. Becker asked about my preference.
"Mint, please," I said, making a gesture of a mint leaf.
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Mint it is. Anything for my girls."
I felt a warm glow spread through me. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to like me. I took a long sip of my mint shake, savoring the cool, refreshing taste.
"Chocolate is definitely the best flavor," Mandy declared, taking a sip from her own shake. "Nothing beats the classic."
"Pumpkin spice is where it's at," Brianne interjected, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice shake. "It's got that perfect blend of sweet and spicy. It's like autumn in a bite."
"Are you kidding?" Mandy scoffed. "Chocolate is timeless. It's the ultimate comfort food. Pumpkin spice is just a fad.”
"Oh c'mon! Pumpkin spice is leagues better," Brianne retorted. "It's a limited edition for a reason."
The other girls joined in, each defending their favorite flavor. I snickered at their playful bickering, feeling a sense of warmth despite the earlier tension.
About ten minutes later, Mrs. Becker pulled into the parking lot of a magenta-colored building. The girls piled out of the car, and I followed them inside, curious about our destination. Mrs. Becker turned to Brianne and said, "I'll pick you girls up at 8 pm sharp. I need to head home and take care of your little sister."
Brianne gave her mom a quick hug and yelled out, "Okay! Love you, mom!" Then she joined the choir group, whispering something in Karla's ear that made her smile in an unsettling way.
Karla walked over to me and whispered, "Hey, Lily, I want to take you to our hiding spot. It's been a while since we hung out there."
I brightened at the idea, signing, "I've missed that place. We used to act like it was our studio booth."
“Uh-huh,” Karla led me to an abandoned janitor's closet that was blocked off with a "Do Not Enter" sign. She opened the door, and I slid inside, feeling a rush of nostalgia. I slid inside the small, dimly lit closet and sat criss-cross on the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. Karla joined me, and for a moment, we just sat there, our knees touching, the silence comfortable between us.
"I've missed you, Lily," Karla signed, her expression softening.
"I've missed you too," I signed back, my heart warming at the sentiment. "It feels like it's been ages since we really talked." I looked down, my smile fading slightly. "I've missed the old Karla. The one who was always on my side, no matter what."
Karla furrowed her eyebrows, her face a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't changed, Lily. I've just matured."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Matured? Making fun of someone less popular than you isn't mature, Karla. It's just mean spirited."
Her eyes widened at my words, and I could see the hurt flash across her face. "I haven't been making fun of you, Lily. I—"
"Yes, you have," I interrupted, my anger bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what you and your new friends have been trying to do. You've been pretending I don't exist, like I'm not even worth acknowledging.”
Karla's face contorted with frustration. "That's not true, Lily! You always have to make everything about your disability. If anyone's changed, it's you. You used to be so happy, always laughing and joking around. Now, you just cry and complain when things don't go your way."
I signed angrily, my hands moving frantically. "How can you say that, Karla? I don't mind if you want to be more popular, but you're acting like you don't even know me. You're trying to pretend we're not friends."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Lily. Maybe you're too held up in the past, too stuck in your own little world. You're a sad, pathetic sap, and I—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I punched her squarely in the face. The force of the blow knocked her back, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her nose.
"I wish I'd never met you, Karla!" I angrily figured my fingers around, my breathing being audible in the small space. "I wish you'd never been my friend! I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right now!"
Karla's eyes widened in shock, and tears began to stream down her face. Without another word, she turned and ran out of the janitor's closet, leaving me alone in the dimly lit space. I trembled as I crouched down in the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never hit anyone before, and now I wished I could take it back. It was rather immature of me to end that way with Karla. Especially when this was the last memory I had of her alive.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence, freezing me in place. It was Karla. My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had done. I rose to my feet and ran out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with a masked man. He was tall and imposing, his mask was painted like a 1940s woman with green eyeshadow, vibrant red blush, and blood-red lips. His copper-blonde wig fell in sleek waves, contrasting with his all-black suit.
The man walked slowly towards me, his gloved hand reaching out. I kicked him in the abdomen, my fear fueling my strength. But he was too strong. He grabbed me by the waist, his gloved finger pressing against my lips.
"My little flower, I am so happy to see you." he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.
Before I could scream or struggle, he covered my mouth with a rag. It took a while for the chloroform to finally take effect, as I remembered my last thoughts were about Karla. Sometimes I wished this encounter was just an elaborate prank played by Brianne. However it is never the case.
When I woke up, I woke up to the sound of a girl's voice, soft and melodic. My eyes felt heavy, my body sluggish as I tried to lift my head. The singing was familiar, reminding me of Karla. My heart stirred at the memory of my friend, and I tried to shake off the grogginess that clouded my mind.As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was restrained to a bed, my wrists and ankles bound. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against my bonds, my heart racing.
The singing continued, and I finally located the source—a television mounted on the wall across the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the singer. It was Karla, her face bruised and beaten, her eyes closed as she sang "Once Upon a December" from the animated movie "Anastasia." Her voice was shaky but serene, and tears pricked my eyes as I watched her performance.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a weakened screech escaped my throat. I tugged at my restraints, desperation fueling my strength. I had to get out of here. I had to help Karla.
Catching me off guard, the door swung open, and the masked man from my encounter at the janitor's closet stepped into the room. My heart sank at the sight of him, and I shrunk back against the bed, my breath coming in short gasps.He carried a plate of applesauce, his gloved hands setting it down on a table by the bed. "Good morning, my little flower," he said, his voice deep and distorted by the mask. "Your friend has a lovely voice," he remarked. "Have you ever wanted to sing like that?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his face. I mouthed the words, "Let her go.”
The Masked Man smiled sadly. "Your friend has been let go. Don't worry, she's no longer suffering.”
I wanted to scream, to demand that he release me, but my voice failed me. The masked man approached the bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, then brought it to my mouth.
"Open up, sweetie," he cooed. "You need to keep up your strength."
I turned my head away, my body rigid with fear. I didn't want his help, I didn't want anything to do with him.
"Now, now, none of that," he chided, his gloved hand gently tilting my chin back towards him. "You need to eat. And one day, my little flower, you will sing too. And it will be the most beautiful voice anyone has ever heard."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as he forced the spoon into my mouth, the applesauce tasting bitter on my tongue. I choked down the food, my throat constricting with fear and anger.
The masked man set the plate down and pulled me into a tight embrace, his gloved hands stroking my hair. "Shh, my little flower. Everything will be alright. I'm here to take care of you."
I sobbed into his chest, my body shaking with grief and terror. I had no idea where I was, no concept of how much time had passed since I had been taken. All I knew was that Karla was in danger, and I was powerless to help her. The masked man held me until my sobs subsided, then gently laid me back down on the bed. "Rest now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling. The next time I woke, it was to the sound of my mother's sobs. I blinked groggily, my vision blurry as I tried to focus. I was in a hospital room, my mother sitting by my bedside, her face wet with tears. Matt and Brandon, my closest friends, were also there, their faces etched with concern.
"Mom?" I raised one of my hands, my fingers weak and stiff.
My mother's head snapped up, and she rushed to my side, her hands grasping mine. "Lily, oh, Lily, you're awake!" She smiled through her tears, her voice shaking. "I thought I'd lost you.”
I placed my palm to touch her cheek, my throat too dry to speak. Matt and Brandon stood by silently, their eyes filled with relief.
I then asked the big question, signing, "What... happened?"
Matt nervously stuttered, "We... We found you inside an old shed near the skating rink. You were... you were unconscious, and we called for help right away."
Brandon added, "Before that, you were missing for roughly 33 hours. We searched everywhere for you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze.
"You're safe now, Lily," my mother said, stroking my hair. "That's all that matters. There's nothing to worry about anymore."
I shook my head, my eyes flying open. Where was Karla? I signed, "Where's Karla?”
My mother's face crumpled, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "She's... she's still missing, Lily. We don't know where she is."
I closed my eyes, the weight of my guilt crushing me. If I hadn't fought with Karla, none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was still out there, alone and in danger.
The days turned into weeks, and Karla remained missing. The police conducted an extensive search, but there were no leads, no clues as to her whereabouts. I blamed myself, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over in my mind.Three weeks after my rescue, the news channel delivered a devastating blow. Karla Reyes, aged 15, had been found dead, her body buried near the Yellow Rock River. She had suffered multiple bone fractures, and the unsettling detail—she had been missing her vocal cords and larynx.
I recalled the day vividly, the sun shining brightly through my hospital window as the news anchor delivered the grim update. I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of what had happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. I remember wanting to just die, to pay for what I have done. If I hadn't had my friends Matt and Brandon, I wouldn't have been alive writing this. And yet, I never told anyone about The Masked Man or what had transpired that day—until now. Sometimes I wonder if Karla could hear my prayers, wishing that she deserved better than this, and I'm sorry for causing her death. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.
Karla Reyes may have been the first victim, but she certainly wasn't the last. There were 7 more Choirs Girls left.

submitted by Memiiselgey23 to MemisworldsStories_23 [link] [comments]

2024.06.03 23:12 _Revelator_ Clarkson's Columns: The Volvo XC90 review & The latest strap-on

The Volvo XC90 — I can’t find anything wrong with it
By Jeremy Clarkson (The Sunday Times, June 1)
God knows why a young person would look at my farming show and think, “Mmm, that’s what I want to do for a living.” Sure, it’s fun to whizz about at harvest time, playing with heavy machinery and drinking cider in the late summer sunshine. But for the other 50 weeks of the year it’s mostly a smorgasbord of mud, pain and sadness, and it’s all topped off with a pay packet that would disappoint a Congolese miner.
Nevertheless, I regularly receive missives from teenagers asking for a job and they all have one thing in common. They haven’t learnt how to drive.
So how are they going to get to and from the farm when it’s three in the morning and a pig is dying? Or it’s 10pm and we’ve just decided to plough one more field before calling it a day? There are buses, sure. I saw one in November, and I’m told another came along in February but I can’t confirm that. Some might argue that they could come on a bicycle, but we don’t employ that sort of person here.
It’s the same story in the world of television. You employ someone as a runner and they arrive with a first in astrophysics and an ability to converse fluently in German, Polish and Chinese. Plus they’re willing as hell and fun to have around. But they can’t drive.
So what’s happened? Well, I know that today’s young people see the car as an unnecessary expense, and in London that’s almost certainly true. But London’s doomed. In a few years it’ll just be a seething mass of people in high-visibility jackets waiting their turn to make chanting noises about whatever issue is affecting their mental health that day. I suppose people will always be needed to clear fatbergs from the sewers, but soon all the fun jobs will be in the sticks. Where you need a car.
Which, of course, is a “bad thing”. Drive one and there’ll be a whiff of "far right" about you. A sense that you’re a climate change denier and that you possibly haven’t burnt your Harry Potter books yet. As is required in paragraph four of the laws governing acceptance on social media.
Certainly I know of no young person who thinks a car might be “fun”. Or that speed is exciting. Or that the noise of a V8 really does do chemical things to a human being’s limbic system. Nor do they see a car as a symbol of freedom. They see it as a tool. And, worse, a tool they can do without. And I find myself wondering if, in middle-class circles, maybe the Volvo XC90 must take a share of the blame for this.
When I was being driven to school, we just went in whatever our dad had. The idea that he’d choose something specifically for that role was preposterous. One kid at our school was dropped off in his dad’s Maserati Ghibli. And even though they managed to get his trunk in the back, I’m fairly sure that wasn’t the reason he bought it.
Then, early in 1983, we were told we must all wear seatbelts. And at a stroke that meant kids couldn’t be squeezed into the back of a car like Spam. They each needed their own seats. And the very next year along came the seven-seater Renault Grand Espace, which answered that problem.
All of a sudden people began to choose their next car based not on how fast it went or how cool it was, but whether little Johnny would be comfy on long journeys and safe in a crash. Soon there were hundreds of people carriers and they were all terrible, until 2002, when Volvo introduced us to the XC90.
https://preview.redd.it/26kem9av8f4d1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c3c5ef011ed687f3da3b5944c384b5d340e8e1a6
This was different somehow. It didn’t look like a box. It didn’t feel mumsy. It may have been designed for the school run but it had a he-man stance. You could almost convince yourself that it was a Swedish Range Rover. But it wasn’t. It was a school-run box. A bloody clever one with actual space for seven humans and their dogs, and all wrapped up in a skin as impregnable as a submarine pen.
This, then, was a car you bought with your head. I know this because I’ve had two. And they were tremendous. But consider what our kids thought as they were ferried to and from school in the back. I’m not sure it will have given them the same tingles as my mate’s dad’s Ghibli.
There’s a new XC90 now. Not that you’d know by looking at it. It looks pretty much the same as all the others, not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s a handsome car. And I love how it says “AWD” (all-wheel drive) on the back. Volvo always likes to pick on one feature and put it on the boot lid. They used to have little badges saying “5 speed”. And the 340 had one saying “lambda probe”.
There are three trim levels and a choice of three engines. The £62,000 base model is a turbocharged 2.0-litre, which sounds pretty boring, and the top model gets some kind of hybrid system, which sounds unnecessary and expensive. So I tested the middle-order B6, which uses every possible means to extract as much as is possible from every atom of fuel. It has a turbocharger, a supercharger and 48 volts, and it works very well.
The trim level fitted to my car was called Ultimate, which means it came with 21 inch wheels. Often this can spoil the comfort, but I also had air suspension, so it didn’t. Size? Well, it’s big, but less intimidating to drive round a city than a Range Rover. And it’s surprisingly light. The best thing, though, if you ignore the relentless common sense, is the interior. Pale and smooth and zincy, the dash is fronted by the sort of wood normally used to make Kevin McCloud’s spectacle frames. And you get a vertical sat-nav screen, which in north-south countries such as the UK, and Chile, and Sweden for that matter, makes more sense than the usual wide-screen systems. Which are better suited to east-west countries such as America.
https://preview.redd.it/vdn0a6419f4d1.jpg?width=1021&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1e7a0f9d2670fdc1e5f9c4db6ec5fef25d977d16
I spent a long time trying to find anything annoying or substandard and I just couldn’t. Apart from the relentless bonging, obviously, but that’s a government requirement these days. It was a nice place to sit. It was comfortable, and while I did raise an eyebrow at how the top speed has been limited to just 112 mph, we rarely need to go faster than that on a school run.
So yes, while it’s likely that the XC90 has poisoned the next generation’s mind into believing that cars should be sensible, I have to admit that if that’s the way they’ve got to be now, the latest incarnation is absolutely spot on.
The Clarksometer: Volvo XC90 Ultimate B6 AWD
Engine: 1969cc, 4 cylinders, turbo and supercharged, petrol
Power: 295bhp @ 5400rpm
Torque: 310 lb ft @ 2100rpm
Acceleration: 0-62mph: 6.7sec
Top speed: 112mph
Fuel: 29mpg
CO₂: 214g/km
Weight: 2,140kg
Price: £77,640
Release date: On sale now
Jeremy’s rating: ★★★★☆
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A third thumb? I can count the benefits on one hand
By Jeremy Clarkson (The Sunday Times, June 01)
Many years ago, I made a television show that no one watched. I can’t even remember what it was called. But I do recall that at one point I interviewed a professor of robotics who showed me some inch-long metal insects that knew they should head to a charging point when their batteries were running out of juice. They were a very long way from the Terminator.
Anyway, after we’d watched them doing not very much for an hour or so, we turned the cameras off and during the de-rig, he explained that he and his wife both had implants in their arms, and when they were connected over the World Wide Web, as it was known at the time, he could feel what she was feeling.
Not rage or disappointment or joy. Those are emotions, he couldn’t feel those. But when she was having some, er, “me time”, he could feel what she was feeling. And this struck me as weird. Because while it must be fun to experience your wife’s lady moment, I just can’t help thinking that the brain that designed and built such a system could and perhaps should have been more gainfully employed.
And that’s more or less what I thought last week when I read about some boffins at various British and Swiss universities who have built a robotic thumb that can be controlled with the toes. Not for someone who has lost theirs in a forestry accident, but for people who have two normal thumbs and would like another.
The strap-on third thumb is controlled via pressure pads in the sole of the foot
I’m aware, of course, that the human species has reached a point where body modifications are widely available and much in demand. You can enlarge your breasts, have words drilled into your face, remove unwanted skin, grow new hair in a bald patch and whiten your teeth till your mouth shines like it’s full of burning magnesium. You can even remove your genitals if you find them annoying in some way.
But I wonder, how many people have ever woken up in the morning and thought, “You know what? I think my life would be immeasurably improved if I had an extra thumb”?
It’s quite a complex bit of kit, because you’ve got your new supernumerary and fully opposable digit, which goes on your right hand below your little finger. And it’s controlled by pressure pads in the sole of your foot that send a signal wirelessly to two motors strapped to your wrist. Apparently, it’s been tested on people ranging in age from 3 to 96 and they all got the hang of it in minutes.
Great. But what are the advantages? Well, say the boffins, the guinea pigs they used to test the new invention could pick up pegs and put them in a basket. I think a small “wow” is in order at this point. And they could also pick up foam rubber shapes using their new thumb in conjunction with their fingers. Well, yes, but what was the normal thumb doing at this point? Nothing, is my guess.
Still, I’ve had a think and I reckon that with two thumbs, you’d be able to open a bottle of wine using only one hand. I’m not sure why you’d want to do that, though. Maybe if you were defusing a bomb with one hand and you were suddenly thirsty? You could also peel a banana, come to think of it, but again, I’ve never wanted to do that while sending a text message or retrieving something from the Aga.
I wonder, then, if maybe the boffins might have a rethink and come up with some robotics that might actually be useful. Eyes in the back of your head, for example. Or maybe a spare … no, let’s not go there — we’ve had enough smut for one week. But you see what I mean.
I’d quite like a robotic liver. I’d use the existing one for normal everyday activities and then in a pocket, or some kind of belt pouch, I’d have an evening and weekend liver that is better able to deal with alcohol. God gave us two kidneys and two lungs and two arms and two legs. But we only got one liver and that, I think, was one of his biggest mistakes.
I digress, so let’s get to the point. It’s all very well giving a robotic thumb to someone who already has two. But wouldn’t it be better to develop something for people who don’t? There are about 25,000 amputations in the UK every year, and while prosthetic limbs have come on in leaps and bounds in recent years, they are still a very long way from the real thing.
There are scientists working on Steve Austen-style bionic limbs that are controlled by the mind, but it’s a huge job. They’ve only just reached the point where a robotic leg can deal with rough terrain. And until recently, they were as useless at stairs as Daleks. But to get them working as well as normal legs, you have to employ the finest minds from so many different disciplines: neuroscience, robotics, computing, medicine — and that’s before you get to all the maths needed for the algorithms.
None of this should phase us. It’s all doable. But not if the world’s finest minds are busying themselves with spare thumbs and anti-fat jabs and having their wife’s orgasms. In the US, billions of dollars were spent on cosmetic surgery in 2022, whereas a UK company trying to develop better prosthetic arms for children was given backing in 2019 to the tune of just £4.6 million.
I realise, of course, that whenever you mention robotics and microprocessors that can access the human mind, particularly at a time when we have all just dipped our toes into the unknown depths of artificial intelligence, it’s likely to cause various scaremongers to start shouting about Skynet and Judgment Day and so on.
But when diabetes arrives in the night and they have to remove one of your legs, you’re going to wish science was focusing more seriously on a replacement and a bit less seriously on a new anti-dandruff shampoo.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
And here's the Sun column. Clarkson's columns are regularly collected as books. You can buy them from his boss or your local bookshop.

submitted by _Revelator_ to thegrandtour [link] [comments]

2024.06.03 21:19 Actuallyprettybland A Collection of Thoughts for my mother

Maybe you can relate to these thoughts? I’m not sure. These are things I wish I could say to my mom but can’t.
Not tryna spam, just goin through it today😂 Second post in 24 hours, sorry guys. Processing through a lot lately. Thought this could be helpful to some people on here, maybe. You can delete this if it ain’t helpful. Lol
I love you deeply and I think about you every day.
I showed you love, but you failed to receive it because of your own insecurities.
Whenever I say “I love you” and you don’t say it back, a little piece of my soul chips away.
Your need to feel fiercely, jealously loved is valid. You are valid. You are loved. Sometimes you confuse needing to be right with the feeling of love.
Sometimes your way isn’t the ‘right’ way for somebody else. It comes down to perspective, resources, and circumstances.
You will never be able to apologize to me, and I am okay with that. I forgive you anyway. Even in the times when you don’t even realize how you messed up.
Empathy has a bigger impact than judgement.
You offer love, so people come for love. You give them lots of it, for a while. Lots of time, attention, expensive gifts. Then, as time goes on, it changes. They do one thing, and you shut them out. No more love until they earn it back. To fill the gap of that empty space, you fill it with gossip, disapproval, hurtful words or stonewalling. You try to win people to your side. You try to turn others against that person. You try to rally an army to back you up and tear them down. They must come crawling back, tail between their legs, to be back in your love. Too many times of apologizing, too many times of extending olive branches, too many times allowing their own sense of self and their boundaries to be crossed, and they’re out.
This is why you can only keep relationships for so long. You’re sad because you lose your community every six years. You exhaust your friendships. You’re lonely, but unwilling to fix that.
Your love is conditional.
You are so depleted of love that you have none left to give to my dad. You care more about yourself than you care for him. You’re with him because of what he’s been able to give you.
You’re losing me and you realize it, but you don’t care enough to answer my texts.
You are frustrated more with yourself than with anyone else. Sometimes, I believe you hate yourself.
Thank you for sticking it through the hard years. I’m thankful you continued living. I just wish I had my mom back then. I look back on those years and I think that’s when I lost you. You’ve been a shell of yourself ever since. Or maybe you always have been, and that’s the first time I noticed. You’ve swallowed my fun dad into your hollowness; now he’s miserable and trapped in a lifestyle he hates. I miss my dad. What did you do to him?
You did the best you could with what you had at the time. That’s something you can be proud of.
You point the finger at me, claiming that I hated you when I was four and hated you ever since.
You’ve told me I’m disrespectful more times than I can count. Think about the example you set with how you treat your own mother. You don’t talk about the good traits, but you talk about the bad things to other people. You don’t talk to her unless you need her for something or it’s a holiday. You didn’t even call her on her birthday this year. I didn’t follow your example of how you treat your mother, so I can’t use that as an excuse. I was too scared to say anything about you to other people than glowing praise about my mother.
You think that respect means obedience.
This is why you think I’m disrespectful towards you: you can’t control me, and you’ve had a hard time controlling me for the past twenty years. Almost as if I’m my own person with my own thoughts and feelings that are completely my own, separate from you.
I love being around you, and you’re fun, but I don’t like being around you because while I’m talking with you, I’m anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop during the conversation. I’m waiting for your tone to flip. For the fun side to suddenly turn to disappointment and anger without a warning. I’m waiting for a reaction that’s absurdly disproportionate to the circumstance. I’m walking on eggshells with you in every conversation. You think this is recent, but this is years in the making.
You’ve found that getting upset gets you your way, but I’m not playing that game anymore. Now, when my boundaries are pushed I communicate that we need to pause or pivot in that moment. If you continue to push the communicated limit and try to press buttons like the Elf in the Empire State Building, I just leave. I take a little time out. I don’t just leave for any whim; it’s solely this scenario if you look back. This is what I will continue to do if I verbally communicate a boundary in conversation with fair warning that isn’t respected. But if it comes to that and I need to leave again, I want you to know I love you and I always will love you, and I will come back after a pause and pivot.
You don’t remember this. One time in high school we were in the restroom at church. I didn’t know you were in the restroom. Alex, my youth leader, asked me how I was doing. I said something along the lines of, “You know, I’m doing alright. Winter time is hard for moods, I tend to feel a bit depressed, but I’ve been doing better than I typically do this time of year.” She told me she understood and was there for me if I wanted to talk, and left the restroom. You heard our conversation from inside the bathroom stall, and when you came out I was filled with fear. You chewed me out after that. I don’t remember talking honestly with a leader for the rest of high school. You told me never to speak like that ever again, it makes you look bad.
I long for a mother.

submitted by Actuallyprettybland to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]

http://rodzice.org/

How to finger yourself at school

r/HowTo

My legs gave out.

It happened suddenly, but not without warning. This had been a long time coming.

Introduction

Table of Contents:

Crafting Your Creative Portfolio

Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

Learning from Industry Professionals

Diverse Career Opportunities

A Course Designed for Aspiring Actors

Gaining Real-World Experience

Learning from Industry Professionals

A Broad Spectrum of Opportunities

A Showcase of Talent and Innovation

Embark on a Glamorous Career Path

Practical Learning for Real-World Success

A Focus on Conceptualisation and Innovation

Why Choose Oakfields College for Fashion Design?

Crafting Visual Stories

Real-World Experience and Exposure

Unlocking Your Filmmaking Potential

A Pathway to a Career in Film

Why Choose Oakfields College?

A Practical Approach to Design

Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

State-of-the-Art Software and Tools

Developing Professional Skills

Why Oakfields College?

Hands-On Experience in Make-Up Artistry

Comprehensive Learning in Make-Up and Special Effects

A Journey into Creative Realms

Preparing for a Dynamic Industry

A Practical Approach to Marketing Education

Kick-Start Your Career in Marketing

Open the Doors to Endless Opportunities

Personal Attention and Quality Education

‍

A Journey of Artistic Discovery

Learning from Industry Professionals

Exposure and Opportunities

Hands-On Experience in Performing Arts

A Journey Through the Lens

Real-World Experience

Building a Professional Portfolio

Meeting the Demand for Skilled Photographers

A Comprehensive Approach to Photography

Practical Learning for Real-World Skills

Learn from Industry Veterans

State-of-the-Art Facilities

Software Mastery and Versatility

A Diverse Curriculum for a Dynamic Career

Why Study at Oakfields College?

Table of Contents:

Crafting Your Creative Portfolio

Comprehensive Training for a Dynamic Industry

Learning from Industry Professionals

Diverse Career Opportunities

On with the show - Please enjoy!

Origins of the Gladiator

Cool, but gladiators were men, right? Not exclusively.

So tying it all together, aka TL;DR