Edible photo cake costco

Hey! I hope your humpday is going as well as mine.
A little about me: I'm an engineer finishing up grad school, that does a bit of music and photography on the side. I should be writing a paper, but instead I'm writing this post. I usually start my day with an espresso (bonus points if you appreciate a great cup of coffee). My day was decently productive but my week has been a little slow and I could use a little pick me up with some stimulating conversation!
I'm ending my day in about 30 minutes, and switching to relax mode. I'll probably take an edible and watch Ted Lasso or something while I eat my dinner and (hopefully) reply to your message! Then I have some photo editing from a recent trip to catch up on, and maybe I'll share a few of my shots.
Physically, I'm pretty average height, darker-skinned, and pretty athletic. I lift fairly regularly and am training for my 4th marathon. I've got some photos in my post history.
About you: You are curious about the world, enjoy a little flirty banter, and can make conversation. Ideally you're a bit of a nerd, too. If you love art or photography--we'll really get along. If you're into fitness or have any upcoming fitness goals, I'd love to chat about those and be your cheerleader.
To really get my attention, send me a chat with a selfie or the best damn photo you've ever taken. If you do both...it's an instant reply :)

Hey! I hope your humpday is going as well as mine.
A little about me: I'm an engineer finishing up grad school, that does a bit of music and photography on the side. I should be writing a paper, but instead I'm writing this post. I usually start my day with an espresso (bonus points if you appreciate a great cup of coffee). My day was decently productive but my week has been a little slow and I could use a little pick me up with some stimulating conversation!
I'm ending my day in about 30 minutes, and switching to relax mode. I'll probably take an edible and watch Ted Lasso or something while I eat my dinner and (hopefully) reply to your message! Then I have some photo editing from a recent trip to catch up on, and maybe I'll share a few of my shots.
Physically, I'm pretty average height, darker-skinned, and pretty athletic. I lift fairly regularly and am training for my 4th marathon. I've got some photos in my post history.
About you: You are curious about the world, enjoy a little flirty banter, and can make conversation. Ideally you're a bit of a nerd, too. If you love art or photography--we'll really get along. If you're into fitness or have any upcoming fitness goals, I'd love to chat about those and be your cheerleader.
To really get my attention, send me a chat with a selfie or the best damn photo you've ever taken. If you do both...it's an instant reply :)

Credit to Blue for the wonderful cover art of Trilvri
Thank you to:
u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the Nature of Predators universe.
u/EdibleGojid, author of Dark Cuts, for proofreading.
EmClear, aspiring author, for proofreading
You, the reader, for your support. I love reading your comments.
Please consider reading the works of my proofreaders as they’re all authors of excellent stories and be sure to check the links below for more of my work and beautiful art from members of the community.
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Memory transcription subject: Sawvek, Junior Extermination Officer
Date [standardised human time]: October 5th, 2136
Hard foam presses uncomfortably up against delicate pressure points situated across the length of my entire body, building up to an unbearable ache that makes me shift and turn against the thin mattress pad. I yank at the rough old blanket I’d taken out of storage and clutch it even tighter around my body, trying to keep out the chill. The best racks, the ones near the heating vents, had already been claimed long before I’d decided to move into the Guild House’s Barracks and it doesn’t seem likely that the current occupants will be giving up their spots any time soon.
My mind is still racing from the events of last paw, replaying the scene over and over again in my dreams and in my head. The way my brother had looked at me… That look on his face when he’d seen the real me…
My paw gives a sympathetic throb in memory, still aching from where it had met the wall, but at least I had been able to wrap it up a bit and stop the bleeding. I feel like I should take it as a small miracle that it isn't broken. More medical bills are the last thing I need right now.
I turn about in the bunk once more, rolling around in vain to try and find a comfortable position that doesn’t seem to exist. Through a conscious act of will I try to empty my mind and sleep, but the very act of trying not to think about things only brings them bubbling back up to the surface of my thoughts. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, a damnable drumming sound brought about by the exertion of my own restless tossing and turning. Out in the hallway I can hear the muffled shuffling of feet and murmurs of conversation. The Guild Hall never sleeps, and it seems that neither would I this paw.
Electing to abandon the attempt as hopeless, I cut my rest claw short and get up, venturing out into the hallway. If I can’t sleep anyway then I might as well start my waking claw early, maybe get in a little exercise. It’s not so bad when it’s self-directed, almost fun in a way. If our family had the money to support it then maybe I could have been an athlete of some variety growing up. I had always possessed something of a natural physicality.
“Stop wasting time with worthless questions about what could have been, Killer.” The voice interjects, early and active today by the sound of it. “You’ll never amount to anything more than a wild predator kept on a leash.”
There’s nothing to do but sigh and carry on. It was right after all. This is it. This is my life now.
Making my way down the hallway towards the gym I find myself walking past a row of private offices assigned to some of the more veteran officers on staff. Most are empty at this claw, their occupants either asleep or off doing other work. One room in particular catches my attention though, the one belonging to our newest PRED Team Commander.
The door leading inside is open and ajar, seemingly forgotten in the midst of more pressing business and granting me a look inside. The entire room is a mess, papers and binders strewn about everywhere with official looking documents littering the floor. A map of the city decorates the otherwise unadorned and impersonal space. On its face it hosts a variety of multicoloured pins, all connecting seemingly arbitrary locations as well as photographs of people and places from the records department. The face of the former PRED Team Commander, Vrienna, looks out at me once again with the same cruel eyes that decorate the memorial wall. Beside her photo are another pair of eyes, a pair I recognise, but not one I would have expected to see here.
Trilvri, my brother’s creepy coworker, the one who’d brought him home the night he’d drunk himself into a stupor, stares out at me from the wall. He was younger in this photo, barely of age, if even that, and dressed in a regulation space corps flight suit, but I could still recognise him. Trilvri’s eyes appear somehow more lively than when I had met him in person, though it does nothing to improve his overall disposition, looking, as they are, as if behind them resides only hatred and a feral desire to kill and rend. Come to think of it, he had mentioned he used to be in the corps hadn’t he? ‘Used to’ being the operative word. When I’d asked he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of his time in the service…
Situated as he is next to Vrienna like that, their pitch-black wool and evil-looking eyes bear a striking resemblance. It was the exact same sort of predatory expression that bore into your soul, the kind that made me feel weak and exposed, the same kind that was worn by-
“What do you think you’re doing in my office?” A voice asks from behind, nonplussed, but with a casual depth of power and authority behind it that makes me freeze on the spot.
“Commander Glagrig, Sir!” I turn about on the spot, fixed at attention in the doorway as I stare up at the man himself. “I’m sorry to intrude. I noticed someone had forgotten to close the door so I was just going to secure it.”
“I see.” Glagrig doesn’t seem to believe a word of it, but neither does he seem inclined to press the issue. “At ease. Tell me, do you recognise the man in the photo there? Have you ever seen him before?”
“No, Commander.” I lie reflexively as I shift to a parade rest, not fully knowing why, but knowing that whatever is going on I want no part of it, for me or my brother. It’s only after the fact that it occurs to me that lying might be worse than telling the truth.
“How… regrettable.” The prestige officer says plainly and I can’t tell whether he believes me or not. “If you do ever catch sight of this individual, then be sure to let me know immediately.”
“Y-Yes, Commander.” I subconsciously swallow with apprehension, hoping that he doesn’t notice. I want nothing more than to run away as quickly as I can, but I haven’t been dismissed yet.
“Junior Officer Sawvek, was it?” Glagrig carries on, looking me up and down, dissecting me with his eyes. “You have quite the interesting record on file and Officer Intalran is quite adamant about your potential. Your simulator results speak for themselves, even if they are just simulations.”
“Thank you, Commander.” I can feel myself growing dizzy as I answer with uncertainty.
“Don’t thank me,” the all-consuming void in front of me replies with no hint of warmth, “just remember that your performance is under evaluation. It’s in my interests to keep note of promising young aspirants who might someday join my team, and I would hate to see you squander your talents.”
“I-I understand, Commander.” I flick my tail in agreement, straining not to look away towards the floor.
“Dismissed.” Glagrig brushes past me as he enters his office, moving to shut the door behind himself.
“Um, Commander?” I ask just before the door shuts, feeling a beckoning call of curiosity that even the predatory prestige exterminator couldn’t crush. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why do you have all that stuff up on the wall there?”
The door opens again, just a crack, and I can feel my superiors' weighty presence bearing down on me, almost suffocating in its intensity. “It’s simply a personal matter. I have reason to believe that the prior investigation regarding the kelach incident was conducted according to… insufficient standards. The predator responsible was never found and I intend to remedy that deficiency.”
“How hard could it be to find a kelach?” I tilt my ears in confusion. “They're huge!”
“Despite initial reports,” he answers with an ominous, cold tone that sends a chill up my spine, “it may be possible that we're dealing with something far more dangerous than just a kelach.”
“T-Thank you, Commander.” I flick my tail in appreciation and the door closes.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the malevolent aura recedes. That was too close.
“And you’re a complete moron going back to ask him more questions afterwards, Killer.” The voice rises with amusement. “What? Do you want him to figure you out and turn you to cinders? Only a matter of time, Killer.”
“Ugh, shut up.” I mutter under my breath, quickly turning back around to make sure Commander Glagrig didn’t hear me, but when no reprisal comes I quickly depart. If I’m gonna be stupid I should at least try not to do so right in front of his office.
As the imminent threat of our in-house prestige exterminator dwindles so too does the energy driven by the adrenaline of the encounter. It figures that the moment I roll out of bed I want to take a nap again, but I know the moment I lie back down I’ll be back to full wakefulness in an instant. That’s just how that sort of thing works. With that in mind there’s really only one solution, a big, steaming hot cup of tea.
Making my way towards the tea machine I spot Jonsco, the feisty little primitive that mans our dispatch centre, smacking the top of the dispenser with a clenched paw while holding a mug underneath it.
“Is the tea machine fixed?” I ask as I pull out a mug from the cabinet myself.
Jonsco sighs heavily and shoots me a combative glare. “For the last time it’s not my brahking job to fix this damn tea machine! You got a problem with that then you can go pester someone else about it!”
I shrink back under the harsh rebuke. Jonsco may be small, but there was as much rage and fury condensed into that little package as anyone else in this department. Maybe more.
“I… I didn’t mean to imply…I just wanted to know if it was working again or not… Sorry.” I sputter out, feeling properly admonished as I look away towards the ground.
Jonsco looks at me quizzically, his hard glare softening somewhat as he seems to truly see me for the first time before returning to his usual scowl.
“Right…Whatever you say…” With one final smack the machine coughs and chokes, sputtering to life with a struggle, and a small trickle of freshly brewed tea begins to fill Jonsco’s cup. “The machine is on the fritz again as usual, but if you hit it just right, do a little percussive maintenance, then you can get it started again.”
“Thanks, Jonsco.” I lean back against the wall and watch as the mug slowly fills, impressed by the primitives know-how. “That's actually pretty smart of you.”
“For a ‘primitive’ right?” The words are barbed and spiteful, but lack his typical enthusiasm, more of a simple statement of fact than a real question. I couldn't exactly deny it, those had been my thoughts, and so the silence drags on awkwardly, marked only by the splash of tea falling into the steadily rising pool.
“What are you doing here at this claw anyway?” I eventually ask, dodging the question entirely. “We’ve still got at least another half-claw until our crew's shift is supposed to start.”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know?” The angry little dispatch operator retorts. “I'm here early working an overtime shift so I can afford to put food on my family's table. It's expensive feeding that many mouths. What's your excuse?”
“I had a fight with my brother…” I rub the back of my neck as I turn away abashedly, “moved out of the apartment and into the barracks full time… couldn't sleep…”
“Well then you should hurry up and work on patching things up with him.” Jonsco looks at me with an uncharacteristic hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Your family are the only ones who might actually care. This Gods-damned place is a slyther’s nest and no one here gives a speh about you or your problems. If you want my advice, you should do your best to spend as little time in this cesspool as possible.”
With his cup now full, Jobsco steps back from the machine and begins walking out towards the main hall.
“Thanks, Jonsco.” My words stop him in his tracks as he walks away from me. “I appreciate it.”
“... You're welcome.” He says after a short pause, glancing back to look at me one more time before leaving. “See you around, Sawvek.”
Taking advantage of the tea machine while it’s still mostly working, I fill up my own cup and drink deeply of the warm, fragrant beverage. The taste is bitter and unpleasant, just about the quality I would expect of this Guild Hall, but even at the first taste it’s evident that it’s been loaded with an extra strength dose of caffeine. I down the drink quickly and rinse out the cup before continuing on my journey towards the training hall. Fatigue begins to fall away as I walk, bit by bit as the drug makes its way into my bloodstream, blocking off sleep receptors and energising me. I know I’ll probably pay for it later, no amount of caffeine can actually replace sleep, but for now it feels good and I can see how some people can get addicted to the stuff.
A loud, metallic clanging emanates from the gym as I approach, something unexpected for this time of paw. No one's reserved space in the gym for this claw and not many people are industrious enough to sweat on their own initiative. Peeking my head inside the door I spy Bikim, the perfect, privileged, ‘holier than thou’ brahkass occupying the otherwise empty weight room. His irritatingly handsome face is taut with strain as he performs a series of weighted squats, his back and leg muscles straining underneath his short-cropped wool, and he pants heavily under the exertion.
I’m half tempted just to leave and go back to bed despite the fact that there’s no way I’d be getting any sleep with the tea running through my system. It’s too early in the paw to deal with Bikim’s speh. Before I can slip away unnoticed though, he spots me. I give a heavy sigh and continue my way inside. There's nothing to be done for it now. Trying to back out now would only make things worse later, a sign of weakness.
“What… Do you want… Predator?” Bikim asks between gulps of air as he reracks his weights, practically hanging off the bar to support himself on shaky legs.
“Good paw to you too, Bikim.” I say, forcing civility into my tone. “I’m here to use the equipment. Same as you. I'm allowed.”
“Whatever…” He eyes me with suspicion. “Just keep your distance… I don't want to catch any of your taint.”
“Believe me,” I flick my tail out in irritation, “I intend to.”
Looking around the room for available spots, I march my way over towards a cable machine on the opposite side of the room. Not nearly as far from Bikim as I would like, but the farthest I can get without leaving the weight area entirely. Bikim watches me all the while as I seat myself down and begin adjusting the machine. Eventually he grows tired of watching me fumble around with the machine and returns to his own exercises with a displeased flick of the tail, quite obviously judging me for my lack of experience with the equipment.
A tense sort of quiet settles over the room as we each go about our business, trying our best to ignore one another. Bikim slowly winds his way around the room, cycling from station to station to exercise all the different parts of his body in sequence before repeating it all again. He seems to bypass my corner of the room, glancing over at me with each repetition of his pattern. For myself, I stay put where I am, taking advantage of the varied exercises offered by the versatile machine to experiment with different muscle groups. Occasionally I slip up, dropping the weights with a loud clang that always draws Bikim’s ire. Every time he seems just a bit more disgruntled, a bit less patient. Eventually, the constant disruption reaches a tipping point and the pompous, self-entitled jerk walks over to confront me.
“Do you always do this?” He asks rhetorically. “If you keep slamming the weights like that you're gonna break it. Your form is speh so either fix it or lower the weight so you don't have to keep compensating. Better yet, just leave. You’ve been monopolising the cable machine for almost half a claw now. I don't know why you're even here in the first place.”
“Oh, look at Mr. Know-it-all thinking he can just go around telling us what to do, eh Killer?” The voice rises to the challenge. “Where does a guy like that who's been handed everything his whole life think he can get off with telling us how we should be doing anything?”
“Brahk off Bikim!” I don't even try to reign in the predator inside, feeling justified in letting it roam free for once. “I didn't ask for your advice and you don't get to kick me out of the weight room just because you can't wait your turn! I'm here because I don't have anywhere else to go! Ever since Intalran dragged me into this stupid Guild this brahking job has taken over my entire life! I don't even have a home to go back to anymore!”
Bikim's body tenses at my tirade and his tail flicks out aggressively like a whip.
“That's your own damn fault, predator!” He shouts back, eager for the excuse to vent his own frustrations. “Maybe if you weren't just some blood-starved beast out roaming the streets then you wouldn't be here right now! I’ve read your file! You got a history of herdless behaviour and physical altercations! Someone should have institutionalised you a long time ago, but someone took pity on you and let you slip through the cracks because of your poor dying mommy! They should have known it would come back to bite them! A normal, functional member of the herd wouldn't even think to pick a flamer up off the ground and burn another person to death with it! But you? You did it instinctively! You revelled in it!”
“You think that was easy for me!” I get up and walk towards him as I yell incredulously. “You think I asked for that to happen! You think it was fun for me to get choked out and almost eaten! That thing I burned wasn't even a person anymore! It was a predator in the middle of a feeding frenzy! So yeah, I did what I did, and you know what? It's a good thing I did! If I wasn't a freak of nature then that thing would have kept on going and kept on killing! Last I checked, preventing that sorta thing was supposed to be your job, but I had to be the one to step up! Now I have to live with the consequences of my actions every paw, knowing that I’m a Protector-damned killer that doesn't belong anywhere! Maybe you, in your infinite wisdom, would've known the perfect thing to do in that situation, but I’m not you! I’ve had to work and struggle for every little thing I have! Not just had it handed to me on a silver platter!”
“Oh, so you got me all figured out do you?” Sarcasm drips from Bikim's mouth as he looks down on me. “You don't know me. You don't know my life or what I’ve been through, how hard I’ve worked to get where I am. You just see the end product from cycles of effort and assume that it's always been that way, that it's always been that easy. It hasn't.”
“Yes, I’m sure you had it so hard growing up Bikim.” Saying it aloud almost makes me laugh. “You’re such a child of privilege that it drips off of you with every move you make and every word you say. I hate people like you, thinking that you're better than everyone else just because you were lucky enough to be born into wealth and status. Try living like the other side for a change, scrounging for every credit just so you can afford to eat, and then try to tell me how hard you had it with a full belly and a warm home!”
“You’re right, predator,” Bikim says contemptuously, “I am a child of privilege. My family has a long and decorated military tradition, my father is a captain for the space corps, a brahking hero, and I’ve reaped the benefits of that. That privilege came at a cost though, and that’s called expectations. Second best is not good enough and I've had to put in ten times the effort as anyone else my whole life just to meet standards! At least you grew up with a father who was there for you and loved you without the condition that everything you do is perfect!”
“All that talk about reading my file and you didn't even get past the first page did you?” I snap at him with a snarl. “ I didn't grow up with a father at all! He's been dead since I was in elementary school! Killed in action! I barely even remember him anymore!”
That one seems to give Bikim pause, but I’m not done yet.
“If you and your whole family are such a bunch of brahking heroes then how come you're here, working as a common garrison exterminator in a run-down backwater city like this?” I taunt. “Shouldn't you be out gallantly fighting the Arxur with one of the fleets or on a colony pacification force rather than making my life here harder than it already is?”
“That's the price for failing to meet expectations,” Bikim quiets down, drawing away from the world and into himself, “the price for knocking up a beautiful, wonderful girl right after graduation and refusing to get rid of it afterwards. You get cut off. You lose that privilege, and you do whatever you have to in order to provide and try to be a good role model for your son.”
Now that one threw me for a loop. In the short time I’ve known Bikim I’ve had a lot of thoughts about him, few of them good, but never would I have expected him to be the type to take responsibility… For anything. Still, there is one thing about his story that doesn't line up…
“Oh really?” I take a step back as I watch for his reaction closely. “I seem to recall Jonsco mentioned just the other day that your wife had left you for a Human.”
“Don't you bring that brahking primitive into this!” Bikim's anger flares in an instant before returning to a subtle simmer of regret. “We’ve just been having a… a rough patch in our relationship. I’m not giving up on us. I’ll win her back. She's just… confused and being taken advantage of! It's all that damn predators fault!” Bikim sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. “You're not the only one whose had something taken from them because of this job. You're not the only one without a home to go back to.”
Looking at Bikim now, a sad, pathetic man moping on the bench with nothing better to do on his rest claw than to try to externalise his inner pain… I find it hard to stay angry at him. He's still a narcissistic brahk ass and a complete jerk, but it's hard to truly hate someone when you actually know them. I had made quite a few assumptions about him when we first met, and he certainly hadn't helped my impression of him since, but… perhaps I was wrong to judge him so harshly?
“Nah,” the voice chortles, “he’s a piece of speh that got what he brahking deserves for being an insufferable prick.”
Overhead the intercom crackles to life and I can hear Jonsco's voice reverberating over the airwaves.
“Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment. Repeat. Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment.”
“Sounds like it's time for your first field assignment, Kid.” Bikim says, staring up at the intercom. “At least it gets you out of my wool. Try not to brahk it up and make the rest of us look bad.”
“Hmph.” I turn to leave, muttering to myself. “Stupid brahkass.”
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A/N - Hello! Sorry this one took a while. Like I mentioned before I got delayed working on my Ficnapping chapter as well as a crossover One-shot that's still in progress (but hopefully will be done soon). In other news we have new art of Sawvek's life-changing encounter in the Builder's Lane Bloodbath as drawn by Miglove and you can still find that and everything else Nature of Family in the new Master Post linked up above.
If you like the story then please remember to upvote, comment, and use the “!Subscribeme” function to be alerted to all new posts. I post as often as I can but real life has a tendency of getting in the way and my job makes it almost impossible to keep to any kind of schedule. Your engagement and support go a long way towards helping to keep me on track and motivated, so thank you very much for reading and I hope you'll stay tuned for next chapter!

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

In my 3rd rewatch and just watched the scene of Ray taking naked photos of Hannah so she can send to Fran. This scene is so hilarious and I feel like underrated!! Elijah holding up a curtain because they’re fully just inside the coffee shop with huge windows. Telling her to smile not like katie Holmes but more like she’s about to eat cake!! It’s sooooo funny

-Filburt’s butch ain’t sleepin in no BIRD
-If you’re a girl and your male best friend comes over, there will be a cool guitar lick literally every time you greet him
-You are losing control of your life if you make chocolate pudding at 4 in the morning
-There’s no letter Z in Dee Dee
-Your bully may actually be an obsessed stalker who makes shrines in her closet out of your wads of ABC gum
-Be careful when reciting poetry about your secret crush in the middle of the night because there may be a talking parrot in the bedroom who flies into the boy’s bedroom window
-Stinky thing + stinky thing = NOT SMELLY!!!!
-If you request the disc jockey (sorry, a D.J.) puts on COUNTRY music at your friends’ birthday party, don’t hold your BREATH!
-Washington red delicious apples are exactly what they are! Although they could be grown in Florida, and be different colors, a totally different fruit, and not actually taste “delicious” lol
-One way to jinx yourself into losing again, is to put mashed potatoes in your pocket, stand in a tub of water, hold cabbage, wear rubber boots, stand on one leg, hold up an umbrella indoors, turn around 3 times and whistle Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
-Gumbo pizza is a thing and it’s delicious
-The 60s are over and we lost!
-Eggs with shells, an entire carton of milk, a whole bag of sugar, whole bag of flour and 4 sticks of butter and even frosting mixed in can somehow make an edible cake
Everybody add yours!

Good Morning Everyone, Evening to some, afternoon to most.
We got home to lots of letters and my fiancee loved them all, and she's sitting next to me while we take the time to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to bring joy here in TN.
Thank you u/onebadjoke The Edible favours is a great idea, I'm going with twix, she's going with Riesen and for the both of us, Swedish Fish, gotten love hand fishing in a bag over waiting by the pond.
Thank you u/jemst0ne Amanda absolutely loves the post card, she's drawn to it immediately, and your card prompted a story. So, fun fact both of us proposed to each other to let each other know we were ready to be serious and jump into husband and wife roles, well the night that Amanda decided she wanted to make her jump, she received a fortunate cookie following a really nice meal at the casino, and the fortunate cookie said "Don't panic," lol, and nobody but her knew that that was. Second fun fact, mine that night said something about, "Don't miss the opportunity of the day, tomorrow it will be lost."
Thank you u/snerdboff We will definitely take funny pictures and thank you for the marriage licenses multiple copies, either of us thought of that, that's a great idea. Love that you had the largest card/envelope package. Love the sticker of the house as the envelope closer.
Thank you u/danigeek That's a great idea about the consignment store for the dresses. So far she has gone with her mom and sister to look at dresses. So far our idea for the colors of our wedding will be purple, blue, and silver. We have yet to try any cakes for the wedding, but my favorite is polish honey cake and her favorite is black forest (which no bakery seems to make anymore). Daisies are Amanda's favorite flower. Great card. Thank you.
Thank you, u/littlemermaidxx Thank you for the Love post card, it's nice, Amanda loves it, will take a pin to the love corner that we've got going. Thank you for the Congrats!
Thank you u/blacksmithequivalent You sent two cards :). Thank you so much. San Diego is such a beautiful area. We love that there is rarely a day below 60 degrees. The ring card is so pretty. Since she calls me her galaxy, I decided that blue sandstone would be a great pick for both her engagement and wedding ring. The actual stone looks like stars in a dark night sky. We also appreciate you saying that as long as we are happy together, no other opinions matter. True relationships are based on trust, great communication, and respect.
Thank you u/ez330 Absolutely beautiful card with the hearts as leaves in the tree. Congrats on your upcoming 12 year anniversary with your husband. I am sorry that you had those stressors during your wedding day. At this point, I feel that my fiancee and I are the least worried about things right now. That may not be a good thing when the time gets closer haha. Either way, as long as we are together and nothing drastic happens it'll be a great day for us as well. I am also a project manager so nothing can be as bad as some of the violent days at work lol.
Thank you, u/uknighinthesky Love the card. We are both very thankful to have several family members that are doing so much research for us and planning parts of the wedding. I think one of our main concerns is getting some family members from out of town to the wedding. The comic snips were very funny and a great touch to the card.
Thank you, u/uaepeyc. I absolutely adore this card. My mom is huge into mermaids and when I showed her this card, she went cray cray. You gave great advice saying that family research is helpful, but that in the end it is our day. Through all the planning, I think that our day will be as amazing as our relationship. She says that our relationship will be made with great memories for the next 55 years.
Thank you, u/ninajyang. The front of the card is so pretty. I wish you and your partner the best. We both have a similar budget in mind. We don't want to spend too much, but just enough to make things as memorable as possible. This will be both of our first and last marriages so we figure we would splurge just a little. Thank you for the cute stamps as well.
Thank you, u/mediocre_radish_7216 Thank you so much for the cute cared. I liked the skateboard with the word love on it. Since she has moved in, we have been enjoying every little moment together. Even domesticated, simple ones can be enjoyable together. As we are writing these, we are doing household chores. Last night we cooked dinner and had a glass of wine together. We both plan to flourish this relationship for the next 55 years.
Thank you, u/notsomini. Not going into debt for a single day is a great piece of advice. Thank you. We have been looking at wedding venues and seeing which one is the most cost effective, but yet flexible. A few places that we have looked at have been so strict with what is allowed in and what is not. One place that we checked out, no outside food was permitted. This place that we plan to check out tomorrow is not strict as we can bring in whatever food and other accommodations we choose. Thank you so much for the awesome stickers too.
Thank you, u/inkyfingerspgs Thank you so much for the card. Amanda loved it as the purple that was on the card is one of our wedding colors. We plan to continue making good memories from the wedding day and 55 years into the future.
Thank you, u/daeneryswon. The card is adorable. We both love it. The quote, "to a love that grows more beautiful every year," should be a goal for all couples. We hope that on our wedding day there is not too many hiccups, but both of us are pretty easy going that we will just continue on. We plan to make each other happy for the next 55 years.
Thank you so much u/keqani. All of the details that you put into your card is appreciated. Amanda adored the snips of paper that you included with your card. She said that those will be amazing to write little love notes to me to leave in my truck for me to discover. We both concur with you that we need to be there for each other no matter what. Loyalty in a relationship is very important. So far we have had great communication. Before we moved in together, we talked multiple times a day for at least 20 minutes or longer. We also promised each other that if anything is bothering either of us that we should just talk it out rather than holding it in. Amanda says that for the next 55 years we will be together through all the ups and downs that life can bring.

i love my dog so much. she’s a cane corso mix and i love her with all of my heart. i want to give her everything that she deserves but i can’t. i lost my job at the end of april , it’s been a struggle but i’ve been barely getting by. But even that is starting to dry up. i’m almost out of food for her and have no idea how im going to get more, i can cook her stuff but when i run out of that then she still won’t have any food. she needs dewormer, flea treatment, microchip, new toys, none of which i can afford. the only reason i was able to get her vaccines is because they had the ASPCA had a free vaccine day in my area.
i’m not even sure why im posting this, i know other dog owners will tell me im right and my dog deserves better.
i’m a terrible dog owner. part of me thinks i should just go , just give up , and i know she’d be better off with my family who could take way better care of her than i ever could anyway. i’m applying for work but no takers. todays her birthday i wanted to get her a dog cake and gifts and make it a big deal and i wasn’t able to do any of that. we’re just sitting here on her birthday, regular food regular toys. i couldn’t even get her one new thing for her birthday. she’s my best friend and she deserves so much better than me. i hate that i can’t give her the better that she very much deserves. i want her to have the world, but because she’s stuck w me she’s getting the bare minimum. she deserves the world. so much more than me. i selfishly don’t want to give her away but it’s selfish for me to keep her. i’m genuinely running out of options and have no idea what to do…i just want her to be happy.
edit: https://www.reddit.comOriginal-Stretch-464/s/HlxFcDCh5D
a link to some photos of my four legged bestie 👍🏽

Looking for someone to alleviate your overloaded to do list? Or to handle some simple tasks to make your life easier? Do you need articles written or projects finalized? Well, look no further! Our duo with about 15 years’ experience in several fields can handle most, if not all tasks given to us!
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Writing work - 7-10 cents/word depending on content. Extra for revisions.
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Payment is acceptable in multiple ways but PayPal and direct bank transfers are preferred. We do not accept payment in crypto. Also, I'll need at least some payment upfront.
CONTACT ME
If any of the services listed have piqued your interest, send a DM and we can further connect on Discord, Skype, WhatsApp, Telegram etc. I use a variety of alls for communication, and am happy to comply with your needs.

In the whimsical world of slime enthusiasts, there exists a fate worse than an over-activated batch: the self-imposed slime ban. Whether it's driven by budget constraints, the desperate need to declutter, or simply the desire to prevent total slime overload, going on a low- to no-slime diet can feel like the end of days. Picture it: your once vibrant world of stretchy, squishy goodness reduced to a barren wasteland. But fear not, for I am here to guide you through this dramatic ordeal. Brace yourself, though; the journey ahead is not for the faint of heart, but it is one we must all walk one day.
1. Playing with the Slime You Already Have
Ah, the initial stage of the ban. You stand before your glorious collection, a dragon surveying its hoard. "No need to worry," you tell yourself. "I have plenty of slime." You start with the classics, the old favorites that never let you down. You stretch, squish, and poke, reveling in the familiar textures and scents. But soon, the euphoria fades. You realize you're rationing your slimes, treating each session like it's your last meal before the guillotine. Every stretch feels bittersweet, every poke a reminder of the dwindling days ahead.
2. Making Your Own Slime
Desperation sets in. "DIY," you think, clutching at straws. You scour your house for ingredients: shampoo, baking soda, glue—anything that might come together into that beloved goo. The kitchen becomes a mad scientist's lab, complete with frantic mixing and questionable experiments. Some attempts fail spectacularly, leaving you with sticky hands and a ruined mixing bowl. Others succeed, but it's not the same. You stare at your homemade slime, proud yet hollow. It's like eating a cake made of sawdust—it fills the void, but it's not the real thing. (I have a great guide here.)
3. Designing Virtual Slimes
The digital age offers a glimmer of hope. You download slime apps, creating virtual masterpieces with the swipe of a finger. It's oddly satisfying, watching your screen fill with glittery, gooey creations. But there's no tactile joy, no sensory delight. It's like looking at a photo of food when you're starving—beautiful, but ultimately unfulfilling. Still, you persist, crafting digital slimes at all hours, your eyes glazing over as you chase the phantom sensations.
4. Starting a Slime Bartering System
Your social circle becomes your lifeline. You propose trades, offering up prized possessions in exchange for slime. A rare book here, a cherished trinket there—nothing is off-limits. Friends and acquaintances look at you with a mix of pity and amusement, but some take the bait. You find yourself with new slimes, each one a brief oasis in your desert of deprivation. But the trades come with their own costs, and soon your shelves are empty, save for the slimes.
5. Begging for Slime
Pride be damned, you resort to begging. You compose heartfelt pleas, sending them to friends, family, even strangers on the internet. "Please," you write, "I just need a little slime to get through the day." The responses vary—some sympathetic, some mocking. A few kind souls send you small amounts, their generosity a beacon of hope. But it’s never enough. The hunger gnaws at you, relentless and unyielding.
6. Playing with Pretend Slime
Madness looms on the horizon. You find yourself pretending—imagining slimes that aren’t there. You close your eyes and describe them in excruciating detail, picturing every color, texture, and scent. You stretch invisible slimes, poke at thin air, your mind clinging to the ghostly sensations. It's a temporary balm, a fleeting escape. But reality always crashes back in, leaving you more desperate than before.
7. Begging for Slime Again
If at first you don’t succeed, beg, beg again. Persistence is key, my friends. Ask nicely, and maybe someone will take pity on you and share their precious slime. Try different approaches: poetic pleas, heartfelt letters, or even over-the-top dramatic monologues about your dire situation. The more creative, the better. Sometimes, the third time’s the charm. Don’t be afraid to ask for slime from every possible source. Your persistence might just pay off.
8. Keeping a Slime-Less Journal
You turn to writing, chronicling your ordeal in a slime-less journal. Each day, you document the cravings, the dreams, the near-misses. The pages fill with angst and longing, your words dripping with melodrama. You draw pictures, tape in scraps of failed DIY slimes, create a tangible testament to your suffering. It’s therapeutic, in a way, a way to process the madness. But it also solidifies your obsession, turning your journey into a saga of epic proportions.
9. Joining a Slime Support Group
Misery loves company. You find fellow sufferers, forming a support group of the slime-deprived. Together, you share stories, vent frustrations, and offer solace. Virtual meetings become your lifeline, each session a cathartic release. You bond over your shared struggle, finding strength in numbers. But the group also feeds your obsession, each member a mirror reflecting your own desperation.
10. Complaining About It on slime
Reddit is the perfect place to vent your frustrations. Head over to slime and share your woes with the community. Post dramatic rants, share memes about your slime-less existence, and seek advice from fellow slime lovers. Sometimes, a good rant is all you need to feel a bit better. Plus, you might find some empathetic souls who are willing to share their own tips and tricks for surviving the slime ban.
11. Casting a Magic Spell
In your darkest hour, you turn to the arcane. You gather candles, draw circles, and chant incantations, hoping to summon slime from the ether. It’s a mix of desperation and whimsy, a last-ditch effort to conjure relief. The rituals become elaborate, theatrical performances that blur the line between sanity and insanity. You laugh at the absurdity, but part of you truly believes in the magic.
12. Planning a Slime Heist
Delusion takes hold. You scheme, plot, and plan an elaborate slime heist. Blueprints cover your walls, your mind consumed with the minutiae of the perfect crime. You envision breaking into stores, raiding friends' stashes, even sneaking into slime conventions. It’s a fantasy, a thrilling diversion from your torment. The line between reality and fiction blurs, your heist becoming an epic tale of rebellion.
13. Begging for Slime Again
You circle back to begging, now with a fervor that borders on mania. You leave no stone unturned, no contact unasked. You compose dramatic letters, stage impassioned speeches, and flood social media with your pleas. The world watches, amused and bewildered by your relentless pursuit. But amidst the laughter, slivers of hope appear—small packages, anonymous gifts, glimmers of slime in the darkness.
14. Forgetting the Ban
Alright, it's been long enough. Buy some slime.

Here is the recap of the 14 monetized posts from Kylea and Joseph "Joe" Gomez of Kylea G Weight loss Journey on 05/13/24.
Disclaimer: I am not a physician, influencer, or paid content creator. I am not affiliated with WW. I am semi-retired from healthcare with multiple college degrees. These opinions are my own based on social media content. I wish no harm to Kylea or Joe Gomez.
☎️ If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, please call or text 988 for assistance.
The tagline of Kylea G Weight loss Journey is, "I changed my life with prayer and a playlist of songs. No surgery, no meds. Just Jesus."
DAILY STATS 05/13/24:
0/14 posts discussed prayer
2/14 contained vague references to music
0/14 discussed exercise
0/14 shared a recipe
4/14 were about something Kylea ate or drank
1/14 contained a side by side photo comparison
2/14 were about her current/future pet (one of these was from "Joe" about Amazon pet items)
1/14 "Joe" posted about getting Whataburger
2/14 were about donut holes & a clapback
2/14 were a trip update
📢 For our friends at Meta, that means at least 50% of Kylea's monetized content had nothing to do with weight loss, which is the tagline and purpose of her page.
⚠️ Disordered Eating- Daily Food Consumption (Data compiled from monetized content):
5 WW Points: Barebell Cookies & Cream Protein Bar
0 WW Points: Alani Nu Energy Drink (🚨 These contain 200mg of caffeine)
9 WW Points: TWO In-N-Out "Protein style" hamburgers wrapped in lettuce.
0 WW Points: Bahama Buck's Sugar-free Birthday Cake & Sugar-free Strawberry Cheesecake flavored shaved ice.
📢 For our friends at Meta, that means Kylea consumed 14 out of (up to) 30 daily WW points in maintenance mode= Disordered Eating. This is dangerous messaging for her 138k+ followers on a weight loss journey.
Recipes Shared:
ZERO
🚨 Please speak with a medical professional about any questions or concerns you have about your health.
Comments: Kylea CHOSE to continue posting triggering food content, and clapped back at followers for questioning it.
⚠️ Binge Eating, Compulsive Buying Disorder (CBD), aka shopping addiction, Disordered Eating, Food Addiction, Gaslighting, and Religion will be discussed.
Post 1. Donut Hole Controversy: Kylea posted an empty donut hole bag and claimed her sister ate all of them at 3 WW points each. When called out by a follower, Kylea responded with this, "I don't eat donuts. I support other people eating whatever they'd like to eat. What's unhealthy is commenting on other people's food choices.💖💖💖"
Post 2. Using the Pet Cat for Content: This nontent was her male cat's reaction to being told his puppy sister arrives on Sunday.
Post 3. Protein Bar Slip Up: Kylea recycled an old photo of her holding a Barebell protein bar and tried to act like the photo was taken today. 👀
Post 4. Trip Update: Kylea is shopping for puppy bandanas online because Birdie "only" has 6, while her sister drives. She is listening to 🎶 in the car. 💤 This is nontent.
Post 5. "Unhealthy" Food Clapback: Narcissistic, defiant Kylea had to get the last word in.
"I had someone comment that I post a lot of "unhealthy" food for a weight loss page. The point of my page is to show others that all foods are healthy in moderation. What is not healthy, is commenting on other people's food choices. Mind your own plate. 💖 I personally eat very healthy myself but I support all of the people around me in whatever food choices they want to make for their own lives. I will never and have never commented on someone else's food choice for their own lives."
⏸️ This is gaslighting. Here we go...

1. Kylea is triggered by words like treat, craving, and indulge but was not at the beginning of her weight loss journey.
   
2. Kylea is afraid to own a microwave because it could jeopardize her recovery with food addiction and give her quick access to convenient foods. (Please ignore the air fryer and cabinets full of snacks.)
   
3. If Kylea does not like what Joe is eating at a restaurant, she has placed the menu between them so she does not have to see it.
   
4. Joe is not allowed to have regular condiments in the fridge.
   
5. Joe is to "support" her by eating foods he does not prefer at home (most of the time).
   
6. Kylea controls what Joe eats when she is away from home.
   
7. Please ignore all comments Kylea makes on the Basham and Lee families' social media accounts about food.
   
8. Kylea does not eat clean.
   
9. She triggers her followers with calorie-dense items on purpose for monetary gain.
   
10. Kylea has disordered eating.
    

If that list isn't enough to question her speech, a follower requested a 24-hour food log and the # of daily WW points Kylea uses. Kylea replied, "after months of bullying over that because of how healthy I do eat, I won't ever do that again. It's for my peace that I no longer do."
📢 To our friends at Meta, why is a "weight loss influencer" allowed to refuse to answer follower questions about WW (her chosen tool) and refuse to provide an example of what she eats in a day? This is the job YOU pay her to do.
Post 6. Alani Nu: Avoid this beverage (200mg caffeine) if you are unsure about your recommended caffeine intake.
Post 7. Trip Update: Her sister drove 6 hours. They have to be at the airport tomorrow at 4 am.
Post 8. Fort Worth Stockyards: This photo editing fail made Kylea appear 8 feet tall with a shrunken head and long extremities. Upon follower questions, she blamed her sister for how she held the phone. 🤔
Post 9. IN-N-Out Burger: Kylea's sister ate a cheeseburger & fries, and Kylea had 2 "protein style" hamburgers she claimed were called "protein burgers." Umm, nope.
Post 10. Shaved Ice: Kylea's sister got the baby size shaved ice, and Kylea got a significantly larger-sized cup.
⏸️ I smirked as Kylea claimed the protein bar was "yummy," the In-N-Out was "really good," and the sugar-free shaved ice, "It is SO good!!," but the giant iced cookie cake slice yesterday was "fine." She loves to gaslight and act holier-than-thou. 😇
Post 11. Whataburger: "Joe" posted his bag of Whataburger after waiting 1.5 hours in the drive-thru on opening day.
⏸️ How are the donut holes, energy drink, cheeseburger and fries, and regular shaved ice Kylea's sister consumed, and Whataburger her husband consumed healthy weight loss content? Why is Meta paying her for this nonsense?
Post 12. Amazon Purchases: "Joe" posted a picture of more puppy items and said, "Can you tell my wife is excited about her new role as dog mom 😂 😂" This is nontent.
Post 13. May 2021 vs Today: Kylea is "forever proud of the girl who changed her entire life -208 lbs."
⏸️ Kylea, you traded addictions. That is not something to be proud of. You are terrified of the scale and heavily modify your photos. That is not something to be proud of, either. You can spend all the money and travel the world but you are not happy. Quite the opposite. Seek medical care. ☮️
Post 14. Final Update: Kylea feels "uplifted" from window shopping at the Stockyards and local Target with her sister, listening to country music.
Takeout Purchases: Donut Holes= $3.50 est; In-N-Out Burger: Cheeseburger & Fries with 2 "Protein-style" Hamburgers (online prices)= $11.75 est; Bahama Buck's Baby & Regular Sized Shaved Ice= $9.18 + tip; Whataburger (unknown food)= $8 est;
Shopping/Travel Expenses: Barebell Protein Bar= $2.45 est; Alani Nu Freezeberry Energy= $2.48 est; Alani Nu Juicy Peach Energy= $2.48 est; Gas Joplin, MO to Fort Worth, TX: (373mi/33mpg) x $3.85 est= $43.52 est; Gas Fort Worth, TX to Dallas, TX: (32mi/33mpg) x $3.85 est= $3.73 est; Hotel (prices by airport used)= $75 est + fees; Bocce's Coconut Macaroon Crunchy Biscuits 5oz bag Qty 2= $12.98 est; Bocce's Sauvignon Bark Soft & Chewy 6oz bag Qty 2= $13.58 est; Bocce's Burger & Fries All-Natural Dog Treats Qty 2= $9.08 est; PetStages Grow-with-Me Ring Dog Chew Toy= $5.24 est; Pet Botanics Training Rewards Soft & Chewy Bacon Flavor 20oz bag Qty 2= $27.98 est; Undercoat Rake Grooming Tool= $10.25 est; Paw Print Cube Fabric Storage Bin= $12.99 est; Baghler Airline Approved Dog Travel Bag Light Pink- A Backpack with Silicone Bowls & Food Baskets= $34.99 est; Fabric Strawberry Harness & Leash= $17.99 est; Black Nylon Training Leash= $8.95 est;
All info from Reddit. ✌️

Trying to get rid of some manga. condition varies some brand new, some very used and are priced accordingly.
Open to offers.
Shipping not including. if you buy enough then I will pay for shipping.
Tried to price things best I could if you believe pricing isn't fair and you're interested we can work something out.
Signed Funko! at the bottom.
Thanks for looking!
Photo Link: Images/Proof
Manga Lots 3+ Volumes:
A, A tropical fish yearns for snow vol 1-3 15$
B, Bloody Mary vol 1-4,6 30$
Bride of the water god vol 1-9 90$
C, Chainsaw Man BAM Box set vol 1-4 (With Poster) 20$
D,
E,
F,
G,
H, Hi score girl vol 1-8 50$
I,
J,
K, Kare kano vol 8,11-14 25$
L,,
M, Mashle vol 1-3 15$
N, Naruto Vol 8-10,12-13,26-28,39,41-43,50 (13 Volumes Total) 45$
O,
P,
Q,
R,
S, Shaman King Singles Vol 1,2,2,3,3,5,7,7,8,8,12 6$ Each
T, Testarotho vol 1-4 Complete 30$
The Saviors book Cafe story in another world vol 1-5 Complete 45$
U,
V,
W,
X,
Y,
Z.
Manga Lots with 1-2 Volumes:
A,
A distant Neighborhood Singles vol 1-2 Complete 20$
B,
Beast Complex Vol 1 7$
Blue Period vol 1-2 15$
C,
Citrus vol 1,6 15$
Code Geass vol 1 15$
Captain Harlock vol 2 HC 10$
20th Century Boys Singles vol 2 10$
D,
Dragon Head vol 7 20$
Dragon Ball Z vol 7 4$
Drrr!! Vol 1 7$
E,
F,
Full Metal Panic! Vol 1 8$
Firefighter daigo vol 4 15$
G,
Golden Kamuy vol 1 8$
H,
Happy Mania vol 1 15$
Hells Paradise vol 1 8$
Hi Score Girl Vol 1 6$
I,
Inside Mari vol 9 8$
Iron wok jan! Vol 4 12$
J,
Jujutsu Kaisen vol 1 (Spine Miss Print) 3$
Jing:King of bandits vol 7 3$
K,
Kamisama Kiss vol 7 8$
Kaiju NO.8 Vol 1 8$
Kodocha Vol 5 9$
Knights of sidonia singles vol 4 10$
King of cards vol 4 10$
L,
Look Back vol 1 8$
Lupin 3 Singles Vol 1 12$
M,
Mashima Heros 7$
My Hero academia smash vol 1 5$
N,
Naruto the Official fanbook 6$
Naruto Forever The unofficial Guide 6$
Naruto Full Color Movie Manga 6$ each
Nightmare inspector vol 4 4$
No man's land vol 1-2 Complete 10$
O,
One Piece Gold Foil vol 4 12$
Oh my goddess vol 31 8$
Oh my goddess vol 19,19,19,19 20$ Each
P,
Prison school Vol 14 13$
Phantom Tales of the night vol 1 8$
Q,
R,
Records of Ragnorok vol 1 8$
S,
Sayonara Football Volume 1 8$
Solo Leveling Vol 1-2 26$
sweetness and lightning volume 1 7$
Scums Wish Vol 1 18$
Sweat and Soap vol 1-2 14$
Steins Gate Vol 1 Loot Crate Exclusive 20$
Stellvia vol 1-2 10$
Shortcake cake vol 1 6$
Shaman king omnibus vol 1 10$
Saiyuki vol 1 HC 12$
T,
The Last Uniform Vol 1 10$
Tokyo Knights vol 1 3$
Tokyo tribes vol 3 6$
U,
V,
Vampire Hunter D Vol 2 7$
W,
Wotakoi B&N Exclusive vol 1 10$
X,
Xo Genasys vol 1 6$
Y,
Yowamushi Pedal Loot Crate Exclusive Vol 1 10$
Yakitate!! Vol 6 4$
Yona of the dawn vol 1,34 12$
Z.



Manga Light Novels:
A,
B,
C,
D,
E,
F,
G,
Goblin Slayer LN Vol 1 7$
H,
I,
J,
K,
L,
M,
My Youth Romantic Comedy Is WRONG as I expected Ln Vol 1-2 15$
Monster Girl Doctor Ln Vol 1 6$
N,
Naruto Mission protect the waterfall village! Ln 6$
Naruto Innocent Heart,Demonic Blood Ln 6$
No Game No life LN vol 1 7$
O,
P,
Q,
R,
Re: Zero Ln Vol 1 7$
S,
T,
The Alchemist Who Survived Now Dreams Of Quiet City Life Ln Vol 1-2 15$
The Saga of the tanya of evil Ln Vol 1 8$
The Saga of the tanya of evil Ln Vol 1 8$
Toradora Ln Vol 1 8$
The twelve kingdoms Ln 7$

U,
V,
Vampire Hunter D LN vol 2 10$
W,
X,
Y,
Z.
Signed Funko!
Jiraiya On Toad Hot Topic Exclusive Signed By David Lodge (Long Quote) PSA Cert #73 200$
Ahsoka Amazon Exclusive Signed by Rosario Dawson JSA Cert #467 300$
Photo: images/proof