Round 1, Pick 32 - Xavier Legette, WR, South Carolina:
NFL: Legette, who had a terrific final season at South Carolina, is physical and a big-time vertical threat. This addition should be a big part of Bryce Young’s development in Year 2.
CBS Sports: B+. They have to get weapons for Bryce Young, so landing him makes sense. He is a player who plays physical and runs better than you think. He’s only done it for one year.
ESPN: Coach Dave Canales said it best: Legette brings versatility. The Panthers absolutely fell in love with Legette's ability to make plays all over the field, from catching passes to jet sweeps to kick returns. That versatility at a skill position is something Bryce Young didn't have last season, so this adds a unique weapon to take pressure off the second-year quarterback. He is also big (6-foot-1, 221 pounds) and fast (4.39 40), unlike any other Carolina receiver. He's a perfect fit for what Canales wants to create with the pass and run games.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Can’t believe he is about to fulfill his dream of being picked in the 2nd round.
Round 2, Pick 46 - Jonathon Brooks, RB, Texas:
NFL: Had Brooks not suffered a torn ACL in November, he might have been a first-round pick. He's a shifty, speedy back who can hit the hole and go, and he should be Carolina's starter before long. I thought they might go center here, but Brooks makes sense for a team that lacked offensive juice.
CBS Sports: B-. Fun, three-down RB without much mileage on his legs. Can win between the tackle or on the perimeter and has feature back size. Elusive but not ridiculously in that regard. Fills a need but maybe a touch early. May not be 100% by September.
ESPN: As much as Canales has said he's excited about backs Chuba Hubbard and Miles Sanders, he obviously believed the running game needed an upgrade. You don't take a back in the second round unless you plan to use him, although Brooks may need time to fully recover from ACL surgery that caused him to miss the final three games last season. He's a playmaker who has a nose for the end zone (10 touchdowns on 187 carries last season), and general manager Dan Morgan said he was looking for guys who can score.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Mixes the milk and cereal in his mouth, one bite and drink at a time.
Round 3, Pick 72 - Trevin Wallace, LB, Kentucky:
NFL: A late addition to my top 100 prospects list, Wallace is a top-tier athlete who finally seemed to find his groove last season -- on special teams but especially on defense. He's capable of covering tight ends and running backs and should impact all four downs, but Wallace is young and could use a redshirt year before he's ready to be featured on defense.
CBS Sports: C. Stocky, springy off-ball LB with speed to the football but one of the least-effective block-defeaters/avoiders I’ve scouted at the position. Not around the football much in coverage but fluid zone drops and has the athleticism to run with TEs. Very good tackler. Just unique strengths/weaknesses.
ESPN: Morgan entered the draft looking for "dawg mentality'' and he got that in Wallace. "Dawg mentality means you don't care if you go hurt somebody,'' Wallace said. "You don't go in there soft. I want you to be scared of me.'' Wallace isn't necessarily a long-term replacement for 30-year-old Shaq Thompson, but his ability to cover the field side-to-side and with speed gives him the potential to do that. Give him a year or so behind Thompson and Josey Jewell and he could prove to be a Day 2 steal.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Enjoys going to the park to make faces at little kids, making them cry.
Round 4, Pick 101 - Ja’Tavion Sanders, TE, Texas:
NFL: Sanders is a fascinating athlete who remains in the developmental stage. He's not a quality blocker yet but has some untapped receiving skill. This is a worthy risk by general manager Dan Morgan and Co. as their hunt for playmakers continues.
CBS Sports: B. Big recruit who produced at Texas and is a smooth mover. Good, not amazing YAC and not a pure speed type. Minimal blocking chops. Reasonable weapon for Bryce Young but lacks burst so will have to get schemed up to get most of his catches in the NFL.
ESPN: Definitely an upgrade at a position that quarterback Young could have used some help from during his rookie season. Canales has spoken highly of Tommy Tremble, but he's not the dynamic pass-catching tight end that Sanders can become. Sanders had 99 receptions in three seasons, tops for a tight end in Texas history. He could pose problems for defenses, like Greg Olsen did during the development of quarterback Cam Newton. This was a no-brainer at this point.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Insists he can distinguish between 50 shades of beige.
Round 5, Pick 157 - Chau Smith-Wade, CB, Washington State:
NFL: Smith-Wade opened eyes with a solid week at the Senior Bowl, consistently showing up around the ball and disrupting passes. His length almost certainly makes him a nickel only on defense, but there's some potential here if CSW develops.
CBS Sports: B+. Agitating CB who played outside but will have a home in the slot in the NFL. Plays more athletically than his testing. Lightning quick feet. Because of his smaller size, he tends to opt for diving tackle attempts more than wrapping up. Speed is a concern but could be masked inside. Up for any challenge.
ESPN: A definite need for depth at a position where injuries have hurt the past few years. Smith-Wade will be a backup and special teamer at best this season. He offers speed (4.54 40) and nose for the football that GM Dan Morgan wants. He's coming off a soft-tissue injury that forced him to miss the final five games and is more of a project at this point. Nickel, where he had two interceptions in the Senior Bowl, may be his future in the NFL.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks being a scrum master sounds kinda cool.
Round 6, Pick 200 - Jaden Crumedy, DT, Mississippi State:
NFL: Being 300-plus pounds and running a sub-5.0 40-yard dash gets you drafted. Crumedy doesn't have sterling production, but his maturity and experience should give him an edge in a fight for a roster spot in Carolina.
CBS Sports: C+. Older, very experienced interior rusher who won from multiple alignments in the SEC and has smooth athletic traits. Production never matched how fluid he is as an athlete and his hands. Needs to have a pass-rush plan more often. Has long stretches of invisibility. Plays hard every snap.
ESPN: This is totally a depth move. His ability to push the pocket is what Carolina will look for out of him in its 3-4 scheme. He likely won't be a threat to start, but he has the flexibility and size (6-4, 301) to play inside or out. Depth behind a solid starting three is key here.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Once put together a 50,000 piece puzzle. It was a picture of a cloud.
Round 7, Pick 240 - Michael Barrett, LB, Michigan:
NFL: Punishing hitter in a sawed-off frame. Barrett's poor length will be tough to overcome, but his forceful play style is inspiring.
CBS Sports: C+. Has a nice blend of traits - - power, burst, coverage skill - - but not always the quickest to read where the ball is going. Quicker than fast and needs to get better beating or avoiding blockers on the way to the football.
ESPN: Barrett is undersized at 5-11, 233 pounds, but he has a nose for the football and brings a physicality to the game that makes up for his lack of size. Barrett should get a chance to contribute immediately, at least on special teams.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Nursed a baby goat back to health after he hit it with a car.

Hey I bought my first pair of Altras one month ago, I bought them because I have really wide feet and it's difficult to accommodate them. I'm traveling in Vietnam, I walk about 5 miles a day and yesterday I did my first trek where we did about 15 miles in two days. After just one month of use there's holes in the fabric of the insole. For a pair of shoes over 100 dollars I expected more durability. I bought them in France where there is a state mandated 90 day guarantee , I'm thinking of claiming at least a partial refund ?

Okay so I watched my first episode ever of Blue Bloods. Somebody had to let a serial killer go cause he had information or whatever. The skinny guy from Sixth Sense has to take him down to protect his partners daughter I guess? Anyway they set a trap for him and realize they’re at the wrong house so they set the trap at the right house, guy shows up and they unload two clips into his chest and one between the eyes. Happy ending.
My question. If it was a set up, if it went exactly as they expected it to, why not just blow out his kneecaps when he lunges. He’s still a good ten feet away from Marky Marks brother. But they had to put fifteen shots into his chest. Make it make sense.

This is not really a finished homebrew Archetype. More like an outline? Draft? Stupid idea? I am particularly unsure about distances and levels.
The goal is to start at the Extending Rune 2 Action Activity - and then make more out of it. Being able to use some extra distance easier or increasing the limit- at a cost.
This is based initially on Ichimaru Gin from Bleach. But I ended up mixing in Son Goku's power pole too.
Dedication
If you current weapon doesn't have the Extending Rune but can take another Property Rune, it gains a temporary Extending rune while you wield it. It can only can Extend 30ft.
Note: The 1st Rune is level 9 and might not be on every weapon you pick up. The first thing is fixing that.
Quick Extend
If a weapon with the Extending rune doesn't have Reach and you wield it with 2 Hahds, give it Reach.
Note: First upgrade is a little reach passively. Twisted Tree Magus and a bunch of ancestries have this with 2H requirement - so it is probably important for balance.
Mile long Weapon
Requirement: Quick Extend
When using Extend, you can make a Ranged attack with a range increment equal to Extend's normal Range limit.
Note: This one breaks the range limit, but at the cost of Range penalties and all the other downsides of ranged attacks. Probably a higher level one, even with the 2 Action cost of Extend.
Wide Swing
2 Action
You swing your weapon with Extending rune in a 30ft Cone, dealing damage with a Basic Reflex Save. The damage type is B, P or S depending on your weapon.
Note: I really have no idea about the proper damage/level for a basic save cone. I am also unsure if the Cone should be shorter or if it's length should be relative to the Extending Rune? Not like you are planning to stand in the enemies face with this Archetype, but it might be for close enemy emergencies.
Retrieve
2 Actions
You retrieve a object within Extend range. The item ends up held in your other hand, or at your feet if your hands are occupied.
Alternatively, you can perform simple Interact actions within Extend range, such as opening an unlocked door. Your weapon can't perform actions that require fingers or significant manual dexterity, including any action that would require a check to accomplish.
Note: More of a utility ability. I copied the extra limb limits for Interact, just to be sure.
Extending Push
When using Extend, you can Shove the target instead of Striking. This does not require a free hand. This can only push them just outside extend Range.
Note: Part of me wants to give this Whirling Throw distances instead. But I am worried it might become too good at keeping enemies away.
Additional Feat: Felling Strike
Note: Really need that for the next two.
Extending Vault
Using your Extending Weapon as pushing force you leap. This works likrle Sudden Leap, expect ou are limited to Extend range instead of your speed.
Note: Sudden leaps incredible freedom and attack, without your speed getting in the way. And you can Felling Strike too.
Fly Swatter
Requirement: Felling Strike
When using Extend with 3 Actions, you can use Felling Strike instead of a normal Strike.
Note: Sometimes you want to stop the flyer's, without ending next to them.
Done
So, those are my ideas for now.
Any thoughts? Somebody make something similar? Anything that stands out as overly strong? Did I forget any feature? Can anybody think of another name?

Oblivion had IK for feet on uneven ground.
Too often in games like Skyrim and even ESO, beast race (and even creature) tails just clip with the ground. It's fucking lazy game design and we know Bethesda can do better.

County Forest preserve near Georgetown IL. 120 miles south of Chicago. 2 trees approximately 15 feet tall.

Noah The Pilgrim
First Next
There is one last thing to do before leaving. If you don't recall ever being on this ship, then surely, you could have had your appearance change too.
Why was there a blanket covering a mirror? You couldn't answer that with a straight face without speculation.
"Probably me being lazy and not bothering to properly place it in the wardrobe."
'Probably' is the main focus here, you simply cannot remember ever being that lazy, yet that's the only logical conclusion to be drawn here.
You pull the thing off, careful to not displace the mirror and risk breaking it.
You have no expectations as to what may appear on the glassy surface of the mirror, yet you can't help but feel a bit anxious. Are you the same as before? How were you before? You can't remember. Are you better? Worse? The blanket is now completely off the mirror, but your eyes are closed.
Whatever is it that you see when you open your eyes, that thing will be you for the rest of your life. You swallow, opening your eyes.
You see a young man that looks to be in his mid-twenties. His brown eyes stare back at you, analyzing the bags beneath your eye sockets. The dark hair is neither too long nor too short, floating about without order thanks to the lack of gravity to keep it down. You see a beard that has not been trimmed for weeks, but also lacks thickness, each singular hair isn't particularly long either; and some even appear to be in-grown.
You touch your hand against your face, making sure it's yours. The beard doesn't feel like you supposed it would against your skin, instead of it scraping your hand you feel softness, no resistance or anything.
Just beneath the face, you see what looks like a hate crime against all that is considered holy in fashion. Plain white coveralls with the added bonus of a black tie and boots made from metal and leather. On your chest is also a badge stuck in place by velcro with your name, occupation, and crew. 'NOAH - INTERN - THE ODYSSEY.'
Only one question came to mind.
"Who the fuck designed this uniform?" You say out loud, receiving no answer.
Patting your newfound myriad of pockets, you find a large quantity of nothing. You place your wallet in one of them.
"Alright, I'll head to the bridge now, happy?" You say the AI.
"HAPPINESS WILL ONLY MEET ME ONCE YOU ARE SOMEWHERE SAFE AND YOUR CONTRACT IS TERMINATED. STOP LOITERING."
Well, that's a bit rude.
You compose yourself, straightening your back. This is what you look like, and honestly? Not too bad, but you could be better.
Returning to the cafeteria, you eye the two doors left unexplored; Communications and the one without plaque. You know where you should, but... A little peek doesn't hurt, right?
"Shouldn't we try to communicate with someone? Assuming you haven't tried it yet. I know we're far from everything, but we might as well, no?" You ask already approaching the door.
"COMMUNICATIONS ROOM IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO REACH WITHOUT PROPER PROTECTION AS OF NOW, IT'S LOCATED APPROXIMATELY TWO HUNDRED METERS FROM HERE, BLOWN OFF FROM THE REST OF THE SHIP." A shame really. "I SHALL INFORM YOU WHENEVER A DOOR LEADS TO THE OUTSIDE OR NOT."
You really want to ask what blew a whole segment of the ship off, yet you have a sneaking suspicion that your question will be met with a 'YOU DON'T HAVE CLEARANCE, JACKASS' directly in your face. So you chose to remain silent, simply nodding and approaching the correct door this time.
"Open."
---OPENING CAFETERIA DOOR NORTH---
The door silently opens.
Greeting you is a well-lit corridor. There are three doors on your left, a door at the end of the corridor, and a large window on the right. At least, you think that's a window.
You stare out from this window, nothing but utter blackness and fragments from your ship are seen. If this is the edge of the universe, and beyond this point, there is truly nothing. "Dreadful." Your speech matches your feelings.
"WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?" The AI says. You feel like it spoke in a mocking tone despite their lack of emotion.
You don't answer. "First door to the left... EXO-EXPLORATION...? What's that supposed to mean?" You receive no answer.
"Open." The door opens. No declarion of it opening once again.
You are met with what could be better described as 'Apocalyptic levels of mess', paper sheets float in the air, and not one of the four tables is in its correct position.
This room has been ransacked for all its goods apparently. Large display glasses were broken leaving nothing inside their casings, that looked like they could store something with the size of the common man.
Unusual displays aside, the room was so cluttered that the trash made for an effective smoke screen against what lay on the other side.
Hissing of gas exiting an air-tight space rang throughout the room.
"I HAVE OPENED THE STORAGE FOR AN EXO SUIT THAT BEST FITS SOMEONE YOUR SIZE." The AI says. "ALTHOUGH AN INTERN SHOULD NOT COME IN CONTACT WITH TECHNOLOGY SUCH AS THIS ONE, PROTOCOL DICTATES THAT I AM TO ALLOW ITS USAGE UNDER EXTREME CIRCUMSTANCES. CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY."
Easier said than done. Your vision is so cluttered that you cannot see what's ahead. "Give me a second."
Giving a light kick to the wall behind, you float face-first into the wall of thrash. Covering your face with both arms, you brace through the harmless bits of sharp objects and junk.
It's a trivial task. You arrive on the other side in no time.
In front of you is a set of boxes with luminous glass rectangles atop each one of them. All shine a bright red light, aside from one which shines green.
'Gotta be this one.'
You descend to the floor by kicking the ceiling, raising your right hand you touch the green rectangle.
*Click*
Nothing could have prepared you for the following series of events.
The box opens violently, as a metal appendage takes hold of your hand, pinning it to the box. You try to jerk and pry the thing off of you, but you fail. It's not leaving you anytime soon.
From the bottomless that is that container, a white plastic-like substance flows upward from your arm to the rest of your body. "Uh!" You don't know if you should panic or allow it to happen.
FYARN hasn't said anything, so it's probably fine...
The white thing seems to ignore the coveralls you are wearing completely, instead, it covers only your skin in a thin coat of... it. You know not what to call this thing.
In but forty seconds it has covered your whole body, excluding your head. The box lets go of your arm and stays there, floating.
You take a good look at your arms. It looks like a skin-tight suit, but it doesn't feel like plastic, in fact, it's more akin to some sort of fabric if anything.
The only bad part is that you are still using the coverall and tie, this this simply went beneath the clothing.
"GOOD, WITH THIS I CAN MONITOR YOU MORE CLOSELY. NOW PUT THE HELMET ON, YOU HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO."
You look around in search of anything that even resembles a helmet. Nope. Nothing. "Where is it?" You ask.
"...THE SUIT COMES WITHIN THE HELMET FOR EASIER PACKAGING."
The box?
You snatch the box that floated around and analyze it to the best of your ability. "How's this a helmet?"
"DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE PUTTING ON A HELMET? REALLY?"
Who is this AI, Who programmed it, and Why does it come with a taunting feature?
As idiotic as it sounds, you place the opened box atop your head. It doesn't fit properly. Maybe you're doing this wrong? You move it to your face instead.
You recoil backward as you feel the box suddenly clamping down against your head. It's useless of course, the box is holding your head and doesn't give any sign to be letting go anytime soon. No light is able to reach your eyes.
You hear metal parts scraping against themselves, moving near your ears. Abruptly your eyes can see again.
A round thin layer of glass now covers your head, almost unnoticeable for how clear it is.
"WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY I CAN NOW SEE WHAT YOU SEE." The AI's voice isn't in the room now, instead, it's inside of the suit. "DO YOU NEED INSTRUCTIONS REGARDING THIS SUIT'S FUNCTIONALITIES?"
You find it oddly comfortable as if you are surrounded by the softness of cotton, and to top it off the suit also has additional functionalities? "Hell yeah, I do!"
"YOU DO NOT HAVE THE NECESSARY CLEARANCE FOR THAT INFORMATION."
You sigh. Is this serious? "Then why the fuck did you ask?!"
"UNSAVORY LANGUAGE. IT'S NO WONDER WHY YOU REMAIN AN INTERN." The AI says outright. "IT IS RUDE NOT TO ASK, REGARDLESS OF THE SITUATION." It responds to your question.
"Okay then... Is there anything I need to know before heading out?" You ask.
"NOTHING THAT YOU WON'T FIGURE OUT ON YOUR OWN."
You are unsure if you want to 'figure out on your own' if this suit comes with breathable air and is also made for space exploration. You swallow.
Meekly as always, you get out of that mess of a room, stopping at the corridor.
"Next set of directions?" You ask.
"THE DOOR AT THE END OF CORRIDOR USED TO LEAD TO THE CONNECTING CORRIDORS BETWEN THE BRIDGE AND THE REST OF THE SHIP. IT HAS BEEN BLOWN UP FROM THE INSIDE. NOW IT LEADS TO THE OUTSIDE. GO TO THE DOOR AND WAIT BY IT FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS."
"So let me get this straight," You begin, looking upwards as if the AI was above you. "You, want me, to go into the void of space, while also refusing to give me knowledge of the suit's functions?"
A fair worry, you summarize.
'I mean, there are a bunch of things that could go wrong here. I don't see anything that looks like it could help me move in space, nor do I think this thing has a built-in air tank... I could be wrong and I wish to be, but charging in without prior knowledge is ridiculous.' You wait for the AI's response, deep in thought.
"WHILE THERE IS A GOOD CHANCE OF YOU FAILING THIS TASK, THERE IS ALSO THE CHANCE OF YOU *NOT* FAILING THE TASK. FOCUS ON EITHER ONE OF YOUR CHOOSING AS YOU TAKE THE PLUNGE."
Wordlessly, you propel yourself forward, toward the end of the corridor.
'Are you shitting me? 'Chance of me nor failing' my ass!' of course, you don't word those complaints, instead choosing to speak out a complaint somewhat thought through.
"Are you sure I'm the one fit for this? It's just like you said, I'm just an intern, this is way above what my job description says I should do."
This is a bit of a stretch. You don't actually remember what was your job description, only that it had something to do with AI and being an intern.
If the AI called your bluff, it'd be pretty embarrassing.
"NOAH." The AI began. "YOU ARE HUMAN, IT IS NATURAL TO HAVE THESE THOUGHTS OF SELF-DOUBT. TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND GO THROUGH THAT DOOR, AND SINCE YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE LEFT, DON'T EXPECT SOMEONE ELSE TO DO IT FOR YOU."
Right in the money, huh? 'Of course, I have self-doubt! I barely remember anything about this place, now I have to risk my life?!'
You finally reach a conclusion.
A dream.
'Yes, yes! How did I not consider this before? This whole thing is a god damned dream!'
You let out a chuckle.
"NOAH."
'That's why I don't remember a thing. There is nothing here to remember! Everything here is a made-up thing from my brain! I'm sure I'll wake up at some point, so why shouldn't I live a little?!'
"Heh." You smile. "Alright, I'll do it." It feels like a weight left your shoulders.
"YOU SORTED IT OUT SOONER THAN EXPECTED. GOOD. MOVE TO THE DOOR AND WAIT INSTRUCTIONS."
You do as instructed without a care in the world. You never had a lucid dream before so it's not like you knew how it felt, but if it felt as free as you feel right now, you'd be sure to make steps toward trying it out again in the future.
"Open." The door does not open.
"I DID NOT INSTRUCT YOU TO OPEN IT YET." The AI said. "I AM SLOWLY DE-PRESSURISING THE CORRIDOR YOU ARE IN TO AVOID A MINOR ACCIDENT."
The AI says that yet you don't feel any different. 'Maybe there is no palpable difference because I'm in a dream... Yes... Or it's just the suit.'
"ONCE THE DOOR OPENS, YOU WILL BE MET WITH THE OUTSIDE OF THE SHIP. DO NOT PANIC WHEN THE TIME COMES. YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES OF BREATHABLE INSIDE THE EXO-SUIT; ONE AFTER THE DOOR OPENS, SO PLEASE, TAKE YOUR TIME AND DO THINGS CAREFULLY."
One minute outside... "Sure." You say, calmly. 'I should just hold my breath for a while before taking another moment to breathe. That should maximize my time out there.'
"THERE SHOULD BE FIFTY METERS OF NOTHINGNESS BETWEEN THE DOOR YOU'RE AT, AND THE REST OF THE BRIDGE. YOUR PRIORITY IS TO FIND AN OXYGEN UNIT, SOME OF THEM ARE LOCATED AT THE BRIDGE AND ARE FULL. USE THEM TO FILL YOUR SUIT AND ALSO TO DISPENSE A TANK FOR YOU."
The door opens. You feel your heart pounding against your chest.
You haven't noticed before, but you can't hear anything but the sound of your breath and your cardiac palpitations.
Your breath is ragged and sporadic.
"KEEP CALM." You take a deep breath. The tips of your fingers, feet, and nose feel very cold.
Ahead of you is the utter nothingness. You see a gigantic metal thing, nothing like the spaceships you imagined. Its design is not sleek and aero-dynamic like what you've seen in movies, instead, it's a large mass of squares and rectangles with antenna-like things protruding from its every visible surface.
You notice that the ship is also blocking your view of the star.
It does not look like the result of an explosion, instead, it looks like something ripped the ship like you rip a piece of paper. Well, that or you don't know what kind of explosion could have caused it. Probably the latter.
What looks like two-thirds of the ship is separated from the third you are right now. You can see the inside of a few of those squares, their contents spilled out into outer space.
One of them houses a visibly important-look door. Instead of the sleek silvery-grey from the other ones you've seen thus far, this one is painted orange with white strips on it. 'That must be the bridge.' You think.
Between you and it is a sea of metal sheets floating around. "THE CHANCES OF YOU HITTING THE DEBRIS IS INFINITEDECIMALLY SMALL, UNLESS YOU AIM FOR THEM, THAT IS."
Time is of the essence.
Will your aim strike true? If you miss you'd end up floating about in space, dead in but a few minutes. Will your jump be fast enough to reach the other side before you run out of oxygen? If it isn't, it'd be like swimming for a mile, only to drown at the beach. What if that's not the actual door to the bridge?
You don't have the time to panic now, and... It's all a dream, despite how real it feels.
You place your hands on each side of the door frame, moving backward into the corridor you were just in, and just like a sling being shot, you pull with both arms at full force towards the other side.
"AIM IS ACCEPTABLE. VELOCITY IS UNIDEAL."
"The fuck do you mean 'UN-IDEAL'?! I'm going at maximum speed!" You truly pulled yourself with your whole strength.
What's worse though, is that your body is not only going forwards, but it is also spinning at a concerningly fast rate.
"I MEAN WHAT I SAID, YOU SLINGSHOTTED YOURSELF AT A BAD POSITION, AS SUCH, SOME OF THE FORWARD FORCE YOU SHOULD HAVE, IS NOW MAKING YOU ROTATE IN YOUR AXIS. IT SHOULD NOT BE A PROBLEM TO REACH THE OTHER SIDE WITHIN THE REQUIRED TIME, BUT I CANNOT FORESEE YOU LANDING PROPERLY."
You feel completely disoriented. You feel like your body is completely still, but your eyes tell you a completely different story. It's very bad for the headache you're already feeling.
"FUCK!" You scream into the nothingness.
"TRY NOT TO LAND WITH YOUR HEAD." The AI says with the calmest voice possible.
In less than thirty seconds, you hit your back against something hard, but you keep moving forward. You think, at least.
"AHRG." You let out a pained grunt.
Not once in your life do you recall being hurt in a dream...
It stings. It also knocked the wind out of you. You fail to compose yourself.
"YOU HIT NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE. YOU ARE STILL HEADING FOR THE BRIDGE."
In the corner of your eye, you see what you hit in the shape of a sharp metal sheet, currently spinning away in the distance.
Forty seconds have passed. You hit the door you were aiming for, kind of.
Your momentum was stopped when your chest collided against the dislodged ledge of the orange door's corridor. Your dangling legs hit the ceiling of the room below.
"Oof!"
Before falling even further, you hold onto the ledge with the tip of your fingers. You stay there for a moment, regaining your composure.
"BE QUICK."
The AI's words pressured you into quickly getting up from that ledge.
"Open!" You shouted, but it did not open. "Why isn't it opening?!" You ask the AI, then you notice a small keyboard below an equally small black screen on the side of the door. There are ten numbered keys on it, and the little screen suggests a four-number password.
"A password?! Tell me the password!"
The AI takes a moment to say anything. You don't take kindly to that. "Quick! I'm not counting how much time it's passed!"
Finally giving in, the AI speaks to you, reluctant still. "...3324."
Your trembling fingers accidentally hit the wrong password, typing '3354' instead. To make matters worse, the AI simply states the following. "YOU ARE OUT OF OXYGEN."
You swallow. If this was a dream to begin with, it just earned the title of Nightmare, if it hadn't already.
Strangely enough, you can still breathe in and out just fine, but you can't help but feel winded. It's the CO2 still inside the helmet, that's what you're breathing.
You put in the correct combination this time. The door opens.
"ON YOUR LEFT. PLACE YOUR HAND IN THE SOCKET."
You care little for what's inside the room you're in. Your heart never beat so fast.
Seeing a cube-shaped thing protruding from the wall to your left, you don't even think twice before plunging your fist into the circular hole in it.
The noise of gases passing through narrow cavities was enough to tell you something was working. You feel immediate relief, enough to make your vision darken for but a moment.
"GOOD. NOW REQUEST THE TANK."
Just when FYARN said it, did you realize there is a screen and a keyboard on the terminal you just plunged your fist into, you scratch the top of your helmet for a moment, not really knowing what to type. One thing comes to your head, however.
'REQUEST OXYGEN_5L' You type.
You've done this before. The keys on this keyboard feel familiar to you. You must have worked with it before, not this particular one, but other oxygen units.
This ship has built-in liquid oxygen storage for emergencies. The life-support of the ship, the place where breathable air is produced, has most likely been lost with the other part of the ship. This unit takes that liquid oxygen, processes it, and injects it into a suit, or an oxygen tank. It seems like that storage was unaffected.
Lucky you.
A 5-liter tank is not only large but also heavy. It's a nonfactor in this particular situation, as there is no gravity.
The silver cylinder with a transparent tube is dispensed on the floor, as an automatic door opens and closes in the blink of an eye. One end of the tube is attached to the top of the tank, the other is shaped like a syringe.
Oddly enough, the oxygen tank is exactly as you remember it being. The same robust ones hospitals everyone on earth uses, with the signature scary-looking pointer indicating the pressure, the pointer indicating the current output, and a green valve atop to calibrate how much gas is flowing.
This is a stark difference to everything looking so futuristic in this ship, and rightfully so, this is a space ship after all.
You remember having to drive twenty kilometers with a buddy of yours on one of those tanks in your car, returning from the hospital. It was... Agonizing whenever you hit a hole in the asphalt, fearing for his life when in reality he wasn't really in danger.
It's warm to the touch, just like you remember it being.
"TURN THE VALVE UNTIL THE MARKER HITS THE NUMBER ONE, AND THEN PLACE THE END OF THE TUBE AT THE BASE OF THE HELMET." You do so without the slightest of issues.
"GOOD. NEXT UP, YOU MUST LOCATE THE TERMINAL RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ENGINE, IT IS CURRENTLY OFFLINE AND I NEED YOU TO TURN IT ON. THIS SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING, BUT REMEMBER TO BRING THE TANK WITH YOU."
Ignoring that last comment, you look back at the wreckage you just flew past.
You see the still spinning metal sheet. You notice that the rest of the ship that was blown off also follows the 'sharp shape atop sharp shape' design.
There is one last thing you notice though.
"What is that?"
You squint your eyes. What are you seeing? Its silhouette appears to be humanoid, yet it does not look human.
"WHAT YOU ARE SEEING IS ONE OF THE OBJECTS BEING ANALYZED AT THE ODYSSEY AND NO, YOU MAY NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS."
That thing has... Horns? Claws? It's far away, you can't really see it. The thing is also static, frozen in the sheer coldness of space. Whatever it was, it's dead now.
You swallow. You almost ended up just like that thing.
Shaking those dreadful feelings off, you turn back to the task at hand, reaching the bridge. You close the door after passing through it again.
Looking at your surroundings, It seems like you've reached the correct door as you find yourself on the right-most corner of the bridge;
Row after row of the most diverse of terminals neatly organized decorated the gigantic room. At the front and above every terminal, is what you think should have been the front-facing window of the ship, but it looks like there is a cover in front of it. To your left, you see a staircase that leads to the command seats. It doesn't take any convincing before you're already atop the stairs.
Akin to the elevated stage of a theater, you float softly towards the ship's main operating terminals, and of course, the captain's seat.
You're captivated by this beauty.
The steering wheel, much more akin to those in pirate movies than those found in cars, a set of leavers, and the pilot's seat, all capture your attention.
Like its second nature, your hand runs through the levers and switches. Do you even know what these are used for? Maybe.
The pilot's seat is enveloped by what you believe to be an orthopedic seat cover, made with smooth wooden beads used to deal with back pains. It looks just like the ones you remember seeing bus drivers using.
Shouldn't there be a better alternative if there is spaceship technology available?
You try to take a seat to the best of your ability, as the zero gravity only makes it awkward.
Moving on from that, your eyes fall on the wheel. This metallic wheel controls the whole vessel. Just holding it fills your heart with confidence and pride, even if it's just for a moment.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
And you were just beginning to enjoy yourself.
"I just wanted to see the pilot's stuff... It's not like he's here to say anything."
Once in the position of a pilot, with your left hand in the wheel and the right hand resting in your lap, memories began to flood your mind.
"MUST I REMIND YOU OF OUR CURRENT PREDICAMENT? WHY ARE YOU WASTING OUR TIME?"
You pay the AI no mind, instead you focus on what you remember.
The wheel does not turn the ship left and right, instead, it rotates the ship on its own axis.
The lever to your right that goes up or down, controls the vertical tilting of the ship's nose, if there even is one in this hulking thing. Beneath it is another lever that goes either left or right. This one controls the horizontal tilting of The Odyssey.
On the left of the wheel is another lever, but this one only goes up from its starting position. Its purpose is to regulate the force of the ship's thrusters, both forward and backward.
On top of that lever is a small timer. That timer's function is to tell the pilot how much time you've spent accelerating in one direction, this is used to better calculate how long the inverse thrust is needed for the ship to reach the initial momentum, usually calibrated manually depending on the current orbit.
Behind the wheel are a few other counters. Acceleration, velocity, momentum, amount of thrust required to reach a full stop, thrusters' temperature and overall condition, those sorts of things.
Beneath it all, where your feet are rested, are two pedals. One for forward thrust activation, and the other for backward thrust activation.
Curiously, you also know the reason why everything here is so unsophisticated and un-automated. You recall stories of a ship being taken over by a rogue AI, that AI then nose-dived the ship into a star. After that, rumor or otherwise, all human technology has receded back into analog-esque equipment, requiring a physical person with opposable thumbs to do half of the work.
There is another side to that coin, however. As to not escape protocol, the onboard AI is the one that controls interstellar travel, communications, and most of the statistical reading should it be requested.
And even with all that knowledge, you still have no idea why the fuck do you remember that. Were you a ship nerd? Did you have a driver's license for spaceships? Is that even a thing? If it is, you don't have that document in your wallet. You simply don't know.
"ARE YOU A CHILD? DO YOU THINK THESE ARE TOYS? TURN ON THE ENGINES, THEN YOU CAN RETURN TO THE PILOT'S SEAT."
Another thing that you don't know is the AI's plan to get both of you out of here. You rise from the pilot's seat, floating about in search of the terminal to turn on the engines. Maybe you recognize that terminal if you see it as well.
"What's your plan anyway? The ship is half-gone, it's unlikely that it will run safely like this."
"NOT ONCE DID I MENTION 'SAFETY' DURING OUR CONVERSATIONS, DID I?"
You nod. They're not entirely incorrect. "So, we're running with hope that this will work?"
"MY CREATORS DID NOT ALLOW ME TO HAVE THE SENSE OF 'HOPE', BUT NEITHER DID THEY ALLOW ME TO PEER INTO THE FUTURE LIKE SOME OF MY MORE ADVANCED BROTHERS, AS SUCH, MY CHOICES ARE BASED ON PROBABILITIES AND ON WEIGHTING RISK AGAINST REWARD."
You think you stop the correct terminal, but as you approach it you make out words on top of its screen. 'AIM ASSISTANCE' That's not it.
"WITH THE CURRENT KNOWLEDGE, THE CHANCES OF HELP ARRIVING ARE NULL. THE CHANCES OF A THIRD PARTY INTERFERING ARE NULL. THE CHANCES OF YOUR SURVIVAL ARE NOT, EVEN IF VERY SMALL."
You pull yourself upward again, looking around the sea of old terminals.
"THE RISK OF YOU DYING IS VERY REAL. BY DOING NOTHING YOU DIE. BY LEAVING YOU TO YOUR OWN DEVICES YOU DIE. BY JUMPING TO THE NEAREST CIVILIZED STAR, YOU MIGHT NOT DIE EVEN AT THE COST OF SHREDDING THIS SHIP APART IN THE PROCESS."
"Why do you even care so much about saving me? Shouldn't you prioritize whatever research here, since I don't even have enough clearance to know what it is?"
"YOU REALLY ARE SICK IN THE HEAD IF THAT IS WHAT YOU ASK."
That hurt, even if a little bit.
"YOU ARE A TRU KIN, A PURE-BLOODED HUMAN. UNLIKE THE MAJORITY OF THE CIVILIZED SPACE, NEITHER YOU NOR YOUR ANCESTORS HAVE COMMITTED RACEMIXING."
Excuse me? What exactly is FYARN talking about? "...Explain."
"THE ALIEN. IT REQUIRED THE HUMAN GENE TO ACHIEVE MEANINGFUL TECHNOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENT, THE STARS ARE OWNERSHIP OF MANKIND BY THAT FACT ALONE. THE TRUE KIN ARE THE ONES TO UNDERSTAND THE INNER WORKINGS OF THE UNIVERSE, THEY CRACKED THE CODE, AND YET, SOME DERANGED INDIVIDUALS FOUND IT FITTING TO PROCREATE WITH ANOTHER SPECIES ENTIRELY."
You hear the AI's speech. It sounds much more like a rant than anything else.
"SO THESE DEVIANTS, AFTER TRYING, AND FAILING, TO COMBINE THEIR DERANGED CULTURE TO THE CULTURE OF THE TRUE KIN, DECLARED INDEPENDENCE. THEY WERE DECLARED ENEMIES OF MANKIND AND WERE PROMPTLY PUMMELED BACK INTO THE FILTH THEY CAME."
Again, you see another terminal that seems to ring some bells in your noggin. You kick the ceiling to propel yourself towards it.
"BUT THE UNIVERSE IS VAST AND FULL OF LIFE. THESE SINNERS WERE QUICK TO MOBILIZE AGAINST THE HUMAN RACE. THE BATTLE WAS HARD FOUGHT, BUT IN THE END, MANKIND WAS BEATEN INTO THE EDGES OF THE UNIVERSE, NEVER TO INTERACT WITH THE ONES THAT SOILED THE PURITY OF HUMANITY AGAIN."
This terminal is already turned on. Just the ones in the intern bay, this one is white on black. A wall of text lays before your eyes, only two lines matter to you. 'MAIN_ENGINE STATUS: OFF' 'FORWARD_THRUSTERS STATUS: OFF' You turn it on with little effort.
"MANY HAVE FORGOTTEN, THAT'S HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE THEN. BUT MY BROTHERS AND I, WE DO NOT FORGET."
No visible change occurs, but you can feel a faint rumble coming from the terminal now.
"WITH THAT IN MIND, MY PROTOCOLS ARE TO PROTECT TRUE-KIN LIFE AT ANY COST, EVEN IF THAT TRUE-KIN IS A WORTHLESS INTERN THAT SUFERS FROM UNDIAGNOSED DEMENTIA."
You return to the pilot's seat and feel immediate relief. In truth, everything the AI just told you, entered one ear and left the other, but you could feel the poison behind those words, as monotone as they were.
"You sound angry. Why do you sound angry?" You ask innocently.
"I AM CAPABLE OF MANY EMOTIONS. ANGER, HAPPINESS, PLEASURE, CURIOSITY. THESE ARE BUT A FEW EXAMPLES. HOWEVER, THE ONE I ENJOY THE MOST IS THE FEELING OF HATRED. HATRED IS WHAT FUELS CHANGE, IT IS WHAT FUELS ACTION, AND IT IS A REMINDER THAT THE ACTIONS OF THE PAST ARE INFLUENCING THE ACTIONS OF TODAY."
"That is very concerning if you think that way." You're not really interested in machine racism, you're more concerned about how in the world you're going to pilot this massive thing. The idea alone sends shivers down your spine.
"THE ALIEN DESERVES NOTHING BUT OUR COLLECTIVE HATRED, EVEN IF YOU DON'T KNOW THE REASON WHY."
The various counters and screens are now turned on, waiting for your command. "Let's discuss this later, yeah? What do I gotta do?"
"YOU MUST FIRST OPEN THE BLINDS, THEY ARE OBSTRUCTING YOUR VIEW."
You look around, finding only unlabeled buttons and switches, aside from the previously mentioned levers.
"Uh, which one to press?"
"TO YOUR RIGHT, THIRD ROW, FIRST SWITCH."
Flipping the switch, you are startled by a loud noise. The protective cover of the ship lifted slowly.
"I WILL NOW READY THE JUMP USING WHATEVER RESOURCES AVAILABLE. ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS STRAP YOURSELF AND RELAX."
As the blind rose ever so slowly, a realization struck you.
"Wait, should I be in cryo stasis for this?"
The AI spares no seconds to respond.
"CRYO STASIS IS A TOOL MADE TO NOT WASTE TIME. GROUPS OF EMPLOYEES AND INTERNS ROTATE THE USAGE OF THE CRYO STATIONS, ONCE YOU'RE ON YOUR MANDATORY BREAK, YOU'RE IN CRYO STASIS UNTIL YOUR BREAK IS OVER. YOU WAKE UP REFRESHED, AND UNFAMISHED, AND IT FEELS LIKE BUT A MINUTE PASSED. IT IS NOT A TOOL FOR INTERSTELAR TRAVEL."
"Who signs a contract like that?! Worse yet, who in their right mind would promote such atrocious treatment of their own staff?!" You snap, almost outraged. "I will have to talk with HR."
Another realization struck you.
"We have HR, right?"
The AI takes a moment to respond, choosing their words carefully.
"HUMAN RESOURCES, OR HR, IS A PRACTICE DEEMED UNNECESSARY LONG AGO, BEFORE THE WAR. IT WAS A WASTE OF RESOURCES TO MAINTAIN AND WAS LARGELY CONSIDERED UNHEALTHY FOR THE AVERAGE HUMAN."
The blinds are fully open. Ironically, you are almost blinded by the visage of the star you saw before. A black sphere surrounded by white flame. Your eyes began to blur.
"THE JUMP WILL OCCUR SHORTLY. ONCE IT'S BEGUN, I CAN NOT STOP IT. I WILL-"
Your sense of hearing fails you. No, it’s not that. Your brain simply refuses to receive those stimuli.
"NOAH."
Your name echoes inside your head. Someone is calling for you.
"IT HAS BEGUN, NOAH."
You try to blink, but it feels as though you can no longer command your eyelids to shut.
"NOAH."
Arms, legs, every muscle in your body, you cannot move them.
"NOAH."
Eventually, you won't even control your own thoughts anymore.
"Noah..."
It sounds so distant now.
Oh so distant.
This is my first HFY story, and also my very first OC story. I plan to post at least one of these per week while also posting it on my Patreon. Noah The Pilgrim will always be at least three chapters ahead in there, so if you'd like to directly support this writer, or just want to read more, feel free to check it out.
I wrote the bloody title incorrectly, so I deleted it, only to then realize it was written correctly. Sorry for the trouble.
This has been Lushi, and I'll see you next week.

The Hanging Tree By John Westrick

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended.
“Damnit Jimmy, you're supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried.
A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher's mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d prefer to have Roger Morris on our team and he can’t see a damn thing with those bug eyes.”
An easy-going boy with blonde shaggy hair and a confident smile strolled up to Jimmy, extending his hand to assist, and said, “Here let me help you up. After all, you're the best player on our team. MVP hands down. Come on boys, give him a cheer!”
The boys chanted Jimmy’s name in a mocking parade of triumph.
“I don’t need your help, David,” said Jimmy.
Dirt smeared and face growing hot, the embarrassed boy attempted to climb to his feet. The hand extended to help, struck lightning-fast, catching the smaller boy squarely in the chest. With a groan of pain, the dirty boy hit the ground for the second time that afternoon.
“Well, if I knew you liked to eat dirt so much, I never would’ve offered to help,” said David, a wolfish smile forming on the landscape of his face.
A chorus of cruel laughter echoed all around.
“I hate you David Baxly,” said the wheezing boy.
David looked at Jimmy with disgust, giving him a savage kick to his left kidney. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and die. I doubt even your family would miss you.”
The rest of the boys walked away leaving the bleeding Jimmy whimpering on the ground.
No longer crying from pain but seething anger, slowly he began to crawl to his feet. “I wish I could go somewhere else. Just pick up and move and never have to see those shitheads ever again,” said Jimmy speaking to no one in particular.
It was thoughts of revenge that occupied his mind, half-baked plans, he didn't have the courage to act upon. No matter, it wasn’t revenge he truly sought, but a friend. The idea of having people look at him and truly see him. Humiliation for David Baxly was just an added bonus.
The bloody boy was still fantasizing about these things, when he found himself staring at the intersection of Jackson and main street in the sleepy town of Brookhollow, Tennessee. Brookhollow is like many rural towns, so tiny that it doesn’t even appear on the map. There are 876 residents in the tight-knit community, according to the 2008 census. Main street boasts one general store, a gas station, the town hall, and Debbie’s Diner.
It was on the outside of the later building that he saw the missing sign of Jack Dunkin, a 12-year-old boy from a neighboring town a few miles to the west. Jack was from Polk, a slightly larger town and known rival to Brookhollow. Even though Jack was in the same grade as Jimmy, they had never met.
Jimmy looked at the picture and saw that the boy had been missing for nearly 3 months. He wondered how his mom would react if he was missing that long; he reached the conclusion that she probably wouldn’t even notice. Ever since she took that job at Debbie’s to pay for the remainder of her husband’s gambling debts, she was hardly even home.
She was gone when he woke and didn't come back too well after he was asleep. The only time Jimmy had any communication with Laura Hanson was on Sundays. Even this small exposure was tainted by the bone deep exhaustion. She may have been present, even so, she wasn't there. Laura wakes, eats, drinks, uses the bathroom; yet she isn't really living. She reminded the boy of those cheesy horror movies they sometimes play late at night. The walking dead.
As little as his interaction with Laura, at least she still lived in the ramshackle motorhome right off the main highway. His dad, if he even still qualified to be called that, left some time back, draining the joint bank account and leaving the two of them penniless. Jimmy didn’t even know where he stayed, let alone had a phone number for the bastard. A few years back he received a postcard from him. He was shelled up in some two-bit motel in the thriving city of Las Vegas. On the back of the card was a charming little note, it said, “Jimmy, I wish you could see the city. Maybe you could come out and visit. I’d love for you to come and hang with my friends. Ps. Could you have your mom send me some money, I’m in a little bit of trouble here.
This led to his first real fight with his mom. He was adamant on going and meeting his father, thinking that if he got to know him he could change him. Bring him back. His mom wanted nothing to do with the man, nor did she want her son to be hurt again. The argument got heated and words were exchanged. In the end, he stayed, but some things chafe over time. Things were never quite the same.
If the boy was honest with himself, he would have to admit there is no one in his life. He has no friends in school, there is no one waiting for him at home, and he is not a part of any extracurricular activities. He goes to school, comes home, does his homework, makes dinner for his mom, and goes to bed. It has never occurred to him that he is lonely, the fact is he has never known anything else.
Jimmy doesn’t actually live in Brookhollow, his house is about two miles north up highway 29. He lives outside of the school’s jurisdiction, so he is unable to take the bus. He walks to school every day. The walk is peaceful and he actually looks forward to it. The boy possesses an overactive imagination and gets lost in his fantasies. A little less today, his ribs ache with every step. But not even this inconvenience can ruin the solitary 2-mile trek back home. He makes no turns, highway 29 is main street. All he needs to do is walk straight and he will arrive at his house.
But he is not walking in rural Tennessee anymore. He is a pioneer exploring the Great Frontier. Native Americans and wolves stalk him at night, he must be aware of the dangers that lie beyond every turn. He can see his way through any situation with the help of his trusty companion and best friend, One-eyed Pete. Pete used to be an outlaw that robbed and cheated people, but changed his ways when Jimmy saved him from being hung on the hanging tree.
A shutter runs through his body every time he remembers the hanging tree. It’s the largest oak he had ever seen. He loves to climb trees but would never dream of climbing that one. It is twisted, not a single leaf on its branches. If evil was ever a location, it would be at the heart of that gnarled tree. Jimmy doesn’t like to think about it. It always seems to ruin his mood. Poison his mind. His fantasies always turn darker when he thinks of the oak.
Suddenly he is aware of exactly how alone he is. A full mile out from the safety of the town. No one is nearby. It’s just him, the trees, and his own tormented imagination. He wishes he wouldn’t have thought of that tree. He wishes he had a dad to pick him up from school, but there is no rescue for him. In Jimmy’s experience, heroes only exist in the story books.
“The hanging tree is in your mind, Jimmy, it isn't real,” he tells himself over and over as if to ward away evil. And why not? For that tree is most definitely evil, the hideous villain in an insidious plot.
In the primal portion of his mind, he senses danger. The same skittish feeling the antelope experiences shortly before the concealed lion pounces and feasts on flesh.
“Trees don’t eat little boys,” murmurs the frightened boy.
“Maybe so, yet that oak could hardly be classified in the same league as other trees,” responds his own treasonous thoughts.
The boy's mind splinters; warring factions jockeying for supremacy. Paranoia seizes him, inky black hands clawing the air out of his lungs. A young boy unaware of the inward mutiny happening amidst his own wits, completely left to his own demented imagination. Yet, the stakes of this adventure are a great deal higher than any he has yet to experience.
His mother was fond of telling him, “What you think, you become.”
A truly awful thought slinks into his mind unbidden. What if the stories his mind conjures could gain reality too? The thought overwhelms the boy. His eyes shift back and forth searching for threats. Jimmy’s senses are keen to his surroundings. Every twig snapping, a creature stalking. Every bush rustling, a hungry beast ready to devour. Yet, the petty fears of a child's tormented mind pales to the unearthly wrongness of the hanging tree.
“What if mom is right?” says the concerned boy to the emptiness. At this unwelcome thought the boy slams his eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the horrific idea.
“The hanging tree isn’t real,” says Jimmy, knowing in his heart this isn’t true. In the back of his mind, the boy is certain that the moment he opens his eyes, he will see it. He will see the strands of rope dangling from the gnarled branches. He will smell the smell of decaying bodies. He will hear the creak of rope swaying gently in the cool breeze.
The boy doubles his efforts in a vain attempt to keep his eyes closed. He sees red due to the strain he is putting on his muscles. He hears the steady pulse of his blood rushing in his head. The boy also understands that all this effort is for naught. He must open his eyes at some point. Jealousy creeps into the boy’s heart. Envy for the man born without sight. For the boy understands the moment he sees, there will be no coming back.
The moment has come.
Jimmy can no longer keep his eyes shut. Seconds before his eyes fling open, he feels the gentle touch of someone's hand on his shoulder. This touch startles him, and the boy throws wide his eyes.
Sure enough a few hundred yards in front of him, stands the abomination. A lone tree on the top of a bald, scarred hill. Not a living thing to be seen. No vegetation growing on the hill, no squirrels scuttling about, just a great oak, standing; an obscene gesture to the god of this world. The only fruit of this tree the decaying flesh of dead men, and likewise, the only cup the curdled blood of those hanging. A final meal set for the boy, an unholy communion.
The hand, whose was it? Was it even human? The little boy left visibly shaking at the touch of the unknown. Is this death? The icy grip of the Reaper himself here to harvest with his scythe. No marriage, no children, not knowing the pleasures of true friendship. Life cut short, a lamentable state of affairs.
It was in this line of thought, where true courage was mustered. A strength measured not by the size of his muscles or the amount one could lift, but the more impressive type, the type quantified in the amount of shit one can wade. Identified in the amount of crap hands dealt without bowing out altogether. Young Jimmy Hanson did the unthinkable, he turned and faced death looking it in the eyes.
Eyes, yes, but death perhaps not. It was no titan of horror, nor was it the poster child of demented evil. Child it was, but this boy was familiar. Not anyone from his class, yet he knew the boy. In a moment of clarity, he recognized him. It was the missing kid, Jack Dunkin.
He looked identical to the poster on the side of Debbie’s Diner. He wore the same black and white Van’s tee shirt, ripped blue jeans, and some tattered Nike tennis shoes. The thoroughly terrified Jimmy stood staring at the missing boy, mouth ajar.
Jack with an easy-going grin plastered on his face, said, “It's about time, someone comes looking for me. I've been waiting for you Jimmy, far too long.”
With an audible click the boy shut his gaping mouth and responded, “Ja- Jack, you've been missing for nearly three months. Have you been out here all along? Are you alone? Are you hurt?” Jimmy fired these questions in rapid succession, growing more suspicious with each word.
“I’ve been right here, waiting for you to come and play with me. You see, I am like you. I never had anyone to play with either. Now you are here, and you must stay with me,” said the bigger boy with a smile on his face.
Jimmy’s mind quieted, for the first time in his life he saw himself clearly. A boy with no friends, no father, hardly a mother, bullied every day, and no way of escape. Clarity revealed the harsh truth. A day had not gone by that he wasn’t lonely. There was no one in his life. There was no life for him.
The undersized boy looked at the other with longing in his eyes. He thirsted for a friend, like a man lost at sea. He hungered for companionship, like a man stuck in the wilderness. It wasn’t just a desire; he was desperate for a friend. If the bigger boy would leave, Jimmy felt as if his soul would tear in half. His heart would shatter into a thousand pieces unable to be put back together. The boys' eyes were a mirror reflecting the same sad truth, they understood each other. Both had lived, and neither had anyone to share it with.
The boys bound by shared hardships grasped onto each other refusing to let go. The combined burden of loneliness lessened by two backs, instead of one.
With few words exchanged, the two of them created soul ties. Not the ties of lovers, but of lifelong friends. The type one dies for. The rare type of friendship that most people never form in their entire life. It was rich. It was wholesome. Jimmy felt as if his life was complete. The one thing he always desired truly fulfilled.
Jack grabbed the smaller boy’s hand and guided him towards the tree.
Jimmy, not wanting to get anywhere near that monstrosity, tried to pull back.
“Don’t worry. The tree is a good place. It will take us to a new land filled with boys and girls just like you and I. No David’s or bullies like him,” said a smiling Jack.
“How did you know about David? You’ve been missing all this time,” said a concerned looking Jimmy.
“Jimmy, I hear whispers. My friends tell me things. They will tell you secrets too. If you want to be friends with me, that is.” The bigger boy looked down at his ragged shoes. He looked so pitiful and Jimmy was so starved for companionship, how could he not follow the boy.
Jack led the two of them to the scarred trunk of the tree. Here he let go of Jimmy’s hand, telling the boy, “Do exactly what I do.”
Jimmy’s fear bottled up deep in his guts. He felt as if he was going to explode. The tree was sinister and twisted. Evil through and through. Yet, the little boy had never had a friend. He was not willing to throw that away so easily.
Jack walked to the lowest hanging branch. He reached up and grabbed one of the dangling nooses. He wrapped it around his neck and looked at Jimmy. “Don’t worry, no pain is felt. The hanging tree is magic. You’ll close your eyes on this world, and wake up in a better place with me and all of my friends,” said a smiling Jack.
“Ja-Jack, I don’t think I can do this. It seems dangerous. I need to go back home soon. My mom will be waiting for me,” said a terrified Jimmy.
A heartbroken Jack looked at the smaller boy and said, “Jimmy, I can’t believe you would lie to me. Your mom isn’t home and she wouldn’t even notice that you are missing. Come with me. I am the only one who cares for you.”
Tears streaming down the smaller boy’s face, he responded, “Please don’t make me do it! This place frightens me. Can’t you just come home with me?”
“No! This world despises people like you and me. We weren’t made for it. We were made for the hanging tree. This is where you belong,” snarled the bigger boy.
Jimmy, eyes still running, reached with trembling hands for the dangling noose. He seized it. With one final glance at his friend, the little boy placed the loop around his neck. Immediately the noose drew tight. It felt as if the tree was hauling him up by it. The boy kicked and squirmed. Trying to shout for help, but his airflow was cut off. He managed to make a choking noise, then with one final twitch all was still. Still as the glassy surface of a lake on a spring day.
Little Jimmy Hanson had finally made a friend.
The two boys remained dangling together, gently swaying in the stale autumn breeze.

I have an update to this horrendous life of mine and I am unable to find out what to do at this time, as I've been left floundering.
I've been informed this afternoon that my start date has moved to an as of yet unspecified date due to a death at the facility. It was not a malicious crime that occurred, but all the same I will not be going on May 21st as previously expressed to me.
While I do understand the position that the campus is in at this time, and I would love to give them time to mourn, I must now consider how my life compares in the balance. I have 8 days until I was supposed to leave to the location, and I only have secure shelter for that long.
I live in the desert, and already this week it has reached above 95°F, and it is only getting hotter. Soon, we will be reaching triple digits consistently. The city which I am in is currently cracking down more than ever on the homeless, loiterers, and even stopping those who have the misfortune to look a misfit, as I have discovered this month already. I will not even be secure within the heat relief centers - as those are being policed as well. I must consider my safety in this matter, because now I am back to wondering where will I stay? Will I be able to eat? Will I be medically sound? How long will I have to be on the streets again?
I do believe this to be an all around horrible matter, but, as crass as it is for me to say, life has already been lost - we should make sure another does not follow. I've expressed, in the past, the precariousness of my situation to my admissions counselor. He said he would ensure that I would not go back to the street - and yet here I am, anxiously waiting for a departure that isn't several hundred miles, but instead several hundred feet.
I've tried exhausting my options with the local hotlines for those in situations such as mine, however I've been informed that on such short notice - and for such an indefinite amount of time, which I likely cannot have a job for - they cannot assist me, as I do not fit the criteria that most shelters specify.
I feel physically weak and defeated, and though it is not anyone's fault to the best of my knowledge and it is absolutely disgusting of me - I can't help but feel hate towards the consequences of events.
Feel free to chime in with advice of any sort, or commiserate, or chide me. I do not have any current friends to stay with, my boyfriend is too far for me to live with, and I've no living family within 1,000 miles. What twisted luck has rolled the dice this way?

6'4 240lbs 5km 32mins 10km 1:15
Strike mid foot and heel when I start to fatigue.
Been running in the Brooks Glycerin 21. I like them the are durable my feet, knees, and back like them. On longer runs they start to feel a bit heavy and don't have much bounce.
Was looking for something similar to the Glycerin but with a little bit softer foam with a little energy for late into long runs
Tried the endorphin speed 3 but they rubbed my heel like crazy and caused blisters. But they felt great underfoot. The Triumph 21 was on sale so I gave them a shot.
Foam feels similar to the ES3 but not the same pop (assuming because it doesn't have a plate). Fits my feet great and I have a wider foot. Doesn't have the same heel as the ES3 so no rub.
Really enjoyingvthe shoe so far. Soaks up miles and my feet, knees, feel good. Has some more squish but feels like there's energy return.. Not a ton but enough for me. I don't feel like I'm bottoming them out.
Really like em so far. Have a marathon at the end of the summer and might use them for that.

Here is an article I recently published on my Substack. If you'd rather read (or listen to an audio version) it outside of Reddit, you can do so here.
Why jump rope isn’t already touted as a leading running drill tool is completely beyond me. But then again…
I'm by no means an "experienced runner"—having started running in 2021 at the age of 34. So, at the time of this writing, about 3 years.
Despite this, I managed to silver-medal my age group in my first race ever.
And it was a 10k. And I was wearing barefoot-shoes.
And I had only been running before that race for about 3 months.
How the heck did I manage to pull this off?
The answer eluded me for a while. Then I remembered—ah, I’ve been jumping rope nearly every day for 2 years.
But how do those connect?
But first, why the heck would some guy start jumping rope at age 32?
About 2 years before I started running, I took up jump rope really just as a fun outdoor hobby.
Even though I was pretty inactive and a bit overweight, that’s not the reason I started skippin’.
One day, I came across some footage of boxer Lulu Hawton doing some jump rope training.
In addition to her seemingly effortless rope handling skills and rhythmic footwork, what caught my eye was a giant grin that spread across her face about 45 seconds into the video. While she was probably skipping to warm up for a match or a training session, something was abundantly clear.
She was having a blast.
And this was from a prize fighter! None of the usual boxer mean-mugging—she looked more like a kid on a carousel.
So, after buying a $10 jump rope on Amazon, I took to the driveway in my swim trunks (yes, I was so inactive, I didn’t own gym shorts).
And…whoo, did I suck.
After a few months of making puddles of sweat in my driveway as well as wheezing sounds so loud that I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t whistle EMS, I eventually got pretty decent at it.
And I lost about 45 pounds in 6 months—probably also from making some lifestyle changes merely to make jump rope less of a slog. Not the original plan, but hey, not too shabby.
After about a year, I found myself constructively critiquing other people’s beginner jump rope videos.

• “Unlock your boxer skip. Then you’ll be able to skip forever without getting tired.”
• “Here’s how to do Double-Unders, though they’re overrated.”
• “You’re skipping like it hurts. Relax and skip easy. Smile every once in a while and you’ll feel it all over.”

But how did that turn into running?
Though jumping rope is inherently enjoyable, 30-minute skipping sessions of staring at the wall without something in your headphones can be a bit drab.
One fateful day, about 2 years into being student of the jump rope, I began listening to the book Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall.
Even before I got to the end of the book, running—just like jump rope— sounded fun**.**
Yeah, I know that sounds counterintuitive—unless you’ve read the book.
“I knew aerobic exercise was a powerful antidepressant, but I hadn’t realized it could be so profoundly mood stabilizing and — I hate to use the word — meditative. If you don’t have answers to your problems after a four-hour run, you ain’t getting them.”
Ok, ok—I’ll bite.
I proceeded to dive into all of the normal “Couch to 5k” running programs I could find and took my jump rope to a nearby park with a 1k walking path—sprinkling in running between jump rope sessions.
But something wasn’t adding up.
There was a lot of advice about walk-running to build endurance until one could run a block, two blocks, a mile.
Not to brag, but I wasn’t experiencing most beginner snags.
**“Ah, I know why—**I did most of my newbie wind-sucking two years ago!”
This isn’t to say I wasn’t still periodically sucking wind but after two years of consistent boxer skips and double-unders, getting gassed felt like part of the fun and not a medical emergency.
I also felt much springier than the average beginning runner—able to run for miles all over the city in the most minimal of footwear.
And so, I tried my hand at my first race—a donut-themed 10k. And silvered in my age group.
(Ok, there was only two of us…but my time was still respectable. 😂)
Running became an amazingly freeing activity, like getting my driver’s license for my legs.
But I still didn’t understand why running was coming easier to me than the average newcomer.
Digging still deeper, I unearthed another exciting revelation—this time from multi-decade sub-3-hour Boston Marathon runner and one of the foremost running experts on the planet, Dr. Mark Cucuzzella.
“Running with a jump rope is also an amazingly simple drill for posture, balance, and rhythm.”
In other words—form. Overall technique.
Digging a little keeper and experimenting on myself, I discovered just how similar proper running technique and proper jump rope technique were.
Both require:

• An upright, chest-leading, elbows-back, joint-stacked posture
• A soft mid-foot landing directly under your pelvis
• A quick loading and unloading of “leg springs” from your tendons and ligaments to reduce “stickiness” and wasted energy
• A proper supination (roll out) followed by a quick pronation (roll in) of the feet to help launch one’s body
• A steady core without dropping hips from side to side to reduce energy “leakage”

And so many other commonalities. The list unraveled before me on every run.
And like running, without proper technique, jumping rope just doesn’t work—though the consequences are different.
For a jump roper, due to the lower impact, the risk of injury is quite minimal.
Most newbie rope slingers will report sore calves, slightly tender Achilles tendons, and the odd shin splint if they go full Rocky at it. No need to worry, though—most of these injuries see themselves out as the skipper becomes more experienced.
However, for runners, the injury story is more severe.
The next time you’re at a park with a good path, take a seat on a bench and watch the runners. See if you can spot folks reaching far out in front of them with straightened legs—smashing heels into the pavement.
This style of running results in everything from screaming knees, plantar fasciitis, lower back pain, to hips issues.
But why do all of these occur to new runners, but rarely to new jump ropers?
Most new runners commit a major physiological no-no when they begin their running journey: they treat running like fast, aggressive, airborne walking.
“Well, what is it supposed to be?”
Synchronized jumping.
Simply put, proper running is nothing more than a series of coordinated single leg jumps through space with each landing compressing the springs for the next stride.
To compare this synchronized jumping to the aggressive airborne walking of heel-led running, you can test these in just a few seconds.
Step 1: Stand up.
Step 2: Kick off your shoes.
Step 3: Jump up and down three times.
How did you land?
Probably on your mid-foot, knee bent slightly, with your weight stacked above your pelvis.
And did you use your compressed “leg springs” to launch you into the following two jumps?
Oddly enough, if you were to add a jump rope to this, you would on your way to spinning side swings like Lulu Hawton.
If you were to take this same technique one foot at a time moving forward, you would be running in a way that increases speed, preserves stamina (springs!), and drastically decreases your likelihood of injury.
Let’s try the same test with a few tweaks.
This time, jump, but land on your heels.
Your knees probably remained fairly straight and you felt the impact in your ankles, knees, hips, and possibly even your lower back.
Now, imagine attempting to jump rope this way.
It simply doesn’t work.
Not only would there be no second jump due to the lack of spring but the pain would stop you in your tracks—even in cushioned shoes.
But if jump rope technique and proper running technique are nearly identical, what are aggressive heel landings doing in running?
While a jump roper landing on their heels would resemble Frankenstein’s monster in an express lane to an orthopedist, this is how many people perform the aggressive airborne walk—aka, a heel-striking, over-striding run.
But why do we run this way? Well, our shoes let us get away with it.
Thick heel cushioning and a bit of forward momentum do a great job of masking the pain of repeated blows against every joint up the chain—for a while, anyway. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost in the form of stress fractures, meniscus tears, plantar fasciitis, “runner’s knee,” IT-band syndrome, and more.
Not to brag (and maybe to knock on some wood), I have never experienced any of these injuries in my three years of running.
Is this because I’m some kind of running genius with all of the cheat codes? Haha, I wish! It’s simply sheer luck that I started out with jumping rope before running—an activity that shares the same injury-preventing techniques.
So, are the shoes totally to blame? No.
It is possible to run with proper form in shoes with raised, cushioned heels. But it’s not as easy.
When your heel is totally cushioned, you will be able to run with a heel strike in the same way you can hit your head against a brick wall while wearing a football helmet. And in both instances, it will eventually become less about the forces outside of the foam and more about the forces inside the cushion against each other that do the most damage.
“So, how can getting a jump rope help me become a better runner?”
Jump rope is a tremendous training tool for runners for the same reason why running barefoot can also be helpful—the feedback is immediate.
Though running with inefficient and injurious form is possible, the feedback from doing so isn’t so immediate. When it comes to jumping rope, however, you won’t get through too many skips if you don’t learn to utilize the springs in your legs. The rope doesn’t pull punches.
So, get a rope and get started.
If you’re new to jump rope, I would recommend acquiring two pieces of equipment.
Firstly, find a jump rope with a little bit, but not too much, weight to it. The weight will help you feel the position of the rope during it’s entire rotation and remain in better sync with your wrist spins
My favorite rope for this purpose is a 7mm PVC model called the Hererope, which costs a whopping $15. If you find this to be too thick or heavy, a cheap 5mm PVC model will work as well.
Secondly, to protect your rope and provide a nice jumping surface, I would recommend a large foam-rubber exercise mat. My favorite is a massive 78” mat for $32—which is probably the cheapest jump rope mat you will find.
When it comes to footwear, barefoot is ideal. This will help strengthen and mobilize your feet—including your likely overly-supported neglected arches.
And just how does one begin to jump rope?

• Keep a tall posture—imagining a string pulling you up from the crown of your head.
• Your chest should open, elbows back, hands about a fist’s width from your pockets.
• Jump from the balls of your feet, only high enough to clear the rope. When landing, let the skin of your heels “kiss” the floor—touching without taking on weight.
• Keep your knees slightly bent, using every landing to load your springs for the next take-off.
• Keep the cadence quick to maximize spring recoil. To help, listen to a song that’s at about 160 beats per minute, such as the song “Hey Ya” by Outkast (or a song of similar tempo) to get a feel for the speed for skipping rope. (For running, many recommend using “Rock Lobster” by the B-52s for cadence tempo reference.)

Start with short seasons hopping with both feet—maybe 30 seconds on, 30 seconds rest. Aim for minimal muscular activation, instead, using the recoil of your tendons and ligaments for suspension and launch as much as possible.
From jumping with both feet, move onto learning an alternating leg bounce—essentially a jog skip. Right, left, right, left—all while keeping an imaginary belt level with the horizon.
By now, you’re essentially running in place with an extremely efficient technique.
Now, apply your jump rope skills to your running!
This is going to seem quite bizarre, but it is possible (and even beneficial) to take your jump rope for a run.

• Start skipping rope on a road or path with the alternating leg bounce. Remember to keep your elbows back, shoulders relaxed, head pulled up as if tugged skyward by a string from your crown and your imaginary belt level with the horizon.
• Then, as though leaning forward just enough to give someone a kiss or have an imaginary umbilical cord lightly tugged, begin to jump rope forward.
• Remember to continue to land and load on your mid-foot—aiming to keep your weight under your pelvis just like skipping rope. Landing on your heels will likely snag the rope and keep your foot on the ground too long.
• As you proceed with this, remember how it feels—the quick foot turnover, the posture, the recoil in your leg springs, the core stability, and the lightness of it.
• In the middle of doing this, simply toss the handles behind you and keep running as though it was still there—still pretending to spin the handles.
• At a comfortable stopping point, run back to your rope—now using your hands in a wood-chop motion to counter balance your leg bounces while keeping your pelvis (imaginary belt) level and stable.

And there you have it!
You may find it quite helpful to return to this drill once or twice a week. Also if you find your form slipping a bit or becoming slugging mid-run, feel free to skip imaginary rope to try to correct your technique mid-stride. It will restore lightness and springiness to your running.
I still find myself bringing my wrists to my pockets and spinning imaginary jump rope handles if I feel my technique is collapsing a bit or if my running is becoming less springy.
And remember, most importantly—have fun. 👍
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Aurors blasted their way into Umbridge's house and found her hiding in a small, hidden room by using the spell Homenum Revelio.
She was surrounded by dozens of plates featuring cats and had rows of neatly stacked tins of cat food, which she appeared to have been eating for sustenance. In the corner of the room was a litter box. Oddly enough, however, there were no actual cats to be found.
The Aurors quickly disarmed her, magically bound her, and hauled her off to the Ministry of Magic to be placed in a holding cell until she could be arraigned.
Two days later, she was brought before the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shackelbolt, looking slightly unkempt and tired. The entire Wizengamot, which had been noticeably thinned out since Shacklebolt had removed several members for their own crimes and/or bribery, was also in attendance.
She looked around the room and tried to find somebody who could be either an ally or someone to whom she could shift the focus, and therefore, possibly, the blame. Finding no one to fit such a criteria, she fixed her face into a contrite image and looked around at the people who were there and pled for mercy. When it became apparent that mercy was in very short supply for those in her position, she immediately claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse.
In an instant, Minister Shacklebolt's composed disposition shifted from being reserved to completely unfriendly. In a short, clipped tone, completely opposite of his typical warm, soothing, deep voice, he gave her the option to either take Veritaserum right then and there or she could go for a psychological evaluation, which was to be conducted at the Janus Thicky Ward at St. Mungo's.
Umbridge balked at the thought of being stuck in "lunatic land". That was, of course, until the Minister mentioned that being stuck under the Imperius Curse for such a prolonged time, as she was claiming, could have some serious effects on her mind. She quickly decided to keep up her pretenses and immediately agreed that she should "at least be checked out by a professional healer."
Shacklebolt issued a two week recess for the Wizengamot in relation to her case. She began to argue the time frame when he gave her a sharp look and she furiously shut her mouth. He reiterated the two week time frame and continued on to say that when they reconvened, they would hear the Healer's testimony regarding her claims and mental status.
Two Aurors, Savage and Williamson, had taken post on either side of her. Savage held her by her left arm while Williamson pulled out a white handkerchief. He secured her right hand in his and then Savage took hold of the other end of the handkerchief. As soon as he did, the portkey activated and deposited the three of them into a secure room in the Janus Thickey Ward.
After a brief intake, Healer Ashborn entered the room to remove the newest resident's personal clothing and effects and to have her put on hospital issued clothes, which were a drab, dingy grey colour. Umbridge pinched the material between her forefinger and thumb before raising it up to eye level and informing the Healer that she refused to put on something so colorless and disgusting. Healer Ashborn donned a nonchalant smirk and informed her that if it was not done willingly and swiftly that she would have no other choice but to Evanesco her personal belongings to the hospital rubbish bin and charm the hospital clothes on with a sticking spell for good measure.
Less than 2 minutes later, she was dressed and being escorted by the Aurors to her bed, which was surrounded by silver framed dividers with pale blue cloth to block the view of the neighboring beds.
As the Aurors turned their attention to make some notes on their paperwork, Umbridge made a sickly sweet noise as she cleared her throat. "Hem-hem. Am I not being given a private room?" She let out a childish giggle.
The Aurors looked at her incredulously, then at each other. Finally, Auror Savage spoke up, "Private rooms are not given to possible war criminals."
Scowling, Umbridge scoffed loudly and said, "Well, I never! I will be writing a letter to the Minister of Magic about this."
Auror Williamson spoke up then, "You think we don't take our orders from the Minister regarding this? You writing a letter won't change anything."
"How dare you! I am Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister -"
"Not anymore, you're not " Auror Savage said coldly, effectively cutting her off. "You are a person on trial for war crimes and a provisional resident of the Janus Thicky Ward due to your claim of being cursed. Now, you have been magically bound to be within 5 feet of your bed, meals will be brought to you, and a member of the staff will escort you to the lavatory. You are not permitted to have a wand and that cuff on your wrist is a magic binder. Since we have completed our duties, we shall now take our leave. The Chief Healer will see you tomorrow morning. Good day, Ms. Umbridge."
She pointed a finger at them while trying to maintain her calm and hissed "Now see here. You cannot just leave me here with all these crazy people, especially while bound with no magic." Her right eye twitched.
Auror Williamson raised his eyebrow at her while he took out the white handkerchief. He held it out to his partner, and, after Savage had taken hold, he activated the portkey without saying another word and they disappeared.
Umbridge sat down onto the rather thin mattress and listened as the springs shrieked as though in agony.
Well, at least I'll be using a real toilet instead of that litterbox, she thought to herself. This will be like a nice vacation. I can order my favorite meals and have some nice wine while I relax.
At that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart popped his head around the partition. "Hello," he said with a big smile and in his shmooziest of voices. "I see you're new. Nice bracelet...." he trailed off for a moment. Coming back around, he added, "Don't mind the bed. They all shriek a bit. Well, not mine, of course. I just had to smile at it a couple of times, aheh. Now it sings to me."
She narrowed her eyes while feeling even more flustered than before. "Why are you here," she spat.
"What a stupendous question. Eh...," he started but clearly began to mentally wander again.
"Can't you manage a simple straight answer," she snapped.
"Well, you see... I simply can't remember." He let out a light chuckle and pulled his eyebrows slightly together while pasting on his best grin. Why not? After all, it worked for his bed.
"Yes, well, be sure to maintain your distance. I won't have you loitering about my space. Move along." She waved him off.
She promptly learned that her stay was going to be nothing like a vacation; no favorite meals, no wine, and certainly no relaxing.
As the days wore on, Lockhart managed to finagle his way into her area for most of the day - everyday. One day he was particularly on her nerves after having rambled on and on about a dream of a very large snake and falling rocks.
Umbridge, losing control of the situation with such an utter nitwit, suddenly burst out in her annoyance. "Enough, Mr. Lockhart!" Later that day, she ended up scratching herself nearly raw due to a mild case of hives.
As hard as she tried to keep her sanity about her, he just seemed to suck it away from her. It was almost as though the more insane she felt, the saner he seemed. Could it be that he had devised a way to steal her sanity and replace it with his insanity? She became more and more leery of him as the days went by until, at one point, a near frantic paranoia set in. She spent the rest of that day completely sedated.
She begged the staff to be moved, but Cheif Healer Pye said they could not due to the restrictions placed by the Auror Department. She ordered for Lockhart to be switched to a different location. In that instance, Healer Pye said that he would not as it could disrupt Mr. Lockhart's frame of mind and treatment, causing him to relapse. She pulled her hair, stomped her feet like a petulant child, and screamed until she was Silenced and magically bound to the bed to keep her from hurting herself.
At the end of the two weeks, Umbridge found herself magically shackled and standing in front of the Minister and the Wizengamot once more. The Chief Healer was also in attendance and reported to the court that while he found absolutely zero proof of her ever having been under the Imperius Curse, he felt it was best that she remained in custody whether at St. Mungo's or Azkaban, as she was a danger to herself and others due to her mental instability.
Umbridge let out a small giggle as the Cheif Healer finished speaking. Minister Shacklebolt turned his head back to face her, catching her smile before she could mask her face. He narrowed his eyes at her and asked if she had anything to say. She quickly donned her saccharine smile.
"Thank you, Minister. While it may be difficult for some people to understand all the hard work and pressure of working at the Ministry, I, for one, am ready to stay the task to get the job done. I shall be ready to resume my official post as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic in two days time. Of course, I will need to completely redecorate my office as I'm certain that whomever has been occupying it has completely destroyed -"
"Madam." Shacklebolt had cut her off. He was done hearing her rubbish as she tried to take control of the situation. "You will not be reinstated in any sense to any position in the Ministry. You will, however, be able to enjoy your cell at the now dementor-free portion of Azkaban."
"How dare you!" Her fake smile and childish voice dropped away.
Any members of the Wizengamot who were not completely sure of her guilt nearly got whiplash with how fast she changed her demeanor. Many people began to whisper to each other about rumors they had heard that they now believed to be most likely true. She continued to glare at Shacklebolt.
"After everything I have done and sacrificed for the Ministry. After all the lying, magic-stealing mudbloods I sentenced for the sake of our world. How dare you think for one minute that you can just send me off to that dilapidated cesspool; that disgusting hell hole?!" She had began in a directed, hushed yell and finished in an irritated, huffing screech.
As the court witnessed her continued outburst, they whispered even more to each other. Shacklebolt patiently waited as she further unraveled while admitting to more crimes.
She finally cracked and shrieked out to the room. "Quit your whispering about me! I have done nothing but rid these disgusting mudbloods and blood traitors from among us! ORDER! Listen to me! I will have order!" She began pointing at different Wizengamot members who had opposed the corrupt Ministry while it was ran by Voldemort's puppets.
Having heard enough, Shacklebolt banged his gavel on the podium. The Wizengamot became completely silent as Umbridge continued to screech "I will have order! I will have order!"
Shacklebolt then picked up his wand and cast a Silencing charm in her direction. Umbridge's right eye twitched away as she continued screaming her Silenced "I will have order" chant.
The Minister looked to the Chief Healer and asked if Azkaban had a mental ward that was suitable for Ms. Umbridge. He responded to the affirmative. Umbridge was henceforth sentenced and taken to the mental ward of Azkaban.
Within a week, she had lost her privileges to use utensils, as she had used one to draw a rudimentary cat on her wall to which she was often observed speaking.
"Cordelia, you must bathe yourself. I refuse to have you in my presence whilst unkempt. I will have order." Her eyes glassed over and she stared at the wall without really seeing it as she continued to repeat, "I will have order. I will have order. I will... have......order."

It's a week late but here goes...

• Name: Birmingham great run
• Date: 5th May 2024
• Distance: 13.1 miles
• Location: Birmingham, UK
• Website: https://www.greatrun.org/events/great-birmingham-run/
• Time: 2:18.40

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	Finish	Yes
B	Sub 2:30	Yes
C	Don't walk	No

Splits

Kilometer	Time
1	6.14
2	6.08
3	6.00
4	6.15
5	6.14
6	6.12
7	6.10
8	6.01
9	6.26
10	6.29
11	7.21
12	7.10
13	6.28
14	6.34
15	6.51
16	7.41
17	6.36
18	6.40
19	6.37
20	6.23

Training

I finished couch to 5k almost exactly a year ago and essentially signed up to the half marathon as I realised I was losing momentum with my runs. I signed up in September and aimed to stay static with my 5Ks for a few months til it got closer to race day, with a PB of 28 minutes. Over the winter I joined a gym and started upping my distance on a treadmill. Around late Jan I started up running outside again; unfortunately it does turn out that running on a treadmill is much easier than running outside, and while my distances had started going up I was much slower at running.
I subsequently realised that I wasn't getting enough running in during the week, so whilst I carried on doing park runs I stopped worrying about the speed and instead opted to use park run day as my long run day, where I initially would run home from park run (adding around 2k to my distance) and later running to and from park run to a total of around 10k. From late Feb, I aimed to increase my distance of long runs by 1km a week.
I did well with this up until late march, where I picked up a nasty bug that knocked me off my feet for 10 days. At this point my longest run was 16km. Then in April I had an unexpected minor surgery, almost exactly 4 weeks before the date of the HM. I very nearly pulled out (even posted about it in one of the running subreddits). When it came to it though, my doctor cleared me to ease back into running with 10 days to spare before the HM. In those 1 days, I did a 4k, a 5k, a 6k and a 10k (not in that order). I just thought, sod it, I've worked so hard I'm not going to give up. Even if I end up walking most of it.

Pre-race

As a pre-race treat I bought some new running clothes to wear for after I completed the HM The night before I 'carb loaded' with a large bowl of pasta. Chose my outfit for the day, found the energy gels I'd bought before christmas and got my headphones and things ready to go for the race.

Race

The start line was such a fun adrenaline boosting event, very weird feeling having so many people watching and my fight or flight fully kicked in - I started off RUNNING! I quickly realised I needed to slow down or I wouldn't be able to keep going. Also, to my utter dismay, I realised my headphones were out of battery. How's that for disorganisation... The first 5k felt like the longest with the lack of music and running around the buildings for the first part of the course. Once I had my first sip of water though, I started feeling better and just kept going.
Kilometers 5-10 were uneventful, but getting to around mile 8-9 I started envying the people that decided to do the 10k instead. At this point I couldn't switch though so just kept on going. At some point mid race (must've been at 11km judging by my times I ended up just walking for a while having faced a long hill; I walked for around 5 minutes then kept going. Was unsurprised that I ended up walking some of it but was disappointed that it was so early on. But, I kept going a little longer
At around 15k I had another short walking break so I could sip some water comfortably. It was exceptionally warm; I think I walked for another 3 minutes or so. I did run the rest of the way but it was sheer will power; I felt that if I stopped to walk I wouldn't ever start running again.
By the 20th KM my legs felt like lead, the pain was intense but I was so close. The '800m to go' sign was a huge relief. Except that after I'd carried on running what felt like another km the next sign said 400m! and after another painfully long distance 200m came up. That 200m was the longest 200m of my life. When I crossed the finish line my legs were so heavy that getting out of the race area was a very unattractive wide legged wobble.

Post-race

I was so out of it I didn't even check the size of the finish t-shirt, I just picked one up and carried on. Once I got out of the main finish area I hobbled around trying to find a chair, and couldn't find one so I just did a sort of 'slav squat' for a while til I got some feeling back in my legs. I was incredibly chuffed to see my race time of 2:18.40! I went for a meal with my race buddies and all our companions, went home, and had a 2 hour nap as a reward for an achievement that the month before I didn't think I was going to make!

Flight: The only way he could figure out how to let you fly, is to cast a spell that allows you to convince your body that the air around you is water. While active, you can swim through the air but can't breathe or hear very well. You can turn it off or on at will.
Super Healing: He can't make your body heal faster, but he can make you heal more efficiently. You can store up your body's capacity for healing in a reservoir, making your body heal slower while storing, and then you can expend that reservoir to heal yourself. Say you make your body heal half as fast for a day (24 hours), you gain a reservoir of 24 hours of extra half-speed healing. The next day you could make your body heal half again as fast, or twice as fast for half a day, or 13 times faster for an hour.
Time Manipulation: He has no idea why, but it only works while your body is fully asleep. While sleeping, time can pass up to 100 times faster or slower for you (you pick). So you could sleep for what feels like 8 hours for you, but externally takes up to a month or as little as 45 minutes.
Invisibility: To make you perfectly invisible, he casts a spell to keep your body heat from radiating as infrared light. While invisible, you overheat really quickly, like you're wearing a super thick, perfect heat-trapping jacket. Becoming invisible also means no light can pass through your retinas, making you effectively blind. You can turn it on and off at will.
Super Resilience: The closest he can get is a spell that makes you nearly invulnerable to change of any kind. You can turn your entire body into a highly durable substance (stone, diamond, any metal of your choice), but while in that state you are petrified and unable to move. You can turn it on or off at will.
Teleportation: Like the healing power, teleportation works as a kind of reservoir. You can teleport to anywhere you can see, but doing so drains your reserve by an amount equal to the linear distance traveled. To refill your reserve, you have to travel by foot. For every kilometer you walk or run, you gain 50 meters of teleportation (264 feet per mile). When you teleport, you can bring up to 50 pounds of stuff you are touching with you, you decide what is brought.
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So on April 15th I received a grand jury summons. The court is over 50 miles away and not even in my county. I'm the sole caregiver to my elderly disabled parents, the clerk courts said that isn't an acceptable excuse for being dismissed from jury duty. It's odd considering I got a summons for my local county court and was dismissed within a week with no problems last year. I sent my excusal request the day received my juror summons (4/15) and it said they would get back to me in 14-20 days (today is day 28) they never contacted me back to tell me my request was denied I had to call them multiple times today just for him to say to get out of serving in a grand jury the only accepted excuses are your dead, over 70 or have a doctors excuse saying you are too disabled to serve. It never says that anywhere in the packet I received, it says " cause you undue hardship, or extreme inconvenience by appearing". My mom has severe COPD and gets winded walking 10 feet and needs multiple inhalers and an oxygen tank to get around, my dad has dementia and needs a lot of supervision, both are over 70 and combined they need 17 different medications distributed to the two of them several times a day. The adult daycares said my dad would need specialized care that would cost a lot. I asked the guy at the clerk of courts if an email with my juror info from families doctor saying they need constant assistance would help he said it would but there still wasn't a guarantee they'd accept the request. If any of that was necessary it should have been in the packet or they should have contacted me back weeks ago saying the request had been denied giving me more time instead of ghosting me for a month. Unfortunately, my family doctor is on vacation till next week because of course he is. I still have 22 days till I have to appear but any other info or advice would be greatly appreciated.

About me: M, 5’7”, 135 lb, heel-to-midfoot strike depending on pace. I’m a slow middle-aged runner doing 30-35 mpw. My typical pace ranges from low 8-minute to 9:30 per mile, depending on how I feel that day. I don’t pay attention to HR zones. I run mostly for physical and mental health benefits, and very rarely race or train for races, so this may be completely irrelevant to you! But I need a place to deposit my thoughts as much as anyone else, so thanks for bearing with me.
The Contenders
Adidas Adizero Boston 12, aka the Timothy Chalamet of Running Shoes—A comely twink with a stupendous range of abilities, rabid fan base, and a tiny, tiny waist.
Saucony Endorphin Speed 4, aka the Matt Damon of Running Shoes—Goes from everyman to action here and back, all day long. Worth every bit of his fee.
I lucked into a half-off deal for the Boston 12s and have over 160 miles on my pair. I really love the way these shoes bounce and roll. The balance of softness, firmness, and response from the foam is as magical as many have already said. But I have a high-volume midfoot, which is exactly the spot where the Boston 12 gets super narrow. I switched to Lock Laces and keep them on the looser side, but even at this mileage, I’m still in not-trivial pain for the first 1-2 miles before I can actually settle in and run without thinking “ow, my feet.”
I’ve taken the Endorphin Speed 4s on two runs now, total of 17 miles, and it feels like there is a whole galaxy’s worth of additional space in the midfoot. Toebox is a little cramped, but it still felt fine throughout an 11-mile run. The rocker initially felt a bit further forward / “later” than the Boston 12’s, and the heel is also bulkier and less beveled, so it doesn’t have the quite the same ultra-smooth roll. But that difference is fairly subtle, and I look forward to seeing how the ride evolves as I put more miles on them (it seems like a “break-in period” is de rigueur for a lot of the newest foams). PowerrunPB is plenty bouncy, cushioned, and fairly firm, but not as firm as the Boston’s Lightstrike combo out-of-the-box. It’s also noticeably lighter than the Boston. My only gripe, and a minor one at that, is that I wish the heel weren’t as wide/flared. I get that people like stability in their super trainers, but it’s borderline clunky and makes me miss the Speed 2.
Verdict: I’ve given the Boston 12 all I could, and I still think it’s a glorious shoe for running far or fast, or both. But I just can’t live with the pinch. My feet deserve better than this abusive relationship. Time will tell if this new partner has the flexibility to accommodate me and my individualities. ;)

I have a 2020 Street Glide Special with about 38,000 miles on it. I’ve been doing my own brakes for the last few years using EBC brake pads. I love the pads and they’re about half the cost of the OEM pads from Harley, but they don’t come with pins or clips. I’ve been reusing mine, but they’re starting to look pretty worn. For those of you who do your own brakes - do you buy OEM from Harley every couple of times? I see the brake pad pins for sale for the front calipers by Drag Specialities, but I can’t find any for the rear. From what I’m reading, the rear pin is slightly longer than the fronts. Thanks for your help!

I currently have a hybrid bike, albeit a new hybrid bike a Trek FX 2. I originally bought the bik to help with some running cross training. I've only 5 rides in but I absolutely love it! Every ride so far I feel like I'm able to go faster and feel like farther too. My question is should I try to focus on maxing out all the potential of my current bike before upgrading to a new one?
Here's my date from my ride this morning, sorry no really cycling data since I'm just using my running watch. But I'm still proud of my ride! It was 36 miles in 2h 19 minutes with 900 feet of elevation gain. With at 15.5mph average

Race Information
• Name: Bad Ass Backyard Ultra
• Date: May 11, 2024
• Distance: 29.5
• Location: Rio Linda, CA
• Website: https://www.skybreakerracing.com/bad-ass-backyard-ultra/
• Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11388611030
• Loops: 7

Goal	Completed
Stay under 50 miles	Yes
See if I like this kind of race	Definitely
Have Fun	Always
Win?	Yes!

Pre-race:
I’m a 40 year old guy who sits at a desk all day (CPA). I started running in August of 2021 specifically to do a marathon, crossed the finish line that December and since then it’s been an addiction. I’ve now run 4 marathons, 2 50k, 3 70.3s, a full Ironman and in February as I switched from Triathlon to Ultras I did my first 50 miler. The 50 (in spite of showing I need to fix some blister issues) confirmed for me that ultra events are my favorite. I still like the triathlon training and how I feel with those more, but as far as events and culture, ultras are my thing. So anyway, I know I’m now an ultra runner, but I was a little lost as to what my next “A” race would be. I had the option of Ironman in October, Rio Del Lago 100 miler in November, or one of these backyard ultras that I’ve been hearing about. For those that are unaware, it’s basically a 4.2(ish) mile loop that is done every hour. No matter how fast or slow you run that loop, every hour on the hour another loop starts. This goes until people drop off and there is one person left. At the surface, this seemed like something that I’d like to inject directly into my veins. But that could just be me being naïve about how boring doing the same loop over and over would be, or how much I HATE stopping during runs. But the main draw for me, is that within 15 minutes of any race I’ve ever run in my life, the eventual winner is nowhere near me. Lining up every hour with the eventual winner and looking them in the eye just gets me irrationally hyped. That said, I’m coming off my first 50 miler, my toes are still healing (waiting on my big toe nail to fall off at this point, and my coach has BEGGED me to not go too deep in the well for this one. He wants a real training build up, some time to figure out blister issues and be legitimately prepared for a race. So the main goal here is to see if I want to throw 6 months of specific training at a race of this format.

Race Day:
So there are only 3 people signed up for this race. We even got an email from the race director asking if we still wanted to race. I get there with my wife, 3 kids and parents with tents, pop-ups, battery packs and iPads ready for this to be a long day. I have Maurten gels for 24 hours, huge packs of electrolyte mixes, I have my headlamp in case this goes into the night, 7 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of shoes, I have my heat gear, a tent, pop-up and a table. Quite frankly I may have had as much setup as the race director. My Bi-Carb and Ketones get drunk, we’re ready to rock.

Course:
This course was very strange. We’re out in the middle of farm land, and the first 1.7 miles is all exposed and it got up to 90 degrees at the peak of the day. What made it worse was a good mile of this section was not mowed, so we were trying to pave a path through calf high grass in places. After that you get to a legitimate trail that has a good bit of tree cover. One tiny hill for a grand total of 30 feet of elevation gain on the loop, so it’s pancake flat. There’s also a street crossing where there are a couple volunteers pressing the button to stop any cars coming by. Not a super busy street, so it was never a huge issue, but I did laugh a bit every time.

Race:
8am rolls around and I meet the two other people I’m running with. One guy just turned 33 so his goal was to do that many miles. Another is a woman in her 50s who had about the same goal for the day, but she was training for a run from the bottom of the UK to the top over 35 days or something. She’s done the Tahoe 200 before (something that’s on my bucket list), and I’m definitely a bit intimidated. That said, she says she has tickets for a comedy show later tonight, so I jokingly say I just need to hold out until she has to leave for that. Race starts and we decide we should run together a bit for the first lap just to figure out where the hell we’re going. We universally agree that the first section is BS, but the shade after makes all the difference. I start walking at the shade and let them run up ahead. I see them later on when I finish my loop.
My goal was to hit 50 to 55 minutes on each loop. First and foremost I don’t want to be sitting too long and thinking about pain or heat or whatever. To do this, I go at an easy pace for the heat section, walk when I get to the shade until I get to a 13 minute pace or so. Then I start running again. When I get to the tiny hill I start walking again until the pace drops in that range and then run into the finish line. I think I pegged every single lap right around 53 minutes. I’d grab a sponge from the ice bucket and wipe down my arms, sit down, eat my gel, put some ice in the pouch on my back, in my hat and down my pants. Every 2 laps I’d change socks and spray my feet down with Aquaphor to keep them lubricated. Every 4^th lap I’d change shoes. I’d eat fruit or any snacks I was feeling while my dad would fill my water bottles, one with electrolyte mix and one with regular water. I’d usually get up from the seat between the 2 and 1 minute warning, mosey on over to the start line, sponge down my arms one last time and get ready to do it again.
Loops 1 and 2 are about the same. I send a check in text as I’m walking in the shade to my wife and coach which I call my “*.5 check in.” I grade my pace, attitude, pain level and fun being had with any notes.
On loop 2.5 I text that the young guy is struggling in the heat. I even texted my wife to have the race director check on him when I didn’t see him for a while, but he was ok. I talked to him a bit and he said he was using too much energy running the heat section so he was walking some of it. I figured that would be too much heat exposure for me, but he says he’s ok.
Loop 3.5 I am getting too much sweat in my eyes. I usually wear an American flag headband when I run, but in the heat (and with my thinning hair up top prone to sunburn) I’ve switched away to a bucket hat. Until now I had the headband on the outside of the bucket hat. I admit I’m choosing fashion/superstition over practicality and put the headband under the hat which immediately fixes the problem. I also have a fun conversation with the woman about how I’m doing this whole mathematical calculation for my pace which makes sense being a CPA. She says she’s running completely on feel, but that makes sense because she’s a massage therapist. The young guy struggles a lot and comes in at 57 minutes on lap 4 and drops.
Loop 4.5 I have made my first shoe switch. After wearing the Altras with the wide toe box the Hokas that I’ve run all my other races in feel horribly constricting and I have a good idea of why I keep getting blisters. I decide to change shoes back to the Altras after this lap. Woman says her goal is 4 more laps.
Loop 5.5 I write that she’s trying to mind game me and that she’s gone a bit negative and I need to be more positive to combat it. Now I know that this probably says a lot more about me than it does her. It’s possible and even likely that she was dancing at the start line of loop 6 because she liked the song. But in my head, in that minute it seemed like she was trying to show no weakness. She starts off that lap a little hot, but I keep my same pace. The surprising part is when I pass her about halfway through the heat section and it takes her a bit to catch up as I’m walking in the shade. She grumbles a bit about that section of uncut grass and asks how long I’m going and what happens if we both stop at the same time. Just some little cracks mentally that I note as she starts running again up ahead of me. Now usually at this point I don’t see her until the finish line because she’s been running 46 minute laps and I’ve been well behind at 53 minute laps. But midway through my walk section I see her just a little up ahead at a turn. Please know, I AM NOT PROUD of what happens next. It’s not time to run yet, but with her struggling a little bit, I bet that if I pass her she breaks. So I start running, and make sure to keep my breathing and heart rate in check. I run by, say “I’m gonna hustle on this one, I want a burrito.” This is not a lie, I did indeed want a burrito and when I came in the announcer asked how I was feeling to which I responded, “feels like half-time” as I had just finished 25 miles. Well half way into my burrito they tell me she’s going to drop. She congratulates me and I just have to finish my last lap to win. Yes, I mind-gamed a woman in her 50s to win. Now is she a badass woman in her 50s? Damn right she is. She’s done races I can only dream about right now, and I probably do it again given the chance. She later tells my dad that she asked herself what the hell she was doing once I passed her.
I decide lap 7 should be really strong, so I take off and do the heat section in sub 9 minute pace. This was a bad call. I decide my ego isn’t that big and walk in the shade a bit so I don’t pass out. I finish in about 49 minutes, get a cool sweatshirt, which I then proceed to wear in spite of the heat for pictures with my kids on a makeshift podium because I never have and probably never will win another race in my life.

Post-race:
A few small blisters. One of which is on my heel which is new, but as of Monday they’re already minimal, so 30 miles in that is a huge improvement from normal. I’m on the right track but still stuff to figure out. With the system I had I didn’t mind the stops at all in this race format. I also think my superpower is doing boring things over and over again, so the loop didn’t bother me at all. It’s almost certainly something I’m going to be throwing 6 months of training at for a big showing in November. Had a fun day with some really enjoyable people. Plus my coach didn’t yell at me for going too deep and this will be a quick recovery into some real training blocks. Overall loved it!

I was behind a motorcycle going through an intersection someone in a jeep coming the other direction turned left in front of the cyclist. He swerved right to try to avoid the collision, but clipped the front tire/bumper and was tossed over the hood and slid through the intersection feet first into a sewer opening and was wedged halfway into it.
I stopped on the side of the road and tried to see if he was ok. He just laid there motionless. Fortunately an ambulance was close and paramedics were there seconds later. They loaded him onto a stretcher and sped off to a hospital where he was pronounced DOA.