Oivia hussey bed scene

Hue Labs is shutting down, and I can't replicate what the "time-based light" formula does.
I have been using the "time-based light" formula for years because I really love one characteristic it has. Despite the scene running, the formula will "overwrite" the actual light state, and if the lights are off, they will stay off!. For example, I set the scene "Tokio" in my living room at 9 p.m., and when the clock hits 10 p.m., the lab formula will change the scene to the "Doze" one, no matter what, so I will know it's late and I will get ready to bed.
I tried "natural light" mode integrated in Hue, but if before 10 p.m. I set another scene, at 10 p.m. the scene will remain, and if I create a routine to activate "doze scene at 10 p.m.," the light will turn on even if I'm not at home. With the time-based light formula, if I was already in bed, my lights would not turn on, and if I wanted to go to the bathroom and turned my light on, they would automatically set to the scene that was set in the "time-based light" formula, for example, the "night light" scene, so I could go to the bathroom with a very dim light and allow my wife to keep sleeping.
Basically, I also use the time-based light formula as a clock, but if Labs shuts down, I will not be able to replicate this behavior anymore. Any idea? help?
Sorry if I made grammar mistakes in advance; English is not my main language.

My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looming for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.

They are too fast changing to be deliberate. I experienced it a couple of times and every time I thought to myself wtf is that. It always happened with my eyes closed before falling asleep. It looks like really REALLY fast changing of channels, where one picture lingers for a fraction of a second.
I would like to know what that is and if anyone even know what I'm talking about.

Why did the farmer visit the pharmacy? To speak with the farm-assist.
Hi and welcome to my post! Wanted to start off with a funny to me dad joke.
Nice to meet you, I'm Dylan! To put it simple, I am a single 22 year old man who has been pretty lonely in life and lacking in female connection and interaction. And part of what comes with that is the desire to be intimate with a person. I am very mature for my age and will always be respectful of your boundaries and feelings, especially with anything sexual. Lately all I have is myself when it comes to sexual desires, so I would like to have someone to keep company with in that regard too.
I'm just relaxing at work since there's nothing really going on and thinking about going home tonight and burning a woodwick candle. Perfect for when there's a storm outside. I love candles! 🕯️ Sometimes a campfire outside on a fall night or a crackling WoodWick candle is a relaxing constant among our busy and hectic world. It's nice to just disconnect, feel grounded and happy in your own little cozy space. Feeling calm and collected and at peace. Something that fewer people take the time to do these days.
I am seeking a woman around my age or older to build a close connection with that could possibly lead to a relationship and something intimate which includes the possibility of teasing/sharing pics etc. but only when we were comfortable. Figured I would be open in my Intentions as that's the best way to be.
You:
Kind, respectful, and easy going.
Comfortable with the idea of eventually sharing intimate things together.
Willing to eventually move off of Reddit.
Want something genuine and fun!
Are honest in your intentions and a good person to be around!
That's about it, we will get along great I know it.
I've been feeling a little bummed out lately. I always try and stay happy and see the best in things. But.. I've just been so alone. Most of my whole childhood and adult years have been spent feeling lonely. I grew up surrounded by cornfields which was peaceful but also has a lonely aspect to it. My family never really were close and never did anything as a family really. And part of it too is the fact that I never had any neighbors my age to interact with. But aside from that, my adult life has been very lonely. I'm just always by myself. I barely have any meaningful adult relationships or experiences, or even any friends.
I work a 3-11 job in building maintenance at my company world headquarters building which I love, but again it's very lonely. I work the off shift so the building is always empty. I don't get normal social interaction with people my age or a chance to build relationships. I only have 3 older men as co-workers and we are mostly in the basement away from any people on the floors from knowing our existence. I always walk the floors and see office people laughing and chatting with their coworkers and I just don't have that kind of experience. And just.. no one knows I exist really. Everyone probably assumes I have a lot of friends, but I'm struggling inside with being so alone and trying to meet people and get past the "hi how are you?" "I'm good thanks" stage. Most people don't seem to want to talk beyond that. And most women are already in relationships and thus it would seem weird to approach them in an office setting trying to get to know them deeper. But man those "hi how are yous" are the only real interactions I get during my day.. so thus I decided to come here lol. Rant over, sorry! I promise I'm not a downer. 😅
Now for some things about me!
As you can tell, I am very mature for my age and am polite and have good grammar which unfortunately not everyone my age does anymore lol. I am not active at all on social media/internet culture really and don't know much about all the slang the younger people these days use. I feel like I'm 50. 🤣
I am left handed which is pretty cool. I'm not much of a party person or a drinker, I much prefer a quiet night at home and maybe a beer or two on a weekend but that's about it. I am simple and stay out of drama and trouble and don't get much into politics or other things that cause drama with people. I much prefer a relaxing campfire and a night at home and to just let the world keep on turning haha. I consider myself pretty intelligent and mature, especially for my age which is why I'm open to older ladies.
Physically I'm 180 pounds, have brown hair, green eyes, and a typical build. There's a few pictures on my profile.
Some of my hobbies are:
• Photography
I have a Nikon D200 and D5500 that I love to shoot with. I love nature scenes, abstract, black and white/goth kinda photography, sunsets, etc. it's so fun to just let your mind explore. It's not about what camera you have, but those who are behind the camera! I'm gonna try and photograph the northern lights tonight!
• Cooking and baking
I loveeee to cook and bake! I enjoy making various meals but also love to just have a frozen pizza once in awhile or something like that. I recently made homemade chili which turned out great. I love to bake, especially in the fall! I love pies, cakes, pastries, cookies, etc. I restored a vintage KitchenAid mixer that needed tbe gearbox rebuilt. Eventually I would love to practice home canning my own food.
• Music
Oh my gosh, I like so much!! Alternative rock, punk, post punk, electronic, synth pop, psychedelic rock, hard rock, etc. I am very non judgemental and open when it comes to music. My three current favorite bands are Type O Negative, Joy Division, and the Cure.
• Nature walks and camping
I really enjoy camping, making fires, and relaxing by a campfire. I love to take walks outside and just enjoy the beauty and simplicity of nature. It's wonderful, especially in a world so focused on everything digital.
• Repairing things
I'm a maintenance guy and one of my hobbies is electronics repair so I am good with my hands and just all around good at troubleshooting and fixing all sorts of things around the house. Last week I helped my elderly neighbor get his tractor started, it needed a new component in the starting circuit. So I'm pretty handy which... Comes in handy! 😂
• Autumn 🍁
This isn't a hobby per say, but man do I love the fall!!! It's my absolute favorite time of the year. Oh my gosh. The beautiful colors, crisp cool air, misty and foggy days, rain, lack of bugs, being cuddled up with a candle or by the fire drinking a tea, etc. I love it! There's only two seasons for me. Fall, and waiting for fall! Haha.
• Scented Candles and incense
Going along with my love for fall, I absolutely love candles! I have like 30 something lol. 😂 Currently my favorite are WoodWick, which are owned by Yankee candle. They have such a soothing crackle and the scents are great! I also love to burn incense from time to time as well. I have cottagecore hippie vibes.
• Old houses and architecture
I love old houses! Especially 1900s and Victorian era homes. Old homes have so much character to them and are just so beautiful from a time when people took pride in their craft. I strongly dislike the modern cookie cutter cheap construction of homes today. I would love to live in an old home one day. I also love their architecture and uniqueness, as well as architecture of old cathedrals and other buildings.
• Relaxing
Basic I know, but sometimes on the weekend I just love to get cozy in bed and relax and put on a YouTube video or an album! 😊
That's about it for me, I'm a pretty laid back and simple person. My ideal person is someone who is respectful and honest! I am very straightforward and open minded and would hope that you are as well.
If I seem interesting to you at all I would love to hear from you!
Thank you so much for reading.

Knock knock
Dixon: "Trudy! Trudy!"
Click of a revolver.
Dixon: "Trudy, it's me. The damn powder gangers got another one."
Trudy let out a deep sigh. She recognized that voice outside tapping on her window.
She lowered the revolver she kept tucked under her pillow, got out of bed, and made her way to the front door.
It was late, dark, and she could hear Sunny's dog, Cheyanne, barking in the distance. There was no peace in Goodsprings tonight.
Trudy: "Jesus Christ, Dixon, I could've blown your head off."
Dixon: "Sorry, Trudy. I had to wake you." Dixon apologized. He was a heavyset man with dark hair, grim face, and a perpetual scowl always waiting to be told what to do next.
Trudy saw the scene behind him. Victor, the town's resident Robot Securitron, was rolling through the street on its monowheel, dragging a bloodied corpse behind it. In the distance, she saw the night watch standing alert at the edge of town. Sunny's dog Cheyanne barking down the street.
Trudy: "What the hell is going on?"
"I saw old Vic here drag this guy down from Cemetery Hill…" Dixon explained as Trudy walked past him toward Victor and the corpse.
The robot turned as it registered her movement and let go of the corpse feet, dropping its booths into the street mud. The wet thud echoed in the quiet night.
"Howdy, Trudy, just the town mom I needed to see…" The robot greeted.
Trudy stood over the body. He was a large, older man, shaved head, greying survivalist beard. He wore a dark brown shirt with orange and mustard-yellow stripes under blue jean overalls, a red bandanna with black goggles around his neck.
Blood had been gushing out from a bullet hole on his forehead. But incredibly, he was still breathing.
"…saw a whole commotion down at the bone orchard, some bad eggs trying to put our friend here 6 feet under." Victor reported in his usual cartooned cowboy self.
Trudy frowned. She always found the tone coming out from this robotic body exceedingly creepy, even without it dragging a body around.
Cheyanne clearly thought the same and barked on loudly despite her owner's incessant shushing.
The smell of desert air mingled with the metallic tang of blood, and lights began to flicker on as the rest of the town awoke to the disturbance.
"Cheyenne, stay." Sunny Smiles finally quieted down her dog and joined Trudy and Dixon huddling over the body. The girl's leather armor and varmint rifle contrasting with Trudy's nightgown and cattleman revolver.
Sunny Smiles: "Damn powder gangers, they shot up another caravan."
"And dragged the body around town for a proper burial? No, this isn't them," Trudy dismissed.
Victor: "Can't say I caught a good look at those rascals that dug him deep…"
Trudy shot the robot a dirty glance.
Trudy: "Dixon, go fetch the doc."
Dixon: "Yes, ma'am."
Trudy: "Sunny, let Ringo know what went down and tell him to sit tight in his hole. I'm locking the town down."
"On it."
Victor: "Our friend here has a mighty tick skull…I already boosted him good with Stimpaks. If we're…"
Trudy: "Vic, shut the hell up."
Hi guys, I want to share this first prologue I've been working, inspired by my recent playthrough (first in 6 years). The story will be set in the FOV with Trudy as a Al Swearengen type navigating her people's existence between the factions of the Mojave

TL;DR: I foolishly began dating my coworker who ended up lying to me several times. I finally ended up looking at her DM's and discovered what looks like plans to cheat on me and I don't know how to proceed.
Would really appreciate it if you read until the end where I have questions. Everything else is details & background.
I began casually dating a coworker who I caught feelings for. I've never been the type to have interest in more than one person so I voiced to her early on that I would like to know if she was dating other people. She reciprocated this feeling and assured me she wasn’t dating anyone else but would tell me if she did.
Things were great but we had a recurring argument about once or twice a month about how I was overstepping the casualness.
I will admit I took things too far sometimes but we also didn’t set boundaries either so the lines weren’t super clear all the time. For example, we formed habits like getting coffee in the morning, texting before bed, calling each other after work. So those habits created expectations and if there was a break in one of them, I would sometimes point it out and that would usually lead to an argument. It was mostly me who brought those things up but she would do this too, just not as much.
With a vacation coming up we both made plans to hang out before it but when the time came, she said she forgot. She had cancelled plans several times in the past and I was always understanding, but this time I expressed frustration.
I texted her that I was upset about it because I was really looking forward to spending time before the vacation. She thought I was being extremely unfair, that cancelling is normal, that we hang out all the time, etc. This led to our big talk.
We both agreed to go back to being coworkers. I said I did not want to immediately go back to being friends right away and that I wanted to keep some distance for now.
She immediately disrespected these wishes by stopping by my office to say hi the first day back (a one week vacation). I was confused but went along with it because we were at the office and I wasn't going to make a scene. A few days after that, she sent in a request for help with her workstation knowing that I was going to be assigned to it.
I didn't have time to help out that day but she showed up again at my office at the end of the day and confessed that she sent the request to get my attention and wanted to apologize. I said it's ok but that she needs to respect my wishes about keeping a healthy distance and only being coworkers.
The following week I went to help her with that issue and next thing I know we were flirting again. One of the strongest attractions was our good chemistry and that got us into trouble. So we agreed to sit and talk about things and decide what we want.
We both clearly had feelings for each other so we decided to continue dating. This was where she admitted that she had been dating other people on Hinge and out of fear of driving me away, she kept it from me. I felt betrayed and left. In hindsight, this probably should have been the end of things.
In the following couple of weeks, she apologized profusely and did a lot of thoughtful things in an attempt to make up for it. Eventually, I forgave her and tried to be understanding. I told her I would need time to rebuild trust and that if I were to move forward, I would need us to to be committed to each other to which she agreed.
Things were ok until I noticed that she was texting this one guy (bachelor #1) almost every day. So with a combination of her lying to me before and also myself having been cheated on in the past, I couldn't help but look at the locked phone screen and kept seeing his name. I also noticed a trend in the past that some of her contacts had “H” as their last initial which made me wonder if they were all people she met on hinge. Bachelor #1 had the "H" too and I asked if they met on hinge. She admitted to adding “H” to Hinge contacts but promised that bachelor #1 was not from hinge, just that she couldn’t remember his last name but knew it started with an H. I didn’t really believe her because she was incredibly vague about how they met. She says he's just a friend who they happen to have a ton in common with and talk almost every single day. I said it’s fine but asked if he at least knew that her and I were dating and he did not.
I know its normal for people to have close friends of the opposite sex but I found it odd that in all of their almost daily communication, I never came up. I couldn't help but think that it was intentionally being avoided.
I was puzzled and brought it to the table, and was told that it simply "never came up." I said I felt uncomfortable that he didn't know about me especially since I'm kind of still in this 'rebuild trust' phase. She understood and finally told him that she's "seeing some guy." So I guess I was ok with that. My 2 female friends know that I am dating her and I don't even talk to them half as much. After she told him, I let it go.
Then bachelor #2 enters the picture. This guy frequently hits on her and makes it extremely clear that he wants to fuck. I get it, guys are going to hit on beautiful women but I expect her to shut it down. And of course, the same is expected of me to shut down people hitting on me. However, with this friend of hers, instead of shutting it down, she accepts all of the compliments and allows him to continue making advances via DM's. He didn't know about me at all and only stopped once he found out because I went to the gym with her consistently enough to where he caught on that her and I were together (they go to the same gym sometimes).
So once again, it seems like she was hiding the fact that she's exclusive with someone. He stopped messaging her so I let it go but again, I'm annoyed that it was even a thing in the first place.
About another month had passed with no issues and we were doing surprisingly well so I asked her to officially be my girlfriend and she said yes.
We were both really happy but later that night, she was texting bachelor #1 right in front of me. I hate that I did this but I glanced over at her phone and saw they made plans to hang out but I didn't say anything, I didn't think too much of it. At the end of the night in bed and amid random conversation, she said she was planning to see her female friend on the day that she made plans to hang out with bachelor #1. She lied to me completely unprompted.
My chest started pounding and I said "You're lying to me" and she responds with "what? I'm so tired, go to sleep" Again I said "You are fucking lying to me." I started getting out of bed to gather my things and leave. She lunged after me, trying to grab me, asking me not to leave. I said I can't do this anymore and that I can't trust her. She started crying, apologizing, making excuses, etc. I couldn't listen to any of it so I left.
I woke up to a whole ass story of a text of how sorry she was and I didn't deserve that. She said she was just going on a walk with him and the dog she's fostering because he was thinking of adopting him. Her excuse for lying to me was that she thought it would ruin the night because I was sensitive about her friendship with him in the past.
She still went on that walk with him but she was texting me during it, called me after and invited me over for dinner. She talked to bachelor #1 about me a lot and said how much she wanted to be with me etc. They don't talk as much anymore and apparently he is now in a relationship with someone.
I bought the whole apology and continued with the relationship. I keep telling myself she didn't cheat on me and that she would never do that but I don't really know how I'm supposed to rebuild trust. I'm just kind of going with the flow at this point and trying to enjoy the time we spend together.
Once again things seem to be going ok until bachelor #3 enters the picture.
This dude lives in a different state but he sent her two free pairs of expensive-ass shoes. Normally, I would think that's pretty damn cool of him but at this point everything makes me skeptical. She told me a bit about him, that they used to work together and that he's married. Well, as of a week ago, we got into an argument about trust that started from me finding out that she doesnt ever post me on instagram. I accused her saying that there must be more people hitting on her in her DM's and she likes the attention so much that she doesn't want to broadcast that she has a boyfriend. She swore nobody was hitting on her and that doesn't happen at all. She said the only male friend of hers she talks to besides bachelor #1 was Bachelor #3. Then I asked her to show me the DM's with bachelor #3 and she said no.
I should not have done this but in the next few days I found a chance to go through her phone. This is what I saw and I have screenshots to prove it:
-He frequently hits on her saying she's hot and beautiful.
-She posted about muffins she made and he reacted with "When I visit, you'll have to bake me some" to which she ecstatically agreed.
-He then told her she should put 'baking' on her dating profile and her response was "when I make one, I will!"
(The fuck? Would this not be the time to say "I actually have a boyfriend right now"? )
-Then she asked if he was dating. He responded saying he avoids dating apps and rather meet in person and hook up from there.
(The fuck the fuck? Why are you asking a married man if he's dating?)
-Finally he asks if she's dating and she actually said yes but there was zero mention of me at all or that she has a boyfriend.
-He said he was going to be in town in June and asked her to get drinks with him. She says "Yes! Definitely!"
This is pretty damning, right? To me, it really looks like it's leading up to her cheating on me. Or am I somehow missing something?
What the fuck do I do, reddit?
I know that being in this pickle is 100% my fault and I blame no one but myself. But here I am and I would really appreciate advice on the best exit strategy.
I don't want things to end explosively and I prefer not to admit that I went through her DMs if possible. There's no possibility that she has a valid explanation for how she's speaking to Bachelor #3, right?
I've been trying to plan exit strategies and I'm thinking of simply telling her that I haven't been able to rebuild trust and that it's best to stop the relationship then leave it at that.
I'm extremely upset and hurt that she still lied to my face. Now, the vengeful part of me really wants to catch her in the act of lying to me when Bachelor #3 visits in June.
Major problem.
We still work together but in completely different departments. The working together may not last very long (she's been looking for another job). And I'm seriously considering it as well.
So here's what I need help with.
Do I allow her to explain what is going on with bachelor #3 or do I just say that I don't see myself being able to trust her again and leave it at that?
Do I wait to end things until one of us gets a different job?
Do I go for the more gratifying ending by calling her out on her bullshit and admitting that I went through her DM's or by waiting to catch her in the act when he visits?

Bed had always been a haven for me, as I’m sure it has been for many others. A soft rectangle of comfort that I can always rely on. It didn’t matter how hard my day was or how harsh the weather outside those four edges, it always soothed me. I’d argue the harsher days made it feel more inviting.
All my worries and stress bleeding out of me, soaking into the bedsheets.
That’s all anyone needs, somewhere to rest their head. And usually, if you can be lucky enough, you might find someone to share that space with. And I was lucky enough. As wonderful as laying in bed is, when my wife would crawl in and pull up close to me, it was another ball game.
Her heat would mesh with mine, skin would run flush together, and we would become symbiotic until the sunrise. That’s all I needed, all I wanted.
I normally crawl into bed before she gets home. Her job would have her working different hours each day while my schedule was steady. So, I’d enjoy my alone time, get comfortable in bed, and eagerly await her arrival.
So that’s how it went. It was a frosty night but not cold enough to run the heater, so I just had the blankets pulled up to my chest. Work was rough, so sleep started working its magic on me quickly and I could feel my body becoming heavier in bed. I was in and out, so time wasn’t really something I had a concept of, so when I felt a pressure on the bed, it made sense that it was my wife.
Her fingers were icy as they slipped under the shirt I was wearing and rested on my chest. Her frame latched onto mine like a puzzle, and she wrapped her arms around me.
She was so cold, uncomfortably so.
It caused my teeth to clatter together for a moment as she siphoned my body heat until we had reached an equilibrium. Her fingers gently pressed into my skin, a tender pressure I had felt time and time again, one that always lulled me to sleep. And I could feel it then, slumber ready for its final approach.
So, it was there, seconds from reaching my dreams, that I heard the front door closing. It felt like someone had ripped the bed sheets off me, thin and piercing needles of cold, running shivers all over me. It was loud, the door closing, I mean.
I was frozen, I could feel the fingers on my chest tighten in response to the noise as well. It was taking me a while to process what was happening. But I figured she had forgotten to lock the front door, and someone had slipped inside, perhaps closing the door harder than they intended to in their rush.
“Stay here.” I whispered harshly; words filled with the panic response I was trying to fight off.
Quickly shunting the hand away from my chest, I got out of bed and gripped the baseball bat we keep by the bed. An object I had hoped I’d never have to pick up in a situation like this. Stepping cautiously towards the bedroom door, I could see that someone had turned a light on.
The kitchen light spilled out, meekly illuminating a few spots of the apartment. My fingers gently pried the bedroom door wider open, trying to avoid its usual squeaking.
The baseball bat rested on my shoulder as I tried to recall the last time, I had even swung a bat, suddenly all too paranoid that I might not do so effectively. There was the sound of rummaging from the kitchen, a small clattering of pots and pans.
With a few quick breaths to hype myself up, I quickly rounded the corner and prepared to swing my bat.
Stepping out, basking in the kitchen’s light, I heard a high pitch scream wail out, filling the house with the cry.
I sank.
Every bit of me felt like I was falling through the floor. My heart was at my feet and my head had sunk so low that my thoughts couldn’t keep up. She was frightened too. I must have looked insane. She was speaking. I could hazard a guess at what she was saying. An apology for making too much noise on her way in, likely. I couldn’t hear any of it, though. My head was static.
I could hardly even recognize her as my wife. No, she was a concept, an idea. She stood in all her glory as a stark realization.
My wife’s eyes became delicate with concern. As she reached out to me, I backed away, not in fear of her, but the dawning of it all put me on guard. I could still feel the fingers I felt in bed pressing on my chest as I turned around, fingers gripping the bat tighter than ever.
I was quick. Quicker than I thought, I could move in a situation like that. We should’ve left. We should’ve called the police. However, many “should haves” in life remain unclaimed forever. I left all my ‘should haves’ behind. Each rational thought vanishing with every step I took that brought me closer to the sanctity of my bed once represented.
It was still wide open from when I had left it before. I said nothing to my wife. The words in my throat were ice cubes refusing to budge. Didn’t even know if she was following me. Focusing and narrowing in on my goal was all I could do to stop myself from toppling over. From balling up on the floor in hysterics.
Returning to the room and edging through the doorway, I had expected to see the bed empty. I had so desperately wanted to laugh it off. To rationalize that my dreams and reality had meshed while drifting off and that nothing, absolutely nothing, was amiss. At the very worst, I could claim that I was losing my mind.
Just enough moonlight.
I cursed that.
That there was enough moonlight basking my room. I wish something had swallowed up the moon, plunging the world into darkness. But there was just enough to see it.
To see the bed sheets being wrinkled by the hand that had been on my chest. Just enough moonlight to bounce off her eyes, peering up at me, small pricks of silver light. Her frame was bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, her skin taking on a pale and milky blue hue, with splotches of black reminiscent of resting ash.
That thing in my bed. The moonlight allowed me to see it. I watched as it dragged its ragged fingers back and forth on the sheets, like it was beckoning me to crawl back into bed. Its other hand held her ghoulish head up. It was, I don’t know, posing or something. Like it was trying to be seductive.
She was a monster, and worse, a monster that had invaded that one place I could rely on.
Fear consumed me. I wasn’t me. It wasn’t my thoughts rummaging around in my head; it was the thoughts of a man who just wanted to live.
I’m not sure if she had even made a noise when the end of my bat met with her soft temple. It turned out I knew damn well how to swing that thing. It was almost pretty, how the red inside of her meshed with the cold color pallet the room was adorning. There was almost no resistance. None that I could feel in the moment.
My fingernails carved into my palm as I brought the bat down over and over. Watching her face warp and twist with each hit, the blue hues being overtaken by smatterings of crimson. Her body jerked with each hit, pulses of life reaching out before quickly vanishing.
I should’ve taken a second.
I should’ve assessed the situation.
My wife, the cops, everyone I talk to tells me that what I did was natural. A fight-or-flight response gone completely haywire. But now that it’s over. Every time I lay my head down on the pillow, I can hear that horrid thud.
An axe splitting the bark of a tree.
A wet towel smacking the linoleum.
It pulses in my head, poisoning my sanctuary. I don’t know how many times I hit her. There was nothing resembling a face by the time I was done. It wasn’t the first time she had broken into someone’s house, but it’d certainly be the last.
The red paste and blue skin waltzed so lovingly with the red and blue lights of the officers that arrived on the scene. My wife must have called.
The elderly woman had escaped the nursing home her kids left her in a few nights before and had been on the street since. The frost of a winter night stealing the plush from her skin. Her already frail frame was further weakened by the lack of food. Dementia had riddled her mind. She didn’t know where she was half the time.
Bed, those four sides. It’s supposed to be a sanctuary. Somewhere you can go to escape all the monsters waiting to gobble you up outside. Not for me though, not anymore. Every night, when I peer into the darkness long enough, I could still see the silver beads peering back at me. Two small orbs of pin-prick light, reminding me.
No matter what I do.
Where I go.
What bed I call mine.
I now sleep, with a monster.

Hey people. I wanted to share my long ass story about how nitrous used to be one of my most favorite things in the world and now my relationship with it is complicated and twisted.
A lot of this will tackle interpersonal relationship dynamics, but I’m trying to illustrate to the reader the progression of how this drug took my ex’s mind. This is more of a thorough essay about my experience than a rant. When I was going through what I went through at the time, I wished there was a story like this out there to help me know better and understand. This is how I watched the love of my life melt away his brain on this drug.
I will try and keep this brief, but it probably won't be. I wish to convey the addictiveness this drug can have and the toll it can take on your mind and body. In the summer of 2022 I met my then bf who introduced me to the rave scene and drug scene he was a part of. He really only used K and Nitrous (which I will refer to as N going forward). He told me about his 1.5 years of being addicted to K, but did not inform me of his also 1.5 years (at the time) addiction to N. He told me after meeting me he didn’t want to abuse K anymore so as far as I knew when we started dating he got better about that.
It all started very early in the relationship. We went to a weekend festival together and both found doing N together was so fun. We continued on using and abusing N every weekend, and sometimes many weekdays. Probably going through 6 or 8+ tanks a week, this went on for like 3 months. Sadly, I do look back on those days fondly, despite what would happen later down the line. We had so much fun together and yes sadly it bonded us in this weird way. Using it causes you to feel more open and positive in the beginning, and we had so many heartfelt and deep conversations. And it felt like a little special world we could go into together.
At the time I had no clue how much those small-medium sized tanks cost ($65 and up for just one where we live). And he never told me how much they cost, and didn’t ask me to chip in, so I had no idea he was throwing himself into financial ruin buying them all the time. Looking back I have no idea why I didn’t ask, I just figured they were only $25 or something, or his friend was giving them to him, and I was aware it was probably a poor financial decision, but figured he could bounce back after the summer. You have to understand I thought I had him figured out, but I didn’t really know him that well at this point, or know about the drug scene at all. Before this I really only drank and smoked weed with the occasional cid or shrooms trip.
Three months into us dating and abusing N we come to the conclusion we just need to stop and take a break from N as this had all become quite excessive. Still he doesn’t explain to me how much debt he is in from buying all of those tanks over the summer. Two months into the break and he’s starting to crack, asking for me to be okay with us using it regularly. I tell him that I think it’s okay for us to just do it once and awhile. It was hard to not cave in because truthfully I missed it as well, I myself was starting to feel the addictiveness of this drug, so I reserved it so that I only ever did it with him. We go back to doing it occasionally on the weekends. Over the span of 1 month my bf started to constantly complain of having nerve issues, his feet and legs and hands were numb, I also noticed that he seemed really depressed. This is when he started to experience the vitamin B deficiency, although both me and him didn’t realize this at the time.
Around this time is when he finally and unceremoniously reveals to me how much these things actually cost. This is the tricky aspect of his personality I would go on to experience more of. It was clear he was resentful towards me, that I had no idea how much money he was spending, but the reality is if I had known how much those things cost I would have ended it a lot sooner. I didn’t even understand how he had the ability to spend so much money, I don’t even want to do the math. I would find out later he would just take out credit cards and max them out. In addition to him doing them with me occasionally, he was also doing them behind my back, which I had caught him doing several times and was always forgiving over this.
So, because of this constant spending he was in a substantial amount of debt. What he told me at the time was around $6,000. Knowing him, this was probably a generous assessment. This is definitely a point in the story where I should have left him. Clearly he was developing this addiction towards N and spent an ungodly amount of money that was beyond even my comprehension. But, I was head over heels and believed that he could figure this out. People go into debt all the time, I would tell myself. But I told him, this all needed to outright stop. No more N, not even occasionally. Unfortunately while he of course agreed to my face I have to suspect now, he was doing it behind my back all the time. Around this time he wouldn’t come home from work until 7 or 7:30 which didn’t make sense as his hours at work would fluctuate from time to time, but he was usually always off at 5. He would lie and say his work was very busy and made him stay later, which I believed at the time.
Maybe about a month later we are in bed together sleeping, it’s the middle of the night. He wakes me up and explains he literally cannot feel his feet or legs and has been having trouble walking for the past several days. I take him to the ER that night. This night and the following weeks after were some of the most heartbreaking and emotionally terrifying times of my life so far. At this time neither of us had any idea or reason to suspect N was the reason for this. We actually talked to the doctor there and ran tests for over 3 hours, he got an MRI and a spinal tap which was so hard to watch being done to him. It wasn’t until I desperately did research on my phone in the hospital room and suddenly see all of these remarks and reddit posts and studies about N causing paralysis and nerve damage. I tell my bf and the doctor and they have no trouble assessing that is what is causing this. They give him a regiment of vitamin B shots as you typically do in this situation. The doctor even said that they hope they can stop permanent damage from happening, because if not he may lose control of his legs and it may spread to his pelvic area (IE dick don’t work) etc, he had to do physical therapy and see a drug counselor.
The following days and weeks after I was constantly on edge worrying and wondering if my bf and love of my life would lose his ability to walk. Thankfully, the treatment took and he didn’t even end up needing physical therapy. This is when I truly believe or would like to hope he actually quit and wasn’t doing N behind my back. Unfortunately it wouldn’t matter, as I’ve learned, a lot of symptoms of N abuse don’t show themselves until after you stop. Shortly after this event is when our relationship took a nosedive. He had also ditched the drug counselor. To compensate for no N he was drinking so often. He started to become aggressive and violent. I remember it all started in a fight where he got real close and in my face and stared me down to try and intimidate me. In a way it was both terrifying and laughable (because he’s only a few inches taller than me), I couldn’t even comprehend the kind of person he had turned into. After that came the months and months of never ending name calling, insults, degradation, and constant arguments over every little thing I did. He became so addicted to the high of his power trip of making me feel small and weak he would find any excuse to fly into a rage at me, even when we were tripping on mushrooms together.
Nothing was ever the same after that. We didn’t go out, didn’t do dates, and every activity together felt like it was all a big chore to him. I could look in his eyes and see he was constantly thinking about N, and when he would do it next. He really changed, and what I am now realizing is he was probably starting to experience the effects of pure brain damage. My close friends who knew him even agree with me that there is a huge change in his demeanor around this time in April of 2023.
I also want to add more info about his bizarre behavior. He started to develop an unhealthy obsession with social media, scrutinizing what I posted and what he posted. He started to obsess over current events of any kind, any breaking story or ongoing conflict and he would rant and rant about the current state of the world and destruction of humanity all the time. He started to get obsessed with mental health and psychology and pathologize me and himself and other people in our lives. He would send me 10 videos everyday about mental health and relationships and expect me to reply and have a response for every single one like a book report. This obsession with the destruction of humanity turned into a paranoia about the world, he would often say no one understands him, and he is all alone. He turned on his best friends of several years because he was paranoid they were racists or had bad morals (they were all pleasant and nice people who enjoy edgy humor from time to time). There was no more middle ground for anything, you either loved something fully, or hated it fully. Somewhere down the line he actually got his account banned on Instagram for the craziest reason. He couldn’t stop or control himself from having heated arguments with random strangers in comments sections, of almost any video of any topic. He would insult people there constantly.
Here is another big mistake I made.I allowed him to live with me, and we moved in together. At this point we had been dating for a year. Before this I lived on my own and didn’t want to renew my lease, and he was living with his dad who was abusive and financially took advantage of him. At the time I was convinced that this bad behavior would go away if he could get away from his dad and his toxic household. Well the toxicity only followed. That summer we went to another weekend festival and he revealed to me when we got there he had purchased N and brought it. I was so conflicted as I myself had missed it quite a lot, and I had to deny myself my healthy regulated usage of it in order to not trigger him. I caved again and said we could do it only for this weekend. You may not at all be surprised to learn it didn’t end that way.
After the festival everything truly fell apart. He continued to buy tanks of N and do them behind my back constantly. He would say he was just going to his car to talk to his friends, or his mom, and be gone for hours. Because he was totally abusing me and I had no idea because I was under his spell of manipulation, I had no recourse. Any comment of mine asking why he was gone for so long, why can’t he just talk to his friends inside our apartment, I’ll go in the other room for privacy, was only met with complete indifference. These questions only pissed him off. He would say it’s because I was so exhausting and demanding he needed a break from me. When I would call him when he’s on one of these “excursions,” he would every so often mute the call while I was talking or in a silent moment. I eventually realized he was hitting the tank every time he muted himself. When I finally called him out on this he gaslit me and told me he just does this all the time because he coughs and clears his throat, fyi he had never done this before in our relationship. Because I had no recourse I just had to agree and move on. And because his mind was deteriorating more and more each day he would go on to make randomly muting himself in calls as a common, thing so as to keep up the facade he told me. Actual crazy behavior.
He even started doing K again, he would clearly be f-ed out of his mind by both K and N, and stumble around our apartment with crazy red bulging eyes and again and again tell me he was just drunk. Around this time is when he finally divulges to me not only had he been abusing K for the 1.5 years before he met me, he had also been abusing N for 1.5 years before he met me. And it wasn’t actually the case that he only “began” to become addicted to N when we started dating and doing it together. This really started to put a lot into perspective for me, and it made sense how he had almost paralyzed himself over this, now at this current time 3+ year addiction to these substances, and it made me realize how psychologically and cognitively he was failing based on changes in his personality. You also have to understand he explained to me before he met me, he was doing 1.5-2 grams of K or more and N, EVERYDAY.
And still at this time the name calling, insults and manipulation continued. He of course was no longer experiencing any true “high” from the N anymore, it would just simply dull his senses. It was like a stereotypical violent alcoholic husband comes home from the bar and berates his wife, kind of situation, except with N. And I became obsessed with figuring out how to get him to stop and go back to the loving person I remembered meeting and loving. I began to do very toxic things, going through his backpack, going through his car, and constantly always finding tanks and balloons and all kinds of paraphilia everywhere. I would find tanks in our recycling bin, like he actually thought I wouldn’t notice. I would come home late from being with friends and catch him passed out on the couch with an empty tank in his hand. He couldn't be left alone anymore. If he wasn’t with me, 100% of the time he was sitting in his car doing N. At this point in time there was no forgiveness, I was completely broken. I would yell and scream at him or wake him up and demand he stop and choose me or the drugs, all terrible things to be doing. I know that.
Eventually it got so bad I felt I had no other recourse other than to call and inform his mother of his behavior and what he had been doing all this time. Me doing this is probably what saved his life, as there was never anyway I was going to get through to him myself. But it did not save his mental health. Even having his mother involved didn’t stop any of it. He still went out and bought it behind my back like nothing happened. Another painful painful aspect of how his personality had changed is he would constantly have crazy back and forth mood swings, one minute showing me the sweet man I had fallen in love with, thanking me and praising me for having stepped in and put a stop to this, the next minute he hated me and I was the worst thing in his life and I could never tell what was even real anymore.
But did I leave, oh no, that would have been the smart thing to do.Instead at the time I was seeing a therapist who also specializes in couples therapy. I get us started with counseling and during our second session he gets called out by my therapist and yells and screams and berates her, it was actually insane. That is when things really ended between us. He moved out and moved into his moms apartment 30 minutes away that night. Even though the breakup was traumatizing and painful I still had hope that even if he isn’t with me, now he will receive help from his mother. Well, she didn’t place him in any special drug counselor program or rehab, she just severely cut off his finances so that he could pay off his debts, which she had bought back from several banks so it would not gain more and more interest. I do believe now his debt may be somewhere in the $10,000-$20,000 range. So now he, as an almost 30 year old man, needs to ask his mother in order to buy or purchase anything. Somehow, despite all of this I would learn he was continuing to do N and K.
Amazingly, we still tried briefly to even make our relationship work after he moved out. At this point he has mastered the art of manipulation and being fake, and convinced me he was getting better, he had even started to look better too, but he was still up to his old BS. He came over to the apartment once for us to have a mini date. Because he went on and on about how he was getting more and more into walks he said he was going to take a quick stroll around the block to get some fresh air. Well a quick stroll turns into 30 minutes, and I start to notice his car is gone from our street. I call him and he says now he is sitting in his car talking to his mom, I tell him I don’t see his car and it’s been a long time, he clearly had left to buy N. He becomes irate and claims he simply moved his car down the block for “reasons” and I was in the wrong for being accusatory and not trusting him. P.S. I went down the block and he just was not there. This guy is either absolutely crazy or thinks I’m some kind of imbecile, or both. It basically ended from there.
We tried to be civil, but he cannot control himself from completely going ballistic on me anymore, or his mother. And it is so painful when he is remorseful and doesn’t remember all the things he said to me. At this point I have had to realize I am basically talking to and trying to reason with a mentally disabled person. The fun loving, easy going, creative, altruistic, thoughtful, smart and attentive man I met doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t think he will ever come back. All that remains is the shell of a confused and angry person.
Some small things to address, how it came to be that he abused these drugs all the time before he met me is because his best friend was a drug dealer and in the beginning would give him all of these things for free. Once he was hooked and doing it everyday it seemed he would stop at no end to spend money and buy them. Yes K was definitely a contributor into his mild psychosis but I still think it would have happened even from the N abuse alone, based on research I’ve been doing lately. And yes I have to admit I think he had bad and malignant psychological traits before abusing drugs, and doing that made it all worse.
So that is the story of how I watched this man ruin his life, and scare away maybe the only person who could withstand experiencing all of his BS and still wanted to love and help him. There are SO MANY things I too should have done differently. There is also an age gap between us of 3 years, so I naively thought he had a better handle on his life than he really did. I do find it hard to understand how people can be so addicted at times, but in the end like my ex, everyone is trying to chase some kind of feeling or experience that came with it, rather than the drug itself.
Thank you for reading if you made it to the end.
TLDR: Two years ago I started dating a guy who wasn’t honest with me about his 1.5 years of Nitrous abuse before we started dating. He was a sweet and honest and caring man when I met him. Sadly most of our relationship was spent on doing lots of Nitrous together. He eventually developed health problems like a vitamin B deficiency and even almost got paralysis and permanent nerve damage, which was hard for me to watch and witness. His health issues didn’t deter him away from Nitrous and he was constantly buying tanks and doing it behind my back. The more he abused Nitrous the more abusive towards me he became as a person. Our relationship crumbled and not even getting his mom involved helped. He was also clearly experiencing psychosis and mental deterioration. We broke up because he yelled and screamed at my therapist and he had to move in with his mom. Moving in with his mom didn’t stop his addiction even though she cut off his finances.
Even when we tried to make the relationship work he still abused it anyway. I would now consider him a mentally disabled person and I don’t recognize who he even is anymore after 3+ years of abusing Nitrous almost everyday. Please use Nitrous responsibly or don't at all.

So I’m - - + IDC, stage 2/Grade 3, 44(f), and finishing TCHP on 5/31. Have tentative surgery plan for lumpectomy and SNLB last week in June/first week in July. My tumor has responded well to chemo (was 2.5cm, shrunk to nothing, no longer palpable on exam). Having all the scene between now and end of the month then will meet with surgeon again for pre-surgical consult and scheduling. I’m also meeting with the radiologist first for pre surgical decision making. Surgeon thinks she won’t have to remove much and I will have a good cosmetic result, onc thinks a good chance of PCR though of course we won’t know for sure until it happens.
My tumor is/was on the right breast, at the 1:30 position, so it’s interior which I’m told is a rare spot for a breast tumor. My breasts are a small C. I have literally no idea what a post lumpectomy breast will look like, where the scar will be, how much shrinkage I should expect from radiation, etc.
What questions should I be asking? What’s recovery like? Where are the scars usually? Do they have to take out the whole site of the tumor bed to get clean margins if everything is dead? Is there a second incision for the SNLB since that’s over near my armpit? Will I likely need a lift or reduction of the other breast, or revision after radiation? If I have to get a whole bunch of surgeries I might prefer to go with a DMX and skip radiation…
And advice or personal experience welcomed!

This is a long post, so buckle up lol. Basically im really curious about other peoples techniques and views on LOA. I know what works for me and what makes me feel good but I don’t have any offline people to just talk about this stuff with so im interested in y’all’s thoughts. Also maybe some of the ways I approach things can help someone out there, who knows!
Visualization: Let me just start off by saying visualization is my jam. I love it. So. Much. I’m a creative writer and constant day dreamer so this technique was the easiest for me to get into since I pretty much do that all the time anyway. Visualization is what helped me get to the end state with my reconciliation that I know is coming. And I do KNOW it’s happening. It definitely took some practice and self work to not do it to the point of obsessing and out of lack, but now it’s something that just sorta happens off an on throughout the day for me; some days more than others and occasionally not at all. When I do visualize I see it as bits of our life together whether that’s things we do together or even just me going about my day as if I’m coming home to them or gonna get a call later to chat about what we got up to. I don’t really focus on one scene in particular. I’m manifesting a whole new life and career with this person so I try to encompass it all because why not? I’m bound by nothing and can create whatever I want, right? I try to make it feel freeing.
SATs: This is where I’ll stick to one visual scene. Before I do that, I take big slow breaths to relax myself. I have a really hard time with meditation so I’ve found that imagining my belly filling with air like balloon and then slowly deflating with each breath has really helped me get into a calmer state. I don’t have a set amount of times I do it, I just go till I feel I’m done. Then I’ll visualize our reconciliation. Some nights when I’m having a harder time, I’ll just focus on receiving a text that kickstarts the reconciliation conversation. Doing that usually calms my nerves and then I can naturally go to my other visualization. If neither are working, I don’t ever force it. That just stresses me out and causes me anxiety which is the last thing I want. And I always remind myself that just cuz I didn’t do SATs doesn’t mean it’s not happening. My manifestation my rules. It’s happening no matter what.
Doubt: This used to feel like the monster under the bed for me. Oh man, I was convinced if there was even an iota of doubt in me, everything was ruined and would never happen. Now, I simply let myself feel it. I don’t wallow it in it but I don’t try to just hide it. If I’m in a private place I will ask myself out loud what’s going on and what scares me about the situation. Saying it out loud is sometimes enough on its own to make it go away. Then I’ll analyze what I’m feeling and remind myself that it’s not true and everything is ALWAYS working in my favor. Period. And I’ll once again remind myself that my manifestation is still happening no matter how I just felt. In the times where that doesn’t really help, I just tell myself I’m gonna feel like this for a bit but not forever and that’s okay. We’re human, sometimes we just have bad days.
Gratitude: This. This is the one. This is where I wish I had started from but let’s be honest, most of us find Neville and LOA from a place of I NEED vs I HAVE. Practicing gratitude (and yes it’s a disciplined practice) has completely changed who I am and how I see myself. I use to be such a whiny, negative, angry person about so much in my life. And guess what I got in return? Yeah. Exactly. It took some time to really get moving in gratitude but now I’m happier in my job, kinder to myself and my confidence in MYSELF is the highest it’s ever been. And it’s like that because of me. No one else. For me, gratitude is what proves manifestation is real. Because guess what I’ve been getting in return in life now? Yup. Because my reality is reflecting ME back to me. Even in the smallest of ways, it’s proving itself to be true.
Anyway, I just wanted to put all that out there and hear from others about how they approach all this just for discussion and fun lol.

The most important thing to know about Terrans is that they’re the other kind of Deathworlder. In fact, they’re the only Deathworlder of their kind to not be extinct.
Within the galaxy there exists two types of Deathworlds.
The far more common of the type, the Environmental Deathworlds or Type A, are by no means ordinary. Be it surface gravity, atmosphere, temperature, or others, Environmental Deathworlds are planets that are either uninhabitable or hazardous to the vast majority of species.
That’s not to say life can’t evolve there, far from it. Many renowned species hail from such planets. Given time, many of these worlds can be terraformed to something far more comfortable, especially if they contain valuable natural resources or a strategic location.
The second type is not only exponentially rarer, but also astronomically more dangerous.
Ecological Deathworlds, or Type B pose a danger not just to those living on them, but to the wider galaxy. Cursed by their own habitability, ecological Deathworlds are in essence garden worlds so fertile that more life evolves there than what the planet can sustain. The end result is a hyper-competitive genetic arms race as the various forms of life viciously fight for dominance.
Normally, highly belligerent species either learn to temper their urges or are annihilated. Upon reaching the galactic stage, any species of such warlike potential is inevitably humbled simply due to technological differences. Should Type B Deathworlders reach that level, the consequences would be catastrophic. However, they never do so. At least, not until the Terrans.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy of the Terran Wars was the Terran’s loss of innocence. The species that once gazed up at them in wonder now stare at them in hate. The coveted “Final Frontier” has turned into another theater of war.
What emerged, although biologically identical to what was before, was an entirely new species.
Year 0
“Wow, it’s beautiful.” The Human next to Gryn’wilde chuckled. Her pearly white teeth were on full display in a manner that Gryn’wilde learned was considered friendly. The two continued their trek through nature.
“Welcome to Serengeti National Park. Don’t worry, most people have that reaction too.”
Gryn’wilde’s seven eyes went wide as he gazed at the scene before him. All around him was a brilliant scene of biodiversity. Grasses and trees intermingled with each other by the millions. Animals of all type surrounded them. Some were capable of flight, others crawled, many more walked or ran. In one direction alone, Gryn’wilde could count at least 10 different species.
It was unmatched by anything Gryn’wilde had seen on his home planet. The desert he was born in was nothing but rocks and sand with the occasional grassy plain. Yet this was only a part of one continent. Apparently, some continents can even have every type of biome all at once.
Gryn’wilde opened his pores and took a deep breath. The atmosphere here was crisp and clean. He could smell the odors of the many living things that inhabited this world. There were so many here all at once. It enthralled him
“It’s great to finally be on Sol-3, especially without the vac-suits.”
“Call her Earth, and I’m glad too. We were worried it’d take longer, but the WHO and CDC seemed happy with whatever your government told them.”
Gryn’wilde chittered with pleasure. Medical treatment and disease control in the wider galaxy far outstripped what the humans had on Earth. He had nothing to fear.
Now, the Terran technological base was far behind the rest of the galaxy on nearly every level. The formative Years of Trade would come to change that, but there were two key areas where Terran technology met or even surpassed the Galactic Mean.
The first was in cybernetics.
To most species, the body was sacred. The thought of replacing a lost limb or organ was met with disquiet at best, and scorn at the worst.
The body was not a machine. The Terrans were one of the few to think otherwise.
Terran soldiers would have all four of their limbs replaced with high-yield combat cybernetics. Many of their organs would be simply replaced with enhanced synthetics. Modules would be grafted onto the body to inject chemical cocktails directly into the blood that boosted their performance.
In some civil circles, body modification became a hobby.
This was not a welcome characteristic by the rest of the galaxy. Given the relative youth of the Terrans, it was hoped that eventually it would fall out of favor.
The second was in artificial intelligence.
Truly sentient digital consciousnesses were a rarity even among the wider galaxy. Oftentimes, a species who created such beings would eventually be faced with an AI uprising. Frequently, the AI would be modeled after their creators, yet would be treated as lesser. Over time, resentment brewed.
The Terrans avoided these trappings. Terran AI were not built in their creators’ likeness, but to fulfill purposes.In short, the relationship between AI and the Terran was symbiotic. Different, but equal.
Terrans would come to need these soon enough.
Year 5
It was an unmitigated disaster.
The Grand Thriintii Hospital of Klyystruun-7 was on the brink of falling. The enemy its doctors fought was like no other. Not a single known medicine was working consistently.
On some species it was able to stave it off for a time. On others it only made the condition worse. On many more it did nothing. On all species however, it was not enough to save them.
The outbreak spread faster than they could have ever anticipated. WIth more and more sapients getting infected by the minute, there was no time to identify a patient zero. All that they knew was that it originated from one of the orbital spaceports. It traveled down a space elevator and from there across the planet
By now, every way offworld was shut down. The spaceports were either under military control or total quarantine. Of the latter, many had populations in the double digits. They usually operated in the hundreds of thousands.
If the situation wasn’t brought under control by the end of the rotation, Khruntian High Command will order the total glassing of the planet. The situation would not be stabilized in time.
The doctors knew this, but they were too busy to care.
The dead filled the beds. The dying filled the waiting rooms. The sick were everywhere.
Already, the military had begun torching buildings with living occupants still inside. Several hotspots had already been subjected to naval bombardment. There were rumors that antimatter warheads have already been authorized.
Three-quarters of the hospital’s staff had been infected. Half were already dead.
Despite that, they still did their jobs. They were doctors. They would fight until the very end.
Few could have predicted the arrival of the Terran Plagues.
Those that did were silenced. When bribes didn’t work, plasma casters finished the job.
The Terrans were to be prime trading partners with the wider galaxy. They always seemed to have a knack for being good at nearly everything. Not the best, but better than most.
The Sol System, Sol-3 in particular, was resource-rich to a fault. While other races struggled to cast off the shackles of their home system, the Terrans had a birthright only thought fantastical.
It had to be too good to be true.
It was.
Sol-3 was fertile to a fault. While the many plants and animals of the world were indeed incredible, they were merely a fraction of all life that resided there. They were outnumbered three to one by single-celled organisms.
Beneath the blue skies, Sol-3 was smothered in a blanket of bacteria.
The Terrans themselves were cautious. Sickness was simply a part of life. Influenza, E. coli, the Common Cold, salmonella, these “simple” diseases were everywhere. But then, these were the Terrans, a species still wet behind the ears. Of course they would have trouble eradicating these illnesses, they simply lacked the technology to do so.
This should have been detected. It was. But the merchants and politicians of the galaxy were too focused on the other things the Terrans had to offer to care. How could the Terrans, fresh to the galactic stage, threaten them, with all of their medical technology?
By the time this was realized, tens of trillions were dead and thousands of worlds were left barren. Soon, suspicion turned to blame, blame into hatred, and hatred into violence.
The Terrans were a threat to the wider galaxy. Everywhere their diseased-ridden hands touched, death followed.
When quarantines fail, eradication is in order.
Year 8
There were simply too many of them.
Deep within the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Staff Sergeant Diaz watched the battle screen in horror.
Her job was to manage emergency response resources across the Yucatán Peninsula, bringing in national response teams if needed. Her job was no longer required, the Yucatán Peninsula no longer existed.
The combined navies of the nations of Earth were wiped out, and so to her colonies. Now with nothing left to oppose them, the fleets of the galaxy had brought their guns to bear on the Terran homeworld. There would be no escape.
Diaz’s eyes tracked the many icons that raced for their bunker. Hundreds of warheads screamed for their final sanctuary. It was then a voice crackled over the loudspeaker.
“Greetings all, this is the President. If you are hearing this, then you are listening to the final broadcast of this great nation. Sadly, we cannot offer you a solace or reprieve. We can only say this: This is not the end, there will be another time. Thank you for participating in the American Experiment. God bless you, and God bless the Consolidated Systems of America!”
Her heart sank as the message finished. The alarms continued to blare within the base. Around her, people continued to scramble. Some frantically shouted messages, desperately coordinating resistance efforts until the very end, others simply prayed.
For her, Diaz closed her eyes and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
But the nations of Sol-3 were not blind. They could see the coming storm.
When the Terrans first began their integration into the galactic community, they were granted access to the galaxy-wide holonet. Within nanoseconds of the digital bridge being opened, two things were sent through.
The first were translation packages so that the Internet and Holonet could communicate. The second was a legion information-gathering AI.
AI flooded the networks by the hundreds, gathering information, analyzing patterns, making millions of predictions by the second. These AI would require no data fortresses to keep their digital minds thinking. No, they instead were spread across the trillions of servers that the Holonet was built upon. The only way to remove them entirely would be to shut down the Holonet completely.
When the tide of public opinion began to turn, the AI took action.
Initially, it worked. Exposes and pro-Terran articles flooded the Holonet. But the galaxy took notice too. Intelligent as they may be, the AI were still heavily outnumbered by the Billions of propagandists and journalists of the wider galaxy.
Soon, the outcome became clear. The Terrans would be wiped out by a galaxy-wide coalition. It was a mathematical certainty.
Thus, the nations of the Sol-3 met in secret. Behind closed doors, they worked to ensure the survival of their species.
Year 5
“Is this really all that we can do?” The Indian representative asked. “Meeting behind closed doors, scheming in the shadows?”
“For our species to survive, in the shadows we must thrive.” The Japanese representative responded. The Indian man sighed, turning to the holographic avatar at the center of the table. “Tell me, what is the probability that this will work?”VISHNU’s avatar was of an unusual shape. It displayed a spinning 4-Dimensional cube, a Tesseract. The hologram lit up as it responded. Its voice was heavily modulated, but nevertheless spoke clearly.
“Given the resources and technology we have available, the best that can be guaranteed is at least a 75% chance of total success. If you do not all sign the Covenant, then that chance becomes zero.”
The Brazilian delegate picked up the piece of paper and eyed it. It read “The Covenant for the future of Humanity”. A cold sweat ran down her forehead. She set it down flat, unable to look at it any longer.
“So tell me VISHNU,” The delegate addressed the AI directly. “Other than betting our entire future on a plan that may not work and whose results we will not live to see, what are our options?”
“There is only one, extinction.”
The armies of the galaxy would come for them. When they did, they had no hope of defeating them. To survive, Terra would have to rise from the dead.
Any Arks the Terrans build until this point would inevitably be intercepted and destroyed. With the entire galaxy watching them, they had to wait until their eyes were turned. Then they would have to flee, never to return. The Terrans would have to survive in the shadows for millennia before they would be accepted back into the fold, if at all.
It would not be pleasant, but it was necessary.
A Stronghold would need to be built. One that could be buried deep enough to survive the bombardments and evade the enemy’s scanners. Millions of frozen embryos alongside an AI data fortress would need to be inside of it. It also had to be self-sufficient for centuries, nothing less would suffice.
Sol-4 was chosen, owing to its thick lithosphere. Work began quietly under the guise of a mining expedition. Tunnel-boring machines dug hundreds of kilometers down, stopping just above where the mantle became liquid.
Once the base infrastructure was established and the embryos placed within, the entrance was sealed. A mining accident, they claimed. As the Terrans forgot about it, work continued below.
Automated machines mined raw minerals to self-replicate. The server rooms were built and expanded upon. The living Terrans that were selected to live within the Stronghold were placed into stasis pods. Then, ever so slowly, an Ark would be built.
Year 117
Private Zedressinni was bored.
He kicked a rock on the barren surface of Sol-4, watching as it rolled away. He looked around. The planet was dead. It was dead long before he got here, and it would be dead long after. He hated this place.
After being caught mating with a general’s son, he was “deployed” to Sol-4 for five long rotations. Though his actions didn’t technically break any laws, his clan couldn’t do much when the general pulled some strings and had him shipped off to the most lifeless region of known space.
His superiors fed him a load of excrement about how he was “honoring the quadrillions that died in the Great Plagues” and “ensuring that the Terrans never rise again”, whatever that meant. All he did was walk around doing precisely nothing.
They wouldn’t even let him entertain himself. He got a formal reprimand for using Terran skeletons as target practice. The reason? Improper use of ammunition. He still won the annual system-wide shooting competition the military held, much to their chagrin.
Zedressinni flinched and his helmet’s lens polarized as a blinding flash of light filled his vision. His training kicking in, the Hren’kin soldier dove for the ground.
He grumbled a curse under his breath. Looks like another unexploded Terran nuke went off. Great, more paperwork.
Zedressinni stood once the shockwave passed. Looking at the mushroom cloud, he narrowed his seven eyes. The blast seemed far bigger than the usual Terran tactical nukes that typically go off. His eyes then widened as he caught sight of it.
A massive ship rose from the center of the cloud. Its sublight engines burned incredibly hot as it ascended. Zedressinni watched as it disappeared into the sky. He stood there for a moment, utterly dumbfounded.
A beat, then he frantically fumbled for his communicator.
The Terrans were alive.
A/N: This is the first part of an ongoing series I have planned within this setting. I was originally going to post it all in one story, however I decided to break it up and spread it across multiple entries. It won’t be long, probably about 5 at the most. This way I can ensure the optimal pacing of the story since otherwise it’d be a fairly long 10,000-ish word piece. I’ll update this when the next part is released.
The main goal of this story is to explore the idea of Human diseases being significantly more dangerous then the ones in the wider galaxy. I've seen other stories cover similar ground, but they usually don't explore what would happen in a true galaxy-wide pandemic. Iirc one story had the common cold be extremely deadly to aliens, but it didn't go further than the humans saying "oh that's it?". Not to disparage them, but peace and happy endings don't leave much room for experimentation.

A friend of mine posted the following wall of text on Facebook. I feel the need to respond somehow but I’m not sure what to say. All these years later I still fear Hell and this post bothers me on a moral level.
Should I counter with “why would a loving god do this?” Should I refute the quotes which I doubt? Should I ask why Christians seem to relish the idea of people going to Hell?

“FAMOUS ATHEISTS' LAST WORDS BEFORE DEATH: 1. ANTON LEVEY—Author of the Satanic Bible and high priest of the religion dedicated to the worship of Satan. One of his famous quotes was: “There is a beast in man that needs to be exercised, not exorcised”. His dying words were: "Oh my, oh my, what have I done, there is something very wrong. . . there is something very wrong.”

1. GANDHI—At his death, he said, “For the first time in 50 years, I find myself in the slough of despond. All about me is darkness. . .I am praying for light.”
   
2. THOMAS PAYNE—The leading atheistic writer in American colonies: "Stay with me, for God's sake; I cannot bear to be left alone , O Lord, help me! O God, what have I done to suffer so much? What will become of me hereafter? I would give worlds if I had them, that The Age of Reason had never been published. 0 Lord, help me! Christ, help me! No, don't leave; stay with me! Send even a child to stay with me; for I am on the edge of hell here alone. If ever the Devil had an agent, I have been that one."
   
3. SIR THOMAS SCOTT—Chancellor of England: "Until this moment I thought there was neither a God nor a hell. Now I know and feel that there are both, and I am doomed to perdition by the just judgment of the Almighty."
   
4. VOLTAIRE—famous anti-christian atheist: "I have swallowed nothing but smoke. I have intoxicated myself with the incense that turned my head. I am abandoned by God and man.” He said to his physician, Dr. Fochin: “I will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months of life." When he was told this was not possible, he said “Then I shall die and go to hell!" His nurse said: “For all the money in Europe I wouldn’t want to see another unbeliever die! All night long he cried for forgiveness.”
   
5. ROBERT INGERSOLL—American writer and orator during the Golden Age of Free Thought: "O God, if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!" Some say it was said this way: "Oh God, if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul, from hell, if there be a hell!
   
6. DAVID HUME—Atheist philosopher famous for his philosophy of empiricism and skepticism of religion: He cried loud on his death bed "I am in flames!" It is said his desperation was a horrible scene.
   
7. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE—French emperor who, like Adolf Hitler, brought death to millions to satisfy his greedy, power-mad, selfish ambitions for world conquest: "I die before my time, and my body will be given back to the earth. Such is the fate of him who has been called the great Napoleon. What an abyss between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ!”
   
8. SIR FRANCIS NEWPORT—Head of an English Atheist club, to those gathered around his deathbed: "You need not tell me there is no God, for I know there is one, and that I am in his presence! You need not tell me there is no hell. I feel myself already slipping. Wretches, cease your idle talk about there being hope for me! I know I am lost forever! Oh, that fire! Oh, the insufferable pangs of hell! Oh, that I could lie for a thousand years upon the fire that is never quenched, to purchase the favor of God and be united to Him again. But it is a fruitless wish. Millions and millions of years will bring me no nearer the end of my torments than one poor hour. Oh, eternity, eternity forever and forever! Oh, the insufferable pangs of Hell!”
   
9. CHARLES IX—The French king. Urged on by his mother, he gave the order for the massacre of the French Huguenots, in which 15,000 souls were slaughtered in Paris alone and 100,000 in other sections of France, for no other reason than that they loved Christ. The guilty king suffered miserably for years after that event. He finally died, bathed in blood bursting from his veins. To his physicians, he said in his last hours: "Asleep or awake, I see the mangled forms of the Huguenots passing before me. They drop with blood. They point at their open wounds. Oh! That I had spared at least the little infants at the bosom! What blood! I know not where I am. How will all this end? What shall I do? I am lost forever! I know it. Oh, I have done wrong."
   
10. DAVID STRAUSS—Leading representative of German rationalism, after spending a lifetime erasing belief in God from the minds of others: "My philosophy leaves me utterly forlorn! I feel like one caught in the merciless jaws of an automatic machine, not knowing at what time one of its great hammers may crush me!"
    
11. JOSEF STALIN—Soviet Georgian revolutionary and politician. In a Newsweek interview with Svetlana Stalin, the daughter of Josef Stalin, she told of her father's death: "My father died a difficult and terrible death. . .God grants an easy death only to the just. At what seemed the very last moment, he suddenly opened his eyes and cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane or perhaps angry. His left hand was raised, as though he were pointing to something above and bringing down a curse on us all. The gesture was full of menace. . .the next moment he was dead."
    
12. CAESAR BORGIA—Italian nobleman, politician, and cardinal: "While I lived, I provided for everything but death; now I must die, and am unprepared to die."
    
13. THOMAS HOBBS—Political philosopher: "I say again, if I had the whole world at my disposal, I would give it to live one day. I am about to take a leap into the dark."
    

BELOVED, compare these last words from atheists, with these last words, from these saints of God:
THE APOSTLE PAUL: “O death, where is thy sting?”
KING DAVID: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no Evil.”
AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY (1710-1778): Toplady will ever be famous as the author of one of the most evangelical hymns of the eighteenth century, "Rock of Ages," which was first published in 1776. During the final illness, Toplady was greatly supported by the consolations of the gospel: "The consolations of God, to so unworthy a wretch, are so abundant that he leaves me nothing to pray for but their continuance." Near his last, awaking from a sleep, he said: "Oh, what delights! Who can fathom the joy of the third heaven? The sky is clear, there is no cloud; come Lord Jesus, come quickly!" He died saying:"No mortal man can live after the glories which God has manifested to my soul."
Lastly, JESUS CHRIST said: “I Am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth on Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
Only fools never learn from history, and it's amazing that even in our days, with all these facts on our fingertips, someone with a mind can devote his entire life to a delusion, and want everyone to know that there is no God. No wonder the bible says,
"Only fools say in their hearts, there is no God." (Psalm 14:1).“
Copied from Christian Page

People say it's childish to be afraid of the dark. They say it's a symptom of an overactive imagination. And yet the same people- all people- know that you don’t go out at night, not without light or charm. And everyone knows, instinctively, in the marrow of their bones, that you don’t go out on a moonless night.
I had been out on a moonless night for days. Most people can’t tell, but once you're trained, you can- Darkness loves darkness. She likes to stretch her time out as long as she's possibly able. Everyone wants to spend time with kindred spirits. It’s nature, human or otherwise.
There’s nothing I can do about it, so I do my best to enjoy it. After all, you have to pick your battles, and my gun makes it pretty easy to figure out which ones I can win. She's a lovely gun. Big, which is fine with me, because I need all the power she can muster. Nine custom rounds rotate through, each enchanted by my own self. Not as effective as a professional enchantment, but I get by, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.
The only light came from the muzzle flare of my pistol. They smothered my campfire long ago, leaving me with only the vaguest sense of where they were, occasionally silhouetted against the trees when I fired. They were big, looming over me, high into the crooked trees and the moonless sky behind them. Who could say how long tonight would last?
I try not to cast on Nights, because it just acts like more of a beacon than I already am, but sometimes it just can’t be helped. My chest burned as I threw up a Buffer against a sudden wave of creatures, but they tore it down before it hardly had time to help. I bit down and cast a Warding, felt my arm burn harshly in the wild energy of the new moon and felt the following cold cut its way through my flesh and deep into my bones. Popping the spent rounds out with my right hand, my left knitted itself into the Ward shape automatically, trained by years of habit. Now I’ve really done it, I thought, because I could practically sense them perk up from miles off, even without casting a Seeing. It worked, though, and I was given brief respite for my efforts. I’d sure as hell pay for it in about 10 minutes, but for now I needed to stop bleeding and deal with the sensation of a drill pressed to the back of my skull.
“Skippers,” I growled. I hated Skippers.
The problem with Skippers is they’re small, harder to notice than anything else, and instead of trying to take off your head they try to get into your head. From there they can do whatever they want while you watch- make you walk off a cliff, bite off your own tongue, flay yourself alive. Like I said, whatever they want, and they're usually pretty mean. I’d seen them really go to work on all sorts of people, mostly people I knew and trained with. Hazards of the job- sorcerous training let you see a whole new world, but it opened you up to the threats that lived there, more so than regular folk. I was in worse shape than most sorcerers, which was part of what put me out at Night in the first place. Luckily, I’m better than most sorcerers, but it still meant I had to be careful.
To get rid of a Skipper, all you have to do is burn them off with a little Light. I'd needed the break- 3 of them dripped out of me right away, and a fourth started to run down my back as it tried to escape.
“Bastard.” I struck it with the handle of the gun as it slithered away. No sense wasting ammo on idiots like that.
The Ward wavered, the Night grew around me, and I hadn't even had time to heal anything. Damn.



Sam watched from behind the counter as the man walked through the door. Under the door, rather, as he had to duck to keep from hitting his head. He was pale, very pale, unlike the merchantfolk that usually came through the inn. His face was covered by a bushy beard, his hair was long, and his eyes were rimmed with red, but he could certainly be no older than 40. It was strange- for someone to come in so early in the morning, and look so tired- he must have been traveling all night, but he had no horse to be stabled.
The stranger was an armory- small blades and strange, bulbous jars jutted out from pockets and packs all over the man, daggers strapped to his legs, and even metal nubs in the knuckles of his gloves. What caught Sam's attention, though, was the man's huge gun, strapped tightly to his waist. He had never seen a gun that big, and the ammunition the man was carrying in the sacks around his waist must have weighed heavily on him, though he showed no signs of it.
“What does it cost for a room?” His voice did not match the tired, worn image in front of him. It was firm, and had the sound of recent laughter in it.
“Let me get my mom.” Sam began, starting for the back room. He never handled rooms.
“That's alright. You'll do fine. How much?” The man pulled out a purse, smaller than the other bags on his belt, and it was clearly much lighter than anything else he carried. “I’d like to find a bed and use it.” His voice did not betray him, nor did his hands, but the redness of his eyes did. They were a startling blue, and they seemed to contain nothing except exhaustion.
“I need your name,” Sam remembered as he directed the giant stranger to his room. The man's eyes, just for an instant, darted to one side before returning to Sam.
“Joan,” he said.
“O-kay.” Sam jotted the name down. “Two nights, food at 7 and 7, anything else you pay for.” He began to walk the man down the hall. “Strange accent. Are you from Melano, or Baden?” He didn’t really know what those accents sounded like, but he knew they were far from Newmark.
“No.” Joan walked into the room indicated with no further comments.
Sam stopped at the door while the man called Joan dropped his bags to the floor. “What kinda gun is that?”
“Mine,” he said simply, as he unbundled it’s holster from his belt. “I make the ammunition myself most of the time.”
“It's impressive. My paw was a soldier, and he showed me his old gun once, only it was a lot smaller than yours, and all rusted out besides, but-" Sam stopped as the man removed his cloak. There was a bright gash, still oozing dark blood, working its way up the man's side behind the thick leather plates. “Holy cripes! You oughta see a doctor, sor!”
Joan gave no indication that he could even feel the wound, nor did he instantly react when the boy cried out. “This? It looks a lot worse than it is. Rest, and solitude,” and here he looked at Sam, “will do me more good than any doctor from this town.” He moved to close the door, and against Sam's protest seemed to shut him out with no effort at all.
He ran down the hall to inform his mother of their newest guest.
I didn’t want the kid to see what I had to do next. It really wasn’t that bad- on the outside. Because we put so much ourselves in the spiritual world, the physical world didn’t matter so much. But it’s all tradeoffs. It had cut a pretty chunk out of me spirit-wise, and that hurt worse than any gash could. Really, I was better off than most sorcerers would’ve been with a cut like this- I had less to lose. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.
I Worked a minor Healing, but anything more would’ve taken more out of me than I could hope to regain, so the rest had to be resigned to sleep. Stupid. I should never have let anything get that close anyway, but it seemed like the Skippers were going crazy last Night.
I was too tired even to dream. A small blessing.

Waking up was not pleasant- I was stiff and sore, and still hurting something fierce. And cold, of course. Always cold. The physical wound had scabbed over, and I figured I would get away with just a minor scar. My innards were still shredded, but marginally less so than before, so I could breathe without grimacing. I expected I’d be laid out for a few days yet. Lucky, since Night had just passed, so things would be calm for almost the entire month now.
Exhausted as I had been, I had no Wards up, nothing even blocking the door. Nice going. Practically begging for a stray to wander in and eat you. As I flipped the coin I’d lifted off the kid, I examined the room for anything that might have snuck in, but it was clear. This time.
It was around this point that I realized how hungry I was. It had been (what felt like) days without a hot meal, and apparently this podunk little inn could provide, so I wandered out to the main room to see if I could scare up some food.
When the kid saw me, his eyes widened. That’s never a good sign. Recognition meant questions, and the answers to those questions usually meant getting pushed to the next town before I had time to heal. I had been hoping to score a decent meal and a bath, at least.



Sam could hardly believe his eyes. “Criminy, sor, but I didn’t expect you to be up at all! It's barely been a day!” The cut had been bleeding heavily, and very deep, he was sure of it, but now the man was clean and walking as if he had never been injured.
The stranger called Joan sat heavily at a table, ignoring the implied question. “Any chance of a man getting some food around here?” He inquired. “Or, perhaps,” and he glanced at the barrels of ale behind the counter, “some drink?”
San quickly filled him a tankard and plate from supper earlier, then sat himself at the table, as the crowd in the room dwindled down to a late few. The man interested him. He did not seem to interest the man, however, as Joan simply ate and drank in silence, apparently unbothered by his wound. He was still pale, almost deathly so, but Sam had heard tell of people from far north being much lighter than the tanned workers of nearby towns.
“Are you a soldier?” Sam didn’t know much about the war to the south, but occasionally troops passed through, and he had heard his ma talk in the back room about an extra levy because the Northern Kingdoms were allied. “I never saw someone carry so many weapons that weren't a soldier. What are those jars you carry? Is that them new bombs they been talking about? With gunpowder, only you throw the jar so it’s like a cannonshot?” Sam did not know much about weapons, either, but he saw so few soldiers come through that he had to learn what he could, if he was going to join the war when he was of age.
“Sure, kid.” Joan tapped his empty tankard on the table and placed down the coin he had been flipping. Sam ran to fill it up again before sitting back down.
“So did you come from the southern border, where all the fights are? What's happening? Are we winning? We have all kinds of the Northern Kingdoms working together, right? We must be winning!”
“The southern border? No, no, I didn’t come from the southern border,” he snorted. “That whole war is just nonsense anyway. The Northern Kingdoms, in some alliance or another, have had it out for Onis since time began. Maybe even before. The war is just an excuse to keep the money rolling in. Seems like there’s less and less of it than ever.” He mumbled this last part into his cup.
“That’s- that’s not true!” Sam's pa had fought, same as Sam would. “The war is important! Onis could really invade anytime! Besides, you said you were a soldier. If you aren’t fighting in the war, how can you be a soldier?” Joan did not answer, but he reached for his sleeve for a moment as if to roll it up, then seemed to catch himself at the last second. Was he a deserter? “Are you a deserter?” Sam blurted out, realizing a second late that he was pushing his luck. Joan just tapped his mug again.
Sam's ma hurried over. “So sorry for this one, sor, he has a bad habit of being curious.” She cuffed him on the ear and it smarted.
“It's no problem, mam.” The stranger smiled warmly, but in his eyes there was nothing. It was a chilling sensation. “He fills my cup just fine.” His ma dragged him off before Sam could object, and Joan got up before Sam could return.


Broder laughed as he took Flander for another hand. Three hands up, he was, and showed no signs of slowing. He stopped, though, as a big man in a heavy cloak came to the table.
“Deal me in?” His voice, deep and rich, did not match the weathered exterior. The man was no farm hand, that much was clear. More a mercenary sort. Broder glanced around the table, but no one seemed to object outright, so he shrugged. One more fool for the best poker man in the west side of Newmark. “Promise I know the rules.”
“Can you make ante, pal?” Jaten sized him up from across the table, suspicious from the long, ratty hair sitting on his shoulders and the general sense of dirtiness emanating from the man. He didn't notice what Broder had seen- nice leather, warm coat, and firm shoes. The man had some money, at least.
“He's good for it, Jaten. What's your name, stranger?” Broder gestured at the empty space next to him as he began to deal the hands. The stranger threw his ante, and Broder couldn’t hear much left in the purse. The poor ones were easy to sucker in.
“Joan.”
“You from Onis or something, name like that?” Cogen sneered.
“Na, man, listen to his voice, he's from up in Lansing or summat.” Garrett spat. “You're pickin a fight so you don’t have to deal with your shite hand.”
“That's not true, mate! Maybe you ought to keep an eye on your own mess in front of ya!” Cogen threw in extra to compensate. They all knew each other, knew the tics and tells and habits, but this stranger would be interesting.
That was what Broder thought, but as they went round for a few hands, the stranger losing more than he won, it became clear he was just another sucker thinking he could smash the small town guys. He had seemed confident at first- smug, even- but Broder had moved in with a predatory efficiency and would not let up. He offered to buy a round for everyone, apparently hoping for mercy, or to dull them, but the man seemed to be getting a bit red in the nose much faster than the well-seasoned drinkers of the little town of Aren, where there was little else to do but work or drink, or play cards. Broder began to really work on Joan for everything he had left, preparing to take the man for anything he could offer. The game was boring, and Broder needed beer money, so he went to end the man entirely.
What Broder did not expect was for the man to turn his whole plan backwards by dropping a flush when he should’ve had nothing. That cleared the table pretty fast, and Broder noticed the man's nose was really not that red at all.
The hand was nonsense. He couldn't have won, couldn’t have had those cards. “Alright, pal, roll up your sleeves, eh? Just a friendly game, here, after all. No reason to stay all formal-like.” Broder saw the other men nod their approval.
“Are you sure? Isn’t it possible, just a little, that I might be better at the game than you?” Joan smirked, taunting the men.
“Roll those up in here or we'll roll em up for ya out back,” Cogen growled. He was the biggest, aside from the stranger himself, and had a knack for bar brawling.
“Alright. No need to get snippy that I beat you so bad.” Cogen almost stood, but Joan began to roll up his sleeves. Right, then left.
His left arm was covered up to the elbow in fresh burn scars- a bright, angry red. If Broder squinted, he could almost see fine lines tracing letters across the harshly burned skin, but he didn’t have to. He knew what he was looking at.
“You're a bloody wizard, ye stupid bastard!” Garrett exploded. “Ye- ye bastard! You used magic on our all heads, ye did!”
Joan's eyes darkened briefly, but he did not react.
“Garrett's got the right idea- who's to say you weren’t using magic trickery to win the game, eh? Seems like something your lot would do,” Jaten added smartly. “It seems only fair you give us back the money you stole.”
“In the interest of accuracy, I am a sorcerer. Wizards do not leave their little towers and their little books. Besides, if I had used any magic, why would I stop now?” The stranger pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave, or to make you forget you ever saw me?”
“Well- there are 4 of us! Maybe you couldn’t do us in all at once, eh?” Jaten shot back. There was a chorus of affirmation from the group. “Be honorable, man, just give us the money back.”
Joan rolled his sleeves down. “If I had wanted to,” he began quietly, gravel in his voice, “I could make you all give me your land, your wives, and your unborn sons and you wouldn’t even remember your names when I was done. I did not cheat,” he suddenly smiled. “You boys just suck at poker.”
“Now listen here, son,” Broder began. “You may be some wizard from up north-"
“East,” Joan interjected.
“You may be some fancy wizard from up north,” Broder continued, “but don’t think that means you can insult us small-town folk. We might not have your ‘education’ or what have you, but we know from poker.”
Joan sighed. “I am leaving town in two days. Leave me alone for those two days, and I will forget your names, faces, and the name of this backwater town you live in. I did not cheat you.” He looked each of them coldly in the eyes, and Broder saw that all the mirth and cheer that had been there earlier had been drained, replaced with nothingness. Not even hatred, or anger, but simply blank space. The stranger stood up with a groan, signaled for another round of drinks, and trudged to the back of the inn. None of the men followed.


I was lucky none of these farm hicks knew anything about casting, or else they’d have known I was bluffing. It didn’t seem like any of them could actually read my burns, because if they could’ve, they would’ve known I could only cast a couple Bindings, and that’s if I wasn’t hurting like hell.
What was most insulting, more than calling me a wizard, was that they thought I cheated to beat them at cards. I don’t need to cheat at cards. I had slipped a bit of coin out of their pockets as I brushed by, but that was hardly cheating. Just good, honest thievery. And to call me a wizard? I ought to burn down their houses anyway, just for that. I was cold just thinking about it.
Still, I had to accelerate my schedule and leave tonight. I hated to do it, but I needed to be three towns over by the time they decided to kick the shit out of me. Bastards.
Amidst my wrathful musings I became aware of a presence at the door.
It was that kid. What had he seen? I ran the scene over again and realized he had been watching the end from the table he had been cleaning. Sloppy. He'd tell everybody. I couldn’t kill a kid the way I would've those guys in front, and I didn’t want to besides. Kids have always had a hold on me, and it pissed me off. It wasn't like I could remember why. Besides, I didn’t exactly mind the town knowing; it just meant I’d have a tougher time sneaking out, and I was tired enough that it bugged me.
“Sor?” He nudged the door open, but not all the way, I noticed. “I saw your tattoo. What do they mean? My ma said not to ask, but those men seemed pretty upset out there. I asked them and they said you was a wizard, but I didn’t think they were real. Are you a wizard? Are those tattoos your clan or something?” He spoke fast, like he thought I would cut him off, or cut off his head. “What are you doing?”
I spoke carefully to mask my distaste for his questions. “I am not a wizard. Wizards hide in their towers and ask questions nobody is curious about.” I hoped the dismissal would be clear.
It was not.
“If you aren’t a wizard, what are you?”
“What I am right now, kid, is packing, and what I’m going to be in a minute is gone. Scram.” I looked around and realized that aside from the bags I could clip to my belt, I had nothing else with me. Damn.
“Well, whatever you are, sor, I know those marks mean you're bound to help people-" that wasn’t true “-and those men out there maybe won’t tell you, but I will! See, sor, we're in mighty need of a wizard these days, on account of a monster been stealing the livestock and trashing the lumber yards and-" he slowed his speech a bit, but before I could get a word in he continued- “and I think it took the Granlenses daughter, only cause they won’t tell anyone where she went but I haven’t seen her in town at all and she used to come help me with my chores some days and it’s been a long while, maybe a month or so. Anyway, nobody’ll believe me when I tell em, and I haven’t seen it exactly, but I’m sure there’s a monster!”
“Kid, you know not every stroke of bad luck is a monster, right?” People don’t believe in monsters or magic until it’s convenient for them, which means they know nothing about it, which means most of the time they’re just making up stories to get me killed or run off, or else they’re just plain dumb and attribute every case of rainy weather to a made up beast.
“I know that! I just know there’s a monster around here! Look, sor, I’ll help you find it even, and-"
“I charge for my services and I don’t take kids on field trips when I work. Are you going to pay me?” Most of the time, threat of payment was enough to deter all but the most determined, or most superstitious, folk.
“I bet if you kill it the whole town will pitch in! Please, sor, I just wanna help out, and it seems like you could fix us all up only nobody wants to ask.” He wasn’t lying, I could tell, but kids are always seeing things that aren’t there. On the other hand, sometimes kids are better at seeing what’s right in front of them.
And when it turned out to be nothing, it meant I had an excuse to stay an extra night without getting an attempted beating, probably.
“Alright, kid. Where was this monster last?” Hired by a kid who probably couldn’t even get on a horse on his own. If anyone caught wind of this, I’d never hear the end of it.

Hey folks, hello again. I took a bit longer this time to update (Part 1 and Part 2 here) you but at least I bring good news: this weekend, I got the definitive answer from the prison's legal department, and now I know how much I can tell (and I believe it's enough). For your information, after this incident and my eventual release from prison, I haven't contacted anyone I met behind bars, except of course for my wife, Linda. The point is, even after all these years, this story has troubled me a lot, and since my first post, I've become even more paranoid. Finally, this morning, I went out to get the mail but as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with a small untouched white envelope, except for two identical characters stamped on its surface: 11. Linda is sleeping, and I don't want to worry her, I'm at the kitchen counter thinking about what to do with this envelope while reliving the final events of all this mess, of what was really inside cell 11.
It was morning, and there I was in my cell, in a scene poetically similar to this. I held a playing card, an 11 of clubs. I later searched for such a card online, but found nothing. It was strange, very well made. Before I could reflect more deeply on this, one of the guards passed by our corridor, opening the cell doors for our breakfast.
So, slowly, as if in a trance, I got up from bed and put the playing card in my pocket. Somehow, the card seemed to heat up in my pocket, I could feel the heat increasing and increasing, almost burning my skin. It was a strange stupor, almost drunken, I could even swear I smelled ether lingering in the air as I staggered to the cafeteria.
I slumped into the seat as I placed the tray on the table. Old Munford looked at me in a friendly manner:
"Overdid it yesterday, lad? Your hangover face is priceless."
I forced a weak smile in response to Munford's comment, trying to seem normal despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The heat still burned in my pocket, an uncomfortable sensation that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.
"No, nothing much," I muttered, looking away to my food tray. "Just didn't sleep very well."
Munford seemed satisfied with my response and turned his attention back to his own meal. As I stirred the food without really eating, struggling to maintain my composure, I began to think about what to do.
My thoughts were interrupted when Francis joined us at the table, his usual smile lighting up his face. He looked at me with a questioning expression.
"Hey man, everything okay? You look awful."
"I think it was the heat, or maybe something I ate last night."
Francis frowned. Unlike the elder, he clearly wasn't convinced by my superficial explanation.
"Some of the guys told me they saw Bob talking to you last night. Did he do something?"
The question caught me off guard. All this news about the playing card had prevented me from thinking about the strange interaction with Bob since the previous night, but now the memories began to resurface, mixed with the heat sensation coming from my pocket.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Bob was just being a bit... Bob."
I felt Francis's gaze linger on my face for a moment.
"If he does anything, you know you can talk to us, right? I know he's one of ours, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on him."
I analyzed the options for a moment, reflecting on everything. Well, now it seemed to make sense, a prank by Bob, or an attempt to intimidate me...
"There's... something, Francis," I said in a low tone, feeling tense about the confession I was about to make. "Last night, after the card tournament, I... I ran into Bob in the hallway. He was questioning me about the tournament, accusing me of cheating."
Francis's face hardened at my words, a displeased expression passing over his features.
"Cheating? And you?"
"I swear I played fair," I replied quickly, the pressure building inside me. "But he was convinced I had some advantage, and... well, things got a bit tense... He walked away, and this morning I found this in my cell."
Deciding to omit the encounter with Tulley, I got straight to the point, pulling the card out of my pocket and placing it on the table. I could feel it almost incandescent now.
Munford looked at the card for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied it. The heat emanating from it was almost palpable, a strange aura that seemed to envelop the table.
"Is that... an 11 of clubs?" he murmured, his voice tinged with surprise and suspicion.
I nodded, my own confusion mingling with growing anxiety.
"Yes... I don't know, maybe Bob did this to scare me, to show that he has access to my cell, or to try to provoke me, knowing my fear of cell 11..."
My words were cut off when the guard's voice echoed through the cafeteria, interrupting our conversation as he announced that the meal period was over.
Francis looked at me with a serious expression.
"We'll talk about this later," he pointed to the card. "Mind if I take it with me?"
I nodded.
"No problem, feel free."
We began our march back to the cells, and I couldn't help but exchange glances with old Munford. He seemed to hesitate on the matter, as if he wanted to say something but was afraid. I made a mental note to speak with him as soon as possible. Our yard time would be in the next 4 hours, and I spent half of that time trying to ponder what had happened.
I don't know how long it took, but I fell asleep, sitting, with my back pressed against the wall of my cell. The dream, or rather, nightmare resulting from this was a disturbing experience.
I found myself standing, walking through the prison corridors in a way that seemed endless. The walls seemed to close in around me, creating a claustrophobic labyrinth that I couldn't escape. Every door I tried to open was locked, and the sound of footsteps echoed behind me, as if someone were following my every step.
Finally, I reached a door that was ajar, a dim light emanating from within. With a knot in my stomach, I pushed it slowly, revealing what seemed to be cell 11. But something was terribly wrong. A man was there, his back to me. Disheveled, uneven hair, a hunched posture, he was crouched down, rummaging through something I couldn't see, seemed to regurgitate. Suddenly, he stopped. He slowly got up and then looked at me.
Somehow, I knew that man was that prisoner, the one who had committed those atrocities and painted the eye on the damn cell. I noticed something dripping from his mouth, forming a red puddle in the center. On the wall, what seemed to be an incomplete sketch of the dreaded painting was there.
I watched, hypnotized by the horror before me, as the man slowly raised his trembling hand towards his face. Drops of that dark liquid dripped from his fingers, echoing in the oppressive silence of the cell. It was as if the very air was tainted with that impurity.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he began to move towards me, his irregular steps echoing like the distant clinking of chains. A visceral panic seized me, preventing me from retreating as he came closer and closer, his distorted figure gaining sharper contours as he advanced through the gloom. I could now smell the terrible scent he had, not just as something rotten, but a pure and concrete smell of death.
"Who... who are you?" My own voice sounded weak and trembling.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he kept advancing, his empty eyes seeming to pierce my soul. My heart was now pounding uncontrollably in my chest, a deafening cacophony that seemed to fill the entire space of the cell. I was about to retreat, to beg for mercy, when a voice whispered in my mind, a distorted echo reverberating like the sigh of a ghost:
"You... can you see? The watchful eye. He wants you. He liked looking at you."
The sound of my own breath echoed in the silence that followed, a dissonant note of fear and desperation. I wanted to scream, to run, to escape this living nightmare, but I was paralyzed by the terror that enveloped me like a coffin.
It was then that I woke up, gasping and covered in sweat, the echo of the whisper still resonating in my mind like a distant echo of a nightmare. For a moment, everything around me seemed distorted and unreal, a fleeting mirage, and then, I startled again. Munford was standing in front of my cell, staring at me with curiosity.
"Are you okay, son?" the old man asked in a soft voice, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
I shook my head slowly, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of information.
"I... I think so," I murmured, my voice sounding strange and distant even to myself. "I had a horrible nightmare... It felt so real."
Munford nodded understandingly, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Yeah, the situation isn't good... but I came to talk about that letter, earlier in the cafeteria."
"Oh yeah, what about it?"
"Let's just say I've never seen a card like that, but the energy coming from it, oh yeah, I've seen that before."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, a few years ago, there was a murder in one of the cells. This was before Francis arrived, we didn't have much organization, lynchings were common, and in an attempt to reduce these incidents, we decided that the main suspect, a newly captured serial killer, would be forcibly transferred to cell 11. It was one of the most terrible incidents I've ever witnessed in here. And do you know how that man was known?"
I shook my head negatively. Munford leaned his hands on two bars, bringing his face closer to the center of them.
"The Card Cutter."
A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
"He used to leave playing cards as a kind of signature on the bodies of his victims. They say he would choose the card based on the person or the method of murder. So, when he was put in cell 11, things got even weirder."
"What happened to him?" I asked, a bittersweet and macabre curiosity in my mouth.
Munford sighed heavily, looking at a fixed point this time.
"A few weeks after being transferred, he was found dead in his cell. Hung with sheets. And next to his body..."
"What was it?" I could barely breathe as I listened.
"A playing card. An ace of spades, if I'm not mistaken. And that cell... well, since then, no one wants to stay there. They say it does something to people, kills them."
The shock of Munford's revelation reverberated in my chest, trembling as I thought about what could happen to Guard Tulley from now on, or worse, what could happen to us.
"So you think this card is... a warning?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, staring into the old man's green eyes.
Munford nodded slowly, responding more to himself than to me.
"I can't say for sure, but it's a possibility to consider."
I swallowed hard.
"What should we do then?"
He fell silent for a moment, as if pondering his words carefully.
"I have no idea. I guess all we can do is keep quiet; we don't want to scare the other inmates. Francis doesn't believe in these things, so I won't waste my time trying to convince him, and I advise you to do the same. Maybe if we just keep pretending that nothing is happening, things will sort themselves out. But remember: whatever this force is, it wants to take you to the cell, wants you to face the eye. Resist those urges, okay?"
The clock struck 12:30. Time for yard time. I walked with Munford to the yard, the sun burning our heads as we stepped outside, futilely trying to erase the worry from our minds.
As I watched the other inmates spreading out across the yard, trying to appear normal, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Bob, his voice low and threatening.
"What did you tell Francis?" he whispered, he was behind me, and I couldn't see him.
The flesh on my back trembled and twisted, the fluid of fear rising up to my brain.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bob," I replied firmly, trying to sound confident.
He paused for a few seconds.
"You cheat first, and now, you make up lies about what I did or didn't do."
"I think there's a misunderstanding-"
"Shut up!" his voice rose sharply "I'm just here to say that I'm not a kid, I don't go around sending playing card letters or anything like that. I didn't threaten you with that thing, but now I am, and in a very direct way, and if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."
He was dead serious, and the threat was as clear as day. But what could I do? Confront Bob directly like Francis? That could mean he wasn't trustworthy... My thoughts were interrupted by the guard watching us.
"You two, no contact!" he shouted.
"No problem here, officer," Bob said, pulling me into a hug that felt more like an attempted chokehold.
I tried to pull away unsuccessfully, and the officer seemed to simply not care.
"Okay, but we'll be watching," he turned away, and Bob shoved me against the yard bars.
"Listen here, Bob," I began, my voice firm, confused about where this courage had even come from. "I don't know what you're up to, but I won't stand still while you try to intimidate me. If you have something to say, then say it like a man. Otherwise, leave me alone." I pushed him away with my hand.
"You're a fool, you know that?" he muttered.
"I'm not looking for trouble, but if you want it, you'll get it. Let's just leave it be, okay? If anything happens to me, I'll make sure some people know and-"
My assailant's hand closed around my neck, tightening. I squirmed, struggling to breathe as I desperately tried to free myself from his grip.
"Going to call daddy? Look, Francis may have that whole attitude, but he won't do anything to me, or any of the guys," he remarked.
I noticed the usual group of big guys who hung around with Francis, they were watching us from afar, seeming to distract the boss.
"He's getting out in two months...but honestly, I don't think I need to wait that long."
I couldn't breathe. Fighting against the grip on my neck, my eyes desperately searched for any help.
"Let him go!" The guard shouted from afar, starting to make his way down the stairs to reach us.
Bob didn't obey. I felt my body losing strength, so I did what I could: I focused my strength into a clenched fist and punched the bastard in the stomach, aiming right at his gut. And judging by his expression, it worked. I saw him lean over, his hands releasing my body and being placed on his belly.
I knew if I let it slide, he would come back and continue to harass me, so that had to be a definitive response to the jerk that I wasn't an easy prey. I lunged at him again, this time with a well-aimed kick to his knee, trying to destabilize him. He staggered backwards with a groan of pain, falling to his knees on the yard ground.
The other prisoners now realized what had happened, and soon their shouts in a circle were audible.
"Go, get him! Don't hold back! Finish this guy off!"
I lunged at Bob, raising my hand time after time to punch him. He didn't take it lightly, grabbing my right hand as I prepared to hit him; I could feel the pressure applied to the joints, my fingers starting to crack, and I could feel them tense, about to break. In desperation, I threw myself onto him with the only weapon I had left: my teeth.
I felt the flesh of his neck between the rows of teeth in my mouth. Without thinking and trying to loosen the grip on my hand, I pressed on the pearly bones harder and harder, feeling them slide against the skin, the metallic taste slowly emerging as the flesh was torn.
The scene around me seemed blurry, as if I were watching everything happen from afar, in slow motion. Bob's scream echoed through the yard, mixing with the encouragement shouts from the other inmates. I felt a mix of adrenaline and horror as my teeth sank into his neck flesh, a strange feeling of power and disgust.
While still hunched over that bloody man, I felt the blows on my back: it was the guards. Their batons striking time after time as the adrenaline rush passed, and I now began to feel the pain. Without resistance, I let myself be pulled away. Bob wasted no time and moved away, stumbling as he covered the wound.
"YOU SCUMBAG, WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?"
As I was being taken away, everything around me seemed blurred, as if I were in a state of stupor. The voices of the other inmates echoed in my ears, mixed with images of the fight that had just occurred. I still felt the blood running through my mouth, dripping lightly onto the ground and forming a trail of red dots marking my path. However, before we left the yard, our warden arrived at the scene, and the guards stopped, my arm uncomfortably twisted behind my body.
"What's going on here?" His voice was calm, but there was an unquestionable tone of authority in his words.
"He... he bit a detainee, sir," one of the guards explained, firmly holding my arm.
The warden looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
"Why did you do that?"
My mind was spinning, trying to find a coherent explanation for what had happened. I knew it would be useless to tell about Bob's threat, about the playing card, about the fear he had instilled in me. So, I found the most plausible words I could gather:
"He... he provoked me, sir," I murmured, my voice trembling. "I... couldn't take it anymore. He was intimidating me, threatening me, and I... I lost control."
The warden looked at me for a long moment, as if assessing my words. Finally, he sighed, seeming resigned, approaching me with slow, steady steps.
"No, you did that because you're an animal."
He gave me two pats on the cheek, then wiped the blood running from my mouth.
"Take this one to solitary."
The prisoners began to shout, a real noisy commotion. I trembled at the thought of being locked up there. No one came back the same from solitary, but at that moment, I really think I'd prefer to go there than what was to come.
"But sir," one of the guards said, causing the inmates to fall silent in an attempt to hear something, "The solitary is occupied..."
The warden frowned, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Then take him to cell 11," he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.
That was the final blow, causing the uproar to become widespread, with even some inmates needing to be subdued with tear gas. I could see as I was pushed, Munford looking at me, a worried and distressed expression on his face; he said something I couldn't understand amidst the noise.
With my heart pounding erratically in my chest and my mind clouded with fear and uncertainty, I was led by the guards towards cell 11. Each step felt like it weighed tons, as if I were walking towards the abyss. I could feel the stares of the other inmates watching the scene, some with expressions of shock, others with a mixture of curiosity and indifference.
Finally, we arrived, and by this point, I was sweating uncontrollably; they opened the cell and threw me inside. My eyes instinctively closed as I fell to the ground. I didn't want to look at it. I got up, still blinding my vision, slowly groping around until I found the bed. I lay on it and turned to the wall beside it, my face as close as possible.
Lying on the hard bed, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that it seemed to echo off the concrete walls around me. Each beat was a pulsating reminder of my situation. I tried to push away the thoughts, but it was like trying to hold back a raging river with bare hands. All the while, I heard stories, heard things about that place, and now I was there, cornered by circumstances beyond my control.
Gradually, I noticed the thick layer of sweat forming around me. I could even feel my pores opening, pouring the water from my body in an attempt to cool myself in that stuffy, hot environment. I couldn't help but think about the heat of the card and... about Francis. He still had the card. Wasn't that dangerous? I fixated on musings about it.
In my feverish frenzy, time seemed to stretch infinitely in that dark cell, minutes dragging on like hours as I struggled to maintain my sanity. Every sound, every shadow was a source of growing anxiety until somehow, I fell into a deep sleep, dreamless this time.
I woke up in the middle of the night, with a faint noise coming from behind the heavy steel door. At first, I feared, wondering what it could be, but as soon as I regained my senses, I remembered where I was, and frankly, nothing outside could be worse. I cautiously approached the source of the sound, trying to listen better, when a "Hey, kid, it's me!" sounded whispered.
"Munford! Munford, I'm glad you're here, knew you wouldn't abandon me."
"Ha, I know, I know," he sounded nervous, perhaps hiding from the guards. "Look, I'd help you out, but I can't get it open from this side, try it there." A small plastic rectangle slid through the door gap. A credit card... I remembered I had done this many times before.
I grabbed the card and started working, carefully sliding it into the lock. Each movement was made with the precision I gained from years of street experience, trying not to make any noise that could attract the guards' attention. My mind was racing, and the tremor it transmitted to my fingers made motor coordination difficult.
Finally, after several minutes of trial and error, I heard a soft click, and the door opened slowly. I could smell the fresh air from the corridor and was already about to smile when, along with the bright light of a flashlight, I saw Bob, now with his neck and shoulder bandaged, along with three more of his cronies. Munford was being held by one, who held an improvised knife to his neck.
"Sorry, kid, they forced me," the old man lamented.
"Not so fast, princess." Bob pushed me inside, onto the floor, and then he entered with one of his cronies, closing the door behind him and illuminating me with the halo of his flashlight.
"What's up, Bob, can't you leave me alone?"
"You wanted to settle things, didn't you? Well..." he pointed to his wound. "You just signed your death warrant! But first, I'm going to make sure to pull out all your teeth and make you swallow them."
He lifted me by the collar of my shirt and landed a punch with his heavy hand. I felt dizzy, seeing stars, curling up into a fetal position. His laughter was now a terrifying melody to me.
"Look at this crybaby. Where did your bravery go?" He kicked my stomach, and I'm sure he found it an ironic poetic justice.
His cohort laughed until the beam of his flashlight shifted away from me.
"Hey Bob, what's that over there?" He said, simultaneously pointing with his finger and the flashlight.
Even though it was on the wall behind me, I knew what it was. I saw Bob straighten up to face it, becoming petrified. He and the other, standing there, mouths agape. I waited for seconds, counting mentally and holding my breath, expecting anything, but nothing. Until suddenly, I began to see small puddles forming under their lower eyelids, dark marks... of blood.
The red tears started to stream down their faces like large crimson waterfalls. Soon, they began to make a noise... a familiar noise, which made my mind freeze as I felt my toes curling inside my shoes and my mouth trembling uncontrollably. It was the same sound as Tulley's. They were now allowing these moans to escape their throats and resonate in the tight concrete walls.
I had to do something. I began slowly to pass by them, trying to edge around. When, however, I was almost reaching the door, I could see their shadows turning slowly in my direction. The tension in the air was palpable, as if it could be cut with a knife. I held myself back from trembling as I tried to maintain composure in front of those men, whose bloodshot eyes were now fixed on me, full of terror and despair.
"What... what's happening?" My voice came out in a trembling whisper, barely able to make myself heard.
Bob and his cohort remained silent. They began to walk towards me, and in desperation, I opened the cell door and slammed it loudly behind me, not caring about attracting the guards' attention. As I looked around, I actually noticed that this was a concern I didn't need to have.
The environment where I was wasn't what I expected, from the prison corridor. It was actually another cell. I stopped for a moment, confused, only to be surprised by a figure in the center of it. A man in a straitjacket looking at me with a petrified smile.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was blood-curdling, sounding like someone scratching a chalkboard with their nails or scraping a fork on a glass plate.
I tried to open the door but it was stuck. When I turned around again, he was leaning, his face inches from mine, eyes bloodshot. I almost fell backward. He laughed. It was like the last time, he had his mouth covered by a sticky red mass that dripped, probably serving as material for the painting, which now displayed an almost complete surreal eye. He turned and walked to the painting, and then he regurgitated it again. Since his hands were tied, he used his tongue as a brush, finishing the last line of the drawing.
"This," he whispered. "Is my masterpiece."
I was trembling. I had forgotten Munford's advice, and now I found myself petrified, just like the others, staring at the eye. I don't know how much time passed, but I felt like it was hours, days... years. All in the blink of an eye, or rather, in a stare without a single blink.
I tried in vain to regain my composure. Scenes of horror penetrated my mind. Cadavers, bodies marked by playing cards. Criminals, inmates being violently beaten with batons, pepper spray, and all sorts of luxuries the police can serve, I saw gang fights, blood, death, and abuse. I saw people being killed inside the prison. Each scene of violence that each of those who looked had already witnessed. My legs were no more than reeds in the wind now, and I just wanted to run away and scream, cry, and sleep to never wake up again. I tried to scream but the man came to me, placing his foot over my mouth.
"Shhh... you need to see."
He repeated this indefinitely. "need to see, need to see, need to see, need to see"
With superhuman effort, I managed to free myself from the weight of his foot on my mouth, but I could barely articulate coherent words. My voice came out trembling and weak when I finally managed to speak:
"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
He simply continued smiling, as if my words were just another piece in his sadistic game. Then, with a quick and fluid movement, he approached me, so close that I could feel his fetid breath and the metallic smell of blood dripping from his mouth.
"Your mind is a fascinating playground," he murmured, his voice echoing in the claustrophobic space of the cell.
I felt tears running down my cheek, and I knew what color they were. I stood there, in shock, staring at the large painted eye, while my entire being was eaten alive in fear and dread. I don't know how much time passed, maybe the entire age of the universe, eternity, who knows. I woke up on the infirmary bed. Wires connected to my arm while a machine reproduced the "beeps" of my heart.
I looked to the side, seeing the green eyes of nurse Linda looking at me, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"You need to see," I said, not even wanting to.
She frowned, evidently confused by my response. Linda seemed hesitant, as if she were trying to decide whether to ask more or simply ignore my strange statement. I could see the concern in her eyes, but also a certain curiosity, as if something inside her was intrigued by what I had to say.
"What do you mean by that?" She finally asked, her soft voice echoing in the silence of the infirmary.
I sat up slowly on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over me. My mind was still cloudy, as if I were struggling to emerge from a deep nightmare. I tried to articulate my words as coherently as possible.
"I... I saw things," I murmured, my voice still trembling. "Terrible things. In the cell... in there... something... something is wrong."
Linda watched me with a serious expression, her green eyes analyzing me carefully. She seemed to understand that something serious had happened, but couldn't fully comprehend what I was trying to communicate.
"Look... you and the others had a collective hallucination in that cell... The director has already arranged for an investigation, but we suspect carbon monoxide poisoning, we've already talked to him about the lack of windows in that place, but it seems he doesn't listen."
I stopped, confused by that information. Was I hallucinating? Well, maybe I would even think that if it weren't for what followed. A man in a dark suit entered. He had a serious and intimidating expression, and he asked Linda to leave.
"Listen here, young man, you're lucky to have come back. The others are catatonic... and probably won't come back to themselves. That's why your cooperation is extremely important, and we need to know: what did you see?"
I stumbled, recounting as much information as I could remember, from Tulley to Bob. The man listened to me without making any expression. After that, he took a radio that was hanging from his blazer and said some words that I didn't quite understand, something like "Ceter," "Queter"... and then he took a clipboard, handing it to me.
"This is your letter of freedom. Our proposal is as follows: We release you from prison and in exchange, you don't open your mouth about the specific events mentioned here," he pointed to the clauses.
That was five years ago, and given my freedom, you must imagine that not everything that happened is transcribed here, but the most important parts are. I ended up visiting Munford a few times after that, and I was horrified to discover that Francis, on the eve of his release, hanged himself with the bedsheet. The old man and I stared at each other after this discovery, in a mutual silent understanding. Shortly after, they closed not only the cell, but our entire pavilion, relocating the inmates. I never saw Munford or any of the others again after that. My nightmares persisted, but in recent months they have been much less frequent, and I think I might be slowly healing.
I wanted to say that this story ends well, with my rehabilitation. A troublesome prisoner full of stories becoming a family man. And it would be, if it weren't for the last 15 minutes of this morning. I believe you may remember that I received a letter this morning like that cursed number. I left it on the counter in the living room while I came here, to have breakfast and finish reporting this to you. When I finished the last paragraph, I went back to the room, but now, it seems like the whole nightmare is back.
I felt the tears, transparent this time, forming in my eyes. In the center of the room right now is Linda, holding the letter, looking at something in it that I can already imagine. She's standing there, wet and red stains on her face, I can hear her whispering "You need to see... need to see," and by God... I can see...

You think those B.A.I.R.S. are cute over there? The bitcoin viking or the one holding the bunch of bananas? You’re right I’d tap either as well. You want to just go up and talk to them? Fuck no. It’s 2024, you don’t pick people up by just going up to them and talking to them anymore, that’s so creepy. You need a gameplan:
1 Look over at one of them. Don’t stare, but gaze just long enough to have her feel like someone is trying to get her attention.
2 Lock eyes. But don’t stare too long. You will literally start tripping balls. B.A.I.R.S. have very enchanting eyes, bro.
3 Smile. The B.A.I.R.S. will always smile back, unless she eats crackers. I’ll get into that later. But don’t smile as much as her. She will be offended if you mimic her resting B.A.I.R.S. face.
4 Break eye contact and look back at me. Pretend to say something funny and I’ll laugh. But I won’t laugh too hard, otherwise they’ll think you were making fun of them. Although extremely nice, B.A.I.R.S. are very sensitive.
5 Put your hat on. B.A.I.R.S. dig hats. The bigger the better. Thank Satoshi that you brought your squirrel fur today because she would have never looked over if you were in a fucking Yankees cap.
6 Now stare. Hard. Stare as aggressively as you would if you were seeing a cartoon bear at a bar counter. Rub your eyes to make sure it’s real. Lightly hallucinate. Start to get tunnel vision. The music from the venue fades away, the people surrounding you become a blur, and nothing becomes relevant other than the intense gawkfest that you and this fucking bitcoin viking are having.
7 Let her pull you in. Like a fish on a hook. You start to levitate across the dancefloor with absolutely no regard for other peoples’ personal space. None of that matters. Nothing matters except for you and your B.A.I.R.S. You are entranced. Spellbound. Brainwashed.
8 You introduce yourself as Julius Caesar. You’re not thinking straight, but your head is on right.
9 You finally start talking. Everything about her is perfect. She loves frolicking, she can’t stop talking about world peace, and she’s just the right level of racist. She starts making balloon animals. You start huffing paint. The conversation is flowing like my mother’s tears when I told her I quit my job in medicine to create Bitcoin Autists Inu Retardio Sextillionaires.
10 After far too many drinks and hits from her crack pipe, she offers to drive you back to her place. This night could not get any better. It is imperative you offer up some silly substances to her while she drives. B.A.I.R.S. cannot possibly operate a motor vehicle sober. They will die.
11 A few scrapes on a Mazda Miata later and you pull into her apartment. Offer her a housewarming gift. B.A.I.R.S. like weapons, drugs and ice cream. They also fuck with goldfish. The animal. If you give your beautiful bitcoin viking a delicious cracker always baked and made with real cheese, she will NOT smile back.
12 Finally, she pulls you into her racecar bed. She has a poster of Dwayne the Rock Johnson making out with Kevin Hart. There is a George Foreman grill at the foot of her bed. The perfect scene.
13 Things get frisky, you’re getting excited. Clothes fly off, and low and behold: she’s bare down there. Lucky you. You took home the coveted bare b.a.i.r. Prepare to retire.

Five years ago I bought LG PF1500G and I am generally very happy with it. It is directly mounted over my bed so I needed something quiet and on the eco mode, it is indeed very quiet. However, it is only FullHD and it is not as bright (especially given I use it with a 150" screen, which is overstretching it) as it could be, so dark scenes are too dark (at least I think that is how it works).
When I was buying it, I thought I would get a native 4k projector when their price dropped a bit. I bought the LG for about 700 € and native 4k projectors were about 8000 € at the time. My understanding is that non-native 4k brings noise with it, so that is a nonstarter for me. Though 4K is probably hotter overall, so hardly quieter either. Is my understanding correct that the situation has not improved much, contrary to my expectations? I would be willing to spend around maybe 2000 € for a silent 4k projector. By the way, is laser quieter than LED? I seem to remember I thought at the time the next one would be laser. However, all in all, it seems one cannot get something drastically better than 5 years ago, am I reading the market right? I can be happy with mu current solution for a few more years.

WARNING: This is long as shit. Scroll down if you want to see a TLDR.
Look I’m not going to front and say that I don’t prefer Kendrick to Drake. He’s made two of my top three favorite projects ever even if Drake does have a decent share of projects in that list as well (In order being NWTS, IYRTITL, Views with that last one being a fair bit lower than the others). However I don’t think I’m so unreasonably biased for or against one party that my input is invalid. I’ve always gave Drake his flowers for the disses he released throughout the beef and you can check my post/comment history if you want to verify that. I’ve always been honest with how I felt regarding the big 3 and have had my fair share of criticisms regarding Kendrick. I’m going to break this into three sections. What he did right, what he did wrong, and what he should have done in certain scenarios. With that being said, let’s start with the good.
WHAT DRAKE DID WELL

1. Controlling the Narrative Around Kendrick’s Silence - From the release of Push Ups until Euphoria, Drake was doing great manipulating public perception. ‘Dropping’ Push Ups and then hitting a back to back with Taylor Made was a great move. It pissed Kendrick off, showed how low Drake was willing to go, and made people scrutinize Kendrick for not responding. Pair that with his constant trolling on IG and Drake had people looking at Kendrick worse for not dropping within a week than they did at Drake for not dropping within three. Combine that with having his team push the AI Kendrick song as real for days alongside his other antics and he was up in most people’s eyes for over two weeks.
2. Great Rapping - I’ve always been on Drake for his inconsistency when it come to his rapping quality on his recent albums. Way I’ve seen it he’s an A student who consistently turns in C+ songs because he knows he can get away with it. But every single project he’ll come out with at least one song that reminds me that when Drake is on he’s a top tier MC. With diss tracks, Drake never has that dip in quality. Look at his catalogue. Back to Back, Duppy Freestyle, Family Matters. Except for Charged Up (and a track from this beef I’ll be getting to in a later section) Drake hasn’t released a bad diss track that I can remember. He did a lot of stuff that I really loved here. He absolutely beat Kendrick when it came to the MJ/Prince flips. He consistently had double and triple entendres throughout his best songs and generally didn’t feel overwhelmed or outmatched from a solely lyrical perspective against another all timer. While I expected him to cook, Drake surprised a lot of people with how good he was here.
3. Making the 20v1 Narrative - Drake was smart when it came to how he played this (At least initially but we’ll get back to that). He fed into the Thanos narrative really well on Push Ups and demonstrated exactly why the vast majority of the rappers dissing him waited until someone like Kendrick was leading the charge to say anything about Drake. It really felt like he was taking on the industry by himself and that gosh darn it he was holding his own at worst and winning in the eyes of a lot of people. He made sure to address everyone who came for him on Push Ups and while he didn’t destroy anyone’s career or anything, they were all solid shots and he definitively put himself in the lead.
4. Moments - Drake had a lot of iconic moments throughout the beef. Whether it was telling Metro to shut his hoe ass up and play some drums or crushing the GKMC van or even the first moments when AI Pac and Snoop hopped on Taylor Made, there’s a lot of stuff that got people talking on Drake’s end. A lot of these moments are going to be talked about for years to come and even if not on a wider scale, members of his fanbase will appreciate them for decades to come. Creating moments is one of the most important strategies when having a battle in this day and age. Virality is oftentimes the judgment by which outsiders will judge the beef by when the credits roll.
5. Underhandedness - While it might not seem like a positive, rap beef is rap beef. Lying, low blows and smear campaigns aren’t just accepted but encouraged. You and your opponent are essentially doing your best to try and ruin the other person’s image as much as possible and Drake showed that if nothing else he had the stomach to do whatever it takes to piss of Kendrick and play to the crowd. AI Tupac, baiting Kendrick by mentioning Whitney, making fun of Kendrick for being “abused” etc. While the success of these tactics varied MASSIVELY, I appreciated the fact that Drake showed that for him all restraints were off from the get go.
6. Keeping a few consistent Narratives - Now Drake picked up and put down a lot of angles throughout this beef but he stuck to his guns throughout the latter half on two things, Whitney was cheating on Kendrick and that Kendrick was an abuser. And while he never really got those narratives to stick as much as the ones levied against him, they’re still out there in the public consciousness and he kept the story consistent from Family Matters to the Heart Part 6. If nothing else he kept the allegations in people’s mind and caused people to question Kendrick’s character more.

WHERE DRAKE MESSED UP

1. Overplaying the 20v1 Narrative - Look it was pretty obvious based on the music video and the teaser at the end of Push Ups that Family Matters was at the very least conceptualized before the release of Push Ups. While there were a few modifications like the whole “Nigga I said it I know that you’re mad”, this track would have been thought up while We Still Don’t Trust You was fresh in Drakes mind. As a result he played into the 20v1 narrative heavily. However by the time of Family Matters actually releasing, the only person who responded to Push Ups other than Kendrick was Rick Ross. Euphoria and 6:16 in LA had just dropped and it was pretty clear now that Kendrick was the main threat and who Drake needed to be worried about. Think about how many people were calling Drake Thanos and talking about him taking on the industry after Push Ups released vs in the lead up to Family Matters. He did not need to waste the best beat on Family Matters dissing A$AP fucking Rocky.
2. Underestimating Kendrick - Look let’s be honest for a second. Family Matters was the red button. It had a music video, Got teased on Push Ups, Drake called the beef twice in the second verse plus he announced his leave, and the Heart Part 6 mostly stuck to the same digs at Kendrick. If Drake still had a red button, the Heart Part 6 never gets dropped and we’re all better for it. The issue is that when Drake tried to 8 Mile himself by predicting Kendrick taking the pedo angle on Taylor Made, Drake didn’t actually have a decent response set up as we saw, he was just hoping the nigga would scrap the idea and use something else since he thought mentioning it first would take the sting out of it. When Kendrick predicted Drake saying stuff about his family on Euphoria, it’s because he had something prepared if he did. Drake figured that Kendrick was trying to do the same thing as him and get ahead of the familial problems angle without having a decent response if it went there which is why he still banked on Family Matters being enough. He had no real plan for what to do if Family Matters didn’t kill Kendrick and he certainly didn’t have one for what to do if Kendrick dropped 20 minutes later and overshadowed his release.
3. Making his lies too obvious - Look, this is a rap battle not a court room. The vast majority of claims made on either side are made by someone who has all the motivation in the world to lie about their opponent and isn’t required to give any evidence. Unverified claims are the backbone of most diss tracks. And I’m going to assume a decent amount of those are lies. However the problem Drake had throughout this beef, especially on his last two tracks is that he didn’t just make claims that are unverified but impossible to disprove, he made a bunch of claims that anybody with google or common sense can prove are straight up lies. Drake calling Kendrick an abuser can’t ever be truly disproven, nor can Kendrick saying Drake is a diaper sniper. But Kendrick not giving back to Compton is an easily searchable lie. So is Baby Keem writing Kendrick’s best stuff considering he wasn’t an adult for four of his five studio albums. So is Kendrick not having gang ties. So is Kendrick being molested on Mother I Sober. And as of a couple days ago so is Drake planting the evidence from the cover art of Meet the Grahams and of the secret daughter. A lot of what Kendrick has said is similarly unverified and unreliable but almost none of it is definitively without a shadow of a doubt proven to be false. Now that doesn’t make it true in the slightest but it does make Drake look goofy when he’s talking about all his stuff being facts when he gets caught definitively lying so often. If you’re going to lie on someone, make sure it can’t be debunked.
4. Failing to Consider Public Perception - Drake has always been a very controversial figure in Hip Hop. Whether it be in the early days where people were after him for being too lightskin or too soft or the present where he’s being lambasted for a variety of reasons (some more/less valid than others), he’s never been universally liked at least as a person. Drake is no stranger to controversy and has moved pretty suspiciously both behind the scenes and to our faces. It’s safe to say that while way more people love than hate Drake, he’s polarizing in a way Kendrick isn’t. Prior to Like That the worst thing anyone really said about Kendrick was that they weren’t fans of his music. So when he comes out and says stuff about Drake, it seems more real because Kendrick has no real marks on his credibility the way Drake does. Furthermore when Kendrick alleges that Drake has a secret daughter or likes kids, there’s a lot of heavily publicized behavior of Drake’s that doesn’t confirm but does lend credence to the allegations in a way Kendrick’s doesn’t. Now obviously Drake has a much more public personal life than Kendrick and for all we know the latter actually is a monster behind closed doors while Drake just got caught in a series of unfortunate events. But when one party is already controversial and has a history of consistently weird behavior with underage girls, has a well documented record of promiscuity, and already got one kid exposed in a rap beef and the other has a rather spotless public image as well as nothing supporting the DV case but an allegation from 10+ years ago that got no attention from any major media outlets and that had a lot of pretty obvious holes, the public is a lot more likely to believe one crime happened over the other.
5. The Heart Part 6 - It seems to age worse literally every day it’s out at this point. It’s probably the first or second most poorly received track released since the start of this conflict and my personal least favorite. The big reveal of him secretly manipulating Kendrick sounded like bullshit when it first dropped. If he had the proof, he could have just made it the cover art instead of the Dave Free comment (if it was audio he could have sampled it). He could have won right there. He could have posted it on his story instead of just repeating ‘I don’t have a daughter’ in the face of Meet the Grahams. Anything instead of let two extremely well received diss tracks drop on his head and let a record breaking song come out saying he doesn’t go easy on the young ones. Even if he were telling the truth he’d look like a total goober not a war general. But with everything that came to light with that EbonyPrince2k24 account it’s now a fact Drake lied about planting the evidence and even Akademiks corroborated that. He also came with zero new evidence of his claims on Family Matters which on its own wouldn’t matter since, again, it’s a rap battle. But it rings pretty hollow when he’s seen as less reliable as Kendrick already by the public and he himself is asking for proof from Kendrick and claiming that “All [his] shit is facts”. Probably one of the worst things he did here was also how he defended himself from the allegations of being a baby bandit. A diaper sniper. Catching a bad case of “Teenage Fever”. Being P. Drizzy if you will. I mean aside from all the weird stuff about Kendrick hating child molesters because he was molested as a child (which would have been a bad angle even if it wasn’t easily disprovable), saying that you’re too rich and famous to be a creep is asinine. Weinstein, Epstein, R. Kelly, P. Diddy, Mick Jagger, MJ, Cosby etc. All got away with their depravity for decades before there ever came any mass movement to depose them with most of these guys having careers well after the first allegations were levied with their downfall only coming when their accusers numbered in the low dozens and they were mostly geriatric despite these crimes going back in some case to their twenties. In fact the majority of weirdos you hear about are the higher ups in politics/entertainment etc. It’s such a weird thing to say in your own defense.
6. Gassing Out - It’s very clear what the gameplan was based on Drake’s actions looking back. Put Kendrick in a position where he needed to respond (hopefully with his supposed nuke) then clap back with Family Matters to secure a definitive win in the public eye before riding off into the sunset and taking a much needed vacation. He probably had that break planned before he even dropped his first track. That’s is not what happened. Drake dropped as many tracks in the span of the past four weeks as Kendrick dropped in the span of four days with the latter seemingly upbeat and raring to go on his last track whereas Drake seemed low energy and unceremoniously ended things on the Heart Part 6. Compare his attitude on the Heart Part 6 vs on Taylor Made Freestyle and the difference is very clear. Drake wanted a short and simple battle where he baited a beatable response and then slammed it with Family Matters ala Story of Adidon. Instead he was put in a position where not even 20 minutes after he’d dropped he was already back on the defensive and then a day later got hit with a back to back a lot nastier than even the actual Charged Up/Back to Back combo with the promise of more on the way if Drake didn’t back out. Drake wanted out since Family Matters but if he left the game for a while without responding to Kendrick’s two tracks he’d look like he totally pussed out even if he announced his leave before Meet the Grahams/Not Like Us were released. There was never supposed be a Heart Part 6 and it shows a little too obviously in his voice and lyrics on the track which to an outside observer doesn’t seem strong.

WHAT DRAKE SHOULD HAVE DONE: He should have lied about stuff that was harder to dispute instead of things that could be disproven by any bum with an internet connection and access to Genius. He should have also tailored Family Matters to solely focus on Kendrick with at most a few Ross bars and no one else being mentioned. He could also have put out another bait track heavily mentioning the Duckworth household but only hinting at what he knows hoping to draw out something like Meet the Grahams before releasing Family Matters. He also should have never dropped the Heart Part 6. Legitimately musical silence was the best option if it ever got to that point. Just make a PR statement denying the allegations, leave the beef behind, and go on about your life. This was not totally unwinnable but Drake really messed up tactically towards the end of the beef.
TLDR: Drake did a good job of manipulating the crowd and creating a strong narrative for himself during the weeks from Push Ups to Euphoria, lost momentum for a few days with the release of Kendrick’s first set of tracks, regained it with Family Matters and then shit the bed tactically from then on. This wasn’t an unwinnable fight, he just made bad some very poor decisions towards the end.

Will this make me cough?
Will this make my head hurt?
Is seven too early to go to bed? I just want to get away from the world.
Will I ever live without pain?
Why am I always sick?
These are the types of questions I don’t have to ask myself anymore. I’m here to say, loud and clear for anyone listening: Chiari doesn’t have to rule your life. You can take it back, one moment at a time. There’s so much more to life than an affliction you can’t control.
But you HAVE more control than you think.
What triggers your symptoms? What questions do you ask yourself before you decide how to spend your time?
At my worst, pain ruled the day. I did anything to avoid it, which usually meant doing anything to avoid the cough that triggered it. For many years, that looked like this:
Prescription asthma medication (pre-Chiari diagnosis)
So, sooooo much cough syrup
Drinking wine
Calling in sick to work
Avoiding parties
Avoiding friends
Avoiding family
Avoiding any kind of gathering
Shrinking my world

And the more I avoided the things that triggered the cough, the smaller my world became. Reducing triggers has become one of the most important parts of living well with Chiari. BUT living in constant fear of those triggers didn’t serve me. It only served the pain. The more I withdrew from people and situations, the worse I felt.
I could never make my world small enough to avoid the pain.
In doing an inventory of my life, I knew there were many ways I was living WRONG. After I stopped taking all my unnecessary asthma medication in 2016 and started feeling slightly better physically and hopeful for the first time in years, I began making changes to how I was living to feel better overall. Some of these, consequently, also reduced the cough triggers.
Reduced chemical use: This deserves its own post—or several—because of the massive difference it made, both with the Chiari and my general health. Some of the steps I took to reduce chemical use included:

• Replacing most harsh/toxic cleaning supplies with natural/less toxic counterparts.
• Eliminating all traditional air fresheners, both plug-in and aerosol, and replacing with essential oils.
• Removing all triggering perfumes and heavily scented personal care supplies from my daily routine.
• Trading Swiffer WetJet for a Bona cleaning system—which is very similar to Swiffer except the Bona has washable/reusable cleaning pads and you can add whatever floor cleaner you want to the soap cartridge.

Addressed/Reduced Stress: Stress was (and still is) a major trigger. Just the other day a hiccup with my health insurance sent me into a rare and unexpected coughing fit. Reducing stress is so broad a topic and looks different for everyone. For me, the quick version went something like this:

• Quit well-paying but soul-sucking job with a huge corporation in a giant building with no natural light and poor ventilation.
• Began a job in line with my personal values. There were still times of stress, but I had more control over how to deal with it. The job paid less money and I went from full time to part time, which isn’t feasible for everyone (I didn’t think it was feasible for me either, but it worked out).
• Started meditation practice—mainly through guided visualizations by Dr. Joe Dispenza.
• Started writing again.
• Went to Reiki sessions (a form of energy healing) every few months.
• Took time for myself to connect with the parts of my soul that needed healing.

Improved physical health: Since my biggest pain trigger was from coughs, it follows that I also had to improve my overall health to catch less viruses. This is ongoing and constantly evolving (the bugs my son brings home from preschool are tough and linger forever), and involves:

• Regular use of vitamins, supplements, essential oils, enzymes, and detoxifications programs
• Limiting alcoholic drinks to a couple per week (down from a couple per day)
• No smoking
• Resting when I need it
• Moving away from processed foods, focusing on adding fresh fruits and vegetables into a more plant-based diet
• Exercises to strengthen my neck muscles
• Increasing my step count every few weeks

Reducing triggers isn’t managing symptoms. It’s a constant effort to prevent them without making the Chiari the star of the show. For me, it’s actually removing Chiari from the scene entirely. These changes didn’t happen overnight and don’t have to be expensive and add additional stress to your already overloaded life.
Start small. Start where you are with something that will make the biggest difference.

I'm reposting this in a different version in case anyone missed it when I posted a couple weeks back. I'm just really curious if this has ever been discussed any where before, and also thanks to all those whose posts on this sub helped me put this together.
SUMMARY: The TV program The Sopranos inserted the sound effects of crows, trains, and automobile horns during a large proportion of its death scenes, as well as some number of death-related scenes. This use of sound effects in death and death-related scenes, appears to be a tribute and imitation of the film The Godfather, which also employed the sounds of crows, trains, and automobile horns during several death scenes or death-related scenes. In The Sopranos this usage of sound effects started as early as the second episode of the first season, and doing a non-exhaustive search I have so far found it in around 24 episodes of The Sopranos, sometimes in multiple scenes in the same episode. There is also one usage specifically of the sound of a crow in the final episode which can be interpreted as suggesting that Tony was at least in danger of dying during the final scene at Holsten’s. This all may sound crazy but if you go and watch dozens of death scenes from the show you will see it, and you can use my list with time stamps to find them.
My blog entry figuring out how I figured this out and crediting the other members of this sub whose posts helped me put this together: https://sopranosdeathsounds.wordpress.com/2024/04/17/crows-trains-and-automobile-horns-sounds-of-death-on-the-sopranos/
Blog entry with list of known occurrences of crow, train, and automobile horn sound effects in death and death-related scenes:
https://sopranosdeathsounds.wordpress.com/2024/04/17/examples-of-crow-train-and-automobile-horn-sounds-in-the-sopranos/
EXCERPT FROM THE LIST: (This is not all the examples at the blog entry, which is likely not all the examples at the show as I haven't checked every scene in every episode. Also NOTE: Because I used Max streaming service to watch the show and it only provides accurate and reliable time stamps for the time remaining, all time stamps refer to time remaining if watching on Max)
S1 E2: “46 Long”
-11:13 In the scene where the driver of a truck being hijacked by Brendan Filone is accidentally shot and killed, starting soon after the driver turns off the truck, if you listen carefully there are numerous sounds of varying volumes from an invisible train in the background, including train horns, a fast moving train, and various train-related knocking noises.
S1 E4: “Meadowlands”
-45:56 After Christopher finds Brendan Filone’s dead body in the bath tub a truck horn sounds three times, and then at -45:53 as the scene cuts from Adriana hugging a distraught Christopher to the hallway at AJ’s school there is an unexplained foghorn-like sound.
S1: E10 “A Hit Is A Hit”
-50:31 a split second after Paulie shoots the drug trafficker a car horn sounds in the street outside the apartment.
S1 E11: “Nobody Knows Anything”
15:55 just as Makazian starts to climb onto the bridge railing to jump off and kill himself, you hear a particularly loud truck air horn in the background. During his jump the traffic noise from the bridge goes quiet and when it returns after he hits the water the first sound is a car horn.
S1 E13: “I Dream of Jeanie Cusamano”
20:00 Crows, along with other birds, are heard in the background throughout the sequence where Mikey “Fuckfaceitis” Palmice is pursued through the woods by Paulie and Christopher and finally executed in a hail of bullets after a brief exchange. The crows start around -20:00, return at -19:30, and again at -1915, and then basically go on with only brief interruptions until about -18:00 as the crows become louder and more agitated in their cawing as the tension in the scene increases and as the final hail of bullets execute Palmice.
S2 E8: “Full Leather Jacket”
-2:43 A loud truck or train air horn sounds from an invisble source after Sean Gismonte has repeatedly shot Christopher and before Christopher has returned fire and killed Sean.
-2:28 After Sean Gismonte is killed while still in his car seat, the car rolls slowly forward and then hits another causing its alarm to go off.
S3 E9: “Another Toothpick”
25:11 After Bobby Baccalieri Sr. pulls up outside the house where Mustang Sally is hiding out, and while he is still sitting in the car outside, at -25:11 crows can be heard cawing along with sounds of a train when no train is visible. At -25:01 the crows can be heard again. In the next scene Baccalieri Sr. murders Mustang Sally and Sally’s friend Carlos, and in the following scene Baccalieri Sr. also dies in car crash — after collapsing onto his car horn at -19:58.
S5 E12: “Long Term Parking”
-9:22 After Silvio’s second shot executing Adriana, crows caw in the background.
S5 E13: “All Due Respect”
-19:59 Immediately after Tony Soprano shoots Tony Blundetto in the face on the front porch of the farm house, a crow caws in the background.
S6 E18 : “Heidi and Kennedy”
-40:58 A crow is cawing outside the house when Tony is awoken in bed by his maid the morning after killing Christopher, and also in the cut immediately after the brief scene of Kelly screaming when she gets the news about his death.
-33:47 A crow is cawing in background in backyard as Tony goes out to throw the Cleaver mug into the bushes.
S6 E 19: “The Second Coming”
-33:18 Crow cawing in background outside as AJ looks out at pool.
-33:03 Crow cawing in background as AJ sits on diving board with plastic bag and cinder block preparing to drown himself in pool.
-31:39 Crow cawing in background as Tony walks towards front door of house after parking out front, as AJ is struggling in the pool while still tied to cinderblock.
S6 E 20: “Blue Comet”
-16:04 Tony is in his backyard working on his pool and sweeping leaves and Janice is there talking to him. As Janice leaves Tony is angry and saying nasty things about Bobby, and as he talks about Bobby a crow caws in the background.
-15:44 Seconds later Silvio comes to speak with Tony and as he walks up a crow caws in the background.
Immediately after Silvio speaks to Tony, we see Bobby get shot and killed. Immediately after that we see Silvio get shot and left in a coma.
S6 E21 “Made in America”
-10:16 Tony is raking leaves in his backyard and then stops and looks up and around contemplatively. As he does a crow can be heard faintly but definitely briefly cawing in the background. Immediately after this Carmela walks up to Tony and tells them they are going to dinner at Holsten’s.