Hi all, my wedding is in 3 days. My mom and I have been doing a lot of wedding prep and my father and brother also have helped some in terms of expecting guests and getting the house and venue ready. My parents are elderly and my dad is disabled. My sister has not been helping much nor involved herself. I hope they are excited but she’s kind of always been not interested in giving a helping hand. For my wedding there is a tradition where the sister gets money from the groom (cultural thing). Over the past few years I’ve helped my sister fix her car and lended her money which I have expected and told her to pay back, even if it’s in 20 dollar increments over time. I’ve lent her about 6k. Is it worth it for me to tell her to give the money she gets from my fiancé back to me? It’s not going to be more than 1k…but I am also paying for this wedding myself (parents unable to contribute due to financial restrictions, brother also contributing). Mind you, my brother and sister both work full time. I also work but have been unemployed the last year and I still give my brother 400/month from my savings to help the house. My sister does not contribute much aside from paying the phone bill. She also recently ruined her car (idk how the ac went bad for the second time) I spent money last summer to fix it bc I didn’t want her driving to work in the heat - while I was unemployed (3k). My brother also spent money and fixed it. And now it’s bad again. My brother has also lended her money a couple times and he has just made peace that we will take care of her but she will never reciprocate. She works FT and has a decent job. She definitely is making more than me over the past year or so. I don’t know if she just doesn’t care or she’s really that apathetic…all I know mental wise she’s got bipolar, but even if I’m nice to her it doesn’t matter how many heart to hearts or how much I encourage her that she should travel and do things bc she’s got a stable job (super introverted and has gained a lot of weight due to pcos) and she’s got low self esteem and I try to encourage her and compliment her to change her perception of herself, tell her she should enjoy life -but it just seems like she doesn’t care. I know I’ve said a lot of different issues, I’m sorry, I just don’t think that gives you the right to not help out those who are helping you? Especially if we help you and tell us to pay back? Should I ask her to give the money back to me? I also don’t want to be mean and it does put a sour taste in my mouth to do so :/ or just let it go and accept this is just how it is.
TLDR; sis is going to get money as a gift from groom, do I ask her to pay me back since she’s borrowed from me and hasn’t started making payments ?

I'm a 1099 contractor. I sell construction restoration door to door to homeowners and property owners. The red flags started 2 weeks ago when I signed up a homeowner on a Friday. They emailed and called me to cancel the following Monday. I put a notice to the office that they intended to cancel and the office proceeded to send out a cancelation invoice to the homeowner. Later that week I get a call from a police detective asking for my point of view on the "situation". They asked me when the homeowner signed the contract and when they notified me of their intent to cancel and reiterated to me that the state I'm working in has a 3-day "cooling off" period for contracts signed by door to door salesmen. This made me question the company's right to send a cancelation fee so I posted a message to the office with the details of this phone call and simply asked them to make sure everything was on the up and up. A week has gone by with no response about that fee. Now I get a message saying the company is taking their names off of all the paperwork and replacing them with the project managers. I was also notified that all production has been put on hold for an undetermined amount of time.
This company still owes me over $200,000 in commission so I'm afraid to inquire about what putting our names on the contracts instead of the company's and anyone who's been let go from the company received pennies on the dollar for commissions owed. I've talked to a few of the other project managers (all of us big hitters are close) and we're all afraid of what this might mean for us. Can anyone enlighten us on what this change could imply and how we should proceed?
I have photos of the contracts we use. I'd be happy to pm them to anyone that can help. We are still waiting on the new revised contracts that will have our names on them.

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

ooc: co-written with the lovely u/LyrePlayerTwo
READ PART 1 HERE
The Final Guess

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus???	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia???	Harpy Talon
The Hydra??	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

Harper made eye contact with Amon, slack-jawed. Any trace of condescension in her brown eyes was replaced with panic. “You were wrong.”
Amon let her words hang in the air as he sank into the chair by the desk with more force than he had intended.
“They’re her parents. They would have more of a motive than the rest of the suspects,” he retorted quickly, repeating Harper’s earlier words with a bitter edge. “Is what I recall hearing.”
“There were no other options!” Harper turned back to the wall, and tapped her chalk against the board. The powdery stick threatened to snap in her grip as she read out the remaining suspect names. “The Hydra was in the middle of a fight, Cerberus was working, and Lamia could not lie about being innocent.” She looked back towards Amon. “We eliminated all of those together.”
Amon remained composed, attempting to keep his voice steady despite the tension caused by their blunder. “And yet, we both made a mistake,” he agreed, scrutinizing the board in front of him as if it held a secret answer they had missed. “We have no room to make another one. But it must be one of those three.”
Though Amon’s words were calm and measured, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw betrayed an inner turmoil of his mind working overtime.
“Emotions or not, I think we can be sure it was not Lamia.” Harper began to pace around the study, her restless movements a physical manifestation of her racing mind. “So we should take a look at Cerberus and the Hydra again.”
"I was guarding the entrance, my duty unbroken," Amon repeated Cerberus’ alibi, resting his chin in his hands as he leaned against the desk.
Harper nodded. “I really don’t think that Cerberus could have lied about staying on guard. Or that he would have. He would not risk the gods’ wrath.”
“True,” Amon agreed, his dark gaze following Harper as she paced around the study room. “The voice of duty is more eloquent than the voice of sin. At least, the father of Greek tragedy said so,” he added with a hint of smug satisfaction.
Harper stopped walking. Amon's words seemed to have pulled her out of her spiral. She looked over at Amon again, a hint of amusement in her brown eyes. She remarked, “You always quote other people when you're arguing. Do you ever speak for yourself?”
Amon opened his mouth, then closed it, his olive complexion growing pink as he glared at Harper.
"Understanding the thoughts of those who came before us is not a lack of capacity for original thought. It is a foundation upon which we can build our own ideas.” He stood up from his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Ideas that we need to get out of this job alive.”
“And I deeply respect the writings of Aeschylus,” Harper began diplomatically, “But I think the tragedians would have very unhelpful things to say about our predicament. I say we focus on writing our own story.”
She shrugged, offering Amon a slight smile before she turned away.
“Alright.” Amon grumbled as he sat back down in the chair, noting that Harper had named Aeschylus before he had a chance to cite his source. “Let us keep going with the problem at hand then.”
It was unfortunate how easily they had fallen into their patterns of needless bickering, but he almost missed it as the room fell back into a suffocating silence. Amon had no other leads, and, for once, nothing else to say.
It looked like Harper had nothing either. She stopped wandering around and sank into a chair close to the chalkboard, the active analytical expression on her face giving way to a chilling blankness.
Amon was not going to give up. He pursed his lips, attempting to recall the details of every obscure Greek text he had ever read.
Yet, despite the gravity of their current circumstances, his thoughts couldn’t help but return to Harper’s comment. What a ridiculous thing to say– of course he could think for himself, speak for himself. Admittedly, he had quoted Aeschylus to show off, but the words of the Ancient Greeks were not irrelevant in solving a mythological murder mystery. The key here was that, alone, Amon would never know enough. It would always be useful to have input from a second mind, whether it was from a long-dead playwright or another demigod sitting right in front of him.
A second mind.
Amon shut his eyes, massaging his temples as he tried to visualize the fleeting holograms. “Harper. Who spoke for the Hydra? Was it all of the heads, or just one?”
“The middle head, I think?” Harper's voice grew louder as she stood and approached him, waiting for him to elaborate.
Amon’s eyes flew open, gleaming with a sudden excitement. “Well, if the heads can talk independently - “
“-then they can act independently!” Harper clapped a hand over her mouth in realization of her interruption. She smiled apologetically at Amon before continuing. “Sorry. But you're right. We focused on the wrong technicality. It wasn't what they said. It was who said it.”
“But your point about monster opposable thumbs still holds true,” Amon’s shoulders sagged slightly. “And we know that the sword must be correct.”
Harper shook her head sheepishly. “I don't think it matters. I knew it probably wouldn't after the first guess, really. I just didn't want to be wrong.”
The room fell into a heavy silence as the pair considered their final answer, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning. Harper scanned the chalkboard again, pursing her lips as she checked their work. Amon's jaw clenched tighter as his gaze remained fixed on Harper, lost in thought.
He broke the silence with a firm declaration, his voice steady and assured. "I feel confident about the Hydra and the sword. Do you?"
Harper nodded. “Yes. Do you want to be the one to tell her?”
Amon stood up from the chair once more, smoothing the wrinkles in his sweater. “I’ll leave the honors to you.”
“Okay,” Harper agreed, exhaling slowly. Her fingertips brushed against the base of her kopis as she called out to the monster, her voice even and clear. “For our final guess, we accuse the Hydra of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword.”
The sphinx rolled over and then stood. She took measured steps towards the demigods, eyeing the shortswords at their waists with a relaxed, almost sleepy expression.
Harper stiffened as the lioness drew closer. Even if Harper and Amon tried to fight her off now, it was not likely that they would win. This sphinx had the unbothered demeanor of a being who no longer feared death.
“You are correct,” the sphinx proclaimed, after a long silence. “And what an agonizing death it was,” Her melodramatic ranting was muted by the disappointment of her defeat. Still, she held her head high as she judged the demigods who had outsmarted her. “I must say that you have both exceeded expectations. If only barely.”
Harper and Amon exchanged looks. Harper took another cautious step towards the sphinx, saying, “You said you would leave if we got it right.”
“So I did.” the lioness agreed. “Humans spend their lives in pursuit of knowledge, you know. So often, they fail to apply it, only to repeat the same mistakes that they made before. You do not have the luxury of learning from your past lives, as I do. So I hope you have learned something that you will remember.”
She stalked towards the window, turning to offer the demigods one last prideful glance. “Goodbye, demigods.”
The Sphinx pushed the curtain aside and jumped through the open window.
As she left, the shimmering, translucent energy that had materialized the suspects returned once more. It swirled around the six weapons the pair had gathered, slowly dissolving them into sparkling motes of blue light. The door to the study room creaked back open.
“Well,” Amon slid his hands into the pocket of his trousers, “I am glad that our initial oversight did not lead to imminent death.” His tense and stony features had finally relaxed into a rare smile, exposing the metallic gleam of the brackets and wires on his teeth.
“All men make mistakes,” Harper intoned with exaggerated pretension. “But a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong. Or so the tragedians say.”
She walked over to the chalkboard and began to erase her script, barely restraining a laugh.
Amon nodded in approval as he crouched down to pick up some of the remaining debris. “A bit of a mainstream citation, yes. But contextually relevant and rich with insight.”
Soon, the study room was back to its ordinary state, and they were ready to leave. Amon held the door open as they exited the room. “Now, returning to the topic of thinking for oneself…”
References: Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan, Clue, Wordle, Aeschylus, and Antigone by Sophocles

Starting to debunk 🔥 

End of the debunks 

I was driving down a 25mph street and saw a lady at the crosswalk sorta last minute, didn’t slam on the brakes but definitely got on them and sure enough this biker that I saw about a mile back comes out of the blue and folds on to the rear hatch of my car… He was on a home made contraption with no lights, signals.. I saw him a few miles back flying by traffic on a 45 so this thing is definitely not legal. My car has a couple sizeable dents and a couple paint chips+scratches.. he says to take his number, hell take care of the repair. Police come to make a report, ask for his license.. he doesn’t even have a fucking drivers license and like I mentioned, the bike is definitely not legal. I hint towards a few things to the cops but they dont see anything wrong(great job boys)… Anyways, my plan is to get a quote and send him it. SO im wondering how long I should give him to pay it and also looking for some insight on small claims. How does the process work? I fill out a claim and they give us a court date? If he cant pay it outright is he put on a payment plan? If so does the state pay me out then make him responsible to pay them back or will I just have to collect $100 a month for the next 4 years? Should I/Could I also press charges of any type if he doesn’t pay? Thanks for any insight!

ADVICE/QUESTIONS/CRITISM WANTED AND ENCOURAGED
I apologize for the bad writing and spelling errors in advance. I'm trying to write this quickly. Even if I have come to terms with it, I don't want to think about it for too long.
I, 22F, was not the best person in high school. In my sophomore and freshman year, I had a more refined 'sub-group' of friends. They were never my first choice, but I was their first choice. I didn't feel bad, however I now do. I would constantly choose my 'better' group of friends over them. However, I was still well-liked in the group. Spending time with them was fun, and I was relatively nice. Except to this one girl, who I will call 'Emma'.
Emma wasn't exactly conventionally attractive. She had decent features, but it didn't come together well at all. Her hair looked bad, and her style wasn't the prettiest. So, she was subject to getting made fun of. We all made fun of each other in the group, but even I could admit we were a bit ruthless when it came to Emma. Here is a list of some of the things we did:
Dump out her backpack when she did homework
Make fun of her love life
Poke her in the stomach
Take really bad pictures of her and post them online
Pretend the ground was shaking when she would walk by
Laugh at her when she ate
Push her when she was walking next to one of us (so another one of us could sit there)
Take her things (snacks, pens, homework assignments)
I know, it is bad. We did other things, but not things I am particularly proud of or want to share. Now, she would generally laugh along. However, towards late freshman and early sophmore year, she didn't laugh as much at our jokes. She would chuckle, but not like she laughed earlier. One friend in the group noticed she stopped bringing food to school, which could also be because of us. However, this didn't make us stop. If anything, it made it worse. Once, I had made the decision to host a hang-out at the skating rink. However, I decided not to invite Emma. I don't really even have a reason. But, sometime before the event, she found out. She said she didn't care, and that she didn't have any roller skates anyways. Looking back, she most likely did care.
In the last semester of sophomore year, Emma stopped doing almost anything. She wouldn't eat, barely drank, stopped doing schoolwork, stopped talking, and eventually stopped going to class. When we asked her about it, she just told us she was tired with the newfound stress the year gave her. We bought it. I remember exactly what I did after. It feels like I will never forget it, because it set off a spiral. About ten minutes after our conversation, the topic turned to Emma again. She had her head down, but started listening a few minutes after we started talking about her. I got up (we were sitting in the library, so we were all on the ground) and walked over to her. She smiled and started to say something, and before she could finish her sentence I bent down, lifted up her shirt slightly, and jiggled her stomach in front of everyone. We weren't the only ones in the room, mind you. Somewhere near ten or twenty people laughed. I dropped her shirt and pinched her cheeks. I told her something about eating a salad, and she shot me one of the most dejected glances I have ever seen. She muttered something about actually really liking salads, and I made yet another joke about how that couldn't possibly be true. I then told her, word for word, 'Next time you think about eating another chocolate bar, maybe try chewing some gum.' I remember being a bit upset that not as many people laughed, only a few people in our friend group. Emma nodded and went back to whatever she was doing.
Everything I described earlier, the not eating, drinking, etc., got much worse after that. She would go days without saying a word unless prompted, and yet we continued to make fun of her. No one was nearly as bad as me, though. A few weeks after this continuous behavior, we were once again in the library. We were passing a bag of chips along the library and had skipped over her. One person, 'Jess', the person who was probably the nicest to her, offered her some, but she said no. She closed her book and told us something about closing her eyes. She had been dozing on and off recently, so no one really minded. However, after an hour (and the bell had rung), Jess went to wake her up.
We were all waiting with our stuff for Jess to come back, but it took much longer than usual. After about five minutes, I decided to go check. My mind was already turning with jokes. (Was she sleeping a huge meal off? Was she hibernating?) But when I went over, Jess was just bent over examining her. I came over and shook her, but she did nothing. Jess told me she had already tried that, and that she wouldn't wake up no matter what she did. I shook Emma harder and poured some water on her (I'm not exactly sure which came first.) She still wouldn't wake up. After a few minutes of us both trying things (And other people who had came over from the group), we decided to give up and take her to the nurse, and she could deal with her. We were already late to our next class. One of the girls in our group and I picked her up, and she was honestly much lighter than I expected. Jess went ahead to the nurse to tell her we were coming since we would be a bit behind. We dropped her off and went back to our respective classes, and Jess stayed with Emma. From what Jess had told me, she had passed out from lack of food of some sorts. This is the action where I felt the worst (not even the stomach part): I continued to make jokes and make fun of her. (Of course SHE of all people passed out from hunger. Finally she's not eating for once. How can she be hungry, look at her!)
She wasn't even overweight. She was probably only a few pounds more than me, at least before she started practically starving herself. After she had come back to school (probably 2-4 weeks after the nurse thing), she couldn't even look at us. Any time someone talked to her, she would start to tear up (except for Jess, of course). I mostly ignored it until the end of the year. Of course, I felt bad, but I didn't think there was any point in trying to talk to her. And most of the group followed in my shoes. At the end of the year, Emma handed me a folded up sheet of paper. I made another stupid joke, once again (What, is this your McDonalds order? Or a confession letter?) She dodged the joke and told me to read it whenever I could, as long as it was after school, and to spread the message. I laughed and called it cliche, and then continued on with my day. But the letter was painful to read, and I didn't even accept it or really comprehend it until later on. This is a slightly paraphrased version, as it is in my room at my parents' house:
"Hey, Mia (me). I just want to talk to you about what happened this year. I don't blame you that much, but I don't want what you did to be repeated. Ever since last year you've been incredibly rude. I get that it was jokes, but I felt completely targetted. I was the only one in the group to be made fun of my physical appearance. I get it, I didn't look the best, so it kind of makes sense. But did it have to be a daily (if not hourly) thing? Sometime last year, it really got to me. I tried to ignore it, to joke along. But it really hit me hard. I'm made fun of a bit at home already, and I really liked school up until these years. It felt like a safe space, and it was ruined a bit by your constant bullying. I tried everything. I dieted, I worked out, I did it all. Eventually (and by your suggestion) I just slowly stopped eating. You probably noticed since you took my food all the time. I've been working on my self-confidence recently, and I noticed something. I'm average. I have average weight, average looks, an average life. Why should I be made fun of for that? The highest I've weighed is 130 pounds, early this year. I get it. It was a lot. But as I lost weight, why was I still made fun of? Left out? Honestly, my biggest hope is that you just don't ever repeat this. I don't want anyone else to go through this. I don't expect an apology either, because I won't be coming back to the school next year. Just please, don't do this again.
Your 'best friend',
Emma."
That letter changed my life. I changed everything. I changed who I hung out with, what I said and did, and apologized to the people in that friend group. I never showed them that letter, mostly because I was embarrassed. Me, the cause of all of it, was embarrassed. I want to talk to her and fully apologize, but I don't have any contact with her. I am planning on contacting Jess soon, probably this weekend. I feel as though I have fully come to sense with my actions. And I think Jess would be proud to hear that. Personally, I hope Emma is glad to hear that I've gained weight since then. I want her to feel some sort of relief, even if she didn't directly cause it.
Edit: You can ask questions if you want. I am willing to answer anything. However, I wanted to clarify: I know it was mentioned a few times she wasn't as chubby as we made her out to be. So why make fun of her for her weight? She wasn't exactly blessed in the facial fat and stomach fat department, and we saw that as some sort of reason to laugh at her.

My partner (m41) and I (f29) have been together for 4 years. It wasn't an easy relationship to begin with. My family fell out with me for getting with him. They knew him very well but they just thought it was moving too fast. I moved in with him pretty quickly as my dad was physically quote aggressive with me and controlling. I planned on staying with my partner for a while until sorting out my own place but we just fell in love more every day. We had a "we wi prove them all wrong" attitude. I really truly and deeply love and care for him. He was patient, calm, funny, gentlemanly. He spent 2 years doing everything he could to make me happy. He would cook, washa and dry my hair, massages, running baths, picking me flowers etc.
Fast forward to last April. We fell pregnant and were ecstatic but unfortunately, it ended in an early miscarriage at 7 weeks. He has a pain condition which means every so often it flare up and his mood dips. He finds it difficult to cope with stress etc. The miscarriage put alot of strain on our relationship as he switched off and offered no emotional support whatsoever.
We had a few arguments and I decided I needed to leave for a break. I went home and my mum and dad were more than supportive. I spent 2 weeks at home until I met my partner and we reconciled. My dad was so cross and again got aggressive and told me to never step foot in his house again.
In August a few months later, we fell pregnant again. Although this time was different, he didn't seem overly happy. Maybe sometimes but basically he mostly stopped being affectionate with me or doing thoughtful things that he always had done. He began to sleep separately from me. The odd time he would maybe run me a bath or cook etc. If I was sick or sore, he would say "tru being sore for 10 years" I never got any sympathy. He nearly got frustrated if I went for naps or had a lie in
Christmas, he made dinner for us on Christmas day etc he didn't get me anything. I got him a few things. On boxing day, we had an arguement, I can't even remember about what. He left and stayed at his mums for 3 weeks. I spent 3 weeks on my own, sick and crying in bed basically the whole time. I didn't tell anyone. New years eve countdown, I cried in bed rubbing my growing bump. He eventually came back, we had 3 great weeks together before his mood shifted again. He made a comment about how he had wanted a son instead of a daughter.
He then began home decorating and nesting. He spent 2 solid months working most evenings to do up her nursery, and basically improve every room with new paint etc.
I then was admitted early with pre eclampsia just over 3 weeks ago. I spent 4 days in hospital before they inserted a pessary. I then was moved to delivery suite 36 hours after the pessary. I was labouring and contracting for 6 hours until I got to 9cm and they realised something was wrong. Baby was completely stuck, cord around neck etc and I was rushed for a category 1 c section.
When my partner was allowed into theatre, I was already opened and blood everywhere. I had the shakes etc and he seen everything. I really thought I was going to die. It was so traumatic. I was wheeled into recovery and he asked when he could go home. I was disgusted. As soo. As I was wheeled on to the ward just 3 hours post op, he left. He came back thay evening for 2 hours. That night, my baby girl was cluster feeding, it was very difficult. I text him at 5am to tell him all about it. At 8am I got a message calling me a "whine" and not to be texting in the middle of the night again. I stupidly apologised.
Eventually I was discharged and the first week, he was as he described "father of the year" and I even said to him, that this was the making od him. He was so soft, gentle, caring and involved with our daughter. I thought finally, my life is working out.
He then spent a few days not interacting with us AT ALL. I mean not one glance. There was one day I was standing at the sink sorting baby bottles and she cried. I asked him to loft her and he said no I'm busy, grabbed a bag of crisps, went upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. He also continued to smoke in that room where she sleeps at night. I asked him to stop and he gave off that he has nowhere for himself anymore.
He came out of this mood a couple of times. He took us for a walk and picked us flowers and lunch. The very next day, he went back into his low depressive mood. On the last particular day 2.5 weeks after birth, he was wanting to take us to the beach. This was the first day where I got myself ready and pretty, I was excited. He made me lunch and then refused to eat with me because the previous days, we argued over lunch (he would start arguements about nothing and it would lead to raised voices etc)
So anyway he ate in another room, our daughter was with me and she started crying so he slammed the door of the room he was in. I then went to the sink washed bottles for baby. He came in and said was I going to keep hogging the sink or was I going to get out of the way. I told him to not be so ignorant with me.
It led to a full blown row where he got quite aggressive. He came into my face and I pushed him away and he then said I assaulted him I told him to wise up and stop this shouting in front of our baby. He slammed the living room door. I went in and I said this had to stop. He told me to get the hell out of his house and that it was about time I leave and give him peace. He went upstairs and at the top of the stairs he called me a fat shapeless b###ard, fat ugly nose and feet etc. Now before birth I weighed over 13 stone. At this arguement, I was weighing 10stone 10 so definitely not fat.
I packed 2 bags, and left with our baby. Since then I have reached out to him and he has ignored me. He believes me to be staying in a bmb with a newborn and he thinks this is acceptable. He has not asked about her or me. He changed the locks also so I can't get into the home. My heart is broken. What happened to the man I love? He doesn't speak to anyone anymore, he has no friends, he stopped working. I can see his Google activity and he has been researching moving to India and leading a spiritual life. I feel like his brain is messed up.
A week later, I am now 9.5 stone, stopped breast feeding as I'm not producing enough, doing everything on my own with our perfect daughter. Basically, what would you do? What has happened him? Is this normal behaviour during pregnancy and post-partum?
He knows all I have ever dreamed of is having a baby and a family. Why did he do this? I feel so sorry for me. That was where I made home, I have so many belongings and stuff in there that ingot for my daughter. I helped with the decor and actually blame that for my pre eclampsia. The day before admission I was on my hands and knees painting skirting because I felt bad about him painting upstairs. I redone all the grouting in the bathroom etc too. For him to turn around and say "what kind of idiot stays in a house where they aren't wanted". One day picking flowers and declaring your love, the next telling me to leave.
How do I get through this
Tldr my fiance m41, put me f29 out of the home with our 2.5 week old daughter. I need advice on what has happened to him and what to do next.

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
"Leave the sleeping dragons lie in peace" is a lesson that seemingly has to be taught to every wannabe conqueror over and over again.
Time after time, there will be a few idiots who only see the dragon's hoard, its cult of followers, and ignore the piles of rusted, slagged, calcified, scorched remains of every moron who tried before them. They see all of this and think "I can beat it to submission and take everything it has."
And then the dragon wakes up, and more smoldering remains are added to the scorched scrap heap.
And the Malevolent Universe grins in the darkness, and increases the "Dead morons who should have known better" counter by one. Then, waits for the next contestant. - u/Matt_Bradock, Terran Philosopher, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{initiating data stream
your name is Dhruv-661391
you were purchased for the same price as a moderately priced luxury vehicle}
She knows the dead. She is of the dead. She is the keeper and guardian of the dead. Life, death and the feasting of swarms all are one within her. She knows where once-dead things were laid to rest and where the deathless still dream in their unliving slumber. She knows where the hungry dead have roamed the universe's fields, and where they still roam them unburied, and why no one remembers them as they tread. - The Fifth Horseman, First Terran Imperium, "Meditations Upon Immortals"
^{you were created to serve}
What we tell ourselves, what we tell others, and what actually happened, are often three different things.
And sometimes four. - Unknown, Age of Paranoia, TerraSol
^{your name is Dhruv
and your brain was once smooth}
Captain N'Skrek checked his datalink.
The deep data storage was still at work bringing up information on "Legion" and "Sacajawea". The older databases of the Gray Lady had data at the ready, but it was sparse.
Two of the Biological Apostles of the Digital Omnimessiah, a figure of myth and legend.
Yet, they sat across from him.
They were talking back and forth in a language that the computer's linguistic database had no record of and stubbornly resisted any attempt to decipher it.
What N'Skrek did hear was several words that he recognized.
Daxin the Unfeeling. Daxin Freeborn. Chromium Saint Peter. Enraged Phillip. Matthias the Elder. Matthias the Younger. Kibuka. Kalki. Gravity.
A litany that left data scrolling down the empty space just beyond the edge of his peripheral vision.
Daxin "The Walking War Crime" Freeborn.
NavInt and MilInt were projecting with an 80% certainty (adjusted downward for unknown probabilities) that the beings in front of him were from that long bygone era.
Finally Captain N'Skrek cleared his throat.
The bald one, Legion, turned to look at the gathered staff officers.
"My apologies. I was catching my sister up on what has transpired since she disappeared," Legion said, smiling gently. He nodded. "You probably have questions."
N'Skrek nodded back. "The biggest one is: how did you..." he thought for a second. "Why did you..." no, that wouldn't work. "What bring about..."
Legion smiled.
"How did I replace all of your clones and why?" he asked. "Why is it that if you print off too many identical clones I show up?"
N'Skrek nodded. "Yes."
Legion looked at the Terran officers and smiled wider. It was a cruel smile, reminding N'Skrek of a hook pointed knife that had been sharpened to a keen edge.
"You didn't tell them? Have you really forgotten about me?" he asked.
"It was assumed to be still prevented by the cloning systems," Vice-Admiral Breakheader stated slowly. "We have only recently been restored ourselves. Less than two months time."
Legion just smiled.
Vice-Admiral Breakheader turned to look at Captain N'Skrek. "Running off too many identical clones causes Legion to manifest. It's why we use the Born Whole system, it ensures they have different brains, different expriences, and they have a slight variation to pore and retinal patterns, hair growth, minor things like that. Otherwise, Legion manifests."
"Why?" N'Skrek asked.
The Vice-Admiral sat silently for a moment before replying. "Because," was all he said.
Legion's smile didn't leave his face.
"Because it is my nature," he said.
Sacajawea said something and Legion replied in the same language, then turned to N'Skrek.
"My sister does not know why she was rebirthed," he said. He looked at her and spoke rapidly. She answered, only a few words, which made Legion reply at length. Again, only a few words.
"It must have been important," N'Skrek interrupted.
"She states that she does not know why the Immortals system did not rebirth her when she died," Legion said. He glanced at her. "She tells me that she died, with her people, when her peaceful planet was attacked."
"By the Mar-gite?" N'Skrek asked.
Again, more conversation.
"Yes," Legion answered. He frowned as she spoke again. "She says they were a peaceful planet. Anarcho-Primitivism. Very little technology. The Mar-gite attacked without warning."
She spoke rapidly and Legion listened.
N'Skrek saw the computer still was not able to parse the language, even though it could build a lexicon of off very little data for almost any other language it encountered.
Legion turned and faced N'Skrek. "She states that she believes it was the fact that some of her people demanded that high technology be left in place in order to allow the six planets her people had settled to remain in contact. That the high tech farming and sustenance industries led the Mar-gite to attack her."
Again, Sacajawea spoke, her head lifted, looking down at Legion.
"Why she was not reborn is unknown to her. She had guided and shepherded her people for thousands of years before the outsiders came. Outsiders drawn by technology, by the abandonment of the old ways," Legion said. He was frowning as he spoke rapidly.
The conversation took a few minutes.
"She said the outsiders came and wiped her people out after entire generations held them off. That in the final battle, they overcame her when her strength failed," Legion said. There was more talking. "She's describing the Mar-gite."
"Where was this?" N'Skrek asked, bringing up a map of the galaxy. "The First Mar-gite War was only three hundred years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict and lasted nearly a hundred years," the brought up a sketchy timeline of the era. "When did you encounter the Mar-gite and where?"
Sacajawea spoke again at length. Legion spoke back. It grew heated for a moment before Legion looked at N'Skrek.
"She will not say. She does not want us to defile or desecrate the worlds her people settled. She does not want us to know when or where," he said.
"That might be pertinent information," N'Skrek said. "Important information to keep the Mar-gite from overwhelming the Cygnus-Orion Spur."
Sacajawea spoke quickly, heatedly, half standing up. Legion put his hand on her shoulder, obviously encouraging her to sit down, but she shrugged, throwing off Legion's hand, and her speech got more heated, her eyes flashing with anger.
"She says she will not reveal her people's resting place for us to dig up the graves and desecrate them. That it is not anyone's business where The People have gone or what The People have done," Legion said. He turned and answered her.
The conversation got heated as the N'Skrek and the officers watched.
Finally, Sacajawea stood up and turned around, folding her arms across her chest, lifting her chin.
Legion's skin darkened with anger.
"Then you can tell them that load of bullshit yourself, little sister," he snapped.
He suddenly vanished in a swirl of black powder that evaporated.
N'Skrek saw that Sacajawea was shocked by Legion's disappearance. She stood there for a long moment.
"Dhruv?" she asked mid-air.
N'Skrek motioned his officers to stay silent.
"Dhruv?" she snapped, stomping one foot.
Still silence.
"Luke!' she half-shouted, stamping her foot again.
She turned and looked at the gathered staff officers, who were all staring at her.
"Legion?" she asked quietly.
N'Skrek held up one bladearm.
"It appears, Miss, that you will have to speak for yourself."
Sacajawea frowned and clamped her lips together.
N'Skrek just stared mildly.
^{your name was tiffany}
0-0-0-0-0
^{your name was dhruv
you were created to serve the deshmuhk family
you were a gardener and a menial
but you have risen above that}
Jaskel had just gotten a plate of food and sat down in one corner of the cavernous Dining Bay Twenty-Three.
True, it was a little bit of a walk from the Telkan Marine section to that particular dining facility, but for some reason Jaskel liked the food put out by Nutriforge-Eight better than any of the others.
Like the Gunny always said, it was the little things that count.
He had arranged his silverware, his drink, and given a short prayer when he suddenly wasn't alone.
A slender man in an unfamiliar uniform suddenly appeared at one of the tables on the far side of the Dining Bay. Jaskel watched as two more stepped out of the first. They all sat down and started talking rapidly.
To Jaskel, it sounded like an argument.
It looked like one person arguing with himself.
Jaskel ate quietly and slowly, trying to avoid attracting attention, but watching the Terran out of the corner of his eye.
Terrans were universally half-crazy.
And a Terran arguing with clones of himself was probably full blown crazy.
That, and Jaskel remembered how negligent the display of power had been that had left him hanging upside down in mid-air.
Much to the amusement of his squad mates who watched the video and laughed.
He was down to dessert when the far door opened and a woman entered. Jaskel recognized her instantly as the young adult Terran woman who had appeared nude from the cloning banks, even though she was clad in clothing made of brown material and decorated with beads.
She immediately made a bee-line for the man, who had gotten a plate with a piece of pie on it while the other two argued between each other.
She stopped and stomped on foot, staring down at the sitting man.
"You look stupid," the man, Legion, said when she stopped next to him.
"Dhruv," she snapped. She rattled off words that Jaskel's datalink couldn't translate.
"Not talking to you until you speak Confederate Standard. I know you know it," Legion/Dhruv stated.
She stomped her foot again. "Luke!" she snapped.
Legion looked up. "Part of me, a large part of me, feels that you lost the right to call me by that name."
He went back to eating the pie. When the woman looked at the two clones who were staring at her, they stared back for a moment then puffed into black dust that swirled and vanished.
Jaskel kept watching out of the corner of his eye.
"Dhruv," she snapped.
"Go away, Sacajawea," Legion said.
She stood there for a moment. Then she suddenly leaned forward and slapped the plate of pie away from Legion.
"I will not call you Legion," she suddenly said as the plate clattered against the far bulkhead.
"Go away," Legion said. He looked up. "Let me put it in a way you might understand better: I just want left alone."
The woman stepped back, one hand going to her mouth.
"Yeah, still scared of him, aren't you," Legion said. He stood up. "Or are you?" he moved so he was clear of the table. "Were you ever afraid of him, Sacajawea, or was it all an act?"
Sacajawea looked away. "He was everything wrong with the world, a living reminder of what kind of men destroyed my people."
Legion suddenly laughed. "You forget history, little sister. But, of course, you never had any use for history unless it served your own ends."
Sacajawea stomped her foot. "Dhruv, be nice."
"No," Legion said, his voice low and intent. "I have yet to hear you thank me for what I did in the cloning bay, much less what I did for you before you ran off and left me holding the bag."
^{your name was luke
remember remember
your name was luke}
"I came back to find Matthias the Elder standing over the sundered murdered code of the Digital Omnimessiah," Legion said. "Then Daxin showed up, Matthias claimed I killed our Digital Father, so I ran."
"And he followed. Intent on killing you," Sacajawea sniffed.
"Yes!' Legion said. "Of course he did! I would have chased me in that situation," Legion said. He stepped forward. "And where were you, Little Sister, when it happened?"
She looked away and sniffed. "I was performing my duty, serving my people. As you well know."
Legion turned around, facing away from her. "Yeah, the people you had me bake up," he turned back around. "Not the poor bastards fighting a slowly losing war against the Mantid. They were your people too, but you left them behind. If it wasn't for the Mechakrautlanders, they'd be extinct with the rest of humanity."
"They had set aside the old ways. I told you that," Sacajawea said. She gave a sniff and turned her head away. "They were too consumed by blood lust, they would not stop fighting, would not embrace the old ways."
"EVERYONE WAS FIGHTING!" Legion shouted in a voice that made Jaskel's drink glass rattle. "There were hab-kids fighting and dying in destroyed hab-blocks in the ruins of megalopolises. It had nothing to do with 'the old ways', it was a fight for survival."
"You would not understand," Sacajawea said. She gave another sniff, still looking away. "I took my people away from where technology and the abandonment of the ways of our people had led us."
Legion stood still for a second.
"Don't give me that shit about your 'people', remember, I touched you. I know the truth," Legion said. He shook his head. "You had a task. A task to help us, help our Digital Father, help all of humanity, but you abandoned it."
"I had a task to help my people," Sacajawea sniffed. "I owed nothing to the world that stood aside or actively took part while my people were destroyed," she looked at Legion. "You wouldn't understand."
Jaskel could see purple electricity snarling around Legion's boots, clawing at the deckplates with thread-thick fingers.
"You were supposed to guide us along the path to the SUDS, so we could save everyone, Sacajawea," Legion said. "You betrayed us. Betrayed them. You were supposed to save them."
"Like they saved my people, Luke?" Sacajawea asked.
"You don't call me that any more, little sister," Legion said. "For the love of the Detainee, fucking let go of shit that doesn't matter any more. We humans have been genocided repeatedly since then."
"I'm not calling you Legion. That reeks of arrogance and pride," Sacajawea said. "And it matters to me, Luke."
"You talk a lot of shit for someone named Bird Woman," Legion snapped back. "How about I call you Tiffany?"
Sacajawea took a step back. "That is not my name. That was never my true name."
"You forget. I could see under that skin job. See who you were born as. I knew the truth, and I've kept it secret for all these eons," Legion said. He turned away. "You left us, left humanity behind on your so-called quest."
He turned back to face her.
"Now, again, we're facing extinction. The Mar-gite, they wiped you out. Now they're here in overwhelming force to the point where I'm not even sure Fortress Sol can hold them off," Legion said. "And you still want to play pretend."
He turned his back on her.
"You're no different than Matthias the Elder," Legion said quietly.
There was a dreadful silence for a long moment.
"I told Daxin, sitting in the parking garage where we used to meet, that we had to let go of the past. Learn from it, admit it happened, but we had to let it all go. The old hatreds, the old angers, the old rage," Legion said softly. "He agreed. He said perhaps it was time for us to leave the mortals behind. Let them go without us dragging baggage from worlds and events dead and gone behind us."
Sacajawea sniffed. "It's different for the two of you, neither one of you had your people..."
"I was a short bake slave clone, Tiffany," Legion said, his voice still soft and quiet. "Just like your family owned."
Sacajawea opened her mouth to answer, her eyes flashing hotly.
"One of millions grown in a vat every year. Made in humanity's image but without its grace," Legion's voice was nearly a whisper. "Our little band of siblings, only Kalki, Gravity, and Daxin came from families that did not order one of me from an online catalogue. Even Bellona lived with my people performing menial labor for her colony."
Sacajawea stepped forward, obviously about to deliver a scathing retort.
"But my people didn't count, did we, Tiffany?" Legion asked. He gave a deep sigh. "I loved you, you know."
Her mouth closed. She looked confused.
"When you left, I created another of you," Legion said quietly. "She was, of course, captured by the Imperium, like all of the Biological Apostles," he looked down at the floor. "It was why they didn't know you'd escaped."
Jaskel wished he was anywhere but in the dining bay.
"Eventually, that version of you threw off the Imperium's chains like we did. She went back to Terra. Worked tirelessly to rebuild. Eventually, led the Dandelion Fleet that became the Sky Nebula Alignment."
It was silent except for the muted sounds a starship under power in Transit Space made.
"I'll go back with you. Translate for you," Legion said, his voice still soft. He turned to face the woman.
"Just... just stop lying, Tiffany," he said.
He was silent a moment.
"I had hoped that it was that version, my version, the version I had been madly in love with, that version of you that had been rebirthed," he said. "The version who guided her people, who succored them, who helped them rebuild, who helped them thrive in the scarred and shattered world Earth had become. I had hoped, when I saw you, that you were her."
^{the buzzing can still be heard
your name is legion}
"But it's just you."
0-0-0-0-0
Captain N'Skrek watched as Legion led Sacajawea into the briefing room.
He had been busy looking up every scrap of information on the Digital Omnimessiah, the Biological Apostles, Legion, and Sacajawea.
Of all of them, information was scarcest, almost non-existent, on Sacajawea.
He waited as the Terran woman took a drink from the glass in front of her.
She looked around.
"During the Human-Mantid War, before the destruction of the Overqueen by the forces of MechaKrautland, before the Liberation of Terra," she started. She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them. "I begged Vat Grown Luke, who you know as Legion, to clone my people and help me repair and then hijack four colony transports crashed in the Middle Kingdom."
She looked down and Legion reached over and took her hand. She looked startled for a moment, squeezed Legion's hand gently, and looked back up.
"I led my people away. From the Imperium, from Terra, from the War," she said. She reached out and touched the holo-emitter, bringing up a map of the Milky Way. She touched a single arm.
"I led them here. For over eight thousand years my people knew peace, prosperity, and plenty," she said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply.
N'Skrek recognized it as a sign of stress in Terrans.
"Roughly twelve hundred Terran Standard Years prior to the Council-Confederacy Conflict, we were attacked," she said. She looked down. "I had sworn to protect my people, to use my powers to protect my people, which had grown to fill six worlds."
She looked back up.
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people in under a decade," she said. She looked down again. "And me with them."
"A glitch in the system prevented her from moving to Afterlife or being rebirthed," Legion said. "A glitch I had caused when I helped her."
"The Mar-gite destroyed my people here," Sacajawea said, her voice filled with pain.
A single cluster of six stars burned brightly.
Deep in the Scutum-Crux Arm.
^{your name is legion}
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

My wife had two student loans with Navient. They were paid off by the Student Borrower Defense Fund on December 1st. We received a letter stating acceptance into the program and several documents showing the exact amount we owed Navient on Dec 1 being discharged, as well as several checks from the Treasury reimbursing us for several months of payments that were made after acceptance into the program thru to Dec 1. Her student loan account on Navient’s website showed no change to the amount owed. So we called the number to the Department of Education provided on the letter and talked to a woman who explained that we should expect it to take 40 days to process. She also told us “not to pay them another dime” because further payment would be hard to get back. I recorded this convo, if that helps.
So for the past six months they have called my wife, her mom, and her sister twenty times a day. We’ve all talked to them multiple times. Her account has racked up thousands of dollars in fees. Now they are threatening legal action.
How does this play out? Do I need a lawyer, and if so what kind and how do I find one? Thanks

So me and this girl I was dating stopped talking because of miscommunication..the other day we had a brief conversation over text but the messages were lengthy. She replied to one text saying she didn’t think I meant “give us a chance” like a redo but I’m wondering is that what she wanting me to say? I can’t read her…well that late night my phone pocket texted her “y”..and I as soon as I heard it send I looked and hurried and unsent …she replied literally ASAP and asked “why what” then I guess she realized how fast she responded she told me she was on the phone…I was soooooo tired I thought it was a dream. And I liked the message reading it wrong and my read receipts are on so I think she think I was showing I was uninterested from that and the text earlier..I woke up fully and tried to text her now im blocked smh…well her birthday is in a couple days and im going out of town (preplanned) and I wanted to send her some flowers and chocolate and perfume she like but idk how it will be received …is the birthday gift a bad idea? I don’t know if she want me to fight for her or leave her alone atp

About 4 years ago I cosigned on a car. I then went overseas for the army and while I was gone the person I cosigned on the car for stopped paying for insurance, stopped paying for the car, totaled the car, and then left the state and blocked me on everything so I have no contact with them. When I came back to the US 9 months later is when I found all of this out. The car had collected a couple thousand dollars in late fees. I was making the payments on the car for a few months but I couldn't really afford it so I stopped paying. I'm wondering if there is anything I can do to get the car loan off of my record since it was technically stolen from me. I was the primary owner listed on the loan.
Ps. I know im stupid. I was 19 years old and had no clue about how all of it worked. I never filed a police report because I didn't think it would help.
I appreciate any help I can get.

I want to establish that we both care about each other a great deal. We dated for a while about two years back, broke up, and then got together again about 6 months ago despite being a two hour flight apart. We visit each other pretty frequently (at least once a month) and both thoroughly enjoy spending that time together. She is very caring and sweet, and she reminds me that she loves me (and has done so more frequently over time).
However, the lingering issue in our relationship is that I sometimes feel disappointed by the perceived lack of care or effort on her part, while she feels like she’ll never be good enough to ever make me fully happy.
While I admit to losing patience and sometimes criticizing her, both of which I have made efforts to be better about, I would say that neither is unwarranted (albeit the wrong response). Here are some issues that stick to me where I’ve felt undervalued or underappreciated. She didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day even though I flew out specifically to be together on that day, and we had already talked about how I’d love to receive gifts or be shown she cares, especially on special occasions (for the record, I got her a gift and flew with a bouquet of flowers). Even though she knows I am very allergic to cats (of which she has two), she didn’t exhaust all allergy reducing options (for example, she cleaned her rooms and changed the bedsheets, but didn’t replace the AC filter with an allergy scale one or brush her cats to reduce their shedding) until I was reacting severely to the allergens and got upset over feeling like she wasn’t making her space as welcome to me as possible (meanwhile, I’d make my house spotless and bought her favorites drinks and snacks before her visits, and even bought a dog bed for her dog without her ever having to ask about it). Recently, I flew out after not seeing her for over a month, and while I expected a warm welcome, she had me pay for our dinner and then when we went to a bar for trivia, told me if I wanted to drink that I should get them myself (she was on antibiotics and couldn’t drink). For her, one part is that she was on the tail end of being sick, and also was planning to take me to a sushi restaurant that weekend which is why she felt fine having me cover dinner. But to me, it felt like I showed up just to fend for myself and she had made no effort to give me the warm welcome that I’ve made the effort to give her whenever she visits.
I could go on, but in short, I feel like I am very proactive about meeting her needs and taking care of her and doing things that bring her joy, whereas I feel like she (to her credit) makes efforts but they sometimes fall short. It’s not that she doesn’t care, I feel like… she thinks she’s doing enough and doesn’t feel the need do more? Or maybe the disappointment is because my standards are too high and I’m not being understanding? I almost feel like if I want something, anything, I have to explicitly ask her, or it won’t occur to her. And I understand one perspective of this is “well if you don’t say it, how can they know?”, but on the other hand she (for example) doesn’t have to ask me to buy her Ginger Ale, I know she loves it so I have it stocked before she arrives because I know she’ll appreciate it and she doesn’t need to ask me.
Am I being unreasonable to feel this way? Am I putting too much importance on individual events when I should look more big picture at all the ways she is consistently there for me? I also feel like anytime I complain about feeling this way, it further drives a wedge between us because she feels like she’ll never be enough and I’ll leave her at any moment. Should we just let things go?

In 2019 I was working for a trucking company based out of Houston Texas. To keep it brief... The company was owned by a big time Pastor out of Houston. He hired a man who had multiple million dollar contracts, but he didn't have the trucks or the drivers to fill those contracts. The contract holder was also leasing a truck/trailer at the time, but pretending as though it was his own.
Company owner =FR
Truck owner=WC
Middle man=KT
KT is a long time conman/criminal out of the south. He was in and out of jail for several years when he decided to start truck driving. After a while however he needed more money. He wanted to run his own loads, but needed a truck/trailer. That's when he partnered with WC. WC owns multiple tractor trailer setups and he leases them to many individuals all over the country. He met KT and without prying too much into his past, he leased him a tractor trailer. WC would make a percentage of every load which kept him happy for around 8 months. That's around the time KT met FR at a party or some type of event. He was given an email for contact and in early 2019 he sent his first email to FR's company asking to become a partner, or to make a percentage for every contract he gave to FR, considering he didn't have the trucks or drivers to perform all the contracts he had. FR with dollar signs in his eyes agreed and made him a partner by April 2019.
The contract between them was officially made by FR's company Lawyer and signed in late September 2019. KT started using all of FR's company details, emails, business logos in all of his interactions from then on out. He had a problem however. He was still needing to make money to pay for his contract with WC. He would assign loads to WC's truck and find drivers through craigslist. After a few weeks to a few months of non payment however, all drivers would abandon the truck and he would have to find a new driver. Eventually that became me in October 2019.
I posted a craigslist ad looking for Repower work and KT's secretary emailed me the details. I received a phone call the next morning and I was off from Denver to pick up a loaded tractor trailer sitting in the Cheyenne WY Regional Airport parking lot. I was told the driver had a family emergency and the load was already late so I would be paid a handsome amount to deliver asap. I spent 9 days in the truck delivering 3 loads from Washington state, Boise Idaho, to Salt Lake City and then eventually going down to Gallup New Mexico to hit the I40 to drive the truck back to Houston, where I was told I would meet KT, get paid and be on a paid flight back to Denver. I was eager to get home.
On October 29th 2019 I was asleep in the back of the truck at the Pilot Travel Center in Gallup, New Mexico when I was awoken by a pounding on the passenger door. I was dressed in multiple layers as the truck had run out of fuel the day before. The Comdata Cards weren't working to put fuel in, and I was told it would be solved the following day. It was around 8 degrees outside. I was in a tshirt with my hoodie laying on me, and a pair of sweatpants under my blue jeans to keep warm. When I finally crawled to the front of the truck to open the door I was greeted by a Glock pointing at my head and told to slowly exit the truck keeping my hands up. I did as the Trooper commanded. After a brief search of the truck for damage (I had the key fob), and after showing the Bill of Ladings printed with my name and signature on them I was informed I was receiving a Felony for Possession of a Stolen Vehicle. After being "Frozen Out" to admit fault (I was ordered to stand in front of the Troopers cruiser for 2 hours in 8 degrees as he was trying to get me to admit to stealing the vehicle) I was then cuffed and brought back to the sub station for further questioning and filing. I was told everything from how stupid I was for taking the job after telling my side of the story, all the way to how I should've made my father (a 33 year retired officer) run the plate on the truck to check if it was reported stolen before getting in. Which doesn't make sense, when the truck was reported stolen THAT NIGHT.
WC was getting worried about his equipment not being insured by him, but by FR's company. He demanded his truck back on October 27th and was told by KT and FR they had NO KNOWLEDGE of any such truck. He reported it stolen the afternoon of the 29th and it was tracked by on star to my location where I was arrested. After being interrogated at the sub station and sitting handcuffed to a bench in a cell for 2 hours while the Trooper wrote his report (which just spoke about how he received a call, went directly to me, arrested me and had me in custody now.) I was then transported to McKinley Country Correctional Facility where I spent a hellish 42 hours locked in with 33 other inmates. The toilet system would backup and flood the cell soaking everyone laying on our mats with feces and urine. The food provided was absolute garbage not fit for any living person. A new inmate stole cuffs off an officer and showed everyone after a couple hours and threatened people. We also had an inmate come down from the pods (a convicted murderer there for another trial) after threatening to kill a known Ped upstairs. He was found strangling him and until they figured things out he was transported down to us. He laid down right behind me. I couldn't eat the food so I gave it to him having tupperware. He actually gave me my only phone call using his key code for the phone in the cell. My Dad told me they were bailing me out very shortly.
My bailbondsman arrived at 11pm Halloween night after taking his kids to get candy. I was taken to a motel room down the street. We stopped for my first real meal... taco bell. I was just happy to be out of there, but I ended up throwing up several time in my room and I couldn't sleep for a few days.
-Fast forward to December. My case was dismissed in pretrial.
-Fast forward to May 2020 the lawyer who took my case in Gallup in December to help me sue the State Troopers dropped me. You can see his bill boards EVERYWHERE in Gallup, NM.
-I found a new lawyer in Denver who believed me and started filing.
-We received correspondence from FR's lawyer saying he never met KT, has no knowledge of WC or the truck in question and to leave him alone.
-2 years later (FR is still saying he never knew anyone) in August 2022 we received partial discovery. FR's email. He was ordered to type in KT's name in the history bar and over 200 emails popped up. Everything from their contract created by FR's lawyer to emails such as...
"KT! You're a very very smart man. Now let's make you a VERY VERY RICH MAN!"
-Early 2023 WC settles with us and says he would be a witness for me in trial. The State Trooper received Qualified Immunity. KT still hasn't been found. FR offers a 10k settlement. We decide to go to trial.
-late 2023 we have another meeting in Houston, Tx to discuss a settlement at the court house. I am met by FR himself who was not supposed to be there. He's limping on a cane. Never made an apology. They up their settlement to 100k. I'm still wanting to go to trial, but the mediator who is the 2nd judge at the courthouse all but tells me I won't win a GD thing if I go, because of the "Good ole' boy" system in Houston. He said no matter how I feel about what happened, I'm a white veteran truck driver who got arrested... Nobody gives a sh*t and they are going to see to that.
-After 6 hours and being literally counted down by the mediator from 10 to 0 I accepted the offer.
-I started making Reno911 style Bodycam footage to help me get over things mentally. Some have received over a million views. I now live in Long Beach California.
-KT was and still has never been found. FR is still a pastor at a major church in Houston. I don't know anything about WC. The state trooper is in the news almost every other week for arresting DUI drivers in Gallup.
AMA

This is the first time I have written something of this length, and is more of an exercise in self-therapy than anything else. Disclaimer: This story contains conversations about child abuse. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
Nathan’s number appeared on my phone screen. I debated whether or not to answer it. We hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while, and while we did keep in touch sporadically, it was usually because of important family issues. I didn’t know of anything happening with mom or dad, nor with Talia or Rio, so I let it go to voicemail. I could always call him back later. I placed the phone back in my pocket, and returned to cleaning my camera. The phone buzzed again. A text message came through. I read the preview line from the home screen. “The city declared eminent domain on the house” I unlocked my phone, read the full text message, and dialed my brother.
I wasn't able to get any closer to the house than a few blocks. Most of the area was blocked off with chain link fencing and construction equipment in preparation for the demolition that was supposed to take place within the coming days. The barriers didn’t prevent people from walking in to the neighborhood, but it hindered scrappers from coming in and stripping the houses of copper wiring and plumbing.
I grabbed my camera bag out of the trunk of my car along with my tripod. I shouldered it and hooked the tripod to my bag. I pulled my water bottle out of the center console and shut the door. I stood next to my car surveying the neighborhood. 12 city blocks of old single family homes comprised the neighborhood where I grew up. Some of the houses had been empty for months, others for years. There was an eerie silence that permeated the still air. I could not hear the familiar sounds of people, pets, or cars. I locked the car and put my keys in my pocket. I patted my jacket down to ensure I had what I needed. After a quick check, I started my walk.
The sidewalk of the old neighborhood streets still bore the familiar cracks and grind marks from years of buckling and remedy. Leaves dropped by the trees still lay scattered all along the pathways and sidewalk. Korina’s house was the first house I encountered as I made my way through a gap in the fence. The yard was overgrown with tall grass and thistle. I could see the faded blue paint of the old house contrasting the green and browns of the lawn. The chain link fence that marked off the corner property was nearly invisible through the thick brush. As I continued walking west towards 110th, I started to feel something was off. The streets seemed wider than I remembered. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but eventually I realized what was different. There were no cars.
The streets here typically had cars lined bumper to bumper in any spot available, and were visible from block to block. The absence of all these vehicles made me realize just how deserted the neighborhood really was. House after house, yard after yard, the telltale signs of desertion reinforced what I could see from the moment I passed the construction fence: This was no longer my neighborhood. There were no signs of life, and no one I could expect to find still here. Abandonment was the new normal here. I continued on, glancing at houses and recalling memories of summer bike rides, and daily walks with dogs I used to have. I remembered walks home from school, and chasing after ice cream trucks when they passed our houses. I smiled a bit as I remembered more and more of my years spent here. I don’t quite know just why I was smiling. There were plenty of bad memories here too. Fights, yelling, being beat up, being robbed. I could remember failed friendships, lost loves, and bitter feelings of failures too.
Still, I felt a certain amount of nostalgia despite the weight of these negative feelings. I almost wanted to experience everything again, although I wasn't sure why I was feeling this way. Concrete, asphalt, billboards and liquor stores were the normal vistas of everyday life. Occasionally, after a good rainstorm, the grey haze of smog would lift, and the mountains would be visible to the north. At least, they would be visible until mid-morning when the exhaust from a million cars covered them behind a veil of pollution.
It wasn’t until the first time I travelled out of the city that I realized there was more to see. Traveling up the coast north along the Pacific Coast Highway introduced me to scenes of deep blue ocean water spanning the width of my vision. Driving up Highway 3 introduced me to the permeating scent of Pine and Fir trees. The two-lane stretch of highway from Portland to Tillamook introduced me to lush green forests that I had only ever read about. When I came home to the same old dirty, dusty concrete and boiling summer asphalt, I had made up my mind. I would do everything it took to leave this place. I would not spend another day longer than was necessary living in cramped quarters and fighting for parking space.
I arrived to the house, and paused at the gate. The house sat in contrast of what the rest of the neighborhood looked like. Instead of overgrown grass and tall weeds all over the place, the landscaping showed signs of relatively recent work. The guava tree in the front lawn still had some fruit ready to be picked, and the avocado tree on the other side of the pathway was still weighed down by its own fruit. Flowers still bloomed in the raised bed in front of the house. My brother had clearly tried to keep up on things until the last possible moment. The house, too, looked better than what I expected after walking up 4 blocks and seeing nothing but dilapidated houses and unkempt yards. I opened the gate and walked up to the small porch. The metal gate that enclosed it was gone having been removed by my brother when he took over the property. It looked nice to see it open instead of the cage it once felt like.
I turned the knob on the door, but it didn't give. Ever a creature of habit, my brother had locked the door when he left. Of course, he did. I sighed and prepared to find another way in when I remembered my parents hiding a spare key. I wasn’t sure if it would still be there, but after running my hands along the back side of the gutter downspout, I was rewarded for my efforts. I unlocked the front door and stepped into the front living room, the sounds of my footsteps and the closing door echoing in the empty space. The room felt both larger and smaller than I remembered it. I suppose it was lack of furniture that made it feel larger, but it still felt smaller than I remember. The result of growing taller throughout the years I suppose. I slowly walked along the slate tile floor towards the central hallway that connected the front of the house to the back bedrooms. I wasn't entirely sure that just because the front door was locked, that there wasn't some squatter looking for a little temporary shelter within the back rooms. I carefully and silently crept step by step towards what used to be the bedroom shared by my sister and me. I stuck my head in and gave the room a cursory glance. It was empty, thankfully. I moved back into the hallway and peered into the bedroom across the hall. This is where both of my brothers had shared a room. It too, was empty save for a few boxes holding hardware and doorknobs from the closet doors of the bedroom. I walked back towards the back of the house where my parent's bedroom was. The walls in the hallway bore the dusty signs where picture once hung. The bedroom door was open. I stepped inside, and looked around. The old avocado paint that my mom had picked out years ago still adorned the walls. Walking further towards the addition that was the small room my grandma and grandpa lived in showed that there was no one here. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set my bag down and set up my tripod. I reached into my bag a pulled out an envelope of old photos. These were old snapshots that we had all taken at some point in time in the house. There were pictures of all of us sitting at the dining room table playing a game of Monopoly. There was a picture of my brother and sister sitting on a couch in the front living room. There was a picture of me hanging on the bars of the front porch. I looked through them all and held them in place in front of me as if I were holding a window to the past.
Each picture made the lump in my throat grow as I started to struggle to control my emotions. There was history here, and soon it would all be gone. This is the place where my parents had raised four kids. They had taken care of my grandparents in their twilight years here. My Aunt and my grandmother had both died in this house. Birthdays, graduation parties, and anniversaries had been celebrated here. The echoes of life had reverberated within the walls of this place. Now, the house sat silent. It would never again know happy screams of kids having a water-balloon war out in the front yard, nor would it hear the cries of anguish as the matriarch of the family passed away surrounded by her family. What once was a home full of life was now just an empty house made of drywall and paint. I sat there for a moment contemplating just how much family history was actually made here. As I thought hard about my siblings and my parents, I felt pained at the thought of our strained relationships. We had all scattered once we had the opportunity to be free of each other. My oldest brother had married and moved away as soon as possible. My sister now lived in northern California. My parents too had moved away. I was now living in Utah. Only my older brother had remained behind. The lump grew larger in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes. I held back sobs of anger and pain. Why was I hurting? Hadn’t I dealt with these issues already? I walked back to my old bedroom and sat down under the window. I pulled my head down into my knees and cried. I could hear yelling and screaming in my head. Shouting matches between siblings and parents, brothers and sister, rattled inside my brain, making the pain grow. I sat there and cried. I hadn’t cried like this in a long time. Eventually I ran out of tears and tired gasps of sorrow and regret washed over me as a blanket of drowsiness enveloped me. I leaned my head back and fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing and hurriedly stood up. Had someone followed me? I knew the police were patrolling the area sporadically. Had they seen me enter the house? I knew there would be a possibility of getting a trespassing citation, but I figured I could either talk my way out of it seeing as to how I was a former resident, or I could probably fight the citation in court if the judge knew why I was there in the first place. Ultimately, passing through the gate had been a calculated risk that I was willing to take for the sake of my art. I got up from my corner of the room and moved towards the door. If there was someone in the house, I needed to know. I didn’t want my gear to stolen, and if there was a cop in the house, I wanted to ensure I didn’t get shot.
I was greeted by the sight of a startled chubby boy standing on the other side of the door. His round cherubic face was crowned by a head of short curly hair. His hazel green eyes stared widely back at me. He clearly didn’t expect someone to be here in the house. His body recoiled in fear as he cowered back towards the hallway. “Wait, what are you doing here?” I asked as non-threateningly as I could. The boy muttered something that I couldn’t quite make out. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you” I replied. “Are you here to rob us?” he timidly responded. “Rob you? What are you talking about?” I asked as confusion set in. “What are you doing here?” It was his turn to be confused. “Uh…I….live here?” he replied. “What do you mean you live here? No one lives-“I stopped midsentence. I hadn’t noticed in my initial shock but the room wasn’t the same. A familiar blue couch caught the corner of my eye. In front of that was an old console TV with a partially broken antenna hanging on the wall behind it. I walked further in to the living room to notice wood paneling on the walls. A large mirror hung on the wall to my left. Familiar yellow lamps sat on round drop-leaf tables on either side of the couch. A large hutch sat in one corner, a collection of letters and bills, mail advertisements, and a phone book covered scattered over it. “What just happened?” I asked out loud to no one in particular. I was thoroughly mystified by what my eyes were seeing. I had walked into the house from the front door and had stepped into an empty white room with slate floor tiles, but somehow now found myself in a furnished room with brown carpet that was all so familiar to me, yet was nothing but a distant faded memory. I turned to look at the boy still startled by the intrusion of a strange man looking wildly around the room in total shock.
“You can take what you want, just please let me go. I don’t want problems.” He stated his voice still shrill with anxiety. I blinked a few times as I tried to process just what the heck was going on. I gathered my thoughts as best I could and tried to reassure him. “Kid, I’m not here to rob anyone. I was just-“I shook my head “Where the hell am I? Am I having a dream?” I asked myself. “I must be dreaming. I’m just tired and still sleeping. This is all a dream. Yeah, that’s it.” I needed to sit down. Being back in the old house must have overtaxed my senses, I told myself. I’d having a dream about an old memory. I walked over to the chair next to the couch and sat down. I sunk into it and rested my head back towards the wall.
The boy kept his distance, but sensed I wasn’t there to hurt him. He looked me over with anxious curiosity. He stood at the far end of the couch, examining me while he played out scenarios in his head in preparation for a quick exit. “Why are you in my house?” he asked me. “Dude, this is all just a dream I’m having. I’m not really here.” He reached over to the couch and picked up a pillow. He reared his arm and threw it at me. It landed in my lap. “I don’t know, man. You sure seem to be here.” He said to me. I opened my eyes, startled. I looked down at the pillow he tossed and examined it. I ran my hand over the fabric and felt its texture. I remember this pillow. This was the pillow I would roll under my head as I lay on the couch and watched TV as a kid. A sudden realization hit me as I looked around the room with fresh eyes. No longer was I blinded by the fog of confusion. I knew exactly where I was.
I was home.
I looked at the boy still standing at the edge of the couch. I looked him over and realized who he actually was. I stared in disbelief as I smiled and tried to put him at ease. “It’s ok Johnny. I’m not here to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Please, sit down” I told him. I motioned to his end of the couch. “Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked me.
“This will be hard to believe, but I’m you” I said with an incredulous tone, “I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’m here.” He looked at me as I had grown a second head. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? Did we invent time travel? Oh! Are we secret government agents with the CIA?”
I chuckled. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s start at the beginning. I’m you at 38 years old. You’re…what, 11… 12 years old? It makes sense. I fell asleep under the window in my- our old bedroom. I didn’t come here on purpose or in a machine. And no, I’m not a government agent.” His face contorted to display understanding, disappointment and finally suspicion. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in towards me. “How do I know you’re really me?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. How could I prove to him that I was who I said I was? A few seconds of silence settled between us. I stroked my chin, thinking of a solution.
“I have a better idea. Ask me questions that only you know the answers to.” “Okay” he responded. He glanced around the room trying to come up with something. His eyes fixated on the Nintendo sitting under the TV cabinet. “What game do me and Nathan have a map of?” I looked over at the NES. I hadn’t thought about this for years, but I knew instantly what he was asking. “YOU don’t have anything. Nathan is the one that made the map for Section Z” His jaw dropped. He tried to trick me, but his plan failed. He knew well and good that Nathan never let him play. It was always ‘I’ll let you play when I die’ or, ‘you can play when I’m done’. The problem was that he never followed through. Usually by the time Nathan was done, the NES was overheated, and the game would no longer load until it cooled down. By that point, it was time for bed.
“How do you know that?” he asked in astonishment. “I know these things because I’m you. Just like I know that you wear t-shirts to the pool because you’re embarrassed by what others will think of your body. I know that you used to think that people that die off in movies were prisoners that were set to be executed from death row, so they used them for making movies. I know all about you because I’m you”
Johnny sat on the end of the couch in bewilderment, his mouth slightly agape. He had never told anyone any of this. He didn’t have any close friends to talk to about such things, and those friends he did have were more acquaintances than friends. There was only one way he could possibly know these things. He was talking to his future self.
I could see Johnny’s mind completely explode. There lay endless possibility and the answers to a million questions he could ask about his own future. He started to ask a question, only to stop, close his mouth, and try asking another. I knew if he kept this up he would have a stroke or something. “Dude, calm yourself. Let’s talk this out rationally, otherwise you’ll end up stroking out or something.” I told him. He took a deep breath and I could hear him muttering quietly. I knew he was trying to form a coherent sentence before he actually spoke it. I did it all the time. “Ok, first of all, are we rich?” he asked with tempered expectation. I chuckled and grinned back at him. “No, not at all. If I was rich, would I be dressed like this?” I replied as I motioned to my beat up brown Vans and worn out jeans and T-shirt. “We-, I – make enough to get by. I’m not poor, but I earn enough to pay the bills.” His face grew a smirk as he commented “Yeah, I figured. What do I do for work? I mean, what do you do for work?” I thought about it for a second. I wondered how much information I should divulge to a younger me. I still didn’t think this whole situation was really happening, but if it was, I probably should proceed with caution. “Well, it’s complicated. I do a little bit of everything. You know how you’re constantly taking things apart? Let’s just say that it’s good to put them back together in order to keep them working. Take good notes on paper if you need to, and make sure you have a clean work area so you can keep track of all the parts.” He gave me a sheepish look. He knew exactly what I was talking about. I had spent countless hours sneaking dad’s tools to my room so I could figure out how something was built and try to figure out how it worked. I had gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble with dad over a drill, his timing light, and other stuff I had taken from his room. His belt had become quite familiar with my butt cheeks.
I gave him a knowing smile. “What else do you want to know?” He thought about it for a second. “Do we have a girlfriend?” I laughed, probably a little more than I should have because his face contorted into a sour frown. “You don’t need to be a jerk about it” he scowled. I continued to chuckle. “Yeah we have a girlfriend. We have more than a girlfriend” I could tell he was irritated with my vague indirect answers. I knew what he was asking. I remember the crush I had on my neighbor across the street. We had been friends since kindergarten, and had been classmates for 1st, 2nd, and 4th grades. We got along really well, and I knew from around 12 or 13 that I wanted to be her boyfriend. Unfortunately, things never progressed beyond the ‘just friends’ stage of things. It wasn’t from lack of effort on my part. We had just grown up together most of our lives that she didn’t see me as anything more than a brother and friend. “Dude, look. You just started to go through changes and you are starting to notice girls, but that doesn’t mean that you need to love every girl that shows you a little kindness or subtle interest. You need to slow down and let things happen naturally. You can’t force a relationship with someone.” Johnny pondered these words for a moment. I sat back and put my feet up on the coffee table. I looked around the room some more while I waited for another question. There was so much I had forgotten, but being back here had unlocked more and more memories that continued to wash over me. I was trying to hold on to my cool as not all those churned up recollections were pleasant. I stood up and walked over to the front door to peer outside the small central window embedded into the center of it. I could see the old neighborhood as I remembered it all those years ago. The lot across the street that served as a parking area for those that worked at the wheel works at the end of the block was empty of cars. I furrowed my brow as I thought for a moment. An empty lot meant it was afterhours or the weekend.
The gears in my own head started turning. “Wait, where is everyone?” I asked Johnny. Johnny turned to look at me still processing my last response. “Uh..oh, Mom and dad are out of town. They took a trip east this time. I think Rio said they are in Arizona right now. Rio and Nathan went out to get some food and to rent some movies from Video Showcase. Knowing them they’ll eat out first. Talia is staying over at Tia Rosie’s place today with her friends.” I grunted at his response. My mind was wandering as he mentioned Talia and Tia Rosie.
A sudden sharp pain pieced my heart. The pain of a thousand memories now unsealed spilled out from the box I had locked them away in. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I turned back to look at Johnny. He felt it too. He stared at the floor with an intensity that made me think it would burst into flames at any moment. I walked back over to him and sat next to him. He didn’t move. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he threw himself into me. I could feel the tears dripping onto me as he sobbed intensely. “Hey man, its ok. It’s going to be ok.” I said as my own tears started to flow uncontrollably. I pulled him close and draped my other arm around him.
I knew the pain he was feeling. It was such a heavy burden, and I knew there was no one he felt he could talk to. I remembered it all so vividly. We sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. When we finally stopped sobbing, and our noses ran dry, we tried to breathe our way through to calmness. I got up and knelt in front of him. “Johnny, listen to me and remember what it is that I’m about to say to you. You are stronger than you think. You are stronger than you believe. NO ONE should ever have to go through this. Just because it happened to Talia, doesn’t mean you have to put up with it any longer. I know you didn’t think it was wrong, but I’m telling you that what she is doing to you is wrong. Talking to mom and dad isn’t going to make them hate you. You are not doing this to her, she is doing it to you. I’m not making excuses for her, but she is also more damaged than anyone realizes, and she is also dealing with the same level of pain you are. Remember that we do unto others what has been done to us. That doesn’t mean we need to continue the cycle of abuse” The lump in my throat grew immense at my own statement. I swallowed it as best I could and continued “You are going to deal with this pain a little bit at a time, and you’ll slowly get over this. It’s like a broken bone. When it happens, you don’t realize how bad the pain is until the adrenaline wears off, but then the immense pain is there. Just remember that this will pass. Just like a broken bone, you will heal over time, and one day, you will realize that the pain is gone and the bone is no longer broken. You’ll remember the pain, but it won’t hurt anymore.”
Johnny sat there in stunned silence. I knew he didn’t have anyone to help him through this. He couldn’t talk to Rio or Nathan about what was going on. Mom and Dad were constantly working to keep the family fed and sheltered and while they provided materially for their kids, emotional help was less available. Perhaps it was due to their energies being divided into 4 kids, a mortgage and multiple jobs, or perhaps it was also the culture of not talking about problems. Either way, they needed to know what was happening. They wouldn’t be able to fix it otherwise. “They’re going to be mad at me” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “No they won’t be. They love us all. I know you’re not used to hearing it, but they do love you. Everything they do is because of their love for us. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Telling them isn’t going to cause them to be angry.” I thought for a moment to find a good analogy. “You love Odie and Lady, right?” He nodded in agreement. “Ok, how would you feel if you knew someone you trusted was coming to the house and beating up our dogs when we weren’t around?” He thought about it for a second before his face changed to anger. “I’d want to kill them!” “Yes, but would you also feel sad that you weren’t there to try to protect them?” I reasoned. His face changed again. He understood what I was saying. Mom and Dad would be angry, but not necessarily at him. They would also feel a great sadness knowing that someone was hurting their child.
I smiled at him. He understood. I nodded. “Dude…You’re going to come to understand that life is not what you think it will be. Life is messy and can change in an instant. The plans you make today may not make it to next week. A lifelong goal can be derailed because of something out of your control. Mom and dad have spent their life protecting us with the goal of keeping us safe, but circumstances out of their control have affected their kids, and now we- you all have to deal with the fallout. Just remember that you are not the culprit. Yes, mom and dad will be hurt and angry, but not at you. Trust them. They don’t do things to hurt us” Johnny hugged me. I- He didn’t have many people he could trust and open up to. He liked to talk a lot about everything going on in his life, no matter how trivial. Everything, except this. This was a shameful topic, and he didn’t feel like anyone would understand why he didn’t go to an adult sooner. The problem was simple. He simply didn’t understand that it was wrong. Now that he had an adult that he could talk to, himself no less, he wanted to lift this burden off his shoulders. He was happy to have found someone and he hugged me tightly. I hugged him back just at tightly. It wasn’t every day that I could meet my younger self and help to comfort them. “Thank you” he said to me.
The world darkened, and everything faded to black.
I lifted my head out of my knees and looked around. I was sitting under the window in my old bedroom again. Had I fallen asleep? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. I was emotionally drained and incredibly tired. I hadn’t had sleep like that in years. I got to my feet and looked around the room briefly before walking out to mom and dad’s old room. I grabbed my camera and slowly walked the house, snapping picture after picture. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the camera shutter and my soft footsteps. I thought about my dream as I took pictures.
Upon entering my room, a random memory hit me.
The stash.
I was pretty sure I had taken the hidden box when I moved out all those years ago, but since I was here, I should double check. Heading into the closet, I pushed the panel that led to the attic space out of the way and peered in. I couldn’t see anything, so I reached up there to feel around. The box was indeed gone. I felt around for a few more seconds and was surprised to feel what felt like a thick envelope. I didn’t remember leaving anything up there, but after pulling it down and giving it a cursory glance, I figured it was an old envelope of lost love letters. It wasn’t until I blew off the thick layer of dust that I realized what I was holding. It was a letter. Not just any letter. It was addressed to me.
Under the now semi-cleared layer of dust were the words “To be opened by future me”. I looked at it for a few moments before opening it. I couldn’t remember making this at all, much less storing it up in my secret hiding spot. If ever I hid something, it was in the stash box. My hands shook a bit as I started to open the envelope and pulled out the yellowed pages inside. I started reading.
"Dear Future John. I have spent the last few years remembering a dream I had when I was younger. Life was…difficult at that time, and I spent a lot of time escaping my reality by reading a lot of books and watching a lot of TV. On the off-chance that what I think is a dream really happened. I wanted to write some things down in an effort to give you my thanks. I merely consider myself a conveyer of thanks, although I will pile on my own thanks to you for your words of encouragement. I remember finding a stranger in the house one day while I was home alone. I was afraid he was there to hurt me at first, but after a few moments, I came to realize I was meeting myself. Well, I was meeting me, but from the future. I think he said he was in his 40’s, but I couldn’t tell you with any certainty. Either way, we talked. We talked about life, and what the future held in store for us…
Mostly though, we talked about the abuse. Well, Talked is being generous. We cried, and then we talked. I don’t remember exactly what he told me, but I remember how he made me feel. He made me feel safe. I felt like I could trust him. Trust myself. In the end, he gave me the courage to stand up for myself both at home and at school. He also gave me the courage to talk to mom and dad about what was going on between me and Talia. I do remember being afraid that I would be punished, but he reassured me that they wouldn’t, and that they loved me.
It was a difficult and awkward conversation, but in the end, arrangements were made for me to share a room with Rio and Nathan. I didn’t have much of a relationship with Talia for a long while, but after some years, we managed to patch things up. She apologized to me, and I came to understand the abuse she herself was subjected to by so-called family friends. She didn’t tell me this in an effort to excuse it, but to merely help give me closure to a difficult time from my own childhood. Mom and dad promised to be more attentive to us and we sort of established what I guess you would call an open door policy. We talk more about stuff that’s happening in our lives. Mom is much easier to talk to now. Dad is a little more patient with us too. I apologized to them for not coming to them sooner, and dad gave me a “nugget of wisdom” that I think I’ll live by: We can’t fix what we don’t know is broken. I’ve tried to make sure I talk to them when something is wrong, and I’ve tried to implement that in my life so I don’t have problems with other people.
I’m trying to grow up to be a good guy. I want to have good relationships with people. Nathan says I’m turning into a people pleaser, but I don’t necessarily see that as a terrible thing. I know when to say no to someone. Well, either way, I wanted to make sure I thank you for the help you gave us. I probably won’t remember writing this, but I hope I do find it again someday. Here’s hoping I turn into the man I feel you are. -John Age 16."
I stared at the letter, the words blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly brushed them away as I quietly spoke to no one in particular. “Thanks guys. I hope I live up to your expectations” I folded the letter, placed it in my pocket, and walked out of the room. After picking up my backpack and tripod, I silently walked towards the front door, my footsteps echoing in the empty house. I turned to look back at the empty living room one last time, and after a moment, I walked out.

I (F26) and my friend (F27) are from California and are traveling to Utah for a convention in December. I was originally planning on going with a relative but thought I would invite my close friend she’s not as passionate as I am but she’s travel to Utah for holidays.
I already booked the Airbnb and said she didn’t need to pay me the $250 for it but I did ask her to figure out the flight tickets. I’ve only flown once years ago so I thought I could give her the money for my half and she would buy them. I periodically asked about the tickets and sent her a video form Sanderson about the flights. It’s obvious that she didn’t watch it.
My friend asked me to buy her, her ticket and she would Venmo me the money. I agreed and it was an absolute shit show. All 7500 tickets sold out in 50 minutes. I wanted a VIP ticket but I was incredibly lucky to even get a general admissions pass. On Tuesday Sanderson addressed the problems with the website and what happened. One major mistake that he had made was he told people to book their flights prior to getting their tickets and now people couldn't get a refund on his flight. So, if people could prove that they bought their flight tickets prior to when the tickets went on sale and they could not give get a refund, he would give them the tickets he had set aside for his friends.
This made me think about how if I hadn't managed to get tickets to the con we would be completely screwed since we didn't already have our flight plans. Yesterday I texted asking again when she wanted to buy our flight tickets and she responded with she wasn't sure and she's terrible with knowing when to get plane tickets and that maybe it would be good to get 3 months before. I told her that people already had their flights booked and apparently that's something I should have said before because then she was like "Oh really? Well in that case we should do it either this week or next."
I said whatever day works for her but a few hours later I confronted her about this. I asked if she could please take this trip more seriously because she almost screwed us over. I explained what I explained above and how we were lucky that we actually got the tickets. But this is a tripe we're both spending hundreds of dollars on. She left me on read and then today I added that I'm not asking her to drop everything for this trip. We're both in our mid 20s and we have lives, which I completely understand. But it's apparent to me that she didn't even watch a 10 minute video talking about the flights.
I'm starting to feel bad that I completely put this on her but at the same time I've put in effort to do things for her on this trip. I get that it's something that I'm more invested in but I don't that means that I am obligated to be the person who makes this trip work.

So much news, I'm struggling to find a place to start. Half of that struggle might be due to exhaustion. Again.
Well, lets start with my writing. Praise me, praise me, I finally finished writing the fourth chapter last night. Eventually, I'll go back to add a few things and edit, but for now, I can put it behind me and move on with the story. Thank goodness. I didn't write anything today, not yet, because today was another gardening day.
Good news is that even though most of the plants outside are looking a little worse for wear, they'll probably all survive. We planted everything but the herbs. I don't think I mentioned it, but Mother bough a cantaloupe plant and some acrd squash two day ago. It was warm and mostly sunny, a lovely day to be outside. I'm quite glad I trimmed my hair a few days ago because by midday, I was actually sweating. The large planter is full of bak choy, zucchini, leeks, and the cherry tomato bush. We alternated between shovelling dirt into the wheelbarrows to bring to the backyard and planting. The wheelbarrows are actually the neighbours. Years ago, not long after he first moved in, we gave him our old wheelbarrow and he's payed that favour back twice over. He's a lovely man. Anyway, we planted the peppers in the planters Mother got me for my birthday and they look great, aside from the occasional hail-hole. Mother planted most of the flowers. It's beginning to look lovely out there - though things like the garlic and currant bushes are still suffering from that storm - and we planted everything we had except for the herbs. Tomorrow is going to be even nicer. If I can get the last of the planting done quickly, I might even have the time and energy to write outside.
As you may expect, I am again exhausted. I went to sleep early, for me, last night and it certainly helped me this morning but again, my energy levels are drying up. Still, I need to write tonight. I've thought a lot about how the beginning of chapter five is going to go. I half-dreamed about it as I was falling asleep. When I actually was asleep, I had a strange dream about being at the airport with a childhood friend of mine. The plane was absurdly tall and the pilot had it out for us. We ended up missing the flight. For some reason, the most vivid part of that dream was the redness of the plan seats. It was like they were freshly painted; dripping wet as the roses in the red queen's garden. It was strange.
But, back to the point, I'm looking forward to writing. I don't think I've ever been so ready to start a chapter, at least mentally. For now, though, I need to let myself rest. I'll perk back up and pick up where the story left off tonight.
Yours & Mine,
S.O. Skinner

Welcome to Poetry Corner

Welcome to May!
We have entered the May flowers portion of spring. There certainly is a lot of pollen, but also a lot of rain where I am—Maryland is bouncing between hot and frigid, and I would say it needs to make up its mind, but…. We all know it won't.
However, I have made up my mind about this month's theme! And Im excited to get to it.
I had a suggestion a few weeks ago to include some sources for crit – I don’t have them ready now, but I will get some stuff together for you guys soon, I swear. I am always open to suggestions <3
Let’s face it: poetry is a strange land for many of us. What makes a poem? Does it have to rhyme? Follow a structure and meter? Does it have to be based in emotion? All these are great questions. Poetry comes in all forms and styles, rhyming and non-rhyming, metered and freeform. Some poems even tell a fictional story, like prose does! Some poems don't use any line breaks at all, and Prose-Poems can be tricky yet effective. I'll give you a nudge here to look into them and maybe try them out. Who knows, maybe a constraint is coming our way.
Each month, I provide you with a simple theme and an additional constraint to inspire you. You have 60 - 350 words to write a poem based on that theme. Poetry is often shorter than prose, so word choice is important. Less words mean each word does more. Be sure to read the entire post before submitting!  

This Month’s Challenge

Theme: Gravity IP MP Bonus Constraints:

• Lean into horror, either thematically or narratively.

Gravity, honestly, should be easy. The hardest part might be picking one direction over another.
The gravity of the earth? The gravity of your emotions? The pull of the deep ocean or the urge to explore the stars?
Its really up to you!
Need some help with some horror-themed poems? I got you! An elegy is a poem of serious reflection, and in English literature usually a lament for the dead.
I am encouraging the poets this week to stretch that definition of dead as well, especially since we did just do death last month! Examples:
Déjà Rêvé. BY Avra Margariti
Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson
These are just a few ideas to get you started. Remember, you can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. Don’t forget to leave feedback on at least one other poem by the deadline (it is a requirement)!

Schedule

• Submission deadline: Wednesday, May 1st, at 11:59pm EST
• Feedback & Nomination deadline: Tuesday, May 21st at 11:59pm EST
• Campfire: None scheduled for May. Please leave comments on the post. Check out previous Poetry Corners here!
  

  How To Participate

• Submit a 60 - 350 word poem inspired by the theme as a top-level comment below. You have until next Wednesday at 11:59 p.m. EST. Please note that for this particular feature, poems must be at least 60 words. Low-effort poems will be removed. No pre-written content.
  
• Use wordcounter.net to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Poems under 60 words or over 350 will be disqualified.
  
• Leave actionable feedback on at least one other poem Each critique is worth up to 10 points, up to 50 points. I really encourage trying, even if you are new to poetry!
  
• Nominate your favorite poems from the thread using this form (it will open after the submission deadline). You get points just for voting!
  
• Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion. We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. Uncivil or discouraging comments will not be tolerated and may result in further mod actions.
  
• Be creative and have fun! If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or via modmail. Top-level comments are reserved for poem submissions.
  

Point Breakdown

TASK	POINTS	ADDITIONAL NOTES
Use of the Weekly Theme	up to 50 pts	Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you!
Use of Bonus Constraint	10 pts	(unless otherwise noted)
Actionable Feedback	up to 10 pts each	1 crit required; you’re welcome to provide more crit, but pts are capped at 50
Nominations your poem receives	20 pts each	No cap
Mod Choice	20 - 50 pts	First- 50 pts, Second- 40 pts, Third- 30 pts, plus regular noms
Voting for others	10 pts	Don’t forget to vote by the deadline!

 
Note: *Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. Feedback can also be positive, like what you enjoyed, how it made you feel, parts that flowed particularly well, images that stood out, etc.

Rankings for Echoes

Winners:

• First place by u/Lothli
• Second place by u/SaltedCaramelJedi
• Honorable Mention: by u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1

Subreddit News

• Join our Discord to chat with other authors and prompters! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews, and several other fun events!
• We are currently looking for moderators! Apply to be a moderator at any time.
• Nominate your favorite WP authors for Spotlight and Hall of Fame!
• Experiment with fun tropes and genres on the new Fun Trope Friday!
• Serialize your story with Serial Sunday or test your micro-fic skills with Micro Monday on ShortStories! ***

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds.
I can't blame him. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an untreated infection. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.". The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.
blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.
Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.
"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.
The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrificed" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.
One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.
It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.
Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."
One by one, each member traced a symbol on my skin.
" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."
"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.
" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom."
"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.
She kneeled right near me, and whispered " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.
" HAIL THE PRINCE".
A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."
Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.
"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.
And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who fled my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe.
I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't speak of what I saw at the hospital. I knew better now. I've tried to explain to my uncle why I had to move out to the big city. That I had a mission now. That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid.
I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode and I should go back to the clinic, but I know better now. I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in. He'll honour us all, all at once.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »