Narrow daylight chords

Hot Take: Meterless Cameras Lead to Better Exposure

2024.05.14 18:12 WorthResolution1880 Hot Take: Meterless Cameras Lead to Better Exposure

The number of posts in this sub around improperly exposed shots (usually classic cases of the meter being "fooled," such as backlit scenes or landscapes with a lot of sky) are the stuff of collective eye-rolling and certainly provide amusing fodder for analogcirclejerk . However, the thought came to me recently that many of these problems could be solved simply by using a camera without a meter. Unless you are shooting film with very narrow exposure latitude, Sunny 16 will probably provide just as good or better results when photographing outdoors in daylight than the average 1970s SLR with center-weighted metering (I'm looking at you, AE-1). I see a lot of posts here where new photographers ask for camera recommendations and insist on having a meter, but are either completely new to photography or coming from digital. I don't see a lot of warning that a camera (especially an older one without matrix metering) having a meter does not mean you should trust it implicitly. For shooting indoors or in other low-light situations, having a meter is truly helpful. But most of the messed-up photos people show here are of landscapes or other pictures taken outside where the photographer has blindly followed the meter instead of understanding the situation.
I personally grew up using a Canon AE-1 in the early/mid-2000s. I didn't really understand what I was doing all that well. I had plenty of issues with exposure because I didn't know how to meter. I was also like ten at the time, so I think that has something to do with it. When I got back into film photography in the last several years, I have exclusively shot black and white film, mostly outdoors. In doing so, I noticed that the results I got from my meterless cameras were as good or even better than those cameras with meters. A bit of practice with Sunny 16 and I was on my way. An external meter (even a phone meter) helps in very tricky situations I can't judge myself. I find that I get just as many properly exposed pictures per roll (if not more) using a meterless camera than one with a meter (and I do understand how meters work at this point). As I said, I shoot entirely black and white, though. I understand that you really do need a meter for slide film, maybe even color print film. However, I also suspect that most people shooting slide film are not beginners and really know how to use their camera's meter.
I've never heard much wailing and gnashing of teeth about how someone's Nikon F, Canon P, or Kodak Retina turned into a paperweight because the electronics failed. On the other hand, maybe we should continue to shill AE-1s and T2s to newcomers just so those other cameras continue to be undervalued in the market.
TL;DR if we're tired of all of these posts with improperly exposed pictures asking "did the lab mess up," maybe we should start recommending a camera with no meter (and tell people to use the meter in their head) instead of a 1980s SLR with program mode that will get used without proper understanding?
submitted by WorthResolution1880 to AnalogCommunity [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 16:59 agileideation Navigating the Fog: The Crucial Need for Specificity in Vision and Mission Statements

I've been pondering the ubiquity of vague vision and mission statements across the corporate landscape and couldn't help but kick off a discussion here. As part of a series I'm doing called "Vision and Mission Reboot," today, I want to tackle a pervasive issue that I've dubbed the Vagueness Trap.
It seems like a rite of passage for companies to craft vision and mission statements that are as broad as the ocean, filled with buzzwords that sound nice but fail to define anything concrete. The problem with this approach? It's akin to setting sail without a map or compass. You might have a grand vessel (your company), but without a clear direction, you're just drifting, susceptible to the currents and winds of market trends and competitors' movements.
Why does this matter? A well-defined vision statement serves as your North Star, offering guidance and motivation not just to your leadership team but to everyone in the organization. It answers the "what," "for whom," and "why" in a way that's both inspiring and grounded in reality. The mission statement, on the other hand, lays out the "how." Together, they should paint a clear picture of your company's purpose, direction, and the unique value you bring to the table.
So, what's the solution? Start by asking the hard questions:
Who are we serving? Narrow down your audience to a specific group who truly benefits from your services.
What unique value do we provide? This goes beyond being the "best" or "leading" something. How do you make your customers' lives better, easier, or more fulfilling?
How do we accomplish our goals? This is where specificity in your mission statement shines. What strategies, technologies, or methodologies set you apart?
The goal is to emerge with a vision and mission that not only guide your strategic decisions but also resonate deeply with your team and your customers.
If you're finding this resonates with your experience or strikes a chord about how you've approached your own company's vision and mission, I'd love to hear about it. Have you seen a transformation in your organization after refining these statements? Or are you struggling to cut through the fog? Let's dissect this together and share insights, examples, and maybe even a few success stories.
Remember, a ship in harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are built for. Let's chart a course for clearer, more meaningful visions and missions together.
submitted by agileideation to agileideation [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 15:49 vanbaird Top 5 Songs

Over the weekend, I curated a playlist of artists that I like and my 5 favorite songs by each artist. When I added Lawrence, it was tough to narrow it down to 5. I'll post mine below (in no particular order), and I'm curious as to what each of you would say.
submitted by vanbaird to LawrenceTheFans [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 15:07 xXKikitoXx The white-haired girl was unexpectedly pretty. (Alternate timeline Part 9)

PREVIOUS
The light coloured wooden floorboards creaked softly under my weight as I struggled. Using human crutches wasn’t difficult, but it was demeaning. They were miss matched and that was confusing. One was from a set I'd had as a child, while I didn’t recognise the other at all.
Without giving it too much thought I turned into my fathers study to find the room was changed. It was dilapidated. The furniture was rotten and falling apart while all the books were moth eaten. Brigetta sat on the floor, weaving thread into talismans.
‘Brigetta…? What are you doing?’ I asked as the space gradually fell away around us.
‘Making an anchor for you,” she answered softly. She wasn’t crying exactly, her eyes weren’t red and she wasn’t sobbing, but water ran down her face from her eyes. It was an unnatural amount that pooled around her in a puddle as she worked.
‘Why?” my voice echoed, confused.
‘Because they’re going to kill you.’
Cold dread trickled down my spine, ‘…Who are..?’
‘The Fae.’
As she spoke a shadow moved beside her and Markos appeared from nowhere. He held something in his hand, however I wasn’t able to make it out as the panic jolted me back to consciousness.
Taking a deep breath in, I was awake before I opened my eyes. Sweat dampened my clothes and I blinked slowly as understanding came to me, I had been dreaming. I couldn’t remember falling asleep, but I awoke in darkness. My mouth was dry and the only part of me that didn’t hurt was the leg I couldn’t feel, every other part wished for death.
However I was laying on something soft under light sheets. They ruffled softly as I turned over, and the warning came immediately, “Don’t try anything stupid.” It was Nathaniel who had spoken. His voice was somehow reassuring, smooth and calm. He was sitting not far from me beside the glow of a small lamp with a book in hand. It backlit his hair, giving him an ethereal halo, and he didn’t so much as bother to look over when I stirred.
“Where am I?” I asked, confused. My voice was husky and quiet as the vocal cords struggled to work.
“You’re in my chambers, and if you try anything, I’ll kill you outright.”
It came back to me gradually, being carried through endless marble hallways, and forced to bathe. I exhaled with shame as I remembered. Showing weakness was unacceptable in my family and I was a disgrace for being captured alive… My father would hate me if he knew, he would probably never speak to me again.
“...Why haven’t you killed me already?”
“Because you’re of no use dead.”
I wasn’t sure I was of any use alive either, “...Thank you,” I murmured softly.
“It’s too soon to thank me,” he answered, uncaring, as he turned a page and I allowed my gaze to drop
He was probably right. Even if I was safe right now, this was only temporary, and I didn’t have the energy to argue even if I wanted to. “How long has it been?” I asked instead.
“A couple of days,” he moved when he spoke and I automatically tried to recoil.
It was a wasted effort. I could hardly move at all, let alone defend myself. My injuries had set, and the muscles were simultaneously weak and stiff. I swallowed anxiously as he walked past. “Whatever you’re going to do, please don’t… I’ll do anything you want…”
Of course I was lying. Pretending to be afraid and hoping I was correct in what he wanted to hear as I tried to anticipate how best to survive this situation. “What I want right now, is for you to stop talking.”
Nathaniel passed me again and I flinched, maybe I wasn’t pretending as much as I wanted to be, I thought bitterly. However, I realized then that he was largely ignoring me. He had grabbed another book from somewhere in the darkness, and returned to his seat without acknowledging me.
Gradually, my heart rate slowed. The fae wasn’t going to do anything, he was just existing in the same space… but why? Was it a ruse? Another interrogation technique? Maybe he was trying to break my mind with the endless uncertainty. I watched him with wary caution as I debated whether or not I could use my charm to get him to let me go.
However, between the warmth of the bed and the gentle rustle of paper turning, my eyelids were growing heavy. My thoughts drifted and my consciousness was slipping away. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t want to risk being killed in my sleep, but, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst way to die. At least I wouldn’t know it had happened…
***
When I awoke next I was alone in the plush bed. Sunlight glistened off my lashes and I turned over to get away from the brightness. The air was cold and every part of me ached, but the blankets were warm. I pulled them tighter around myself, nesling lower into them as I cautiously looked around.
In daylight, the room was cluttered. A thousand different ornaments, tapestries, crystals and pendulums crowded every surface. Books were haphazardly stacked in piles on the floor and leaned at precarious angles, leaving only narrow pathways through the mess.
To the right were french doors leading to a balcony. They were framed by burgundy velvet curtains that cascaded downward into heavy folds of excess fabric, and semi-transparent curtain sheers. At the foot of the bed was a Victorian era fainting lounge with similar dark velvet upholstery and an asymmetrical, ornately carved, wooden backrest.
On the left was a small partitioning wall that blocked the rest of the space from immediate view and the entryway to the bathroom. Antique furniture hidden among the mess lined the perimeters of the room and refracted light cast dull rainbows across the walls. It was beautiful, in a chaotic way.
Nathaniel was nowhere in sight and the room was quiet except for the gentle tick of the pendulums. I was alone as far as I could tell, but it was with caution that I began to move.
“Hello?” I called, wincing as I put pressure on my arm to push myself up.
The room remained silent and I glanced around to be sure. I had half expected this to be some kind of trap, however, nothing happened and I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Heaving the damaged one over with disgust.
A thin trail of magic wrapped around my ankle and I smiled bitterly. It was a tether, binding me to the bed with a limited range of freedom. The writing itself wasn’t overly complicated, but I had no magic to use and the breakpoint was on the ceiling where I couldn’t reach just yet. With a small irritated huff I gave up, moving instead to find a weapon. That fae bastard would regret bringing me here.
Using the bed frame as support, I stood before awkwardly hopping across the room. I tried the balcony doors first, they were locked both physically and with a rigid barrier spell. Next I tried the main door only to find a similar situation before debating whether or not I could make it out the bathroom window. Most likely not, I realized bitterly. Escaping wasn’t a task I was capable of in my injured state.
However, that didn’t make me defenseless. I limped toward the desk and rummaged through the draws. Inside each drawer was no better than the rest of the room. They were filled with ink pots and quills, pens, pencils, paintbrushes and loose paperwork.
Small trinkets and other useless things that I suppose he simply couldn’t find any other place for only added to the disarray. Shutting the drawer I snorted in exasperation. It was ridiculous. What kind of person keeps so many pointless items? He must’ve had a hundred shiny but harmless trinkets.
Eventually I came across an engraved pocket knife made of silver. It opened with a swift click and the blade was remarkably sharp. I could kill Nathaniel easily with it… However, the thought of doing so made me nauseous and I closed the blade. It was pointless anyway, even if I killed him now, I was still trapped in the fae castle.
Placing it back on the desk I slowly sank to the floor instead. I hated myself for this, for being so weak. My fingers had little grip strength with my knuckles still healing, and with my good leg being compromised it was difficult to stand for too long. If I had killed him in the forest none of this would be a problem and I would still be with my family.
Some part of me knew I had sealed my own fate, but I wasn’t sure I regretted it. At least if I died, the war would be closer to ending and I sighed, running my hands back through my hair. The situation was hopeless. I didn’t know what to do, and I was afraid of what Nathaniel would do to me when he returned. For all I knew this was just another interrogation technique…
A muted click interrupted my thoughts and I glanced up. A moment of silence followed the sound and I waited in tense uncertainty: had Nathaniel returned? Seconds passed before I heard the soft swoosh of the door closing again and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Someone had entered the room.
Boots clacked on the floorboards in purposefully slow steps as they navigated and I moved immediately. I crawled quietly across the floor and slipped under the bed, wedging myself between the clutter beneath it. Moments later the footsteps came closer, and I watched as small white shoes with a neat heel walked past the bed. Slender legs with tanned skin filled the shoes and the girl came to a stop beside the desk where I had been.
She stood there a moment and I held my breath as she examined the area. However when she turned to go, the pocket knife fell off the desk. It landed among the junk on the floor and she stooped to collect it. The woman was human, and remarkably beautiful.
Her long white-blonde hair fell forward over her shoulders and her slender fingers wrapped around the pocket knife. Her nails were manicured, painted pastel pink with small gems encrusted on them. She wore light makeup with matching diamantes on her upper cheek bones and bore the contract marks of a Fae agreement under them.
For a brief moment I wondered who’s ‘property’ she was. Probably not Nathaniel’s otherwise, she wouldn’t be creeping around his room like a thief, I thought as she stood again. No emotion crossed her face as she set the knife back where it had been before it fell and wondered what would happen if she saw me. Would I be able to convince her to help me? She didn’t seem unkind, however, fae ‘pets’ are well trained.
They’re loyal to their masters in all ways, and in combat they’re deadly. On the battlefield they cut through my father’s human worshipers with no remorse or restraint, and will just as easily cut down any un-reveanted vanir who crosses their path. Worse still is that they’re impossible to spot until they attack.
They look alike to any other human and blend in among our forces. That was part of the reason we began to poison our horde, the trace of death separates them from the vibrant life of those controlled by the Fae.
Eventually the girl turned away and disappeared from view. It seemed whatever she was looking for she hadn't found it and I exhaled with pure relief when I heard the door close again as she exited. I wasn’t sure I could have taken the stress if I had been found.
Laying under the bed my body ached and my bruised ribs hurt. I waited there a while, gathering the willpower to wriggle back out before deciding not to. It would take too much effort, and I felt safer in a hidden place. I fell asleep again curled among a pile of worn, but not dirty, clothes.
(Next chapter available on Patreon, as well as some ahhh spicy posts...)
submitted by xXKikitoXx to EricLinnaeus [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 12:25 CraftyVeterinarian10 [FS] [CAN] [US]🔥Canada and US only! 🔥 CLOSET CLEAROUT! Reps and Gens (Grailed authenticated) Balen/Gucc/Prad@/Moncler/Juun.j/Cartie/Heron Pr3st0n/Giv3nchy/LV/Norse Project/We11done/BV/Palm ang3/maison /h3rmes/SLP/V3T3ments- PayPal Invoice only

Shipping to Canada and US only! Shipping FROM Canada Plus $10 to Canada. Shipping to US depends on the item. I will send buyer a photo of package and tracking receipt. I am not responsible for package once it’s shipped.
PAYPAL INVOICE ONLY
ANYONE FLAKING ON A INVOICE WILL BE REPORTED TO THE MODS‼️
AUTHENTIC:
Vetements All Over Print denim jacket Size Large Rare. Used lightly with the tag somewhere (have to find it). Retailed for almost 3K cad ($2,000 USD). Made in Italy. Sold out on Cettire (see photos) And one listed on Grailed for much more! ) Grailed authenticated! $600 https://imgur.com/gallery/EUgK3Qb
REPS:
‼️SOLD‼️Celine windbreaker (brand new with tags) Size 50 Chest: 25” Length: 28” https://imgur.com/gallery/iSdkPBY
Cartier Love Bracelet with Premium box $150 SIZE 17 Comes with “authenticity cert/Cartier bag/matching screwdriver. Weight feels like gen. Beautiful colour. No cheesy yellow. Colour is gen like! These photos were taken at daylight. Never worn. Just tried on.
https://imgur.com/gallery/5tXs2SE
Cartier Love bracelet (narrow) with box $100 Comes with authenticity cert/carrier bag/matching screwdriver. Weight and colour like gen. Never worn. Just tried on
Timestamped: https://imgur.com/gallery/QhMCVwa
Group 1 Reps: https://imgur.com/gallery/AwWDo5x
Balenciaga Taxi quilted leather jacket (never worn. $175 Size 50 chest: 25” length: 25”
Balenciaga windbreaker (wore once) $60 Chest: 26” Length: 29”
Balenciaga Campaign sweatpants (never worn) $80 Size M
Balenciaga sweatpants (mint. wore once) $75 Size M https://imgur.com/gallery/v4akAbz
Balenciaga blk slime heavy hoodie - (wore once -Puer Homme) $80 Chest: 26” Length: 25”
Balenciaga 1st Speedhunters tee (wore once) $55 Size: M Chest: 21” Length: 30”
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Balenciaga 2nd Speedhunters tee (wore a few times Size: L Chest: 24” Length: 29.5
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Bottega Veneta green leather weaved bracelet gold plated Tip to tip is 21cm
Gucci snake green belt (never worn) $40 Length: 115cm
Gucci bootleg red sweatshirt $80 Chest: 24” Length: 27”
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Hermes’ black cardholder (used once)
GROUP 2 Reps https://imgur.com/gallery/5Bku46w
Jil Sander off white boxy tee 1:1 (never worn) $60 Size: M Chest: 25” Length: 27”
No brand “Juun.j” bomber jacket with hood 1:1 from Carry Over Seoul (wore a couple of times- ) $170 Chest:25” Length: 25”
Moncler red beanie (never worn) $40 Scans on Moncler authentication site
Prada America blk sneaker (wore once) $100 Size: US 7/EU 40
Unbranded “SLP” Teddy 1:1 (wore twice - Zuca Space) $200 Size 48 Chest: 25” Length: 25”
AUTHENTICS: https://imgur.com/gallery/8fcpO5n
https://imgur.com/gallery/aRoyrt4
Versace ring size 21 Used once. Comes with box/authentication cert. I bought for $335. $180 https://imgur.com/gallery/dq2qHR8
Gucci ace sneakers (Grailed authenticated. wore a couple of times. Bought for $875) $270 Says size 6 but they run larger so it’s a US 7 mens as that’s my usual size
Heron Preston Ex Ray black jacket. (grailed authenticated. Bought for $875) $450
LV cigarette case (authenticated on grailed. Mint) $200
Maison Margiela 4 stitch carry on phone pouch (Grailed authenticated. new. Bought it for $300) $230
Opening Ceremony bucket hat (new. Bought it for $150) $100
Moncler puff jacket (authenticated on grailed. Some flaws. See photos) $220
Prada Nastro green/black striped. (grailed authenticated. never worn. Comes with original box/dustbag. Bought for $410) $250 Size 85cm/34 inches
Saint Laurent x Hedi Slimane hitop sneakers (grailed authenticated. wore a few time. Mint. Bought new for $600) $250 Size EU 40/US 7
Saint Laurent x Hedi slimane sneakers (Grailed authenticated. wore a few times. Bought it for $695) $200 Size EU 40/US 7
Norse Project Algot blue shirt (new. Bought at $168) $100 Chest 25” length 31”
Palm Angels slides (grailed authenticated. Brand new never worn. Comes with authenticity card/box/dustbag. Made in Spain. Bought it for $380) Size men’s EU 40 (women’s US 9) or men’s US 7 $240
submitted by CraftyVeterinarian10 to RepFashionBST [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 12:23 CraftyVeterinarian10 [FS] [CAN] [US]🔥Canada and US only! 🔥 CLOSET CLEAROUT! Reps and Gens (Grailed authenticated) Balen/Gucc/Prad@/Moncler/Juun.j/Cartie/Heron Pr3st0n/Giv3nchy/LV/Norse Project/We11done/BV/Palm ang3/maison /h3rmes/SLP - PayPal Invoice only

Shipping to Canada and US only! Shipping FROM Canada Plus $10 to Canada. Shipping to US depends on the item. I will send buyer a photo of package and tracking receipt. I am not responsible for package once it’s shipped.
PAYPAL INVOICE ONLY
ANYONE FLAKING ON A INVOICE WILL BE REPORTED TO THE MODS‼️
AUTHENTIC:
Vetements All Over Print denim jacket Size Large Rare. Used lightly with the tag somewhere (have to find it). Retailed for almost 3K cad ($2,000 USD). Made in Italy. Sold out on Cettire (see photos) And one listed on Grailed for much more! ) Grailed authenticated! $600 https://imgur.com/gallery/EUgK3Qb
REPS:
‼️SOLD‼️ Celine windbreaker (brand new with tags) Size 50 Chest: 25” Length: 28” https://imgur.com/gallery/iSdkPBY
Cartier Love Bracelet with Premium box $150 SIZE 17 Comes with “authenticity cert/Cartier bag/matching screwdriver. Weight feels like gen. Beautiful colour. No cheesy yellow. Colour is gen like! These photos were taken at daylight. Never worn. Just tried on.
https://imgur.com/gallery/5tXs2SE
Cartier Love bracelet (narrow) with box $100 Comes with authenticity cert/carrier bag/matching screwdriver. Weight and colour like gen. Never worn. Just tried on
Timestamped: https://imgur.com/gallery/QhMCVwa
Group 1 Reps: https://imgur.com/gallery/AwWDo5x
Balenciaga Taxi quilted leather jacket (never worn. $175 Size 50 chest: 25” length: 25”
Balenciaga windbreaker (wore once) $60 Chest: 26” Length: 29”
Balenciaga Campaign sweatpants (never worn) $80 Size M
Balenciaga sweatpants (mint. wore once) $75 Size M https://imgur.com/gallery/v4akAbz
Balenciaga blk slime heavy hoodie - (wore once -Puer Homme) $80 Chest: 26” Length: 25”
Balenciaga 1st Speedhunters tee (wore once) $55 Size: M Chest: 21” Length: 30”
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Balenciaga 2nd Speedhunters tee (wore a few times Size: L Chest: 24” Length: 29.5
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Bottega Veneta green leather weaved bracelet gold plated Tip to tip is 21cm
Gucci snake green belt (never worn) $40 Length: 115cm
Gucci bootleg red sweatshirt $80 Chest: 24” Length: 27”
‼️SOLD & SHIPPED‼️ Hermes’ black cardholder (used once)
GROUP 2 Reps https://imgur.com/gallery/5Bku46w
Jil Sander off white boxy tee 1:1 (never worn) $60 Size: M Chest: 25” Length: 27”
No brand “Juun.j” bomber jacket with hood 1:1 from Carry Over Seoul (wore a couple of times- ) $170 Chest:25” Length: 25”
Moncler red beanie (never worn) $40 Scans on Moncler authentication site
Prada America blk sneaker (wore once) $100 Size: US 7/EU 40
Unbranded “SLP” Teddy 1:1 (wore twice - Zuca Space) $200 Size 48 Chest: 25” Length: 25”
AUTHENTICS: https://imgur.com/gallery/8fcpO5n
https://imgur.com/gallery/aRoyrt4
Versace ring size 21 Used once. Comes with box/authentication cert. I bought for $335. $180 https://imgur.com/gallery/dq2qHR8
Gucci ace sneakers (Grailed authenticated. wore a couple of times. Bought for $875) $270 Says size 6 but they run larger so it’s a US 7 mens as that’s my usual size
Heron Preston Ex Ray black jacket. (grailed authenticated. Bought for $875) $450
LV cigarette case (authenticated on grailed. Mint) $200
Maison Margiela 4 stitch carry on phone pouch (Grailed authenticated. new. Bought it for $300) $230
Opening Ceremony bucket hat (new. Bought it for $150) $100
Moncler puff jacket (authenticated on grailed. Some flaws. See photos) $220
Prada Nastro green/black striped. (grailed authenticated. never worn. Comes with original box/dustbag. Bought for $410) $250 Size 85cm/34 inches
Saint Laurent x Hedi Slimane hitop sneakers (grailed authenticated. wore a few time. Mint. Bought new for $600) $250 Size EU 40/US 7
Saint Laurent x Hedi slimane sneakers (Grailed authenticated. wore a few times. Bought it for $695) $200 Size EU 40/US 7
Norse Project Algot blue shirt (new. Bought at $168) $100 Chest 25” length 31”
Palm Angels slides (grailed authenticated. Brand new never worn. Comes with authenticity card/box/dustbag. Made in Spain. Bought it for $380) Size men’s EU 40 (women’s US 9) or men’s US 7 $240
submitted by CraftyVeterinarian10 to QualityRepsBST [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 00:12 mikemjets 13 day Itinerary check. Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, Hiroshima

Hello everyone, we are a American couple going to Japan for the first time and are beyond excited! To give some context, we are late 20 year olds with a high level of energy and are not afraid to walk a lot and live a day to the fullest even if we are exhausted by night time. We are interested in nature, architecture, technology, and history. Not interested at all in things like shopping or anime. Let me know what you think of the itinerary. First bullet points are things we're def doing, secondary bullet points are possible ideas but not ideas we are married to doing. Times are also super approximate, and are more just used in planning to let me know what was possible, I don't plan on living by a strict schedule or anything. I pretty extensively planned and looked in commute times and average times spent at things for everything so I am fairly confident the schedule is possible, but would still love insight!.
Saturday, (Tokyo Day #1)
Sunday(Tokyo Day #2)
Monday (Tokyo Day #3)
Tuesday (Tokyo Day #4)
Wednesday, (Tokyo Day #5)
Thursday, (Mt Fuji)
Friday, (Osaka Day #1)
Saturday, (Osaka Day #2/Nara)
Sunday, (Osaka Day #3/Himeji)
Monday, (Kyoto Day #1)
Tuesday, (Kyoto Day #2)
Wednesday, (Kyoto Day #3)
Thursday, (Miyajima/Hiroshima)
Friday, (Hiroshima/Yokohama)
Saturday (fly home)
Any advice is much appreciated!
submitted by mikemjets to JapanTravel [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 00:12 Trash_Tia A dead boy has been hunting me down my whole life. On my 18th birthday, I finally understand why.

I've always been bound to death.
On my eighth birthday, a shadow strode into my house and shot me and my family dead. I remember it vividly, every detail, every angle, etched and stained and carved into my memory.
I sat very still with my knees to my chest, my gaze glued to my siblings.
Lily and PJ looked like they were sleeping, and I could almost believe it.
I didn't look at the shadow.
From the comfort of my knees, I waited for my brother to lift his head.
But his body was so limp, so still, every part of him faltering. My sister’s head was nestled in his shoulder, thick beads of red running down her face.
They're just sleeping.
I could tell myself they were— as long as I didn't look at the splatter of scarlet staining the back of the couch and pooling at their feet.
BANG.
Mom’s body dropped onto the ground.
I lunged forwards, slamming my hands over my ears.
BANG.
PJ’s head slumped forwards, a teasing smile still frozen on his lips.
BANG.
Lily gently tipped into PJ, like she was going to sleep.
Before she closed her eyes, Mom told me to run.
I can't remember how long I stayed under the shattered remnants of Mom’s favorite table. The shadow was waiting for me to move, to make a noise.
I watched booted feet crunch through glass, getting closer and closer, and slowly, fight or flight began to take over.
Making it halfway across the living room, my palms slick with my mother’s blood, I thought I was going to live.
Cruel fingers wound their way through my hair and shoved me to my knees. I remember the phantom legs of a spider creeping down the back of my neck when the shadow with no face dragged the barrel of his gun down my spine.
“Turn around.”
The shadow had a voice.
When I didn't move, the protruding metal stabbed into my neck.
“Turn around, kid!”
I did, very slowly.
Behind him, my siblings still weren't moving.
They were asleep.
Lily was still smiling, strawberry blonde ringlets stained red.
I couldn't see PJ’S face anymore.
BANG.
I didn't feel the gunshot.
I didn't feel anything.
Looking down, I glimpsed slowly spreading red blossoming like a flower.
It felt like being cut from strings.
I hit the ground, just like my mother, my body felt heavy and wrong.
Paralysed.
I remember being unable to scream, unable to cry, the salty taste of metal filling my mouth. It was like being winded. Rolling onto my side, all I could see was flickering candlelight.
The air was thick, so hard to breathe.
I rolled onto my back trying to suck in air.
The shadow took a step back, opened the front door, and bled into the night.
I don't remember the pain, and I don't remember dying. I couldn't breathe, couldn't conjure words in my mouth.
I felt warm and sticky, lying in my own blood.
I think I tried to move.
But I was so tired.
I’m not sure what death feels like, because it's like going to sleep.
I remember my last shuddering breaths, a lulling darkness beginning to swallow me up. I don't know why I wasn't afraid.
Oblivion almost felt like I was sinking into lukewarm depths on a Summer’s day.
Oblivion wasn't pain, and there was a peaceful inevitability to it.
It was endless nothing, a nothing I found myself gravitating towards. But before I could envelope myself in that darkness, it was spitting me back out.
The next thing I knew, I was in a white room, a slow beeping sound tearing me from slumber. I had a vague memory of slow spreading roses blossoming across my shirt, like summer flowers blooming.
Everything was white.
The walls, the ceiling, and my clothes.
Sensation hit me in slow waves.
Exhaustion.
I felt it tightening its grip around my brain, dragging me back onto a mountain of pillows when I tried to jump up. My Aunt May was sitting next to me on a plastic chair, her warm fingers entangled in mine. Aunt May and Mom were practically twins, with the same thick red hair and pale skin.
Mom wore her hair in a casual ponytail, while May preferred a strict bun.
I had to bite back the urge to yank my hand away.
Aunt May was asleep, used tissues filling her lap.
There was a nurse pottering around, checking my vitals and prodding my arms. My eyes felt heavy. I had to blink several times to keep myself awake.
“Charlie?”
The nurse’s voice was like wind-chimes.
I pretended not to notice her forced lipstick smile, the way she stood with her arms folded, staring at me like I was one of my cousin’s experiments. “You were in an accident, sweetie,” the nurse spoke up. I could see her trembling hands. “Just, um, try and rest, okay?”
I wanted to ask where my family was, but I already knew the answer.
I think she knew that too.
“You died, Charlie.” The nurse’s voice was eerily cold. “You were dead for thirteen minutes.”
She took slow steps towards me, her eyes growing frenzied, like she couldn't understand me, like I was a puzzle she could not solve– and it was driving her crazy. I could see it in her twitching hands, her wobbling lips that were trying and failing to appear stoic.
“In fact, I just pulled you out of the morgue, honey. I opened up your body bag that I had just zipped up, and told your aunt that you were a miracle I just… can’t understand.” The nurse sounded like she was trying to choke down a laugh, or maybe a sob.
“Charlotte, you were pronounced dead at 3:02am from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Taking a slow, sobering breath, the nurse tried to smile. “The bullet went through the right ventricle of your heart and severely damaged your left lung, rendering you unable to breathe. Your heart stopped, and after four attempts to resuscitate, we called it.”
Something slimy wound its way up my throat when she began to pace the room. “I… did all the paperwork. It took me two minutes. Your death certificate was signed, and your body was taken to the morgue to be prepped for transportation. Then I had my lunch. Tuna salad with a protein milkshake. I’m not a fan of the chocolate flavor.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, when I came back to you, you were awake inside your body bag.” Her voice was starting to break. “You were…um, alive, and asked me for apple soda.”
The nurse moved closer, and yet kept her distance.
I could feel myself moving back, panic writhing through me.
“So.” The nurse spoke calmly. “How the fuck are you still alive, Charlie?”
I think I passed out after that.
When I woke up again, my head a lot less heavier, the nurse was gone.
Slowly, my foggy brain began to find itself and connect dots.
My mouth was dry, full of cotton.
There was a sudden tightness, a sharp and cruel sting in my wrists.
Something sharp was protruding into my flesh, and no matter how many times I violently wrenched my arm, it was stuck. It didn't feel right to be able to breathe so easily.
I knew the second I woke that my Mom was dead.
Lily and PJ were dead, and it was like losing them all over again.
As clarity came over me, I found my voice, a strangled cry escaping my lips.
“Get it out.” I whispered in a shrill cry.
Tugging at the IV in my wrist, I tried to yank the needle from my skin.
“Get it out!” I shrieked, my gaze glued to the tiny spots of blood staining the insertion point.
I could see it again.
So much blood.
Mom was curled up on the floor, lying in slow spreading red that wouldn't stop, seeping across her beaded rug.
She was all over me, slick on my skin and caked in my fingernails.
I couldn't wash her off of me.
“You're okay, Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice came from my right, stabling me to reality.
The world started to move again, started to make sense again, when she cupped my cheeks and told me to breathe. When I opened my mouth to ask where my family were, she lightly shook her head and I swallowed my words. Aunt May handed me a glass of water, and I drained it in one gulp.
She told me I was a miracle.
Aunt May didn't say much, and when she did, she broke into sobs.
Her eyes were raw from crying, clinging onto me, her shuddery voice reassuring me that I was going to be okay.
She told me I would be living with her from now on, before wrapping me into a hug and leaving to get coffee.
Once my aunt was gone, another nurse came to prod my IV.
I tried to sleep, but the uncomfortable tightness of the needle sticking into my skin and the sterile white lights in my eyes made it impossible. I waited for grief to catch up with me, drowning me in a hollow oblivion I wouldn't be able to claw myself out of. But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel angry.
I wanted to know why my family were dead.
I wanted to know why I was breathing, and their skin was ice cold.
Rotting.
The sudden image of maggots crawling up my brother’s nose sent me lurching into a sitting position, my stomach heaving. Reaching for my glass of water, it was empty. The sensation of throwing up felt familiar, almost comforting.
Mom was always with me when I was sick, holding my hair back and lulling my hysteria with reassuring murmurs.
I was frowning at the trash can by the door, my cotton candy brain trying to figure out if I would be able to make it in time, when a small voice drifted from the doorway, startling me.
“I don't want you to come live with us.”
My cousin was peeking through the door, hiding behind a shock of dark brown curls. Jude was the only brunette in our family. The rest of us were redheads.
I wasn't sure why he was dressed up like a ghost, draped in a white cloak that was way too big for him. Jude was a weird kid. His mother, and my auntie, had inherited the family house, so in his mind, that made him superior.
Jude made it clear he didn't like his cousins, refusing to let us play with him and banning us from family gatherings.
When the adults were drinking cocktails and losing their awareness, Jude ordered us around. The times we did play with him, our cousin showed us his spider collection, or the raccoon brain he kept in a jar. PJ was convinced our younger cousin was a serial killer. Several months earlier, he'd happily showed us the roadkill he'd been growing bacteria on under his bed.
Jude’s ‘experiments’ were worrying.
He stuffed mushrooms down my brother’s ears while he was sleeping, to, and I quote, “Recreate The Last Of Us.”
When Lily had a nosebleed during Thanksgiving dinner, Jude collected all her bloody tissues and refused to tell us where he'd put them, and what he had done with them. Fast-forward two months, and I found them under a nest of spiders. Jude was trying to adapt the spiders to be able to feed on human blood. I was surprised my cousin hadn't immediately demanded to see my siblings’ dead bodies for autopsy.
Jude stepped into the room, shuffling his feet.
“I'm sorry about Lily, PJ, and Aunt Ivy.” He mumbled, glaring at the floor tiles.
My cousin made no move to offer real sympathy, instead speaking to the floor.
“But I don't want you to come live with us.” Jude lifted his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I don't like you, Charlie. I want you to stay away.”
Before I could reply, he stepped back like I was diseased.
“You should be dead.” Jude grumbled.
He scowled at me, getting my age purposely wrong as usual before running off.
“Happy 68th birthday.”
I was six months older than him.
In Jude’s eyes, I was ready for retirement.
Still, though, my cousin was right.
I was stone cold dead, and then I was somehow alive.
Which was wrong.
Growing up, I realized Death was not so subtly attempting to fix his mistake.
It started small. I'd choke on things I wasn't supposed to choke on.
Chips.
Candy.
Ice cream.
Aunt May had to perform the heimlich manoeuvre when I choked on a piece of chicken. I thought I was just really unlucky, but then I locked myself in a freezer that didn't have a lock, and almost drowned in the local swimming pool, catching my foot in stray netting.
At the summer fair, Jude convinced me to try apple bobbing, only for my head to conveniently get stuck underwater.
It started to make sense.
I was supposed to die with my family that night, and death was out to get me.
Death started to get clever, changing his tactic. Instead of using everyday things to try to kill me, he sent reinforcements.
I turned twelve years old, and my aunt threw me a huge party, inviting all my classmates. Aunt May was rich, rich.
Mom never explained it, but our grandparents left everything to May.
The house was like a palace, a labyrinth of floors I was yet to explore, and two swimming pools.
I was in the kitchen cutting myself a slice of cake, when, out of nowhere, a dead boy came rushing at me with one of my aunt’s favorite kitchen knives.
A dead boy who I immediately recognised.
Wren Oliver.
Several years prior, he'd gone missing from his parents' yard. The town launched a full investigation, only to find his body in a ditch a week later.
So, Death had sent a footsoldier.
Hiding under a hooded sweatshirt, Wren appeared older, like he had grown up with me. But there was a startling vacancy in his expression that drew the breath from my lungs, freezing me in place. Wren’s death was announced as an accident, though his wounds suggested the opposite, dried blood smearing his right temple and a cavernous hole in his chest, his clothes painted, stained, in bright red, glued in sticky mounds clinging to him.
The boy’s eyes were wild, feral, like an animal.
His hair was longer, a mess of reddish curls matted to his forehead.
Lip split into a demented giggle.
I remember taking a slow step back, my gaze glued to the knife.
Wren’s fingers were wrapped around the handle like he knew exactly how to use it, how to plunge it into my heart and kill me for good. He moved like a predator, zero self awareness or recognition, only driven to kill me.
The dead boy prided himself in slow, intimidating steps, shoving me against the wall and dragging the blade of the knife down the curve of my throat.
His eyes confused me, writhing with hatred that was artificial, programmed into him as Death’s official soldier.
He didn't speak, only smiled, revelling in my fear. I could tell it thrilled him, my trembling hands, my sharp, heavy breaths I couldn't control. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited to finally die.
I waited for the pain, and to lose my breath once again.
But death was playing with me.
When I opened my eyes, the dead boy was gone, and I was on my knees, screaming.
“Wren Oliver is trying to kill me!" I managed to hiss.
My aunt knelt in front of me, her expression crumpling.
*Sweetie,” She spoke softly, squeezing my hands. Aunt May was trying to appear calm for my sake, but I could tell she was scared, her frantic eyes searching mine. “Wren Oliver is dead.”
The kids surrounding me started to giggle, whispering among themselves.
In the corner of my eye, my cousin was leaning against the door, mid eye roll.
When my aunt was ushering kids back to the pool, Jude came to crouch in front of me. Ever since I started living with him, he'd made sure to keep his distance.
This time, though, Jude leaned uncomfortably close, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. Inclining his head, he rocked back and forth on his heels, prodding me in the forehead.
“If you see the dead boy again, can you tell me?” His lips curved into a smile.
“I did see him.” I gritted out. “I’m not lying.”
Jude shrugged. “I never said you didn't,” he lowered his voice into a whisper, “I wanna know when you see him again.”
“Why?”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“So, I can catch him.”
My cousin got closer, his breath tickling my cheek.
“I seeeeeeee dead people.”
After that incident, death left me alone for a while.
I was fifteen, walking through the forest with a friend, catching fireflies in bell jars. Aunt May was lucky to live so close to the forest, the entrance just outside her back door. When we were littles, PJ would drag Lily and I down the trail to escape Jude’s weird experiments.
I decided to invite Jem Littlewood on a summer walk.
Jem was cute, but in a dorky way. He was chronically clumsy, and dressed like he'd been spat out of a John Hughes movie. We hiked all the way to the end of the river and had a picnic, watching the sun set over the horizon. I was having conflicting feelings for this guy.
Jem was obsessed with fireflies.
Though he seemed more interested in photographing them than me.
The guy couldn't seem to sit still, jumping to his feet to marvel at tiny specks of light dancing in the air.
“I'm just going to take photos!” Jem beamed, holding up his camera.
I had to bite back the urge to say, “Don't you have enough photos?”
I nodded, and he turned and sprinted back down the trail.
Before his footsteps ground to a sudden halt.
At first, I thought he was snapping polaroids.
When I got closer, though, blinking in the eerie dark, I caught something.
Bending down, I picked up a bell jar still spilling fireflies.
Further down the trail, Jem was lying crumpled in the dirt, his camera smashed to pieces next to him, blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. There he was. Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was the ghost boy. Wren Oliver was growing up with me. Now, a teenager, and yet his face was carved into something else entirely, more of a monster, slight points to his ears and too-sharp teeth, eyes ignited.
Wren didn't look like a ghost boy anymore.
Death had dressed him in shackles of ivy, a crown of glass and bone forced onto his head, entangled in his curls. Death was torturing him.
Wren’s body was its canvas, and every time I got away, he was punished, painting his failures across scarred skin.
I should have been running for my life, but I was mesmerised by each symbol cruelly carved into his neck.
The boy did a slow head incline, like he couldn't believe I was standing in front of him.
His slow spreading smile caught me off guard.
I remembered how to run, stumbling over my feet.
But I couldn't move.
The burning hatred that death had filled him with, was stronger, hollowing him out completely. I managed two shaky steps, before I felt him, an unearthly force winding its way around my spine. This time, he didn't hesitate.
I watched his mouth move, a single curve of his upper lip that wrenched my body from my control, slamming me against a tree. There was something around my throat, choking the breath from my lungs, a thick fog spreading over my eyes.
Following his mouth curving into silent letters, I could feel my feet slowly leaving the ground, my legs dangling.
I was floating.
Hovering off of the ground, suspended by his words.
Through half lidded eyes, I caught the glint of a blade between his fist, but I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
He was drowning me, bleeding into my blood, spider webbing and expanding in my brain without moving a muscle.
Instead, the ghost boy stood silently, running his thumb down the teeth of his knife while he ripped my lungs apart.
It was like suffocating, sinking into that peaceful oblivion I met at eight years old.
This time, though, the darkness was starving.
“Charlie?”
My eyes found daylight, a scream clawing out of my mouth.
“Charlie, it's past curfew!”
Wren flinched, his stoic expression crumpling.
The dead boy’s lips moved again, this time in a curse.
Fuck.
“Charlotte!”
Staggering back, Wren’s eyes widened and the suffocating hold on me severed.
His head snapped in the direction my aunt was coming from.
“Charlie, answer me right now.”
He hesitated, his bare feet pivoting in the dirt, like he was considering finishing me off. Wren studied me with lazy eyes, sucking on his bottom lip. When my aunt's footsteps got louder, branches snapping under her shoes, something contorted in the boy’s face.
Fear.
I guessed the boy wasn't expecting other humans to intrude.
Wren fell over himself, shuffling on his hands and knees, before diving to his feet. When he turned and ran, I was released, slipping to the ground, trying and failing to draw in breath. I barely felt the impact, only a dull thudding pain. I could hear the ghost boy’s footsteps, his uneven, shuddery breaths as he catapulted into a run.
Under a late setting sun, I watched his dancing shadow disappear into the trees.
Mission unsuccessful, I guessed.
When I was fully conscious, Aunt May was checking over Jem, helping him sit up.
“Where did he go?” I managed to get out, scanning the darkness for Wren.
“He's okay, just concussed.” May whispered, dialling 911.
My aunt applied a dressing to Jem’s wound, ignoring the boy’s hisses.
“Keep still.” she murmured, smoothing his bandaid. “What happened, Charlotte?”
“She pushed me over.” Jem groaned, shuffling away from me. When my aunt told him to stay calm, he straightened up, leaning against the tree. “The psycho bitch tried to fucking kill me!”
When my aunt's gaze flicked to me, I shook my head.
“It was Wren Oliver.” I gritted, teetering on hysteria. I could tell she didn't believe me, but I couldn't stop myself.
I prodded at my throat, clawing for the indentations where his phantom fingers snaked around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
But there was nothing.
I could feel my mind starting to unravel. I nodded to my disgruntled classmate trying to dodge my aunt’s prodding.
“Ow, ow, ow! That stings!
“He knocked Jem out.” I managed. “Then he tried to kill me.”
Jem surprised me with a scoff. “You're seriously blaming your psychotic break on a dead kid?”
Aunt May pursed her lips, motioning for Jem to be quiet. Judging from her face, however, she agreed with the boy.
May forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay. Can you, uh, describe the boy to me, Charlotte?”
“He was wearing a crown,” I said, “And he looked my age.”
Aunt May cocked her head, and I saw real worry, like she was trying not to freak out. Jem made a snorting noise.
“I'm sorry, he was wearing a crown?”
“Yes!” I insisted, getting progressively more frustrated.
I tried to jump up, only for my aunt to gently lower me back down. “I know it sounds crazy, but death has sent Wren Oliver to kill me, just like my family. He tried to kill me when I was twelve, too!”
Jem let out a bitter laugh. “Your niece is a fucking wackadoodle.”
Aunt May’s eyes darkened. She grabbed my shoulders, her nails stabbing into my skin. “Charlie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” When my eyes found the rapidly darkening sky, my aunt forced me to look at her.
“Charlotte!”
She was as scared as me, her voice shuddering.
“Wren Oliver is dead.” My aunt said firmly, shaking me. Even then, though, I wasn't even looking at her. I was trying to find his ignited eyes lighting up the dark. “Wren died at eight years old in a terrible accident, and you can't keep using him as an excuse for your mental trauma.” There was something twitching in her expression I was trying to make sense of. When I risked a look at Jem, the boy was staring at me dazedly– like I really was crazy.
Aunt May pressed her face into my shoulder, and I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt. She was trying to hold it together, trying to understand.
“Charlie, I know you lost your family,” she whispered. “But you and Wren Oliver are not the same. You survived, and he didn't.” Her voice splintered.
“You need to come to terms with that, okay?”
When I didn't respond, she pinched my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice turned cold. “I ignored this when you were a kid, but if you continue to use this poor boy as a coping mechanism, I will have no choice but to send you to a specialist.”
When Jem was taken away by paramedics, Aunt May held my hand, squeezing my fingers for dear life.
I caught her gaze scanning the tree's around us, delving into twisting oblivion. Every little noise sent her twisting around. She was looking for something.
“I'm going to get you help.” Aunt May said in a low murmur when we were back at the house. Jude was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into the back of my head.
Aunt May set a cup of cocoa on the table.
“No more fairytales.”
By the time I was eighteen, I had bitten three therapists.
They refused to believe that death was coming to reclaim my soul, and was using a dead boy to do his dirty work.
For my 16th birthday, I braced myself to come face to face with Wren Oliver’s ghost.
I wasn't even in town, staying at a friend's house.
But dead boys, and especially dead boys moulded into Death’s personal soldiers, could materialise anywhere.
I locked every door in the house, and taped up my friend’s window.
Nothing happened.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was sick in bed with gastritis.
Still no ghost boy.
Death seemed to have finally left me alone.
On my eighteenth birthday, I was stuffing books in my locker when my cousin popped up out of nowhere, scowling as usual. After an unexpected growth spurt and losing a tonne of baby fat, my cousin had scaled the high school hierarchy, swapping his weird experiments for a varsity jacket and experimenting with his sexuality.
The two of us had come to an unspoken truce.
I kept quiet about his spider collection to his popular friends, and he tolerated my existence until I left for college.
“Your surprise party is cancelled.”
Jude leaned against my locker, running a hand through thick dark hair tucked under a baseball cap. Jude never admitted it, but he was definitely embarrassed of being the odd one out.
My siblings may be dead, but they were still redheads.
I pulled off his cap with a smile, throwing it in his face. “Sure it is.”
My cousin’s eyes widened. He lost his slick bravado, grabbing for his cap.
“Hey!”
According to my cousin, my party was unexpectedly cancelled every year.
I wasn't sure if it was his weird superiority complex, or just plain jealousy, but it was getting exhausting.
Jude followed me down the hallway, matching my stride.
“Can you just not come home tonight?”
I quickened my pace. “It's only a party. I'm having some friends over, and no, we won't go anywhere near your room.”
“No, I mean.” Jude stepped in front of me, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't trying to hide disdain for me.
His dark eyes pinned me in place for a moment, the world around us coming to a halt. Sound bled away, and all I heard were his slow breaths. There was something there, an unexplainable twitch in his eyes and lips, that twisted my gut.
Jude stepped closer, his lip curling. He shoved me back, losing his facade.
“Stay the fuck away from the house tonight.” He said, and his voice, his tone, was enough to send shivers creeping down my spine. Jude had always hid behind a ten foot wall in his mind. It was jarring to see something in him finally start to splinter. Fuck. I thought.
This kid had serious Mommy issues.
I blinked, and the world resumed, kids pushing past us.
Jude seemed to catch himself, slipping back under his mask.
“I'm having friends over,” he rolled his eyes, “Your presence will ruin the vibe.”
“It's my birthday?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yes, I know. But–”
“I think you can deal with the attention off of you for one night, Jude.”
“Will Wren Oliver be there too?” Jem Littlewood hollered.
Jude didn't respond for a moment, his lip curling.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat at Jem, who immediately backed down. With an audience this time, Jude forced an award winning smile. “Fine.” His lips split into a grin I knew he hated. My cousin clamped his hand on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. I could feel his fingers pinching the material of my jacket. “Have it your way, dude.”
Jude backed away with a two fingered salute.
“Happy 78th birthday!”
In a sense, I wish I listened to my cousin.
My party was a success, sort of.
Four of us, a crate of beers, and no sign of my cousin.
I was mildly tipsy, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the water when my friend demanded more beers.
I was also hungry for cake, so I stumbled inside in search of the goods.
The house was dark, lit up in dazzling blue from the pool's lights reflecting through the windows. Aunt May was in her office on the ground floor, and Jude was getting high in his room. In my drunken state, I found myself marvelling my aunt's house, and how much of it was left unexplored.
For example, in the foyer, past the spiral staircase she’d had custom made, was an elevator I had never questioned.
There was a girl my age standing on the staircase.
She was frozen, mid run, dressed in ragged jeans and t-shirt.
Everything about her stuck out to me, bringing me to a sobering halt.
The girl reminded me of my sister– or at least, if my sister had ever grown up.
I wasn't sure if I was drunk or hallucinating.
Her flower crown was pretty…
Lily had grown wings.
I was slowly moving towards her, a sudden bang sounding from the kitchen.
The bang of something shattering on the floor.
Twisting around, I found myself gravitating towards warm golden light.
The first thing I saw was the refrigerator door hanging open, and someone, no, something, rooting around inside it.
Glued to the spot, I dazedly watched them grab milk, guzzling it down, and then soda, cracking open each can and sucking them dry, before carving their fingers into my birthday cake.
But I wasn't looking at the spillage of food seeping across the floor. Instead, my gaze found a crown of antlers, both human and animal bone entangled with dead flowers and human remains glued to a head of familiar matted brown curls. There was something sticking from battered and bruised flesh, twin gaping slits sliced through a torn shirt resembling glass wings that were not yet formed, reminding me of a butterfly.
Wings.
But not the wings I dreamed of as a kid. These things were unnatural mounds that both did and didn't make sense on a human boy. I could see the trauma of them slicing through his flesh, monstrous, looming things protruding from what was left of a human spine.
Human, and yet I couldn't call his beautifully grotesque face human.
Wren Oliver had grown up with me, now an adult.
Eighteen years old.
His clothes confused me, a single white shirt and shorts.
Wren’s feet were bare, battered and bruised, blood smearing my aunt's tiles.
Angel.
Death had turned his footsoldier, and my future killer, into an angel.
But there was nothing angelic about the dead boy, his body and mind sculpted and moulded into Death’s own.
The boy no longer resembled a human, feral eyes and a manic smile, choking down pieces of cake. His face had been contorted into a monster, gnashing teeth and sharp points in his ears, a sickly tinge to malnourished skin.
And that's when it hit me, watching him stuff himself with food.
Something slimy inched its way up my throat.
The boy didn't move. I don't even think he'd noticed me, gorging himself on anything he could get his hands on.
Chicken, raw bacon, leftover salad.
When he moved onto cupcakes, licking frosting from his fingers, I glimpsed markings on his arms, a language I didn't understand, carved into him.
His wrists were shackled, bound, in entangled iron and vine, iron that was ingrained into his skin, vines and flowers and ivy entangling his bones, that were part of him, polluting his blood. Slowly, my eyes found stab wounds splitting open his torso.
Raw flesh, where his skin had been torched, melting, and then merging, ripped apart and put back together over and over again.
I found his heart, the gaping cavern in his chest where it should be.
And it was.
Marked, carved, and branded with a symbol resembling an X.
Wren Oliver was not dead.
But, just like me, he should have been.
I remember saying his name, my voice slurred slightly.
I didn't drink that much, but I could barely coerce words, my head spinning.
Wren’s neck snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing with resentment I couldn't understand, hatred that seemed to puppeteer him. Slowly tilting his head, the boy’s lips split into a grin, eyes filled, polluted, with mania.
I could see where his lips had been stitched shut, and then ripped open.
“Hi.”
He held up his hand in an awkward wave.
When one of my friends stumbled into the kitchen, Wren reacted on impulse.
He picked up a knife from the counter, throwing it like a dart, straight through the guy’s throat.
Something shattered inside my mind.
Ignoring my friend bleeding out, Wren stumbled over himself, abandoning his feast. He took a single step towards me, backing me against the wall, coming so close, close enough for me to feel his very real breath grazing my cheeks. Just like when he was a kid, he traced the teeth of his blade down my throat. I wasn't expecting him to burst out laughing, trembling with hysteria.
His eyes were wild, feral and wrong, almost euphoric.
With what all I could only recognise as relief.
BANG.
I was barely aware of the gunshot.
The bullet went straight through his head, the winged boy hitting the ground.
Dead.
I saw the blood stemming around him in a halo before the bleeding pool faltered, seeping back inside his head.
Like rewinding a VCR.
Wren was dead, and then he was alive.
Wren’s body contorted, his chest inflating.
His gasp for air was painful, strangled, eyes opening wide.
Terrified.
“You fucking idiot.”
Jude’s voice sent me twisting around.
My cousin stood in the exact same robes he wore as a child.
The world tipped off kilter, and I was on my knees, then my stomach.
I sunk to the floor, my thoughts swimming.
Jude’s murmur followed me, creeping into the dark.
“I told you not to come home.”
I can't remember how long I was unconscious for.
When I woke, I was dressed in an evening gown, a dress that used to be my mother’s.
My vision cleared, and I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar room resembling an abandoned swimming hall.
The pool itself was empty, the bottom stained revealing scarlet.
There were symbols carved into each tile.
Like a game.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte.”
I was sitting at a banquet.
Jude was in front of me, sipping on wine.
He caught my eye for half a second before averting his gaze.
At the far end of the table sat my aunt May.
Kissing the rim of her glass, her smile was twisted.
“I've been waiting so long to give you your birthday presents, Charlotte. Your memories should be returning soon.”
“Mom.” Jude muttered, hiding behind his glass. “Calm down. You're embarrassing yourself.”
Ignoring my cousin, May tapped her glass with a fork, and in walked my birthday presents.
No, dragged.
By their hair.
Wren Oliver, the dead boy, was in fact my aunt's prisoner.
Behind him, was the girl who looked so much like Lily.
I think that's why my aunt chose her.
Aunt May cleared her throat.
“For a long time, our family has lived among creatures who live in the forest you played inside. In exchange for keeping this town safe, they only ask for small favors. Wayward children who disappear into the woods are good enough payment. Charlie, you and your siblings do not share our inheritance. Your mother never wanted fae children. She wanted you to be human.”
Aunt May’s smile faded.
“After losing my sister, and my niece and nephew, I made a deal to give my last surviving niece 100 years of life.”
Her words were white noise, my gaze glued to my birthday presents. I couldn't call them human anymore.
I couldn't call Wren human, when his face was so beautifully grotesque, painfully hypnotising.
The monstrous things sticking from twin slits in his back were supposed to be wings, except they looked wrong, cruelly protruding from his exposed spine. Under the influence of alcohol earlier, the girl made me smile.
Her wings, to me, looked like one of a real fairy.
In reality, they were torn and shredded apart, bigger than the girl herself.
When she dropped onto her stomach, she was dragged back to her feet, her knees buckling under the weight. Her tiara of flowers and bone looked pretty to me when I saw her on the stairs.
Now, though, I could see the pearly white of a human child's skull forced onto her head, dead flowers threaded through cavernous, gaping eye sockets.
The two of them were violently shoved into the empty pool.
“Jude. Please demonstrate, sweetheart.”
Jude stood, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at the winged girl.
BANG.
The girl’s body hit the tiles, her blood seeping across stained white.
“Now, of course, our king did not give you life for free.” May continued.
“The King demanded a debt, as well as two heirs to join him in his court once your hundred years were complete.”
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“The king is smart. If a child cannot be stolen from the human world, they can, however, be made, moulded and shaped from their human forms, skinned of their humanity through their suffering, leaving a hollowed out shell in the child's place.” She was speaking so casually, ignoring Wren’s whimpers.
“The conversion takes a while. 100 years to birth a fully blooded fae heir, who will lose their human memories, in preparation to join their new family.”
Jude shot Wren in the chest, his eyes empty.
This time, he dropped his weapon, using finger-guns instead.
“Bang.” He deadpanned.
Then the neck.
I watched Wren come back to life, and then die.
Over and over again.
I think at one point, he screamed and cried.
But not now.
He was their puppet on display, dancing for their entertainment.
Half lidded eyes drowned in oblivion found mine, and I understood his hatred.
Before he was shot again.
Stabbed.
Branded and burned, and ripped apart.
At some point, I screamed at them to stop. I couldn't breathe, slamming my hands over my ears and begging them.
Aunt May didn't listen, ordering for my hands to be tied down.
“The King required two human sacrifices to suffer in your place.” She concluded. “For one hundred years.”
Aunt May’s smile was suddenly sad, and she lifted her glass in a toast.
I was watching their blood trickle down each tile in the pool, like every death, every time they suffered, my body became progressively less human.
I felt disgusting. I wasn't supposed to be alive. Every single year of my life, every breath I had taken, was stolen.
Aunt May nodded at me, her lips forming a proud smile. She stood up, and was handed a sacrificial knife.
Climbing into the swimming pool herself, she strode over to Wren.
The boy slumped to the floor, trembling, his knees against his chest.
Aunt May grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up, and sliced the blade across his throat.
His eyes flicked to me, and I swore he smiled.
Spots of red dotted yellowing tiles, a river trickling under my aunt's heels.
“Happy 78th birthday, Charlotte.”
Last night ended with me being locked in my room.
It's been almost 15 hours, and the door is still locked. Please help me. I'm fucking terrified of what my aunt is planning.
I can't stop shgajing. FycjbfucibFUCK
If she is telling the truth, I shouldn't be here, right??
And I can't stop thinking.
Is Wren Oliver trying to kill me, or himself?
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 09:01 ArtFraga Daylight Chords - Guitar Tabs - Asia by Asia

Daylight guitar tabs download as Guitar Pro and PDF on: https://paidtabs.com/search/ba8eRNskZbI
Click here for a free preview of the score (first page)
Credit: this score was transcribed/uploaded by @Duesenberger
If you cannot find the score, it might be because of a copyright issue. Click on "Request" button at PaidTabs.com to request and get the score.
submitted by ArtFraga to RareTabs [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 05:41 imabratinfluence REKA demo thoughts/review, including any accessibility stuff I noticed

There are 5 tattoo options, 3 of which are fingehand tattoos, one very visible tattoo for the front of the neck, and one very small one for next to an eye-- or no tattoos. 2 curly hairstyles, a shorn style, 2 wavy braided styles, and the other 6 options are straight hair in various lengths/styles.
There are 2 sliders for Freckle Amount and Freckle Intensity. 12 eye color options, 3 or 4 shades each of brown, green, blue, and grey. No fantasy colors (pink, purple, etc). 3 sliders for hair Color, Warmth, and Brightness. 6 eyebrow types. Accessory options include a lacy choker, a set of rings for each hand (hard to see but cute), and 2 head kerchiefs that switch your hairstyle to the one that "goes with" the kerchief.
All in all, I think it's fun and it'll be cute. But not terribly accessible for anyone with vertigo or visual issues, unless the devs tweak some things. I like the visual style, though I wish things were a little more distinct so it's a little easier to see things.
submitted by imabratinfluence to CozyGamers [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 13:56 nulll_ DEADCOAST Book 1: "HEAT and the Grizzly Reds" - Intro / Chapter 1 - 15-20 Min Read -- Dystopian Future -- Science Fiction.

NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Hello Hello! I am a first-time writer embarking on my first dumpster fire; input is most welcome. I'm not the best self-editor, so get your hiking boots on. It's rough out there. Whenever I read it, I find or create more errors (:
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.
####

INDEX

  1. DEADCOAST - THE HUMMINGBIRDS PROLOGUE -> HERE <-
  2. DEADCOAST - COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED INTRO -> HERE <-
  3. HEAT & GRIZZLY REDS - CHAPTER 1 ILLUSTRATED -> HERE <-
"Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" transports readers to a 2063 Earth, a world on the brink, where the scarcity of fresh water has led to previously unseen geopolitical tensions. Amidst this backdrop, the nation-backed militant group DAGGR has emerged as a formidable force, leveraging advanced technology to assert control over Canada’s abundant water resources. At the heart of their arsenal is 'slugTech,' a technology pioneered by James Broadshaw, intended for ecological restoration but repurposed for militaristic dominance.
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
CHAPTER 1 - The Blood Spattered Maples
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░ ░░░ ░░░ ░░ ░ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▓ ▓▓ ▓▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ █ ███ ██ █ ████ █ ███████ █ ████ █ ████ ██ ██ █ █████████████████████████████████████
The fight escalated, Ryan's disciplined technique unravelled under the seething tide of his rage. The finesse and agility that once defined his footwork gave way to a heavier, more aggressive stance. His feet, usually light and swift under his commanding frame, now felt anchored to the floor, each step driven more by fury than finesse. This transformation in style played perilously into his opponent's advantage. Ryan, usually a master of stick-and-move tactics, found himself engaging in close-quarter brawls, trading his advantage for a risky gamble. His in-and-out maneuvers, once a blur of grace, turned into brutish, in-the-pocket exchanges. This was a terrain where his more muscular and compact opponent had the upper hand. A raw, primal contest of power replaced the tactical dance that Ryan excelled at. Ryan's precise strikes became wild swings, his movements predictable to his seasoned adversary. Seizing the moment, the opponent unleashed a devastating barrage of inside hooks with their compact frame. A vicious right hook, lands clean in the exchange, thrown with the grace of a milkbag, the power hooks brute force, cut through Ryan's defences. The blow landed with a bone-jarring impact, sending a shockwave through Ryan's frame. His world spun as he stumbled, his once dominant presence in the ring now faltering under the weight of his unchecked emotions.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --
  1. He deftly slipped his opponent's cross, a move as fluid as it was swift.
  2. He angled off, creating a space wide enough for his next move.
  3. With an almost predatory precision, Ryan unleashed a powerful right cross, targeting his opponent's cheek from the angle he had just created. But Ryan wasn't done yet.
  4. He slipped out again, evading any potential counter from his disoriented opponent. The rhythm, he danced in and out with his precise timing, perfected down to inches and angles.
  5. In a final, decisive movement of the exchange, Ryan slipped in. He timed his step with a long cross that came off-beat, catching his opponent utterly off-guard. The punch landed with a satisfying impact, culminating in a perfectly executed combination. As he watched his opponent stagger, Ryan couldn't help but think, 'cya sleepy boi,' a silent acknowledgment of his dominance in this singular exchange.
This sequence was a statement. Ryan was not only back in the fight but also commanding it.
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.
submitted by nulll_ to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 09:58 davemakesnoises Help me narrow this down

So i’m getting a nice tax refund shortly, and i have narrowed down the list of synths i want to a handful. Realistically i probably have the desktop space available for two new purchases. I already own (and LOVE) a microfreak. I want more voices, and i want desktop units with no keybed as i control everything via Push 3 or MIDI guitar. I already have my heart set on the Hydrasynth Desktop, based on what i read and hear, seems like i should have it for deep sound design dives. For the second synth i want something warm and fizzy that tickles the brain and does the retro thing. I am torn between Roland SH4D, Yamaha Reface CS, and Roland Boutique JX08. Please help me finalize my choice between those 3 and if you have any other contenders that could fill that warm and fizzy gap with a sufficient voice count for 8-10 note chords, i am open to suggestions. Thank you for your insights.
submitted by davemakesnoises to synthesizers [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 06:01 Suitable_Custard6298 Which pocket operator Should I get?

I new to pocket operators, so new that I don't even know what a sampler is, but judging from other peoples posts i've narrowed it down to three. I heard that the Tonic is a drum machine were you can upload your own sounds onto, and the the arcade has chords and is the most powerful, and finally the K.O is a sampler which I know nothing about, anyone car to explain?
View Poll
submitted by Suitable_Custard6298 to pocketoperators [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 20:44 repulsive-ardor They Answered The Call-Part Twelve

Eleven days prior
The ten stealth pods were on their final approach after drifting for two days from the small moon orbiting their target planet. They were ejected from a nullship that flashed out of null space below the moon’s southern pole, taking advantage of the strong magnetic fields in that region to mask the exit flash and avoid detection by the insectoid ships in orbit around the planet. The planet and the moon were currently transiting through a large meteor stream that intersected their orbit around the sun three times a year. The command-pod AI ran billions of calculations per second as it started creating an atmospheric entry plan for the ten pods that would coincide with the trajectories of the numerous particles of dust and debris that would be entering the atmosphere for the next three days.
Selecting an area with a projected high concentration of small-diameter meteors in the next hour, the AI created a maneuvering program for the pods that activated a series of compressed-gas positional thrusters to guide the pods over to the entry point. The AI confirmed the calculations and initiated the final entry program as the ten pods fired their rear gas thrusters one last time and accelerated towards the planet. They were joined by over a thousand pieces of cosmic debris as they entered the atmosphere and streaked across the sky, flaring brightly as they dropped towards the surface with the other meteors.
Kepler-186f system
2nd planet, Insectoid Builder World, 2174 A.D.
The special forces team had been on the planet for ten days without seeing any signs or indications of the presence of a queen on the planet. Lieutenant Diego could not believe the sheer number of drones he saw in the last nine days since they marched forty kilometers from their landing site towards an endlessly sprawling ground-based shipyard facility. Tens of millions of drones scurried about day and night as raw material was offloaded by massive aerial cargo ships that landed, were emptied, and flew off to reload in an endless procession. Diego found himself enthralled by their construction processes and the astonishing speed at which they built ships. In just the last five days, he saw ten insectoid cruisers go from a skeletal framework to fully completed and watched as they lifted off the surface and went into orbit. He was particularly impressed with how the tough ship hulls were created. A large percentage of the cargo being dropped off seemed to be organic in nature and was dumped into large tanks scattered throughout the shipyard.
A conveyor system comprising hundreds of thousands of worker drones connected all the tanks and would snake their way among the shipbuilding areas, carrying loads of the organic material on their backs and dumping it at the end of the lines. Other drones with smaller containers would fill them with material and bring them to waiting drones by the ships, dumping the contents on the ground in front of them, and then go back for more material. The drones in front of their piles would then start eating the organic material, swallowing it. After they ate the pile in front of them, they would scurry over to the ships and start regurgitating what they ate into their tarsal claws in small amounts and shaping them into round balls. They would then stack the balls in a row like bricklayers until they ran out of regurgitated material. They would then go back to eat more material, while teams of drones would take their place and wave a handheld apparatus that seemed to heat the balls, and they would melt, deforming from the treatment and filling in the gaps, turning into perfect hexagons.
Once a section was completed, a different team of drones would arrive with a large device and set it up. They would then turn the device on, and a god-awful screeching sound would emanate from the front of the device and be directed towards the still-soft sections of the hull. Within thirty seconds, that section of hull would start groaning, and the opaque, soft hexagons would turn jet black and harden into a tough, metal-like material. An Insectoid cruiser that was 360 meters long, 60 meters wide, and 120 meters tall would have its entire hull constructed and enclosed in forty-two hours.
An alert popped up on his HUD that it was time to insert another energy pack into the shrouding system that camouflaged his team and prevented detection. He keyed his throat mike and issued the command for everyone to replace their energy packs, and he turned to face the two civilian scientists to make sure that they received and understood the order. He was vehemently opposed to bringing them, but the admiral was adamant that they were to accompany the team, and Diego relented after some resistance. There was no way in hell he was willing to piss off the big man over a couple of civvies; there were better hills to die on.
As he watched them fumble about for their replacement packs, he smiled and had to admit that they were growing on him. During the two weeks it took them to get to the far side of Insectoid space, their wide-eyed enthusiasm and willingness to talk about their respective fields of study seemed to infect his team, and they became almost like little siblings to them. He chuckled to himself as he remembered how confused Dr. Ariti seemed to be by the fact that his team was able to process and retain the information she was telling them with ease. He was there when Dr. Masiello informed her that the eight-member team held over twenty PhD’s among them, and the look on her face was just the cutest thing he ever saw.
The sun was halfway down past the horizon, which meant they had just another hour of daylight before darkness would arrive. He signaled that it was time to pack up and move, and in a few minutes, they were headed back towards their base camp. He was grateful for the .7g gravity on the surface, as it made their daily hikes with equipment and the frequent relocations of their camp to avoid detection easier. It also gave his joints a welcome reprieve from their usual aches, a mercy he greatly appreciated. They arrived at base camp a half hour later, and everyone went about their assigned tasks and end-of-day routines before they all sat down around a red-light lantern in the middle of the camp to have dinner.
The combination of the eerie red light and the pitch blackness of their surroundings was something none of them could get used to, and it created an ominous atmosphere as they reluctantly opened their ration packs. The shrouding device could hide them effectively, but they enacted as many safeguards as they could against detection, such as only using red lights at night and eating foods that had been stripped of any scent and devoid of flavoring spices. The result of their security measures was that they felt like they were eating cardboard in hell. Diego had been sick before and felt like he couldn’t really taste his food when his nose was stuffed, but he always knew he was eating his mom’s chicken soup. As vague as the scent and taste of the soup might be, it was still there, and he could detect its essence. The food they were eating was on a totally different level, and he never realized just how important a component smell was to tasting food until he ate rations completely devoid of any scent or seasoning except for salt and potassium chloride.
As they choked down their dinner, he noticed Emily and Owen shooting furtive glances at each other, and they seemed agitated. He waited until they all finished eating and indicated that he wanted to talk to them alone. They walked 10 meters away from the red-light lamp and stopped right on the edge of the total blackness surrounding their camp. Emily and Owen seemed really distressed, and he knew something was seriously wrong. He didn’t have the time or the patience for their bullshit, and his internal alarms were going off wildly.
“What is going on with you two? Tell me, now.” He saw them cringe at his harsh manner, but he couldn’t afford to feel bad for them. Not on an enemy planet with almost thirty billion wasps that were five feet tall and armed with skull-cracking mandibles and twelve-inch serrated stingers coming out of their asses. They didn’t answer, and he stepped forward into their personal space and was just about to demand answers when Owen, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery, put himself in front of Emily as if to protect her.
“Lieutenant, I would appreciate it if you would direct your questions to me. There is no reason for you to speak to Emily like this. She is rightfully terrified, and I have spent the last ten days trying not to shit my fucking pants in front of all of you, so do me a favor and get the fuck out of our faces.”
Diego couldn’t believe the balls on this puke, and he almost gave in to his desire to punch the defiant bastard in the face before he realized how ridiculous it was. Here he was, squaring off with an entomologist who was telling him to fuck off, and the absurdity of it all and the pressures of the mission came crashing into him. He took a few steps back, turning around and breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. Owen, now in the throes of an uncontrolled adrenaline crash, waited a few seconds and then stepped next to him and put out a very shaky fist bump, offering an unsaid apology with his eyes. Diego bumped it, and he turned back to face Emily. “I apologize for the way I spoke to you; I am not used to having civilians on my missions. I hope we can reset and put this behind us.”
Emily nodded, and Owen walked back over and stood next to her. Emily looked at Owen and nodded, and Owen pulled out a data pad, set it on the floor, and pressed a button. A holographic map floated above it, and he pinched the display with his fingers and zoomed into the area where they were currently located. “Lieutenant, we are of the opinion that we are not going to locate a queen on the surface.” He expanded the map back out and swiped it sideways to an area over a hundred kilometers to the east. He zoomed back in and pressed an icon on the map that added a subterranean scan, and a massive underground structure popped into view, looking like an upside-down pinecone, with the narrow top of the structure expanding in size as it went deeper. Diego leaned forward to look at the numbers on the side of the structure and whistled softly to himself as the estimated dimensions were displayed. The structure was thirty-six kilometers deep and had a radius of twelve kilometers at its widest. It was a massive underground Hive, and there was a flashing question mark in the center of the Hive where there was a large chamber located. It seemed to be the nexus of the Hive, which was connected to the rest of the structure by six bridges or tunnels. Owen pointed towards the question mark icon. “This has to be the queen chamber, and if there is a queen currently on the planet, that is where she will be.”
Diego stared at the map, thinking about how to get her out of there. He keyed his throat mike and called for Sgt. Singh to join them at their location. A few moments later, he arrived, and Diego quickly brought him up to speed. Singh was the team’s engineer sergeant, and he thoughtfully stroked his beard as he looked at the display. “Obviously, we cannot infiltrate the Hive to root the bitch out. I have enough explosives and demo bots to severely damage some of the cruisers under construction; maybe that will get the queen to leave the Hive, if she is even in there.” He finished speaking, and Diego looked at the doctors to gauge their reaction to what he said. Emily spoke first. “I would not do that. We don’t know what their response to that will be. They might have soldier drones. We haven’t seen any here or found any evidence of them from the wreckage in the Eleani system, but that does not mean that they do not have a soldier or guard caste protecting their hives.”
Owen nodded in agreement and added, “We need to find a way to know for sure if there even is a queen here before alerting them to our presence. Who’s to say that the queens wouldn’t respond to such an attack by retreating to their primary world and staying there, depriving us of a chance to grab a queen ever again? I might have an idea, and the sergeant’s expertise and input would be welcomed.” Diego nodded, and both he and Singh took a knee as Owen played around with the map, highlighting an area of the shipyard almost fifty kilometers from their position.
He asked his AI assistant to access the geological and topographical scans that were taken from orbit before they landed on the planet and highlighted a five-square-kilometer section of crust under the outer edge of the shipyard. “The crust is extremely thin here, and there is a massive chasm underneath this area from the worker drones pumping out the aquifer for water. I think a series of properly placed sub-surface explosives will cause the thin roof of the chasm to weaken enough to collapse a small area, and the weight of this section of the shipyard will add further stress to the undamaged crust and collapse the entire area, causing all the ships and workers to fall into the chasm. It would seem to be a natural occurrence, and we can avoid having to give away our presence on the planet. I bet that will get the queen up here if she is in the Hive.” Owen then added markers indicating where he thought the explosives should go and their yields, and then looked at Singh, waiting for his response.
Singh quickly played around with the map, ran his own calculations on the placement and explosive yields, and looked at Owen with a growing respect in his eyes as his AI assistant verified the numbers. “Not bad, Doc; this is pretty good for a bug guy! Are you a geologist too?” Owen smiled widely at the praise from Singh and answered with obvious pride in his voice. “Actually, I did two six-month tours as an ore prospector in the Fomalhaut asteroid belts before my then-girlfriend threatened to break up with me. I was pretty good at figuring out the proper explosive placement to break up the asteroids while maintaining the integrity of the mineral deposits and cores. It was a fun job, and the money I made paid for my parents retirement home and my college.” Singh nodded approvingly and stood up, walking over to Owen and warmly shaking his hand. “It is always nice to make the acquaintance of an ore prospector; it’s a dangerous job and requires a lot of technical skill.”
Diego rolled his eyes and studied the map while the two of them continued talking about blowing crap up and zoned out the lovefest. Emily came over and sat down next to him. “I agree with Owen. If the queen is in the Hive, she would have to come out and oversee the worker drone response to the collapse. Do you think it is a good plan?” Diego grunted in response as he continued to think about the feasibility of the plan and the possible outcomes. He turned to her and nodded. “I do think it is a solid plan, and even if there is no queen here, then at least we can do some damage to their shipbuilding efforts for a short period of time. There’s what—almost two hundred cruisers in that area? At least we can strike a blow against them if we fail in our objective to capture a queen. Wiping out two hundred cruisers and a few million drones is a nice consolation prize, and we can exfil this planet with pride in that accomplishment.” Emily smiled at him and said, “It would be nice to get off the planet and go back home. I know I volunteered to come here for the mission, but I am tired of being scared all the time; it is exhausting.”
Diego reached out and lightly patted her on the shoulder. “You two are doing a fine damn job so far. I have to admit that the both of you have been far less trouble than I was expecting to have to deal with on this mission.” Emily smiled widely. “Thank you for that, lieutenant; that means a great deal to me.” Diego smiled in return and stood up, offering his hand to assist Emily. They walked back over to Singh and Owen, who were geeking out over the demo bot specs that Singh had pulled up on his wrist pad. “If you two lovebirds are about done, let’s head back over and quickly outline our preliminary plan to the rest of the team. We will work out the details, solidify a proper plan in the morning, and go from there.”
They all started walking back towards the red-light lamp, and Diego slowed his pace as he walked behind them, listening along as Owen was telling Emily and Singh about a time when he spent two days evading an ore pirate ship in a cat-and-mouse chase. His copilot was killed in the initial attack, and he managed to cripple their ship with mining charges when he laid a trap and led them into it. “Not bad for a puke.” He thought to himself as his previous estimation of the scientist rose considerably as Owen described how his damaged ship was almost out of air, so in desperation, he boarded the drifting ore pirate ship and single-handedly took the four survivors prisoners.
A little while later, after everyone had gone into their tents to sleep, Diego was just about to drift off when he heard a faint rustling sound outside his tent and sat upright, alarmed. The sentry bots and the perimeter sensor system did not activate the silent buzz alarm on his wrist pad, and he tapped it, accessing the video feed from the overhead sentry drone that was floating above their camp. From this bird's-eye view, he saw Emily finish tiptoeing across the camp and stop outside Owen’s tent. She looked furtively around the camp before pressing the entry seam control and quickly slipping into his tent before the seam closed back up behind her. He pressed a series of commands, and a few moments later, a backup shroud drone silently assumed position over the tent and activated, making it disappear from the visual feed. He broke the connection to the overhead sentry drone and laid back down, feeling a genuine smile form on his face. He closed his eyes and thought his last thought before sleep overcame him.
“Not bad at all, Owen.”
submitted by repulsive-ardor to u/repulsive-ardor [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 19:08 RealisticAd9612 The Deer Witch- A Evil Lives Near.

hello readers, my name is Chase, and I have a story from the perry state forest and my home that neither me nor my friends will ever forget, but before that, here is some backstory. We lived bordering the perry state forest, on a large hill. My entire immediate family lived on this hill, my grandfather, aunt, uncle, cousins, my mother, father, and me. My aunt and uncle had a medium sized farm and raised many goats and had free roam chickens. It was extremely common for the animals to go missing. We honestly just chocked it up to the coyotes, until we caught a mountain lion on one of our trail cams. Mind you, we live in southern Ohio, we aren’t supposed to have mountain lions here, yet there was one, with its own den in our woods. Our.. “wild” woods.
we always had odd things happen at night, Seeing shadows, hear loud knocks, whispers, screams, footsteps, even hearing drums in the woods every year around Halloween. Pretty creepy. But moving forward, let’s get into the meat of this story. My first encounter that I can remember is when I was maybe 8 years old and fell asleep late in my living room. We had a very large window with a tv to the left of it, in the corner of the room. I woke up and looked at the clock, and it was about 3:00AM and the tv was buzzing static, I looked out the window from the couch and there it was. A tall man, wearing a brown cloak (likely made of deer skins) and a deer head coving his face. Standing in the window with a little Indian girl in braids to his right. He stood there and stared at me for a long time, then waved to me in a way that said “come out side, it’s okay, just come on out”. After I freaked and just sat there in shock, they both walked out of view of the window. I had a sudden urge to follow but I stayed put and cried out of fright. I then ran to my room and eventually fell asleep.
The next morning I explained what had happened to me earlier that night and My mother told me it was a friendly Indian chief who was just paying a visit, meaning no harm. I had since then blocked the experience from my memory And pretty much forgot that it even happened until years later my mom sat me down and told me the truth. That “cheif” has been around for a very long time and terrorized everyone on the hill and staring at them from a distance since they first moved in, around 1999. She told me, according to her knowledge that he was from the Adena tribe and during his time, he would collect kids from the surrounding tribes and take them away, for human sacrifices. She then further explained that He wasn’t waving me hello, he was waving me on, to follow him outside with the Indian girl, To do god knows what with me once I was alone in the woods. She said He is evil, and my mother doesn’t use that word often. But she said “whatever that thing is, it’s evil” and “don’t ever go out there in the woods alone at night. Don’t even go with friends. Stay as far away from the deep woods. A evil lives there.”
And so of course, I didn’t listen. And me and my friends quickly learned our lesson. Me and my two friends, we will call them Andy and Jeremy, decide to have some spooky fun after a long and boring night. we where all 17 to 18 years old, so we hatched the plan to go into the woods, and into the Perry State Forest to try to scare ourselves and just mess around and have a fun time. After all, there where roads in the forest that was only a couple of miles long, for example in a twenty minute drive you could easily make it right into the city, it was a straight shot, one single road, with no turns. We decided to drive, because hoofing it out there was just a little too ballsy for our Taste. In all honesty we just loved the rush of being spooked. Andy and Jeremy are, or at least where, the furthest thing from superstitious, for they didn’t believe in anything unless they could see it or feel it themselves. And that’s exactly what they got. We was in my father’s car, a manual bmw, it was a fast car and we felt oh-so cool driving it around. The time was approaching 2:30AM when we slowly drove into the forest, after turning off of the main road.
Upon entering the forest had a wave of… something come crashing into us, it felt as if we were fazing through a wall that wasn’t there. The air felt heavy and thick. and we felt extreme pressure on our chests. this made our eyes tear up, and it was hard to breathe. There was no pain, just an overwhelming feeling of sadness, anger, guilt, dread, regret and emotional distress. it honestly felt like every bad feeling you could possibly feel all together at once. We felt like we needed to turn around and just say “forget it” but we wanted this, we wanted to feel scared. It’s what we came here for in the first place.
So We continue driving through the weird wall of bad feelings and we all just thought we got that weird feeling because we were in the woods at night and it was late and dark out. And I mean really dark out, it was a new moon so we really didn’t have any light. It made sense at the time, yet the headlights were only able to see about a yard in front of us, which was not normal for the LED lights my dad had installed. We talked amongst ourselves about how weird that feeling we got was when we entered the forest. Then out of nowhere we saw a large black figure standing at the left side of the road, and just watched us drive by, and by the time we passed it, it was gone. And when I say black, it wasn’t just black, it was darker than anything I’ve ever seen before, the darkness of the forest behind it almost looked bright in comparison. We checked in the rear view mirrors, and it had just vanished, poof, gone. Like it was never there in the first place. We said some obscenity’s to each other completely stunned and aghast at what we just witnessed.
We drove for about a whole minute in silence, until Andy said “Did y’all see that shit?” We all agreed with a simple “uh-huh”. We continued to drive. After a little while Andy looks up at the sky and says “uh guys, the sky looks kinda.. off”. Me and Jeremy looked up, and The sky wasn’t just “off” it was blood red, yet it was so dark in the forest that you couldn’t see your hand in-front of your face. We thought maybe it was starting to get daylight out but it was only 2:32AM. We were perplexed at how little time passed since we entered And at how on earth the sky could be light up in such a dark red. At first, we thought it could possibly be a blood moon, yet there was no moon to be seen. We continued on our journey for what felt like a half an hour in a straight line. Then suddenly Andy yelped and said “no.. no, no, no we just seen that tree, I just seen that tree, it’s like we are going in a circle! You didn’t take any turns did you chase?” I denied with a simple “no, why would I? It’s a straight line through here, I don’t want to get lost, especially out here.” and so we continued to pass the same trees, the same guard rail, the same lake, the same signs, the same exact everything over and over and over again. Everything kept repeating, as if we where driving in a big circle, but that’s impossible since the road is only a straight line through, there are many turns that we could have taken but we never turned, not once.
“Dang man this feels like some blare witch shit” Jerermy murmured. As we continued to drive through the endless loop we where now apparently stuck in, over time we slowly started to see dark figures in the woods, shadows, things staring at us in the trees and and scariest of all, deer that didn’t look right. Something was off about them. They would all just stand there and stare at the car, and sway back and forth. yet unlike how normal deer eyes glow when lights hit them, there was no glow, like a black, empty void within each eyeball. then one spontaneously jumped in-front of the car, making us all physically recoil, and brace for the impact of a deer entering my front grill, but it never happened. It disappeared just as quickly as it had jumped in front of us. “No man this isn’t right we need to turn around that can’t happen, this isn’t real” Jerermy said to me, I told him that we couldn’t be far from the exit after all we’ve been driving for what We felt like was hours. So we continued driving down the dirt road We then noticed the dark figures in the woods to slowly transform into a more.. human figure. We also started seeing disembodied eyes staring at us and heard odd distorted animal noises, screams and whimpers. we suddenly all had something in our heads telling us to “just stop the car. Stop the car and get out and everything will stop” We all shook off the eerie feeling that came over us. We then heard whispers, but these where no ordinary whispers, they sounded like they where coming from INSIDE the car. Again, we continued to drive. While driving we would also sporadically get a glimpse of the.. thing we seen at the very beginning when we entered.
Then, abruptly all the visions and sounds stopped. We then heard a girl scream, not a coyote or a bobcat, a girl, and it wasn’t in the woods, it was Right in all of our ears, it was loud enough to make our ears ring. then the car shut off. Dead. No lights on, no nothing. Just off. Pitch black darkness. I tried to start it and nothing. While trying to start the car we heard a train in the distance and it sounded like we were on the tracks ourselves, hell we could feel the ground rumbling. But the odd thing was, there was not a railroad anywhere near the park. Not for many miles. So how is it that we could hear the chug of the engine, the whistle and the screeching of the wheels? We had absolutely no idea. it got closer and closer until it sounded like the train was in the car, passing right through us. while the train was going through the car, that car came back to life, all the lights on, just like normal. So I started it. Tried to take off, and killed it. (It was a manual and I was scared, it was my own error but it still scared me when the car lurched to a stop) I then started it again and took off.
We were fleeing for our lives at this point so we were easily hitting 50 mph on a shitty gravel road. We continued to pass the same everything over and over again, I then abruptly slammed on my breaks. “Damn dude!” “What the hell man?!” Andy and Jeremy both yelled as they face planted into the front seats. Guys, look. They look up in awe to see car two car headlights coming right at us, growing bigger by the second. I was stopped and i panicked and instead of driving out of the way, which there wasn’t any real “out-of-the-way” since we were on a very narrow Road, I started to flash my lights at them, hoping they would see and stop. But they didn’t. They continue to get closer and closer, so we all just accepted our fates and put our heads down to protect us from the collision. We waited and waited, and nothing happened. We all looked up and it had just vanished, just like the deers had previously. no car, no tread marks, no dust cloud, nothing. It was just all in our heads.
At this point we knew something was in our heads, warping reality and making us perceive whatever it wanted us to see. We continued down the road. After about 15 minutes of relative peace, other than the screams and human figures and other horrific things happening, the radio randomly switched on and we heard people talking on the radio through static but they weren’t just radio hosts, it was people, so many people talking at once it was defining. We heard loud knocking and banging on the doors and windows, enough to shake the car. The voices in our heads were now scream at us to stop driving, to roll down the windows. to get out of the car. To do anything to let them in. Everything was deafening, it was so insanely loud and we all started weeping, we just gave up, we couldn’t handle it anymore.
then, In the blink of an eye we appeared on the new reservoir road, right before the city. We all looked to each other, completely stunned on how the hell we just teleported to the end of the dirt road, out of the forest. the radio was still blaring static so reached and turned it down so we could talk amongst ourselves. I looked and seen The time was now 3:00AM. How did such little time pass? How did we get here? We had no clue, and we still don’t. We were just glad it was over. We drove away, to the city. The sky slowly faded from red to black. We stopped at the 24 hour Taco Bell and got some food, and sat in the parking lot talking about what we all had just experienced. We then drove back to my dads, and waked up to the front door, exhausted. Then right before walking in, there it was. The figure we seen at the very beginning, standing right on the edge of the property line. Staring directly at us. But now we could see it in finite detail.
It was about 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and the stature Akeem to a man. wearing a blacker than black cloak and a deer skull on its head with piercing red glowing eyes. It then raised its hand to its chest and waved a single wave, from its chest to its hip, then it vanished into the woods behind it. We then went inside, and all fell asleep immediately, after vowing to never, ever go out there again.
But funnily enough, years later we have all agreed to go camping in thoes very woods, next week. If anything happens, I will write again. This was my first time ever writing something like this and if it wasn’t for my friends experiencing all of it along with me, I would simply think I am bat shit insane. It was their idea for me to even write this in the first place, so I hope it was easy to read. And thank you, for reading our story. And also, heed my mother’s warning and don’t ever go into the Perry State Forest at night, because an evil really does live there.
submitted by RealisticAd9612 to boozeandboos [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 16:24 cosmogoblin [F] How being an influencer turned into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse

This story was originally written July 2023.
You might have heard of me. I was a social media influencer for two years.
I know kids have “influencer” as one of their top professions these days, but for me it was all an accident, really. I uploaded a few YouTube videos back in 2019, in the summer I finished school. All I did was rant about movies. I had a few notes, not a full script, and just spouted off to my laptop camera about inaccurate science, bad casting choices, real nitpicky stuff. In about six months I’d got 200 subscribers.
I was at university then, and I mentioned my videos to some of my uni friends. They subbed and told their friends, and I got up to 1,000 sub by January 2020. My videos were only about ten minutes long, and I had nowhere near the views to monetise. I was making one a week, but not on any sort of schedule. It was just something I did when I was bored.
Then the pandemic hit. A lot of students here in England basically got locked into their halls of residence (that’s dorms for any Americans reading), but I was lucky enough to get back to my parents’ before then. So I was doing what my uni laughably called “remote learning”, which basically meant a couple of video lectures a week, some worksheets, and lots and lots of my own research. I won’t bore you with the topic of my course; it’s not relevant.
I’m not exactly stereotypically pretty. I’ve come to accept that. My hair is stringy, my nose is too big, my face is profoundly asymmetrical, my complexion is strange and acned, my teeth are crooked … You get the idea. You can only do so much with makeup and hair that covers your face. I probably have fewer friends than I would if I looked like other people, and it actually took a lot of courage to make that first video - and even more courage to upload it.
I can only assume that’s the reason I went viral. It certainly wasn’t the high production values, or the tightly-written scripts, or the quality of my research. On the 9th of April I had 1,322 subscribers. On the 10th it was over 8,000. By the end of April it was up to 300,000, and I had actually monetised my channel.
The comments were … well, they were varied. Lots of hate because of my looks, but lots of love from people who just appreciated what I put out there, calling out others for their negative comments. I know many social media stars struggle with unkind comments, but I’d got used to it. Let’s be honest, they weren’t nice, but neither were they untrue. And comments under your video are easier to ignore than comments in the street. I was making decent money after all. If you were one of those commenters, you know which side you were on, and I love you either way. Thanks for the engagement - it’s not easy to gain financially from your unusual appearance!
The trouble with going viral is that it doesn’t last. Competing in the fast-paced world of internet stardom takes a lot of effort. I started experimenting with other things - YouTube shorts, TikTok, Instagram, pretty much anything going. The format that turned out to work best was actually TikTok. I’d bought some skimpy outfits and did ridiculous little dances. I quickly reached over a thousand views per video, and while I wasn’t up to their creator tier, it still worked. A well-known cosmetics company asked to sponsor my videos.
Cosmetics! Me! I guess they were going for woke points or something. I didn’t care, they offered me more money than I knew what to do with, as long as my views stayed high. So I started making 2-minute videos. A dance without make-up, then I applied the make-up - being sure to show the brand name clear and up-close - and then the same dance with make-up. If this is ringing any bells with you, then yes - that was me. And no, stupid - that’s not my real name.
I’d got used to undesired attention of course. Along with the unpleasant comments, I got my fair share of unwelcome male approaches. For a few hours after any upload, about half of my DMs were from men, and some women (or men with female account names), asking to see more of me. I wasn’t a camgirl, though I suppose I wasn’t a million miles away from one; but I could have been. I did seriously consider it a few times, but never actually followed through.
And half of the rest of my DMs, and a good portion of the public comments, were from angry women. What made me think I had the right to show off like that? How could I bring their favourite cosmetics brand into disrepute? But I’ve got pretty thick skin (hey, I can make that joke, you can’t), and mostly laughed the comments off and ignored them.
That was, in hindsight, a mistake.
By September my uni was reopening for in-person teaching. I was working six or seven hours a day just to keep up with everything, and had a couple more brands sponsoring me. Being an influencer isn’t just about filming for ten minutes a day and watching the money come in!
So I was going to tutorials an hour a day, watching video lectures at 2x speed, and ignoring my assignments in favour of making videos and replying to messages. It’s not like my pointless degree was helping with my real job.
Okay fine. It was geology. Rocks and stuff. You happy now? I bet you can’t tell the difference between sylvite and carnallite just by licking it, can you?
Anyway, the point is I came close to being chucked out. Actually I had to repeat the second year. At least I could afford it.
So anyway, I somehow got through to the end of my second year, the end of my second year again, and part way through my third year. I was passing my exams - just - and through several reinventions I had managed to maintain my social influencer role. Last Autumn I was getting some good views, and cash, back on YouTube. I was getting pretty good at make-up (I had an exclusive deal with one company on TikTok, and another deal with a different cosmetics company on YouTube). The videos that did well then were me with experimental hairstyles and not much in the way of clothes, putting on makeup for a few minutes, then reading out-of-copyright fiction in my patented “YouTube voice”. If you can imagine a cross between Shania Twain and Marge Simpson then… well, then you’re weird, but you’ve pretty much got it.
Then, last December, a week or so before the Christmas holidays, I went out with my friends. I had made a decent number, both girls and guys, by then. I could never quite tell whether it was my personality (which I assure you is fantastic), my influencer status, or the cash I was liberal with (it always seemed to be my round, and I didn’t mind). There were even a couple of boys who were keen on me, though I hadn’t done anything about it yet. Eight of us went out together to celebrate a birthday. It wasn’t actually anybody’s birthday that day, but Shireen had a Christmas Day birthday, and she wanted a proper party.
Now I look quite different in real life than I do online. I think the technical term is “frumpy” - jeans, trainers, fluffy jumper and a hat, or maybe a hoodie. The birthday girl had somehow convinced me to put a bit more effort in, and had helped me pick out some heels and a knee-length silver dress. Make-up was easy for me of course, and so I got dressed up and off we went to the Black Swan.
The Black Swan has several great qualities about it. One: it’s cheap. Two: it does good food. Three: it’s a couple of hundred metres from The Bar. We had a decent meal, a few drinks, and around 9 we walked to The Bar.
To be more precise, they walked. I wobbled. If you’ve watched my videos you might have seen me in heels, but did you ever see me walk in them? Didn’t think so.
The Bar is open til 3 in the morning. It looks respectable enough from the outside, especially in the afternoon; but after about 11, when most pubs close, it fills up with students drinking expensive-looking drinks. And almost every night, somebody jumps up onto a table, and then everybody’s up there dancing. In The Bar, either you hold your drink tightly, or you lose it.
I’d done this before, and I can handle my alcohol. I’ve stayed at The Bar till chuckout more than a few times, and I’ve been wobbly on the way home, but I’ve never thrown up or passed out. And so I was surprised when I woke up. The last thing I remembered was Stu saying he was tired, and Shireen replying that it wasn’t even midnight yet. Now I was lying on the hard wooden floor of my living room.
My head pounded. Daylight streamed through the window, and I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes. My hands were wet and sticky.
I looked at them. They were covered in blood.
I looked down. My heels were across the room, but I was still wearing my dress. It, also, was covered in blood, a huge stain across the chest.
Panic set in. What happened to me last night? I checked myself out and could find no injuries. Where did the blood come from?
Standing up, I realised it was worse than that. Red pools stained the wooden floor. I don’t know much medicine, but if somebody had lost this much blood, I couldn’t see how they could have survived.
I stood up, unsure whether my shaking was from the shock or the alcohol. This was when I saw a shirt on the floor behind me. White, with a subtle pattern. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it wasn’t my shirt. I lived alone, and rarely invited people back to my flat. I looked around some more. A pair of men’s black leather shoes by the door. And then I saw it.
I suppose, rather, I should say him. He was naked except for a pair of dark blue jeans, slumped in the open doorway to the kitchen, covered in blood, and very, very, dead.
I panicked then. I’m calmer now, so let’s take a moment to describe my conclusions that morning. I had got very drunk. I had met a guy. We’d come back to my flat. We’d been getting naked (the shoes and shirt weren’t bloodied). Then, for some reason, we’d had an argument or a fight. The body had stab wounds in the chest, and a pool of blood had congealed onto the wooden floor of the living room and the linoleum of the kitchen where the man collapsed. How did those stab wounds get there? I didn’t know for sure, but a quick glance at my kitchen counter showed that my sharp carving knife was missing. It was all coming together. I didn’t know if he had picked up the knife, or if I had; I didn’t know why either of us would do that. I didn’t even know his name, and later when I checked his pockets, I couldn’t find any ID.
There was a lot I didn’t know. But I’m smart. So once I was done crying on the floor (I think it was about two hours), I came up with a plan. This man was dead, and I couldn’t do anything about that. But what would the consequences be? There’s no need for my life to be ruined as well. I decided not to call the police. People go missing mysteriously all the time, he can just be another statistic and I’ll get on with my life.
The blood on Dave was mostly dry by now. (Sure, I didn’t know his name, but every bloke’s called Dave, right?) So I put a badly-fitting vest on him to soak up the remaining blood, and his shirt over the top, along with his shoes. His jeans were bloody, but they were dark, so hopefully it wouldn’t show up in low light. I couldn’t find his coat, which was odd given how cold it was, but this would have to do. I put my dress and heels in a plastic bag, and grabbed a spade that I never used. Had I missed anything?
The knife. The fucking knife. I searched all over for it, but by the time it got dark I still hadn’t found it. I knew I couldn’t delay for long, so I figured it was best to deal with Dave now, and find the knife later.
Eight o’clock in the evening came. I’m lucky I have parking right outside my house, no street cameras, and a ground-floor flat. I put the bag in the boot of my car and came back for the body.
Have you ever tried to move a dead person? It’s not easy, and I’m not exactly strong. I put my arm around his waist and eventually managed to heave him almost upright. “Come on Dave, that’s it. We’re gonna get you home. Maybe calm down on the tequila next time right? Try to keep it in, and don’t you dare vomit in my car, you sexy bastard.”
Oh come on, what do you want from me? I’m an influencer, not a stand-up comedian. And anyway, I don’t think anybody saw me during the several minutes it took to drag Dave to the passenger seat. I really wish I’d got round to buying a bigger car than the Fiat Punto I’d had since I was 18, but it was too late for that now.
There’s a place about an hour’s drive from me called Epping Forest. The Heritage Trust reckon it’s most famous for its huge tracts of unspoiled wildlife, thousands of trees, and Iron Age settlements. But around here it’s best known as the place where murderers and gang members bury bodies. So off I trundled in my 1.2 litre pensioner-mobile. I arrived around 9:30, checked Google Maps, and drove offroad into the woods.
Do you know how long it takes to dig a grave? The answer is: a long time! By dawn I’d only managed a hole about two feet. Oh, and it was my third try, because the first two times I found too much rock. Well, it would have to do. In went Dave, and I shovelled the ground back over him. I thought I could put my clothes in with him, but it was a shallow grave, and when the inevitable dog-walker finds it I didn’t want them linked back to me. I mean, there’s my DNA in there for sure, but let’s not make it too easy for them, right? So I chucked the spade in a river, and the clothes went back home with me, including the vest I’d lent him.
Now in England we have a thing called ANPR everywhere. The police can just type in a car registration and see exactly where it’s been from traffic cameras. I needed an alibi. Why had I gone to Epping Forest? For a hike of course! So I walked around for a few hours, got breakfast at a pub, and told the staff about all the wacky adventures I’d had that night. And while I was there, for the first time in a good long time, I checked my phone.
Hundreds of messages, of course. But only one sent a shiver down my spine.
Jolly_Gal_56234
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
My heart thumped. My ears started ringing. I felt dizzy, nearly passed out. How could anybody know?
Of course nobody knew. I actually got messages like this fairly often. Just some idiot trying to wind people up. They’d probably sent a dozen messages just like it, to random people, and I just blocked her. Still it rattled me. I finished my breakfast, paid up, walked back to my car, and drove home.
My flat was just as I left it. Dave was gone, but his blood was still there. I scrubbed the floor for hours, and it helped a bit, but you could still see the stains. Exhausted, I showered and went to bed.
The next morning I woke up. I hadn’t posted anything for a day and a half, so I needed to do something about that. Scrolling through my messages, one stood out like a police light.
Jolly_Gal_28473
YOU’VE BEEN A BAD GIRL 🔪
Shit. SHIT! What the fuck is going on? I stared at my phone, paralysed with indecision. When I finally snapped out of it I made sure the door was locked, and tried to come up with a plan.
I had no idea who was sending these. Maybe they didn’t really know anything. You send stupid messages like that to hundreds of people, you’re gonna come across one who’s actually done something bad, right? I poured myself a big glass of gin, decided that nobody could know anything, and made a video.
Remember that one where I didn’t speak at all, just danced for three minutes dressed like 90s Britney to 70s disco music, titled “HANGOVER DANCE”? Yeah, that’s the one. I didn’t trust myself to speak without breaking, but I could dance about as well as I ever could.
The rest of the day I answered messages, emailed my sponsors, and considered getting an agent. It’s still just me doing everything, and that Sunday afternoon, I really didn’t want to. I also spent a few hours scrubbing the wooden floor with baking soda and vinegar, and looking for the knife.
I kept getting messages from Jolly_Gal. It didn’t matter how much I blocked her, she just popped up again the next day with different numbers at the end of her username. Always all-caps, just a single sentence.
YOU DON’T DESERVE IT
YOU’LL GET WHAT’S COMING TO YOU
OWN UP
DELETE YOUR ACCOUNT
Exactly one message a day, but always at different times. I decided it was a bot, and it was just coincidence that it started when it did. Until Christmas Day.
I’d been back at my parents’ for a few days, and endured the usual conversations about what I was going to do for a “proper job” after uni. They’re great, and really supportive. They’ve just never understood what an “influencer” really is, and that “playing on my phone” for six hours a day counts as work. My brother Rich gets it, but the rest of my family is honestly baffled.
Anyway, Christmas morning comes. All four of us were in the house together (my brother’s 17 so he still lives there), and we gathered together in the living room opening presents. It was a couple of weeks since the incident, and I still had nightmares every night, and those sudden panic attacks - you know, when you’re sure you’re going to be found out - but I was getting used to it. It had happened, I couldn’t change it, and I’d have to keep it secret for the rest of my life; but it was becoming a sort of background hum. I don’t know if that’s too quick, but I suppose I’ve learned to handle difficulty in my life.
Until we finished opening presents and I checked my phone.
Jolly_Gal_814385
HAPPY CHRISTMAS
And underneath, a photo of my kitchen knife, stained with blood.
I ran out of the house in tears.
Rich found me, sitting on the wooden bridge down the road from the house, my legs dangling over the river. I came here a lot when I was a teenager, so it was the first place he looked. I’d left my phone on the living room floor, and the three of them had seen the message, so he knew what triggered me. He just didn’t know the full story.
Well, I told him. I mean, not everything, obviously. But I told him how this person had been harassing me for weeks. He listened sympathetically, like he’s always done, and asked if there was anything he could do to help. I didn’t say anything; I just turned around, hugged him, and cried into his Christmas sweater.
After about half an hour we went back to the house. Rich explained things to my parents, thank goodness. I don’t think I could have handled it.
The rest of the holiday was … okay, I guess. More messages from Jolly_Gal, but only text. I made videos most days, and met all two of my old schoolfriends for drinks, movies and shopping. They’re big fans of my channels. I even took Rich out for drinks one evening, though it took us four pubs to find somewhere that wouldn’t ID him. He’s a bit of a babyface.
I did all I could not to think about Dave. I put him to the back of my mind, letting him live in the shed at the bottom of the garden of my psyche where he couldn’t disturb me. I guess that’s why it came as a shock to me, when I packed my stuff into the boot of my car to head back to uni.
There was one suitcase I’d packed but hadn’t got round to taking into the house. And peeking around the edge was that plastic bag. I’d forgotten to get rid of it!
Dad was helping me load the car, so I couldn’t do anything about it. I tucked it out of sight, finished loading up, said goodbye, and drove back to uni. It was dark when I got back, so I unpacked everything else, triple-bagged my bloody clothes, left my phone at home (no tracking me!), and walked two miles to drop them into somebody else’s wheelie bin.
The next morning I checked my messages.
Jolly_Gal_12592
WELCOME HOME
And a photo of me dumping the bag the night before.
You know what? This didn’t bother me. I mean, it did bother me, but not as much as I guess Jolly_Gal hoped. I’ve been bullied and harassed most of my life, and I’ve got pretty good at ignoring it. Sure, it was an escalation - she was actually following me - but it was just one of almost thirty messages. Jolly_Gal was hoping to destroy me. Instead, she hardened my resolve.
Clearly she had enough evidence to go to the police, but she hadn’t. And obviously she lived nearby. Now I’m no hacker, but you don’t do a job like mine without learning your way around technology. So I started sleuthing. I hadn’t bothered blocking her after the third or fourth message, so I made a list of all the messages, including timecodes. I’ve got a geology degree (almost), and we have techniques to analyse rock strata. Finally I had a genuine use for all that studying I sort of did!
Jolly_Gal was not as clever as she thought. She’d got sloppy. About half of her messages were sent at strange hours, on the hour. These were presumably posted by her bot. But the other messages were all sent between 7 and 8 am, or between 6 and 10 pm. So I guessed that she has a normal 9-5 day job, or maybe she’s a student.
Next I searched all the social media sites I could think of for Jolly_Gal or JollyGal usernames. There are a few, so please don’t go harassing people with that username! I don’t want innocent people to get hurt. After a few hours I had profiles of all Jolly_Gals. Pictures, locations, partial travel history, even birthdays for some of them. I discounted those who clearly weren’t in England, but I still had too many to narrow it down. The photos had no EXIF data so I couldn’t tell the type of phone or camera they used.
So my days became something like this: Five hours doing uni stuff, five hours working on my socials, and an hour or two learning digital sleuthing. I still went out with my friends sometimes, but made sure not to drink too much. I know how to have a good time without being drunk!
The breakthrough came by total chance. I rarely read the local papers, and just got lucky one afternoon in March. I was waiting for a friend in the pub after lectures, and there was a copy of the Post somebody had left on a table. So I flicked through it. The local council was rubbish at doing traffic. Some group of OAPS was organising a May Day celebration. And a woman had been convicted of body-snatching.
I recognised her! There was a photo of a woman in her early twenties. She’d been arrested when a corpse went missing back in December, and they’d seen her take it on the morgue’s CCTV. She’d been released on bail. “Prevention of the lawful and decent burial of a dead body” is a rare crime these days, so she hadn’t been sentenced yet; instead she was released until her sentencing, expected to be in August. Her name was Jenny Smith, which is so common as to be almost useless - that is, if you don’t have a profile of her on your laptop at home!
The report also gave her address. So I started hatching a plan. I texted my friend that I wouldn’t make it, and went home.
Jolly_Gal, or rather, Jenny, lived near me, and actually went to the same university. She had accounts on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, Twitter, and a few others. Of course you can’t get Jolly_Gal by itself these days, but my profile gave all her precise usernames. I spent my evening watching her videos and reading her tweets. And then I found the smoking gun.
Jenny had posted a video on TikTok last June bitching about me. She’s way prettier than me, and yet I’d got all the subs and follows. She deserved all those sponsorship deals. It wasn’t fair that I had hundreds of thousands of subs and she only had a few thousand. She even said I was ugly and deserved to die.
Well, she got one out of two right, I guess. You can decide which one.
It all started to slot into place. Jenny was absurdly jealous of me, so she’d hatched a plan to destroy me. She must have roofied me in The Bar, got me and Dave back to my place, stabbed him, poured blood everywhere, and taken the knife home. I mean, I don’t know anything about forensic science, and I was drugged and panicked when I woke up that morning. I’d have no way of knowing that Dave had died days before he ended up in my flat!
I’d never managed to get all the blood out of the wooden flooring, and ended up putting a really misplaced rug over it. I chiselled off a sample and gave it to one of my friends who was doing a PhD in biology. It took a bit of persuading, but he ran an analysis on it.
It was pig’s blood.
Fuck Jenny. She’s not Jenny, or Jolly_Gal, she’s fucking Carrie!
She planned to destroy me. She ruined my mental health, she framed me for murder. All because I was more popular on TikTok than she was. Well, two can play at that game. I didn’t deserve what Jenny did to me. She did.
I thought about this all night, coming up with plan after plan, weighing them in my head. I wanted two things: to destroy Jenny, and to feel good about it for myself. Finally I had a course of action I’m actually rather proud of.
I decided to start slow. I did something anybody could have done - I mocked up a poster. At the top was “Jenny Smith - body snatcher!”. Underneath were two pictures, her Insta profile pic and the courthouse photo from the paper, and between them: “From This … To This!” And all her various social media handles to top it off. I printed hundreds of these, and pinned them all around the university and her street.
I’ve never thought of myself as an unkind person - God knows I’ve suffered enough myself to be sympathetic to others. But I’m willing to admit I felt a lot of satisfaction seeing her comments fill up with accusations and links to the online article. Jenny carried on making videos, but I could tell she was suffering. Good!
That was stage one. I had to up the ante for stage two. Jenny had covered me and my flat with pig’s blood, so I think we all know what’s coming next.
I pondered for a long time whether I should do it in the day or the night. But you know what they say - go big or go home. I scoped out her house for a while, and found out that she leaves her kitchen window, at the back of the house, open. Now I’m not the most athletic girl in the world, but I can be pretty determined when I want to be. So one night around 2 am I walked to her house - it’s only about half a mile - and climbed through the window.
I almost gave myself a heart attack when I knocked a glass over on the kitchen sink! Luckily it didn’t smash. I hid in a corner and waited for a full half hour before I decided Jenny hadn’t heard me. Then I snuck upstairs, slow as anything, and crept into her room.
Actually, the first room wasn’t hers. She shared with a couple of other students. Thank fuck I checked first! The second room was the right one. She was asleep, alone, in a double bed. I was so quiet that the only thing I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest as I opened my canvas bag, gently deposited its contents onto the pillow next to her, and took a photo. It didn’t come out that well - I couldn’t use the flash - but hey, I have a souvenir!
I really wish I’d seen her face when she woke up the next morning, staring at a pig’s head. She didn’t post on her socials for a week after that, and for two days she even forgot to send me a threatening message.
I’m sorry? You think I’m done? Oh, my sweet summer child. I’ve barely begun.
Jenny had a boyfriend, Abdul. I made sure he wasn’t around when I broke in, but stage three involved him in a big way.
Abdul was also at our university, a year younger than me, a year older than Jenny. He wasn’t very active on social media, but he did tend to broadcast his activity on Twitter. And what do you know? He’s also a fan of The Bar. So I spent the next month planning my move. I bought a new clubbing dress and heels - hey, I kinda missed that outfit! - and asked around for the other thing I needed. Some things you can’t just buy in Next, or a local butcher’s, but eventually I managed it.
I got my chance one Friday in May. Abdul had loudly announced on Twitter that he was excited for his boys’ night out in The Bar, and Jenny had been gushing about a girls’ night on the whole other side of town. Perfect. I spent hours on my makeup, and got to The Bar around ten. Abdul and his mates were having a drinking contest, and leching up at the girls dancing on the tables.
I figured I had a good long while before he would be ready, so I had a couple of drinks - not too much, but like I said I can handle myself, and I knew Jenny wasn’t around - and got up on the tables myself for a bit. Then about midnight Abdul’s friend got another round in, while Abdul was in the loo. This was my chance. I walked up to their table - which had no dancing feet on it, but a heck of a lot of spilled beer - and started talking to them, saying I thought their friend was hot.
“Uh, what the fuck?” “Not a chance in hell.” “Get lost, freak!”
Lovely chaps. But they were too far gone to notice me dropping something into Abdul’s double-whiskey-and-coke. For all I know, it’s the exact same thing Jenny used on me all those months ago.
Abdul came back and downed his whiskey in one gulp. I was worried he was going to vomit it up, but he held it in and blamed his difficulty on the coke fizz. Yeah mate, sure, sure.
Not too long after, he started to fade. His friends were really taking the piss out of him for being such a lightweight. Well, when I came over, the pisstaking just got worse. I introduced myself (with a fake name, duh) and told him he was hot. Believe it or not, it was only about twenty seconds before he put his tongue down my throat. Wow, I’m not sure I even needed to bother with the roofie!
His friends, who had been so intent on being mean to me, now turned their attention to him. I suggested we ditch them and go back to his place (I’d checked, it was only five minutes’ walk sober) - and off we went.
That was the first time I had sex. I’m sure I don’t need to go into details, but we did a lot of stuff, and I enjoyed it. I’m not sure if that’s because it was good, or because he was good, or because I knew what it was all for. I was impressed that he managed to keep going as long as he did in his state, but I do feel a bit sorry for him; from his Twitter he seems like a decent guy.
When he finally fell asleep I left. I’d got what I came for - pictures. And the next day I made a new account and sent a DM to Jenny.
At first I blurred my face, or chose shots that didn’t include it. A bit of editing and I could have been anybody. I watched their messy breakup on Twitter, Jenny hurling accusations, Abdul protesting his innocence. I know this is the age of social media, but I never understood why people play these things out in public.
And then, after posting a picture a day for a few weeks (I’d taken a lot of pictures), I sent one that showed my face clearly.
Jenny had managed to restrain herself from replying before, but now she knew who I was. She was furious! The very idea that her boyfriend had cheated on her with ME, of all people, was unbelievable. And this was exactly the outcome I’d been going for.
Jolly_Gal was broken. She’d ruined her reputation. She’d lost her boyfriend. She had nightmares about pigs (okay, so I don’t know that for certain, but in my imagination she woke up screaming every night). She was possibly going to prison. And now she knew that not only was I more successful than her as an influencer, but I was the one to steal her lover. She still sent messages, at first angry, but they soon degenerated into pleading. “Please stop.” “I’m sorry.” “We can work this out.” Jolly_Gal without CAPS LOCK, it was glorious to see.
In fact it was almost perfect. Three stages of my plan were complete, and only one remained. Jenny’s sentencing was in three weeks, so I had to move quickly.
She had two flatmates, so I needed to work around them. They weren’t particularly active on Twitter, but Jenny was. I knew from her tweets that while her flatmates had gone home, she was staying on a couple of weeks after the end of term. She didn’t say why publicly, but it was for her trial. No flatmates, no boyfriend. Now was the time.
And that brings us up to date. I’ve typed this up over the last few days, and saved as a draft. The final chapter, hopefully, comes tonight.
*******
I’m at Jenny’s house, and I’ve just called the police.
I turned up at Jenny’s door just after seven. Luck was with me - she’d tweeted that she was expecting a Deliveroo takeout. And I got there first.
The idiot actually kept the knife. I’d seen it when I was in her room. When she answered the doorbell, expecting food, and saw me - ah, the look on her face was priceless.
“I’m so sorry! Please, let’s just talk. I didn’t mean it to get this -”
I stalked towards her, anger in my face. Jenny fled upstairs. Perfect! She went into her room and shut the door, but I was like the furies of Greek legend. I smashed the door in, and looked on as Jenny cowered on her bed.
In full daylight, I saw the knife took pride of place in what looked like a shrine. She had photos of me printed out, and she’d written on them “BITCH”, “WHORE”, “FREAK” and all sorts of other hateful words.
Jenny had tried to make me into a murderer, so I gave her what she wanted. I grabbed the knife and stood over her. The coward shrank into the bed, begging for forgiveness, pleading for her life. Unfortunately for her I was not inclined to oblige. I plunged the knife into her chest, just as she had done to Dave all those many months ago. Jenny whimpered like a whipped dog, and after the ninth stab (yes, I counted), she stopped.
The police are on their way. I’m definitely going to jail after this. But Jenny got what was coming to her. We could both have lived happily, but Jenny chose otherwise.
And me? I passed my degree. I have friends. And jail or not, I have a life.
Burn in hell, Jolly_Gal.
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2024.05.10 09:45 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Hell is Waiting and It's an Abyss[11]

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The figures began to wave, indicating that they’d seen us just as well as we’d seen them, and I lowered the binoculars to catch the faces of the children. “They know we’re here.”
“They might be able to help us,” said Andrew.
“Doubtful,” said Gemma.
“Doesn’t matter,” I interjected, “We ain’t got the weaponry to fight from a distance anyhow. We could run. We could parlay.”
“Parlay?” asked the boy.
“Like a gamble,” said the girl—she shook her head then spoke to me, “My vote’s no.”
A voice through a bullhorn met us and when we turned to look back up the road to the gathered people there, one of them called more greatly so the words were clear, “We see you. We won’t hurt you.” The strangers, probably wasters, stood between squat buildings on either side of the road.
“See?” said Andrew. The young man rose and took Trouble with him.
Gemma shook her head and me and her both followed the boy and the dog. “Bad idea,” said the girl, “Very bad idea.”
The voice through the bullhorn sounded again, “If you’ve any weapons, tell us now. We won’t hurt you, but we don’t want any misunderstandings either.”
I froze for a moment, called back, “I have a gun!” They didn’t need to know about my knife.
“We have guns too,” called the voice, “Do not be alarmed.”
With tepid steps, nearing Farmersburg’s epicenter, the group there came into greater focus, and I saw three men and a woman. They’d arranged cement blocks alongside the brick buildings on either flank leading into town. One man—the speaker with the bullhorn—stood directly in the center of the street, a man to the right hunkered behind their blockade and the woman and spare man stood to the left, their legs hidden behind the makeshift low wall.
The speaker, once we’d come within comfortable range, chucked the bullhorn to the man on the right and then swiped his fingers through his crew cut. “What’s brought the three of you this way?” Trouble clung to the boy and kept her head low, offering confused eyes whenever she dared look up.
“We’re only passing through,” said Gemma.
“Passing through?” asked the speaker, “There’s not much to pass through. We spent the last week or more picking over this place. If you’re scavving, this place is nothing but bones.”
“Scavvers?” I asked.
The speaker nodded. “This is our boon.” He examined the sky. “Getting dark in a couple hours and you might want the rest. As long as we understand that the bounty we’ve taken is ours, you’re more than welcome to bed down somewhere on the west end.”
The boy tugged on the leash faintly, perhaps from anxiety. “Find anything interesting?”
The scav leader chuckled. “Yeah. Not much in a dump like this, but there were a few overlooked tablets—books and diaries. Stuff those pointy hats might like back in Alexandria.” The man waved his hand, “Besides that? Nothing. Had a few muties that needed clearing out. Previous residents.” His hand came to rest on his holster; the gun there was unmistakably a .44. He noticed me noticing and withdrew his hand from his hip then laughed. “Habit,” said the scavver. He pivoted so that I could look at the gun there. “Pretty thing though, isn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes to my strap. “What’s that old barrel you got there?”
“Shotgun,” I said.
“Sure—what kind?” asked the scavver, gray eyes alight with curiosity.
“B-P-S. That’s Browning.” I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. “What’s that?” I pointed to the gun on his hip.
“Pfft. Some hunk of metal I picked up outside of Golgotha. But those tall buildings? They give me the creeps. Good place for ammo though. What direction are you headed anyway?”
“West,” I said.
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Just west.”
The leader’s eyes traced from me to the children then to the dog then back to me and he smirked. “Fair. Like I said.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “West end and we won’t bother you.”
“Fair,” I said.
The look of the other scavvers was lethargy, an easing as they realized there would be no fight and the man that was ducked below the low wall rose to expose that he’d been perched there with a pistol drawn in his right hand, ready to use it if things became unfortunate.
The leader stepped from the center of the street, to meet his comrades to the left, and motioned us on, and we began to move, but Andrew spoke, “There’s something following us.” The scavvers tensed and even though the poorly hidden gunman had put away his weapon, his shoulders squared, and he spat.
“Following you?” asked the leader.
The boy nodded. “It’s an Alukah.”
I shot a look at the boy.
Andrew shrugged, “I thought they should know. In case it comes knocking for them.”
“A vamp?” asked the scav leader, “Never seen one.” He turned his attention to me, “Alukah though. That’s a strange name you’ve given it. Like those religious fanatics out in Golgotha. That where you come from?”
I nodded. “It’s safe in the daylight.” A sigh escaped me, and I continued, “If it knocks on your door, ignore it.”
The scav leader waved his hand at the notion. “I know about vamps—never seen one, but I know the stories. Besides, if it’s after you, I don’t need to worry so much. You didn’t mention it though.” He rolled his tongue around in his closed mouth, protruding a cheek, then continued, “You weren’t hoping it’d get me and mine and forget about you, were you? Setting us up for it?” The man and woman to the left side of the road reached for their hips, but the leader put out a hand to quell their fighting spirit.
I shook my head, “No. I just didn’t think it was pertinent.”
Gemma stepped in, “Yeah. There’s no reason to start a fight over something so trivial.”
“Little girl,” said the leader, “You planned on feeding us to a monster, I think. Nothing trivial about that.” His gaze went from the girl to me. “That is right though. You were going to let it get us unaware, isn’t that right? Weren’t even going to let us know about it?”
“No,” I said, “We’re just passing through. Don’t let a snap judgement turn this into something it ain’t.”
It seemed an eternity while that man watched us through his slitted, suspicious eyes. Then he shook his head. “I’m not in the business of killing old men and his kids. Dogs neither. Go on.” He once more hooked his thumb west. “Don’t bother us. We won’t bother you.”
We took through Farmersburg at a quickened pace and far spaced houses with low peaks passed us by on either side; the occasional vacant house or brick sundry shop was there too. Downtown was a descriptor that wasn’t befitting of a place so desolate and small. Looking upon the half-destroyed homes, I imagined the excess in space that ancient man had at their leisure, and I was all at once envious and quietly angry.
The roads were worn from rain and age and dipped in places and although we moved on without much issue, I continuously shot glances back the way we’d come till we met a broken rail line; the old tracks stretched northbound and southbound and though the wood had long rotted away to brittle streaks, the metal lines remained. With the scavvers well out of eyesight, I eased, but not much. The potential for them to have someone perched high was a lingering thought and as we passed a half-ruined church on our left, my eyes strayed to its intact tower—there’d possibly been a bell there once (or speaker boxes)—and I could imagine the sight a sniper might have. We’d be easy. Open.
Only once we’d passed the patches of land where vehicles lay strewn about, where houses were closer, where sideline walkways remained, did I let go of the tightness in my stomach. It seemed a curse was lifted from the group as Gemma began to scold the boy loudly.
“You are an idiot,” she said, “How could you? You could have gotten us killed!”
“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” said Andrew, holding onto Trouble’s leash with his only hand; the dog darted in front of our path as much as the line would allow her—it seemed she too had relaxed. “I just thought that I’d want to know if there was something like that out at night. I thought I’d want to know it. Seemed right.”
“I don’t care what seems right,” said Gemma, “It doesn’t matter what seems right to you. You could have gotten us killed! Does that not register to you?”
Briefly, I questioned myself silently how either of them had ever been in love with the other. Then I recalled what the scavver had called us; it was such a moment that I hadn’t even allowed it to sink in. He’d called me an old man. Fair enough. He’d called them my kids.
I shook my head. “Save the arguing for when we’ve found a place to bunk down. Should be listening. Should be watching.”
We walked and shadows grew long with evening, beyond where structures became even further spaced and the scavver’s area was well and from us. Upon coming to a two-lane highway, which stretched from left to right, we pushed to a station; its pumps were dry, and the overhang was dilapidated, fallen away to the concrete square where the station sat, and the glass was gone from the windows entirely so that the thing looked like a creature itself, poised for some unsuspecting travelers to rest there. Night coming, as it was, we went to the building, stepped through the doorless threshold, and took note of its layout. Dusty corroded shelves stood empty save rotted boxes where inventory once sat, and a skylight over the counter exposed an open window to the sky; Gemma braved the recesses further, finding an office and though the door was hollow and thin, we took account of the small windowless room, and the children began unpacking camp while I went to the shelving units in the main chamber with my prybar. After dismantling a few of the rusted shelves, I took two elongated rectangular pieces to the office and boarded us in, hammering salvaged nails through the metal; it wouldn’t stop anything, not really, but seeing the makeshift slats there, across the doorway felt safer.
“You could’ve killed us,” repeated Gemma.
“I didn’t know that’s how they’d react,” said Andrew.
There was a bitterness in the girl’s voice like poison and the boy’s responses came weaker with each thing she said.
“I wanted to see the world,” said the girl, “I wanted to find a place that’s good.” She scoffed. “Ridiculous.” Gemma turned on me. “You were right, Harlan. There’s nothing in this world. Nothing worth saving. A piece of me wishes I’d stayed home, but it’s no good there anyway. My father—” she froze mid speech for a moment then continued, “He wasn’t a good man. Tell me, is there any good in this world? Or is it just travelers on roads, vaguely threatening each other? Is it all vile places? Can’t there be a place? A good one? Or is all this travelling only hiding? Is travelling looking at the dirty walls of the next place we take refuge? Home—I could look on starry skies there. The best thing you could do is use that gun. Shoot me. Shoot him. Shoot the dog. Shoot yourself.” Her voice was like stone; she moved through the small dark room, fell into an old plastic office chair. The object creaked as she rocked on it. She seemed to be thinking aloud, “Maybe Andrew’s right. Maybe he’s good.” She stopped in her rocking, swiveled around so the chair offered a low howl. Gemma looked at Andrew; her brow was angled, and she frowned. “Maybe you’re good. Maybe that’s why you warned them like that. Because you’re good. I’m sorry.”
Andrew took to the arduous task of removing Trouble’s leash with his singular hand and he shook his head in doing it, frustrated. “Since when did you get so hard?” he asked her, “When did you get so—”
“So what?” snapped Gemma, “Evil? You think evil matters here? You think evil matters at home? You’ve seen evil just as well as I have, Andrew, and you know it’s a load. I know what you think. You think I’m some tainted thing—maybe no better than a mutant. You think I’m some heartless monster. What sort of person could kill their own dad?” She cried; tears came abruptly down her cheeks, and she attempted to dry them with the back of her sleeve, leaning forward in her chair. “You knew the man in passing. I lived with him.” She shot a glance at me. “Harlan knew him too. Knew him well enough. He was a bastard.” She choked on her words, catching the sobs.
I pulled my mouth tight and nodded.
She continued on Andrew: “You said you didn’t love me anymore! Okay. Fine.” Gemma dabbed her eyes then pushed her sleeves up to reveal the scars left there by Baphomet and yanked them down again to cover the twisted skin. “Fine,” she pointed at Andew; he’d stood from the dog and Trouble looked on, just as skittish as him, “But I saw it in your eyes when you were sick and hurt. I saw that you couldn’t mean it. I saw those eyes and knew you still cared for me. There was hope maybe.” She sniffed, “Now though I see the way you look at me with those eyes. Since you’ve seen that awful blood on my hands. I know you mean it now. I know you’re good and I’m not and you couldn’t love me because now we can all be certain of how terrible I am.”
“No,” said Andrew, taking the small room in a single stride to hunker beside her, “No, you’re not evil, Gem. You couldn’t be evil. Is that what you think?”
Initially she jerked from the hand he placed on her shoulder then stopped and let him massage the spot.
“She’s not evil, is she, Harlan?” He cocked his head to ask me.
I shook my head. “You’re not a bad person, Gemma.” Suddenly I felt silly trying my hand at wisdom like I was an authority on anything. Then I thought to add something that could be wise—maybe, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure not to become a monster.” It was tough remembering the rest, but it came—the kids looked on quizzically, Gemma with tears frozen in her eyes, Andrew with a look of desperation, “It’s a quote and the rest of it’s the part you should know, ‘If you gaze long enough into the abyss, it’ll stare back.’. Something like that.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Gemma.
“I think, in this instance, I want it to mean that you should remember that if you linger on the bad in the world, it’ll consume you. You’ll make something be that ain’t and it’ll come for you.”
The girl pushed the last cries away, swept a hand through her thinned hair. “Since when are you such an optimist?”
“Optometrist.” I said, removing my pack—my hands shook as I rolled a cigarette and after a spell of silence and smoke, I rubbed the tobacco dead and prepared us some dinner.
Andrew consoled the girl and Trouble sat alongside me, watching the pan as I warmed pickled sausages—I put the last bit of our hardtack to soak; a meal, a sad meal, should sit heavy at least.
The haggard expressions of the children mirrored my feelings, and I could not remember a time I had not felt an ache in my bones—the falter of spirit was greater still. A road, no matter the direction, had not so long ago filled me with curiosity or with the promise of thoughtlessness. All I’d been doing in recent memory was thinking, perhaps staring into that abyss too much.
I watched them while they slept on their bedrolls, keeping the lantern low; Trouble joined me, resting across my lap where I sat on the floor, and I whispered to the dog sweet forgetful things and for a moment I thought of Dave, and I was glad he was kind enough to take in the mutt. Trouble watched through slitted quivering eyes, yawning, stretching, jerking in her slumber. Sleep evaded me and I waited for the knocking.
Surely, it came gently, the great beast, the Alukah (vamp is what the scavver called it) exhausted audible breath from the other side of the door and I scooted nearer it and listened to its pained animal-like protests from the other side the thin barrier.
I need help. Let me in. There’s something after me.
The voice, for all its muffled snarls, retained a surreal quality and I spoke back to the thing, first glancing at the children on their bedding where they remained sleeping. “Leave,” I muttered lowly, nearly kissing the door as the words left my mouth.
Ah, so you speak. A pause followed and a slow scratch, like the creature traced a great clawed hand across the surface on the other side. I’m scared.
“I know what you are.”
Do you?
“I do. I won’t let you in. You can leave.”
But I’m scared.
“I’ve told you already I know what you are. Leave us be.”
I smell you. An inhalation of breath came. Give me that treat of a boy. Give him and I’ll let you go. The voice became like a low growl.
“I don’t make deals with your kind anymore.”
Who says? That intake of breath followed once more—a long sniff. You’ve the stink of Mephisto on you. You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
“No more.” Trouble arrived by the door and gave me a curious look then fell onto my shoulder where I sat, putting her head there and licked my cheek and lowly groaned; I petted the dog and she fell onto my lap; it made me feel secure, if only a bit. “You should go on.”
You burned me. I can’t let that go, but I could. The boy was mine rightly. Your interference—that other human man too—you stole him. I remember you. He’s mine; he’s owed to me. You’re lucky I come offering deals.
A shiver touched the base of my spine and went to crawling and even with Trouble there I felt chilled and sweaty, and the sense grew that I could give up Andrew and go on my way.
“Fuck off,” I whispered.
Harlan?
I bit my tongue. Hard.
Harlan, we know you. We’ve friends waiting for you.
With that, the creature left us for the night, but sleep was a near impossibility and even when I curled small and held the dog in my arms and buried my face in the neck of the animal, I could not rid myself of the coolness that’d passed to me.
“Maybe we lost it,” said Andrew, as we packed our things the following morning.
“No,” I said, then followed with, “We should cut hard and straight to Babylon.”
Gemma remained dejected that day, holding her eyes to the ground or the sky and muttered responses to whatever was spoken to her.
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submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to Odd_directions [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 05:12 RealisticAd9612 The Deer Witch- An evil Lives Beside Us.

hello readers, my name is Chase and I have a story from the perry state forest and my home that neither me nor my friends will ever forget, but before that, here is some backstory. We lived bordering the perry state forest, on a large hill. My entire immediate family lived on this hill, my grandfather, aunt, uncle, cousins, my mother, father, and me. My aunt and uncle had a medium sized farm and raised many goats and had free roam chickens. It was extremely common for the animals to go missing. We honestly just chocked it up to the coyotes, until we caught a mountain lion on one of our trail cams. Mind you, we live in southern Ohio, we aren’t supposed to have mountain lions here, yet there was one, with its own den in our woods. Our.. “wild” woods.
we always had odd things happen at night, Seeing shadows, hear loud knocks, whispers, screams, footsteps, even hearing drums in the woods every year around Halloween. Pretty creepy. But moving forward, let’s get into the meat of this story. My first encounter that I can remember is when I was maybe 8 years old and fell asleep late in my living room. We had a very large window with a tv to the left of it, in the corner of the room. I woke up and looked at the clock, and it was about 3:00AM and the tv was buzzing static, I looked out the window from the couch and there it was. A tall man, wearing a brown cloak (likely made of deer skins) and a deer head coving his face. Standing in the window with a little Indian girl in braids to his right. He stood there and stared at me for a long time, then waved to me in a way that said “come out side, it’s okay, just come on out”. After I freaked and just sat there in shock, they both walked out of view of the window. I had a sudden urge to follow but I stayed put and cried out of fright. I then ran to my room and eventually fell asleep.
The next morning I explained what had happened to me earlier that night and My mother told me it was a friendly Indian chief who was just paying a visit, meaning no harm. I had since then blocked the experience from my memory And pretty much forgot that it even happened until years later my mom sat me down and told me the truth. That “cheif” has been around for a very long time and terrorized everyone on the hill and staring at them from a distance since they first moved in, around 1999. She told me, according to her knowledge that he was from the Adena tribe and during his time, he would collect kids from the surrounding tribes and take them away, for human sacrifices. She then further explained that He wasn’t waving me hello, he was waving me on, to follow him outside with the Indian girl, To do god knows what with me once I was alone in the woods. She said He is evil, and my mother doesn’t use that word often. But she said “whatever that thing is, it’s evil” and “don’t ever go out there in the woods alone at night. Don’t even go with friends. Stay as far away from the deep woods. A evil lives there.”
And so of course, I didn’t listen. And me and my friends quickly learned our lesson. Me and my two friends, we will call them Andy and Jeremy, decide to have some spooky fun after a long and boring night. we where all 17 to 18 years old, so we hatched the plan to go into the woods, and into the Perry State Forest to try to scare ourselves and just mess around and have a fun time. After all, there where roads in the forest that was only a couple of miles long, for example in a twenty minute drive you could easily make it right into the city, it was a straight shot, one single road, with no turns. We decided to drive, because hoofing it out there was just a little too ballsy for our Taste. In all honesty we just loved the rush of being spooked. Andy and Jeremy are, or at least where, the furthest thing from superstitious, for they didn’t believe in anything unless they could see it or feel it themselves. And that’s exactly what they got. We was in my father’s car, a manual bmw, it was a fast car and we felt oh-so cool driving it around. The time was approaching 2:30AM when we slowly drove into the forest, after turning off of the main road.
Upon entering the forest had a wave of… something come crashing into us, it felt as if we were fazing through a wall that wasn’t there. The air felt heavy and thick. and we felt extreme pressure on our chests. this made our eyes tear up, and it was hard to breathe. There was no pain, just an overwhelming feeling of sadness, anger, guilt, dread, regret and emotional distress. it honestly felt like every bad feeling you could possibly feel all together at once. We felt like we needed to turn around and just say “forget it” but we wanted this, we wanted to feel scared. It’s what we came here for in the first place.
So We continue driving through the weird wall of bad feelings and we all just thought we got that weird feeling because we were in the woods at night and it was late and dark out. And I mean really dark out, it was a new moon so we really didn’t have any light. It made sense at the time, yet the headlights were only able to see about a yard in front of us, which was not normal for the LED lights my dad had installed. We talked amongst ourselves about how weird that feeling we got was when we entered the forest. Then out of nowhere we saw a large black figure standing at the left side of the road, and just watched us drive by, and by the time we passed it, it was gone. And when I say black, it wasn’t just black, it was darker than anything I’ve ever seen before, the darkness of the forest behind it almost looked bright in comparison. We checked in the rear view mirrors, and it had just vanished, poof, gone. Like it was never there in the first place. We said some obscenity’s to each other completely stunned and aghast at what we just witnessed.
We drove for about a whole minute in silence, until Andy said “Did y’all see that shit?” We all agreed with a simple “uh-huh”. We continued to drive. After a little while Andy looks up at the sky and says “uh guys, the sky looks kinda.. off”. Me and Jeremy looked up, and The sky wasn’t just “off” it was blood red, yet it was so dark in the forest that you couldn’t see your hand in-front of your face. We thought maybe it was starting to get daylight out but it was only 2:32AM. We were perplexed at how little time passed since we entered And at how on earth the sky could be light up in such a dark red. At first, we thought it could possibly be a blood moon, yet there was no moon to be seen. We continued on our journey for what felt like a half an hour in a straight line. Then suddenly Andy yelped and said “no.. no, no, no we just seen that tree, I just seen that tree, it’s like we are going in a circle! You didn’t take any turns did you chase?” I denied with a simple “no, why would I? It’s a straight line through here, I don’t want to get lost, especially out here.” and so we continued to pass the same trees, the same guard rail, the same lake, the same signs, the same exact everything over and over and over again. Everything kept repeating, as if we where driving in a big circle, but that’s impossible since the road is only a straight line through, there are many turns that we could have taken but we never turned, not once.
“Dang man this feels like some blare witch shit” Jerermy murmured. As we continued to drive through the endless loop we where now apparently stuck in, over time we slowly started to see dark figures in the woods, shadows, things staring at us in the trees and and scariest of all, deer that didn’t look right. Something was off about them. They would all just stand there and stare at the car, and sway back and forth. yet unlike how normal deer eyes glow when lights hit them, there was no glow, like a black, empty void within each eyeball. then one spontaneously jumped in-front of the car, making us all physically recoil, and brace for the impact of a deer entering my front grill, but it never happened. It disappeared just as quickly as it had jumped in front of us. “No man this isn’t right we need to turn around that can’t happen, this isn’t real” Jerermy said to me, I told him that we couldn’t be far from the exit after all we’ve been driving for what We felt like was hours. So we continued driving down the dirt road We then noticed the dark figures in the woods to slowly transform into a more.. human figure. We also started seeing disembodied eyes staring at us and heard odd distorted animal noises, screams and whimpers. we suddenly all had something in our heads telling us to “just stop the car. Stop the car and get out and everything will stop” We all shook off the eerie feeling that came over us. We then heard whispers, but these where no ordinary whispers, they sounded like they where coming from INSIDE the car. Again, we continued to drive. While driving we would also sporadically get a glimpse of the.. thing we seen at the very beginning when we entered.
Then, abruptly all the visions and sounds stopped. We then heard a girl scream, not a coyote or a bobcat, a girl, and it wasn’t in the woods, it was Right in all of our ears, it was loud enough to make our ears ring. then the car shut off. Dead. No lights on, no nothing. Just off. Pitch black darkness. I tried to start it and nothing. While trying to start the car we heard a train in the distance and it sounded like we were on the tracks ourselves, hell we could feel the ground rumbling. But the odd thing was, there was not a railroad anywhere near the park. Not for many miles. So how is it that we could hear the chug of the engine, the whistle and the screeching of the wheels? We had absolutely no idea. it got closer and closer until it sounded like the train was in the car, passing right through us. while the train was going through the car, that car came back to life, all the lights on, just like normal. So I started it. Tried to take off, and killed it. (It was a manual and I was scared, it was my own error but it still scared me when the car lurched to a stop) I then started it again and took off.
We were fleeing for our lives at this point so we were easily hitting 50 mph on a shitty gravel road. We continued to pass the same everything over and over again, I then abruptly slammed on my breaks. “Damn dude!” “What the hell man?!” Andy and Jeremy both yelled as they face planted into the front seats. Guys, look. They look up in awe to see car two car headlights coming right at us, growing bigger by the second. I was stopped and i panicked and instead of driving out of the way, which there wasn’t any real “out-of-the-way” since we were on a very narrow Road, I started to flash my lights at them, hoping they would see and stop. But they didn’t. They continue to get closer and closer, so we all just accepted our fates and put our heads down to protect us from the collision. We waited and waited, and nothing happened. We all looked up and it had just vanished, just like the deers had previously. no car, no tread marks, no dust cloud, nothing. It was just all in our heads.
At this point we knew something was in our heads, warping reality and making us perceive whatever it wanted us to see. We continued down the road. After about 15 minutes of relative peace, other than the screams and human figures and other horrific things happening, the radio randomly switched on and we heard people talking on the radio through static but they weren’t just radio hosts, it was people, so many people talking at once it was defining. We heard loud knocking and banging on the doors and windows, enough to shake the car. The voices in our heads were now scream at us to stop driving, to roll down the windows. to get out of the car. To do anything to let them in. Everything was deafening, it was so insanely loud and we all started weeping, we just gave up, we couldn’t handle it anymore.
then, In the blink of an eye we appeared on the new reservoir road, right before the city. We all looked to each other, completely stunned on how the hell we just teleported to the end of the dirt road, out of the forest. the radio was still blaring static so reached and turned it down so we could talk amongst ourselves. I looked and seen The time was now 3:00AM. How did such little time pass? How did we get here? We had no clue, and we still don’t. We were just glad it was over. We drove away, to the city. The sky slowly faded from red to black. We stopped at the 24 hour Taco Bell and got some food, and sat in the parking lot talking about what we all had just experienced. We then drove back to my dads, and waked up to the front door, exhausted. Then right before walking in, there it was. The figure we seen at the very beginning, standing right on the edge of the property line. Staring directly at us. But now we could see it in finite detail.
It was about 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and the stature Akeem to a man. wearing a blacker than black cloak and a deer skull on its head with piercing red glowing eyes. It then raised its hand to its chest and waved a single wave, from its chest to its hip, then it vanished into the woods behind it. We then went inside, and all fell asleep immediately, after vowing to never, ever go out there again.
But funnily enough, years later we have all agreed to go camping in thoes very woods, next week. If anything happens, I will write again. This was my first time ever writing something like this and if it wasn’t for my friends experiencing all of it along with me, I would simply think I am bat shit insane. It was their idea for me to even write this in the first place, so I hope it was easy to read. And thank you, for reading our story. And also, heed my mother’s warning and don’t ever go into the Perry State Forest at night, because an evil really does live there.
submitted by RealisticAd9612 to DeepWoodsCreepy [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 03:22 RealisticAd9612 The Deer Witch

Hello readers, my name is Chase, and I have a story from the perry state forest and my home that neither me nor my friends will ever forget, but before that, here is some backstory. We lived bordering the perry state forest, on a large hill. My entire immediate family lived on this hill, my grandfather, aunt, uncle, cousins, my mother, father, and me. My aunt and uncle had a medium sized farm and raised many goats and had free roam chickens. It was extremely common for the animals to go missing. We honestly just chocked it up to the coyotes, until we caught a mountain lion on one of our trail cams. Mind you, we live in southern Ohio, we aren’t supposed to have mountain lions here, yet there was one, with its own den in our woods. Our.. “wild” woods. we always had odd things happen at night, Seeing shadows, hear loud knocks, whispers, screams, footsteps, even hearing drums in the woods every year around Halloween. Pretty creepy. But moving forward, let’s get into the meat of this story. My first encounter that I can remember is when I was maybe 8 years old and fell asleep late in my living room. We had a very large window with a tv to the left of it, in the corner of the room. I woke up and looked at the clock, and it was about 3:00AM and the tv was buzzing static, I looked out the window from the couch and there it was. A tall man, wearing a brown cloak (likely made of deer skins) and a deer head coving his face. Standing in the window with a little Indian girl in braids to his right. He stood there and stared at me for a long time, then waved to me in a way that said “come out side, it’s okay, just come on out”. After I freaked and just sat there in shock, they both walked out of view of the window. I had a sudden urge to follow but I stayed put and cried out of fright. I then ran to my room and eventually fell asleep. The next morning I explained what had happened to me earlier that night and My mother told me it was a friendly Indian chief who was just paying a visit, meaning no harm. I had since then blocked the experience from my memory And pretty much forgot that it even happened until years later my mom sat me down and told me the truth. That “chef” has been around for a very long time and terrorized everyone on the hill and staring at them from a distance since they first moved in, around 1999. She told me, according to her knowledge that he was from the Adena tribe and during his time, he would collect kids from the surrounding tribes and take them away, for human sacrifices. She then further explained that He wasn’t waving me hello, he was waving me on, to follow him outside with the Indian girl, To do god knows what with me once I was alone in the woods. She said He is evil, and my mother doesn’t use that word often. But she said “whatever that thing is, it’s evil” and “don’t ever go out there in the woods alone at night. Don’t even go with friends. Stay as far away from the deep woods. A evil lives there.” And so of course, I didn’t listen. And me and my friends quickly learned our lesson. Me and my two friends, we will call them Andy and Jeremy, decide to have some spooky fun after a long and boring night. we where all 17 to 18 years old, so we hatched the plan to go into the woods, and into the Perry State Forest to try to scare ourselves and just mess around and have a fun time. After all, there where roads in the forest that was only a couple of miles long, for example in a twenty minute drive you could easily make it right into the city, it was a straight shot, one single road, with no turns. We decided to drive, because hoofing it out there was just a little too ballsy for our Taste. In all honesty we just loved the rush of being spooked. Andy and Jeremy are, or at least where, the furthest thing from superstitious, for they didn’t believe in anything unless they could see it or feel it themselves. And that’s exactly what they got. We was in my father’s car, a manual bmw, it was a fast car and we felt oh-so cool driving it around. The time was approaching 2:30AM when we slowly drove into the forest, after turning off of the main road. Upon entering the forest had a wave of… something come crashing into us, it felt as if we were fazing through a wall that wasn’t there. The air felt heavy and thick. and we felt extreme pressure on our chests. this made our eyes tear up, and it was hard to breathe. There was no pain, just an overwhelming feeling of sadness, anger, guilt, dread, regret and emotional distress. it honestly felt like every bad feeling you could possibly feel all together at once. We felt like we needed to turn around and just say “forget it” but we wanted this, we wanted to feel scared. It’s what we came here for in the first place. So We continue driving through the weird wall of bad feelings and we all just thought we got that weird feeling because we were in the woods at night and it was late and dark out. And I mean really dark out, it was a new moon so we really didn’t have any light. It made sense at the time, yet the headlights were only able to see about a yard in front of us, which was not normal for the LED lights my dad had installed. We talked amongst ourselves about how weird that feeling we got was when we entered the forest. Then out of nowhere we saw a large black figure standing at the left side of the road, and just watched us drive by, and by the time we passed it, it was gone. And when I say black, it wasn’t just black, it was darker than anything I’ve ever seen before, the darkness of the forest behind it almost looked bright in comparison. We checked in the rear view mirrors, and it had just vanished, poof, gone. Like it was never there in the first place. We said some obscenity’s to each other completely stunned and aghast at what we just witnessed. We drove for about a whole minute in silence, until Andy said “Did y’all see that shit?” We all agreed with a simple “uh-huh”. We continued to drive. After a little while Andy looks up at the sky and says “uh guys, the sky looks kinda.. off”. Me and Jeremy looked up, and The sky wasn’t just “off” it was blood red, yet it was so dark in the forest that you couldn’t see your hand in-front of your face. We thought maybe it was starting to get daylight out but it was only 2:32AM. We were perplexed at how little time passed since we entered And at how on earth the sky could be light up in such a dark red. At first, we thought it could possibly be a blood moon, yet there was no moon to be seen. We continued on our journey for what felt like a half an hour in a straight line. Then suddenly Andy yelped and said “no.. no, no, no we just seen that tree, I just seen that tree, it’s like we are going in a circle! You didn’t take any turns did you chase?” I denied with a simple “no, why would I? It’s a straight line through here, I don’t want to get lost, especially out here.” and so we continued to pass the same trees, the same guard rail, the same lake, the same signs, the same exact everything over and over and over again. Everything kept repeating, as if we where driving in a big circle, but that’s impossible since the road is only a straight line through, there are many turns that we could have taken but we never turned, not once. “Dang man this feels like some blare witch shit” Jerermy murmured. As we continued to drive through the endless loop we where now apparently stuck in, over time we slowly started to see dark figures in the woods, shadows, things staring at us in the trees and and scariest of all, deer that didn’t look right. Something was off about them. They would all just stand there and stare at the car, and sway back and forth. yet unlike how normal deer eyes glow when lights hit them, there was no glow, like a black, empty void within each eyeball. then one spontaneously jumped in-front of the car, making us all physically recoil, and brace for the impact of a deer entering my front grill, but it never happened. It disappeared just as quickly as it had jumped in front of us. “No man this isn’t right we need to turn around that can’t happen, this isn’t real” Jerermy said to me, I told him that we couldn’t be far from the exit after all we’ve been driving for what We felt like was hours. So we continued driving down the dirt road We then noticed the dark figures in the woods to slowly transform into a more.. human figure. We also started seeing disembodied eyes staring at us and heard odd distorted animal noises, screams and whimpers. we suddenly all had something in our heads telling us to “just stop the car. Stop the car and get out and everything will stop” We all shook off the eerie feeling that came over us. We then heard whispers, but these where no ordinary whispers, they sounded like they where coming from INSIDE the car. Again, we continued to drive. While driving we would also sporadically get a glimpse of the.. thing we seen at the very beginning when we entered. Then, abruptly all the visions and sounds stopped. We then heard a girl scream, not a coyote or a bobcat, a girl, and it wasn’t in the woods, it was Right in all of our ears, it was loud enough to make our ears ring. then the car shut off. Dead. No lights on, no nothing. Just off. Pitch black darkness. I tried to start it and nothing. While trying to start the car we heard a train in the distance and it sounded like we were on the tracks ourselves, hell we could feel the ground rumbling. But the odd thing was, there was not a railroad anywhere near the park. Not for many miles. So how is it that we could hear the chug of the engine, the whistle and the screeching of the wheels? We had absolutely no idea. it got closer and closer until it sounded like the train was in the car, passing right through us. while the train was going through the car, that car came back to life, all the lights on, just like normal. So I started it. Tried to take off, and killed it. (It was a manual and I was scared, it was my own error but it still scared me when the car lurched to a stop) I then started it again and took off. We were fleeing for our lives at this point so we were easily hitting 50 mph on a shitty gravel road. We continued to pass the same everything over and over again, I then abruptly slammed on my breaks. “Damn dude!” “What the hell man?!” Andy and Jeremy both yelled as they face planted into the front seats. Guys, look. They look up in awe to see car two car headlights coming right at us, growing bigger by the second. I was stopped and i panicked and instead of driving out of the way, which there wasn’t any real “out-of-the-way” since we were on a very narrow Road, I started to flash my lights at them, hoping they would see and stop. But they didn’t. They continue to get closer and closer, so we all just accepted our fates and put our heads down to protect us from the collision. We waited and waited, and nothing happened. We all looked up and it had just vanished, just like the deers had previously. no car,no tread marks, no dust cloud, nothing. It was just all in our heads. At this point we knew something was in our heads, warping reality and making us perceive whatever it wanted us to see. We continued down the road. After about 15 minutes of relative peace, other than the screams and human figures and other horrific things happening, the radio randomly switched on and we heard people talking on the radio through static but they weren’t just radio hosts, it was people, so many people talking at once it was defining. We heard loud knocking and banging on the doors and windows, enough to shake the car. The voices in our heads were now scream at us to stop driving, to roll down the windows. to get out of the car. To do anything to let them in. Everything was deafening, it was so insanely loud and we all started weeping, we just gave up, we couldn’t handle it anymore. then, In the blink of an eye we appeared on the new reservoir road, right before the city. We all looked to each other, completely stunned on how the hell we just teleported to the end of the dirt road, out of the forest. the radio was still blaring static so reached and turned it down so we could talk amongst ourselves. I looked and seen The time was now 3:00AM. How did such little time pass? How did we get here? We had no clue, and we still don’t. We were just glad it was over. We drove away, to the city. The sky slowly faded from red to black. We stopped at the 24 hour Taco Bell and got some food, and sat in the parking lot talking about what we all had just experienced. We then drove back to my dads, and waked up to the front door, exhausted. Then right before walking in, there it was. The figure we seen at the very beginning, standing right on the edge of the property line. Staring directly at us. But now we could see it in finite detail. It was about 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and the stature Akeem to a man. wearing a blacker than black cloak and a deer skull on its head with piercing red glowing eyes. It then raised its hand to its chest and waved a single wave, from its chest to its hip, then it vanished into the woods behind it. We then went inside, and all fell asleep immediately, after vowing to never, ever go out there again. But funnily enough, years later we have all agreed to go camping in thoes very woods, next week. If anything happens, I will write again. This was my first time ever writing something like this and if it wasn’t for my friends experiencing all of it along with me, I would simply think I am bat shit insane. It was their idea for me to even write this in the first place, so I hope it was easy to read. And thank you, for reading our story. And also, heed my mother’s warning and don’t ever go into the Perry State Forest at night, because an evil really does live there.
submitted by RealisticAd9612 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]

2024.05.09 22:01 blingandbling "Love" by Guy de Maupassant

I have just been reading in the paper the account of a crime passionel involving a man who killed the woman he loved and then turned the gun on himself. The personalities do not matter; what counts is the passion. I was interested in the story not because it touched me or because it gave me pause for thought but because it reminded me of something that happened to me once on a hunting trip during my youth. Just as the cross allegedly appeared in the sky to some of the early Christians, so love sailed into my own view out of the blue on this particular occasion.
I was born with all the instincts and sense of primitive man but these have been tempered with time by both the reasoning and the sensibilities of his civilized successor. I am passionately fond of hunting yet a bleeding animal, a bird with blood on its feathers, or even the sight of blood on my own hands often makes me feel faint.
One particular year towards the end of autumn, when the cold had set in really early, I got an invitation from one of my cousins, Karl de Rauville, to go duck-shooting with him down on the marshes by dawn. My cousin was a strapping great fellow with red hair and a huge beard, a very hale and hearty outdoor type, a bit of a rough diamond really, but for all his faults extremely good company. He lived in a kind of country-house-cum-farm in a wide river valley. On the slopes to the right and left of it was ancient woodland with magnificent trees where some of the rarest game-birds in that part of France were often to be found. Sometimes eagles had been shot there, and certain birds of passage which almost never visited our overpopulated regions invariably stopped over among its age-old boughs as if they knew or somehow recognized in it a little vestige of primeval forest remaining there to shelter them on their brief, nocturnal landfall.
The valley was made up of wide pastures irrigated by channels and separated by hedges. The river, itself a channel up to this point, spread out here into a vast area of marshland. This marsh, the best hunting-ground in which I have ever shot, was the pride and joy of my cousin who maintained it with as much care as if it were parkland. Through the great masses of rushes with which it was covered and which endowed it with a rustling, turbulent life of its own, narrow passages had been formed were flat-bottomed boats propelled by poles slid silently on the dead water, brushing against bullrushes, causing fish to dart quickly under the tall grass and moorhens, with their pointed black heads, to dive quickly out of sight.
I am wildly and passionately fond of the water. I love the sea despite its being too vast and uncontrollable ever to be really mastered; I love rivers and their evanescent beauty as they flow out of sight; in particular I love the marsh, where a whole world of invisible aquatic life seethes. The marsh is, as I say, a universe apart, with its own inhabitants, its own migratory creatures, its own voice, its own sounds and above all its own sense of mystery. There is nothing that makes one more wary, more uneasy, nothing more frightening sometimes, than a swamp. What is the fear that hovers over these low, watery plains? Is it the vague murmur of the reeds, the strange fireflies, the deep silence enveloping all on calm nights, the weird mists shrouding the rushes, or is it perhaps the barely audible lapping of the water, so soft, so gentle and yet sometimes more terrifying than human gunfire or thunder from above. Is it all this which makes the marsh a nightmarish spot, a place of fear, concealing perhaps a dangerous and unfathomable secret?
No, there's something else to it. A different secret, even deeper and older, still floats on the dense fogs. Perhaps it contains the secret of creation itself! For was it not in stagnant, muddy water and the heavy humidity of wet land warming in the heat of the sun that the first stirrings, the first movements and the beginnings of life itself were felt?
It was evening when I reached my cousin's house and cold enough to split stone. During dinner, my cousin, wearing a sealskin jacket and looking like some exotic Siberian animal, told me about the arrangements he had made for stating out that very night. We ate in the great hall where every sideboard, every wall and even the ceiling were festooned with stuffed birds - sparrow-hawks, herons, owls, nightjars, buzzards, harriers, vultures and falcons, some with wings outstretched, some perched on branches which were themselves hooked on to nails.
In order to reach the place chosen for our shoot by half past four we were to leave at about three-thirty in the morning. A shelter made of blocks of ice had been built there to keep out the terrible wind of the hours before daylight. It is the sort of wind which is so cold that it cuts into your flesh like a saw, pinches like a pair of pliers, stings like a poisoned dart and burns like fire.
My cousin was rubbing his hands. "I've never known such a frost," he said, "we were down to twelve below zero at six this evening."
Directly after supper I plunged straight into bed and went to sleep by the light of an enormous fire blazing in my hearth. As three struck, I was awoken. I put on a sheepskin and Karl when I met him was wrapped in a bearskin. After we had each drunk two cups of boiling hot coffee followed by two glasses of liqueur brandy we set off, accompanied by a keeper and by out two dogs, Plongeon and Pierrot.
As soon as I stepped outside I was frozen to the marrow. It was one of those nights when the world seems dead with cold. The frozen air becomes an almost tangible presence so badly does it hurt. Not a breath of wind stirs; all is rigid, motionless. The atmosphere bites, cuts, dries up and kills all trees, plants and insects; sometimes small birds fall dead to the frozen ground where they too stiffen at once in its icy embrace.
The pale moon in its last quarter and titled to one side seemed to hang half-dead in space, too weak to go on and itself paralysed by the severity of the weather in the heavens. Casting a weak, mournful light on the world it shed the usual pale glimmer it gives each month at the end of its resurrection.
Karl and I walked side by side, backs hunched against the cold, our hands in our pockets and guns under the arm. Our shoes had been wrapped in wool so that we could walk without slipping on the frozen river. Now they made no sound and as we walked on I watched the breath of our dogs rise as white steam beneath us.
We were soon at the edge of the marsh and turned into one of the pathways of dry rushes leading through this miniature forest. Our elbows brushing against the long, ribbonlike leaves made a soft sound. I was gripped as never before by the very powerful and particular emotion which the marsh produces within me. This one felt stone dead of cold as we trod on its surface through the dried-up reeds.
Suddenly, as we came round a bend in one of the pathways, I saw the ice hut constructed to shelter us. I went in, and since we had an hour to wait before any stray bird might awaken I rolled myself up in my wrap and tried to get warm. Lying on my back I began to look at the crooked moon which, distorted through the semi-transparent walls of this igloo, looked like four horns in the sky. Soon the cold from the frozen marsh together with the condensation coming off the walls and dropping on us from above had got so deep into me that I began to cough. My cousin Karl became suddenly worried.
"Never mind if we don't have much of a bag today," he said. "I certainly don't want you to catch cold. Come on let's build a fire."
He ordered the keeper to cut us some rushes. We piled them up in the middle of the shelter in whose roof a gap was left to let out smoke. When the red flames licked the clear crystal walls within, they began to melt little by little as if in a gentle sweat. Karl, who had remained outside, cried out, "Come and see!"
I came out and was lost in wonder. Our cone-shaped cabin looked now like a diamond with a fire at its heart crystallizing suddenly out of the frozen water of the marsh. Inside could be seen the fantastical shapes of our two dogs as they too tried desperately to get warm.
A strange cry, the cry of a lost wanderer, passed over our heads. The glow from our hearth was beginning to wake the birds of the wild. Nothing stirs me more than that first anonymous clamour of life carrying so fast and so far before the first light appears on the winter horizon. In the icy dawn, to me that fleeting cry borne on the wings of a bird becomes the sigh of the soul of the world.
"Put out the fire," Karl was saying, "here comes the dawn."
The sky was indeed beginning to grow pale, and across it skeins of ducks sketched long, sudden lines, which in an instant disappeared. A flash burst out in the darkness. Karl had just fired a shot and two dogs were off. From then on, every minute or so changing position, one or other of us would aim as soon as the shadow of a flying formation appeared above the rushes. Pierrot and Plongeon, breathless and ecstatic, retrieved for us the bleeding creatures whose eye sometimes looked at us still.
Dawn had broken on a clear and cloudless day. The sun was appearing at the bottom of the valley and we were thinking of leaving when two birds with necks and wings outstretched passed suddenly over our heads. I fired a shot. One, a teal with a silvery breast, fell practically at my feet. Then from the space above my head came the terrible cry of a bird. It was a heart-breaking lament, repeated over and over. The little creature which had been spared began to wheel and circle against the blue of the sky above us looking down at his dead mate which I held in my hands.
Karl, on his knees, the gun at his shoulder and a glint in his eye, was watching, waiting for it to come close enough.
"You shot the female," he said, "the male will never leave now."
Nor did he. He circled and cried around us and never did a cry of pain pierce my heart like that grief-stricken sound, the sorrowful reproach of a poor creature lost now in the heavens above. At times he would flee under threat from the gun trained upon him. Sometimes he looked as though he were about to go on alone. But never could he bring himself to leave. Always he came back for the female.
"Put her out on the ground," Karl instructed. "He'll come back in a while."
Heedless of danger and distraught with love for the mate I had killed, the bird approached again. Karl fired. It was as though a cord holding the bird aloft had been cut. I saw a black object fall and heard it land in the rushes. Pierrot brought it back to me.
I put them both, cold already, in the same gamebag. And that same day I left for Paris.
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2024.05.09 16:48 Top10TravelYoutube Southern Africa Hermanus, Swellendam, Mossel Bay, Wilderness, Knysna, Plettenberg Bay, Nature’s Valley, Stormsriver, Jeffery’s Bay, Uniondale, George and Port Elizabeth, South Africa 2023.10.04 - 10.30 Blog Post #67

Context: This is the sixty-seventh of many posts where I share the stories of my travels with those interested and for my future self to read back. This one in particular details my time travelling the Garden Route and further on to the largest city in the Eastern Cape, Port Elizabeth.
Over time, I've realized that my country count... is somewhat inaccurate. Initially, I boasted a total of 19, swept up in the excitement of revealing the big “197 Project.” However, I had made the mistake of including layovers where I didn’t even leave the airport! I must admit that my initial count was inflated. In truth, the number stood at 12.
Among them are obvious destinations like Canada and the USA, and others like Hungary and Scotland, where I had direct family ties in both. Additionally, there are countries like Austria and Spain, where I ventured to visit family friends while in Hungary. We took a family vacation in Cuba once, and more recently, there was another stop in the Caribbean, the Dominican Republic, back in November 2021, right before this whole project began. That was a work opportunity that stemmed from my first time in LA. The final four would be Iceland, Greece, Italy, and The Vatican. The first of those four was a mere brief but worthwhile stopover in Reykjavik on the way home from Budapest. The other three were during a holiday in March of 2018 that ended up costing me more money than I initially expected, naively falling for the tourist trap restaurants and shops.
Although it’s long been debated on what actually constitutes a legitimate visit to a nation, a simple airport layover doesn't qualify...no matter who you ask. Over time, I've been able to correct myself as I eventually visit those miscounted countries yet, at that point in time I had no interest in the simple solution of lowering my count. It was easier said than done, as odd as that sounds. I suppose this serves as a good example of my headspace at the time. So close yet, so far.
Anyway, shifting to the primary topic of this blog, my journey along the iconic stretch of highway between Cape Town and Port Elizabeth. Spanning about 750 kilometres, this route divides the two major cities, showcasing numerous small towns, beaches, forests, and attractions worth exploring.
My initial destination was the town of Hermanus, where I enjoyed watching whales from the rocky coastline or sending up my drone to have a view from above. Moving forward, I journeyed to Swellendam, one of the oldest established towns in South Africa. It was there, through various sites and museums set up for heritage conservation that I learned more about Afrikaner history, Voortrekkers and The Great Trek. It was fascinating to learn about.
While I could easily dedicate this entire journal entry to talking about the intricate history, the conflicts, and the evolution of the various Republics, this would surely lead me down a rabbit hole of archives and YouTube videos that I don’t have the time to research right now.
Continuing my travels, I arrived at Wilderness, a peaceful seaside town. En route, I chatted with the Xhosa driver, who told me about the Transkei region where he was from. Besides urging me to explore “The Wild Coast,” he also revealed some interesting aspects of his community and shared his ideas on how they could progress.
The man spoke about the perpetual cycle of cultural influence and explained how many people prefer instant gratification over the possibility of long-term progress. He mentioned that the government's grant of roughly 300 SAR (perhaps even more) per month per child exacerbates the community's struggles.
Often, parents will have as many children as they can to receive enough monetary benefit to survive. Consequently, despite free education, many families won’t be able to afford uniforms, further burdened by the expectation that children financially support both parents and siblings. Without education, they struggle to find work and often end up on paths leading to drug abuse or incarceration. As they grow older and slip further from stability, they are almost incentivized to repeat the cycle, bear children, and collect compensation.
I found it interesting to hear about his upbringing and his plans to take a different approach by working hard to provide for his two children, whom he planned to support and nurture over time. While he acknowledges apartheid inflicted major setbacks, he emphasised the need for resilience. “Look at the Jews in Europe!” He exclaimed. “They were the victims of mass genocide but now, even after all that happened, they seem to be doing just fine, don’t they?” I laughed and nodded my head.
In Wilderness, I stayed at a beachside hostel that sat up on the cliff edge, overlooking the coast below. It was incredible. The weather was still on the cold side but we made the most of the ocean by our periodic plunges. During load shedding we’d all gather around the candles and play card games or go for a walk along the abandoned train tracks. Speaking of trains, the downfall of the railway systems throughout the country is an interesting topic in itself but again, I don’t want to wander too far off track…haha.
Along the path to Victoria Bay that can be reached via the abandoned rail line and an old sketchy bridge, we passed by a noteworthy dwelling. It was an odd cave, home to 14 people! One interesting guy in particular was on track to break the record (27 years) for the longest time spent living in a cave. To say the least, it was definitely the most creative living space I’ve ever toured.
Next was Knysna, which was nice but nothing special. Once I felt as though I had seen enough, I moved on to the more appealing town of Plettenberg Bay. With a Swiss girl I had gotten to know back in Wilderness and a German girl she had met the night before, we spent a day taking our time along the Roberg nature trail. I enjoyed that hike, spotting sharks from atop the cliffs and soaking in the sun after a couple days of rain.
During my second full day in town I mainly used it as a day of admin. First, I made a trip to stock up on essentials: rice, olive oil, salt, and cayenne pepper. Then I got some laundry done, booked my next stay, and worked on another journal blog post by the ocean.
The next stop was Nature’s Valley, a coastal village surrounded by hills and forests. The backpackers' hostel I stayed at, however, was inland, enveloped by trees, and my accommodation was a shared cabin. I enjoyed the group dinners, campfires and starlit nights.
The following couple of days were primarily spent hiking the surrounding area and visiting a nearby farm store to enjoy coffee and edit during rainy periods. On my last day before departing, a few of us went to explore Stormsriver before I had to leave later that evening to meet up with Martin, a Czech guy I had met back in Wilderness, who had something interesting planned and suggested I tag along.
He didn’t provide me with many details but simply instructed me to meet him in Jeffery’s Bay so we could begin the drive northwest to a little town called Uniondale, for a golf tournament! The morning after I arrived at the meeting spot, we began our journey right away, our first stop being a small shop in the surf village where he planned to buy a new board. I enjoyed observing how certain boards were shaped. We then embarked on our drive northwest, chatting and enjoying the incredible scenery that unfolded before us—mountains, valleys and irregular shaped rocks.
Upon arriving at the golf course, notorious for its poor condition, we met up with Martin's friends who would make up the other half of our team of four. As we gathered, I introduced myself, all the while trying to piece together an outfit from the random items I had packed away that would be appropriate enough for golf but also not too hot.
Initially, as we walked towards the clubhouse I was puzzled by a small group of poor “coloured” (not a derogatory word, that’s just how they describe the mixed race) kids, until I realized they were caddies! To say the least, it was interesting, and I guess I can respect the honest hustle, but it definitely felt abnormal.
My attire for the day was a mash-up of brown boots, dark green pants, a red and orange funky collared shirt from West Africa, topped off with a Links Golf course bucket hat gifted to me by one of the brothers—quite a sight, I must say. Alongside our caddie named Keaton, we prepared for the first hole, with the aroma of spit lamb wafting in the background, promising a feast after the game.
The golf course was mostly occupied by Afrikaans folks, with their awesome old-school Toyota Hilux trucks parked along the gravel behind the clubhouse. We were each given a 6 iron and a small patch of grass for particularly rough spots, which, in truth, felt like the entire course. The weather was perfect, despite the earlier threat of rain, and I was ready to play despite only completing two and a half rounds of golf in my life.
Well, the game itself proved to be the longest 18 holes of my life, primarily due to my own lack of skills. There were definitely moments of mishap, including one where I swung too hard and accidentally smashed and then launched the driver head directly at poor Keaton who was already sick of attempting to watch where all the missed balls had flown. My shirt, which was already too tight for golf, only added to the challenge.
After the incident, I was relegated to playing with just the 6 iron, but to my surprise, it seemed to work in my favour. With each swing, I found my rhythm improving, and soon I was catching up to the other players, making some impressive shots…well, at least for my standards I suppose.
Our enthusiasm for the game resulted in a minor traffic jam behind us, but we were laughing too much to notice. By the end of the round, we were all eager to finish and despite our poor performance on the course, we were told that our team had undoubtedly had the most fun.
As the day drew to a close, I spent the evening chatting with the Afrikaans locals, sharing stories over a rugby match on TV. Our discussions ranged from farming, their history as a people and their views on South Africa’s future. We even talked about hunting, with some of them offering to take me along if only the season was right.
Finally, I got to taste that beautiful spit lamb I had been eyeing the entire day...I still think about it sometimes. Once we were full to the brim, we made our way along the backroads to the nearby farm where we were offered to stay the night.
Upon arrival, we were met by a welcoming group of younger kids (around my age) who despite barely speaking English, were overly curious as to why or how I was travelling and what I was doing in Uniondale of all places. They reminded me of my friends back home and I found it easy to get along.
As morning broke, I eased myself out of bed, eager to soak in the daylight and venture out to explore the beautiful property. It felt like I was visiting the South African version of the Yellowstone Ranch, absolutely incredible. A place like that was exactly what I always envisioned building after I finished travelling. When people inquire about my plans after visiting every country, they expect more adventures or challenges. “Maybe you will climb Mount Everest?” they’d ask. I'd then respond, “I just want some land near the mountains – a place to build a ranch or some kind of self-sustaining farm.”
Once I had sent my drone soaring to capture some photos for the generous family who had welcomed us, we headed into town for breakfast. It was like Western America met with Dutch architecture…I liked it.
Post-breakfast, we journeyed down to George, where the boys lived, to enjoy a day in town, concluding with watching the Springboks take on France. It was arguably one of the greatest sports matches I’d ever watched.
Martin and I opted to spend the night just outside George at the same hostel in Wilderness where we had met. Although it was nice to see familiar faces, our visit was brief. The next morning, we resumed our trek eastward along the same route I had taken before, this time with the plan of bungee jumping from the Bloukrans Bridge, which served as the boundary between the Western and Eastern Cape! It was a wild experience for a fairly low price compared to most sites around the world.
Having stayed overnight at the same forested hostel near Nature’s Valley, I set off mid-day for Port Elizabeth (nowadays known as Gqeberha). I managed to find a reliable hostel and opted to take things slow after a hectic week of constant movement. I established a bit of a routine; cooking meals, hitting the gym, and paying a daily visit to the old rusted lifeguard stand that I’d hang my clothes on while I took a dip in the ocean.
Understandably, the prices here were much lower than in Cape Town, and it was the most significant representation of a middle class I had seen yet. Being the largest city in the Eastern Cape (and the birthplace of Springbok captain, Siya Kolisi), I wasn’t surprised to find that the majority of residents were Xhosa and I found it as a good opportunity to learn more about their culture and ask for advice on backpacking the Transkei region. This also led to an incredible experience when I was invited to a bar by a man who worked at the hostel during the South Africa semi-finals match against England.
The atmosphere brought back memories of my time in Sierra Leone with the afro-beats and flashy fashion. My favourite part – aside from the Springboks winning – was the harmonious singing of chants and songs like “Shosholoza”, echoing through the bar.
My time in PE was also broken up by a week spent volunteering at a nearby wildlife reserve. It turned out to be an overall okay experience, although not entirely what I had expected. Nevertheless, it provided a great opportunity to get up close to almost all of the Big 5, with the exception of the Leopard!
There were plenty of things I enjoyed about my time there, such as the physical work clearing bushes, cutting invasive cacti, or feeding animals. I also enjoyed the game drives, learning about what it takes to run the reserve, and spending time with the younger crowd of volunteers (mostly European).
However, eventually, I began to feel as though I had become too complacent. The environment was comfortable, but I still felt the desire to venture deeper and further into South Africa to continue talking to and learning about South Africans and the South African nation as a whole, rather than spending my time in a place solely catered to and surrounded by foreigners. One week had been enough there and I was ready to move on.
When I had returned to PE from the reserve, the first pair of travellers I met were actually headed towards the Transkei region and asked if I wanted to join them! This was my chance and the perfect opportunity to visit another region of the country, one that had been recommended to me multiple times!
Later that evening, we watched as the streets of PE lit up until the early morning, with everyone celebrating the narrow but incredible victory over the All Blacks to lift the cup. I was having a great time out and about until I spotted an American who had just been robbed nearby, and that was the end of that.
I dedicated the following day – or what remained of it once I woke up – to tying up any loose ends of work. With an early start the next morning, the three of us – Josie from the UK, James from Australia, and I – headed downtown to the station and then embarked on our eight-hour bus ride east, bound for Mthatha and eager to explore… The Wild Coast.
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2024.05.08 16:59 Worldsokayist1823 Feeling so validated today!

So usually I struggle with doctors so much but a few weeks ago I stuck to my guns and made a GP refer me for my constant neck pain and muscle spasms, after YEARS of this issue. She rolled her eyes and sighed but did it anyway.
Got the results today and I have a very prominent bulging disk in my neck that’s pushing on my anterior chord, with a narrowing on the left hand side causing impingement of the existing C6 nerve root. I also have a (thankfully benign) tumour in my middle back that’s luckily not pushing on anything, just hanging out (still weird though especially for a 36 year old apparently)
I must be the happiest person in the world to find out I’ve got a bulging disk that needs treatment to prevent it herniating 🎉🎉 an actual injury that you can SEE that can’t be fobbed off, and proof of all the times I’ve been to the GP who just roll their eyes and prescribe more muscle relaxants!
I just wanted to celebrate the success of validation for a symptom I raised as we all know this can be rare for us!!
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