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How can someone (30F) tell you (40M) that we are just friends, when it’s clearly not the case?
2024.05.13 17:41 ThrowRASubstanceMore How can someone (30F) tell you (40M) that we are just friends, when it’s clearly not the case?
A coworker (30F) and I (40M) got really close over the past couple of months and it's always a pleasure to be around her as we both share a lot in common. She is in a long term relationship, so I've never considered our relationship anything other than professional.
Myself, I just got divorced and I have a son. Personally, I gave up on going after new relationships. First, my divorce is still fresh and the emotional wounds are wide open. Also, my nonfunctional ex-wife is in no mental capacity of taking care of our boy, so he lives with me (something that I absolutely love and it's the joy of my life). The point is that there's too many things happening on my end to allow me to pay attention to other things around me.
In my workplace it's not uncommon for my coworker and I to be at the office until late night as we frequently opperate at different time zones. For pure convenience, we started going out for dinner together. If time allowed, even some drinks. Inevitably, our relationship grew stronger, into levels that are more of friendship than purely colleagueship.
At this point I also noticed that not only she stopped talking about her boyfriend altogether, but she allowed me to be physically closer to her, as in frequent hugs, cheek kisses and even some leg strokes. Keep in mind that we both are from cultures were touching is not encouraged at all and only reserved for intimate relationhips. But also consider that she's 10 years younger than me, so she might be more ok with all the touching.
We also started talking about personal aspects of ourselves to levels that, I'd say, go beyond friendship material. No, we've never shared nudes or anything like that, but we can easily talk about sex and stories that I'd not tell anyone else. At this point, I'd openly invite her for drinks out and we were doing it almost every other week.
Suddenly, I noticed that she started to get colder and more distant. She would ignore my messages for days and say no to any invites for drinks. It was clear to me that something had changed on her side, so I stepped away to give her some room. To be honest, that was a bit painful. Even though I was not looking for a new relationship, I was starting to liker her more than I should.
Then, out of nowhere, she asks me if I'd like to have dinner with her. I asked her if everything was alright and she said no. She told me that her boyfriend and her were disagreeing a lot recently and that she was was considering leaving him.
From that day on, we went out together several times again. Fancy restaurants, art galleries, a one-day road trip to a nearby city, and we were even planning more fun stuff together, like weekend getaways, music shows and throwing parties together.
Now comes the train-wreck. Going against what I wrote at the beginning of this post, I did try to kiss her. It was the perfect moment: a beautiful sunset by the sea after an amazing dinner. We were in a park, sitting at a bench, holding hands, talking about silly things and really enjoying each other. To my surprise, she stopped me halfway through and asked "what are you doing? We are just friends". She asked me if I liked her. I told her “yes, not in a let’s elope and get married way, but more in a I like to be around you fashion”.
Over the next couple of days she told me over and over again that we are only good friends and that I should not expect anything else. It's been two weeks since I tried to kiss her and things have been cold again. We still talk from time to time, but so far, very cold and distant.
I now feel really bad about everything. First, I didn't need to be in this position in the first place. Of course, I did put myself in it, so I'm not blaming anyone but me. Second, I'm feeling used by her. From my perspective she was only using me to provide her some emotional support whilst going through her break up process. Most likely, my attention was making her feel wanted and loved.
I'd love to hear from you: do you think that her behaviour screams "only friends" and I misread it completely?
PS: Of course there's a side of me that still thinks that all this "we are just friends" is not a response to my attempt to kiss her, but a response to the fact that she still has a boyfriend and that, indeed, she has some feelings for me.
submitted by ThrowRASubstanceMore to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
Myself, I just got divorced and I have a son. Personally, I gave up on going after new relationships. First, my divorce is still fresh and the emotional wounds are wide open. Also, my nonfunctional ex-wife is in no mental capacity of taking care of our boy, so he lives with me (something that I absolutely love and it's the joy of my life). The point is that there's too many things happening on my end to allow me to pay attention to other things around me.
In my workplace it's not uncommon for my coworker and I to be at the office until late night as we frequently opperate at different time zones. For pure convenience, we started going out for dinner together. If time allowed, even some drinks. Inevitably, our relationship grew stronger, into levels that are more of friendship than purely colleagueship.
At this point I also noticed that not only she stopped talking about her boyfriend altogether, but she allowed me to be physically closer to her, as in frequent hugs, cheek kisses and even some leg strokes. Keep in mind that we both are from cultures were touching is not encouraged at all and only reserved for intimate relationhips. But also consider that she's 10 years younger than me, so she might be more ok with all the touching.
We also started talking about personal aspects of ourselves to levels that, I'd say, go beyond friendship material. No, we've never shared nudes or anything like that, but we can easily talk about sex and stories that I'd not tell anyone else. At this point, I'd openly invite her for drinks out and we were doing it almost every other week.
Suddenly, I noticed that she started to get colder and more distant. She would ignore my messages for days and say no to any invites for drinks. It was clear to me that something had changed on her side, so I stepped away to give her some room. To be honest, that was a bit painful. Even though I was not looking for a new relationship, I was starting to liker her more than I should.
Then, out of nowhere, she asks me if I'd like to have dinner with her. I asked her if everything was alright and she said no. She told me that her boyfriend and her were disagreeing a lot recently and that she was was considering leaving him.
From that day on, we went out together several times again. Fancy restaurants, art galleries, a one-day road trip to a nearby city, and we were even planning more fun stuff together, like weekend getaways, music shows and throwing parties together.
Now comes the train-wreck. Going against what I wrote at the beginning of this post, I did try to kiss her. It was the perfect moment: a beautiful sunset by the sea after an amazing dinner. We were in a park, sitting at a bench, holding hands, talking about silly things and really enjoying each other. To my surprise, she stopped me halfway through and asked "what are you doing? We are just friends". She asked me if I liked her. I told her “yes, not in a let’s elope and get married way, but more in a I like to be around you fashion”.
Over the next couple of days she told me over and over again that we are only good friends and that I should not expect anything else. It's been two weeks since I tried to kiss her and things have been cold again. We still talk from time to time, but so far, very cold and distant.
I now feel really bad about everything. First, I didn't need to be in this position in the first place. Of course, I did put myself in it, so I'm not blaming anyone but me. Second, I'm feeling used by her. From my perspective she was only using me to provide her some emotional support whilst going through her break up process. Most likely, my attention was making her feel wanted and loved.
I'd love to hear from you: do you think that her behaviour screams "only friends" and I misread it completely?
PS: Of course there's a side of me that still thinks that all this "we are just friends" is not a response to my attempt to kiss her, but a response to the fact that she still has a boyfriend and that, indeed, she has some feelings for me.
2024.05.13 13:48 xtremexavier15 TMA 6
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, MK, Ripper, Scott, Sky
Episode 6: The Aftermath I: Trent's Descent
A riff from an electric guitar opened the episode as a pair of purple concentric circles flew across and back in the screen towards the upper-left corner, a group of smaller, bluer circles flying through them in the same direction but at a higher speed. As it neared the top of the screen a large and blocky red 'T' flashed into existence and descended back down, and the background music continued into a theme fit for an evening talk show. A similarly-styled 'D' and 'A' appeared next as a few more purple or blue rings crossed the screen, then the three letters slid in from the left to spell out 'TDA'. The word 'AFTERMATH' popped up from the bottom of the screen, temporarily bumping up the first three letters before they slammed back down and centered the text in the middle of the screen.
A gleam swept across the text from upper-left to lower-right, and the 'D' briefly popped forwards with the faint sound of a camera, turning a little bit counterclockwise before reversing into its former position.
Clip 1
"Any final words?" Chris asked the eliminated contestants.
“Yeah. You guys actually voted me off. I respect that,” Eva nodded with a smirk.
“Good luck dudes. Wicked play,” Geoff smiled as he and Eva got off the bleachers and went to the red carpet.
The 'D' popped out briefly again and another bout of recap footage began.
Clip 2
"Here's the deal," Chef stated, pacing about slowly in front of the teen. "I'll help you man up and win this thing. You don't ask any stupid questions and you split the prize with me.” He leaned in closer towards Brick's face. “Like they say, it's an offer you can't refuse. I won't let you," he finished with a deadly scowl, much to Brick's discomfort.
The 'D' popped out a third time, signaling the start of another set of recap footage.
Clip 3
“Trent, it's time to go!” Chris informed the eliminated contestant.
Trent got off the stands. “Before I do, can I at least say goodbye to Sky?”
“You could, but it'd be pointless since Chef will just carry you to the limo,” Chris smiled.
“Alright,” Trent sighed and faced his former teammates. “I'm really sorry about my actions, guys. I'll see you later.” With nothing left to say, he turned and walked down the red carpet.
A fourth time the 'D' popped out, and the last set of recap footage played.
Clip 4
"Izzy!" Izzy was left gaping. "Time to go!" Chris announced.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Izzy objected. “That's not my name.”
“Can I get a pen over here?” Chris raised his hand in annoyance. A pen was given to him, and he started to write on the paper. “It says "E-Scope" now, okay?!” This made Izzy finally stand up.
"And remember," Chris told her as she started to walk past the stage, "you can never come back, ev-er!" The host pressed an orange button next to his microphone, and two identical guards came over and grabbed Izzy by her arms.
(Theme Song)
The same sequence used to open the recap was replayed, an unseen audience cheering wildly after the 'TDA AFTERMATH' logo shined. The camera faded into a shot of a stage from the shadowed audience; it was set up like a talk show with one couch and table in the middle, and two tiers of couches on either side. A variety of lights both stage and decorative were scattered around, and to the left was a passage backstage half-hidden by dividing walls and the dark red curtains that framed the set.
And most importantly, sitting on that central couch, were two figures. Damien on the left and Priya on the right.
The camera zoomed in on them as the applause died down, a pair of computer displays visible on the table turned towards the hosts as Priya waved. "Hey there everyone!" she greeted with a smile. "Welcome to the brand-new Total Drama Action Aftermath Show!"
She paused as the audience cheered and applauded again, and once they'd died down, Damien spoke up. "We're coming to you live," he said, "to dish everything Total Drama Action!"
"This is where the real action is!" Priya said to another bout of cheering. "I'm Priya!" she added in with a smile.
"And I'm Damien!" Damien beamed.
"You may remember us from the hit series Total Drama Island," Priya continued.
"And it's thrilling sequel, Total Drama Action," Damien said, “even if we're not on it.”
"I hate that we missed out on the season and a chance to get the money,” Priya grumbled but regained her positivity, “but we have our own show, so I think it compensates."
"Being in the sequel could've given me the possibility of being rich, but when I'm with you, money doesn't matter," Damien smiled happily at Priya, and the crowd awwed.
"Aww, that's so sweet!” Priya gushed and turned to the audience. “And with no competitions here, we get to talk to all of you."
“So about that new season. Pretty cool, right?" Damien asked, looking out at the camera.
"Of course," Priya nodded. "They get to be on a film lot and do different kinds of movie challenges. How spectacular is that?" The crowd cheered in agreement.
"Super spectacular," a voice said from off-camera, the shot zooming out to show that the couches on the right had been occupied by the other non-competing contestants. On the top row were Rodney, Sam, and Gwen, while the bottom row had Topher, Katie, and Sadie.
“We were being rhetorical," Damien pointed out, "but hey, thanks for reminding everyone that you're not invisible! Topher, everyone!" The camera focused on the dirty blonde, who took stride in the applause from the audience.
"We also brought along all the others from the first season," Priya said.
"They may be considered losers," Damien said, "but not to us."
“Aww,” Katie gushed.
“That is so sweet, you guys,” Sadie added.
"The pleasure's all ours," Damien replied. "Give it up for Topher!" he said, and the crowd cheered as the camera cut back to the fanboy. He shot a wink as the screen was split and a clip played of him smacking a fly onto his eye and getting it swollen.
"And Rodney!" Priya added, the camera cutting to the country boy waving at the camera. The screen also split to play a clip of him, showing him returning back to the game on boat.
"Katie and Sadie!" Damien introduced the two girls.
“Oh my gosh!” Katie cheered.
“We are so super excited to be here!” Sadie expressed her happiness.
"Next we have Sam!" Priya said as the camera moved to the gamer smiling at the camera as a clip played in the split screen showing him hanging from a tree by his knees before falling down.
"And how about a shout out to Gwen!" Damien said. Gwen smiled at the camera while the split screen showed a clip of the goth eating blueberries from a bush.
The camera cut over to Topher, who was engrossed in a phone call. "How long are the papers going to take?" he asked before noticing the audience. "Sorry mom, but I'll have to call you back later!"
Priya and Damien shared a glance before Damien smiled at the camera. "We've also got a lot of texts and emails from all of you!" he said excitedly.
"Plus," Priya said, "we'll have a couple of you on webcam!"
"Eva and Geoff will be here," Damien announced, and the crowd went wild.
"And let's not forget our favorite nutcase, Izzy!" Priya added with a smile, earning another roaring cheer from the crowd.
"Plus the guy with the soul of music, Trent!" Damien finished to another round of applause.
"You know what's strange? The four that you two mentioned were part of the final six in Island along with Scott and you, Priya," Topher said.
"That is pretty shocking," Priya added. "Eva and Geoff especially."
"Eva could have won the season again, but I guess no one wants a repeat," Sam laughed a bit.
"We've got a lot to talk about," Damien told the audience. "It's almost time to welcome our first guests," he announced, "but first, take a look at this!" The nervous wreck looked up to the wide and flat television hanging above the central couch.
The television's static cut to a clip of Geoff and Eva running together to escape the monster. "Geoff and Eva's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said.
"But it sure was packed with the action that we grew to love," Priya continued as Eva and Geoff stuck their heads out from behind a cardboard cutout of a small red car.
"Eva managed to recover from her broken ankle from last season," Damien continued as the muscle woman was shown running through the sidewalk.
"And Geoff proved that losing a tooth doesn't mean losing your positivity," Priya said as footage of Geoff showing off his golden tooth replacement was shown.
"And they both did well for themselves, even if they didn't win the second challenge!" Damien followed up as clips of Geoff and Eva being shown on the ground along with being shot with paintballs courtesy of Chef played.
"But unfortunately, they weren't able to play for another day!" Priya continued.
"I don't even blame the contestants since Eva and Geoff were last season's Final Two," Damien spoke as a clip played of the two going into the limousine. "At least they still have their friendship!"
"One has eaten dog food," Priya said, "and the other has taken control of a forest fire. Our first two guests are Geoff and Eva!"
The Aftermath theme tune played and the crowd went wild as Eva and Geoff pushed open the backstage doors and walked out, smiling at both the audience and the hosts as they took their seats on the lower couch on the left.
"Hey guys!" Priya greeted with a smile as Damien waved.
"Damien! Priya! Glad to see you two again!" Eva said happily.
"Yeah!" Geoff added. "You two getting the hosting gig is impressive!"
"Great to have you guys!" Damien told them. "Sorry you two got eliminated first."
"No need to apologize," Geoff said. "We didn't leave completely empty-handed!"
"Wait, how so?" Damien asked in confusion. "You didn't win the money."
"Not like that," Eva answered. "Geoff managed to take pictures of everybody and everything from the first two seasons to put onto his scrapbook."
"And Eva managed to use part of her money to get construction to build her dream gym," Geoff added. "It's still in construction by the way."
“So how did you two manage to become the Aftermath hosts?” Eva asked them.
"The producers took note of me and Damien's relationship and decided on us being the hosts," Priya answered. "I couldn't pass up this opportunity."
"And plus, the other non-competitors either refused or were turned down," Damien added.
“They especially turned me down,” Topher grumbled. “I would've made a great host.”
"That's pretty understandable," Eva said. "I sure as heck don't want to run my mouth longer than I need to."
"Yeah, hosting a show is something I won't be able to perform well in," Geoff added.
"Moving on," Damien said, "how does it feel being the first two voted off the show?"
"Honestly, I gotta say it was kinda like a punch to the gut," Eva admitted. "I know I'm strong, but I didn't think the contestants would team up to vote us out in just the first episodes."
"I didn't mind as much," Geoff interjected. "I mean, I did want to win the million dollars, but given how we competed in every episode of the first season, it seems fair for us to go home early this time around and give the others a shot. And besides, money isn't everything."
"Thanks for your inputs," Priya said as the camera cut over to her and Damien, "I think it's time for a game called 'Truth or Hammer'!" The crowd started to go wild.
A grand tune played as a shot of a golden statue of Lady Justice was shown. The camera slowly pulled back from it, and as the music ended a large wooden mallet swung down from the left and smashed it to pieces.
Damien stood up as the scene cut back to the hosts and guests. "Here's how this works: we ask you a question, and if you give the wrong answer, a huge hammer will swing down on you."
"Uh, what?" Geoff said as he and Eva looked at each other nervously.
"Eva, Geoff, move out of the way as we do a test run!" Priya announced, and a giant wooden hammer immediately swung down at Eva and Geoff, the two barely avoiding the hit.
"Looks like the hammer is working well. How about we get to the questions?" Damien turned his head to the reality TV fan.
"Absolutely," Priya agreed. "So Eva, after winning last season, why do you think things didn't go well for you this time?"
"Like we both said, we were big time threats. If we didn't get voted off in the second episode, one of us likely would've been in the final two again," Eva answered and looked above her, the hammer still remaining in its position.
"I'm a strategic player, and if I wasn't the first season's winner, I obviously would've voted out the strongest player just so I could get closer to winning," Eva continued.
"Good answer!" Damien said. "So Geoff, are you even remotely mad at not winning the first season and getting kicked off in the second?"
Geoff looked up. "I'm not going to lie at all, especially when there's a hammer that can crush me," the party guy said. "I'm kind of upset."
Everyone was silent for a moment before it became clear the hammer wasn't going to swing down. "I mean... it's like you got dreams for this money and to see them flushed down the drain is disappointing," Geoff explained. "But it is what it is. I had a good time competing, and I got news from one of my brothers that my golden tooth can be sold for money, so at least I got some compensation."
"I'd suggest cleaning the tooth before you sell it," Damien advised before looking at the camera and smiling. "So how about we hear from one of the viewers!"
"Let's see," Priya said, looking down at the computer display on the table in front of her. "CunningLinguist316 asks: Who are you rooting for now that you've been eliminated?"
"Well, I'm rooting for Sky," Eva answered. "I can see some parts of myself in her, and she's one of the more worthy players in the game."
"I'm hoping my man Chase wins," Geoff answered. "He's super athletic and fast, and we're sorta like each other in many ways."
"Good to hear your thoughts," Damien told them.
"Exactly!" Priya added. "But I think it's time we bring out our next guest."
The camera panned up to the wide-screen television as footage of the wild child began to play. "Izzy's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said over a clip of Izzy pushing Ripper out of the way and getting captured by the animatronic monster.
"But it was a thrill ride," Priya added.
“Seriously, Izzy can make a bowl of paste tasty by adding herself to it,” Damien quipped over Izzy getting dropped into the bouncy castle.
"Later on, she suffered a serious blow at the hands of Chef," Priya added over the footage of Izzy falling onto the ground after getting shot in the chest with a paintball and Chef looking over her in worry.
“Chef thinks he's killed her. Look how scared he is!” Damien chimed in as the recap footage paused on Chef; a red circle was drawn around Chef's face.
“Never thought he'd have a sense of humanity. Check this part out! Super hilarious!” Priya giggled over Izzy standing up and laughing about her fake death. “Unfortunately, it was Justin that ruined Izzy's chances when the two took to the stage.” The clips of Justin performing his role and Izzy grumbling over her loss played.
"Dramatic and devious, Izzy will be back for more," Damien continued as the footage showed Izzy getting up from her seat and blowing kisses as the limousine took her away.
The scene returned to the hosts. "Our first guest has impersonated a grizzly and was caught peeing in a pool. Currently number eight on the RCMP's most wanted... Izzy, A.K.A Kaleidoscope!!"
The crowd went wild as the Aftermath theme played, but it suddenly stopped as the hosts looked up at the television. It was now showing footage of a room backstage where Izzy was currently sitting on a couch and eating crackers. The crazy girl had a snack tray-laden table in front of her, and to the left was a television showing the same feed as the one on-stage.
Izzy took notice of the television set. "I'm on TV!" she exclaimed before accidentally spitting out her chewed-up crackers, making the audience laugh quietly. “Oh, oops. Cracker crumbs, you get back here!” She grabbed the crumbs, along with a few grapes and a cracker sandwich with cheese in the middle, and put them all in her cleavage, prompting more laughter.
Izzy stood up and walked out to the stage, the Aftermath theme playing again as she opened the backstage doors and walked out. The audience cheered, and Damien and Priya, along with Eva and Geoff - who were now on the top row of the couches - waved at her, causing her to return the gesture.
“Hello E-Scope!” Priya eagerly greeted her friend.
"Hi, Priya. Hi, Damien," Izzy greeted back as she sat on the couch. "So glad to be here."
“Awesome to have you, but it must be hard losing out on a million bucks,” Damien talked to her.
“Yeah, well... you would know,” Izzy responded, unamusing Damien and Priya while the audience gasped. “Hi, you guys!” she focused on the Peanut Gallery.”
“Hi, Izzy!” Rodney waved.
“Hi, everyone out there in TV land!” Izzy turned to the camera and noticed someone in the audience. “Graham Cracker! That's my old boyfriend Graham! He got a restraining order against me last year. Remember that, Graham?” The audience started mumbling. “So funny. Okay. We were in the courtroom and the judge was all like, "You cannot come within two hundred meters of the plaintiff or you shall suffer the consequences of this courtroom."
After taking a moment to laugh, Izzy continued her story. “The long distance was hard, but we made it work. By the way, Graham, you should get new blinds for your room. What are they made of, lead? I couldn't see a thing with my binoculars! Miss you, Graham Cracker!” She took a cracker out of her cleavage. “I am totally into crackers right now. They're just so flaky!” She giggled and put the cracker into her mouth.
“Kind of like someone we already know,” Damien muttered quietly.
“So Izzy, how did it feel to be the third one voted off the show?” Priya asked.
“My life is an open book. Well, not yet, but it will be once I write it. And you open the book!” Izzy guffawed.
“What was going through your head after being voted off?” Damien questioned.
The music turned sad. “When you realize you're not getting a Gilded Chris Award, well, I can't lie to you,” Izzy sniffed in a rare moment of sadness.
“Oh, it was that painful?” Priya expressed her sympathy.
“No, I just can't lie to you,” Izzy returned to her normal state. “I was outfitted with a lie deterrent microchip that sends shock waves at the first hint of dishonesty. Those are really nice pants, Damien.”
Izzy then got shocked in her neck, demonstrating the microchip inside the body part, but the wild child laughed it off.
“Carrying on,” Damien said uncomfortably. “So what exactly did losing out on the Gilded Chris mean to you?”
“It means I missed out on that buttery chocolate statuette. Ooh, I once took an art class sculpting chocolate nudes, my instructor said I had a real flair for cocoa,” Izzy brought up and earned another electrocution. “Okay, okay, okay. He said I was totally loco. That's what he's actually said.”
"Let's see if you can be honest while answering our questions,” Priya said sneakily, “and the giant hammer will come down if you don't tell the truth!"
“If my implant doesn't get me, the hammer will!” Izzy said, earning laughs from the audience.
Priya and Damien shared a look of bewilderment before facing the camera happily. “Want to know which questions we'll be asking Izzy?" Priya asked the camera.
"Be sure to stay tuned," Damien said. "Right now, we have to take a quick break! We'll be right back!"
The show's logo was shown again, and the 'D' popped out and transitioned the scene to a close-up of a plate of brown mush sitting on a tan-and-goldenrod striped table. Flies were buzzing around it, and part of a familiar torso could be seen standing behind it.
"This episode of the TDA Aftershow," Chef Hatchet said to a catchy elevator music-like jingle as one of the flies buzzing around died and the camera began to zoom out, "was brought to you by Chef's Roadkill Cafe, where Sundays are Bring Your Own Meat!" The camera stopped moving to show the hulking man in full, standing between the table with the plate of mush and a large stone fireplace in the background. In his left hand he held a skewer of a reddish and steaming hunk of meat resting on a plate-like guard piece. The tail of a skunk extended from the top of the meat hunk.
"You hit it, we spit it," Chef said with a motion to the steaming dish in his hand.
(Commercial Break)
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Screaming Gaffers: Chase, MK, Ripper, Scott, Sky
Episode 6: The Aftermath I: Trent's Descent
A riff from an electric guitar opened the episode as a pair of purple concentric circles flew across and back in the screen towards the upper-left corner, a group of smaller, bluer circles flying through them in the same direction but at a higher speed. As it neared the top of the screen a large and blocky red 'T' flashed into existence and descended back down, and the background music continued into a theme fit for an evening talk show. A similarly-styled 'D' and 'A' appeared next as a few more purple or blue rings crossed the screen, then the three letters slid in from the left to spell out 'TDA'. The word 'AFTERMATH' popped up from the bottom of the screen, temporarily bumping up the first three letters before they slammed back down and centered the text in the middle of the screen.
A gleam swept across the text from upper-left to lower-right, and the 'D' briefly popped forwards with the faint sound of a camera, turning a little bit counterclockwise before reversing into its former position.
Clip 1
"Any final words?" Chris asked the eliminated contestants.
“Yeah. You guys actually voted me off. I respect that,” Eva nodded with a smirk.
“Good luck dudes. Wicked play,” Geoff smiled as he and Eva got off the bleachers and went to the red carpet.
The 'D' popped out briefly again and another bout of recap footage began.
Clip 2
"Here's the deal," Chef stated, pacing about slowly in front of the teen. "I'll help you man up and win this thing. You don't ask any stupid questions and you split the prize with me.” He leaned in closer towards Brick's face. “Like they say, it's an offer you can't refuse. I won't let you," he finished with a deadly scowl, much to Brick's discomfort.
The 'D' popped out a third time, signaling the start of another set of recap footage.
Clip 3
“Trent, it's time to go!” Chris informed the eliminated contestant.
Trent got off the stands. “Before I do, can I at least say goodbye to Sky?”
“You could, but it'd be pointless since Chef will just carry you to the limo,” Chris smiled.
“Alright,” Trent sighed and faced his former teammates. “I'm really sorry about my actions, guys. I'll see you later.” With nothing left to say, he turned and walked down the red carpet.
A fourth time the 'D' popped out, and the last set of recap footage played.
Clip 4
"Izzy!" Izzy was left gaping. "Time to go!" Chris announced.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Izzy objected. “That's not my name.”
“Can I get a pen over here?” Chris raised his hand in annoyance. A pen was given to him, and he started to write on the paper. “It says "E-Scope" now, okay?!” This made Izzy finally stand up.
"And remember," Chris told her as she started to walk past the stage, "you can never come back, ev-er!" The host pressed an orange button next to his microphone, and two identical guards came over and grabbed Izzy by her arms.
(Theme Song)
The same sequence used to open the recap was replayed, an unseen audience cheering wildly after the 'TDA AFTERMATH' logo shined. The camera faded into a shot of a stage from the shadowed audience; it was set up like a talk show with one couch and table in the middle, and two tiers of couches on either side. A variety of lights both stage and decorative were scattered around, and to the left was a passage backstage half-hidden by dividing walls and the dark red curtains that framed the set.
And most importantly, sitting on that central couch, were two figures. Damien on the left and Priya on the right.
The camera zoomed in on them as the applause died down, a pair of computer displays visible on the table turned towards the hosts as Priya waved. "Hey there everyone!" she greeted with a smile. "Welcome to the brand-new Total Drama Action Aftermath Show!"
She paused as the audience cheered and applauded again, and once they'd died down, Damien spoke up. "We're coming to you live," he said, "to dish everything Total Drama Action!"
"This is where the real action is!" Priya said to another bout of cheering. "I'm Priya!" she added in with a smile.
"And I'm Damien!" Damien beamed.
"You may remember us from the hit series Total Drama Island," Priya continued.
"And it's thrilling sequel, Total Drama Action," Damien said, “even if we're not on it.”
"I hate that we missed out on the season and a chance to get the money,” Priya grumbled but regained her positivity, “but we have our own show, so I think it compensates."
"Being in the sequel could've given me the possibility of being rich, but when I'm with you, money doesn't matter," Damien smiled happily at Priya, and the crowd awwed.
"Aww, that's so sweet!” Priya gushed and turned to the audience. “And with no competitions here, we get to talk to all of you."
“So about that new season. Pretty cool, right?" Damien asked, looking out at the camera.
"Of course," Priya nodded. "They get to be on a film lot and do different kinds of movie challenges. How spectacular is that?" The crowd cheered in agreement.
"Super spectacular," a voice said from off-camera, the shot zooming out to show that the couches on the right had been occupied by the other non-competing contestants. On the top row were Rodney, Sam, and Gwen, while the bottom row had Topher, Katie, and Sadie.
“We were being rhetorical," Damien pointed out, "but hey, thanks for reminding everyone that you're not invisible! Topher, everyone!" The camera focused on the dirty blonde, who took stride in the applause from the audience.
"We also brought along all the others from the first season," Priya said.
"They may be considered losers," Damien said, "but not to us."
“Aww,” Katie gushed.
“That is so sweet, you guys,” Sadie added.
"The pleasure's all ours," Damien replied. "Give it up for Topher!" he said, and the crowd cheered as the camera cut back to the fanboy. He shot a wink as the screen was split and a clip played of him smacking a fly onto his eye and getting it swollen.
"And Rodney!" Priya added, the camera cutting to the country boy waving at the camera. The screen also split to play a clip of him, showing him returning back to the game on boat.
"Katie and Sadie!" Damien introduced the two girls.
“Oh my gosh!” Katie cheered.
“We are so super excited to be here!” Sadie expressed her happiness.
"Next we have Sam!" Priya said as the camera moved to the gamer smiling at the camera as a clip played in the split screen showing him hanging from a tree by his knees before falling down.
"And how about a shout out to Gwen!" Damien said. Gwen smiled at the camera while the split screen showed a clip of the goth eating blueberries from a bush.
The camera cut over to Topher, who was engrossed in a phone call. "How long are the papers going to take?" he asked before noticing the audience. "Sorry mom, but I'll have to call you back later!"
Priya and Damien shared a glance before Damien smiled at the camera. "We've also got a lot of texts and emails from all of you!" he said excitedly.
"Plus," Priya said, "we'll have a couple of you on webcam!"
"Eva and Geoff will be here," Damien announced, and the crowd went wild.
"And let's not forget our favorite nutcase, Izzy!" Priya added with a smile, earning another roaring cheer from the crowd.
"Plus the guy with the soul of music, Trent!" Damien finished to another round of applause.
"You know what's strange? The four that you two mentioned were part of the final six in Island along with Scott and you, Priya," Topher said.
"That is pretty shocking," Priya added. "Eva and Geoff especially."
"Eva could have won the season again, but I guess no one wants a repeat," Sam laughed a bit.
"We've got a lot to talk about," Damien told the audience. "It's almost time to welcome our first guests," he announced, "but first, take a look at this!" The nervous wreck looked up to the wide and flat television hanging above the central couch.
The television's static cut to a clip of Geoff and Eva running together to escape the monster. "Geoff and Eva's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said.
"But it sure was packed with the action that we grew to love," Priya continued as Eva and Geoff stuck their heads out from behind a cardboard cutout of a small red car.
"Eva managed to recover from her broken ankle from last season," Damien continued as the muscle woman was shown running through the sidewalk.
"And Geoff proved that losing a tooth doesn't mean losing your positivity," Priya said as footage of Geoff showing off his golden tooth replacement was shown.
"And they both did well for themselves, even if they didn't win the second challenge!" Damien followed up as clips of Geoff and Eva being shown on the ground along with being shot with paintballs courtesy of Chef played.
"But unfortunately, they weren't able to play for another day!" Priya continued.
"I don't even blame the contestants since Eva and Geoff were last season's Final Two," Damien spoke as a clip played of the two going into the limousine. "At least they still have their friendship!"
"One has eaten dog food," Priya said, "and the other has taken control of a forest fire. Our first two guests are Geoff and Eva!"
The Aftermath theme tune played and the crowd went wild as Eva and Geoff pushed open the backstage doors and walked out, smiling at both the audience and the hosts as they took their seats on the lower couch on the left.
"Hey guys!" Priya greeted with a smile as Damien waved.
"Damien! Priya! Glad to see you two again!" Eva said happily.
"Yeah!" Geoff added. "You two getting the hosting gig is impressive!"
"Great to have you guys!" Damien told them. "Sorry you two got eliminated first."
"No need to apologize," Geoff said. "We didn't leave completely empty-handed!"
"Wait, how so?" Damien asked in confusion. "You didn't win the money."
"Not like that," Eva answered. "Geoff managed to take pictures of everybody and everything from the first two seasons to put onto his scrapbook."
"And Eva managed to use part of her money to get construction to build her dream gym," Geoff added. "It's still in construction by the way."
“So how did you two manage to become the Aftermath hosts?” Eva asked them.
"The producers took note of me and Damien's relationship and decided on us being the hosts," Priya answered. "I couldn't pass up this opportunity."
"And plus, the other non-competitors either refused or were turned down," Damien added.
“They especially turned me down,” Topher grumbled. “I would've made a great host.”
"That's pretty understandable," Eva said. "I sure as heck don't want to run my mouth longer than I need to."
"Yeah, hosting a show is something I won't be able to perform well in," Geoff added.
"Moving on," Damien said, "how does it feel being the first two voted off the show?"
"Honestly, I gotta say it was kinda like a punch to the gut," Eva admitted. "I know I'm strong, but I didn't think the contestants would team up to vote us out in just the first episodes."
"I didn't mind as much," Geoff interjected. "I mean, I did want to win the million dollars, but given how we competed in every episode of the first season, it seems fair for us to go home early this time around and give the others a shot. And besides, money isn't everything."
"Thanks for your inputs," Priya said as the camera cut over to her and Damien, "I think it's time for a game called 'Truth or Hammer'!" The crowd started to go wild.
A grand tune played as a shot of a golden statue of Lady Justice was shown. The camera slowly pulled back from it, and as the music ended a large wooden mallet swung down from the left and smashed it to pieces.
Damien stood up as the scene cut back to the hosts and guests. "Here's how this works: we ask you a question, and if you give the wrong answer, a huge hammer will swing down on you."
"Uh, what?" Geoff said as he and Eva looked at each other nervously.
"Eva, Geoff, move out of the way as we do a test run!" Priya announced, and a giant wooden hammer immediately swung down at Eva and Geoff, the two barely avoiding the hit.
"Looks like the hammer is working well. How about we get to the questions?" Damien turned his head to the reality TV fan.
"Absolutely," Priya agreed. "So Eva, after winning last season, why do you think things didn't go well for you this time?"
"Like we both said, we were big time threats. If we didn't get voted off in the second episode, one of us likely would've been in the final two again," Eva answered and looked above her, the hammer still remaining in its position.
"I'm a strategic player, and if I wasn't the first season's winner, I obviously would've voted out the strongest player just so I could get closer to winning," Eva continued.
"Good answer!" Damien said. "So Geoff, are you even remotely mad at not winning the first season and getting kicked off in the second?"
Geoff looked up. "I'm not going to lie at all, especially when there's a hammer that can crush me," the party guy said. "I'm kind of upset."
Everyone was silent for a moment before it became clear the hammer wasn't going to swing down. "I mean... it's like you got dreams for this money and to see them flushed down the drain is disappointing," Geoff explained. "But it is what it is. I had a good time competing, and I got news from one of my brothers that my golden tooth can be sold for money, so at least I got some compensation."
"I'd suggest cleaning the tooth before you sell it," Damien advised before looking at the camera and smiling. "So how about we hear from one of the viewers!"
"Let's see," Priya said, looking down at the computer display on the table in front of her. "CunningLinguist316 asks: Who are you rooting for now that you've been eliminated?"
"Well, I'm rooting for Sky," Eva answered. "I can see some parts of myself in her, and she's one of the more worthy players in the game."
"I'm hoping my man Chase wins," Geoff answered. "He's super athletic and fast, and we're sorta like each other in many ways."
"Good to hear your thoughts," Damien told them.
"Exactly!" Priya added. "But I think it's time we bring out our next guest."
The camera panned up to the wide-screen television as footage of the wild child began to play. "Izzy's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said over a clip of Izzy pushing Ripper out of the way and getting captured by the animatronic monster.
"But it was a thrill ride," Priya added.
“Seriously, Izzy can make a bowl of paste tasty by adding herself to it,” Damien quipped over Izzy getting dropped into the bouncy castle.
"Later on, she suffered a serious blow at the hands of Chef," Priya added over the footage of Izzy falling onto the ground after getting shot in the chest with a paintball and Chef looking over her in worry.
“Chef thinks he's killed her. Look how scared he is!” Damien chimed in as the recap footage paused on Chef; a red circle was drawn around Chef's face.
“Never thought he'd have a sense of humanity. Check this part out! Super hilarious!” Priya giggled over Izzy standing up and laughing about her fake death. “Unfortunately, it was Justin that ruined Izzy's chances when the two took to the stage.” The clips of Justin performing his role and Izzy grumbling over her loss played.
"Dramatic and devious, Izzy will be back for more," Damien continued as the footage showed Izzy getting up from her seat and blowing kisses as the limousine took her away.
The scene returned to the hosts. "Our first guest has impersonated a grizzly and was caught peeing in a pool. Currently number eight on the RCMP's most wanted... Izzy, A.K.A Kaleidoscope!!"
The crowd went wild as the Aftermath theme played, but it suddenly stopped as the hosts looked up at the television. It was now showing footage of a room backstage where Izzy was currently sitting on a couch and eating crackers. The crazy girl had a snack tray-laden table in front of her, and to the left was a television showing the same feed as the one on-stage.
Izzy took notice of the television set. "I'm on TV!" she exclaimed before accidentally spitting out her chewed-up crackers, making the audience laugh quietly. “Oh, oops. Cracker crumbs, you get back here!” She grabbed the crumbs, along with a few grapes and a cracker sandwich with cheese in the middle, and put them all in her cleavage, prompting more laughter.
Izzy stood up and walked out to the stage, the Aftermath theme playing again as she opened the backstage doors and walked out. The audience cheered, and Damien and Priya, along with Eva and Geoff - who were now on the top row of the couches - waved at her, causing her to return the gesture.
“Hello E-Scope!” Priya eagerly greeted her friend.
"Hi, Priya. Hi, Damien," Izzy greeted back as she sat on the couch. "So glad to be here."
“Awesome to have you, but it must be hard losing out on a million bucks,” Damien talked to her.
“Yeah, well... you would know,” Izzy responded, unamusing Damien and Priya while the audience gasped. “Hi, you guys!” she focused on the Peanut Gallery.”
“Hi, Izzy!” Rodney waved.
“Hi, everyone out there in TV land!” Izzy turned to the camera and noticed someone in the audience. “Graham Cracker! That's my old boyfriend Graham! He got a restraining order against me last year. Remember that, Graham?” The audience started mumbling. “So funny. Okay. We were in the courtroom and the judge was all like, "You cannot come within two hundred meters of the plaintiff or you shall suffer the consequences of this courtroom."
After taking a moment to laugh, Izzy continued her story. “The long distance was hard, but we made it work. By the way, Graham, you should get new blinds for your room. What are they made of, lead? I couldn't see a thing with my binoculars! Miss you, Graham Cracker!” She took a cracker out of her cleavage. “I am totally into crackers right now. They're just so flaky!” She giggled and put the cracker into her mouth.
“Kind of like someone we already know,” Damien muttered quietly.
“So Izzy, how did it feel to be the third one voted off the show?” Priya asked.
“My life is an open book. Well, not yet, but it will be once I write it. And you open the book!” Izzy guffawed.
“What was going through your head after being voted off?” Damien questioned.
The music turned sad. “When you realize you're not getting a Gilded Chris Award, well, I can't lie to you,” Izzy sniffed in a rare moment of sadness.
“Oh, it was that painful?” Priya expressed her sympathy.
“No, I just can't lie to you,” Izzy returned to her normal state. “I was outfitted with a lie deterrent microchip that sends shock waves at the first hint of dishonesty. Those are really nice pants, Damien.”
Izzy then got shocked in her neck, demonstrating the microchip inside the body part, but the wild child laughed it off.
“Carrying on,” Damien said uncomfortably. “So what exactly did losing out on the Gilded Chris mean to you?”
“It means I missed out on that buttery chocolate statuette. Ooh, I once took an art class sculpting chocolate nudes, my instructor said I had a real flair for cocoa,” Izzy brought up and earned another electrocution. “Okay, okay, okay. He said I was totally loco. That's what he's actually said.”
"Let's see if you can be honest while answering our questions,” Priya said sneakily, “and the giant hammer will come down if you don't tell the truth!"
“If my implant doesn't get me, the hammer will!” Izzy said, earning laughs from the audience.
Priya and Damien shared a look of bewilderment before facing the camera happily. “Want to know which questions we'll be asking Izzy?" Priya asked the camera.
"Be sure to stay tuned," Damien said. "Right now, we have to take a quick break! We'll be right back!"
The show's logo was shown again, and the 'D' popped out and transitioned the scene to a close-up of a plate of brown mush sitting on a tan-and-goldenrod striped table. Flies were buzzing around it, and part of a familiar torso could be seen standing behind it.
"This episode of the TDA Aftershow," Chef Hatchet said to a catchy elevator music-like jingle as one of the flies buzzing around died and the camera began to zoom out, "was brought to you by Chef's Roadkill Cafe, where Sundays are Bring Your Own Meat!" The camera stopped moving to show the hulking man in full, standing between the table with the plate of mush and a large stone fireplace in the background. In his left hand he held a skewer of a reddish and steaming hunk of meat resting on a plate-like guard piece. The tail of a skunk extended from the top of the meat hunk.
"You hit it, we spit it," Chef said with a motion to the steaming dish in his hand.
(Commercial Break)
2024.05.13 12:04 TheShadowspawn Volume 2: Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen – Alien
Pilot Reeda: “Human Dave, why is there a film series named ‘Alien?’”
Human Dave, Captain, Doctor, Quartermaster, and Pilot Reeda are seated on the comfortable couches in the cargo hold, with the Aflarrians milling around in front of the group, and Hope seated on Captain’s lap.
Doctor has a large bowl of popcorn in her lap, and occasionally tosses a piece towards the Aflarrians, who all patiently wait their turn to leap up and catch the offered snack.
Human Dave turns to face Pilot Reeda, who decided to show up at the last moment before the movie selection process could begin, and ponders her question for a moment.
Human Dave: “Well, that particular film series was made a very long time ago. Back when we thought that life on other worlds was a myth.”
PR: “The title seems offensive.”
HD: “I assure you that it’s not. The creatures in that film series were so different; so completely alien to us that it ended up traumatising every generation of human that ever saw it.”
PR: “That hardly changes things, Human Dave. How can a species be trusted when they name things with such carelessness?”
HD: “Was there no time in the entirety of Watrin history where your people didn’t believe there was anyone else out there in the universe?”
PR: “... that is beside the point.”
Alien Captain: “It would seem as though Pilot Reeda simply wishes to argue with you, Human Dave.”
Quartermaster: “I concur. I believe she is attempting to hide her nervousness at joining us by engaging in a verbal argument with Human Dave. The argument has little to no merit, and I believe that Pilot Reeda also knows this, but refuses to back down.”
PR: “Would the peanut gallery please shut up?”
AC: “What is a ‘peanut gallery?’”
HD: “She means the audience to any event. It’s an old reference to when humans used to attend theatre plays, and the people who sat in the cheap seats basically ate peanuts while the play was going on.”
QM: “What is a peanut?”
Alien Doctor: “Another Terran-based snack, but it would not be safe for Cradelians to eat them, due to the presence of certain chemicals contained within. They would wreak havoc on our digestive systems, and possibly cause death if ingested in excess.”
HD: “Well, the same could be said for anything grown on Terra. Or, anything in general. You eat too much of anything, and it’ll eventually be bad for you.”
AD: “This is true.”
PR: “Doesn’t change the fact that you have put such a title onto one of your forms of media.”
HD: “Does that mean you want to watch it?”
PR: “...”
HD: “Does anyone have any issues with Reeda’s choice? It is a horror genre movie, and it’s not even a technicality like with Jaws. Lots of people die in this one, and quite graphically, if I recall correctly.”
AD: “More graphically than Jaws?”
HD: “Actually, in some ways, yes. Xenomorphs have a very interesting life cycle, and they’re very aggressive, even for a fictional species.”
AD: “Xeno... morph?”
HD: “Yeah. Actually, Doctor, I think you’d really like the movies, from a medical practitioner’s perspective. They reproduce by... actually, I think it’d be better if you watch it yourself. Don’t want to spoil any of it. Plus, I’d like to see your unfiltered and unadulterated reaction to the film itself.”
AD: “You are not filling me with confidence after hearing that, Human Dave.”
HD: “Aw, come on. You liked Jaws, so you should be good with gore.”
QM: “THERE IS GORE?!”
HD: “Well, no more than expected, I think. It’s a bit graphic, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
PR: “How many humans die in this film?”
HD: “... only you would ask that. A lot of them. There aren’t many in the movie, mind you, but a lot of them die.”
AC: “Why do you insist on showing us the worst imagery of your species, Human Dave?”
HD: “Hey, I didn’t choose this one. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Reeda. And she just wants to see people die.”
PR: “Humans. I wish to see humans die.”
HD: “... imagining them all with my face, are you?”
PR: “Yes.”
HD: “... that’s very hurtful, Reeda’Tila-Lasoran.”
PR: “Fuck you, human!”
HD: “There we go. That passive-aggressive crap you were just using really doesn’t suit you.”
Pilot Reeda glares at the human sitting on the other side of the cargo bay.
PR: “If I want your opinion, human, I’ll fucking well ask for it!”
HD: “... okay, that’s taking the banter a little too far now.”
Human Dave stands up, and makes his way over to Pilot Reeda, who is clearly trying to ignore the approaching human.
HD: “Are you okay? You’re not usually this angry.”
PR: “I’m fine. Just put the damn movie on.”
HD: “... one thing I have learned in my life is that when someone says they’re fine, it actually means they’re not fine. Reeda, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
PR: “Nothing is wrong! I came here because you requested it of me. But I can very easily leave, Human Dave!”
AC: “That is not necessary, Pilot Reeda. Human Dave, please put the movie on. I am intrigued by what you have described, but would appreciate some more information regarding the premise.”
Human Dave eyes Pilot Reeda curiously for a moment, before returning to his seat, and taking a breath.
HD: “Well, it’s about a crew of humans in stasis investigating a distress signal, and having to contend with not only political plots, but an actual living organism in what was previously a cold, dead universe.”
AC: “I do not understand. Surely there would be life in some form or another in this fictional universe? Are we to believe that there is no native flora or fauna on any planet that humans visit?”
HD: “I think it was heavily implied that the planets they visited were barren for some reason or another. To be fair, back when the movies were made, the space program was still in its infancy, and the idea of trying to find a planet that would be suitable for humans was appealing, but we had to face the inevitable reality that finding a Goldilock’s world suitable for us was quite a tall ask.”
QM: “Goldilock’s world? I am unfamiliar with this term.”
HD: “It’s a reference to an old bedtime story that human tell their children. Basically, it refers to the need to find a world that is neither too hot, nor too cold to support human life. A similar life lesson is taught in the bedtime story, which is where we get the name.”
QM: “Curious. We do not have such a custom amongst Cradelians. At least, I am unaware of such customs among Cradelians, as I only have experience with my own family. Captain, is this the same for your own family?”
AC: “I am unaware of such a custom as well, Quartermaster. Doctor?”
AD: “As far as I am aware, it is not a part of Cradelian culture, as Cradelians do not require much sleep, nor have any issues achieving sleep. So, I am in agreement with Captain and Quartermaster. May I ask what the purpose of a bedtime story is, Human Dave?”
HD: “Sure. Humans, especially children, have way too much energy when they’re young. That sort of flags as they get older, but they’re always full of energy when they’re little. A bedtime story is sometimes necessary for them to receive some sort of stimulation while winding down in preparation for sleep.”
Human Dave looks thoughtful for a moment, before continuing his train of thought.
HD: “I think I touched on this a while back, but kids need routines sometimes, and sleep happens to be something different for everyone. Some kids need quiet to sleep, and some kids need something to amuse themselves while winding down. Stories seem to work for a lot of kids, since sometimes, the sounds of their parents’ voices is soothing to them, and gets them ready for sleep. The story itself doesn’t really matter, aside from personal preference; it’s more listening to something monotonous is calming enough to make them sleep.”
AD: “Most strange. Cradelians can simply close their eyes, and rest for the allotted time necessary for recovery.”
HD: “... I think every human would be very envious of you Cradelians if they found out about that. Sleep doesn’t come easy as humans get older. And quality of sleep declines as well. Not to mention dreams and stuff.”
AC: “Dreams? What are dreams?”
Human Dave’s eyes widen dramatically, as he stares at Captain, then turns his head to look at Doctor and Quartermaster, who have similar incomprehensible expressions on their faces.
HD: “... you guys don’t dream?”
AD: “We do not, Human Dave. I am aware of your nightmares where you relive your fears and traumas, but it is not something Cradelians experience.”
AC: “Humans relive frightening experiences when they sleep?”
Captain looks at Human Dave with a mixture of pity and understanding, to which Human Dave stands up and begins pacing.
HD: “Please don’t look at me like that, Captain. The very reason I don’t talk about it is because I don’t want people looking at me like that. But I’m fine. I hardly dream about anything that I’ve gone through, anyway.”
QM: “Human Dave, did you not just say that when people say that they are fine, that they are, in fact, not fine?”
HD: “Oh, nice. Using my own words against me.”
QM: “Is there unresolved trauma for you, Human Dave? I have seen it debilitate most every person I have treated in my previous role as Medic, but I have not had the pleasure of seeing how it affects the human mind, so I am uncertain if your current defensiveness is a result of us attempting to be understanding, but unable to, since we do not understand humans as well as another would, or if it is a reflection on your current mental state.”
HD: “How did this turn around onto me? I’m alright. I’m seeing a therapist for my own issues, so I’d appreciate it if you guys would just drop it.”
AD: “... very well. However, if you do need someone to speak with, the doors to Medbay are open to all.”
Doctor noticeably turns her head to look at Pilot Reeda, who nods imperceptibly before looking away.
HD: “Okay, hopefully, now that we’re done discussing my many, many issues, can we watch the horror movie?”
...
Silence rings throughout the cargo hold as the end credits roll.
Three Cradelians, and one Klofi-Watrin, sit in mute horror at the movie they just watched.
PR: “... I take it back. I take it all back. The title is fitting. Very fitting. I apologise for ever doubting you, Human Dave.”
HD: “I don’t blame you, Reeda. I had the exact same expression on my face the first time I saw it, too.”
AC: “What exactly did you just make us watch, Human Dave?”
HD: “Arguably, one of the best science fiction horror movies ever made by humans.”
AD: “I am both very disturbed and confused, Human Dave. Why is the life cycle of this species so superfluous? Why is there a need to have those things attach themselves to the faces of humans? Other than implantation of the embryo into a host species? Would it not be easier for the fully developed creature to simply implant the embryo on its own?”
HD: “Well,--”
AD: “In addition, why did it take so long for humans to detect the distress/warning signal from the ship on the planet, and why did they not deactivate it when they were on board? Would this not cause an repeat of this exact scenario if another ship were to pick up the signal?”
HD: “That’s actually—”
AD: “And, probably the biggest question I have is, how did the alien creature grow to such a size in only a matter of hours? It did not show the creature consuming any biological matter, and I have concerns as to how such a creature would eat to make up for its lack of food to fuel such a rapid growth in mere hours from the form from which it emerged from the chest of that particular human. Does it eat through the smaller jaw inside its mouth? Or is the purpose of that jaw merely as a weapon?”
HD: “So, it’s—”
AD: “In fact, is the creature itself some form of sentient bioweapon? It does not appear capable of communication, and if it were capable of such, how would it communicate? I observed no evidence of a tongue, nor any higher thought processes other than to kill its prey, but the hunting process itself was flawed. It did not hunt for food, as far as I observed; it killed for the sake of killing.”
HD: “...”
AD: “It would serve no purpose as a bioweapon, as it appears to be completely uncontrollable, and acts solely on instinct. And if more of those... egg things... were dropped onto a planet, it would be overrun by those creatures, and become a nest of sorts for the creatures, which have proven to be immensely difficult to kill. How would anyone take control of a planet covered in these creatures?”
HD: “If you would let me answer, Doctor?
Doctor pauses for a moment, before a faint dusting of blue appears on her face.
AD: “I apologise, Human Dave. It appears that I have allowed myself to become far too invested in the narrative of the movie.”
HD: “That’s alright. In regards to the life cycle, I don’t actually know why it’s like that. I always guessed it was just to keep the embryos safe, in case the fully grown one got hurt or something.”
AC: “What could hurt something like that? It seemed even more an apex predator than humans do.”
HD: “Well, most living organisms are weak to fire, and in the sequels, that gets touched on, but, just as an aside, fire seems to be the best method for most predators. So, if you get cornered, that’s what you should use to get away.”
QM: “Did the creature survive being blasted by the engines?”
HD: “... I mean, maybe? It’s left ambiguous, I think, because not much can survive the vacuum of space, and if it free-falls into the atmosphere of the planet they just left, it’d probably burn up on re-entry.”
AD: “They did not touch upon the large, dead creature that had appeared on the other ship, either.”
HD: “The Space Jockeys weren’t the focus of the film. Actually, until the expanded media, they weren’t even acknowledged as a major part of the narrative; I think they were just there to serve as evidence of an advanced civilisation that had the eggs in stasis, rather than actually giving them an active role in the story.”
AC: “’Space Jockeys?’”
HD: “The term ‘Space Jockeys’ cropped up during production of the film, but where they got it, I’m not sure. They have a species name, but it was a weird one that I don’t quite remember. This movie was actually one of the reasons that humans were sceptical about the Galactic Community in the beginning, because if this was something that we could think up, then how bad could it actually be out here?”
AD: “I can wholeheartedly assure you, Human Dave, that there is nothing like this in the galaxy. If there were, there would be no Galactic Community, since it would not survive against such a lifeform.”
HD: “Thank God for that, at least. What else did you ask again?”
AC: “The distress signal, and whether they are bioweapons, Human Dave.”
HD: “Couldn’t tell you about the distress signal, since I don’t think it was deactivated either, but you sort of hit the nail on the head with the bioweapon theory.”
AD: “... nail on the head?”
QM: “A crude form of building by driving pieces of metal into other materials to bind them together, Doctor.”
AD: “I am aware of what a nail is Quartermaster. I am confused by the turn of phrase Human Dave used.”
HD: “I meant to say that you managed to guess correctly the first time around. The Xenomorphs were released as a bioweapon, but quickly got out of control once they establish a foothold on any planet.”
AD: “Is there any hope of reclaiming the planet once a foothold is established?”
HD: “Short of glassing the planet, no. Once a Xenomorph infestation starts, it’s almost impossible to reclaim the planet without it.”
AC: “I was originally of the impression that such a method would be too much, but after having seen this movie, and imagining a planet of them, I am in agreement.”
PR: “Me too. I don’t think even an army of Stana-Watrin would be able to stand against just one, let alone a planet of them.”
AD: “At least the movie ended on a somewhat happy note. And with the death of the creature. I do not condone violence, but in this case, I believe it was warranted.”
HD: “Well, buckle up, because there are three more movies in the franchise after this one.”
AC: “... what?”
...
News Announcer: “And, in other news, the unexplained communications breakdown in the Taurus Sector has been the focus of many.
There have been many calls for investigation, and a petition for Terran High Command to send a warship to investigate has accumulated several hundred-thousand signatures.
In addition to this, many have expressed a desire to volunteer to be part of the investigative team, stating concerns that their family members are among those no longer communicating.
Terran High Command has released a statement; proclaiming that they are sending their flagship, the TSF Trailblazer, to head the investigation, as the lack of communication has reached the week-long mark.
All ships are advised not to enter the Taurus Sector until investigations have concluded, as per the statement released by Terran High Command.
“We do not wish for civilian interference, as such a thing may interfere with the investigation that has yet to commence. We ask for patience and understanding in this trying time, as we intend not to abandon our distant brethren, and discover exactly why a breakdown in communications has occurred,” a spokesperson for Terran High Command stated earlier today.
The TSF Trailblazer, humanity’s flagship, helmed by one Commander Nathaniel Beckett, a decorated war hero, and Designated Voice for Humanity, will be sent within the next few days to perform the investigation, alongside members of the UECA, that will assist in the investigation.
(What the Hell is the UECA?)
More on this story as it unfolds.”
First
Previous
submitted by TheShadowspawn to u/TheShadowspawn [link] [comments]
Human Dave, Captain, Doctor, Quartermaster, and Pilot Reeda are seated on the comfortable couches in the cargo hold, with the Aflarrians milling around in front of the group, and Hope seated on Captain’s lap.
Doctor has a large bowl of popcorn in her lap, and occasionally tosses a piece towards the Aflarrians, who all patiently wait their turn to leap up and catch the offered snack.
Human Dave turns to face Pilot Reeda, who decided to show up at the last moment before the movie selection process could begin, and ponders her question for a moment.
Human Dave: “Well, that particular film series was made a very long time ago. Back when we thought that life on other worlds was a myth.”
PR: “The title seems offensive.”
HD: “I assure you that it’s not. The creatures in that film series were so different; so completely alien to us that it ended up traumatising every generation of human that ever saw it.”
PR: “That hardly changes things, Human Dave. How can a species be trusted when they name things with such carelessness?”
HD: “Was there no time in the entirety of Watrin history where your people didn’t believe there was anyone else out there in the universe?”
PR: “... that is beside the point.”
Alien Captain: “It would seem as though Pilot Reeda simply wishes to argue with you, Human Dave.”
Quartermaster: “I concur. I believe she is attempting to hide her nervousness at joining us by engaging in a verbal argument with Human Dave. The argument has little to no merit, and I believe that Pilot Reeda also knows this, but refuses to back down.”
PR: “Would the peanut gallery please shut up?”
AC: “What is a ‘peanut gallery?’”
HD: “She means the audience to any event. It’s an old reference to when humans used to attend theatre plays, and the people who sat in the cheap seats basically ate peanuts while the play was going on.”
QM: “What is a peanut?”
Alien Doctor: “Another Terran-based snack, but it would not be safe for Cradelians to eat them, due to the presence of certain chemicals contained within. They would wreak havoc on our digestive systems, and possibly cause death if ingested in excess.”
HD: “Well, the same could be said for anything grown on Terra. Or, anything in general. You eat too much of anything, and it’ll eventually be bad for you.”
AD: “This is true.”
PR: “Doesn’t change the fact that you have put such a title onto one of your forms of media.”
HD: “Does that mean you want to watch it?”
PR: “...”
HD: “Does anyone have any issues with Reeda’s choice? It is a horror genre movie, and it’s not even a technicality like with Jaws. Lots of people die in this one, and quite graphically, if I recall correctly.”
AD: “More graphically than Jaws?”
HD: “Actually, in some ways, yes. Xenomorphs have a very interesting life cycle, and they’re very aggressive, even for a fictional species.”
AD: “Xeno... morph?”
HD: “Yeah. Actually, Doctor, I think you’d really like the movies, from a medical practitioner’s perspective. They reproduce by... actually, I think it’d be better if you watch it yourself. Don’t want to spoil any of it. Plus, I’d like to see your unfiltered and unadulterated reaction to the film itself.”
AD: “You are not filling me with confidence after hearing that, Human Dave.”
HD: “Aw, come on. You liked Jaws, so you should be good with gore.”
QM: “THERE IS GORE?!”
HD: “Well, no more than expected, I think. It’s a bit graphic, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
PR: “How many humans die in this film?”
HD: “... only you would ask that. A lot of them. There aren’t many in the movie, mind you, but a lot of them die.”
AC: “Why do you insist on showing us the worst imagery of your species, Human Dave?”
HD: “Hey, I didn’t choose this one. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Reeda. And she just wants to see people die.”
PR: “Humans. I wish to see humans die.”
HD: “... imagining them all with my face, are you?”
PR: “Yes.”
HD: “... that’s very hurtful, Reeda’Tila-Lasoran.”
PR: “Fuck you, human!”
HD: “There we go. That passive-aggressive crap you were just using really doesn’t suit you.”
Pilot Reeda glares at the human sitting on the other side of the cargo bay.
PR: “If I want your opinion, human, I’ll fucking well ask for it!”
HD: “... okay, that’s taking the banter a little too far now.”
Human Dave stands up, and makes his way over to Pilot Reeda, who is clearly trying to ignore the approaching human.
HD: “Are you okay? You’re not usually this angry.”
PR: “I’m fine. Just put the damn movie on.”
HD: “... one thing I have learned in my life is that when someone says they’re fine, it actually means they’re not fine. Reeda, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
PR: “Nothing is wrong! I came here because you requested it of me. But I can very easily leave, Human Dave!”
AC: “That is not necessary, Pilot Reeda. Human Dave, please put the movie on. I am intrigued by what you have described, but would appreciate some more information regarding the premise.”
Human Dave eyes Pilot Reeda curiously for a moment, before returning to his seat, and taking a breath.
HD: “Well, it’s about a crew of humans in stasis investigating a distress signal, and having to contend with not only political plots, but an actual living organism in what was previously a cold, dead universe.”
AC: “I do not understand. Surely there would be life in some form or another in this fictional universe? Are we to believe that there is no native flora or fauna on any planet that humans visit?”
HD: “I think it was heavily implied that the planets they visited were barren for some reason or another. To be fair, back when the movies were made, the space program was still in its infancy, and the idea of trying to find a planet that would be suitable for humans was appealing, but we had to face the inevitable reality that finding a Goldilock’s world suitable for us was quite a tall ask.”
QM: “Goldilock’s world? I am unfamiliar with this term.”
HD: “It’s a reference to an old bedtime story that human tell their children. Basically, it refers to the need to find a world that is neither too hot, nor too cold to support human life. A similar life lesson is taught in the bedtime story, which is where we get the name.”
QM: “Curious. We do not have such a custom amongst Cradelians. At least, I am unaware of such customs among Cradelians, as I only have experience with my own family. Captain, is this the same for your own family?”
AC: “I am unaware of such a custom as well, Quartermaster. Doctor?”
AD: “As far as I am aware, it is not a part of Cradelian culture, as Cradelians do not require much sleep, nor have any issues achieving sleep. So, I am in agreement with Captain and Quartermaster. May I ask what the purpose of a bedtime story is, Human Dave?”
HD: “Sure. Humans, especially children, have way too much energy when they’re young. That sort of flags as they get older, but they’re always full of energy when they’re little. A bedtime story is sometimes necessary for them to receive some sort of stimulation while winding down in preparation for sleep.”
Human Dave looks thoughtful for a moment, before continuing his train of thought.
HD: “I think I touched on this a while back, but kids need routines sometimes, and sleep happens to be something different for everyone. Some kids need quiet to sleep, and some kids need something to amuse themselves while winding down. Stories seem to work for a lot of kids, since sometimes, the sounds of their parents’ voices is soothing to them, and gets them ready for sleep. The story itself doesn’t really matter, aside from personal preference; it’s more listening to something monotonous is calming enough to make them sleep.”
AD: “Most strange. Cradelians can simply close their eyes, and rest for the allotted time necessary for recovery.”
HD: “... I think every human would be very envious of you Cradelians if they found out about that. Sleep doesn’t come easy as humans get older. And quality of sleep declines as well. Not to mention dreams and stuff.”
AC: “Dreams? What are dreams?”
Human Dave’s eyes widen dramatically, as he stares at Captain, then turns his head to look at Doctor and Quartermaster, who have similar incomprehensible expressions on their faces.
HD: “... you guys don’t dream?”
AD: “We do not, Human Dave. I am aware of your nightmares where you relive your fears and traumas, but it is not something Cradelians experience.”
AC: “Humans relive frightening experiences when they sleep?”
Captain looks at Human Dave with a mixture of pity and understanding, to which Human Dave stands up and begins pacing.
HD: “Please don’t look at me like that, Captain. The very reason I don’t talk about it is because I don’t want people looking at me like that. But I’m fine. I hardly dream about anything that I’ve gone through, anyway.”
QM: “Human Dave, did you not just say that when people say that they are fine, that they are, in fact, not fine?”
HD: “Oh, nice. Using my own words against me.”
QM: “Is there unresolved trauma for you, Human Dave? I have seen it debilitate most every person I have treated in my previous role as Medic, but I have not had the pleasure of seeing how it affects the human mind, so I am uncertain if your current defensiveness is a result of us attempting to be understanding, but unable to, since we do not understand humans as well as another would, or if it is a reflection on your current mental state.”
HD: “How did this turn around onto me? I’m alright. I’m seeing a therapist for my own issues, so I’d appreciate it if you guys would just drop it.”
AD: “... very well. However, if you do need someone to speak with, the doors to Medbay are open to all.”
Doctor noticeably turns her head to look at Pilot Reeda, who nods imperceptibly before looking away.
HD: “Okay, hopefully, now that we’re done discussing my many, many issues, can we watch the horror movie?”
...
Silence rings throughout the cargo hold as the end credits roll.
Three Cradelians, and one Klofi-Watrin, sit in mute horror at the movie they just watched.
PR: “... I take it back. I take it all back. The title is fitting. Very fitting. I apologise for ever doubting you, Human Dave.”
HD: “I don’t blame you, Reeda. I had the exact same expression on my face the first time I saw it, too.”
AC: “What exactly did you just make us watch, Human Dave?”
HD: “Arguably, one of the best science fiction horror movies ever made by humans.”
AD: “I am both very disturbed and confused, Human Dave. Why is the life cycle of this species so superfluous? Why is there a need to have those things attach themselves to the faces of humans? Other than implantation of the embryo into a host species? Would it not be easier for the fully developed creature to simply implant the embryo on its own?”
HD: “Well,--”
AD: “In addition, why did it take so long for humans to detect the distress/warning signal from the ship on the planet, and why did they not deactivate it when they were on board? Would this not cause an repeat of this exact scenario if another ship were to pick up the signal?”
HD: “That’s actually—”
AD: “And, probably the biggest question I have is, how did the alien creature grow to such a size in only a matter of hours? It did not show the creature consuming any biological matter, and I have concerns as to how such a creature would eat to make up for its lack of food to fuel such a rapid growth in mere hours from the form from which it emerged from the chest of that particular human. Does it eat through the smaller jaw inside its mouth? Or is the purpose of that jaw merely as a weapon?”
HD: “So, it’s—”
AD: “In fact, is the creature itself some form of sentient bioweapon? It does not appear capable of communication, and if it were capable of such, how would it communicate? I observed no evidence of a tongue, nor any higher thought processes other than to kill its prey, but the hunting process itself was flawed. It did not hunt for food, as far as I observed; it killed for the sake of killing.”
HD: “...”
AD: “It would serve no purpose as a bioweapon, as it appears to be completely uncontrollable, and acts solely on instinct. And if more of those... egg things... were dropped onto a planet, it would be overrun by those creatures, and become a nest of sorts for the creatures, which have proven to be immensely difficult to kill. How would anyone take control of a planet covered in these creatures?”
HD: “If you would let me answer, Doctor?
Doctor pauses for a moment, before a faint dusting of blue appears on her face.
AD: “I apologise, Human Dave. It appears that I have allowed myself to become far too invested in the narrative of the movie.”
HD: “That’s alright. In regards to the life cycle, I don’t actually know why it’s like that. I always guessed it was just to keep the embryos safe, in case the fully grown one got hurt or something.”
AC: “What could hurt something like that? It seemed even more an apex predator than humans do.”
HD: “Well, most living organisms are weak to fire, and in the sequels, that gets touched on, but, just as an aside, fire seems to be the best method for most predators. So, if you get cornered, that’s what you should use to get away.”
QM: “Did the creature survive being blasted by the engines?”
HD: “... I mean, maybe? It’s left ambiguous, I think, because not much can survive the vacuum of space, and if it free-falls into the atmosphere of the planet they just left, it’d probably burn up on re-entry.”
AD: “They did not touch upon the large, dead creature that had appeared on the other ship, either.”
HD: “The Space Jockeys weren’t the focus of the film. Actually, until the expanded media, they weren’t even acknowledged as a major part of the narrative; I think they were just there to serve as evidence of an advanced civilisation that had the eggs in stasis, rather than actually giving them an active role in the story.”
AC: “’Space Jockeys?’”
HD: “The term ‘Space Jockeys’ cropped up during production of the film, but where they got it, I’m not sure. They have a species name, but it was a weird one that I don’t quite remember. This movie was actually one of the reasons that humans were sceptical about the Galactic Community in the beginning, because if this was something that we could think up, then how bad could it actually be out here?”
AD: “I can wholeheartedly assure you, Human Dave, that there is nothing like this in the galaxy. If there were, there would be no Galactic Community, since it would not survive against such a lifeform.”
HD: “Thank God for that, at least. What else did you ask again?”
AC: “The distress signal, and whether they are bioweapons, Human Dave.”
HD: “Couldn’t tell you about the distress signal, since I don’t think it was deactivated either, but you sort of hit the nail on the head with the bioweapon theory.”
AD: “... nail on the head?”
QM: “A crude form of building by driving pieces of metal into other materials to bind them together, Doctor.”
AD: “I am aware of what a nail is Quartermaster. I am confused by the turn of phrase Human Dave used.”
HD: “I meant to say that you managed to guess correctly the first time around. The Xenomorphs were released as a bioweapon, but quickly got out of control once they establish a foothold on any planet.”
AD: “Is there any hope of reclaiming the planet once a foothold is established?”
HD: “Short of glassing the planet, no. Once a Xenomorph infestation starts, it’s almost impossible to reclaim the planet without it.”
AC: “I was originally of the impression that such a method would be too much, but after having seen this movie, and imagining a planet of them, I am in agreement.”
PR: “Me too. I don’t think even an army of Stana-Watrin would be able to stand against just one, let alone a planet of them.”
AD: “At least the movie ended on a somewhat happy note. And with the death of the creature. I do not condone violence, but in this case, I believe it was warranted.”
HD: “Well, buckle up, because there are three more movies in the franchise after this one.”
AC: “... what?”
...
News Announcer: “And, in other news, the unexplained communications breakdown in the Taurus Sector has been the focus of many.
There have been many calls for investigation, and a petition for Terran High Command to send a warship to investigate has accumulated several hundred-thousand signatures.
In addition to this, many have expressed a desire to volunteer to be part of the investigative team, stating concerns that their family members are among those no longer communicating.
Terran High Command has released a statement; proclaiming that they are sending their flagship, the TSF Trailblazer, to head the investigation, as the lack of communication has reached the week-long mark.
All ships are advised not to enter the Taurus Sector until investigations have concluded, as per the statement released by Terran High Command.
“We do not wish for civilian interference, as such a thing may interfere with the investigation that has yet to commence. We ask for patience and understanding in this trying time, as we intend not to abandon our distant brethren, and discover exactly why a breakdown in communications has occurred,” a spokesperson for Terran High Command stated earlier today.
The TSF Trailblazer, humanity’s flagship, helmed by one Commander Nathaniel Beckett, a decorated war hero, and Designated Voice for Humanity, will be sent within the next few days to perform the investigation, alongside members of the UECA, that will assist in the investigation.
More on this story as it unfolds.”
First
Previous
2024.05.11 17:01 FrenchCookieMonster [Hiring] Minimalist unicolor digital drawing of a famous opera scene to print on an apron
Hello artist friends !
I’m looking to commission a minimalistic, black/white digital drawing to be printed on an apron as a gift for a friend.
Context
I recently invited a friend to the opera to see a production of Strauss’ Salome, based on the one-act play by Oscar Wilde. After the show my friend made dinner for us but they don’t own a single apron, and so I want to gift them one for their flat warming mid May (or later since the commission and printing might take a while, but ideally within the next few weeks).
[TW GORE/DEATH] The opera is a very dark tragedy that depicts the attempted seduction of the prophet Jokanaan by the princess Salome, stepdaughter of the King Herod Antipas, her dance of the seven veils, the execution of Jokanaan at Salome’s instigation as payment for dancing for the King, and Salome’s death on Herod’s orders. There is a significant pre-existing iconography of this biblical story, as quite a few artists throughout history have depicted it.
I would like the drawing to depict and reference a specific quote from the opera : “Zu meiner eignen Lust will ich den Kopf des Jochanaan in einer Silberschüssel haben.” (= It is for mine own pleasure that I ask the head of Iokanaan in a silver charger.)
Detailed description of the requested drawing
[TW GORE/DEATH] Princess Salome of Judea, shown in three quarter profile, is being handed the head of the prophet Iokanaan on a silver platter. The decapitated prophet’s head is shown in full profile, laid on said silver platter.
I would like the depiction of both Salome & the prophet’s head to resemble the costume and hairstyling of the opera (with slight alterations to be detailed once a deal has been made), and will provide all necessary visual references & stimuli needed (a start can be found here: https://www.operadeparis.fen/season-23-24/opera/salome#gallery)
Precisions on style and colour
As this is for printing on an apron, I want the drawing style to be simple. I would like it to be either a white drawing on a black apron, or a black drawing on a white apron, in a minimalistic style with no background. I am looking for a rather thick and precise line (little to no work on shade, and I’m not fully decided yet on the filling of the bodies, but I lean towards no filling).
If confirmed one-line drawing artists think this is doable in a one-line drawing, let’s talk about it!
I would like the quote above to be included in the design as well, and would need to discuss font choices with the commissioned artist.
Timeline and Budget
Timeline : quite short, since my friend’s flat warming is taking place soon and I don’t want the memories of the opera to fade. A rush fee is negotiable.
Budget : since I’m looking for a minimalist drawing with no colouring or background, I’m not envisioning an exorbitant budget, but I’m willing to discuss it based on your offer, your portfolio and your commission sheet if you have one. I’m not sure what a typical price would be for this kind of art, so I’m going to say $30 or $15/hour to play by the subreddit rules. I will be paying in €, since — as you might have guessed — I’m French.
If you share your portfolio but there are no examples of minimalistic art / black-white line drawings / one-line drawings on it, please share examples of such work you’ve done in the past.
Thank you in advance for your replies/offers/feedback, this is my first time ever commissioning art and I want to do it conscientiously :)
submitted by FrenchCookieMonster to HungryArtists [link] [comments]
I’m looking to commission a minimalistic, black/white digital drawing to be printed on an apron as a gift for a friend.
Context
I recently invited a friend to the opera to see a production of Strauss’ Salome, based on the one-act play by Oscar Wilde. After the show my friend made dinner for us but they don’t own a single apron, and so I want to gift them one for their flat warming mid May (or later since the commission and printing might take a while, but ideally within the next few weeks).
[TW GORE/DEATH] The opera is a very dark tragedy that depicts the attempted seduction of the prophet Jokanaan by the princess Salome, stepdaughter of the King Herod Antipas, her dance of the seven veils, the execution of Jokanaan at Salome’s instigation as payment for dancing for the King, and Salome’s death on Herod’s orders. There is a significant pre-existing iconography of this biblical story, as quite a few artists throughout history have depicted it.
I would like the drawing to depict and reference a specific quote from the opera : “Zu meiner eignen Lust will ich den Kopf des Jochanaan in einer Silberschüssel haben.” (= It is for mine own pleasure that I ask the head of Iokanaan in a silver charger.)
Detailed description of the requested drawing
[TW GORE/DEATH] Princess Salome of Judea, shown in three quarter profile, is being handed the head of the prophet Iokanaan on a silver platter. The decapitated prophet’s head is shown in full profile, laid on said silver platter.
I would like the depiction of both Salome & the prophet’s head to resemble the costume and hairstyling of the opera (with slight alterations to be detailed once a deal has been made), and will provide all necessary visual references & stimuli needed (a start can be found here: https://www.operadeparis.fen/season-23-24/opera/salome#gallery)
Precisions on style and colour
As this is for printing on an apron, I want the drawing style to be simple. I would like it to be either a white drawing on a black apron, or a black drawing on a white apron, in a minimalistic style with no background. I am looking for a rather thick and precise line (little to no work on shade, and I’m not fully decided yet on the filling of the bodies, but I lean towards no filling).
If confirmed one-line drawing artists think this is doable in a one-line drawing, let’s talk about it!
I would like the quote above to be included in the design as well, and would need to discuss font choices with the commissioned artist.
Timeline and Budget
Timeline : quite short, since my friend’s flat warming is taking place soon and I don’t want the memories of the opera to fade. A rush fee is negotiable.
Budget : since I’m looking for a minimalist drawing with no colouring or background, I’m not envisioning an exorbitant budget, but I’m willing to discuss it based on your offer, your portfolio and your commission sheet if you have one. I’m not sure what a typical price would be for this kind of art, so I’m going to say $30 or $15/hour to play by the subreddit rules. I will be paying in €, since — as you might have guessed — I’m French.
If you share your portfolio but there are no examples of minimalistic art / black-white line drawings / one-line drawings on it, please share examples of such work you’ve done in the past.
Thank you in advance for your replies/offers/feedback, this is my first time ever commissioning art and I want to do it conscientiously :)
2024.05.10 22:29 mr-wedsday This just showed up a couple days ago
 | submitted by mr-wedsday to kungfucinema [link] [comments] |
2024.05.06 02:09 nitin1100 Part of the Leica gallery !
 | Insta : cityskodak submitted by nitin1100 to leicaphotos [link] [comments] |
2024.05.05 20:03 Mediocre_Pea_6845 Chinese gardens in Cdramas
 | What makes a Chinese garden so innately Chinese? submitted by Mediocre_Pea_6845 to CDrama [link] [comments] Not intended to be discovered at a glance, but hoping to continuously incite and surprise, the Chinese garden is laid out as a road of discovery. The surrounding garden wall, ponds with lotus flowers and other water plants, lacquered bridges, bamboo groves, pavilions, temples and pagodas make for inspiring scenery. Strolling around the garden following small pathways, galleries and corridors leading from structure to structure, a visitor can either actively enjoy the curated landscape experience or choose to sink into contemplation. According to historical records of the Zhou dynasty, the earliest gardens in China were vast parks built by the aristocracy for pleasure and hunting. Han-dynasty texts mention a greater interest in the ownership of rare plants and animals, as well as an association between fantastic rocks and the mythical mountain paradises of immortals. Elaborate gardens continued to be built by members of the upper classes throughout China’s history. Traditional Chinese gardens were meant to evoke a feeling of being in the larger natural world, so that the occupant could capture the sensations of wandering through the landscape. Compositions of garden rocks were viewed as mountain ranges and towering peaks; miniature trees and bushes suggested ancient trees and forests; and small ponds or springs represented mighty rivers and oceans. In other words, the garden presented the larger world of nature in microcosm. Masses of colorful cultivated blossoms, flowerbeds of regular geometric shape, and singular vistas (such as the formal gardens at Versailles) were all avoided, in keeping with the goal of re-creating actual landscapes. Instead, the many aspects of a Chinese garden are revealed one at a time. A garden’s scenery is constantly altered by the shifting effects of light and the seasons, which form an important part of one’s experience of a garden and help engage all the senses, not just sight. Source Department of Asian Art The Metropolitan Museum of Art |
2024.05.05 13:09 Strange_Emu_1284 A slightly impassioned though still measured review of the Rings of Power, S1
I fully expect this post to be downvoted or actually even removed by the mods upon first seeing it. Which, I protest that (the removal part), because this isn't just froth-mouthed ranting, but valid criticism, pointedly and rightly so, and proper free speech. We SHOULD be able to exercise the harsh condemnation of EVIL in our world, in any form it should manifest itself, rather than to be accomplice to lower mankind into ostriches sticking their heads in the sand every time their personal bubble is inconvenienced to merely hear it...
_____________________________________________________________________________
(Just to be clear, this is not attacking anyone who likes it, and you can check the writing which reflects this. This is just 100% my own opinion on the show)
Rings of Power is the WORST "AAA" beloved-cultural-property TV show or film ever made, for any IP. And especially because $1billion+, and especially x2 because Tolkien. So irreverent as to be sacrilegious, wickedly talentless, radioactive, cringeful babbling tripe, seemingly written produced acted and directed by the biggest hacks on the planet. In fact, I know where all the money went (clearly not on the CGI or the sets): I think you would need a billion dollars just to hire an army of headhunters to scour the entire Earth to search and handpick the singlemost incompetent and unsuitable lackeys to conduct this deranged farce. This truly required a special breed of conjurer to summon from the bowels of hell.
I've seen some terrible TV programming before, some awful films, but this one absolutely takes the cake. Watching RoP, by the end of it you are almost entranced into this parallel-reality queasy feeling of cosmic pessimism in your gut whereby you momentarily feel as though no show has ever been good, no acting ever convincing, no dialogue meaningful, anywhere, ever. Days later you are finally shaken out of the stupor, grumpy as though unwillingly drugged prior. So completely and devastatingly abysmal is the pit of wretched spiritual malaise it inflicts upon the viewer that it acts like a blackhole for all pleasure and satisfaction, a vacuum of enjoyment which achieves the very opposite in the end. Nothing is right, nothing even remotely feels right, like walking through some distorting house of mirrors where not a single reflection rings true.
It's not just that Rings of Power is THAT infernally rotten. It is, obviously, on so many easily arguable and well-defined categories of criticism pillars which are far more universal and objective than they are subjective to point out and prove out beyond any shadow of doubt to a worthy cultural jury, should the Hague tribunal for this blatant crime against humanity ever see the light of day.
But rather, the fact is that RoP is SO radioactively bad that just like spent nuclear fuel or a merry stroll on the daylight side of Mercury, torturously banal and insipidly unworthy modern shlock like RoP is actually harmful to life itself. Since as humans we define "life" not just as photosynthesizing or breathing in the strictly biological sense, but a far deeper necessary soulful definition including our collective wisdom, art, knowledge and civilization. We barely feel we have "life" when deprived of those essentials. It is an ancient adage, that to live as the human requires, is not merely to survive but to enjoy the greater fruits of life, to feel some random moment of intellectual connection to the heavens and a modicum of bliss or pleasure in between all the washing of socks and plowing of fields.
As such, RoP and its ilk needs to be recognized as a symptom of a larger disease; namely, the mutated modern capitalism-perverted raping of actual, proper culture, which the entire Amazon treatment of the Tolkien Legendarium thoroughly represents. Distilled to its broader effect and significant of its deadlier origins, RoP actually represents an anti-cultural cancer which should concern every human being alive on Earth. Because if the blithely inept corporate forces and their giddy well-paid henchmen who created this putrid exorcism-half-child are allowed to go on creating "content" such as this out of our most cherished works, literally bastardizing and corrupting the best of our human culture even worse than Morgoth ever mangled the poor elves into the wretched orc race to begin with, then before too long you'll likewise find yourselves in a fallen land bereft of goodness and civilization, just the same.
The show IS that terrible.
And no, it is not valid to claim, as I'm sure many would try a slick hand to say, that "the rendition of the original literary works and ideas by JRRT into a modern video medium will inevitably change and potentially (subjectively) 'warp or lessen' their cultural integrity no matter what, especially to the cultural purists", and we have precedent against these false strawman arguments: Jackson's excellent-if-imperfect extended editions of LotR (and to a much lesser extent the Hobbit trilogy, though still barely passing as the same just not nearly as convincingly). THERE, lies concrete proof that it is possible to convert JRRT's legendarium into a faithful, meaningful, qualitative, enriching, culturally constructive and VERY entertaining (nearly unanimously so) video medium. So don't even try that angle of deflection.
Also, while I'm here, it should be said, shame on the Tolkien Estate for even allowing this show to ever happen! The term "sellout" doesn't even begin to cover it... a cool quarter of a billion clams, hard to pass up i'll warrant. They, of all possible forces in the world, were the last and best safeguard and ultimate veto power against precisely this type of robbery and running away with the family jewels. Like taking a bribe from Morgoth to bail out of jail, only to find their Silmarils snared and their holy trees chopped, that's what happens when you make a deal with the devil.
Remember how Eisenhower warned the nation of the dangers of the "Industrial Military Complex" in his parting presidential national address, framing it as a kind of headless monster that would only continue to grow and gobble up and warp everything around it if the nation let it, consumed by profit and not the actual sober tenets of national security on practical grounds alone? (the essence of his warning).
Just as so, though in a different domain obviously than the pricey acquisition of war materiel, this Rings of Power abomination in the realm of televised products and what it actually represents – a trillion dollar internet shopping company (Amazon) seeking to promote and inflate their own profitable interests and the moneyed viewership of their mostly lackluster Prime TV network by buying out with sheer irresistible hard cash just about the MOST beloved and treasured and deeply revered cultural property on the planet Earth, Tolkien's mythological masterpiece, and then BUTCHERING it to painful and nihilistic levels of disregard and irredeemable genetic transmutation – is closely symbolic of the kind of large-scale degradation of civilization itself by private, greedy, profit-salivating corporate forces which Eisenhower tried to forewarn us about (albeit in a different sector of commerce which is a technicality, merely, not grounds for dismissing the severity of the matter, for civilization is most assuredly a fantastically complex cat's cradle ultimately spooled from the same string, and ruin in one sector is comparable by a similar degree of misery and detriment to a different type of ruin in a different sector with equivalent widespread effect and influence, and the twang or burning of one strand affects the entire string in the end).
When you let your population's stomachs be mass-exposed to the worst junk and processed food and they begin to consume it as their daily fare, being sickened by it subtly as much or more than they are nourished by it.....
When you let your population's ears be flooded on all the widely adopted channels and venues where "music" plays to mainly consume and be farmed and trained to like (as though it were somehow acceptable to make it normal) only the most shallow, formulaic, repetitive, droning and uninspired, musically dead "pop music" bleated forth by the same familiar pretty puppets.....
When you let your population's minds be invaded by the worst-quality, most mindlessly nonsensical and insultingly rancid TV programming of the most deliriously talentless variety, in which literal billions of dollars of resources are spent to make for something that will only confuse the senses and poison the perception.....
Then you can know that someone, somewhere is getting awfully rich at the expense of the very existential quality of the lives of countless human beings which depend on the greater standards of the society in which they live to uphold beauty and truth and true quality, and likewise protect them from all that tragically harmful cheap profiteering garbage masquerading as actual proper sustenance for the people; garbage passed off as candy most connivingly and subtly deleterious to the happiness of a populace which WILL inevitably so harm them and their children and friends and neighbors where it hurts the most: their health, and most importantly the health of their very humanity. And you can bet the farm this is a downspiraling type of syndrome which only gets worse with time the longer it goes unchecked, the more of it that is produced and doled out, the more of it that is spoonfed to the people in place of real nourishment for the sake of nourishment itself.
You wonder why the world seems to be getting worse, more chaotic, dumber, etc by the year? It is a collective effect as large and hazy as a dark cloud in its end-manifestation, but due to many discreet original sources further upstream as sharp as the head of a syringe, and just as surgically injected.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Before I leave this merry gathering of fiery vocabulary pointed like a jagged spear at the rampant idiocy of the world for which "Rings of Power" stands proud as another crooked poster-child, among other notorious objects and agents of destruction running amok in countless other domains in our paradise lost, I leave you with the actual valid direct criticism of the show which I know this fine rant is thus far still wanting. Though, since I have crafted enough of my own words tonight, I will furbish this out in a most unique form of criticism... as a gallery of horrors, of sorts...
I present to you, direct quotes from the characters of the "Rings of Power" show, hand-selected for the grotesque non-sequiturs of idiocy and total incompetent failure of screenwriting they truly are. Because for this particular show, even though just about literally every single last aspect of it is marred by the stench of a most foul hand, this is all I need present to fully convince the "cultural jury" beyond any reasonable doubt, that is, if the jury possesses any wits or good sense left to pass true judgment with.
Behold! With the similar allergic repulsion as seeing the torture of William Wallace in Braveheart, the complete disembowelment of English dialogue:
"For centuries, they have swept across craig and crevice, washing away the last remnants of our enemy like spring rain over the bones of a dead animal."
-Elrond, S1E1
"I must follow the passage. the other direction."
"You don't know what's down there!"
"That is the reason I must go."
Arondir & Bronwyn, S1E2
"I'm good,"
The Stranger, S1E8
"Friend."
The Stranger, S1E7
"You have not seen what I have seen,"
"I've seen my share,"
"You have not seen what I have seen,"
Galadriel and Elrond, S1E1
"There is a tempest in me! It swept me to this island for a reason. And it will not be quelled by you, regent!"
Galadriel, S1E4
"The sea is always right!"
Adar, S1E3
"The dog may bark at the moon, but he cannot bring it down."
Durin, S1E2
"Nobody goes off trail!"
"And nobody walks alone!"
Harfoots, S1
"One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking seawater."
Galadriel, S1E6
“We don’t slay dragons. Not much for digging jewels. But there’s one thing we can do better than any creature in Middle-earth. We stay true to each other no matter how the path winds or how steep it gets. We face it with our hearts even bigger than our feet. And we just keep walking.”
Largo, S1E7
“Do not spare your pity on me, elf, save it for our enemies for they do not know what they’ve begun.”
Miriel, S1E7
"Because a burden shared may either be halved or doubled, depending on the heart that receives it."
Elrond, S1E5
"Our immortal souls will dwindle into nothing, slowly diminishing, until we are but shadows, swept away by the tides of time."
Elrond, S1E5
"Give me the meat, and give it to me raw."
Durin, S1E5
_____________________________________________________________________________
Ok, that's enough, I can't carry this on... I feel a guilty tinge of infringing upon the Eight Amendment here. That suffices.
submitted by Strange_Emu_1284 to lordoftherings [link] [comments]
_____________________________________________________________________________
(Just to be clear, this is not attacking anyone who likes it, and you can check the writing which reflects this. This is just 100% my own opinion on the show)
Rings of Power is the WORST "AAA" beloved-cultural-property TV show or film ever made, for any IP. And especially because $1billion+, and especially x2 because Tolkien. So irreverent as to be sacrilegious, wickedly talentless, radioactive, cringeful babbling tripe, seemingly written produced acted and directed by the biggest hacks on the planet. In fact, I know where all the money went (clearly not on the CGI or the sets): I think you would need a billion dollars just to hire an army of headhunters to scour the entire Earth to search and handpick the singlemost incompetent and unsuitable lackeys to conduct this deranged farce. This truly required a special breed of conjurer to summon from the bowels of hell.
I've seen some terrible TV programming before, some awful films, but this one absolutely takes the cake. Watching RoP, by the end of it you are almost entranced into this parallel-reality queasy feeling of cosmic pessimism in your gut whereby you momentarily feel as though no show has ever been good, no acting ever convincing, no dialogue meaningful, anywhere, ever. Days later you are finally shaken out of the stupor, grumpy as though unwillingly drugged prior. So completely and devastatingly abysmal is the pit of wretched spiritual malaise it inflicts upon the viewer that it acts like a blackhole for all pleasure and satisfaction, a vacuum of enjoyment which achieves the very opposite in the end. Nothing is right, nothing even remotely feels right, like walking through some distorting house of mirrors where not a single reflection rings true.
It's not just that Rings of Power is THAT infernally rotten. It is, obviously, on so many easily arguable and well-defined categories of criticism pillars which are far more universal and objective than they are subjective to point out and prove out beyond any shadow of doubt to a worthy cultural jury, should the Hague tribunal for this blatant crime against humanity ever see the light of day.
But rather, the fact is that RoP is SO radioactively bad that just like spent nuclear fuel or a merry stroll on the daylight side of Mercury, torturously banal and insipidly unworthy modern shlock like RoP is actually harmful to life itself. Since as humans we define "life" not just as photosynthesizing or breathing in the strictly biological sense, but a far deeper necessary soulful definition including our collective wisdom, art, knowledge and civilization. We barely feel we have "life" when deprived of those essentials. It is an ancient adage, that to live as the human requires, is not merely to survive but to enjoy the greater fruits of life, to feel some random moment of intellectual connection to the heavens and a modicum of bliss or pleasure in between all the washing of socks and plowing of fields.
As such, RoP and its ilk needs to be recognized as a symptom of a larger disease; namely, the mutated modern capitalism-perverted raping of actual, proper culture, which the entire Amazon treatment of the Tolkien Legendarium thoroughly represents. Distilled to its broader effect and significant of its deadlier origins, RoP actually represents an anti-cultural cancer which should concern every human being alive on Earth. Because if the blithely inept corporate forces and their giddy well-paid henchmen who created this putrid exorcism-half-child are allowed to go on creating "content" such as this out of our most cherished works, literally bastardizing and corrupting the best of our human culture even worse than Morgoth ever mangled the poor elves into the wretched orc race to begin with, then before too long you'll likewise find yourselves in a fallen land bereft of goodness and civilization, just the same.
The show IS that terrible.
And no, it is not valid to claim, as I'm sure many would try a slick hand to say, that "the rendition of the original literary works and ideas by JRRT into a modern video medium will inevitably change and potentially (subjectively) 'warp or lessen' their cultural integrity no matter what, especially to the cultural purists", and we have precedent against these false strawman arguments: Jackson's excellent-if-imperfect extended editions of LotR (and to a much lesser extent the Hobbit trilogy, though still barely passing as the same just not nearly as convincingly). THERE, lies concrete proof that it is possible to convert JRRT's legendarium into a faithful, meaningful, qualitative, enriching, culturally constructive and VERY entertaining (nearly unanimously so) video medium. So don't even try that angle of deflection.
Also, while I'm here, it should be said, shame on the Tolkien Estate for even allowing this show to ever happen! The term "sellout" doesn't even begin to cover it... a cool quarter of a billion clams, hard to pass up i'll warrant. They, of all possible forces in the world, were the last and best safeguard and ultimate veto power against precisely this type of robbery and running away with the family jewels. Like taking a bribe from Morgoth to bail out of jail, only to find their Silmarils snared and their holy trees chopped, that's what happens when you make a deal with the devil.
Remember how Eisenhower warned the nation of the dangers of the "Industrial Military Complex" in his parting presidential national address, framing it as a kind of headless monster that would only continue to grow and gobble up and warp everything around it if the nation let it, consumed by profit and not the actual sober tenets of national security on practical grounds alone? (the essence of his warning).
Just as so, though in a different domain obviously than the pricey acquisition of war materiel, this Rings of Power abomination in the realm of televised products and what it actually represents – a trillion dollar internet shopping company (Amazon) seeking to promote and inflate their own profitable interests and the moneyed viewership of their mostly lackluster Prime TV network by buying out with sheer irresistible hard cash just about the MOST beloved and treasured and deeply revered cultural property on the planet Earth, Tolkien's mythological masterpiece, and then BUTCHERING it to painful and nihilistic levels of disregard and irredeemable genetic transmutation – is closely symbolic of the kind of large-scale degradation of civilization itself by private, greedy, profit-salivating corporate forces which Eisenhower tried to forewarn us about (albeit in a different sector of commerce which is a technicality, merely, not grounds for dismissing the severity of the matter, for civilization is most assuredly a fantastically complex cat's cradle ultimately spooled from the same string, and ruin in one sector is comparable by a similar degree of misery and detriment to a different type of ruin in a different sector with equivalent widespread effect and influence, and the twang or burning of one strand affects the entire string in the end).
When you let your population's stomachs be mass-exposed to the worst junk and processed food and they begin to consume it as their daily fare, being sickened by it subtly as much or more than they are nourished by it.....
When you let your population's ears be flooded on all the widely adopted channels and venues where "music" plays to mainly consume and be farmed and trained to like (as though it were somehow acceptable to make it normal) only the most shallow, formulaic, repetitive, droning and uninspired, musically dead "pop music" bleated forth by the same familiar pretty puppets.....
When you let your population's minds be invaded by the worst-quality, most mindlessly nonsensical and insultingly rancid TV programming of the most deliriously talentless variety, in which literal billions of dollars of resources are spent to make for something that will only confuse the senses and poison the perception.....
Then you can know that someone, somewhere is getting awfully rich at the expense of the very existential quality of the lives of countless human beings which depend on the greater standards of the society in which they live to uphold beauty and truth and true quality, and likewise protect them from all that tragically harmful cheap profiteering garbage masquerading as actual proper sustenance for the people; garbage passed off as candy most connivingly and subtly deleterious to the happiness of a populace which WILL inevitably so harm them and their children and friends and neighbors where it hurts the most: their health, and most importantly the health of their very humanity. And you can bet the farm this is a downspiraling type of syndrome which only gets worse with time the longer it goes unchecked, the more of it that is produced and doled out, the more of it that is spoonfed to the people in place of real nourishment for the sake of nourishment itself.
You wonder why the world seems to be getting worse, more chaotic, dumber, etc by the year? It is a collective effect as large and hazy as a dark cloud in its end-manifestation, but due to many discreet original sources further upstream as sharp as the head of a syringe, and just as surgically injected.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Before I leave this merry gathering of fiery vocabulary pointed like a jagged spear at the rampant idiocy of the world for which "Rings of Power" stands proud as another crooked poster-child, among other notorious objects and agents of destruction running amok in countless other domains in our paradise lost, I leave you with the actual valid direct criticism of the show which I know this fine rant is thus far still wanting. Though, since I have crafted enough of my own words tonight, I will furbish this out in a most unique form of criticism... as a gallery of horrors, of sorts...
I present to you, direct quotes from the characters of the "Rings of Power" show, hand-selected for the grotesque non-sequiturs of idiocy and total incompetent failure of screenwriting they truly are. Because for this particular show, even though just about literally every single last aspect of it is marred by the stench of a most foul hand, this is all I need present to fully convince the "cultural jury" beyond any reasonable doubt, that is, if the jury possesses any wits or good sense left to pass true judgment with.
Behold! With the similar allergic repulsion as seeing the torture of William Wallace in Braveheart, the complete disembowelment of English dialogue:
"For centuries, they have swept across craig and crevice, washing away the last remnants of our enemy like spring rain over the bones of a dead animal."
-Elrond, S1E1
"I must follow the passage. the other direction."
"You don't know what's down there!"
"That is the reason I must go."
Arondir & Bronwyn, S1E2
"I'm good,"
The Stranger, S1E8
"Friend."
The Stranger, S1E7
"You have not seen what I have seen,"
"I've seen my share,"
"You have not seen what I have seen,"
Galadriel and Elrond, S1E1
"There is a tempest in me! It swept me to this island for a reason. And it will not be quelled by you, regent!"
Galadriel, S1E4
"The sea is always right!"
Adar, S1E3
"The dog may bark at the moon, but he cannot bring it down."
Durin, S1E2
"Nobody goes off trail!"
"And nobody walks alone!"
Harfoots, S1
"One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking seawater."
Galadriel, S1E6
“We don’t slay dragons. Not much for digging jewels. But there’s one thing we can do better than any creature in Middle-earth. We stay true to each other no matter how the path winds or how steep it gets. We face it with our hearts even bigger than our feet. And we just keep walking.”
Largo, S1E7
“Do not spare your pity on me, elf, save it for our enemies for they do not know what they’ve begun.”
Miriel, S1E7
"Because a burden shared may either be halved or doubled, depending on the heart that receives it."
Elrond, S1E5
"Our immortal souls will dwindle into nothing, slowly diminishing, until we are but shadows, swept away by the tides of time."
Elrond, S1E5
"Give me the meat, and give it to me raw."
Durin, S1E5
_____________________________________________________________________________
Ok, that's enough, I can't carry this on... I feel a guilty tinge of infringing upon the Eight Amendment here. That suffices.
2024.05.05 01:44 stormyfuck i'm back with season 1 episode 3
I am tickled pink so many people got a kick out of my highdeas during my Bridgerton rewatch. Please enjoy Episode 3 and 4 as the edible kicks in. might not make it to 4, we’ll see
Ep 3
submitted by stormyfuck to BridgertonNetflix [link] [comments]
Ep 3
- Daphnes orgasm song is playing, you know what that means
- The glove is off, it’s for real real now
- Baby’s first wet dream - fully clothed except for 1 gloveless hand
- Lmao the look Daphne's maid gives her after the 3rd proposal…like bitch just jump the duke already
- In an eloise voice “how does one make licking a spoon so sexy?”
- The costuming is top notch. Penelope looks like a young teenager here. Wasn't Nic like 33 when this was filmed?
- Cavorting with the expectant
- The sibling interactions on this show feel so real. That love/hate vibe is so hard to pull off imo
- “Just marry the man you like spending time with” OKAY SURE MOM EW
- I’m a baaaaaaad guuuuy. This version of the song is what made me want to watch this show
- These balls are so over the top. This one seems to be bird themed? The tri-peacock taxidermy centerpiece is something else. There’s live parrots in cages?
- MUST I SHARE YOUR ATTENTION WITH EVERY MOON-EYED DANDY (Daphne: teehee)
- Loser suiter trio: Daphne asks man for his opinion, man has never formed thoughts before. My ancestral home is almost as large as my penis is small. Classic my boomer parents hate each other bit.
- Meanwhile, Daphne wants to be with her bff who she totally did not have a barely-sex dream about
- I love daphne’s attenborough commentary on the mating ritual between prince and cowper
- Lol exquisite SNORT. This is the moment simon fell in love lmao
- Poor prince, he really got shafted here
- Madame Delacroix’s accent drop is great “oui oui we are closed -BLUDDY ELL”
- At the club playing games with my boyz
- Alright who let the sluts out
- Simon and Sienna would probably have had a nice life together. Childless, full of art and music
- Anthony wants to kill simon so bad right now. First his sister now sienna?? What a rake
- Anthony and Daphne have no clue how to use a stove. How weird it would be to have all this niche knowledge about how to act on the marriage market and no clue how to make a warm cuppa
- Daphne: why wont simon ask me to marry him? Anthony: here’s a bit of his tragic backstory. Do you understand why he would be a bad partner to you? Daphne: I can fix him
- Madame delacroix: i must have measured you wrong! Portia: no marina’s just a fat little porker
- Cressi just crushed someones foot to get to the prince. This ruthless cunt is going to be a monster in season 3
- I think Philippa actually pulls off the featherington tackiness. She makes it work for her
- If the bridgertons were bluebirds the featheringtons are toucan-flamingos
- These gallery walls seem too high for practical viewing
- Violet trying to get anthony hooked up with a smart lady. I bet she loves kate
- tag yourself i’m a lovely girl with an ugly countenance
- LD being devious. Always let people talk shit freely lol
- Uh oh prince also wants those pringle can mustache man bangs all to himself
- Oh yeah you sure fooled LD you two. Youre definitely not in love and not about to have the most romantic and sexual hand hold
- Ooh simons not going after sienna because hes in luuurve
- Where do they keep him anyway? - prince, about KG. like hes a wild animal :( that bums me out man
- Sisters be sisters am i right
- Time to use the poor and unfortunate as a way to scare marina
- Alright here come the cum puns with daphne’s o song
- Our bffs who totally dont want to fuck are promenading
- Ooh i think this is the touch yourself talk
- Simon like no way i have to tell this virgin what sexual pleasure is
- “A pinnacle, a release…and that should help you. Come”
- LD - dont break this girl’s heart, her mom is the daughter of my favorite lover
- B&E smoke break on the swings
- Ben: are you LW? Eloise: nooo ;) probably not me maybe
- Baby’s first pinnacle
- “You’ve finished! How lovely”
- Simon like bro my mom-figure says i cant be friends with you anymore
- Pringle bangs quiver when daphne cries
- Sienna is super pretty
- Antony you devil, darkening her doorway
- “I cannot think of anything else. Come back to me” theres our feral anthony
- Oh no the love-lost letter has arrived
- I bet george would have done right by marina if he didnt die
- Even cressi’s mom is like thank god my ugly little brat cant compete with diamond daphne
- I think my edibles hitting. I cant stop thinking about pringles. Theyre stupidly good right? are they dried potatoes reshaped? what are those delicious little things
- Violet- here’s 14 girls id like as daughters-in-law, ok? Get your shit together kiddo love you
- Marina doesnt look terrible in yellow
- Daphne comes out like a sexy swan
- Ok tho the amount of money these gowns would have cost at this point in time?? Crazy. I thought 50 was too much for a bridesmaids dress
- Daphne drops her fan, the little flirt, and penelope is like write that shit down write that shit down
- Simon is horny and angry and i’’m into it
- Ope the end time for a snack or a nap or a snacknap
2024.05.03 18:41 ChristianWallis I'm a PI and my client asked me to stalk her. It only got weirder from there
Let’s get the obvious out of the way.
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when someone reached out looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
His eyes flicked to the closet with sickening hunger.
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid, he raced forward momentarily and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. She’s jealous of us, you know?
“Jealous we get to love her.”
And then he disappeared into the darkness and something inside me gave way entirely and I passed out.
I don’t know much of what came after, exactly. I was found a few hours later in my car, idling at a traffic light. I’d made some effort at getting away on my own but didn’t get very far. No surprise here but I got sick as a dog going in that place. A deep chest infection. The kind that scares everyone at least once in their life. Only fair given how fucking stupid I was. But forgive me, I hadn’t anticipated nightmares beyond human comprehension. I challenge anybody to think that fucking far ahead. You think junkies. You think flies. Squatters. But that guy… that man slipping out of the nest and barrelling towards me on two hands. My mind going sizzle pop along with the soles on my boots. In real life, shit like that always sneaks up on you.
So I paid the price. Six months. Jesus. Six long months. I got every fever you can think of. Sepsis. Kidney failure. Liver failure. Month after month drowning in my own fluids, coughing up shit that made the nurses gag and leave. I asked the doctor what the long term effects will be and he winced before reading a list of things that didn’t leave much hope for a happy retirement. And if it was hard on my body, it was even worse on my mind. Those fever dreams… doctors say what I remember in that building, that was all just part of the sickness. Say I spent a good three days in a coma and strange dreams are the norm. Which I might accept if it weren’t the fucking skin graft still healing on my right hand. No one can explain that.
My client visited. Just the once. There are universally sad moments in life and one of them is realising someone you have a lot of affection for doesn’t have it back. They have some. Just not the same amount. It was always one way though, wasn’t it? I saw her every single day but if I was doing my job right, she only saw me once a month for our meetings. Our arrangement ended not long after, so I hope anyway. She left like it was nothing but me… ah Jesus it felt like someone excavated my heart right out. Even after what she told me why she was there, even after what I did, I could barely stand up straight I was so heartbroken. There were times after that I wished the sickness would just take me. Maybe that defeatism is why it got so bad. Who knows?
She came to me looking for a recommendation, of all things. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. But there was a sense of disappointment as she sat beside me and eyed me up.
“I liked the initiative,” she said after a while. “But the results leave me unimpressed.”
“What the fuck happened in that place?” I asked, and even though I could barely hear my own voice, she seemed like she heard every word. For a moment, the way she contemplated it, I thought I was gonna get a straight answer.
“You know my mother said men don’t see ugly women. They know they exist but they just poof them right outta their mind. Like a magic trick. She said we worked better being a little plain. Good enough to take home for a night. Any more and we’d start to leave problems everywhere we go. That guy was a problem. She was trying to warn me about the dangers of attention but silly me, I went and got addicted. I hoped with you there might be a degree of… separation. Infatuation on a contractual basis.”
She took a deep breath like she’d had a long hard day.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom was right. It’s ridiculous, I suppose. The fly shouldn’t admire the spider. It either sees it and fears it, or doesn’t know what’s coming until it’s too late. I think Mom was telling me to go for the latter. It’s no fun being invisible though. You spent all that time looking at me. Following me. What did you see?”
I looked at her until my eyes watered and something throbbed in my skull.
“I don’t know,” I tried to lie.
“Be honest.”
She looked right at me and something in the air changed. I don’t know what. Hot. Jesus it was hot. Like looking at the sun. I remember the heart rate monitor going nuts and then… then I remember gossamer wings and serrated chitin. A tick on the inside of your cheek. A leech on your tongue. A horsehair worm that won’t leave the skin. And then an instant later my eyes refocused and there was just a normal woman in front of me.
“Someone I could have loved,” I answered, unable to stop the words spilling like vomit. “Someone who I thought deserved love.”
“See,” she said. “Who wouldn’t like your version better?”
I was crying again. Heart racing. World like butter, going soft at the edges. Whatever she did, it was like undergoing brain surgery in real time.
“I’d like a recommendation,” she said after another minute or two of silence. “I’d like to see myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t see what you do. I’d like an artist to paint me. A version of me, at least. It won’t be easy on them. All this time you’ve probably looked directly at me for no more than five, ten minutes in total. Just didn’t realise it. Always the back of my head or my hair obscuring just so. That won’t do. I want a portrait. I want to know what you see.”
“What will you do to them?”
“I won’t do anything. Not intentionally. But if you ask someone to paint the sun, expect them to go blind. Whoever paints me will be painting the sun in their living room. Going blind is the least of their problems. Now, fess up. You know someone. You mentioned them once in passing. A cousin, maybe. An artist in need of cash. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because you love me,” she said. “And because despite everything you will get better and you will come back to me. Year or two, I think. You are adamant I have no hold on you, and you will think that for a long time. And this period of freedom, you’ll enjoy it only by my good grace and mercy. You did a good job. Better than any before. I’ve read your notes and reports over and over and seen details of myself I didn’t even know were there. It’s a thing of beauty, what you did. And one day soon you’ll come back to me with some excuse for why you want the contract to continue.”
I tried to spit the word never but managed, at best, a weak shake of the head. Something that put a most peculiar smile on her face.
“It doesn’t work like that. It’d be like trying to brute force your way through Alzheimer’s. You’ll be back. Even now you’re mine. All mine. I’m just being gentle. And you’re going to give me the name and number of this artist because even though you know I could no more love you than a spider loves the fly, you are desperate to please me. Because when I broke the man in that apartment building. When I tore him in two and told him that he would live for as long as I desired, writhing without air for years and years, drowning in sickly fluids and trapped helplessly in a hive he is determined to maintain even though I wouldn't be caught dead going back there. He was grateful. And, with time, you’ll be grateful too.”
She put the pen in my hand. She smiled, mouthed the word good boy, and God help me…
I gave her my nephew’s number.
submitted by ChristianWallis to nosleep [link] [comments]
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when someone reached out looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
His eyes flicked to the closet with sickening hunger.
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid, he raced forward momentarily and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. She’s jealous of us, you know?
“Jealous we get to love her.”
And then he disappeared into the darkness and something inside me gave way entirely and I passed out.
I don’t know much of what came after, exactly. I was found a few hours later in my car, idling at a traffic light. I’d made some effort at getting away on my own but didn’t get very far. No surprise here but I got sick as a dog going in that place. A deep chest infection. The kind that scares everyone at least once in their life. Only fair given how fucking stupid I was. But forgive me, I hadn’t anticipated nightmares beyond human comprehension. I challenge anybody to think that fucking far ahead. You think junkies. You think flies. Squatters. But that guy… that man slipping out of the nest and barrelling towards me on two hands. My mind going sizzle pop along with the soles on my boots. In real life, shit like that always sneaks up on you.
So I paid the price. Six months. Jesus. Six long months. I got every fever you can think of. Sepsis. Kidney failure. Liver failure. Month after month drowning in my own fluids, coughing up shit that made the nurses gag and leave. I asked the doctor what the long term effects will be and he winced before reading a list of things that didn’t leave much hope for a happy retirement. And if it was hard on my body, it was even worse on my mind. Those fever dreams… doctors say what I remember in that building, that was all just part of the sickness. Say I spent a good three days in a coma and strange dreams are the norm. Which I might accept if it weren’t the fucking skin graft still healing on my right hand. No one can explain that.
My client visited. Just the once. There are universally sad moments in life and one of them is realising someone you have a lot of affection for doesn’t have it back. They have some. Just not the same amount. It was always one way though, wasn’t it? I saw her every single day but if I was doing my job right, she only saw me once a month for our meetings. Our arrangement ended not long after, so I hope anyway. She left like it was nothing but me… ah Jesus it felt like someone excavated my heart right out. Even after what she told me why she was there, even after what I did, I could barely stand up straight I was so heartbroken. There were times after that I wished the sickness would just take me. Maybe that defeatism is why it got so bad. Who knows?
She came to me looking for a recommendation, of all things. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. But there was a sense of disappointment as she sat beside me and eyed me up.
“I liked the initiative,” she said after a while. “But the results leave me unimpressed.”
“What the fuck happened in that place?” I asked, and even though I could barely hear my own voice, she seemed like she heard every word. For a moment, the way she contemplated it, I thought I was gonna get a straight answer.
“You know my mother said men don’t see ugly women. They know they exist but they just poof them right outta their mind. Like a magic trick. She said we worked better being a little plain. Good enough to take home for a night. Any more and we’d start to leave problems everywhere we go. That guy was a problem. She was trying to warn me about the dangers of attention but silly me, I went and got addicted. I hoped with you there might be a degree of… separation. Infatuation on a contractual basis.”
She took a deep breath like she’d had a long hard day.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom was right. It’s ridiculous, I suppose. The fly shouldn’t admire the spider. It either sees it and fears it, or doesn’t know what’s coming until it’s too late. I think Mom was telling me to go for the latter. It’s no fun being invisible though. You spent all that time looking at me. Following me. What did you see?”
I looked at her until my eyes watered and something throbbed in my skull.
“I don’t know,” I tried to lie.
“Be honest.”
She looked right at me and something in the air changed. I don’t know what. Hot. Jesus it was hot. Like looking at the sun. I remember the heart rate monitor going nuts and then… then I remember gossamer wings and serrated chitin. A tick on the inside of your cheek. A leech on your tongue. A horsehair worm that won’t leave the skin. And then an instant later my eyes refocused and there was just a normal woman in front of me.
“Someone I could have loved,” I answered, unable to stop the words spilling like vomit. “Someone who I thought deserved love.”
“See,” she said. “Who wouldn’t like your version better?”
I was crying again. Heart racing. World like butter, going soft at the edges. Whatever she did, it was like undergoing brain surgery in real time.
“I’d like a recommendation,” she said after another minute or two of silence. “I’d like to see myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t see what you do. I’d like an artist to paint me. A version of me, at least. It won’t be easy on them. All this time you’ve probably looked directly at me for no more than five, ten minutes in total. Just didn’t realise it. Always the back of my head or my hair obscuring just so. That won’t do. I want a portrait. I want to know what you see.”
“What will you do to them?”
“I won’t do anything. Not intentionally. But if you ask someone to paint the sun, expect them to go blind. Whoever paints me will be painting the sun in their living room. Going blind is the least of their problems. Now, fess up. You know someone. You mentioned them once in passing. A cousin, maybe. An artist in need of cash. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because you love me,” she said. “And because despite everything you will get better and you will come back to me. Year or two, I think. You are adamant I have no hold on you, and you will think that for a long time. And this period of freedom, you’ll enjoy it only by my good grace and mercy. You did a good job. Better than any before. I’ve read your notes and reports over and over and seen details of myself I didn’t even know were there. It’s a thing of beauty, what you did. And one day soon you’ll come back to me with some excuse for why you want the contract to continue.”
I tried to spit the word never but managed, at best, a weak shake of the head. Something that put a most peculiar smile on her face.
“It doesn’t work like that. It’d be like trying to brute force your way through Alzheimer’s. You’ll be back. Even now you’re mine. All mine. I’m just being gentle. And you’re going to give me the name and number of this artist because even though you know I could no more love you than a spider loves the fly, you are desperate to please me. Because when I broke the man in that apartment building. When I tore him in two and told him that he would live for as long as I desired, writhing without air for years and years, drowning in sickly fluids and trapped helplessly in a hive he is determined to maintain even though I wouldn't be caught dead going back there. He was grateful. And, with time, you’ll be grateful too.”
She put the pen in my hand. She smiled, mouthed the word good boy, and God help me…
I gave her my nephew’s number.
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Hi All,
Throwaway for anonymity.
I’m a hobbyist photographer who has been shooting in a serious capacity for 7 years. Prior to that, I sporadically took photographs of friends, family, travel, and other things that interested me.
But in 2017 I decided to really dedicate myself to photography and begin to put a serious effort into improving and understanding visual arts. I read books, took a class in college, and spent time learning about composition, light, as well as the technical and artistic aspects of photography.
My primary type of photography is portraiture. I love taking photos of people and nothing thrills me more than when someone loves a photo I’ve taken of them and uses it to represent themselves.
While I have had a few paid gigs throughout the years, I’ve largely worked in what is known as TFP, or trade for print. Basically it is two or more individuals coming together to create art where no money is exchanged and the end product is art which all parties can add to their portfolios (photographer, model, makeup artist, digital retoucher, stylist, etc.)
Last October I came down with a bout of what I expect was my first ever case of symptomatic COVID. While I had been very physically active up to that point, a regular weight lifter and cyclist, I took the experience of COVID shortness of breath as a challenge and it spurred me to take up running seriously for the first time in my life.
It’s been an incredible journey learning about running form, different workout programming, and running several races. It has been rewarding and has enriched my life considerably, I am very grateful for it.
Near the beginning of 2024 I decided to join my love of photography with my new passion for running. I started attending local races and taking photos of runners. Sometimes race organizers would see me and ask if they could have copies, to which I’ve obliged and provided small, local non-profit organizations with photos from their races at no charge.
I’m fortunate to have a very good career and have no desire to turn my creative pursuit into a job, or even a side income. I am focused on my career and photography is a way for me to step well outside of my normal mindset and exercise my brain in ways I otherwise wouldn’t be able to.
In April I found a local race which was a new type I hadn’t photographed before- a trail race. These races take place off road on dirt and rock paths of various types of terrain. They’re more challenging than parking in a parking lot and walking to a starting line.
Because this race was ~1 hour away from me I wanted to ensure that the race organizer knew I was coming and was ok with it since I didn’t want to waste a Saturday morning driving 2 hours for nothing if I were turned away or denied access to the trail while the athletes were competing.
The race organizer was happy to have me but shared that he couldn’t afford to pay me as he had already hired another photographer. I told him that was no problem, this was entirely in the pursuit of art and pleasure for me and he could use the images in social media with credit to me.
Some days later, before the race, the race organizer announced who the official photographer would be in an Instagram post. I had heard of this individual before. We were mutuals on IG and had exchanged a very limited number of pleasantries, but nothing more.
The day of the race I made a point to arrive very early and was there 30 minutes before the race. Introduced myself to the race director and thanked him for having me there. Just a few minutes before the race the other photographer arrived. I made a point to introduce myself and tell her that I admired her work and that I had cleared it with the race organizer that I be there. I also told her I would work to stay out of her way and to not hesitate to let me know if there were any concerns.
The race proceeded and we both began a long walk down the trail, following the competitors, she had a sizable lead on me for about 30 minutes as I took a moment before heading out to gather my equipment. Eventually I caught up and we made small talk several times throughout several hours as we encountered and re-encountered each other throughout the trails.
We talked about the event, the weather, the landscape, equipment, and technique. They were small pleasantries, but they were pleasant and everything seemed to be amicable.
I only stayed for the first few hours of the event and the next day shared a story on IG with a photo of my laptop, showing that I had a lot of photos to edit and would be working on them. The photographer messaged me and asked if I would refrain from sharing any photos until they shared theirs.
This was an unusual request and not something I had ever been asked before. I did not feel as if it was a big inconvenience to me so I agreed, no problem.
4 days pass. My photos were ready to share 1 day after the photographer asked me to wait. In the meantime we exchanged a few messages and paid compliments to each other. The photographer was very kind to me and complimentary of my work.
On the 4th day, the photographer told me that they were just waiting for the race organizer to make a post and that they had shared the images with the organizer the day prior. I looked and confirmed that the organizer had indeed made a post. I communicated this to the photographer and they told me to go ahead and post.
Since I had been sitting on my photos for a few days, I decided to cook up some nice slideshow slides for my IG story. So when it was time to post I was ready and deployed the images, ending with a link to the full gallery for participants to download.
The photographer was not pleased, apparently there was a problem that I had posted my gallery link before the race organizer shared theirs.
Our conversation, which I will link below in an image gallery, ends with the photographer effectively ending the conversation and unfollowing me.
Before and after they have unfollowed me, I’ve received a variety of messages from race participants and their family members thanking me and complimenting the photos.
I feel like the photographer either tried to change the conditions or was not specific enough on what they wanted from me. I tried to be very polite and kind throughout the process, but really felt like that was all pointless after how they handled the situation.
See the attached conversation which I’ve anonymized to get a full, firsthand account of how all of our conversations went down.
https://imgur.com/a/6H4j4mV
AITAH?
submitted by Royal_Bass_7229 to AITAH [link] [comments]
Throwaway for anonymity.
I’m a hobbyist photographer who has been shooting in a serious capacity for 7 years. Prior to that, I sporadically took photographs of friends, family, travel, and other things that interested me.
But in 2017 I decided to really dedicate myself to photography and begin to put a serious effort into improving and understanding visual arts. I read books, took a class in college, and spent time learning about composition, light, as well as the technical and artistic aspects of photography.
My primary type of photography is portraiture. I love taking photos of people and nothing thrills me more than when someone loves a photo I’ve taken of them and uses it to represent themselves.
While I have had a few paid gigs throughout the years, I’ve largely worked in what is known as TFP, or trade for print. Basically it is two or more individuals coming together to create art where no money is exchanged and the end product is art which all parties can add to their portfolios (photographer, model, makeup artist, digital retoucher, stylist, etc.)
Last October I came down with a bout of what I expect was my first ever case of symptomatic COVID. While I had been very physically active up to that point, a regular weight lifter and cyclist, I took the experience of COVID shortness of breath as a challenge and it spurred me to take up running seriously for the first time in my life.
It’s been an incredible journey learning about running form, different workout programming, and running several races. It has been rewarding and has enriched my life considerably, I am very grateful for it.
Near the beginning of 2024 I decided to join my love of photography with my new passion for running. I started attending local races and taking photos of runners. Sometimes race organizers would see me and ask if they could have copies, to which I’ve obliged and provided small, local non-profit organizations with photos from their races at no charge.
I’m fortunate to have a very good career and have no desire to turn my creative pursuit into a job, or even a side income. I am focused on my career and photography is a way for me to step well outside of my normal mindset and exercise my brain in ways I otherwise wouldn’t be able to.
In April I found a local race which was a new type I hadn’t photographed before- a trail race. These races take place off road on dirt and rock paths of various types of terrain. They’re more challenging than parking in a parking lot and walking to a starting line.
Because this race was ~1 hour away from me I wanted to ensure that the race organizer knew I was coming and was ok with it since I didn’t want to waste a Saturday morning driving 2 hours for nothing if I were turned away or denied access to the trail while the athletes were competing.
The race organizer was happy to have me but shared that he couldn’t afford to pay me as he had already hired another photographer. I told him that was no problem, this was entirely in the pursuit of art and pleasure for me and he could use the images in social media with credit to me.
Some days later, before the race, the race organizer announced who the official photographer would be in an Instagram post. I had heard of this individual before. We were mutuals on IG and had exchanged a very limited number of pleasantries, but nothing more.
The day of the race I made a point to arrive very early and was there 30 minutes before the race. Introduced myself to the race director and thanked him for having me there. Just a few minutes before the race the other photographer arrived. I made a point to introduce myself and tell her that I admired her work and that I had cleared it with the race organizer that I be there. I also told her I would work to stay out of her way and to not hesitate to let me know if there were any concerns.
The race proceeded and we both began a long walk down the trail, following the competitors, she had a sizable lead on me for about 30 minutes as I took a moment before heading out to gather my equipment. Eventually I caught up and we made small talk several times throughout several hours as we encountered and re-encountered each other throughout the trails.
We talked about the event, the weather, the landscape, equipment, and technique. They were small pleasantries, but they were pleasant and everything seemed to be amicable.
I only stayed for the first few hours of the event and the next day shared a story on IG with a photo of my laptop, showing that I had a lot of photos to edit and would be working on them. The photographer messaged me and asked if I would refrain from sharing any photos until they shared theirs.
This was an unusual request and not something I had ever been asked before. I did not feel as if it was a big inconvenience to me so I agreed, no problem.
4 days pass. My photos were ready to share 1 day after the photographer asked me to wait. In the meantime we exchanged a few messages and paid compliments to each other. The photographer was very kind to me and complimentary of my work.
On the 4th day, the photographer told me that they were just waiting for the race organizer to make a post and that they had shared the images with the organizer the day prior. I looked and confirmed that the organizer had indeed made a post. I communicated this to the photographer and they told me to go ahead and post.
Since I had been sitting on my photos for a few days, I decided to cook up some nice slideshow slides for my IG story. So when it was time to post I was ready and deployed the images, ending with a link to the full gallery for participants to download.
The photographer was not pleased, apparently there was a problem that I had posted my gallery link before the race organizer shared theirs.
Our conversation, which I will link below in an image gallery, ends with the photographer effectively ending the conversation and unfollowing me.
Before and after they have unfollowed me, I’ve received a variety of messages from race participants and their family members thanking me and complimenting the photos.
I feel like the photographer either tried to change the conditions or was not specific enough on what they wanted from me. I tried to be very polite and kind throughout the process, but really felt like that was all pointless after how they handled the situation.
See the attached conversation which I’ve anonymized to get a full, firsthand account of how all of our conversations went down.
https://imgur.com/a/6H4j4mV
AITAH?
2024.05.03 02:47 0_----__----_0 Hi Denver, here is my list of things to do this weekend [May 2nd - May 5th]
If you get value out of these posts, I send this out as a newsletter which you can sign up for by clicking this link. It's free and the signups help keep these posts going. Please add any events you would like to contribute down below.
Trevor Noah Live @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 8PM
‘Swan Lake’ Ballet @ Buell Theatre @ 7PM ‘Swan Lake,’ the ballet of all ballets, will be performed one night only as a part of the World Ballet Series with a live score played by the Boulder Symphony.
Carlos Ballarta @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Benny The Butcher @ Summit @ 8PM
Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit @ Mission Ballroom @ 7:30PM With Amanda Shires
Sanguisugabogg + Jesus Piece @ Gothic Theatre @ 7PM
Hi I’m Ghost @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Sean Hayes & Esme Patterson @ Bluebird Theater @ 8PM
Megan Burtt and The Patti Fiasco @ Chautauqua @ 8PM
Jamie Miller @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
First Fridays Art Walk @ RiNo Art District @ 6PM Enjoy free exhibitions, markets, live music, and so much more on first Fridays at RiNo!
Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM With Amanda Shires
Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors @ Summit @ 8PM
Caskey @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM
City Morgue @ Mission Ballroom @ 7PM With Fourfive
Missio @ Meow Wolf @ 8PM With Polly Urethane
YOOKie @ Ogden Theatre @ 8PM
Start Making Sense: Talking Heads Tribute @ Gothic Theatre @ 8PM
Flosstradamus @ Temple @ 10PM
Sidepiece @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Knower @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM
Sam Bush @ Boulder Theater @ 8PM With Foggy Mountain Spaceship
Taylor Fest Party @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
Helado Negro @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Pete Wernick + Flexigrass @ Chautauqua @ 8PM
The Toxhards @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
Monster Energy AMA Supercross Championship @ Empower Field @ 4:30PM See the world’s elite riders clash head-to-head for the coveted title of Supercross Champion.
Denver Derby Day Party @ McGregor Square Get your ticket to the biggest & best Derby party outside Kentucky!
Denver Mini Derby @ Tivoli Quad Enjoy a mini horse and corgi races, craft cocktails, photo opps, live music, and, of course, live viewing of the Kentucky Derby on the big screen.
Cinco de Mayo Community Parade @ Civic Center Park @ 11AM
Cherry Creek Fresh Market @ 9AM Shop Colorado products in season like farm flowers, fresh fruit & veggies, local greens, culinary herbs, French cheeses, vegan & gluten-free products, and much more!
May the 4th Pop-Up Market @ Mile High Spirits @ 2PM Shop from local artists, enter an exclusive costume contest, and discover unique products at this edition of Hangin’ N’ Slanging’ market.
Meditation in the Galleries @ Clyfford Still Museum @ 9AM Clear your mind, relax, and enjoy the beauty that surrounds you in the galleries.
Breakfast Fly-In @ Wings Museum @ 9:30AM Enjoy breakfast from a local food truck, watch aircrafts fly in and explore interactive exhibits and simulators.
‘Listen to Your Mother’ Live Show @ Boulder Theater @ 7PM This Mother’s Day show features local writers reading their works on motherhood, taking the audience on a journey filled with humor, poignant moments, and lots of nods of recognition.
‘Samson and Delilah’ Opera @ Ellie Caulkins Opera House @ 7:30PM Opera Colorado closes the season with Saint-Saëns’s operatic take on the biblical story of ‘Samson and Delilah.’
Mersiv @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 5PM With OTT, Smith., Sumthin Sumthin B2B FLY, Yoko, Terrawave
Deep Medi @ Mishawaka Amphitheatre @ 8PM Featuring Mala, Commodo, Sir Spyro, Silkie & Sgt. Pokes
L.A. Witch + Pink Fuzz @ Levitt Pavilion @ 6PM *Part of the Levitt Free Summer Concerts Series
Blind Guardian @ Summit @ 8PM
Suicide Cages + The Burial Plot @ Marquis Theater @ 7:30PM
Mk.gee @ Meow Wolf @ 9PM
James Arthur @ Ogden Theatre @ 8PM With Forest Blakk
Sam Bush @ Gothic Theatre @ 8PM With Pick & Howl
Myles O’Neal @ Temple @ 10PM
Start Making Sense: Talking Heads Tribute @ Fox Theatre @ 9PM
The Music of The Beatles for Kids @ Bluebird Theater @ 11AM Presented by The Rock and Roll Playhouse
Jade Bird @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Way Down Wanderers @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
John Novosad Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 7PM
Cirque de la Symphonie Performance @ Lone Tree Arts Center @ 7PM The Boulder Philharmonic Orchestra and Cirque de la Symphonie join forces to bring a truly awe-inspiring collaboration of musicianship and artistry.
Yo-Yo Ma with the Colorado Symphony in Concert @ Boettcher Concert Hall @ 7PM Multi-GRAMMY Award-winning cellist Yo-Yo Ma returns to perform Elgar’s renowned Cello Concerto with your Colorado Symphony.
Official Cowboy Carter Beyonce Dance Party @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM
The Spill Canvas @ Summit @ 8PM
Jack and Jack @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM With Sammy Wilk
Mersiv @ Mission Ballroom @ 3PM / 7PM With Fly & Onhell
The Amity Affliction @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 6:30PM
Young Rising Sons @ Bluebird Theater @ 7:30PM With Diva Bleach
Cinco de Mayo Celebration @ Globe Hall @ 4PM Featuring Slidewok, Polysanto, Coast to Ghost, & Frankly
All weekend - Jordan Jensen Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown
All weekend - Jamie Lissow Stand Up @ Comedy Works South
All weekend - Music & Blossom Fest @ Canon City The Blossom Festival is the largest community run school music competition in the state.
All weekend - ‘The Cher Show’ Musical @ Buell Theatre ‘The Cher Show’ is 35 smash hits, six decades of stardom, two rock-star husbands, and countless EGOT awards, all in one unabashedly fabulous new musical that will have audiences dancing in the aisles!
All weekend - ‘A Year with Frog and Toad’ Family-Friendly Musical @ Arvada Center Arnold Lobel's treasured characters hop from page to stage in a story of friendship and adventure.
All weekend - ‘Where Did We Sit On The Bus’ Play @ Singleton Theatre Through live music and storytelling, this one-person show immerses the audience in elaborate, layered soundscapes by fusing Latin rhythms, hip-hop, and spoken word poetry.
All weekend - ‘The Lehman Trilogy’ Play @ Kilstrom Theatre ‘The Lehman Trilogy’ is an epic and timely story of family, ambition, and risk, sprawling across 163 years of history of the Lehman Brothers.
All weekend - ‘Emma’ Play @ Wolf Theatre LAST CHANCE - In a new adaptation that’s a bit zany and refreshingly contemporary, playwright Kate Hamill infuses the language and perspectives of today into Austen’s beloved characters.
All weekend - ‘Noises Off’ Play @ Arvada Center LAST CHANCE - A play withing a play, this relentless, high-energy farce is filled with embarrassing moments, behind-the-scenes kerfuffles, physical comedy hijinks, and even flying sardines.
Ongoing - ‘The Berlin Airlift: Supplies from the Sky’ Exhibition @ Wings Museum The exhibit shares the lessons of courage, perseverance, and the triumph of the human spirit and pays tribute to the brave citizens who risked their lives to bring hope to a divided city.
Ongoing - 'Spookadelia' Immersive Show @ Spectra Art Space LAST CHANCE - 'Spookadelia: Doubt’s Echo' is an all-ages narrative-driven psychedelic immersive art, theatrical, and highly interactive experience.
Ongoing - ‘Fazal Sheikh: Thirst Exposure In Place’ Exhibition @ DAM Capturing the Colorado Plateau, Sheikh’s portraits and landscapes shed light on the far-reaching consequences of extractive industry and climate change.
Ongoing - ‘The Russells in Denver, 1921’ Exhibition @ DAM Charles M. Russel’s works capture the vast landscapes, mountain ranges, and peoples of the American West of the 1880s, thus leaving a valuable chronicle of the West that once was.
Ongoing - ‘Sandra Vásquez de la Horra: The Awake Volcanoes’ Exhibition @ DAM The exhibition highlights paintings, drawings, and prints by award-winning artist Sandra Vásquez de la Horra, who explores the notions of fantasy, desire, fear, and pleasure and its relationship to the human body.
Ongoing - Spring Exhibition Series @ MCA MCA’s Spring series includes solo exhibitions of three contemporary artists whose multidisciplinary works focus on the exploration of the natural phenomena, landscapes, and human interactions with the natural world.
Ongoing - ‘Performing Self’ Exhibition @ Boulder Museum of Contemporary ArtThis exhibition provides a look into how seven multidisciplinary artists celebrate the mutability of self-identity through the embodiment of alter egos or personae.
submitted by 0_----__----_0 to Denver [link] [comments]
THURSDAY - MAY 2nd
Avalanche vs Jets @ Ball ArenaTrevor Noah Live @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 8PM
‘Swan Lake’ Ballet @ Buell Theatre @ 7PM ‘Swan Lake,’ the ballet of all ballets, will be performed one night only as a part of the World Ballet Series with a live score played by the Boulder Symphony.
Carlos Ballarta @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Benny The Butcher @ Summit @ 8PM
Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit @ Mission Ballroom @ 7:30PM With Amanda Shires
Sanguisugabogg + Jesus Piece @ Gothic Theatre @ 7PM
Hi I’m Ghost @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Sean Hayes & Esme Patterson @ Bluebird Theater @ 8PM
Megan Burtt and The Patti Fiasco @ Chautauqua @ 8PM
Jamie Miller @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
FRIDAY - MAY 3rd
First Friday Art Walk @ Santa Fe Arts District @ 5:30PM First Fridays in ADSF means the Santa Fe Drive and its side streets come to life for this signature neighborhood event.First Fridays Art Walk @ RiNo Art District @ 6PM Enjoy free exhibitions, markets, live music, and so much more on first Fridays at RiNo!
Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM With Amanda Shires
Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors @ Summit @ 8PM
Caskey @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM
City Morgue @ Mission Ballroom @ 7PM With Fourfive
Missio @ Meow Wolf @ 8PM With Polly Urethane
YOOKie @ Ogden Theatre @ 8PM
Start Making Sense: Talking Heads Tribute @ Gothic Theatre @ 8PM
Flosstradamus @ Temple @ 10PM
Sidepiece @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Knower @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM
Sam Bush @ Boulder Theater @ 8PM With Foggy Mountain Spaceship
Taylor Fest Party @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
Helado Negro @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Pete Wernick + Flexigrass @ Chautauqua @ 8PM
The Toxhards @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
SATURDAY - MAY 4th
Nuggets vs Lakers @ Ball ArenaMonster Energy AMA Supercross Championship @ Empower Field @ 4:30PM See the world’s elite riders clash head-to-head for the coveted title of Supercross Champion.
Denver Derby Day Party @ McGregor Square Get your ticket to the biggest & best Derby party outside Kentucky!
Denver Mini Derby @ Tivoli Quad Enjoy a mini horse and corgi races, craft cocktails, photo opps, live music, and, of course, live viewing of the Kentucky Derby on the big screen.
Cinco de Mayo Community Parade @ Civic Center Park @ 11AM
Cherry Creek Fresh Market @ 9AM Shop Colorado products in season like farm flowers, fresh fruit & veggies, local greens, culinary herbs, French cheeses, vegan & gluten-free products, and much more!
May the 4th Pop-Up Market @ Mile High Spirits @ 2PM Shop from local artists, enter an exclusive costume contest, and discover unique products at this edition of Hangin’ N’ Slanging’ market.
Meditation in the Galleries @ Clyfford Still Museum @ 9AM Clear your mind, relax, and enjoy the beauty that surrounds you in the galleries.
Breakfast Fly-In @ Wings Museum @ 9:30AM Enjoy breakfast from a local food truck, watch aircrafts fly in and explore interactive exhibits and simulators.
‘Listen to Your Mother’ Live Show @ Boulder Theater @ 7PM This Mother’s Day show features local writers reading their works on motherhood, taking the audience on a journey filled with humor, poignant moments, and lots of nods of recognition.
‘Samson and Delilah’ Opera @ Ellie Caulkins Opera House @ 7:30PM Opera Colorado closes the season with Saint-Saëns’s operatic take on the biblical story of ‘Samson and Delilah.’
Mersiv @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 5PM With OTT, Smith., Sumthin Sumthin B2B FLY, Yoko, Terrawave
Deep Medi @ Mishawaka Amphitheatre @ 8PM Featuring Mala, Commodo, Sir Spyro, Silkie & Sgt. Pokes
L.A. Witch + Pink Fuzz @ Levitt Pavilion @ 6PM *Part of the Levitt Free Summer Concerts Series
Blind Guardian @ Summit @ 8PM
Suicide Cages + The Burial Plot @ Marquis Theater @ 7:30PM
Mk.gee @ Meow Wolf @ 9PM
James Arthur @ Ogden Theatre @ 8PM With Forest Blakk
Sam Bush @ Gothic Theatre @ 8PM With Pick & Howl
Myles O’Neal @ Temple @ 10PM
Start Making Sense: Talking Heads Tribute @ Fox Theatre @ 9PM
The Music of The Beatles for Kids @ Bluebird Theater @ 11AM Presented by The Rock and Roll Playhouse
Jade Bird @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Way Down Wanderers @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
SUNDAY - MAY 5th
Steve Vanderploeg Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown @ 7PMJohn Novosad Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 7PM
Cirque de la Symphonie Performance @ Lone Tree Arts Center @ 7PM The Boulder Philharmonic Orchestra and Cirque de la Symphonie join forces to bring a truly awe-inspiring collaboration of musicianship and artistry.
Yo-Yo Ma with the Colorado Symphony in Concert @ Boettcher Concert Hall @ 7PM Multi-GRAMMY Award-winning cellist Yo-Yo Ma returns to perform Elgar’s renowned Cello Concerto with your Colorado Symphony.
Official Cowboy Carter Beyonce Dance Party @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM
The Spill Canvas @ Summit @ 8PM
Jack and Jack @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM With Sammy Wilk
Mersiv @ Mission Ballroom @ 3PM / 7PM With Fly & Onhell
The Amity Affliction @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 6:30PM
Young Rising Sons @ Bluebird Theater @ 7:30PM With Diva Bleach
Cinco de Mayo Celebration @ Globe Hall @ 4PM Featuring Slidewok, Polysanto, Coast to Ghost, & Frankly
All Weekend
SATURDAY & SUNDAY - Denver Cinco de Mayo Festival @ Civic Center Park @ 10AM Immerse yourself in the vibrant spirit of Mexican culture with a weekend full of exciting events, contests, and non-stop entertainment.All weekend - Jordan Jensen Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown
All weekend - Jamie Lissow Stand Up @ Comedy Works South
All weekend - Music & Blossom Fest @ Canon City The Blossom Festival is the largest community run school music competition in the state.
All weekend - ‘The Cher Show’ Musical @ Buell Theatre ‘The Cher Show’ is 35 smash hits, six decades of stardom, two rock-star husbands, and countless EGOT awards, all in one unabashedly fabulous new musical that will have audiences dancing in the aisles!
All weekend - ‘A Year with Frog and Toad’ Family-Friendly Musical @ Arvada Center Arnold Lobel's treasured characters hop from page to stage in a story of friendship and adventure.
All weekend - ‘Where Did We Sit On The Bus’ Play @ Singleton Theatre Through live music and storytelling, this one-person show immerses the audience in elaborate, layered soundscapes by fusing Latin rhythms, hip-hop, and spoken word poetry.
All weekend - ‘The Lehman Trilogy’ Play @ Kilstrom Theatre ‘The Lehman Trilogy’ is an epic and timely story of family, ambition, and risk, sprawling across 163 years of history of the Lehman Brothers.
All weekend - ‘Emma’ Play @ Wolf Theatre LAST CHANCE - In a new adaptation that’s a bit zany and refreshingly contemporary, playwright Kate Hamill infuses the language and perspectives of today into Austen’s beloved characters.
All weekend - ‘Noises Off’ Play @ Arvada Center LAST CHANCE - A play withing a play, this relentless, high-energy farce is filled with embarrassing moments, behind-the-scenes kerfuffles, physical comedy hijinks, and even flying sardines.
Ongoing
Ongoing - ‘Space Explorers: The Infinite’ Immersive Experience @ Stanley Marketplace LAST CHANCE - Embark on an immersive excursion through new breathtaking videos that reveal the many wonders of space exploration.Ongoing - ‘The Berlin Airlift: Supplies from the Sky’ Exhibition @ Wings Museum The exhibit shares the lessons of courage, perseverance, and the triumph of the human spirit and pays tribute to the brave citizens who risked their lives to bring hope to a divided city.
Ongoing - 'Spookadelia' Immersive Show @ Spectra Art Space LAST CHANCE - 'Spookadelia: Doubt’s Echo' is an all-ages narrative-driven psychedelic immersive art, theatrical, and highly interactive experience.
Ongoing - ‘Fazal Sheikh: Thirst Exposure In Place’ Exhibition @ DAM Capturing the Colorado Plateau, Sheikh’s portraits and landscapes shed light on the far-reaching consequences of extractive industry and climate change.
Ongoing - ‘The Russells in Denver, 1921’ Exhibition @ DAM Charles M. Russel’s works capture the vast landscapes, mountain ranges, and peoples of the American West of the 1880s, thus leaving a valuable chronicle of the West that once was.
Ongoing - ‘Sandra Vásquez de la Horra: The Awake Volcanoes’ Exhibition @ DAM The exhibition highlights paintings, drawings, and prints by award-winning artist Sandra Vásquez de la Horra, who explores the notions of fantasy, desire, fear, and pleasure and its relationship to the human body.
Ongoing - Spring Exhibition Series @ MCA MCA’s Spring series includes solo exhibitions of three contemporary artists whose multidisciplinary works focus on the exploration of the natural phenomena, landscapes, and human interactions with the natural world.
Ongoing - ‘Performing Self’ Exhibition @ Boulder Museum of Contemporary ArtThis exhibition provides a look into how seven multidisciplinary artists celebrate the mutability of self-identity through the embodiment of alter egos or personae.
2024.05.02 18:20 ChristianWallis I responded to a craigslist ad looking for a personal stalker
Let’s get the obvious out of the way.
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when this new job came along, a craigslist ad looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman who posted the ad and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
His eyes flicked to the closet with sickening hunger.
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid, he raced forward momentarily and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. She’s jealous of us, you know?
“Jealous we get to love her.”
And then he disappeared into the darkness and something inside me gave way entirely and I passed out.
I don’t know much of what came after, exactly. I was found a few hours later in my car, idling at a traffic light. I’d made some effort at getting away on my own but didn’t get very far. No surprise here but I got sick as a dog going in that place. A deep chest infection. The kind that scares everyone at least once in their life. Only fair given how fucking stupid I was. But forgive me, I hadn’t anticipated nightmares beyond human comprehension. I challenge anybody to think that fucking far ahead. You think junkies. You think flies. Squatters. But that guy… that man slipping out of the nest and barrelling towards me on two hands. My mind going sizzle pop along with the soles on my boots. In real life, shit like that always sneaks up on you.
So I paid the price. Six months. Jesus. Six long months. I got every fever you can think of. Sepsis. Kidney failure. Liver failure. Month after month drowning in my own fluids, coughing up shit that made the nurses gag and leave. I asked the doctor what the long term effects will be and he winced before reading a list of things that didn’t leave much hope for a happy retirement. And if it was hard on my body, it was even worse on my mind. Those fever dreams… doctors say what I remember in that building, that was all just part of the sickness. Say I spent a good three days in a coma and strange dreams are the norm. Which I might accept if it weren’t the fucking skin graft still healing on my right hand. No one can explain that.
My client visited. Just the once. There are universally sad moments in life and one of them is realising someone you have a lot of affection for doesn’t have it back. They have some. Just not the same amount. It was always one way though, wasn’t it? I saw her every single day but if I was doing my job right, she only saw me once a month for our meetings. Our arrangement ended not long after, so I hope anyway. She left like it was nothing but me… ah Jesus it felt like someone excavated my heart right out. Even after what she told me why she was there, even after what I did, I could barely stand up straight I was so heartbroken. There were times after that I wished the sickness would just take me. Maybe that defeatism is why it got so bad. Who knows?
She came to me looking for a recommendation, of all things. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. But there was a sense of disappointment as she sat beside me and eyed me up.
“I liked the initiative,” she said after a while. “But the results leave me unimpressed.”
“What the fuck happened in that place?” I asked, and even though I could barely hear my own voice, she seemed like she heard every word. For a moment, the way she contemplated it, I thought I was gonna get a straight answer.
“You know my mother said men don’t see ugly women. They know they exist but they just poof them right outta their mind. Like a magic trick. She said we worked better being a little plain. Good enough to take home for a night. Any more and we’d start to leave problems everywhere we go. That guy was a problem. She was trying to warn me about the dangers of attention but silly me, I went and got addicted. I hoped with you there might be a degree of… separation. Infatuation on a contractual basis.”
She took a deep breath like she’d had a long hard day.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom was right. It’s ridiculous, I suppose. The fly shouldn’t admire the spider. It either sees it and fears it, or doesn’t know what’s coming until it’s too late. I think Mom was telling me to go for the latter. It’s no fun being invisible though. You spent all that time looking at me. Following me. What did you see?”
I looked at her until my eyes watered and something throbbed in my skull.
“I don’t know,” I tried to lie.
“Be honest.”
She looked right at me and something in the air changed. I don’t know what. Hot. Jesus it was hot. Like looking at the sun. I remember the heart rate monitor going nuts and then… then I remember gossamer wings and serrated chitin. A tick on the inside of your cheek. A leech on your tongue. A horsehair worm that won’t leave the skin. And then an instant later my eyes refocused and there was just a normal woman in front of me.
“Someone I could have loved,” I answered, unable to stop the words spilling like vomit. “Someone who I thought deserved love.”
“See,” she said. “Who wouldn’t like your version better?”
I was crying again. Heart racing. World like butter, going soft at the edges. Whatever she did, it was like undergoing brain surgery in real time.
“I’d like a recommendation,” she said after another minute or two of silence. “I’d like to see myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t see what you do. I’d like an artist to paint me. A version of me, at least. It won’t be easy on them. All this time you’ve probably looked directly at me for no more than five, ten minutes in total. Just didn’t realise it. Always the back of my head or my hair obscuring just so. That won’t do. I want a portrait. I want to know what you see.”
“What will you do to them?”
“I won’t do anything. Not intentionally. But if you ask someone to paint the sun, expect them to go blind. Whoever paints me will be painting the sun in their living room. Going blind is the least of their problems. Now, fess up. You know someone. You mentioned them once in passing. A cousin, maybe. An artist in need of cash. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because you love me,” she said. “And because despite everything you will get better and you will come back to me. Year or two, I think. You are adamant I have no hold on you, and you will think that for a long time. And this period of freedom, you’ll enjoy it only by my good grace and mercy. You did a good job. Better than any before. I’ve read your notes and reports over and over and seen details of myself I didn’t even know were there. It’s a thing of beauty, what you did. And one day soon you’ll come back to me with some excuse for why you want the contract to continue.”
I tried to spit the word never but managed, at best, a weak shake of the head. Something that put a most peculiar smile on her face.
“It doesn’t work like that. It’d be like trying to brute force your way through Alzheimer’s. You’ll be back. Even now you’re mine. All mine. I’m just being gentle. And you’re going to give me the name and number of this artist because even though you know I could no more love you than a spider loves the fly, you are desperate to please me. Because when I broke the man in that apartment building. When I tore him in two and told him that he would live for as long as I desired, writhing without air for years and years, drowning in sickly fluids and trapped helplessly in a hive he is determined to maintain even though I wouldn't be caught dead going back there. He was grateful. And, with time, you’ll be grateful too.”
She put the pen in my hand. She smiled, mouthed the word good boy, and God help me…
I gave her my nephew’s number.
submitted by ChristianWallis to u/ChristianWallis [link] [comments]
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when this new job came along, a craigslist ad looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman who posted the ad and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
His eyes flicked to the closet with sickening hunger.
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid, he raced forward momentarily and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. She’s jealous of us, you know?
“Jealous we get to love her.”
And then he disappeared into the darkness and something inside me gave way entirely and I passed out.
I don’t know much of what came after, exactly. I was found a few hours later in my car, idling at a traffic light. I’d made some effort at getting away on my own but didn’t get very far. No surprise here but I got sick as a dog going in that place. A deep chest infection. The kind that scares everyone at least once in their life. Only fair given how fucking stupid I was. But forgive me, I hadn’t anticipated nightmares beyond human comprehension. I challenge anybody to think that fucking far ahead. You think junkies. You think flies. Squatters. But that guy… that man slipping out of the nest and barrelling towards me on two hands. My mind going sizzle pop along with the soles on my boots. In real life, shit like that always sneaks up on you.
So I paid the price. Six months. Jesus. Six long months. I got every fever you can think of. Sepsis. Kidney failure. Liver failure. Month after month drowning in my own fluids, coughing up shit that made the nurses gag and leave. I asked the doctor what the long term effects will be and he winced before reading a list of things that didn’t leave much hope for a happy retirement. And if it was hard on my body, it was even worse on my mind. Those fever dreams… doctors say what I remember in that building, that was all just part of the sickness. Say I spent a good three days in a coma and strange dreams are the norm. Which I might accept if it weren’t the fucking skin graft still healing on my right hand. No one can explain that.
My client visited. Just the once. There are universally sad moments in life and one of them is realising someone you have a lot of affection for doesn’t have it back. They have some. Just not the same amount. It was always one way though, wasn’t it? I saw her every single day but if I was doing my job right, she only saw me once a month for our meetings. Our arrangement ended not long after, so I hope anyway. She left like it was nothing but me… ah Jesus it felt like someone excavated my heart right out. Even after what she told me why she was there, even after what I did, I could barely stand up straight I was so heartbroken. There were times after that I wished the sickness would just take me. Maybe that defeatism is why it got so bad. Who knows?
She came to me looking for a recommendation, of all things. She wasn’t cold. Far from it. But there was a sense of disappointment as she sat beside me and eyed me up.
“I liked the initiative,” she said after a while. “But the results leave me unimpressed.”
“What the fuck happened in that place?” I asked, and even though I could barely hear my own voice, she seemed like she heard every word. For a moment, the way she contemplated it, I thought I was gonna get a straight answer.
“You know my mother said men don’t see ugly women. They know they exist but they just poof them right outta their mind. Like a magic trick. She said we worked better being a little plain. Good enough to take home for a night. Any more and we’d start to leave problems everywhere we go. That guy was a problem. She was trying to warn me about the dangers of attention but silly me, I went and got addicted. I hoped with you there might be a degree of… separation. Infatuation on a contractual basis.”
She took a deep breath like she’d had a long hard day.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom was right. It’s ridiculous, I suppose. The fly shouldn’t admire the spider. It either sees it and fears it, or doesn’t know what’s coming until it’s too late. I think Mom was telling me to go for the latter. It’s no fun being invisible though. You spent all that time looking at me. Following me. What did you see?”
I looked at her until my eyes watered and something throbbed in my skull.
“I don’t know,” I tried to lie.
“Be honest.”
She looked right at me and something in the air changed. I don’t know what. Hot. Jesus it was hot. Like looking at the sun. I remember the heart rate monitor going nuts and then… then I remember gossamer wings and serrated chitin. A tick on the inside of your cheek. A leech on your tongue. A horsehair worm that won’t leave the skin. And then an instant later my eyes refocused and there was just a normal woman in front of me.
“Someone I could have loved,” I answered, unable to stop the words spilling like vomit. “Someone who I thought deserved love.”
“See,” she said. “Who wouldn’t like your version better?”
I was crying again. Heart racing. World like butter, going soft at the edges. Whatever she did, it was like undergoing brain surgery in real time.
“I’d like a recommendation,” she said after another minute or two of silence. “I’d like to see myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t see what you do. I’d like an artist to paint me. A version of me, at least. It won’t be easy on them. All this time you’ve probably looked directly at me for no more than five, ten minutes in total. Just didn’t realise it. Always the back of my head or my hair obscuring just so. That won’t do. I want a portrait. I want to know what you see.”
“What will you do to them?”
“I won’t do anything. Not intentionally. But if you ask someone to paint the sun, expect them to go blind. Whoever paints me will be painting the sun in their living room. Going blind is the least of their problems. Now, fess up. You know someone. You mentioned them once in passing. A cousin, maybe. An artist in need of cash. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because you love me,” she said. “And because despite everything you will get better and you will come back to me. Year or two, I think. You are adamant I have no hold on you, and you will think that for a long time. And this period of freedom, you’ll enjoy it only by my good grace and mercy. You did a good job. Better than any before. I’ve read your notes and reports over and over and seen details of myself I didn’t even know were there. It’s a thing of beauty, what you did. And one day soon you’ll come back to me with some excuse for why you want the contract to continue.”
I tried to spit the word never but managed, at best, a weak shake of the head. Something that put a most peculiar smile on her face.
“It doesn’t work like that. It’d be like trying to brute force your way through Alzheimer’s. You’ll be back. Even now you’re mine. All mine. I’m just being gentle. And you’re going to give me the name and number of this artist because even though you know I could no more love you than a spider loves the fly, you are desperate to please me. Because when I broke the man in that apartment building. When I tore him in two and told him that he would live for as long as I desired, writhing without air for years and years, drowning in sickly fluids and trapped helplessly in a hive he is determined to maintain even though I wouldn't be caught dead going back there. He was grateful. And, with time, you’ll be grateful too.”
She put the pen in my hand. She smiled, mouthed the word good boy, and God help me…
I gave her my nephew’s number.
2024.05.01 12:50 Stage-Piercing727 Best 11x17 Frames
 | submitted by Stage-Piercing727 to u/Stage-Piercing727 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/h7zh28evosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=04264084fd0eb5db7ceda43ab92a1e42e336dbfc Welcome to our roundup of the best 11x17 frames on the market! Whether you're looking for a stylish addition to your home decor or a practical solution for your family photos, we've got you covered. Our comprehensive guide features a variety of options to suit every taste and budget, ensuring you find the perfect frame to showcase your favorite memories. The Top 5 Best 11x17 Frames
Reviews🔗High-Quality 11x17 Picture Frame for Wall Displayhttps://preview.redd.it/szybgjcwosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2343ecde888fb68236f09c980c806649219a7ebe I recently had the pleasure of using the Americanflat 17x11 Picture Frame, and let me tell you, it's a game-changer for displaying your favorite memories. The sturdy, engineered wood frame is not only elegant and stylish but also highly durable. One of the standout features of this frame is the built-in metal tabs that make it so easy to load your photos, cards, and other treasured items. And don't worry about the safety of your memories; the shatter-resistant glass front ensures they're protected and preserved for all to see. Hanging hardware is included for easy wall mounting, making it a perfect addition to any room in your home or office. Plus, the versatility of this frame is impressive - it can be used in both vertical and horizontal formats, so you can showcase your memories in the best way possible. Overall, the Americanflat 17x11 Picture Frame is a fantastic choice for anyone looking to display their favorite photos with style and ease. The only downside? You might have a hard time deciding which photos to display first! 🔗11x17 Premium SnapeZo Poster Frame with UV Protection and Antiglare Coverhttps://preview.redd.it/6crvnmnwosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bcbf105830cb4a3e98a8aa6e4ee07c07a0ebd816 I recently tried out the Snapezo 11x17 Silver Diploma Frame from Snap Frames Direct, and I have to say, I'm impressed with this product's quality and ease of use. The frame is incredibly lightweight, yet it feels very sturdy, which is reassuring. The silver finish adds a touch of elegance and class to any poster or artwork you decide to display. One of the best things about this frame is how easy it is to open and change the contents. The spring-hinged front makes it a breeze to access and swap out different graphics – no need for any tools. The PET lens provides excellent UV protection and non-glare visibility, which comes in handy when the lighting conditions vary. And the included flexible PET lens ensures that the contents of the frame are always clear and protected. The Snapezo frame's translucent backing enhances the visual impact of the graphics, giving them a 'pop' that really makes them stand out. The cover, included in the package, provides extra protection against fading and damage from the Sun's harsh UV rays. One downside, though, is the price point, which may be a bit higher than some competitors. However, when you consider the high-quality materials, unique features, and overall user-friendliness of this product, it's worth the investment for those who value professional-looking displays. Overall, I highly recommend the Snapezo 11x17 Silver Diploma Frame from Snap Frames Direct. If you're in the market for a top-notch, easy-to-use, and visually striking poster frame, this product is definitely a worthy option. 🔗Mainstays 6-Piece 11x17 Black Format Picture Frameshttps://preview.redd.it/rd26gaaxosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=33b96247db8e03f3c503e48fb194be81bc901d30 The Mainstays Frames set offers six sleek black frames, each measuring 11 inches by 17 inches, perfect for preserving memories and artwork. These easy-to-use frames have a front-loading design, making it simple to hang them on your wall either vertically or horizontally. The neat black finish seamlessly fits into any room décor, and the modern style is versatile enough for home or office settings. However, it's crucial to note that some users experienced issues with the shipping process, leading to broken frames upon arrival. Despite the packaging challenges, the frames themselves were praised for their high quality and fast shipping. These Mainstays Frames quickly gained popularity among enthusiastic customers who appreciated the variety and style they brought to their walls. 🔗11x17 Black Gallery Picture Frame for Art Displayshttps://preview.redd.it/lu8ftqixosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d84412610a60da7425046625f76d32d71d7c852f I've been using the Mainstays 11x17 Linear Frame in black for several months now, and it's become an essential part of my decor. The frames come ready for wall hanging, and I'm able to customize the display with photographs, team sports photos, and kids' art projects. The rustic design is both attractive and durable, making it a great choice for a family photo gallery. One feature that stands out is the ease of setting up and securing the photos. I simply open the back, position the photo, and reattach the back, ensuring a sturdy fit. The frames are lightweight and easy to handle, making it a convenient solution for any home or office. The black finish adds a touch of elegance to the rustic design, making it a versatile option for different spaces. However, there's one downside I've noticed: while the frames are generally sturdy, they can become unstable when hanging stands and wall hooks. This has caused a few of the photos to fall or slide off the wall, which can be frustrating at times. Overall, though, I'm satisfied with the product's quality and variety of applications. 🔗Stylish 11x17 Black Picture Frame for Horizontal or Vertical Displayhttps://preview.redd.it/4emil4xxosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=256668a18f513503dfb03d21843f23a819a4526c I recently had the chance to use the Mainstays 11 inch by 17 inch Format Frame in black, and it's been a delightful experience so far. The frame is versatile and can be a perfect addition to any room, whether it's in a house or an office. Its sleek, contemporary design is a perfect blend of sophistication and style, making it an eye-catching accessory for any space. The frame's front-loading format is particularly convenient, allowing me to easily swap out photos or artwork as my tastes change. It's a great feature that ensures my space remains fresh and vibrant. Additionally, the snap-on easel included with the package ensures that setting up the frame is a breeze, even for those who aren't particularly handy. With its ability to either display photos or art, this Mainstays frame has proven to be a reliable companion in personalizing my living or work environment. The fact that it can accommodate various photo sizes further adds to its versatility and convenience. However, one minor issue I noticed was that the hanger on the back of the frame could be sturdier, especially if the picture being displayed has some weight to it. Despite this small hiccup, the overall experience with the Mainstays Frame has been positive, and I would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a budget-friendly yet stylish picture frame. Buyer's GuideWhen it comes to selecting the perfect 11x17 frames, there are several key factors to consider. This guide will provide you with essential information, helping you make a well-informed decision and ensuring a beautiful display for your favorite photographs or artwork.Materialshttps://preview.redd.it/y49opcoyosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=339bdf696b2894b429bcb40e3c4b3b13a8b81c18 The material of the frame can affect both the appearance and durability. Common materials include wood, metal, and plastic. Wood frames offer a traditional and elegant look, but can be more expensive and heavier. Metal frames tend to be lighter and provide a modern or industrial appearance, while plastic frames are more affordable and suitable for a casual or contemporary style. Styles and FinishesFrames come in various styles and finishes, allowing you to match the surrounding décor or create a unique look. Some common frame styles are: flat, raised, beveled, and shadowbox. Finishes can range from natural wood tones to paint colors or stains. Consider the overall style of your space and the type of artwork you will be framing when choosing a style and finish.GlazingGlazing refers to the type of protective coating applied to the glass or plastic within the frame. The two main options are glass and acrylic. While glass is more durable and clearer, it can be heavier and more breakable. Acrylic is lighter and less expensive, making it a popular choice for 11x17 frames. However, it may have a slight yellow tint and be more prone to scratches. https://preview.redd.it/7ekc9afzosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=97870a23f61a47c6536be0c88fa1f524586416ee Backing and Hanging HardwareEnsure the frame includes backing and hanging hardware. Backing is the material that covers the back of the frame, while hanging hardware allows you to mount the frame securely on a wall. Some frames come with pre-installed backing and hardware, while others require installation by the user.Customization OptionsFor a more personalized touch, consider frames with customization options. These may include the ability to add personal messages, choose specific mat colors, or switch out the glazing material. These options can greatly enhance the overall look and feel of your framed artwork.Budget Considerationshttps://preview.redd.it/h40w1lozosxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b8ff51834f43498749266ceb81e3f5cec5b1f57c 11x17 frames can range in price depending on the materials, style, finish, and additional features. Determine your budget before making a purchase to ensure you find the best frame that fits both your style and wallet. When shopping for 11x17 frames, take into account the materials, styles, finishes, glazing, backing, hanging hardware, customization options, and budget considerations. By doing so, you'll be better equipped to find the perfect frame to showcase your favorite artwork or photographs while enhancing the overall look of your space. FAQWhat are 11x17 frames?11x17 frames are a popular size for framing photographs, artwork, and other decor items. They measure 11 inches by 17 inches and offer a balanced and versatile option for displaying a variety of items. This size is ideal for small to medium-sized pieces and can be used for both personal and commercial purposes. https://preview.redd.it/4nr2du40psxc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=27828d499baf6cdcef129aa3d1b5539364559fa7 What materials are 11x17 frames made of?11x17 frames can be made from a variety of materials, including wood, metal, and plastic. Wood frames are often used for their natural aesthetic and can be made from materials such as wood, poplar, or MDF (medium-density fiberboard). Metal frames, on the other hand, offer a sleek and modern look and can be made from materials like aluminum or steel. Plastic frames are lightweight, durable, and typically more cost-effective than wooden or metal frames.What types of glass are available for 11x17 frames?There are several types of glass available for 11x17 frames, each with its own benefits and characteristics. These include:
Can I customize my 11x17 frame?Yes, you can customize your 11x17 frame by selecting various components such as the frame material, glass type, finish, and mounting options. Many online retailers offer a wide range of customization options, allowing you to create a frame that perfectly matches your style and needs.How do I mount and hang my 11x17 frame?The mounting and hanging process for 11x17 frames depends on the type of frame and wall surface. It is recommended to refer to the specific installation instructions provided by the manufacturer. Generally, you will need to attach hanging hardware to the back of the frame and secure it to the wall using nails, screws, or adhesive hangers. Make sure to choose the appropriate hanging hardware based on the weight of your framed item and the type of wall surface you are working with.How much do 11x17 frames cost?The cost of 11x17 frames can vary depending on factors such as the frame material, glass type, finish, and customization options. Basic plastic frames may start around $10-$20, while more premium wooden or metal frames with high-quality glass can cost $50-$100 or more. It is recommended to compare prices from various retailers to find the best deal for your budget and requirements.As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.05.01 10:55 Vincecorea 72 Angels of Magick
 | This is in order from first angel to last. It doesn’t have the names, only the powers available. Each space separates the angel’s power from another. Hope this is helpful! submitted by Vincecorea to GalleryOfMagick [link] [comments] If you have the kindle version, you can search a specific power and the name will be shown. Otherwise flip through the book the traditional way. |
2024.04.30 22:52 teeka789 The Demonplague Maps pt. 2
Hello Hello again!! As my players progress through this campaign I get the pleasure of recreating the maps and sharing them with you all!
Disclaimer ~ These maps are customized to my needs as a DM as well as my personal preferences and may deviate somewhat from what is written in the book. That being said, they're still pretty accurate to the written material.
Link Below: https://imgur.com/gallery/8YlQrQa
submitted by teeka789 to DnD [link] [comments]
Disclaimer ~ These maps are customized to my needs as a DM as well as my personal preferences and may deviate somewhat from what is written in the book. That being said, they're still pretty accurate to the written material.
Link Below: https://imgur.com/gallery/8YlQrQa
2024.04.30 20:24 vascku thank you for advising my angel
good night, even if they are heavy on our souls...
Well, nothing that happened is a surprise because Lola was quite specific in her previous post. It has been difficult for me to make her see that if she wants to honor her sire, she should not mourn what was lost, but rather create something new. I won't lie and as is logical I don't have special sympathy for our "dear" Giovanni... but I also know that it is smarter not to bite a clan from which when you cut off one head twenty emerge...
It's frustrating, but giving them the pleasure of seeing us both hurt is something I won't give them. After all, many of the gallery's contacts have terminated their contracts with the change in management... who could have imagined it? and it has helped me confirm a good friend among my clients... thank you J for the support, I did not expect the news to fly so quickly, but thank you...
Now we only have to promote the new gallery and little by little create something beautiful... that and support my angel in these moments... last night she was so down that my heart hurt when I saw her, it broke with her pain... But this blow is something we have to face together. You can fall a thousand times, but you must get up... staying crying on the ground is only the worst of endings.
submitted by vascku to SchreckNet [link] [comments]
Well, nothing that happened is a surprise because Lola was quite specific in her previous post. It has been difficult for me to make her see that if she wants to honor her sire, she should not mourn what was lost, but rather create something new. I won't lie and as is logical I don't have special sympathy for our "dear" Giovanni... but I also know that it is smarter not to bite a clan from which when you cut off one head twenty emerge...
It's frustrating, but giving them the pleasure of seeing us both hurt is something I won't give them. After all, many of the gallery's contacts have terminated their contracts with the change in management... who could have imagined it? and it has helped me confirm a good friend among my clients... thank you J for the support, I did not expect the news to fly so quickly, but thank you...
Now we only have to promote the new gallery and little by little create something beautiful... that and support my angel in these moments... last night she was so down that my heart hurt when I saw her, it broke with her pain... But this blow is something we have to face together. You can fall a thousand times, but you must get up... staying crying on the ground is only the worst of endings.
2024.04.27 12:58 crabsintrees I Don't Remember How I Broke My Arm.
I was up late, mindlessly drifting across the internet's backwaters like a digital insomniac. That's when I came across...it. A crudely designed website with glowing green text pulsating against the black background like radioactive veins.
At first, I thought it was just another laughably amateur attempt at a creepypasta-style horror story trying too hard to scare people. But as I read on, the content made my blood freeze.
The site claimed to have insider information about something called "The Render" - a legendary and depraved creature that stalks ancient forests and woodlands, seeking out humans for its deranged rituals. If The Render finds you alone, the text warned, it will appear from the shadows and ask you a simple question in a grating, inhuman voice:
"Are you right-handed...or left?"
If you foolishly admit to being right-handed, the creature mercilessly snaps your right arm with brutal force, relishing your screams as the bones shatter. If you admit to being left-handed, it shatters your left arm without hesitation.
And if you refuse to answer or try to be deceptive? That's when The Render truly unleashes its evil. It begins methodically shattering every limb while you lay helpless on the ground, wailing in sheer agony. The relatively "lucky" victims had just their arms and legs broken in this cruel game.
But there were accounts of The Render also taking fingers and even hands from those who angered or offended it the most. One particularly disturbing story claimed The Render seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from the sickening crunch and snapping sounds of bones breaking. As if it fed off the audible misery of its victims' suffering.
The most chilling detail, however, was the final part of The Render's cruel ritual. After shattering your body and will, it would cruelly wipe your memory of the entire traumatic event, using some sort of unnatural power. Victims awoke later, hopelessly broken yet with no recollection of their fateful encounter in the woods or how their limbs became mangled.
Just...emptiness. Foggy blanks where those nightmarish memories should have been burned into the psyche.
At this point, my hands were shaking, cold sweat prickling my skin. This had to just be an admittedly well-done work of fiction, right? Creative writing at its most depraved, but not real... That's what I desperately wanted to believe.
But then I scrolled down to the photo gallery section of the website.
Twisted, mangled arms bent at grotesque angles that no person should ever have to endure. Compound fractures with thick bones protruding through ripped flesh. Deep, ragged gashes crisscrossing appendages, dried blood caked around the wounds. These weren't AI-generated, and there's no way they were Photoshop fakes...these injuries were undeniably, horrifyingly real.
And each one was captioned with some form of the same sickening line of text: "I don't remember how this happened."
I slammed my laptop shut, heart pounding as if I'd seen something obscene that could never be unseen. Suddenly, my apartment felt too open, too exposed...too vulnerable. I struggled to catch my breath, fighting waves of panic washing over me.
Was this just an immersive horror experience? Some morbid Internet rabbit hole designed to mess with people's minds? Or did this unholy creature - The Render - actually exist out there? Stalking the forests and woodlands, seeking out new victims to torment and disfigure for its sick pleasure before cruelly erasing their memories of the traumatic event?
That night, fear gripped me like a vice. I barely slept, startling at every creak and groan of the apartment settling. I checked and double-checked that all windows and doors were locked. At one point, I even got on my hands and knees, compulsively peering under beds and into closets with a trembling flashlight beam like a terrified child convinced there were monsters hiding in the dark.
For a while after that, I tried to put the disturbing website out of my mind and regain my grip on reality. Surely it was just someone's creative writing project meant to unsettle people, I told myself. An unsettlingly well-done bit of horror fiction, but fiction nonetheless.
And yet...
Months later, I find myself staring unblinkingly at my right arm. The sickly pale flesh disappearing beneath the stark white cast. How? How did this happen? I've racked my brain endlessly, but many of the memories surrounding this catastrophic injury are just...gone. Erased. Replaced by hazy, formless blanks where the crucial details should be burned into my psyche.
The fragmented flashes I can piece together play like a distorted reel of specters and half-glimpsed horrors. They started a few weeks ago, as the dense forest began swallowing the last rays of twilight. I remember clutching the straps of my backpack tighter as I made my way along the narrow, winding trail alone. The crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my boots. A damp, earthy scent hanging heavy in the evening air. The trees seeming to press in closer with every step forward.
That's when it began - that incessant, unnatural scratching sound that made me freeze in my tracks, my breath catching in my suddenly bone-dry throat. It slithered through the shadows of the treeline ahead, a harsh, grating rasp like something being dragged across jagged stone. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck as more garbled noises joined that initial ungodly skittering, seeming to circle me from all sides now, haunting whispers riding on the wind.
I shone my flashlight towards where that first sound had originated, the bright beam slicing through the enveloping darkness. My heart pounded so violently I could feel it throbbing in my temples as I squinted to make out whatever foul presence was lurking ahead.
That's when it emerged. A hunched, spindly figure slithering out from the treeline, eerily silhouetted just beyond the glow of my light. Despite the deep shadows, I could make out elongated, disproportionately long limbs that twisted bonily with each strained movement, like viscous tendrils that did not...could not...belong to any living creature found in nature. Not on this earth.
The gurgling wheeze that issued forth next chilled me to the core - a blasphemous mockery of speech that raised the bile in my throat as those inhuman jaws worked:
"Are you...riiiiight-handed? Orrrrr...leeeeeft?"
In that soul-freezing moment, fragmented memories from the cursed website I'd discovered months earlier came flooding back in fractured pieces. Tales of an ancient, depraved legend - a twisted, unnatural creature that stalks the darkest forest trails, seeking out human victims for its sick, deranged rituals.
I felt rooted to the forest floor, petrified as the vile creature lurched another step closer. Its shadow seemed to reach out in tendrils, caressing the ground around me as that gurgling rasp issued forth once more:
"Welllll? Anssswer truthfulllly..."
My mind raced, trying to determine if playing along or staying silent would be the wiser decision in the face of this unholy abomination. What new torments would it unleash if I angered it? What if...
The thunderous crash of undergrowth being violently disturbed somewhere behind me shattered my thoughts. I whirled around to see a second set of glowing eyes emerging from the trees. Then a third set...and a fourth. More twisted, unnatural shapes beginning to encircle me from all angles, slithering out from the treeline as garbled wheezes and scratching sounds joined in a nightmarish chorus.
My heart turned to ice as the full realization dawned - this was no mere encounter with a solitary monster...this was an ambush.
The Render had been first, the vanguard of what appeared to be an entire hunting pack of these depraved, forest-stalking horrors. And now they had me surrounded...alone, defenseless, and ripe for their foul torments to commence.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a rattling wheeze escaped as the first set of grotesquely long arms reached out to seize me...
...And that's the last thing I can recall. Just fragmented sensations of blinding agony, shrieks of torment echoing endlessly through the abyss of the forest, and those cruel wheezing sounds that could only be this entire pack's laughter at my suffering.
I don't know how much time passed. All I remember is a hazy darkness, broken up by fleeting nightmares even more terrifying than the actual events must have been. Visions of being slowly, methodically unmade at the hands - or tendrils - of those unholy woodlands beasts slithered through my subconscious in disconnected bursts.
When I finally regained consciousness, I was lying in a hospital bed, head pounding and body laced with fiery lances of pain. Doctors and nurses hovered over me, masks concealing their expressions as they asked me a barrage of questions I couldn't begin to answer:
"Can you tell us your name? What's the last thing you remember? Do you know what happened to you out there?"
My throat was too ragged and raw to speak, but even if I could have, what would I have said? That I was ambushed and savagely attacked in the forest by grotesque, unnatural monsters straight out of a nightmare? They'd think I was insane...or worse, lying.
For now, I could only stare down at the cast covering what remained of my right arm. The limb was twisted at an angle no human arm should bend, with wires and metal rods protruding through the plaster in multiple places to stabilize the shattered bones. I turned my head slowly, feeling the agony radiating from every inch of my body - a torrent of broken bones and trauma.
They say time will help my memories reform, that the human mind protects itself by blurring out traumas too devastating to comprehend all at once. Part of me welcomes that possibility. To forget, even temporarily, the excruciating visions plaguing me of...things...that should never exist outside our darkest nightmares.
But another part feels there's something too dangerous about forgetting. As much as I want to let those scattered, corrupted shards of recollection fade, something keeps pulling me back. An inescapable feeling that the second I drop my guard, I'll be vulnerable to the next encounter.
Because after seeing what walked among those tumbling shadows of the forest...I know it's only a matter of time before They return.
submitted by crabsintrees to nosleep [link] [comments]
At first, I thought it was just another laughably amateur attempt at a creepypasta-style horror story trying too hard to scare people. But as I read on, the content made my blood freeze.
The site claimed to have insider information about something called "The Render" - a legendary and depraved creature that stalks ancient forests and woodlands, seeking out humans for its deranged rituals. If The Render finds you alone, the text warned, it will appear from the shadows and ask you a simple question in a grating, inhuman voice:
"Are you right-handed...or left?"
If you foolishly admit to being right-handed, the creature mercilessly snaps your right arm with brutal force, relishing your screams as the bones shatter. If you admit to being left-handed, it shatters your left arm without hesitation.
And if you refuse to answer or try to be deceptive? That's when The Render truly unleashes its evil. It begins methodically shattering every limb while you lay helpless on the ground, wailing in sheer agony. The relatively "lucky" victims had just their arms and legs broken in this cruel game.
But there were accounts of The Render also taking fingers and even hands from those who angered or offended it the most. One particularly disturbing story claimed The Render seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from the sickening crunch and snapping sounds of bones breaking. As if it fed off the audible misery of its victims' suffering.
The most chilling detail, however, was the final part of The Render's cruel ritual. After shattering your body and will, it would cruelly wipe your memory of the entire traumatic event, using some sort of unnatural power. Victims awoke later, hopelessly broken yet with no recollection of their fateful encounter in the woods or how their limbs became mangled.
Just...emptiness. Foggy blanks where those nightmarish memories should have been burned into the psyche.
At this point, my hands were shaking, cold sweat prickling my skin. This had to just be an admittedly well-done work of fiction, right? Creative writing at its most depraved, but not real... That's what I desperately wanted to believe.
But then I scrolled down to the photo gallery section of the website.
Twisted, mangled arms bent at grotesque angles that no person should ever have to endure. Compound fractures with thick bones protruding through ripped flesh. Deep, ragged gashes crisscrossing appendages, dried blood caked around the wounds. These weren't AI-generated, and there's no way they were Photoshop fakes...these injuries were undeniably, horrifyingly real.
And each one was captioned with some form of the same sickening line of text: "I don't remember how this happened."
I slammed my laptop shut, heart pounding as if I'd seen something obscene that could never be unseen. Suddenly, my apartment felt too open, too exposed...too vulnerable. I struggled to catch my breath, fighting waves of panic washing over me.
Was this just an immersive horror experience? Some morbid Internet rabbit hole designed to mess with people's minds? Or did this unholy creature - The Render - actually exist out there? Stalking the forests and woodlands, seeking out new victims to torment and disfigure for its sick pleasure before cruelly erasing their memories of the traumatic event?
That night, fear gripped me like a vice. I barely slept, startling at every creak and groan of the apartment settling. I checked and double-checked that all windows and doors were locked. At one point, I even got on my hands and knees, compulsively peering under beds and into closets with a trembling flashlight beam like a terrified child convinced there were monsters hiding in the dark.
For a while after that, I tried to put the disturbing website out of my mind and regain my grip on reality. Surely it was just someone's creative writing project meant to unsettle people, I told myself. An unsettlingly well-done bit of horror fiction, but fiction nonetheless.
And yet...
Months later, I find myself staring unblinkingly at my right arm. The sickly pale flesh disappearing beneath the stark white cast. How? How did this happen? I've racked my brain endlessly, but many of the memories surrounding this catastrophic injury are just...gone. Erased. Replaced by hazy, formless blanks where the crucial details should be burned into my psyche.
The fragmented flashes I can piece together play like a distorted reel of specters and half-glimpsed horrors. They started a few weeks ago, as the dense forest began swallowing the last rays of twilight. I remember clutching the straps of my backpack tighter as I made my way along the narrow, winding trail alone. The crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my boots. A damp, earthy scent hanging heavy in the evening air. The trees seeming to press in closer with every step forward.
That's when it began - that incessant, unnatural scratching sound that made me freeze in my tracks, my breath catching in my suddenly bone-dry throat. It slithered through the shadows of the treeline ahead, a harsh, grating rasp like something being dragged across jagged stone. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck as more garbled noises joined that initial ungodly skittering, seeming to circle me from all sides now, haunting whispers riding on the wind.
I shone my flashlight towards where that first sound had originated, the bright beam slicing through the enveloping darkness. My heart pounded so violently I could feel it throbbing in my temples as I squinted to make out whatever foul presence was lurking ahead.
That's when it emerged. A hunched, spindly figure slithering out from the treeline, eerily silhouetted just beyond the glow of my light. Despite the deep shadows, I could make out elongated, disproportionately long limbs that twisted bonily with each strained movement, like viscous tendrils that did not...could not...belong to any living creature found in nature. Not on this earth.
The gurgling wheeze that issued forth next chilled me to the core - a blasphemous mockery of speech that raised the bile in my throat as those inhuman jaws worked:
"Are you...riiiiight-handed? Orrrrr...leeeeeft?"
In that soul-freezing moment, fragmented memories from the cursed website I'd discovered months earlier came flooding back in fractured pieces. Tales of an ancient, depraved legend - a twisted, unnatural creature that stalks the darkest forest trails, seeking out human victims for its sick, deranged rituals.
I felt rooted to the forest floor, petrified as the vile creature lurched another step closer. Its shadow seemed to reach out in tendrils, caressing the ground around me as that gurgling rasp issued forth once more:
"Welllll? Anssswer truthfulllly..."
My mind raced, trying to determine if playing along or staying silent would be the wiser decision in the face of this unholy abomination. What new torments would it unleash if I angered it? What if...
The thunderous crash of undergrowth being violently disturbed somewhere behind me shattered my thoughts. I whirled around to see a second set of glowing eyes emerging from the trees. Then a third set...and a fourth. More twisted, unnatural shapes beginning to encircle me from all angles, slithering out from the treeline as garbled wheezes and scratching sounds joined in a nightmarish chorus.
My heart turned to ice as the full realization dawned - this was no mere encounter with a solitary monster...this was an ambush.
The Render had been first, the vanguard of what appeared to be an entire hunting pack of these depraved, forest-stalking horrors. And now they had me surrounded...alone, defenseless, and ripe for their foul torments to commence.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a rattling wheeze escaped as the first set of grotesquely long arms reached out to seize me...
...And that's the last thing I can recall. Just fragmented sensations of blinding agony, shrieks of torment echoing endlessly through the abyss of the forest, and those cruel wheezing sounds that could only be this entire pack's laughter at my suffering.
I don't know how much time passed. All I remember is a hazy darkness, broken up by fleeting nightmares even more terrifying than the actual events must have been. Visions of being slowly, methodically unmade at the hands - or tendrils - of those unholy woodlands beasts slithered through my subconscious in disconnected bursts.
When I finally regained consciousness, I was lying in a hospital bed, head pounding and body laced with fiery lances of pain. Doctors and nurses hovered over me, masks concealing their expressions as they asked me a barrage of questions I couldn't begin to answer:
"Can you tell us your name? What's the last thing you remember? Do you know what happened to you out there?"
My throat was too ragged and raw to speak, but even if I could have, what would I have said? That I was ambushed and savagely attacked in the forest by grotesque, unnatural monsters straight out of a nightmare? They'd think I was insane...or worse, lying.
For now, I could only stare down at the cast covering what remained of my right arm. The limb was twisted at an angle no human arm should bend, with wires and metal rods protruding through the plaster in multiple places to stabilize the shattered bones. I turned my head slowly, feeling the agony radiating from every inch of my body - a torrent of broken bones and trauma.
They say time will help my memories reform, that the human mind protects itself by blurring out traumas too devastating to comprehend all at once. Part of me welcomes that possibility. To forget, even temporarily, the excruciating visions plaguing me of...things...that should never exist outside our darkest nightmares.
But another part feels there's something too dangerous about forgetting. As much as I want to let those scattered, corrupted shards of recollection fade, something keeps pulling me back. An inescapable feeling that the second I drop my guard, I'll be vulnerable to the next encounter.
Because after seeing what walked among those tumbling shadows of the forest...I know it's only a matter of time before They return.
2024.04.26 20:39 chromaglow I built a live edge work from home set up from an Elm slab
 | Build log photos https://imgur.com/gallery/ofPcYKA submitted by chromaglow to battlestations [link] [comments] This is my new setup, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I needed more space and I've always wanted to do a project built out of a dimensional slab of wood. I still need to do a second pass for cord management again now that things are more dialed in, but I feel pretty good about everything else. The wood surface really makes the room glow and is a pleasure to work at. |
2024.04.26 05:59 Elegant-Garden-8988 Self destruction after a heartbreak
When I was a teenager I got my heart broken after the guy I dated got bored of using my body and left me for another person. It tore me apart, my sense of self was lower than I knew possible, I developed some kind of trauma response to this heartbreak which resulted in me being hyper sexual just to cope with the idea that I was used for sex. My thought process was I was gaining a sense of self control because I was the wanted to sleep with the person not the other way around.
This went on for a few years of me just sleeping around with people who I thought was handsome or took interest in me just reassuring myself that I wanted this not them, I was in the one in control. Until I met this guy who made me wake up to the realization that my trauma response of being hyper sexual was just self destruction and it needed to stop.
I swiped through tinder to just to take my edge off of after a major exam in college and found a match who had no profile picture and no pictures of himself, just a gallery of well photographed landscape photos which I thought was really good so I swiped right, we chatted and he was different than most guys I interacted with. He didn’t made anything sexual, we just talked about niche topics such as philosophical theories which was rare in dating apps that is stereotyped as more than a store for cheap hook ups. We met and surprisingly he was decent and respectful he looked conventionally attractive, Long story short we hooked up.
We got to know each other a bit more after some pillow talk and found out that he just fresh out of a break up and I can see that it really hurt him. Time passed and we established a FWB type of relationship, this went on off and on for half a year. He was still respectful and decent as he was when we first met, he opened up about this was his second FWB relationship the first was his ex. The time we spent together led me to have some sort of infatuation with him but how he looked at me was nothing more than a bandage to a bigger wound but I saw myself in him. I saw myself in him as someone who needed validation to reassure their sense of self through sex and what I thought was an infatuation with him was my own craving of being seen as someone past my body, past was physical pleasure that we can only give each other, I knew then and there how broken we were and how we tried to find healing in the most self destructive way possible. So, We decided to end our relationship and heal in our own healthy way.
I’m practicing celibacy right now and off social media, going to the gym just trying to be more active and I’ve never felt peace as much as I’ve before my first heartbreak.
So to anyone thinking about going into a “hoe phase” please reconsider, save yourself and heal in the most raw way possible, the most sober way possible, identify your coping mechanisms if its leading you towards self destruction, It’s worth it in the end.
“I used to rebel by destroying myself, realized that’s awfully convenient to the world. For some of us the best way to revolt is self preservation.”
-Mitski
submitted by Elegant-Garden-8988 to BreakUp [link] [comments]
This went on for a few years of me just sleeping around with people who I thought was handsome or took interest in me just reassuring myself that I wanted this not them, I was in the one in control. Until I met this guy who made me wake up to the realization that my trauma response of being hyper sexual was just self destruction and it needed to stop.
I swiped through tinder to just to take my edge off of after a major exam in college and found a match who had no profile picture and no pictures of himself, just a gallery of well photographed landscape photos which I thought was really good so I swiped right, we chatted and he was different than most guys I interacted with. He didn’t made anything sexual, we just talked about niche topics such as philosophical theories which was rare in dating apps that is stereotyped as more than a store for cheap hook ups. We met and surprisingly he was decent and respectful he looked conventionally attractive, Long story short we hooked up.
We got to know each other a bit more after some pillow talk and found out that he just fresh out of a break up and I can see that it really hurt him. Time passed and we established a FWB type of relationship, this went on off and on for half a year. He was still respectful and decent as he was when we first met, he opened up about this was his second FWB relationship the first was his ex. The time we spent together led me to have some sort of infatuation with him but how he looked at me was nothing more than a bandage to a bigger wound but I saw myself in him. I saw myself in him as someone who needed validation to reassure their sense of self through sex and what I thought was an infatuation with him was my own craving of being seen as someone past my body, past was physical pleasure that we can only give each other, I knew then and there how broken we were and how we tried to find healing in the most self destructive way possible. So, We decided to end our relationship and heal in our own healthy way.
I’m practicing celibacy right now and off social media, going to the gym just trying to be more active and I’ve never felt peace as much as I’ve before my first heartbreak.
So to anyone thinking about going into a “hoe phase” please reconsider, save yourself and heal in the most raw way possible, the most sober way possible, identify your coping mechanisms if its leading you towards self destruction, It’s worth it in the end.
“I used to rebel by destroying myself, realized that’s awfully convenient to the world. For some of us the best way to revolt is self preservation.”
-Mitski
2024.04.26 01:54 0_----__----_0 Hi Denver, here is my list of things to do this weekend [April 25th - 28th]
If you get value out of these posts, I send this out as a newsletter which you can sign up for by clicking this link. It's free and the signups help keep these posts going. Please add any events you would like to contribute down below.
Adam Cayton-Holland Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown @ 7:30PM
John Novosad Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 7:30PM
Wheel of Fortune Live @ Mission Ballroom @ 7:30PMOne of the greatest game shows of all time has been adapted into a stage show to give more fans access and more chances to win.
Candlelight: A Tribute to Coldplay & Imagine Dragons @ Kirk of Highland @ 6:30PM / 8:45PM Hear the best of Coldplay and Imagine Dragons in classical interpretation!
Home Free @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Benson Boone @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 8PM
Hunter Hayes @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM With BLÜ EYES
Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties @ Marquis Theater @ 7PM
Fred V + SchockOne @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
O @ Bluebird Theater @ 8PM
Thunderstorm @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Texas Hippie Coalition @ Moxi Theater @ 7PM
Candlelight: A Tribute to Taylor Swift @ Kirk of Highland @ 6:30PM / 8:45PM Hear your favorite Taylor Swift songs in classical interpretation!
The River Arkansas @ Chautauqua @ 8PM With Caleb Schwing
Jose Gonzalez @ Paramount Theatre @ 8PM
Division Minuscula @ Summit @ 7PM With Jumbo
Cheekface @ Marquis Theater @ 7PM
Chris Lake @ Mission Ballroom @ 8:30PM With Joshwa b2b Noizu, Londen Summers
Taylor Acorn @ Meow Wolf @ 8PM With World’s First Cinema
Indo Warehouse @ Temple @ 10PM
Stella Bossi @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Mport @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
The Talbott Brothers @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Sorry Papi Tour @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 10PM
Immersive Jazz-Art Experience @ Lumonics @ 7PM
2000s Party @ Fox Theatre @ 9PM
Monster Jam @ Empower Field @ 7PM Witness massive stunts, big-air, backflips and fierce head-to-head battles between the world’s best drivers and their 12,000-pound monster trucks.
Spring Bazaar @ Wheat Ridge @ 11AM Denver BAZAAR is taking over Gold’s Marketplace with an outdoor market that will feature 80+ carefully curated vendors, live DJs, craft cocktails & more.
‘Warbird Invasion’ Aviation Showcase @ Wings Museum @ 10AM Enjoy a spectacular display of aviation history and see various types of warbirds up close.
Stayin Alive: One Night of the Bee Gees Concert @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Sublime + Rome @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM With Cypress Hill + Mouse Powell
Avery*Sunshine @ Lone Tree Arts Center @ 8PM
Bayside @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 7PM
Citizen Soldier @ Summit @ 7:30PM
Wild Party @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM Eternal Light @ Lumonics @ 8pm
Chris Lake @ Mission Ballroom @ 8:30PM With Cloonee, Hank, ParmaJawn
Infekt @ Ogden Theatre @ 9PM
LTJ Bukem @ Meow Wolf @ 9PM With MC Armanni Reign
Mickey Darling @ Gothic Theatre @ 9PM With Nick Wagen & Benten
Konstantina Gianni @ Temple @ 10PM
The Strumbellas @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
Caroline Rose @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM With Ian Sweet
Elliot Moss @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Flobots @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
Free Day @ DAM @ 10AM
Día del Niño Celebration @ DAM @ 10AM Enjoy the annual Día del Niño (Children's Day) festivities with a wide variety of live entertainment including music, dance performances, and artmaking.
Tulip Fairy and Elf Festival @ Pearl Street Mall @ 1PM This beloved springtime tradition features live performances, special activities for children and more than 15,000 tulips that adorn the world renowned Pearl Street Mall.
Andrew Sleighter Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown @ 7PM
Connor Wood Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 5PM / 7:30PM
Colorado Jazz Repertory Orchestra @ Aurora Fox Arts Center @ 3PM CJRO performs hits from 60s and 70s including those of Paul Simon, Carole King, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, and more!
Sullivan King @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 6PM With Kompany, Reaper, Vastive, Left to Suffer
Chris Renzema @ Summit @ 8PM
Orions Belte @ Meow Wolf @ 7:30PM With Sour Magic
The Strumbellas @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM
Peak 11 @ Globe Hall @ 5PM
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - ‘Fancy Footwork’ Ballet Showcase @ Armstrong Center for Dance Join the Artists of Colorado Ballet for an exciting performance featuring great classics and new contemporary pieces chosen by the Artists themselves.
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Taylor Tomlinson Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Kevin Nealon Stand Up @ Comedy Works South
All weekend - Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 3 in Concert @ Boettcher Concert Hall Denver favorite Natasha Paremski returns as the virtuoso to tackle Rachmaninoff’s brilliant and challenging Third Piano Concerto.
All weekend - ‘MJ: The Musical’ @ Buell Theatre LAST CHANCE - Michael Jackson’s unique and unparalleled artistry comes to you as ‘MJ,’ the multi Tony Award®-winning new musical.
All weekend - ‘A Year with Frog and Toad’ Family-Friendly Musical @ Arvada Center Arnold Lobel's treasured characters hop from page to stage in a story of friendship and adventure.
All weekend - The Improvised Shakespeare Company Comedy Show @ Garner Galleria Theatre LAST CHANCE - The dazzling players create a brand new, fully improvised masterpiece right before your eyes. Enjoy an evening of spontaneous comedy featuring the language and themes of William Shakespeare!
All weekend - ‘Where Did We Sit On The Bus’ Play @ Singleton Theatre Through live music and storytelling, this one-person show immerses the audience in elaborate, layered soundscapes by fusing Latin rhythms, hip-hop, and spoken word poetry.
All weekend - ‘Emma’ Play @ Wolf Theatre In a new adaptation that’s a bit zany and refreshingly contemporary, playwright Kate Hamill infuses the language and perspectives of today into Austen’s beloved characters.
All weekend - ‘Noises Off’ Play @ Arvada Center A play withing a play, this relentless, high-energy farce is filled with embarrassing moments, behind-the-scenes kerfuffles, physical comedy hijinks, and even flying sardines.
Ongoing - ‘The Berlin Airlift: Supplies from the Sky’ Exhibition @ Wings Museum The exhibit shares the lessons of courage, perseverance, and the triumph of the human spirit and pays tribute to the brave citizens who risked their lives to bring hope to a divided city.
Ongoing - 'Spookadelia' Immersive Show @ Spectra Art Space 'Spookadelia: Doubt’s Echo' is an all-ages narrative-driven psychedelic immersive art, theatrical, and highly interactive experience.
Ongoing - ‘Fazal Sheikh: Thirst Exposure In Place’ Exhibition @ DAM Capturing the Colorado Plateau, Sheikh’s portraits and landscapes shed light on the far-reaching consequences of extractive industry and climate change.
Ongoing - ‘The Russells in Denver, 1921’ Exhibition @ DAM Charles M. Russel’s works capture the vast landscapes, mountain ranges, and peoples of the American West of the 1880s, thus leaving a valuable chronicle of the West that once was.
Ongoing - ‘Sandra Vásquez de la Horra: The Awake Volcanoes’ Exhibition @ DAM The exhibition highlights paintings, drawings, and prints by award-winning artist Sandra Vásquez de la Horra, who explores the notions of fantasy, desire, fear, and pleasure and its relationship to the human body.
Ongoing - Spring Exhibition Series @ MCA MCA’s Spring series includes solo exhibitions of three contemporary artists whose multidisciplinary works focus on the exploration of the natural phenomena, landscapes, and human interactions with the natural world.
Ongoing - ‘Performing Self’ Exhibition @ Boulder Museum of Contemporary ArtThis exhibition provides a look into how seven multidisciplinary artists celebrate the mutability of self-identity through the embodiment of alter egos or personae.
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THURSDAY - APRIL 25th
Rockies vs Padres @ Coors Field @ 1:10PM Promotion: STEM DayAdam Cayton-Holland Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown @ 7:30PM
John Novosad Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 7:30PM
Wheel of Fortune Live @ Mission Ballroom @ 7:30PMOne of the greatest game shows of all time has been adapted into a stage show to give more fans access and more chances to win.
Candlelight: A Tribute to Coldplay & Imagine Dragons @ Kirk of Highland @ 6:30PM / 8:45PM Hear the best of Coldplay and Imagine Dragons in classical interpretation!
Home Free @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Benson Boone @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 8PM
Hunter Hayes @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM With BLÜ EYES
Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties @ Marquis Theater @ 7PM
Fred V + SchockOne @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
O @ Bluebird Theater @ 8PM
Thunderstorm @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Texas Hippie Coalition @ Moxi Theater @ 7PM
FRIDAY - APRIL 26th
Avalanche vs Jets @ Ball Arena @ 8PMCandlelight: A Tribute to Taylor Swift @ Kirk of Highland @ 6:30PM / 8:45PM Hear your favorite Taylor Swift songs in classical interpretation!
The River Arkansas @ Chautauqua @ 8PM With Caleb Schwing
Jose Gonzalez @ Paramount Theatre @ 8PM
Division Minuscula @ Summit @ 7PM With Jumbo
Cheekface @ Marquis Theater @ 7PM
Chris Lake @ Mission Ballroom @ 8:30PM With Joshwa b2b Noizu, Londen Summers
Taylor Acorn @ Meow Wolf @ 8PM With World’s First Cinema
Indo Warehouse @ Temple @ 10PM
Stella Bossi @ The Church Nightclub @ 9PM
Mport @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
The Talbott Brothers @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Sorry Papi Tour @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 10PM
Immersive Jazz-Art Experience @ Lumonics @ 7PM
2000s Party @ Fox Theatre @ 9PM
SATURDAY - APRIL 27th
Rockies vs Astros @ Coors Field @ 4PM Promotion: City Connect DaysMonster Jam @ Empower Field @ 7PM Witness massive stunts, big-air, backflips and fierce head-to-head battles between the world’s best drivers and their 12,000-pound monster trucks.
Spring Bazaar @ Wheat Ridge @ 11AM Denver BAZAAR is taking over Gold’s Marketplace with an outdoor market that will feature 80+ carefully curated vendors, live DJs, craft cocktails & more.
‘Warbird Invasion’ Aviation Showcase @ Wings Museum @ 10AM Enjoy a spectacular display of aviation history and see various types of warbirds up close.
Stayin Alive: One Night of the Bee Gees Concert @ Paramount Theatre @ 7:30PM
Sublime + Rome @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 7PM With Cypress Hill + Mouse Powell
Avery*Sunshine @ Lone Tree Arts Center @ 8PM
Bayside @ Fillmore Auditorium @ 7PM
Citizen Soldier @ Summit @ 7:30PM
Wild Party @ Marquis Theater @ 8PM Eternal Light @ Lumonics @ 8pm
Chris Lake @ Mission Ballroom @ 8:30PM With Cloonee, Hank, ParmaJawn
Infekt @ Ogden Theatre @ 9PM
LTJ Bukem @ Meow Wolf @ 9PM With MC Armanni Reign
Mickey Darling @ Gothic Theatre @ 9PM With Nick Wagen & Benten
Konstantina Gianni @ Temple @ 10PM
The Strumbellas @ Bluebird Theater @ 9PM
Caroline Rose @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM With Ian Sweet
Elliot Moss @ Globe Hall @ 8PM
Flobots @ Moxi Theater @ 8PM
SUNDAY - APRIL 28th
Avalanche vs Jets @ Ball Arena @ 12:30PMFree Day @ DAM @ 10AM
Día del Niño Celebration @ DAM @ 10AM Enjoy the annual Día del Niño (Children's Day) festivities with a wide variety of live entertainment including music, dance performances, and artmaking.
Tulip Fairy and Elf Festival @ Pearl Street Mall @ 1PM This beloved springtime tradition features live performances, special activities for children and more than 15,000 tulips that adorn the world renowned Pearl Street Mall.
Andrew Sleighter Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown @ 7PM
Connor Wood Stand Up @ Comedy Works South @ 5PM / 7:30PM
Colorado Jazz Repertory Orchestra @ Aurora Fox Arts Center @ 3PM CJRO performs hits from 60s and 70s including those of Paul Simon, Carole King, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, and more!
Sullivan King @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 6PM With Kompany, Reaper, Vastive, Left to Suffer
Chris Renzema @ Summit @ 8PM
Orions Belte @ Meow Wolf @ 7:30PM With Sour Magic
The Strumbellas @ Fox Theatre @ 8PM
Peak 11 @ Globe Hall @ 5PM
All Weekend
THURSDAY & FRIDAY - Sessanta Tour @ Red Rocks Amphitheatre @ 8PM Featuring Primus, Puscifer, A Perfect CircleFRIDAY & SATURDAY - ‘Fancy Footwork’ Ballet Showcase @ Armstrong Center for Dance Join the Artists of Colorado Ballet for an exciting performance featuring great classics and new contemporary pieces chosen by the Artists themselves.
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Taylor Tomlinson Stand Up @ Comedy Works Downtown
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Kevin Nealon Stand Up @ Comedy Works South
All weekend - Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 3 in Concert @ Boettcher Concert Hall Denver favorite Natasha Paremski returns as the virtuoso to tackle Rachmaninoff’s brilliant and challenging Third Piano Concerto.
All weekend - ‘MJ: The Musical’ @ Buell Theatre LAST CHANCE - Michael Jackson’s unique and unparalleled artistry comes to you as ‘MJ,’ the multi Tony Award®-winning new musical.
All weekend - ‘A Year with Frog and Toad’ Family-Friendly Musical @ Arvada Center Arnold Lobel's treasured characters hop from page to stage in a story of friendship and adventure.
All weekend - The Improvised Shakespeare Company Comedy Show @ Garner Galleria Theatre LAST CHANCE - The dazzling players create a brand new, fully improvised masterpiece right before your eyes. Enjoy an evening of spontaneous comedy featuring the language and themes of William Shakespeare!
All weekend - ‘Where Did We Sit On The Bus’ Play @ Singleton Theatre Through live music and storytelling, this one-person show immerses the audience in elaborate, layered soundscapes by fusing Latin rhythms, hip-hop, and spoken word poetry.
All weekend - ‘Emma’ Play @ Wolf Theatre In a new adaptation that’s a bit zany and refreshingly contemporary, playwright Kate Hamill infuses the language and perspectives of today into Austen’s beloved characters.
All weekend - ‘Noises Off’ Play @ Arvada Center A play withing a play, this relentless, high-energy farce is filled with embarrassing moments, behind-the-scenes kerfuffles, physical comedy hijinks, and even flying sardines.
Ongoing
Ongoing - ‘Space Explorers: The Infinite’ Immersive Experience @ Stanley Marketplace Embark on an immersive excursion through new breathtaking videos that reveal the many wonders of space exploration.Ongoing - ‘The Berlin Airlift: Supplies from the Sky’ Exhibition @ Wings Museum The exhibit shares the lessons of courage, perseverance, and the triumph of the human spirit and pays tribute to the brave citizens who risked their lives to bring hope to a divided city.
Ongoing - 'Spookadelia' Immersive Show @ Spectra Art Space 'Spookadelia: Doubt’s Echo' is an all-ages narrative-driven psychedelic immersive art, theatrical, and highly interactive experience.
Ongoing - ‘Fazal Sheikh: Thirst Exposure In Place’ Exhibition @ DAM Capturing the Colorado Plateau, Sheikh’s portraits and landscapes shed light on the far-reaching consequences of extractive industry and climate change.
Ongoing - ‘The Russells in Denver, 1921’ Exhibition @ DAM Charles M. Russel’s works capture the vast landscapes, mountain ranges, and peoples of the American West of the 1880s, thus leaving a valuable chronicle of the West that once was.
Ongoing - ‘Sandra Vásquez de la Horra: The Awake Volcanoes’ Exhibition @ DAM The exhibition highlights paintings, drawings, and prints by award-winning artist Sandra Vásquez de la Horra, who explores the notions of fantasy, desire, fear, and pleasure and its relationship to the human body.
Ongoing - Spring Exhibition Series @ MCA MCA’s Spring series includes solo exhibitions of three contemporary artists whose multidisciplinary works focus on the exploration of the natural phenomena, landscapes, and human interactions with the natural world.
Ongoing - ‘Performing Self’ Exhibition @ Boulder Museum of Contemporary ArtThis exhibition provides a look into how seven multidisciplinary artists celebrate the mutability of self-identity through the embodiment of alter egos or personae.