Poems about turning sixty

Can a Tenant Legally Evict a "Guest" Tenant or Landlord Has To? (California-CA)

2024.05.13 22:01 ThrowawayPalease Can a Tenant Legally Evict a "Guest" Tenant or Landlord Has To? (California-CA)

I currently rent a home in South Orange County, Ca., and the only one who resides at the address, with no one else on the lease. I've been living here about five years.
About one year ago my younger brother, who became homeless, asked me to stay at my place until he could find a job and re-establish himself. He is currently not on the lease so in the eyes of California he is considered a "guest" living in my rented home. We are coming up on almost three years and he has done nothing to get his life back in order, other than living rent free, eating my food and causing hell in my own home.
Not wanting to get the landlord involved, as the lease states no one other than the person leasing the home, is to be in the home, I had served him by the Sheriffs Department a "notice to quit", which basically gives him sixty (60) days to vacate. As of this past weekend, he has now twenty (20) days left and reminded him. He basically told me that he is not leaving my home, that he has no where to go and walked back into his now locked room.
At this time I'm thinking the Notice to Quit after the sixty days will now turn into a Unlawful Detainer to file with the court system, to have him legally removed.
Since I, the tenant, served him with the Notice to Quit, can I, the tenant, also go through the court process of filing, fees paid and have him served all done myself as well? or does my landlord now need to get involved.
Don't get me wrong, my landlord (she) is the sweetest person ever, but for some reason or another I have this "If I don't need to get the landlord involved then don't"
Just looking for some comments before I either get an eviction attorney involved or my landlord or both. Sometimes helping family doesn't always work out.

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2024.05.13 21:57 gnomes4hire Plato & Friends, Female Rage: The Musical, and 3….2….1

This brain dump was inspired by a really, really excellent post by u/doctor-gigibanana dissecting the casual Aristotle name drop in SHS and the concept of mimesis. It got me reminiscing about the Greek homies, and what Taylor might be exploring broadly as an artist through this lens, but especially and specifically during the Eras TTPD set.
Go check out that awesome post and, while you do, keep the other side of this coin in mind: diegesis.
In a nutshell, while mimesis shows you the nature of a thing to help you understand its truth (versus telling you all about it), diegesis is all about narrative. And that’s all I have to say about that.
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OK! So let’s talk about truth as told by Plato, Aristotle's philosophy daddy. If you’re not familiar with his Forms theory, it’s pretty much his belief that the physical world is lies. Just straight up bullshit. He argues you can only find truth in the nature or essence of something, before it’s been filtered through someone’s perception of reality. That includes your own, so don't get too comfy, understand?
To illustrate his point, Plato uses the metaphor of three beds.
3....2....1?
Please hang on for dear life while I try to summarize this without confusing myself:
Think of a bed. In your mind, you know the Form, or the truth, of a bed. You know its nature, its essence. And that’s where we’ll start: The “truth” of the bed is its nature, which can only be formed by the creator.
As the carpenter begins to build a bed, she can only imitate its Form, or truth. It’s her perception of what a bed should be, once removed from the truth of it. (Side note, this would be called the Platonic bed – our perception of the ideal Form. I know it’s cuz Plato but I giggled.)
When the carpenter is done building, her bed is an imitation of her perception of the bed’s Form, making the final product twice removed from the truth.
When the artist paints a bed, her work is based on the carpenter’s imitation of the bed. The artist’s bed is an imitation of an imitation of the bed’s Form. She is thrice removed from the truth.
The poet can be (and is) used in place of the artist in this exercise:
“…Then you call him who is third in descent from nature [the artist] an imitator? … Then the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all other imitators, he is thrice removed from the king and from the truth?”
The Fortnight bed makes an appearance at the Eras tour, rocking and spinning and shifting, lifting Taylor up and down, obscuring and revealing the TTPD logo. Complete with a typewriter to spin up a tale when the mood strikes.
To hear Plato tell it in this context, truth-telling should be left to the philosophers (the carpenters) because poets are some filthy liars.
Why does Plato have such beef with art? Well, reading books wasn’t really a thing back then. Who has the time between all the orgies and foot races? Folks were more likely to learn about concepts and events through an orator (reciting poems) or a theatrical performance. In both cases, the truth is filtered through the experiences of the performers. It’s art, but it’s artifice. Appearance. You can't trust it.
I mean we're back to debating \"is it this color or that color\" on Beyonce's internet in 2024.
Interestingly, he also uses the image of turning a mirror round and round and round, reflecting the earth, sun, plants, animals, yourself—you see images of these things, but they are appearances only. Not the truth. Just something totally random and unrelated to think about…
Anyway, Plato seems to argue there’s no way to portray the truth of a thing through performance or poetry, because the actors’ own truths would taint the essence of that thing. As a result, the audience is being persuaded to see a certain way, not by truth, but by rhetoric.
Except…….when he also took the exact opposite position. In a separate text, Ion, Plato’s characterization of the poet is a little more generous. He argues that poetry is the result of divine madness, likening the creation of it to the way a prophet would let God speak truths through them.
Taylor Alison Clara Cassandra Bow Swift getting cozy in the asylum.
Admittedly, Plato’s take on poetry from this angle is less robust and a wee bit hole-y, but it’s a great bridge to our good buddy Aristotle.
u/doctor-gigibanana 's post did a great job of explaining the function of mimesis in art, and why it’s so effective and needed. It helps us connect with art, relate it to our own personal experiences. It has to be just close enough to the truth to be recognizable, but not too close to home to scare us off. And Taylor has used it to great effect for her entire career.
Every relationship hard launch pap walk, hidden messages in liner notes, overt visual and even lyrical references to possible muses in music videos, and now the absolute ham-fisted spectacle that is the SHS performance, complete with choreo re-enacting scenes from some of the most public moments of her life in recent memory. All of it spins a tale the public can’t get enough of.
Except now, more explicitly than ever, she’s giving us the artifice alongside her diegesis, most effectively distilled down into roughly 25 minutes of performance art that will never NOT be known as Female Rage: The Musical.
Quick! Look over there. Taylor sings in one direction through much of this performance, while her dancers perform their recreation of life from the WAG box in the opposite direction. The mimesis is mimesising.
The entire set is layered with smoke and mirrors (literally), misdirection, bits and pieces of the 4th wall as it explodes in our faces, a shark jumping 10 monster trucks, moments of terror, tragedy, comedy...a show within a show within a show, with a literal mirror held up to our drooling faces as she sings about how We (the collective) have fucked her up real good. What does it mean?? We dunno! MORE! MORE! MORE!
She's the creator, the carpenter, and the poet. Each of them layer in their own version of the truth, mixing narratives, derailing others, blending stories we've heard a thousand times before. We're all familiar with the myth of Taylor Swift, the folklore surrounding the music we've been assured is the whole truth--according to who? The poet? The carpenter? The creator? Three...two...one...
I have no idea what the big vision is, if there even is one, from Taylor's perspective. Sometimes I wonder if the fandom, especially Gaylors, are a bit too generous with the connections we attribute to the Chairman. Maybe things really do just sound good on paper and it's not that deep.
But those stories she's been telling us through multiple eras of her career? They seem to be taking new Forms this time around.
Credit to @aimsly for this image and their post on Taylor's reference to this TRECHEROUS exercise!

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2024.05.13 21:06 Hot_Application1447 Digging (A short critique of Seamus Heaney)

What is it with the Irish and digging? I asked my shovel knee deep in the garden Digging space for dog who couldn’t dig anymore. I couldn’t really handle a spade, just like my old man, we struggled away in turns and old clothes.
weak after forty minutes of cutting rock and clay. I stopped a few inches short of four foot and rested but had to resume the position; working to a deadline.
I kept digging. I wasn’t sure whether It was sweat or rain on my skin but I removed my jumper for the moisture. The roots in the hole’s side drew blood and tears scratching my bare arms as I delved in to scoop up more soil.
I kept digging. Half expecting to uncover bones, treasure or even turf but continuing I shook hands with the endless hard clay.
Dog went fifteen minutes later, in pain but relatively peaceful. It was the first time I saw death happen in my twenty four years.
Tiny Red breasted vultures now congregated around the hole looking for worms. We put dog in a throw and I put her in place
mother hugged brother as mourners do. Teary eyed father in a fitting role delivered a short, stoic sermon before I resumed the part of custodian and filled the hole.
I couldn’t stop for rest I couldn’t even think about my task. Longing to swap my compatriot spade for a squat pen or one more walk. I topped the mound off with her old kennel.
I’ve never been haunted before but hours later I can’t forget the smell of her final moments, I hope the memory of that smell leaves me alone.
What is it with the Irish and digging? I read the poem that evening, I could no longer see the romance in digging, repetitive, joyless a thankless task. I almost resented my pen. this turf to my clay these potatoes to my rocks. Heaney’s unsung heroes to my little role that morning, gravedigger.

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2024.05.13 20:27 Sergey_Taboritsky The Lake Kardos Masquerade Ball.

[All are welcome, provided you dress accordingly, lest you disappoint the count. It’s a Masquerade ball at a faux medieval castle.]
Sazabem Castle on Lake Kardos looked ancient but appearances are deceiving, it was only a few years old, renovated specifically for a fairy tale atmosphere by its latest owner, the illustrious Count Fazekas Bertalan. He was known as an outgoing romantic poet and such a residence fit the bill for the grand parties he threw, where guests would step back in time, to a more elegant age. It was at once such party that allegedly he proposed to the silver screen actress Luca Boros and was turned down. It was the final saga of a whirlwind romance that brought him to the attention of the nation. It is likely a number of his poems were written about her, but she wasn’t the first, he had a bit of a reputation as a playboy. His own ancestral estate in Lower Astana was never in his mind up to par and as a result, he paid little attention to it. Sazabem was his crown jewel where he did all his entertaining.
For his latest party, Fazekas planned an elaborate masquerade ball, where he would invite the most interesting people in the nation, not just aristocrats but politicians and celebrities. He longed for engaging discussion. While not overly political, Fazekas has lent his name to certain liberal causes, such as women’s suffrage and has expressed support for some Liberal party figures, along with some in the PLP. Even then he did not discriminate in his invitations on that basis.
His main goal however was not just conversation, but a more profound connection. He found himself lonely and wished to meet someone that would make him soon forget about Luca. One such lady he hoped to meet was Princess Fruzsina. Perhaps they could strike up a relationship, but that remained to be seen, he would not make that assumption. Still when she confirmed she would be attending, he was quite excited.
The evening of the party, any guests had to cross a bridge to the castle, the gates were ‘guarded’ by his staff in costume. With the exception of the upstairs, guests were free to explore the grounds. The ballroom, one of the private dining rooms and the gardens. Many rooms and spots had great views of Lake Kardos.
Count Bertalan went from room to room, talking to his guests, and making sure the food was good and the beverages were flowing, partaking himself somewhat. Only the finest would do. He himself was dressed up as an 18th century gentleman, in a blue jacket with gold trim. His mask was also gold with a similar pattern. He also wore a carnation.

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2024.05.13 19:52 WDKilpackIII Kilpack Launches Dystopian Military Sci-Fi Trilogy with Battle Calm

W.D. Kilpack III, a native of West Jordan, Uta., had his sixth novel, Battle Calm, published on Amazon.com. This is the first book in a trilogy called the Battle Calm Cycle, set in a dystopian future. It is Kilpack's first hardcover release, but is also available in eBook and on Kindle Unlimited.
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Battle Calm centers around Badger, a Keeper, who is the greatest soldier alive. He knows to never celebrate victories, no matter how hard-won, because the enemy never stops. When Badger succeeded his father, Red Skin, as Keeper Base Leader, he was well prepared, raised to handle anything the enemy threw at him. He was the best killer, and the most respected tactician. He knew Red Skin’s Laws like he wrote them himself. Most importantly, he was always calm, no matter how frenzied the combat. These were only some of the reasons why he still had all his original parts. His two closest friends are Trinity, who would die for him, and Korry, who would follow him without question. They are all Keepers. They fight, they kill, they live to kill another day, even when it means bugging out to another Base ... and another. That is life when life is war. They know nothing else. But even war cannot last forever, regardless of the infallible truth of Red Skin’s Law #35: “Under conditions of peace, men attack themselves; thus, there never has been, and there never will be a time without war. It is the greatest, most perfect thing men can do.”
Kilpack said, "I wrote the very earliest drafts of these books when I was 14. Don't worry, they've been revised many, many times since then. I'm very happy with the state they're in now. The military aspect is much more authentic in a lot of ways, despite being a fictional branch of the military. Research and Q&A with some veterans went into restructuring that aspect of the story both through direct feedback and pointing me to the right places to dig and find out for myself."
Kilpack is an award-winning and critically acclaimed internationally published writer, with works appearing in print, online, radio and television, starting with his first publication credit at the age of nine, when he wrote an award-winning poem. He has since won 23 book awards, including The International Firebird Book Award, The BookFest Award, International Impact Book Award, both Editor's Choice and Top Pick from BooksShelf and Honorable Mention from L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future Contest for his novella, Pale Face, which was recently optioned for development for a Hollywood movie. He has been editor and/or publisher of 19 news and literary publications, both online and in print, with circulations as high as 770,000.
He received both his bachelor's and master's degrees from Westminster University. As an undergrad, he double-majored in communication and philosophy, while completing the Honors Program. As a graduate student, he earned a master of professional communication with a writing emphasis. He was also a high-performing athlete, qualifying for international competition in Greco-Roman wrestling.
For 25 years, he was a communication professor and a nationally recognized wrestling coach. He is an accomplished cook and has cooked nearly every type of food on a grill. He is happily married to his high-school sweetheart and is father to five children, as well as helping to raise five step-children. He was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, where he continues to live, consult and educate. For more information www.Kilpack.net
Praise for Pale Face
Pale Face is "pretty darned good. I like it. I love how [Hector] sees the aliens and the white men in the same light. A nice, brutal, ironic twist ... this is good stuff." — Dave Wolverton, international best-selling author
Praise for Crown Prince: Book One of New Blood
"Author W.D. Kilpack III presents an atmospheric and immersive journey into a richly crafted fantasy world, balancing a strong character-led adventure with a wider web of plots, setting up a highly complex and enjoyable fantasy saga to follow. There’s a clear flair for character, dialogue, and attitude from the start, with Natharr's intense presence affecting all who encounter him and making for some really dynamic clashes. The weightiness of his responsibilities and the depth of the world-building immediately gripped my attention and, as the story unfolded, the way the characters’ attitudes and actions were shaped by the realism of the worldbuilding was totally compelling. This book delivers on every promise of pulse-pounding adventure — thanks to the swift pacing of the plot, coupled with dark storytelling, strong descriptive skills, and captivating character development that balances emotion with duty well. Overall, I would certainly recommend Crown Prince as an incredible opener to an exciting new fantasy series, and I’m all the more eager to continue exploring this fantastical realm." — USA Today best-selling author K.C. Finn
Praise for Order of Light: Book Two of New Blood
"W. D. Kilpack III's Crown Prince captivated me. His vivid descriptions plunged me into a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and emotions. I devoured the first book in the New Blood Saga, desperate to see where the tale would lead. So, it was with bated breath that I cracked open Order of Light, the series' second instalment. Kilpack doesn't disappoint. The themes that resonated in Crown Prince deepen and twist in Order of Light. He has a way of making words just flow vividly on the page. On page 106 of my Australian paperback version, a revelation about Natharr, the Guardian of Maarihk, floored me! His journey of self-discovery weaves flawlessly with the Crown Prince's own remarkable growth. New fantastical creatures emerge from Kilpack's boundless imagination. The Quiet One and Bu, meticulously detailed in all their wonder, are testament to his storytelling prowess. But fear not, I won't spoil the magic! Suffice it to say, fans of epic fantasy, your search is over. Kilpack is your new literary lord. From exhilarating battle sequences to poignant moments of reflection, Order of Light is a masterpiece. If I could, I’d give it a six! Both it and Crown Prince deserve a place on your bookshelf. Trust me, you won't regret immersing yourself in Kilpack's world." — Jose F. Nodar, author of Books, Pens & Larceny (South Wales, Australia)
Praise for Demon Seed: Book Three of New Blood
"Demon Seed is the thrilling and fast-paced third book in the New Blood Saga ... Kilpack does not disappoint! Demon Seed is a shocking and brilliant tale that will reintroduce readers to characters we have come to love/be invested in. In this third book, the stakes are as high as ever and the story the reader is taken on will enthrall, captivate and excite its readers ... Kilpack from the beginning hooks his readers and keeps them enchanted to the very end. I have to recommend Demon Seed to readers that love epic fantasy! Demon Seed is one that is full of shocks, thrills, and twists and turns galore that will keep you on edge from beginning to end. [It] is an incredibly suspenseful novel and this is thanks to the wonderful author, whose work I love ... [Demon Seed] did not let me down, this saga has not lost its momentum or uniqueness. Kilpack is an exceptional author [who] knows how to flawlessly transport his readers into the story ... the descriptions are phenomenal ... Demon Seed is a magnificent and entertaining book that will easily entertain its readers for many hours! That is why I of course have to award this incredible book five stars!" — RedHeadedBookLover.com
Praise for Rilari: Book Four of New Blood
"Embark on a captivating journey with W.D. Kilpack III's Rilari: Book Four of New Blood, a tale that expertly weaves tension, mystery, and awe-inspiring heroism. Kilpack's world-building skillfully combines politics, magic, and ancient lore, creating a rich tapestry for readers to explore. The characters, especially Natharr and the Knights of Ril, are well-developed, and the dynamic between Nathan and his summoned companion adds depth and heart to the story. Kilpack successfully incorporates profound themes of resilience and unity into the gripping plot, leaving readers emotionally connected. Riliari is a triumph, offering an enthralling adventure filled with courage and the enduring spirit of humanity." — BooksShelf.com

author #authorlife #authorscommunity #bookaddict #bookworms #dystopian #fiction #FSFWritersAlliance #indieauthor #newbloodsaga #newrelease #kilpack #militaryscifi #postapocalyptic #readers #readersareleaders #readersgonnaread #scifi #sciencefiction #WritingCommunity #ian1 #writerslift

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2024.05.13 19:44 A_movable_life Uncle with 2 months or so to live attempted to guilt trip me into resuming contact

When I found this forum about a month ago I was reading the back posts and weeping the whole time.
Background:
I have processed this in therapy, made my peace, and have empathy for the situations that made her who she is.
I don't want to cause her harm, and fortunately I am really bad at relationships, and do not have children. Because it would be very painful if she had grandchildren that she has no access to. My sister and BIL can't have kids. (Details omitted for TW)
I work in the MH field, I'm an Nurse Practitioner. I worked as part of a DBT team. I am not DBT trained or certified but I got really good at boundaries, and sensing manipulation, without having an emotional response.
Before I went NC I would directly and clearly set limits. I stopped her when she would try to split my Sister and I, or gossip about her. There were several times every visit where I would stop her, and explain how I would not engage, did not want to hear, or set a reasonable expectation. Her reply a few times was "Don't analyze me."
Which is amusing because after the last estrangement, I asked her to go to therapy.... never happened.

Current Situation:
My Mother visited my Uncle who is dying of cancer and has by his estimation about 2 months to live.
My Mother sent me a text that I should visit him that she was down there and he does not have much time to live. I forgot I hadn't blocked her number on the new phone.
I have been NC for 9 years other then sending her a 9th Step (AA) letter. I intend to be NC for the rest of her life or mine whichever ends first.
I asked if she was present in the room. She left the morning of him calling me. I said I appreciated him not doing "One of those Ophra type interventions" as it's usually destructive.
I asked about visiting. Everyone has been invited down but me. He says he would like a visit.
He wants me "As a personal favor" to reconcile with her. I should mention he's a retired corporate attorney. Yes it's not amateur hour on either side of the phone. He said she was "Distraught that I would not talk with her."
I said let's address the second item, as you may not want me to visit depending on how I answer.
I would prefer having this conversation in person and to not have this conversation on a 2 sided Cell phone call either.
I said "no."
He pushed back and said this was not normal. I explained how it's more common then you would think both from people I know and also from being in clinical practice for almost 20 years.
He said "I can hear it in your voice that you want to reconcile." (Defining my feelings) I said I am speaking to you in the same tone I use with my patients.
I said that I will not be interacting with her for the rest of our lives. That this was a carefully made and considered decision.
I said we can discuss my reasons if you would like.
He said that was not his concern that it was between my Mother and I.
My mind formulates, "So no matter what happened, there is no reason that would cause you to find estrangement acceptable." Secondly you are implicating that I am being unreasonable, or worse yet cruel.
This goes in circles.
He bounces off a few boundaries, answer stays the same.

I figure I am going to let him know some of the situation. Because he's dying and I don't want him to think I am just being unreasonable and stubborn.
I then explain a little of how our childhood was. The abuse that my mother and I got. I also said I suspect my sister getting other abuse. Left that one hanging out there... Remember this is what I do for a living so that should have significant weight.
The things I did that I regret, and have made amends, as well as going to therapy, stopped drinking, worked the steps, and so forth.
I mentioned my sister goes to Trauma therapy, partially because of me.
Which also puts out there "Has your Sister ever had any therapy for all the stuff she has been through?"

He says "I can hear you are angry at your mother.." (defining feelings again) "
"Help me understand why do you feel that way."
"Based on what you said (above)" I said back, I am not angry at her. I have accepted and made my peace with this situation. I only listed my part in it, and what I have done to become a better person."
Which floats the unsaid question "What is her part in this?"

I said the offer is on the table to talk about this, or not talk about it. That is up to him. If you do want to have this conversation then it needs to be scheduled so I can have my notes.
The offer of a visit is "We shall see, and depends on how I am doing, check back in a week." I know the answer already. I also explained if I visit I will be getting a hotel room and a rental car, and that it's probably better if we do 2-3 hour visits so I don't tire him out.
The unsaid part is I want to be able to leave if I need to immediately, I want to be able to go to daily AA meetings, I want my own space process this coming loss. I
wrote a poem about this situation and read it in at my AA homegroup (The meeting you go to most and help keep it going.) I haven't written a poem since HS writing class. I've been weepy about the whole situation on and off.

I have a letter penned to my cousins, who I am in contact with explaining that he is a father figure in my life, that this is a very painful situation for me anticipating his passing, and that I apologize for not attending major life events in their lives and their children's lives because of this estrangement. That I won't be attending his service because it's the place for my Mother to mourn her last living sibling.

Conclusion:

That firstly he feels that there is nothing that would justify estrangement.
That my Mother probably said she has no insight into why I estranged her.
Based on #2 I am guessing that she has had no therapy. A good therapist would turn that around and use certain questions to help her develop insight.
That he feels I am angry and I want to reconcile.
Defining my feelings is a huge red flag for me.
I bet he didn't expect me to be calm, collected and give a rational and consistent dialogue.
Having to hear about his Sister's home life probably hurts. The fact that he probably had no clue until my father passed, he has a lot of guilt.
He's formally trained and skilled in negotiation tactics.
He's dying so he has a huge ability to guilt me.
I gave him the option to understand, that I would visit if asked, that I would limit exposure, and that we did not have to address this, or we can look at photos and tell stories, etc. What is not on the table is reconciliation with my Mother.

submitted by A_movable_life to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 18:49 shaneka69 KEEP GOING

KEEP GOING

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWXgojWut_o
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submitted by shaneka69 to PostYourBlogLinks [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 18:33 Mobile_Management_74 im writing a wattpad story about my life and i think it's kinda ruining me (m19)

Hi everyone.Ok so pretty much a bunch of shit happened to me during senior year of high school and i got pretty traumatized from it. First my best friend of 10 years abandoned me for some guy she pretended she hated in front of me. Then i met a boy on an app, fell deeply in love, got in a long distance relationship, he abused me verbally and was horribly toxic (told me to slit my wrists, left and came back all the time, cheated on me a bunch of time). When i left high school for college i had to leave all my friends and my teen years which i wasn't ready to do so i tried to kms. I survived got better went back to college. But i realized this trauma genuinely never left me no matter how much i dive into it to heal it. I keep thinking about my ex-best friend and my ex.
Being a very creative person i decided to turn this pain into art and draw and paint bunch of things and write poems. But it wasn't enough. It still stuck with me. For some reason i felt the NEED for people to understand and listen to my story. Euphoria also being my favorite show, it inspired me. SO i decided to write a wattpad story very heavily inspired from my life.
But ever since i started doing it, a bunch of weird weird stuff happened. First, it made me go back to toxic thoughts and overthinking about my ex, which is predictable cause it is the main subject of the book. But it also make me go back to theorizing about him (CONTEXT: a bunch of things happened that made me think he wasn't a real person/a catfish? (he never showed up when we were supposed to meet, never showed his face on facetime, rarely sent voice messages). I even messaged his best friend. I thought i moved on and all this stirring up is very hard for me. Then the worst happened. After 3 years of no contact with my ex-best friend, we ran into each other a few days ago.
I have this really important desire for me to feel heard and understood with my story, and also help people who also went through it, and i want it to be known, but i also feel like its ruining me mentally and it makes people come back to me which is very hard for me to handle.
Should i keep on writing the story? Or should i just stop?
Please help and be nice and understanding with me, it's hard for me to open up, even anonymously. Thank you to everyone who read everything <33

submitted by Mobile_Management_74 to teenagers [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 18:30 number9muses PotW #97: Strauss - Death and Transfiguration

Good morning everyone, happy Monday, and welcome to another selection for our sub's weekly listening club. Each week, we'll listen to a piece recommended by the community, discuss it, learn about it, and hopefully introduce us to music we wouldn't hear otherwise :)
Last time, we listened to Howells’ Elegy for viola, string quartet, and string orchestra. You can go back to listen, read up, and discuss the work if you want to.
Our next Piece of the Week is Richard Strauss’ Death and Transfiguration (1890)
…
Score from IMSLP
https://s9.imslp.org/files/imglnks/usimg/e/e8/IMSLP18779-PMLP12213-Strauss_-_Tod_und_Verkl%C3%A4rung,_Op._24_(orch._score).pdf
…
some listening notes from Calvin Dotsey

Over the course of the 19th-century, music gained in prestige until many began to consider it the most significant of all the arts. In an age of rapid social change and scientific progress, many questioned established traditions, and art—especially music—seemed to provide spiritual sustenance in an age of doubt. It is against this cultural background that Richard Strauss (aged just 25 in 1889) completed his most ambitious tone poem yet: Tod und Verklärung (Death and Transfiguration), a work that explores the mystery of death and what might lie beyond. Though Strauss himself had adopted a decidedly secular worldview as a teenager, he brilliantly depicted the physiological and psychological states of a dying man with almost scientific precision, using the most advanced orchestrations and harmonies of his time. The piece was not based on any personal experience, but intriguingly, on his deathbed Strauss remarked that “dying is exactly as I composed it sixty years ago in Tod und Verklärung.”
Strauss provided his own summary: “[…] it occurred to me to present in the form of a tone poem the dying hours of a man who had striven towards the highest idealistic aims, maybe indeed those of an artist.”
In the slow introduction, “The sick man lies in bed, asleep, with heavy irregular breathing; friendly dreams [in the form of woodwind and violin solos] conjure a smile on the features of the deeply suffering man.” When the tempo quickens, “he wakes up; he is once more racked with horrible agonies; his limbs shake with fever” amidst an orchestral maelstrom. Suddenly, the storm breaks as a new theme resounds in the trumpet, trombones, and tuba: the first glimpse of transfiguration.
The music fades “as the attack passes and the pains leave off,” and a gentle theme from the introduction returns as he falls asleep again: “his thoughts wander through his past life; his childhood passes before him […]” A momentary attack of pain cinematically cuts to “the time of his youth with its strivings and passions”: the protagonist appears as a strapping young man with a faster, fanfare-like theme for horns and winds. Another cinematic cut from the violins leads to an unmistakable Straussian love scene, but during this passionate love-dream “the pains already begin to return,” and the music of love and suffering combine in a searing, intense passage of virtuoso complexity.
All at once, the pain falls away, and the transfiguration theme now appears in a more complete guise: “there appears to him the fruit of his life’s path, the conception, the ideal which he has sought to realize, to present artistically, but which he has not been able to complete, since it is not for man to be able to accomplish such things.” But, in order to be transfigured, he must leave this world. The pained music of the slow introduction returns as “The hour of death approaches […]” The intense music of suffering returns once more, vanishing with the stroke of a gong as “the soul leaves the body in order to find gloriously achieved in everlasting space those things which could not be fulfilled here below.”

Ways to Listen

David Zinman and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich: YouTube Score Video, Spotify
Andrés Orozco-Estrada and the hr-Sinfonieorchester: YouTube
Mikko Franck and the Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France: YouTube
Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic: Spotify
Mariss Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra: Spotify
Manfred Honeck and the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra: Spotify

Discussion Prompts

What are your favorite parts or moments in this work? What do you like about it, or what stood out to you?
Do you have a favorite recording you would recommend for us? Please share a link in the comments!
Have you ever performed this before? If so, when and where? What instrument do you play? And what insights do you have from learning it?

...
What should our club listen to next? Use the link below to find the submission form and let us know what piece of music we should feature in an upcoming week. Note: for variety's sake, please avoid choosing music by a composer who has already been featured, otherwise your choice will be given the lowest priority in the schedule
PotW Archive & Submission Link

submitted by number9muses to classicalmusic [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 17:23 SwitcherooU Maybe the strangest joke in the entire show?

You’ll find it during the Superfan cut of “Goodbye, Michael.”
Right after he tells the office that Phyllis was hot in high school, Michael turns his attention to Stanley, who seems to be doing a crossword puzzle.
Michael pulls out a slip of patter and reads the following words: “Do you hate that I am proud and brown, standing here alive, with baby oil on my Nubian thighs? - Big Mama Angelou.”
Baffling.
After some googling, he seems to be conflating the poem “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou and “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor (not the first time he’s been mistaken about that song).
Then he wants to do a crossword with Stanley, but Stanley refuses. Then they wrestle over the crossword book, and a hentai illustration falls out.
It’s a very strange sequence. For the first joke to land, the audience would have to be familiar with the Maya Angelou poem and also understand that Michael confuses “I Will Survive” with other pieces of media. So I’m not surprised it was cut.
At any rate, it has to be the strangest joke in the entire show, right? I can’t think of one that’s more obscure.
Anyway, I just wanted to share because I was so blindsided by it. I’ve seen this episode SO many times now, and to have this new bit to talk about is a lot of fun.
Thank you for reading.

submitted by SwitcherooU to DunderMifflin [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 16:36 tonyshihh Why is not D?

The teacher gave me answer C on Q38, but I think it's D. What do you think? Help me pls

submitted by tonyshihh to ENGLISH [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 16:31 tonyshihh Why is not D?

The teacher gave me answer C on Q38, but I think it's D. What do you think? Help me pls

submitted by tonyshihh to EnglishLearning [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 15:05 nomass39 I found an old recording of the most gruesome TV show ever broadcast

Me and Lila always carved dozens of jack o’ lanterns every October, so they’d absolutely saturate our lawn on Halloween night. It was our thing. But looking back on it, now that I’ve lost her, I just feel bad for the pumpkins. I almost relate to them, somehow. The way they were carved up, had everything of substance inside of them torn out, and left as hollow, rotting shells with forced smiles.
Needless to say, I didn’t cope with her death well. I didn’t want to cope with it. I wanted the world to drown in the black sludge of my grief. I loathed the people I saw going about their lives, unaware that the world had already ended the moment Lila died. The Earth shouldn’t keep spinning. Life shouldn’t go on. Not without her.
Even my relatives bringing me along on a trip to Kauai only made it worse. The most gorgeous place on Earth, and it made me sick with hatred. Nothing that beautiful deserved to exist if Lila wasn’t ever going to get to see it. It wasn’t fair.
I thought I’d never enjoy or care about anything again. Then I discovered media preservation.
It started with taking some of Lila’s old VHS tapes to a video repair place to fix some issues with the footage before it’s digitized. The job fascinated me. In a universe based on entropy, where everything inevitably fades away and is forgotten… restoring something lost is like snatching it from the jaws of death, right? Like flipping the bird to the universe and its so-called ‘natural order’. People die, but information doesn’t have to.
Now, it doesn’t matter how small — be it some god-awful plug-and-play licensed game, or a cereal commercial from 80’s — it’s my mission to recover it in as high a quality as I’m able, and make sure it’s freely available online for as long as possible.
A couple weeks ago, I came across a big haul. Four boxes of old VHS tapes offered up on E-Bay for dirt cheap. Most of the tapes were just recordings of Cheers episodes already preserved in higher qualities, but one Maxell E-240 caught my interest.
First of all, I’d never seen one so melted. Sure, sometimes they were left in an attic too long, and the colors and audio start to degrade. But this one looked like it had survived a house fire. It was covered in soot and the smell of smoke, and had the overall shape of a chocolate bar left out in the sun a little too long.
Second was the label, which read in neat sharpie: ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ 4,679,329 ᴍᴀʀ 8 2035.
The casing was so disfigured, I had to bust it apart just pull out the tapes and respool them in a fresh cassette. I tried to iron out the creases in the tape as best I could, but I had no illusions about it accomplishing much — the mylar surface had been irreparably warped in places by whatever fire had half-melted the thing.
Imagine my despair at the sight of that dreaded ‘ɴᴏ ꜱɪɢɴᴀʟ’. I could clearly see the tape wasn’t blank, yet no amount of adjusting the tracking or trying different TVs or VCRs accomplished anything. Just as I was about to give up, though, the thing just suddenly started playing properly at the exact instant the clock struck 3 AM, as if it had only now decided to work. My all-nighter had paid off.
I didn’t dwell on the fact that this ‘miracle fix’ had been impossible. If I’d had any sense, I’d have torn the horrid thing out of my VCR and buried it beneath holy ground. Instead, fool I was, I sat down and watched.
At first, the thing seemed unwatchable. The audio was so distorted that the show’s theme song emerged as a low, crackling, staticky wail that made my head throb, and the logo was completely indistinguishable through the flickering and interference. I thought it was a lost cause for a moment. But then a figure appeared and cleared away the static, like Noah parting the Red Sea.
It was the sight of the show’s host that hooked me. He was just… perfect. Perfect in every way. I knew it just looking at him. Infinitely handsome and likable and charismatic, and he always said the exact perfect thing. The only issue is, I don’t remember a single thing about him now, in the same way you can’t remember a dream that seemed so clear to you while you were experiencing it. He just appears in my memory as this abstract blur in a sharp suit. Yet at the time, I was awestruck, even before he said a single word.
I can’t even remember a word he said. It was like he was speaking another language, one I felt as opposed to heard. I’ll try and transcribe it as best I can into words, but know that it’s only a pathetic imitation.
“... for another night of laughs, prizes, and fun for the whole family, with your host, #####!” I noticed that the audio and visual distortion seemed to suddenly intensify the instant he said his name, rendering it completely illegible. Idiot I was, I figured that was a coincidence. “Tonight is a night of celebration, folks, because thanks to the support of loyal viewers like you, we have just been approved for, get this: two hundred thousand more seasons!”
The “live studio audience” went wild with applause. I put that in scare quotes because, as far as I could tell, besides the host, the studio seemed completely empty. As if he was standing on a plain white stage that extended outwards into infinite darkness on all sides.
“For those just joining us, the game here is simple…” He explained that this was some sort of a trivia show. Every time a guest got an answer wrong, it brought them a little closer to some sort of unspecified ‘punishment’. And if they got it right? He smirked. “Well, they get to delay the inevitable.”
I wondered what he meant by ‘inevitable’. I didn’t have to wonder long.
The host gestured to a curtain that hadn’t been there moments ago, which raised to reveal a middle-aged man. You know the type — bushy mustache, gray hair, round-rimmed glasses. Kind of guy you’d have doing your plumbing. He couldn’t look any more out of place stood up and restrained in that — what the hell is that?
I recognized that metal coffin-looking thing from a medieval torture museum I went to once. The iron maiden. The lid hung open, countless long, needle-like blades poking inwards, threaten to poke a million new holes in him if it was shut.
His situation was not lost on him. “Where… where am I? What the hell is this!?”
“Oh, lucky guess!” The host ‘joked’. More canned laughter. “I know you always loved watching those trivia shows, Malcolm? Weren’t you always sitting there, grinding your teeth, seething that it wasn’t fair? That you should be the one up on stage, winning big?”
The man paused. Even he seemed mesmerized by the unreal perfection of the host before him. “I… this is a… game show?”
“All you have to do is answer a few questions! Think you can handle that, Malcolm?” He pulled out a cue card without waiting for an answer. “And our first question! What were you doing the night of February 18th, 1998?”
The man seemed baffled. “Just… sat on my couch watching the NFL, I think? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to remember —“
He let out a startled squeal as a horrid buzzer sounded. On cue, the lid slid a third of the way closed, making him flinch. “Oooh, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, Frank! But you know what? I’ll give you one more chance. What were you —“
“Following a girl home!” The man cried out. “F-from the bar. There, are you happy?”
“Cor-rect!” The canned audience began cheering! “Such honesty! Now, our second question: just what were you carrying while you followed her?”
He hesitated for a little too long. And then the buzzer sounded again, and the lid slid so near to closing that its blades began poking uncomfortably against his skin. He tried to press himself against the back of the maiden as well as his restraints would allow. “Jesus! Okay! A knife, a knife!”
“Awww, if only you’d said that just a second earlier!” Another big question. “Our third question: why, Malcolm? Why did you do it?”
That set Malcolm off. He started thrashing, clawing, screaming. “Let me out of this thing, you maniac! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am? Is this some sort of sick joke? My lawyers will have your head for this, you—“
And then the buzzer. All of a sudden, the lid slammed shut full-force, and the man was utterly silenced save for an unnatural, drawn-out wheeze. “Another wrong answer, Malcolm! I’m afraid I was looking for: ‘because if I can’t have her, no one can’!”
I admit it. I laughed. Out of shock more than anything. How was this allowed on TV? I took it as some sort of dark comedy show, and it was kind of satisfying to see that freaky character get his comeuppance. Still, there was something unnerving to me, seeing the man’s eyes through the openings in the maiden. Wide and red and terrified. They just looked a little… too real.
But the maiden disappeared as quickly as it came, before I could dwell on it too much. “Oh, envy! Definitely one of my favorite sins.” More laughter. “Stay tuned, folks! We’ve still got a night of fun and games in store for you! But first… how’s about a word from our sponsors?”
Cut to a corporate logo which I again couldn't recognize.
“This segment was made possible by Buer Health, which has recently announced a brilliant new initiative to protect our citizens from skin cancer by removing their skin completely.”
The camera cut to a massive industrial building, resembling a solid concrete cube around 50 meters in width and height. Its surface bore arcane symbols etched using carvings of wailing, tormented faces. The host would occasionally be rendered inaudible by a deafening metallic scraping from within, though he didn’t seem to notice. The only protrusion from the building’s cubic shape was a single smokestack, belching a scarlet red smoke into the atmosphere. A queue of gaunt figures waited at the entrance, herded and coerced by their grim overseers, and there were no words to describe the procession of scarlet ghouls limping out the building’s other end.
“Owing to the nonlinearity of time, the brand new Grand Skinpeeling Machine has spontaneously appeared several years before construction deadlines, and indeed, before it was even conceived of by anyone in our timeline. People have rushed all the way from Malebolge just to try this miracle of technology out on opening day, and so far, the reviews have been stellar!”
He shoved his microphone in the face of a shambling thing that could only scarcely be called a human. Tatters of flesh clung to its exposed musculature, blowing in the wind. Its eyes were the only hint of color in that sea of bloody red, and they were wide, white and terrified. The thing screamed and wailed for as long as it could before the last tendons connecting its jaw to its face snapped, and it was left to choke and gurgle.
“An amazing wail! The results speak for themselves, folks. The Grand Skinpeeling Machine is a hit!”
So far, I was still laughing along and having a good time. The sight of the next ‘guest’, however, started making me nervous.
It was an old lady.
She couldn’t be a day younger than sixty, the sort of sweet elderly woman who in a just world would be cooking chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren in a comfy cottage somewhere. But here she was, tied to a metal chair, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf. Unlike the last contestant, she seemed to know exactly what was happening.
“In exchange for our loving endorsement, they’ve agreed to loan us one of their star employees. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for: the Liqisma!”
Something slunk from the darkness far behind her — or perhaps it’d be more apt to say that the darkness birthed it whole-cloth. It was like a living shadow, and it took my eyes a moment to register what I was even seeing.
How do I even begin describing this creature? I could say it looked almost human, or at least like something that may have been human long ago. Or I could start with its skin, which was all black and shiny as latex and seemingly smooth on first glance, but if you looked closer you’d realize it was covered in a million tiny reptilian scales, almost like a shark. Its head was a bald man’s, utterly devoid of any distinguishing features, like the basic stock template for a human being. It was notable only for a complete lack of pupils and irises, its eyes a pure white.
Its body defied basic biology in so many key ways, I had to stare it at for what felt like an eternity just to wrap my mind around its physiology. It was at least five or six meters long, by my estimate, composed of multiple human torsos stacked one on top of the other like segments of a centipede, each melding with the ones around it at the waist and shoulders. Each torso sported a pair of short, stubby arms that propelled it with terrifying grace. It ended with a pair of human legs, perpetually bent on their knees, beneath a ‘tail’ that looked more like its coccyx was poking free from its body.
The old last could clearly hear it, and kept futilely trying to turn her head around enough to get a peek at what stood behind her. I mouthed uselessly, don’t. You don’t want to know.
“Glad you could join us again, Miss Wethersby! Judging by our ratings last week, you seemed to have been a fan favorite!”
Her voice was so soft, I could barely hear it below the static. “Oh, God. Please, why won’t you people let me go? I’ve told you, I’ve never done anything, never hurt anybody. There must be some sort of—”
He waved a hand over her, and it seemed to forcefully snap her mouth shut. “Please, Miss Wethersby, save your breath for our questions!” Another cue card. “Your first question, my friend: where did you and your husband buy your first home?”
She had to think about it for a long time. Eventually, she cried out, “Alabama! Tuscaloosa, Alabama!”
“Ding ding ding! Why, you’re already doing better than our first contestant! Next question: what breed of dog was your childhood pet?”
She had a pained look on her face as she thought. Eventually, a timer started ticking down. It wasn’t visible, so it wasn’t clear how much time she had left exactly, but the sound it made got more shrill and high-pitched with every second. “Miss Wethersby, need I remind you that we have a time limit on this show?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “I… I keep telling you people, I don’t know. I have dementia, I can’t remember, please—”
That buzzer again. “I’m afraid that was the wrong answer! Liqisma?” The old lady shuddered at the sounds of hundreds of feet drawing a little closer to her. “Now, your first grandchild. What did he look like? What color were his eyes? His hair?”
She was crying harder now, like it hurt her that she couldn’t remember something so dear to her. “I told you I can’t remember! Why are you doing this to me!?”
“If you don’t remember them, why would they remember you?” The host mocked as the buzzer sounded, and the beast drew a little closer. “Really, do you believe they still even think about you? Or do you think they’re glad that the old bag of bones isn’t there sucking up their inheritance?”
This went on for… God, it could have been an hour. I was glued to the screen all the while, frozen with terror, praying for this nightmare to just end, for her to make it out okay somehow. He poured over every little detail of the life she lived and the people she loved, delighting in how little of it she could still recall.
And the thing grew closer, and closer… until she finally felt multiple pairs of hands resting upon her shoulders. The thing was looming over her now, and a long, black tongue a few feet in length emerged from its mouth and ran trails of dark saliva over the back of her head. She looked broken down, eyes raw from crying, and I could tell by the dampness of her dress that she’d wet herself.
“Now, Miss Wethersby, our time here has been fun, but I do believe it is time for our final question. Tell me, what is the name… of your only son?”
She couldn’t even answer anymore. She just stared ahead, like her mind was a million miles away. He cackled as the buzzer sounded one final time, and threw his cue cards aside. “Thank you for playing, Miss Wethersby. Better luck next time.”
I would say the thing unhinged its jaw like a snake, but that’d be an understatement. The way the thing’s face malformed and wrinkled and stretched as it opened its maw, it no longer looked even remotely human. Its jaws must have parted at least thirty centimeters apart, revealing a second, pharyngeal pair of jaws that lashed out and gripped the woman’s skull, pulling her headlong into that darkness.
I could hear bones crunching and snapping as its throat constricted down around her body, peristaltic muscles compacting her into a meat slurry, bit by bit. Yet she just wouldn’t die. Even as her skull and upper body were already crushed and compacted, organs and muscles pressed into mulch, she still kicked her legs, twitched her fingers, let out a gurgling that must have been some attempt at screaming. She was squirming even as the beast snapped its jaw shut around the last of her, condemning her to whatever torments awaited her inside the creature.
And all the while, that horrible laughter. “Don’t worry, folks! She’ll be back next week! And the next. And the next…”
Needless to say, I wasn’t having fun anymore. In fact, I had to turn away and fight the urge to throw up. I stood, about to turn the TV off and —
“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t touch that dial, now!” I froze. There was something chilling about the way he said that, staring right into the screen as if reacting to what I was doing. I hated that grin on his face. “The real show is just beginning.”
And with the barely restrained excitement of a child on Christmas morning, he yanked back another curtain, and I recognized everything.
I recognized that crappy bootleg knockoff Always Sunny in Philadelphia jacket that was so gaudy and terrible it instantly became her favorite thing in her wardrobe. I recognized those subtle hints of slight acne she disguised as fake freckles. I recognized the way her gray eyes would remind me of those overcast mornings at the beach at Hilton Head and pointing out all the cannonball jellyfish washed up on the sands. I recognized that tattoo of the name ʀᴏᴄᴋʏ, how I’d held her all night long as she cried into my shirt after her childhood cat had died.
It was Lila.
I shuddered, gasped, fell from my seat as if I’d been punched in the stomach and the air had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be real. I was dreaming right now. I must be. I just had to wake up.
But I couldn’t wake up. Nothing I could do dispelled the sight of her curled up in that… that thing. That bronze statue of a bull, horns jutting on either side of a head that roaring silently up at the heavens, all while the love of my life was locked in its hollowed out belly, visible only through a pane of glass. I could hear her cry out in shock at where she’d found herself, and every whimper felt like it drove a knife through my chest.
The host soaked in the moment. It was ecstasy for him, the suffering of it all. He stared dead into the camera like he was looking right at me as she called, “What is this? Where am I?”
“Why, I have good news, my dear Lila! You’re exactly where every American dreams of being: you’re on TV.” He pointed to the camera. “And we have a very special guest in the audience tonight. Your very own beloved Jackson!”
I shuddered, hearing my own name ooze from his fetid lips. His façade of perfection was slipping, and there was something so profoundly ugly beneath it. Her eyes snapped to the camera, confused, despairing. “Jackson? Baby? What — what’s happening? What is this?”
I don’t know, I thought, gripping the sides of the TV so hard my knuckles turned white, but I’m going to get you out of there, baby. I’m going to find whoever did this and I’m going to bury them all so far beneath that studio that they’ll never-
“I’m afraid Jackson hasn’t joined us quite yet, my dear. But if you truly love him, surely you’ll give him a show to remember, won’t you?” He taunted her. “All I want, after all, is to ask you a few questions! In fact, I’ll offer you a special deal: get even a single answer right, and I’ll let you go free! But get one wrong and, well…”
On cue, a fire was lit beneath her. Small, smoldering for now, but she whimpered as she noticed the heat. We both realized in that instant what this was. By now, I was screaming things I can’t repeat here, and slamming my hands against the TV screen as if I could reach through and save her.
She bit her lip and acquiesced. Not like she had any room to argue. The host grinned and readied a cue card. “Your first question: where are you, Lila?”
“I… I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”
“You do know, Lila. You know exactly where you are.” He smirked at her. “Here’s a free hint: what’s the last thing you remember, before you woke up here?
She thought about it… and choked back a sob, visibly shaking as the realization slowly settled in. “But… but why? I… I…”
The horrible wail of the buzzer cut her off. “Oooh, too bad! I’m afraid you’ve run out of time!”
Seemingly as if on its own, the fire doubled in size. Sparks licked the belly of the bronze bull, and began to ever-so-slowly heat the surface. She pawed around in the tight confines, searching for any reprieve from the scalding heat all around her as the metal grew hot like it’d been left out in the sun on a summer’s day. “Please! Oh, God, let me out of this thing! It hurts! It hurts!”
The host seemed to breathe in her pain as if stealing a moment’s indulgence. “Now that there is no doubt about where you are, my dear, let us proceed to the second question.” He switched to his next card. “Did you believe in God, in the end?”
“O-of course!” She pled her case as if she was being tried in court. “My entire life… every day I gave to the poor, helped the sick, did whatever I could to honor Hi-“
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my question. I asked, did you believe in him at the end? The very moment your pitiful little life was snuffed out?”
“I always believed! I’d never forsake Him!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You lived a good and holy life, didn’t you?” He cackled. “But what of the very end? You and your little husband were so excited to deliver your first little baby boy. But o, tragedy! It all went wrong, didn’t it? Your precious little boy didn’t make it through childbirth… and you followed closely behind.”
“That whole business with the botched pregnancy, it was… what do you call it? Ah, yes. A ‘test of faith’. And I’m afraid you failed. In your final moments, you watched the light fade from your child’s eyes, and you assumed — wisely, in my humble opinion — that no ‘kind’ and ‘loving’ God would allow something like that to happen.” He laughed. “Funny how after a lifetime of dutiful service, all it takes is one little mistake at the end… to bring you here. To us.”
I’d never seen such depths of despair in a person’s eyes. Such emptiness. Like with every word, he’d been scooping out another piece of her until she was hollow. And then that buzzer roared again, more shrill than ever, and I could barely see her little window through the smoke and flames. The belly of the bull was turning orange in places, and I could hear her flesh start to sizzle like meat on a grill. There are no words for the noises she made. No words at all.
“And our last, final question,” he continued. “What were your last words to your poor, beloved Jackson?”
“I love you!” I called out the answer. Bloody fingerprints stained the TV screen from my slamming my hands against it, as I screamed the answer over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” At some point, I forgot that there was ever a question. I was just screaming it at her as if hoping that she could hear it, that it could bring her a modicum of comfort in that place.
The buzzer sounded again. I couldn't bring myself to look. All I could hear was the roaring of the bull, and the steam rising from its bronze nostrils.
The curtain fell. Silence drowned the sound. The host dropped all pretense that he hadn’t been speaking directly to me. “Now, Jackson. You just might be one of my new favorite audience members this show had ever had. I know this must have been hard for you. But if you’ll just stay tuned, I have one more show I know you’re certain to love!”
I didn’t bother to touch the remote. After all, nothing could be worse than what I’d just seen, right?
Wrong. Horror wracked me as the curtain rose, and I saw the man chained to a chair. I pulled away like a caveman witnessing fire, cringing and stuttering, face wet with sweat. It was the sort of fear that worked its way into your bones like a bad chill, that left you shaking, teeth chattering.
It was me.
An older me, sure. But not by much. Ten years, maybe. A gaunt and hollow version of me, one twisted by ten years of depression and hard drugs. But it was unmistakable.
His eyes widened as he recognized the host. “Oh — oh God, God please no! It can’t be — oh Christ, let me out of this chair, you —“
“Come, now! We wouldn’t want to use the lord’s name in vain, would we? I mean, that would be a sin!” The host laid a hand on the other me’s shoulder. “It may have been a few years since you watched our program, but I’m sure you remember the rules, don’t you, old friend?”
The other me was wordless, on the verge of hyperventilating, just as I was. The host was giddy with delight. “Now! Our first and only question is one I’m sure our viewer will be very interested in: what sins, exactly, do you think landed you here?”
The other me tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. I could see it in his eyes. The years of self-destruction, the bitter hopelessness, the whirlpool of nihilism and vice and decay. The suffocating depths of a man. The darkness. How could he put it into words?
The sound of the buzzer was like a pig’s squeal. “Mmm, I’m afraid that our viewer is going to have to figure that out for himself! In the meantime, your punishment? Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything…”
The curtains slowly began to fall just as a couple other of those black, grotesque monstrosities emerged from the darkness. The curtain covered them all before I could get a good look at their obscene, twisted, asymmetrical figures. All I could hear was the crunching, the sound of skin tearing like paper, the screaming that went on for longer and louder than a human throat or vocal chords could endure.
The image and audio were beginning to distort, glitch, burn away. The tapes were physically melting as they played. My VCR was starting to overheat, sparks pouring from its front panel. The host voice jumped around in tone, his voice fading into the static blur as the tapes bubbled and boiled and distorted. “But, my friends, I’m afraid that concludes tonight’s episode of our show! So, with a final farewell to our dear, beloved viewer, Jackson…”
Just before the image melted away, the camera seemed to jump forward until his face filled the screen, his eyes piercing into mine as he cackled in that singsong voice.
“See you sooooon~”

submitted by nomass39 to nosleep [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 15:04 Crazy-Concern8080 Accept

Well, this is the final story I can think of for Naeriu. If there are any more situations you'd like to see him in, be sure to comment on them and I’ll see if I can’t work with them. I’ve been inspired by comments before, it can absolutely happen again.
The first story is here: Endure
The second story is here: Persist
And the thrid story's here: Strive
Being accepted is something everyone wants to be, but sometimes people can’t accept you for who you are. Sometimes, in the most heartbreaking cases, it’s someone you are close to.
Shout out to SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Memory Transcription Subject: Naeriu, Kolshian Missionary
Date [Standardized Human Time]: January 11, 2150
I couldn’t help but feel nervous as I rode in the shuttle. Even if I knew I was safe here, I wasn’t scared of anything physically dangerous. This planet had gone mostly untouched by the wars that had plagued the outside universe, left alone orbiting an insignificant star in an unimportant location. The only thing useful in this solar system was the planet itself, an agro-world devoted to having as many high-yield farms as possible.
It was a beautiful marble from above, swirling vibrant colors painting the surface intricately. The polar oceans almost made it look like a tennis ball, funnily enough. I could even see some of the larger farms from above, large patches of brown, miscolored green, or any other number of colors broadcasting what vegetables were being grown.
Where there weren’t farms, there were prairies or small forests, the only refuge for any animal, predator or not, to avoid the ire of the farmers. Herbivores would ruin crops and carnivores would taint them, there was no winning against the farmers. However, in recent years, there has been an ecological comeback with the help of the Humans.
Forests were a little bit larger, pests were killed a little less ruthlessly, and the farmers' hatred toward Humans grew evermore. While they were not outright hostile, I could only be thankful I had not heard what they had said behind closed doors.
This planet, Toktkala, was once my home, but now it couldn’t feel any more strange to me. I could only pray for more strength for what I was about to face, being a supporter of Humans and an open believer of Christ was sure to have me ostracized by everyone. I had a feeling that there were only two refuges for me; the UN embassy, something that was never not swarmed with protesters, and my childhood home.
That was the reason my stomach felt like it was turned inside out, I had finally found the time to find my family again. It wasn’t difficult, they hadn’t moved away from the house, but I had broken all contact with them after the Battle of Earth. That was fourteen Earth years ago, fifteen on Toktkala. Fifteen years of no contact, left wondering the fate of their oldest son, I couldn’t fathom what that could have done to them. I wondered if they were even still together, after losing my little sister they were already stressed, losing me might have broken them. It made me feel guilty already, and I didn’t even know if it was true. Hopefully, they managed to stay together for my little brother, Bolop always deserved the best.
I wonder if he hated me, blaming me for our parents’ divorce. I wonder if he hated me for leaving for the military in the first place. I wonder what my parents will say, seeing their dead son on their doorstep.
The uncertainty ate away at me, but the only way to cure it was to face it, and I intend to face it head-on and with full honesty. I’ll take everything they throw at me on the chin and keep walking, relieved no matter the outcome.
The shuttle touched down in one of the very few spaceports built on the planet, all of which were humble in the worst way. Frequent traffic wasn’t a problem, so they had all been equipped with the bare necessities to be classified as a spaceport. Most were little more than a pad, a few administrative buildings, and a luggage check. The only one with any extra expense was located in the only city on the entire planet, on the complete opposite side of where I needed to be.
However, the underfunded port might have been a boon in the end, as it let me experience the rural air sooner. Nostalgia flooded my mind as the familiar scent reignited memories from my childhood. Running through fields with my mother, watching the sunset with my father, eating a home-cooked bowl of kotla on the porch, climbing the lone tree in the backyard when I was sad, swinging from it when I was happy, there were so many melancholic memories tied to this smell, and I would never get tired of them.
I gathered what little luggage I brought with me and waited for a bus to pick me up, mixed feelings caused me to stare off into the distance. It felt great to finally be back in the warm, welcoming, slightly humid air of Toktkala, but that just meant I was one step closer to facing my family. I wouldn’t and couldn’t back down, but that didn’t make me any less nervous.
“Feeling okay, deary? You look like you’re about to run away.”
I blinked as I turned to face the lady, slightly surprised that anyone would bother talking to me. She was an older Kolshian, decorated in old-timey jewelry and carrying an expensive-looking bag. I could tell from her thick accent that she was a Toktkala native, the people from her tended to take their time in everything, including speaking.
I accepted the distraction with a sigh, causing her to sit down and pay attention. “I’m fine, just nervous.”
“Aww, what for? I don’t know anyone who could be down in weather like this. Haven't had a nice day like this in a while.”
“Well, you see, I haven’t been home in a long time. Fifteen years, give or take.”
“Oh deary, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you could finally make it home.”
“Yeah… I guess. It’s just, what has changed since I left. I haven’t said or heard a single word from my parents since the war, I don’t even know if they are still together. I-I know where they live, but that’s about all I know about my parents. What if they don’t recognize me? What if they hate me for leaving and not saying anything? And I’ve changed so much, I’m not sure they would even accept me for who I am now. I know I have to do this, I’m not backing down no matter what, but that doesn’t make me any less anxious.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “That is quite the predicament. Fifteen years is a long time to not speak with someone, but always remember, it is never too late to reconnect.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle and grab my cross. “Kinda like me and…”
“What was that deary?”
“Uh, nothing important. Now that I’ve given you my side, I think it’s only fair you give me yours.”
She shifted on the bench. “Oh well, there’s not much to say. Just going back to town after a visit off planet. A buyer was looking to buy some crops in bulk and I went out to meet him for some discussion. Really nice boy, almost as old as you.”
“Ma’am, I’m thirty-two.”
She waved a tentacle in chucked. “Well everyone is a boy when you are as old as me, deary.”
I let myself laugh. “Oh you can’t be that old, you barely look a day over sixty!”
She pressed a tentacle to her chest. “Well, I’m flattered. I guess there still are some gentlemen in this world.”
“Oh I think there are plenty, they just don’t get the chance to act like them.”
She tilted her head to the side. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
We fell into silence for a moment, but with no bus in sight, it would be better to keep talking. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of crops do you sell?”
She clicked her tongue. “Oh, all kinds, but I think the one you're asking about is the stuff I talked about earlier, am I right?”
I raised a tentacle as if I were surrendering, noticing a bus cresting over the horizon as I did. “You got me.”
“That was some dlut, you know the stuff. Tall stocks, bright purple, sweetish tasting fruit.”
I leaned back. “Ah, dlut. I bet that would be good in a kotla in this weather.”
“It sure would. I just can’t get over who I was selling to.”
I turned to face her head-on. “And that is?”
“A Human, can you believe that?”
I laughed. “You know? I can actually. I’m…”
I considered my wording carefully. I didn’t want to offend this nice old lady accidentally. After a brief pause, I found the right words. “I’m surprised that someone from Toktkala would even be willing to talk with them though, considering the popular sentiment.”
“Oh I know, and I think it’s just dreadful that those people get so much hatred. I’ll be honest, I was in the same wagon at the beginning, but I came around once they became the only people buying my products. After what was revealed about our history… well, I don’t think I need to tell you of all people how Kolshians were treated.”
“Trust me, I know. I just think it’s kind of ironic that Humans, people we all seemed hell-bent on making hate us, were the first to forgive.”
She sighed. “I just wish some of the other foolhardy people here could see that too. With any luck, your parents are like us.”
I nodded as the bus pulled to a stop. “Yeah, maybe. This was a nice chat, hope you have a wonderful day.”
She waved me off. “With a little luck, we’ll see each other again. Oh, what’s your name.”
I paused and pivoted before I stepped on the bus. “I’m Naeriu, and you are?”
“I’m Moelly. And I hope to see you too.”
I waved to her one final time as the bus accelerated away, feeling much better having talked with someone instead of just dwelling on my feelings. I felt more hopeful about my future now that the idea of my parents not hating Humans was rolling around in my head, it let me believe there was a chance my parents might not disown me. Dad was always supportive of me when I said I wanted to join, he had always had complete faith in the Federation, but Mom might be a little more lenient, even if she also held the Federation in high regard.
I wonder if they became the type to claim the Humans faked it all and Nikonus’ accidental confession was fabricated. There were a lot of those kinds of people still around to this day, almost twenty years after the war ended. I could only pray that they would realize the error in their ways and accept reality sooner rather than later.
I stared out of the window for a long time, passing the time by reliving every field, tree, and house that passed by the window. I couldn’t pull my eyes away even for a second, everything looked so familiar, but at the same time, just different enough to make it strange. Some things were out of place or missing, while others were just how I remember them. It was surreal to see how my childhood home had changed, and I could feel my anxiety bubbling back up just as we reached the stop I needed to get off at.
I tugged the suitcase behind me, thanking and tipping the bus driver as I left. He responded with a simple huff of acknowledgment before driving off. I watched him for only a moment before turning around.
At the end of a long driveway, standing just as tall as I remember it, flanked on both sides by fields of budding crops, was my childhood home. Vines crawled up one side of the house, a decoration that Mom refused to cut down despite Dad’s objections. There was an ever-so-slightly rusted shed peeking out from the back, inside should be all of the farming equipment used to control the drones and irrigation systems. Even further behind that, there was a tall, lonely-looking tree with a small swing hanging from one of its sturdy branches.
Everything looked the same, down to the plants on the window sill.
I decided I needed to pray one last time before I met my parents, silently mumbling to myself as I did. I asked God for the wisdom to know what to say, for the courage to face their questions, and for the strength to stand tall if they ridicule me for my path in life. I had prayed like this many times before, and I was surely going to continue praying after.
I finished the prayer with the sign of the cross and a gentle kiss on the cross around my neck as I reached the porch, looking up with hesitation as I climbed the steps. I set my luggage aside and took a deep breath, staring at the doorbell. Every question and wandering thought I had raced through my mind, causing me to stand stunned for at least a minute until finally I shook them out of my head and pressed the button with all of my might.
A strange sense of release and simultaneous anxiety flooded me. There was no turning back now, even if I ran away they could still easily see me. All I could do now was stand here and face the music.
There was a commotion inside, some thumping going down the stairs, and a loud voice calling out. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
It was Mom’s voice. Even if it was muffled through the walls and slightly more hoarse than the last time I heard it, it was still Mom’s. The first of the doors was opened, but Mom hadn’t seen me through the glass one yet. She was looking off to the side, setting something on the side table as she spoke.
“I’m sorry it took so long, Bullo, I was in the middle of making a meal.”
She reached up and began opening the glass door, only to stop in her tracks as she finally saw me.
“Who…”
I could see the gears turning in her head, and the slow realization dawned upon her of just who I was. Tears began welling up in her eyes and her mouth hung open. With a quiet sob, she covered her mouth, trying to form any words. She could only cry and shake her head before stepping forward and hugging me warmly.
“I always knew…”
I returned the hug eagerly, rubbing the back of her head. I tried to find words to convey the flurry of emotions, but couldn’t. “I’m back, Mom.”
She pulled away for a second, wiping a final few tears in her eyes. Suddenly her demeanor changed from overwhelming joy to concern. “Where have you been? Oh, my little baby, where have you been?”
I sucked in a nervous breath. “On Earth, Sillis, Fahl, Skalga… I’ve been everywhere.”
I could see her freeze up for a second. “Then… then why didn’t you come back?”
“I… I felt like you wouldn’t accept me. And every day I didn’t return, I felt like you would only grow to hate me.”
Mom stepped forward, caressing my face with a gentle touch. “Sweetie, I could never hate you. There is nothing you could ever do to make me hate you.”
“I… Thank you, Mom, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
She stepped back and held the door open. “Of course, sweetie, now come inside. You have to tell me all about, well, everything that has happened to you, from the beginning. And while you are at it, I’ll finish making dinner. I bet you missed your mom’s kotla, didn’t you?”
I laughed as I tugged my luggage through the door. “More than you will ever know. Every other bowl I’ve had has left me wanting something more, but I know that the only place I could find it was here.”
Mom laughed as she pulled out a few plates. “Love, a mother’s specialty. Is that the reason you came back, just for some food?”
I sat at the dinner table, taking in the house around me. It would be considered old-timey by modern standards, though that just meant that not everything was super high-tech. There were still rustic aspects to my house, pictures still in frames and not screens, religious symbols that have been passed down for generations, wood used over metal in some places, and rustic pieces of tech that my father refused to change, claiming that it would outlast all of us. It was old, slightly musky, and it was home.
“That’s not the only reason, it’s more like a bonus. I just kept thinking about home, how I effectively abandoned you, and I needed to come back to give you closure. Thoughts of home would pop into my head at the most random times, like signs that I should come back, so I followed.”
Mom turned around from the stove, setting down a steaming pot on the counter before sitting next to me. “Well, I am certainly glad you decided to do so. Your father and I have both been torn up by what we thought was your death, having you here now is a blessing for us both.”
“Speaking of, where is Dad?”
Mom waved a tentacle. “Oh, he’s off protesting at the embassy again. At his age, he should be staying home and watching the field, but he’s a stubborn oaf and when he’s determined to do something he does it, you know that. I told him to give it up and to come home, but he resents the Humans and won't rest ‘till they are off this planet, maybe not even then.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and looked away. This was the worst outcome. Not only did Dad not like the Humans, it sounded like he outright hated them. I’m glad I prayed because I had a feeling that a shouting match was on the horizon.
“Is something wrong?”
I sighed. “Well, we might have… conflicting opinions on the Humans. I’m worried that we might fight.”
Mom sucked in a breath as if she was preparing a response, but it died in her throat before she could speak. She took a moment to recollect her thoughts, confusion growing in her eyes, before shaking her head.
“It’ll be fine. Your father loves you, no matter who you’ve become. You will always be his son, our son. There is nothing that can change that. I don’t know the experiences you've had, maybe I don’t want to know, but I know that you’re an adult now and can choose your own path, even if I don’t agree with it wholly.”
I grabbed Mom’s tentacle. “Thank you, Mom, you have no idea how much that means to me. I was so worried that you wouldn’t accept me, it was eating me alive. I just hope that Dad feels the same way. He is stubborn, you said it yourself.”
“I know he-”
The sound of the garage door opening cut Mom off and caused my nerves to flare up again. Through the walls, I could hear him shut the car door and stomp his way into the house. He had always been a heavy-stepper, but these seemed a little heavier than normal. Maybe he had just put on a little weight since I last saw him.
“Muola, I’m-”
Dad froze as he turned into the dining room, stopping suddenly as he saw me. He looked me up and down, putting the pieces together in his mind. He dropped a bag to the floor carelessly and took a half-step forward.
“Naeriu… you’re… you're alive!”
He rushed forward as fast as his old limbs could carry him, meeting me with a hug just as I stood from my seat. He rocked me back and forth, blubbering with joy and trying to bury his head in my chest.
“My son’s alive!”
He pulled himself back. “Where have you been? I thought…”
His breath hitched in his throat. “I thought you were dead.”
I held his tentacle with compassion. “I’m sorry, I was just so… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, all that matters now is that you are back with us, safe and sound.”
We stared at each other for a moment before Dad couldn’t sit still any longer, almost jumping toward the table. “You have to tell me all about it. Start to finish. You must have some interesting stories for us, right? I mean, you were gone for fifteen years, there has to have been something interesting going on, right? You could start with the story of that necklace, it looks pretty interesting. Is it something from Sillis?”
I glanced down to the cross on my neck as I pulled out a chair for him, sitting back down in mine with a huff after I did. “Not quite. It’s a later story. Why don’t we start from the beginning, like you said?”
Dad flung a tentacle in excitement. “Sure, yeah, from the beginning.”
I took in a deep breath. “After my last call with you, the Battle of Earth started. There wasn’t much I could do with my training, so all I could do was watch and wait. I was scared, and I only got more scared when boarding alarms went off. After they captured the ship, we had to evacuate. With no other option, I had to get in a life pod with the Humans.”
Both Mom and Dad gasped. “That must have been horrible, sweetie, how did you get out?”
Dad shook his head. “That must have been a terrible experience. I couldn’t imagine being trapped in such a cramped space with those monsters. Muola is right, how did you get out?”
I brushed past the casual Human-hate and continued with my story. “I didn’t. We landed in the northern part of the planet and it was late fall. All you need to know is that it was very, very cold. We had to travel with the Humans to avoid freezing to death, clinging to the belief that maybe we would be handed off to an authority later on and not be eaten. In the end, that was the best choice I had ever made. We made it to a cabin, but not after losing two others, a Harchen named Tekt and a Krakotl named Kulilim. It was just me and Kotern.”
Mom gasped. “How is Kotern? You two seemed like such good friends.”
I didn’t respond immediately, letting Dad’s mind run wild. “Did… T-they ate him, didn’t they?”
I shook my head. “No, in fact, they never even hit us. For the next few days, all we did was talk with each other. Just Me, Kotern, the Humans, and a Venlil named Leenek that we had picked up along the way. We just sat and talked.”
I could see the confusion building on Dad’s face. “Were they threatening you?”
I shook my head again. “Only one, Billy, the leader. He was the only one to make any threats, but he never acted on it. He was just angry. Some never even spoke to me, a few had very deep conversations, but only one ever made threats. One, named Brandon, talked to me about God for a while, after I told him that he had probably lost his entire family.”
Dad tilted his head in confusion, but didn’t make any comments, letting me continue with my story. “One day, Kotern goes out to gather some wood. The Humans had rope so we tied it on to him, but he didn’t come back. They sent a soldier named Valya out to find him, and comforted me the entire time he was gone. Around an hour passes and Valya returns, but Kotern isn’t with him.”
Mom leaned forward, engrossed in the story. “So what happened?”
I sighed. “I hid away in a room for a while, depressed that I had lost my friend, when I heard a bunch of arguing. I come out to see what’s happening, and Kotern is there, standing in the middle of the room, waving a pistol around and screaming for them to give me back to him. There were a bunch of people with him, led by a captain named Suklal. They wanted the cabin for shelter, but it ended up in a gunfight. Kotern died first.”
Dad sunk his head in sadness. “He was such a nice boy, you two seemed to get along so well. It’s a shame the Humans did that to him.”
“It wasn’t the Humans. Suklal shot him in the head after Kotern wouldn’t fall back. The Humans only started shooting after Suklal shot first.”
I let out a deep sigh, remembering how everything played out right in front of me. Even now his death brings tears to my eyes, he was such a nice man, he had just been misguided by the horrible teachings of the Federation. Teachings that I knew my Mom and Dad still clung to.
Wanting something to take my mind off of his death, I looked over to Mom. “I think I want some kotla now.”
Mom let out a breath. “Of course sweetie, I was wondering when you would ask.”
Mom got up to get some dishes, but Dad kept staring at me with a growing look of concern and confusion. “Hey son, what’s your opinion on the Humans.”
The bowls in Mom’s hands clattered slightly as everyone froze. I was hoping that I would be able to ease Dad into my opinion, but it seemed he wanted to take the more direct approach. “Well, I’m going to be honest, I like them. In fact, I love them. I love them the same way that I love everyone else. I wouldn’t be here without them, I wouldn’t be the man I am here today without them. It was a Human who pulled me out of the gutter and gave me direction in life.”
Dad sunk his head slightly. “They got to my son…”
I raised a tentacle. “Now, Dad, they didn’t get me. I came to this decision on my own. I looked at all the facts and saw that they were just as sapient as everyone else. They feel empathy, sadness, and regret just like all of us, and not just watered-down versions.”
He closed his eyes and raised his head. “Son, it’s going to be fine, we'll get you some help a-and cure this brainwashing.”
“I’m not brainwashed, Dad, that doesn’t exist. I’m-”
I sighed. “I’m not being controlled by anyone, I’m still the same Naeriu, just older and with more experienced. I’ve been gone for fifteen years, I’m going to change a little, but I’m still me. I just want to come back and reconnect.”
Dad stuttered in his own breath. “But the Humans tried to kill you.”
“Only after we attacked them first. And I forgave them long ago. A-”
I cut myself off before I told Dad that I was a Christian, that might just send him over the edge. I’d have to save that for later, when he’s calmed down a little.
“Can we eat something before we get too into this, please?”
Mom set the bowls down, eagerly accepting the distraction. “Of course, the kotla should be finished setting now anyway.”
Mom reached over and grabbed a wooden ladle, scooping up hearty spoonfuls into the bowls before setting them in front of Dad and me. I could feel the warm steam hit my face, carrying the savory taste of the various vegetables with them. Among the healthy chunks, I could spot the purplish color of dlut floating, slightly lighter now that it had been boiled.
“It looks amazing Mom, I can’t wait to try it.”
But just as I raised my tentacle, I froze. I glanced at my father, who was watching me with concern, confusion, and a little bit of fear. “What’s wrong son?”
I had never eaten a meal without praying beforehand. Sure, I might have sped up a prayer if I was excruciatingly hungry or late for something, but I always found a way to include it. Dad would freak out if he found out about my faith, it would start a full-blown fight.
Should I skip this one time to avoid making a scene?
I blinked and shook my head, feeling disappointed in myself. No, I had never missed a prayer before now, and I wasn’t about to start. I am not ashamed of who I am, I am a Christian and I am proud of it. If that means that my father is going to fight with me, then so be it. I don’t care if he doesn’t accept me, I don’t need him to. I am a grown man, and even if the words he says hurt, I know that I am being true to myself and God.
I am not skipping my prayer.
Slowly, I raised my tentacle and tapped my forehead, before lowering it to my chest, then my left shoulder followed by my right. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
I repeated the sign of the cross and closed my prayer, keeping my eyes closed for a moment before grabbing the spoon and taking a bite. “It tastes amazing, Mom.”
She was too confused to speak, but Dad wasn’t. “What was that?”
“A prayer.”
“To who?”
“Christ.”
Dad shared a glance with Mom. “I don’t recognize any god named Christ.”
“That is because He is from Christianity, a Human religion.”
Everyone went silent for a moment, the words I said still ringing in their ears. Mom’s confusion only deepened, while Dad’s turned to anger. “What?! You-You worship a Human god?”
“Yes, I worship God. I am a Christian, a believer in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.”
Dad shook his head and laughed. “You’re not kidding… You really mean it. H-how?”
“I was at the lowest point in my entire life, Kotern had just died, I was alone on an alien planet, I was hungry, thirsty, tired, homeless, and broke. A Human named Ben brought me to a church, the St. Louis Cosmic Christian Church, and that’s where I found God. I opened myself up to Him, and I’ve never felt more safe in my entire life.”
Mom remained stunned, falling back into a seat while Dad stood up. “I-I don’t… I can’t believe this. I cannot accept this. You’re not my son. Naeriu would never… H-he’d never…”
Mom leaned forward. “Solue, calm down. Take a deep breath and-”
“I can’t calm down! Not after that reveal. My son worships Humans. My son…”
“No, Dad, I don’t worship Humans, I worship God.”
“A Human god! Who is a Human! I don’t know if this is better or worse than you coming out as a Linked Chains member, at least they don’t think predators are gods! What does your god call for, hmm? Killings? Blood sacrifices?”
“Dad, hold on, slow down and give me a chance.”
“No. I want you out of my house, now.”
Mom gasped. “Solue! That is our son.”
Dad didn’t even glance at Mom, ignoring the building tears in his eyes. “No, he’s not. He’s some freak trying to impersonate our son. I hate to tell you Muola, but our son died in that war, and he’s never coming back.”
His words sank into my heart, causing me to wince away and take a deep breath. With my eyes closed, barely holding back the tears, I set my spoon down and stood slowly from the table. “If that’s what you think, then I won’t bother you any longer. Mom, it was wonderful to have your food one last time. Dad, I’m sorry that you can’t accept the facts. I’m glad I could at least give you some closure, goodbye.”
I turned to gather what little luggage I had as Mom frantically jumped up from her seat. “Naeriu, wait! Just give us some time to talk, Solue and I are just confused, is all. Please, wait here, for me.”
I paused at the door and sighed. “Anything for you, Mom. I’ll be by the tree in the back.”
As soon as I closed the door behind me, I started to sob. Dad’s words had hurt me more than I imagined they would, twisting my insides around like he knew exactly what to say to hurt me the worst. I stumbled my way around the house, wiping tears away with each step. I could hear Mom and Dad arguing loudly through the wall, both of them screaming with each other over what to think about the situation, though the words were muffled enough that I couldn’t understand them. By the time I reached the tree, there was no hope of me catching a single word.
I wiped away a few final tears and looked up into the tree. The first thing I noticed was that the branch I had fallen from long ago had finally healed, however, it was fixed in a completely new direction. I can vividly remember when I fell from that branch and broke my leg. I had never seen my parents so worried in their entire lives. Dad must have broken every traffic law on the planet to get me as quickly as he could to a hospital. Mom told me that he couldn’t sit still while they were x-raying me, every second that passed felt like an eternity for him.
He cares for me, a lot, and that makes it difficult for him to accept that I’ve gone on my own path now. Of course, I’d be ecstatic to have him and Mom join me, but something told me that they wouldn’t be diverting from their generational ways. They were both rooted in the past, and the tradition that came with it, and that shaped their worldview to a rigid stance where everything stays the same. At least Mom was a little more accepting, though I knew she felt about the same as Dad did, she just didn’t vocalize it.
With a sigh, I slid against the tree, looking out over the fields as the sun set in the distance. It seemed as if my worst fears were coming true, they wouldn’t accept me for who I was. I had changed too much from the last time they had seen me, I might as well have been a new person to them.
After a long moment, Mom finally exited the house through the back door, closely followed by Dad. I stood with a huff as they approached, preparing myself for whatever they would say.
Mom spoke first. “Sweetie, uhm, we are sorry for the fight. It’s just, well, we have a hard time accepting what you say to be true.”
Mom paused for a moment and Dad picked up where she left off. “The last time we saw you, you were still just a boy, barely an adult, and you held… beliefs that aligned with ours.”
Mom glanced between Dad and me. “And now seeing you here in front of us, the age we were when we last saw you, with beliefs that completely go against everything we believed, that our religion taught…”
Dad sighed. “It’s a little much, son, and I’m… I’m sorry I… lashed out like that.”
I looked between them and stepped forward. “Mom, Dad, I don’t expect you to understand me, especially not on the first day of me being back, but just know that you accepting me means more than you will ever know. Thank you, and I love you, both of you.”
I embraced them both in a big group hug, rocking back and forth. Dad only hugged me for a brief moment before pulling away, but Mom clung to me for a long time. After she finally pulled away, she sniffled once more and wiped away a few final tears.
She laughed slightly and shook her head. “I just hope you can forgive us.”
I couldn’t help but melt at Mom’s concern. “Mom, Dad, you never even needed to ask. I forgave you as soon as the words were said. I love you both with all my heart, it will take more than harsh words to prevent me from forgiving you.”
I smiled. “Though, I wish I could have gotten some more kotla before it went cold.”
Dud huffed and turned around. “It should still be warm in the pot, but you better hurry.”
Mom and I watched him disappear into the house, not looking back to see if we were following him at all. Mom sighed before speaking. “He’ll come around, you know he will. He’s just principled. He has his way that he thinks is right and there is not a lot you can do to change that.”
I nodded. “I know that, but I’m sure he’ll be more accepting once he gives me a chance to explain what I believe in. And tell the rest of my story.”
“That will be nice to hear. I’d love to understand what you have been doing all of this time that prevented you from coming home.”
I opened my mouth to respond, only to realize something. “Oh! Now that I think about it, where is Bolop?”
Mom sighed. “He moved away, wanted to be free from Totkala’s chains, he said. Just like you, only he didn’t join the military, thankfully. Just moved away. Haven’t had much contact with him, as far as I know he’s on Fahl, but you know him. He can’t sit still to save his life, he might be all the way in Sivkit territory for all we know.”
“But you still have his info?”
“Yes, but with the time it takes for a message to reach him and the distance he has to travel to get to us…”
“I understand, but I’d still like to have it. I’d like to set up a meeting time sometime later.”
Mom stepped up the stairs to the back door, but paused when I didn’t follow her in. “Something wrong sweetie? The kotla is only going to get colder.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom, I just want a second to be alone. I’ll be right in.”
She nodded understandingly and slipped inside, leaving me alone to reflect. I turned around to face the sunset, taking a deep breath as it passed below the horizon slowly. My life had been completely turned around since I left home all those years ago. I became a soldier, attacked a planet, survived the freezing Alaska wilderness, lost my closest friend, and fell into a deep depression, even losing contact with my family. But it was anything but bad, from there I built my life back from nothing, found my faith in God, traveled all across the galaxy doing missionary work, met and talked with an Arxur, only to return home to my family finally. I’ve had some extreme ups and heart-wrenching downs, never knowing just what would happen next, but even now I don’t have any regrets.
Even when I’m being ridiculed for my faith or spat on for my species, I don’t regret a thing. I accept the challenges, uncertainty, and hate, even welcome it, because I know that I am living my best life.
I let out a content breath, smiled a warm smile, and turned to open the door, welcoming whatever would come next.

submitted by Crazy-Concern8080 to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 13:51 LadyWithoutAnErmine delayed

I decided to be a cat
actually
I lightly nudge my new toy
watching its move
turning on some Sorrentino's film
sleeping on the couch
I look for the toy but I don't touch it
it's still here
I'm taking a nap again
thinking about it
but from a distance
you can have something casually
slightly
softly
without clawing
unintentionally
without obsession
I pour some coffee and look at the poems
his artifacts are there
they stick to me like a safe cloud made of cotton candy
which I won't eat today

submitted by LadyWithoutAnErmine to u/LadyWithoutAnErmine [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 12:15 JG98 Shiv Kumar Batalvi, the most prolific Panjabi poet in modern history.

Shiv Kumar Batalvi (July 23 1936 - May 6 1973) was a Panjabi poet, writer, and playwright who left an undeniable mark on Panjabi literature despite his short life. He was born in Bara Pind Lohtian, situated in the Shakargarh Tehsil of Gurdaspur (now Narowal District). His father, Pandit Krishan Gopal Sharma, served as the village tehsildar in the revenue department, while his mother, Shanti Devi, was a homemaker.
From a young age, Shiv displayed a unique personality. He would often vanish for entire days, only to be found lying under trees by the riverbank near the local Mandir outside the village. He was deeply connected to nature. This fascination with the natural world, along with exposure to local renditions of the Hindu epic Ramayana, would later find expression in his poetry's rich imagery.
Batalvi appears to have been captivated by the sights and sounds of his rural surroundings. Wandering minstrel singers, snake charmers, and the like left a lasting impression on him. These elements would later become recurring metaphors in his poetry, imbuing it with a distinctly rural flavor and a deep connection to the Panjabi cultural landscape.
His idyllic childhood in rural Panjab was disrupted by the trauma of Partition in 1947. At the tender age of 11, he was uprooted from his birthplace and relocated with his family to Batala, Gurdaspur district in India. Here, his father continued his work as a patwari, a revenue official.
Following Partition, Shiv received his primary education in Batala. Though a bright student, his education lead him down an unconventional path. He completed his matriculation exams at Panjab University in 1953, showcasing his academic potential. However, his passion for writing and a restless spirit clashed with the confines of formal education. He embarked on a series of college enrollments, seeking an outlet for his creativity.
First, he enrolled in the F.Sc. program at Baring Union Christian College in Batala. However, his artistic temperament soon led him to S.N. College in Qadian, where he joined the Arts program, a better fit for his literary aspirations. Yet, even this program couldn't hold his attention for long, and he left in his second year.
Batalvi's search for the right educational path continued. He enrolled in a school at Baijnath, Himachal Pradesh, to pursue a diploma in Civil Engineering, seeking a more practical skillset. This venture also proved short-lived. Finally, he attempted to continue his studies at Govt. Ripudaman College in Nabha, but eventually left there as well.
Through these educational explorations, it's evident that Batalvi struggled to find a balance between societal expectations and his own artistic calling. Despite the lack of a traditional degree, his literary pursuits during this period flourished. He found his voice within the literary community and began composing and performing his emotionally charged ghazals and songs. These works, characterized by raw talent and deep emotion, captivated audiences and laid the foundation for his future success.
While still at Baijnath, Shiv had a life changing event that would shape the rest of his poetic career. At a fair, he met a young woman named Maina. Deeply affected by her, he later sought her out in her hometown, only to be met with the tragic news of her death. This profound loss inspired his elegy "Maina" and became a recurring theme in his work. The experience of separation and grief would fuel many of his future poems.
The 1950s saw Batalvi fully immerse himself in the world of poetry. He honed his craft, experimenting with different styles and gaining recognition for his romantic verses. By the 1960s, he had become a rising star. His magnum opus, the epic verse play "Loona" based on the legend of Puran Bhagat, was released in 1965. "Loona" became a masterpiece, establishing a new genre of modern Panjabi kissa (narrative poem). This critical acclaim culminated in 1967 when, at the young age of 31, Batalvi became the youngest recipient of the prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award.
While Shiv Kumar Batalvi's poetry wasn't just about heartbreak, it was a prominent theme. One of his most celebrated poems, "Main ik shikra yaar banaya" ("I made a hawk, my beloved"), was inspired by his unrequited love for the daughter of writer Gurbaksh Singh Preetlari. This young woman Panjab and married someone else. The poem's creation was sparked by the bittersweet news of her first child's birth. Interestingly, when asked if another poem would follow her second child's birth, Batalvi displayed his wit: "Have I become responsible for her? Am I to write a poem on her every time she gives birth to a child?" This anecdote highlights his artistic independence.
Batalvi's talent transcended language barriers. "Main ik shikra yaar banaya" is a Panjabi masterpiece, but its translations retain their beauty. Legendary singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Jagjit Singh were drawn to his work, bringing his poetry to life through song.
Despite the themes of separation and longing in his poems, Batalvi found personal happiness. He married Aruna, a woman from Kiri Mangyal, Gurdaspur, in 1967. Shortly after his marriage, in 1968, Shiv relocated to Chandigarh where he began working as a professional for the State Bank of India. The couple would go onto have two children, named Meharban (1968) and Puja (1969).
Eager for a break from his routine life in Chandigarh, Batalvi eagerly accepted an invitation to visit England in May 1972. Upon arrival, he was met with celebrity status within the Panjabi community. Local Indian newspapers announced his visit with fanfare, and a series of public functions and private parties were organized in his honor.
Dr. Gupal Puri hosted the first major event in Coventry, attracting fans, fellow Panjabi poets, and even renowned artist S. Sobha Singh who traveled specifically to see Batalvi. The BBC even interviewed him during his stay.
While these events provided opportunities for the Panjabi community to connect with Batalvi, his health unfortunately took a turn for the worse. This trip, highlighted the struggles with alcoholism that had plagued him for some time. Late nights fueled by alcohol at parties and gatherings became a pattern. Despite waking up early and attempting to resume his day with "a couple of sips of Scotch," his habits seemed to exacerbate his existing health issues. This glimpse into his struggles in England foreshadowed the tragic toll his drinking would take on him soon thereafter.
Shiv Kumar Batalvi's return from England in September 1972 marked a turning point. His health had visibly deteriorated, and he became increasingly critical of what he perceived as unfair criticism of his poetry by some writers. Financial troubles added to his woes, and he felt a sense of abandonment from some friends.
Despite attempts to get medical treatment in Chandigarh and Amritsar, his health continued to decline. Unwilling to die in a hospital, he left against medical advice, seeking solace first in his family home in Batala and then in his wife's village, Kiri Mangial. Tragically, Shiv Kumar Batalvi succumbed to his illness, likely liver cirrhosis, in the early hours of May 6, 1973, in Kiri Mangial.
Even after his passing, Shiv Kumar Batalvi's legacy continued to grow. One of his poetry collections, titled "Alvida" (Farewell), was posthumously published in 1974 by Guru Nanak Dev University in Amritsar. His enduring impact is further reflected by the "Shiv Kumar Batalvi Award" for Best Writer, presented annually.
In Batala, the Shiv Kumar Batalvi Auditorium was constructed to commemorate the 75th anniversary of his birth. This world-class facility serves as a lasting tribute to his influence and aims to inspire future generations of Panjabi artists.

submitted by JG98 to punjab [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 11:22 lushgreenland last night i had a dream that i met your best friend and your mom.

last night i had a dream that i met your best friend and your mom. Your friend was distracted and that made you upset. he was fumbling around in the kitchen doing other things and i could see you getting tense because you wanted him to like me. your mom liked me though. i said something to make her laugh. we were laughing and walking outside somewhere. it was an unfamiliar landscape. i woke up laughing and my first thought was to tell you that hey, your mom likes me. but i cant tell you something like that. because that would be unfair. your mom will never meet me and probably not your best friend either.
you told me that one of my poems made him cry. that it was reigniting the love between him and his partner. ironic isnt it? our heartbreak makes their love stronger.
as i sit here at 1 o'clock in the morning, i wonder if texting is equal to thinking. like, do you think about me even if you arent texting me? or does your lack of text mean that you have found peace tonight somewhere else? i waiver between wanting you to be happy and wanting you to long for me. we fell in love together simultaneously, living parallel stories and not knowing it. do you think we will fall out of love the same way? on two seperate sides of a wall?
i think this will all pass. the only reason im holding on so tight is because I dont think ill ever get to feel this way again. feelings are overpowering logic tonight. nights are for feeling anyways.
i stay up all day to be someone for him, and i stay up all night to be someone different for you. i need an extra place between night and day to be someone for me.
i told you i had a plan, and i did. it sounded good at first and man it just felt good to be in control again. i wrote it all out. steps one through five. by step five it stopped looking like a plan and started to just look like moving on.
pain fills my body again, making me 50 pounds heavier. i sunk into the couch and opened this note to write, write, write. I write what i cannot say. i write to contain my feelings so as not to scare you with it all.
funny how i told you i wasnt a romantic. well now you know. i heard the way you said it to yourself out loud, like realizing even more reasons why im a caged bird. you shook your head.
but dont feel bad for me. im trapped in a cage of my own making. no one put me here and no one has the key. i know its easier for you to think you can save me from the dragon in the tower. i am the dragon.
but hey, i do love you. i think i do. i mean i could name five things i dont like about you but i love you. i love your mind and the way you make things go easier. quiet and simple against my raging impatience. you stood still and i walked. i asked you why you stopped and you said you wanted to see how necessary it was for me to keep moving. well it was necessary, until i met you and i decided i wanted to stay here. but life is moving me. its always had a heavy current. waves lift me and throw me, so i learned how to be one myself. i crash over everything. i would probably crash over you too.
you wanna know what i think about alot? the way you look when you chew your food. isnt that odd? your face gets really serious and you furrow your brow a little bit. someone in a movie reminded me so much of you. if i told you who it was you would laugh.
it's time for me to stop writing. my eyes are getting lower and lower and the numbness is turning into sleepyness. i wonder if ill have more dreams about you. i wonder if youll have dreams about me.
maybe we will both dream about that hillside tonight. i hope so.

submitted by lushgreenland to UnsentLetters [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 08:19 willira1 Why everyone prefer the Residential Air Conditioning South Morang

Residential-Air-Conditioning-South-Morang
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Understanding Residential Air Conditioning

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Maximizing Efficiency and Comfort

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Programmable Thermostat: Invest in a programmable thermostat to set temperature schedules based totally sincerely to your family's each day regular. This will can help you maintain strength and coins thru the use of automatically adjusting the temperature at the same time as you're an extended way from home or asleep.
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Conclusion

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submitted by willira1 to u/willira1 [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 07:30 swampmomsta 180 MPH

This is a poem about a relationship I just got out of. Its meant to be a song
You push me down then you pull out the pistol
Chamber full of fear that you fire out
Each bullet sealed with words of spite
Everything you say is laced with doubt
Hiding in the shadows, you note my every move
Observing all my steps as i walk toward my doom
Im done with fakes and selfish scams
You run from what you speak
And when it all comes crashing down
It's clear you're fucking weak
You play your stupid games with me and do this drawn out act
Make up your fragile mind already or get off my fucking back
Im done with this, im done with you, and i hope its what you want
You look at me different and turn away
Then ask if i want your cunt
You like a toy, a thing for you to use for self esteem
Something fun and fast with shiny chrome, but one thats not so clean
But something you dont think about is how you cant hold on
You lose your grip too many times and then that thing is gone
Thanks for reading

submitted by swampmomsta to Poems [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 05:16 greentealeafy please help me find this poem! [HELP]

Saw a tiktok video I can’t find again about a daughter who brought home a card for mother’s day and glued inside was a very emotional poem about your child growing up one year at a time until they graduate and become an adult. It went along the lines of that poem “when i turn six” where it outlined each year but it was much longer and more so about your child growing up faster than you realized. If anyone can find it I would be very appreciative!!

submitted by greentealeafy to Poetry [link] [comments]

2024.05.13 04:00 JCD_007 Digital Reality - Part 52

Welcome to Digital Reality...
Link to Part 1
Link to Part 35 (contains links back to Parts 2-34)
Link to Part 36
Link to Part 37
Link to Part 38
Link to Part 39
Link to Part 40
Link to Part 41
Link to Part 42
Link to Part 43
Link to Part 44
Link to Part 45
Link to Part 46
Link to Part 47
Link to Part 48
Link to Part 49
Link to Part 50
Link to Part 51
Note: This story is meant to be read after completing DDLC Plus. All credit for the original DDLC and DDLC Plus characters and world goes to their creator, and this story is not affiliated with the official DDLC content. Some concepts like the Universal Constructor and the concept of AI rampancy are also borrowed from other series (most notably the original Deus Ex), though their use in this story is my own idea. With a few exceptions, my original characters in this story will generally not be named and their descriptions will be kept vague, so anyone reading this who wants to see themselves in one of the original characters can more easily do so. I'd welcome any feedback and will post more parts as I write them. I hope you enjoy the story.
Credit for Sayuri's character design: Hoeruko. Credit for Sayuri's sprites: Ian and Itz_Matic.
Here is Part 52 of the story. Sayori, MC, and the FXI team try to keep Yuri calm while waiting for Natsuki to arrive. But they may have a much bigger problem than Yuri's behavior. Custom Dialogue: A Serious Problem
Part 52: Solutions and Problems
“The fourth construction is proceeding,” UC senior engineer Lauren Medrano reported, raising her voice to be heard above the pinging noises coming from the Universal Constructor and the commotion in the control room, “System estimates fifteen minutes to completion.”
UC project manager David Kent nodded, “Our construction time is getting faster with each run. Very good.”
The FXI President picked up his phone and sent a text to the FXI CTO.
Natsuki should be here in fifteen minutes. How are you holding up?
A few moments later the FXI CTO replied.
We’ve kept Yuri talking and she seems a little bit calmer. She’s demanding that you come back to the conference room so that she can confess to me in front of all of my friends.
The FXI President shook his head as he typed back.
I’ll be over in a minute. At least you have managed to keep her talking and she hasn’t gone totally out of control.
He put the phone down and turned to Ive Laster. “I’ll be right back. They’re asking for me in the conference room. Seems like they’ve been able to keep Yuri talking so far.”
Laster nodded. “Okay. My system will be pretty much locked up for the next twenty minutes or so running the diagnostic scan. It’s a scan of active processes, so while it’s fairly quick it still takes a ton of resources. Do you mind if I use your machine if we need anything from VM1 while mine is unavailable? I’ll text you if anything comes up or if the construction finishes while you’re gone.”
“Yeah. Sure,” the FXI President replied as he stood up from his chair, “I’ll let you know what happens with Yuri.”
The FXI President turned, walked out of the UC control room, and walked down the hall to the conference room where Sayori, MC, Yuri, and the FXI CTO sat. Sayori looked uncomfortable. MC appeared to be intently studying his can of soda. The FXI CTO’s expression was somewhere between shock and exhaustion as he sat next to Yuri, who held his hand as she continued to grin.
Yuri’s eyes lit up and she stood as the FXI President entered the room. “Good! We’re all here! Now we can begin.
“What can we expect here?” the FXI President whispered to MC.
“Probably a monologue of a confession,” MC whispered back with a sigh, “You might want to grab yourself something to drink or a snack. This could take a while.”
Yuri stared with intensity at the FXI CTO. “Ever since we met, I knew we were meant to be together. Not even the distance between your reality and my digital world could keep us apart. And you found a way to bring me here! So I can stand before you and confess my love for you!”
“Yuri, I…I have to admit that I was scared of you AIs at first given the potential for what could happen if self-aware code were to go out control,” the FXI CTO said cautiously, “But over time as we interacted with all of the members of the Literature Club, your humanity became clear.”
“Yes!” Yuri agreed enthusiastically, “You saw something in us that nobody else did. You fought for us…you fought for me! How could I not fall in love with you? And if you were willing to do so much to bring me to your reality, you must feel the same way!”
The FXI CTO started to reply, but Yuri cut him off and continued to speak, the tone of her voice varying between passionate and pleading.
“I’m sorry…I’m normally more eloquent than this…but I just can’t help myself. My mind has just been racing nonstop thinking about you! It’s like my heart is just screaming your name!”
“Do you even know my name?” the FXI CTO asked.
“Don’t be silly…of course I do!” Yuri quickly replied with a giggle, “I know everything about you. It’s very easy for an AI to search the internet and quickly find out a lot about a person.”
“Like what?” the FXI CTO inquired, “Tell me something that I’m interested in.”
Yuri gave him a smug grin. “Well, for example I know that you like to read cyberpunk novels and conspiracy theory books. Soon we will read together! It will be so much fun!”
The FXI CTO’s mouth fell open. “How did you…yeah. AI. Maybe my initial feelings of concern weren’t wrong. Or maybe I should just delete my social media accounts.”
“It’s not nice to invade people’s privacy,” Sayori said, looking up at Yuri, “It’s one thing to have a crush on someone, but it’s not okay to dig into their private files.”
Yuri glared at her. “Don’t judge me. You weren’t the one trying to find a way to love someone who was in a completely separate reality. I didn’t get a childhood friend programmed to fall in love with me like you did.”
Sayori looked away, her expression showing dismay and hurt feelings.
“That’s uncalled for, Yuri,” MC interjected, “The initial script may have been programmed so that Sayori and I would have feelings for each other, but we were given the choice and we chose each other.”
“And I chose him!” Yuri retorted, grabbing the FXI CTO’s hand possessively, “It isn’t wrong to want to get to know the one you love!”
“Right, but you have to give me a chance to respond to your confession first,” the FXI CTO pointed out.
“Yes, you are right,” Yuri agreed, her manic expression flickering for a moment, “I just need to find the perfect words and we’ll be together forever! But…I can’t find the words. Why can’t I find the words?”
“Feel free to take as long as you need,” the FXI CTO reassured her, “It’s okay.”
Yuri paused for a long moment, her eyes rapidly looking around the room. “This isn’t working. Why isn’t this working? What’s wrong with me? I need to think…I need to clear my head and organize my thoughts. I know! Get me a pen!”
“You want a pen?” the FXI President asked, “Just a pen, or paper too?”
“Of course! Paper too!” Yuri replied, “What would I do with just a pen? I can’t write on the table!”
“What are you going to write?” MC asked.
“I figured it out!” Yuri said excitedly, “The perfect way to confess my feelings is through poetry! There are so many vivid images that I can create with a poem.”
The FXI President looked through one of the cabinets in the conference room and came up with a notepad and pen with the MES logo on them. He pushed them across the table toward Yuri.
“Okay, Yuri, I look forward to reading your poem,” the FXI CTO said, “Should we give you some space to write?”
“No, no, you’re not going anywhere!” Yuri replied, her expression returning to a manic grin, “I want to stare into your eyes as I ponder every word that I will write for you! But the rest of you should leave and give us some space.”
The FXI President looked to the FXI CTO. “You going to be okay?”
The FXI CTO gave an exhausted smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go check and see how long it will be before Natsuki gets here.”
Yuri’s expression became one of annoyance. “Why would you ask about her? Nobody cares about that little pink brat.”
Sayori winced in emotional pain as she stood from her chair. “Yuri, please be nicer to our friends. We’ve all been through a lot today.”
Yuri ignored her and began furiously writing on the notepad. Sayori shook her head sadly as she followed the FXI President and MC out the door of the conference room toward the UC control room.
“I really don’t like seeing her like that,” Sayori said glumly, “I like when everyone is happy, and when Yuri gets like that or when she and Natsuki fight it just makes me so sad.”
“Well maybe Yuri will calm down after she’s able to write for a while,” MC offered hopefully, “Or if she doesn’t, Natsuki should be here soon anyway. How does she get Yuri out of that state anyway?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only briefly seen her like this before. I think most of the times in the original script that she was like this was after I…” Sayori replied, trailing off as unpleasant memories came back to her, “No. Sorry MC, I don’t want think about this right now. It led me to memories that really hurt…some of the worst rain clouds.”
“Sorry, Sayori,” MC apologized, “I didn’t mean to make you think about that.”
Sayori nodded, accepting his apology, but remained silent.
The FXI President opened the door to the UC control room and followed MC and Sayori in. The room was filled with the noises of the UC and the conversations of the engineers.
“How’s construction going?” the FXI President asked.
“Finishing up now,” Medrano replied with satisfaction, “The system is running final error checks…call it another two or three minutes. The UC has surpassed all of our expectations today.”
The FXI President nodded and walked over to the table where Ive Laster and Paula Miner sat behind his computer. “How’s the scan going?”
“It hasn’t turned up anything so far, but unfortunately the scan is using a ton of resources,” Laster said, “It’s degrading system performance on VM1 to the point where it’s going to slow down the next transmission significantly.”
The FXI President grimaced. “That’s not ideal.”
“No, not at all,” Laster agreed, “How are things going with Yuri?”
“We’ve been stalling for time and trying to calm her down,” the FXI President explained, “She seemed to be getting a little bit better and decided that she needed to write, so we gave her a pen and paper.”
“See? Your fears were clearly unfounded,” Miner said to Laster with a smile, “We made the right call by proceeding.”
The FXI President shook his head. “Not entirely. She’s still in a manic and obsessed state.”
Miner waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll deal with that later.”
The FXI President turned back to his computer and the terminal window to VM1, where Monika and Sayuri anxiously awaited news of Natsuki.
“Any updates?” Monika asked.
“Almost done,” the FXI President replied, “Should only be about a minute or two more until Natsuki gets here.”
“How’s Yuri doing?” Sayuri added, her voice full of concern.
“She’s a little better, I think,” the FXI President explained, “She’s still in her obsessive state, but she’s decided that she can better express her feelings through writing. We gave her a pen and paper.”
“That’s at least a bit of positive news,” Monika said with some relief, “Just keep an eye on her until Natsuki arrives. And at least she’s writing and not using the pen for…never mind.”
The FXI President frowned as a console window unexpectedly popped up on the terminal screen.
UNLOAD STAIRWELL.LOC
UNLOAD STREET.LOC
STAIRWELL.LOC OFFLINE
STREET.LOC OFFLINE
He turned his laptop to face Laster. “Is this normal?”
Laster looked at the console message. “Rea told me that some assets that aren’t being used might be offloaded during the scan but keep an eye on it and let me know if it keeps happening.”
The FXI President nodded.
“Construction complete,” one of the UC engineers announced, “Removing nanites from construction chamber.”
“Nanite removal confirmed,” another engineer reported, “Clear to open the UC chamber.”
“Excellent,” Medrano said with a nod, “Reset the system for the next construction.”
Laster, Miner, Sayori, MC, and the FXI President walked to the windows in the control room, as the light above the door to the UC chamber flipped from red to green. The construction chamber at the center of the chamber slid open, and a short, pink-haired young woman stepped out.
“Wow. Her pink hair and eyes really are striking in person,” one of the engineers observed.
Natsuki looked around the room. “I’m here! Start the party!”
From the windows above the UC chamber Natsuki saw Sayori and MC waving to her. Returning their smile, she walked up the stairs and through the door to the control room.
“Natsuki!” Sayori yelled, running over to her friend and giving her a huge hug, “You made it!”
“Oof…you’re squeezing me a bit tight there, Sayori,” Natsuki said, loosening the embrace.
“Ehehehe…sorry,” Sayori said, stepping back from Natsuki, “I’m just so glad that you made it okay.”
Natsuki turned to Laster and the FXI President. “So you’re the guys we’ve seen as fuzzy silhouettes in our world?”
“That’s us,” the FXI President confirmed, “We’re glad you made it safely.”
“Yeah…” Natsuki said quietly, “Thanks for everything. Nobody has ever cared about me much before, so…yeah. Thanks.”
“Of course,” Laster replied, “We do need your help with Yuri now. You said you had a way to snap her out of her obsessive state?”
Natsuki thought for a moment. “Oh…yeah, I should be able to help. Where is she?”
“Come with us,” Laster said, leading Natsuki to the door to the UC control room, “She’s in a conference room down the hall. We also have some snacks there if you want something to eat.”
Natsuki, the FXI President, Sayori, and MC followed Laster down the hall to the conference room where Yuri and the FXI CTO sat. Yuri was furiously writing on her notepad, pausing frequently to stare at the FXI CTO.
Yuri looked up as Natsuki stepped into the room. Her expression became one of rage as she stood.
“You! Don’t you dare interrupt me when I’m trying to write the perfect confession!”
“Well hello to you too, Yuri,” Natsuki said, “Please calm down. I’m not trying to steal him from you.”
“Nobody cares what you have to say!” Yuri yelled, her tone increasingly agitated, “Just get out, you little pink brat!”
Natsuki sighed as she stepped closer to Yuri, “Yuri, you’re my friend. So I’m really sorry to have to do this.”
*SLAP*
Natsuki slapped Yuri across the face. Sayori gasped and looked away as MC cringed.
Yuri staggered for a moment and fell back into her chair.
“That was your solution?” Laster asked incredulously.
Natsuki held up a hand. “Give her a minute.”
Yuri blinked rapidly several times. She looked around the room, meeting eyes with Natsuki, Sayori, MC, Laster, the FXI President, and the FXI CTO in turn.
“W-what…what happened?” Yuri asked. She looked down at her notepad, which was filled with barely legible scribbles.
“You…you weren’t yourself,” Natsuki explained, “And smacking you across the face is the only way I know to get you to snap out of that state.”
Yuri looked from Natsuki to her notepad to the FXI CTO as she thought for a moment before bursting out in tears.
“I…I’m so s-sorry,” she sobbed, “This is why I was so afraid to come to the real world. Everyone will think I’m just a mess now…that I’m just a crazy yandere. I’m n-not like that. I don’t know what came over me…I don’t know what to do…my passions just overcome me sometimes…”
Yuri put her head down on the table and continued to cry softly. Sayori walked over to where she sat and embraced her.
“Yuri, everyone knows that wasn’t the real you,” Sayori said, “We know you’re a passionate person. We’ve enjoyed reading your poetry and seeing your passion in your writing. And most of all we’ve been so glad to have you as a friend.”
Natsuki joined the hug. “Yeah. We won’t always get along, but I’m glad that you are part of the Literature Club and I’m happy you’re my friend.”
Yuri looked up, her eyes red from tears. “B-but everyone in the real world thinks I’m crazy. This is why nobody has ever liked me…I don’t know how to be normal.”
She turned to the FXI CTO, who had been sitting silently in his chair. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened today. I know I made you uncomfortable but please…I don’t know how to prove it to you but please know that isn’t the real me.”
The FXI CTO gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Yuri. I know that’s not what you’re normally like. And at least you didn’t pull out one of your knives on me. To be honest, we wanted to not send your file to the UC until you were feeling better, but we were overruled.”
Yuri smiled weakly. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Whoever made that decision is a complete idiot,” Natsuki said, “I would have volunteered to go before Yuri to give her time to calm down.”
“Hey…we may have had our disagreements, but Paula’s support has been important to getting this all done and she is a friend of mine,” Laster interjected.
“The same Paula who said it was okay to delete Sayuri?” Natsuki asked, her tone becoming dark.
Sayori, MC, and Yuri all looked at Laster with suspicion in their eyes.
“Hang on a minute,” Laster replied, holding up a hand, “I’m not asking you to like Paula or be friends with her, but I need you all to stay calm until this is all done. Let me handle her. She and I have known each other for years and we work well together. And remember, two of your friends are still in the digital world and we need to make sure nothing prevents them from getting here.”
Natsuki continued to glare at Laster for a moment before her expression finally lost its anger. “Fine. But just make sure everyone gets here, okay?”
Laster nodded. “Speaking of which, we need to head back to the control room to get ready for the next construction. You all can stay here and relax for now.”
“Can…can we watch?” Yuri asked quietly, “The whole concept of constructing an entire person using nanotechnology almost seems like something out of a science fiction story. I would also like to take the opportunity to demonstrate to all present that I am now in a much better mental state than when they first saw me.”
Laster shrugged. “Sure. Just stay out of everyone’s way and don’t touch anything.”
Laster, the FXI executives, and the members of the Literature Club filed out of the conference room and returned to the UC control room.
Paula Miner looked up as the group entered the room. Her face flickered when she saw the members of the Literature Club, but she maintained her composure. “About time you guys came back. They’re ready for the next file.”
Yuri and Natsuki walked to the windows overlooking the UC chamber as Laster and the FXI executives sat down at the table with their laptops. Sayori and MC stood behind them, observing the room.
“Are you…feeling better now?” Medrano asked Yuri cautiously.
Yuri nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you for asking. I apologize...I was in an alternate mental state when my file was transmitted to your machinery, causing the unusual behavior that you saw.”
“It’s okay,” Medrano replied with a smile, “You’ve been through a lot today. But please let us know if you have any other issues.”
Medrano turned to Laster and the FXI executives. “Our system is ready to proceed with the next construction. Transmit whenever you’re ready.”
The FXI President turned to his laptop and the remaining members of the Literature Club on VM1.
“Okay, Sayuri, you’re up next,” he said, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, I am ready…though it’s not like I had much to get ready,” Sayuri said flatly, “I don’t have any personal items or even a change of clothes.”
He turned to Laster. “Looks like we’re ready to go here, Ive.”
Laster nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The console window reappeared on the FXI President’s terminal window.
STAIRWELL.LOC DELETED
STREET.LOC DELETED
UNLOAD CORRIDOR.LOC
UNLOAD CLOSET.LOC
CORRIDOR.LOC OFFLINE
CLOSET.LOC OFFLINE
CORRIDOR.LOC DELETED
CLOSET.LOC DELETED
The FXI President turned his laptop to face Laster. “Ive, look at this. Something is very wrong here.”
At the same time Laster’s ThinkPad sounded a warning alarm and a dialogue box with a red border appeared on the screen. The color drained from Laster’s face as he read the message.
WARNING: MALICIOUS SOFTWARE DETECTED
LOCATION: MES.LOCAL\\VM1
SYSTEM STABILITY COMPROMISED
RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE QUARANTINE AND REMOTE DEEP SCAN / CLEANING
“What was that?” UC project manager David Kent asked, looking over at Laster.
Miner shook her head, but Laster ignored her. “We just received an alert from our security software. It’s detecting malicious code on VM1.”
Kent’s eyes widened. “Your system is connected to the network that the UC is on. Is there a risk of it spreading to our system? Do we need to shut down?”
“No, we can’t shut down now!” Miner exclaimed, “We are so close to complete success.”
“I can appreciate that Paula, but at the same time we can’t risk bricking the UC if this thing is a threat,” Kent replied.
“It appears to be deleting files on VM1,” Laster explained as he furiously typed commands into his laptop, “I’m trying to see if I can isolate it but I don’t know if I’ll be able to. But if this thing is doing what it appears to be doing, we’re going to lose VM1 soon.”
“Lose VM1?” Miner asked, concern appearing in her voice, “As in the AIs too?”
Laster quickly shook his head. “No. Their files should be protected by the encryption, but if everything else goes down there won’t be a virtual universe for them to exist in.”
Laster picked up his phone and dialed Rea Vorte in the server room. She picked up quickly as Laster set the phone down and put it on speaker mode.
“Rea, are you seeing this?” Laster asked, “We’ve got a serious issue down here.”
“Yes, I am,” she replied, “Ro and I are reviewing the process list right now to see if anything stands out.”
“We’ll work as quickly as we can,” Ro Teether added, “But if the system becomes unstable that could really slow us down.”
The console window continued to add more lines to text to the list.
UNLOAD BEDROOM.LOC
BEDROOM.LOC OFFLINE
BEDROOM.LOC DELETED
“We just lost another room!” the FXI President announced.
“What’s happening?” Sayori asked as she looked over the FXI President’s shoulder, “Are Monika and Sayuri okay?”
“For the moment,” the FXI President replied, “We need to transmit now so we can get them off of VM1 ASAP.”
Kent nodded solemnly as he turned to Medrano. “Lauren, is there a threat to the UC?”
Medrano thought for a moment. “The UC itself shouldn’t be at risk; it runs on proprietary code that only exists in its control system so the odds of a virus being able to attack it are almost zero. What I’m more concerned about are the file servers that we use to store our data logs. Those could be highly vulnerable to a virus that destroys files.”
“Not good,” Kent replied, “Ive, how fast is this thing moving?”
“Hard to say,” Laster replied as he scowled at his laptop, “But based on what has happened so far I’d say we may not have more that a half an hour before VM1 goes down.”
Kent sighed. “Okay. Lauren, what do you think?”
“While I understand the importance of completing this project for the AI team,” Medrano said, an apologetic note in her voice, “And while I’m sure Ive is giving us his best guess on how long we have before this thing might spread, we can’t take risks with our data.”
Laster gave Medrano a look of disappointment. “So are you shutting us down?”
Medrano was silent for a long moment. She glanced at the clock on the wall of the control room before replying. “Let me do some quick checks on our systems to see what our backup status is. Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes and if we’re lucky you’ll isolate this nasty code quickly.”
“Thanks, Lauren,” Laster said as he turned back to his laptop.
The UC control room had become largely quiet as Medrano worked with her engineers to check the security of their file servers while Laster continued to try to track the malicious code. Sayori, MC, Yuri and Natsuki looked increasingly anxious with each passing minute.
After several minutes, Medrano turned away from her laptop. “We checked our file servers, and our backup process won’t run again until seven tonight, so there is a threat to data that hasn’t been backed up. Out of professional courtesy, I’ll give you five minutes before we have to terminate the connection to your system. That should be enough time to transmit another AI to the UC. I know you wanted all six, but I can’t risk our data so we’ll just have to settle for five.”
“So only one more?” the FXI President asked.
Medrano nodded.
Sayori, MC, Yuri and Natsuki looked horrified as the meaning of Medrano’s words hit them.
“No,” Sayori mouthed silently, tears forming in her eyes.
Laster covered his eyes with his hands for a brief moment as he thought. “Thank you, Lauren. It’s definitely not the outcome we wanted but I appreciate the five minutes to transmit one more of them.”
Miner picked up Laster’s phone, which was still connected to Vorte and Teether.
“We’re going to send one more AI to the UC. Once we confirm that the transmission is complete, move the remaining AI to cold storage.”
“Understood,” Teether replied, “We’ll shut down VM1 as well to prevent this thing from spreading.”
“Are you ready for me to go?” Sayuri asked from the terminal window on the FXI President’s laptop.
Laster turned to the FXI President. “Should I tell them?”
The FXI President shook his head. “I’ll tell them.”
He turned back to his laptop. “There’s…there’s been a problem. A virus appears to be attacking VM1 and deleting files. We don’t know how long we have, but the UC people will only let us send one of you before they terminate the connection. I’m sorry.”
Monika and Sayuri did not immediately reply, but the stunned and scared looks on their faces said more than words.

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2024.05.13 02:48 Beginning_Mood_9803 I’ve waited decades for HRT and it’s very surreal it is starting in a week

(*I did my makeup here but used FaceApp for the skin and hair!)
I was raised conservative and Christian. I even went to a private Christian high school. I had written a very dark poem that I don’t even remember what it said…but I do remember how I accidentally left it in class and someone anonymously turned it in which triggered a meeting w me, my parents and the principle. My dad was so upset that my mom was so sad that I learned early on to “keep up appearances”.
Some of the usual suspects: Sneaking into moms shoes at a young age, when older I was sneaking into my sisters wardrobes. When one got married, I hated what I was wearing and was so envious of her wedding dress. I played video games as female characters (and still do even at 53 now). I was jealous of the cheerleaders in high school, as an adult I almost always went as a female character for Halloween like Elsa from frozen, Supergirl or Alice in Wonderland…the list goes on.
It was probably that last costume listed that I started thinking it was more than just cross dressing. I remember coming home from that and crying (again, adult) as I didn’t want to take that look off my face. I didn’t know it at the time but that was gender dysphoria.
I rarely dated as although I liked women and still do, there was something different in how I’d relate with them. I pushed things down, binged and purged clothes and makeup more than I can remember. Eventually about 20 yrs ago I started almost exclusively going out with women who were trans. I know there are a lot of creepy chasers out there but in my case, looking at all the signs over the years, I was clearly trying to see THEIR life, and sadly kind of live my life vicariously through them I guess. I even ended up marrying a woman that is trans and still am after five years. She knew about my background beforehand but I was still trying to convince myself and her that it was just sporadic cross dressing.
At my work, I am allowed to wear nail polish and at first I felt paranoid about this and only did a few days a week and by now it’s pretty much 24/7 where I often forget I’m even wearing it. My dysphoria starting shooting up drastically then and I suddenly started really (allowing?) getting jealous of women’s clothes and body shapes. I’d feel awful about it but it was and is relentless. Around this time my wife was getting breast implants and I found myself happy for her but almost immediately I got extremely envious. Once again the person I married was essentially living the life I wish I started DECADES ago and I hadn’t even started HRT. I wouldn’t allow myself to even consider it.
Well there was an unrelated crisis months ago where we both went into individual therapy. And one thing, the main thing, that came out of mine is that to no surprise at all getting diagnosed with gender dysphoria.
I have an appointment that was made MONTHS ago (Florida, enough said) and it’s finally a week away as of tomorrow. To say that I am excited, scared, worried and so many other adjectives is a huge understatement. I’m not going to chicken out but man my wife and I will likely be getting divorced (still be friends) and my family still doesn’t even know as they will likely be blindsighted. I predict my mom will cry and my older sister will get mad but maybe I’m wrong. My brother cut me off five years ago when he found out I was marrying someone trans. The one person in my family who DOES know this about me is my younger sister who I’m closest to. Fortunately she and I are the same politically and culturally.
Have any of you that are on HRT actually waited a certain number of months (or even a year or more?) to tell family so that you could tell how it was making you feel mentally while on it so you could know 100% you weren’t one of the rare people that STOPS taking HRT? I just don’t know when and how to break something so life changing to them. And they are in California so I can’t exactly have a face to face meeting unfortunately. Did any of you get on a video call and tell your mom or dad? My younger sister has agreed to support me in this way if I do it when she is available to be at my moms for a call. Originally I was going to call May 1. Then I thought day of the first injection on May 20…but again now I’m wondering if I should wait at least two or three months to see how I’m feeling and looking. But I’m also afraid if I wait too long that they will next see me and I will look androgynous or something. I don’t usually see them more than once every 2-3 years and I will likely look VERY different by then.
Thank you for those that made it to the end of this, I’m sorry it was so long. I’m very excited but very stressed about all the likely fallout from this too. I can only hope that because I had married someone who is trans that they don’t think she suddenly made me this way but instead that maybe it will soften the shock with it being closer in the family than a transgender daughter in law or sister in law when they essentially always had another daughtesister in our family.

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http://rodzice.org/