Colonel Mountjoy had an appointment in India that kept him there permanently. Consequently he was constrained to send his two daughters to England when they were quite children. His wife had died of cholera at Madras. The girls were Letice and Betty. There was a year's difference in their ages, but they were extraordinarily alike, so much so that they might have been supposed to be twins. Letice was given up to the charge of Miss Mountjoy, her father's sister, and Betty to that of Lady Lacy, her maternal aunt. Their father would have preferred that his daughters should have been together, but there were difficulties in the way; neither of the ladies was inclined to be burdened with both, and if both had been placed with one the other might have regarded and resented this as a slight. As the children grew up their likeness in feature became more close, but they diverged exceedingly in expression. A sullenness, an unhappy look, a towering fire of resentment characterised that of Letice, whereas the face of Betty was open and gay. This difference was due to the difference in their bringing up. Lady Lacy, who had a small house in North Devon, was a kindly, intellectual, and broad-minded old lady, of sweet disposition but a decided will. She saw a good deal of society, and did her best to train Betty to be an educated and liberal-minded woman of culture and graceful manners. She did not send her to school, but had her taught at home; and on the excuse that her eyes were weak by artificial light she made the girl read to her in the evenings, and always read books that were standard and calculated to increase her knowledge and to develop her understanding. Lady Lacy detested all shams, and under her influence Betty grew up to be thoroughly straightforward, healthy-minded, and true. On the other hand, Miss Mountjoy was, as Letice called her, a Killjoy. She had herself been reared in the midst of the Clapham sect; had become rigid in all her ideas, narrow in all her sympathies, and a bundle of prejudices. The present generation of young people know nothing of the system of repression that was exercised in that of their fathers and mothers. Now the tendency is wholly in the other direction, and too greatly so. It is possibly due to a revulsion of feeling against a training that is looked back upon with a shudder. To that narrow school there existed but two categories of men and women, the Christians and the Worldlings, and those who pertained to it arrogated to themselves the former title. The Judgment had already begun with the severance of the sheep from the goats, and the saints who judged the world had their Jerusalem at Clapham. In that school the works of the great masters of English literature, Shakespeare, Pope, Scott, Byron, were taboo; no work of imagination was tolerated save the Apocalypse, and that was degraded into a polemic by such scribblers as Elliot and Cumming. No entertainments, not even the oratorios of Handel, were tolerated; they savoured of the world. The nearest approach to excitement was found in a missionary meeting. The Chinese contract the feet of their daughters, but those English Claphamites cramped the minds of their children. The Venetians made use of an iron prison, with gradually contracting walls, that finally crushed the life out of the captive. But these elect Christians put their sons and daughters into a school that squeezed their energies and their intelligences to death. Dickens caricatured such people in Mrs. Jellyby and Mr. Chadband; but he sketched them only in their external aspect, and left untouched their private action in distorting young minds, maiming their wills, damping down all youthful buoyancy. But the result did not answer the expectations of those who adopted this system with the young. Some daughters, indeed, of weaker wills were permanently stunted and shaped on the approved model, but nearly all the sons, and most of the daughters, on obtaining their freedom, broke away into utter frivolity and dissipation, or, if they retained any religious impressions, galloped through the Church of England, performing strange antics on the way, and plunged into the arms of Rome. Such was the system to which the high-spirited, strong-willed Letice was subjected, and from which was no escape. The consequence was that Letice tossed and bit at her chains, and that there ensued frequent outbreaks of resentment against her aunt. "Oh, Aunt Hannah! I want something to read." After some demur, and disdainful rejection of more serious works, she was allowed Milton. Then she said, "Oh! I do love Comus." "Comus!" gasped Miss Mountjoy. "And L'Allegro and Il Penseroso, they are not bad." "My child. These were the compositions of the immortal bard before his eyes were opened." "I thought, aunt, that he had dictated the Paradise Lost and Regained after he was blind." "I refer to the eyes of his soul," said the old lady sternly. "I want a story-book." "There is the Dairyman's Daughter." "I have read it, and hate it." "I fear, Leticia, that you are in the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity." Unhappily the sisters very rarely met one another. It was but occasionally that Lady Lacy and Betty came to town, and when they did, Miss Mountjoy put as many difficulties as she could in the way of their associating together. On one such visit to London, Lady Lacy called and asked if she might take Letice with herself to the theatre. Miss Mountjoy shivered with horror, reared herself, and expressed her opinion of stage-plays and those who went to see them in strong and uncomplimentary terms. As she had the custody of Letice, she would by no persuasion be induced to allow her to imperil her soul by going to such a wicked place. Lady Lacy was fain to withdraw in some dismay and much regret. Poor Letice, who had heard this offer made, had flashed into sudden brightness and a tremor of joy; when it was refused, she burst into a flood of tears and an ecstasy of rage. She ran up to her room, and took and tore to pieces a volume of Clayton's Sermons, scattered the leaves over the floor, and stamped upon them. "Letice," said Miss Mountjoy, when she saw the devastation, "you are a child of wrath." "Why mayn't I go where there is something pretty to see? Why may I not hear good music? Why must I be kept forever in the Doleful Dumps?" "Because all these things are of the world, worldly." "If God hates all that is fair and beautiful, why did He create the peacock, the humming-bird, and the bird of paradise, instead of filling the world with barn-door fowls?" "You have a carnal mind. You will never go to heaven." "Lucky I—if the saints there do nothing but hold missionary meetings to convert one another. Pray what else can they do?" "They are engaged in the worship of God." "I don't know what that means. All I am acquainted with is the worship of the congregation. At Salem Chapel the minister faces it, mouths at it, gesticulates to it, harangues, flatters, fawns at it, and, indeed, prays at it. If that be all, heaven must be a deadly dull hole." Miss Mountjoy reared herself, she became livid with wrath. "You wicked girl." "Aunt," said Letice, intent on further incensing her, "I do wish you would let me go—just for once—to a Catholic church to see what the worship of God is." "I would rather see you dead at my feet!" exclaimed the incensed lady, and stalked, rigid as a poker, out of the room. Thus the unhappy girl grew up to woman's estate, her heart seething with rebellion. And then a terrible thing occurred. She caught scarlet fever, which took an unfavourable turn, and her life was despaired of. Miss Mountjoy was not one to conceal from the girl that her days were few, and her future condition hopeless. Letice fought against the idea of dying so young. "Oh, aunt! I won't die! I can't die! I have seen nothing of the pomps and vanities. I want to just taste them, and know what they are like. Oh! save me, make the doctor give me something to revive me. I want the pomps and vanities, oh! so much. I will not, I cannot die!" But her will, her struggle, availed nothing, and she passed away into the Great Unseen. Miss Mountjoy wrote a formal letter to her brother, who had now become a general, to inform him of the lamented decease of his eldest daughter. It was not a comforting letter. It dwelt unnecessarily on the faults of Letice, it expressed no hopes as to her happiness in the world to which she had passed. There had been no signs of resignation at the last; no turning from the world with its pomps and vanities to better things, only a vain longing after what she could not have; a bitter resentment against Providence for having denied them to her; and a steeling of her heart against good and pious influences. A year had passed. Lady Lacy had come to town along with her niece. A dear friend had placed her house at her disposal. She had herself gone to Dresden with her daughters to finish them off in music and German. Lady Lacy was very glad of the occasion, for Betty was now of an age to be brought out. There was to be a great ball at the house of the Countess of Belgrove, unto whom Lady Lacy was related, and at the ball Betty was to make her début. The girl was in a condition of boundless excitement. A beautiful ball-dress of white satin, trimmed with rich Valenciennes lace, was laid over her chair for her to wear. Neat little white satin shoes stood on the floor, quite new, for her feet. In a flower-glass stood a red camellia that was destined to adorn her hair, and on the dressing-table, in a morocco case, was a pearl necklace that had belonged to her mother. The maid did her hair, but the camellia, which was to be the only point of colour about her, except her rosy lips and flushed cheeks—that camellia was not to be put into her hair till the last minute. The maid offered to help her to dress. "No, thank you, Martha; I can do that perfectly well myself. I am accustomed to use my own hands, and I can take my own time about it." "But really, miss, I think you should allow me." "Indeed, indeed, no. There is plenty of time, and I shall go leisurely to work. When the carriage comes just tap at the door and tell me, and I will rejoin my aunt." When the maid was gone, Betty locked her door. She lighted the candles beside the cheval-glass, and looked at herself in the mirror and laughed. For the first time, with glad surprise and innocent pleasure, she realised how pretty she was. And pretty she was indeed, with her pleasant face, honest eyes, finely arched brows, and twinkling smile that produced dimples in her cheeks. "There is plenty of time," she said. "I shan't take a hundred years in dressing now that my hair is done." She yawned. A great heaviness had come over her. "I really think I shall have a nap first. I am dead sleepy now, and forty winks will set me up for the night." Then she laid herself upon the bed. A numbing, over-powering lethargy weighed on her, and almost at once she sank into a dreamless sleep. So unconscious was she that she did not hear Martha's tap at the door nor the roll of the carriage as it took her aunt away. She woke with a start. It was full day. For some moments she did not realise this fact, nor that she was still dressed in the gown in which she had lain down the previous evening. She rose in dismay. She had slept so soundly that she had missed the ball. She rang her bell and unlocked the door. "What, miss, up already?" asked the maid, coming in with a tray on which were tea and bread and butter. "Yes, Martha. Oh! what will aunt say? I have slept so long and like a log, and never went to the ball. Why did you not call me?" "Please, miss, you have forgotten. You went to the ball last night." "No; I did not. I overslept myself." The maid smiled. "If I may be so bold as to say so, I think, Miss Betty, you are dreaming still." "No; I did not go." The maid took up the satin dress. It was crumpled, the lace was a little torn, and the train showed unmistakable signs of having been drawn over a floor. She then held up the shoes. They had been worn, and well worn, as if danced in all night. "Look here, miss; here is your programme! Why, deary me! you must have had a lot of dancing. It is quite full." Betty looked at the programme with dazed eyes; then at the camellia. It had lost some of its petals, and these had not fallen on the toilet-cover. Where were they? What was the meaning of this? "Martha, bring me my hot water, and leave me alone." Betty was sorely perplexed. There were evidences that her dress had been worn. The pearl necklace was in the case, but not as she had left it—outside. She bathed her head in cold water. She racked her brain. She could not recall the smallest particular of the ball. She perused the programme. A light colour came into her cheek as she recognised the initials "C. F.," those of Captain Charles Fontanel, of whom of late she had seen a good deal. Other characters expressed nothing to her mind. "How very strange!" she said; "and I was lying on the bed in the dress I had on yesterday evening. I cannot explain it." Twenty minutes later, Betty went downstairs and entered the breakfast-room. Lady Lacy was there. She went up to her aunt and kissed her. "I am so sorry that I overslept myself," she said. "I was like one of the Seven Sleepers." "My dear, I should not have minded if you had not come down till midday. After a first ball you must be tired." "I meant—last night." "How, last night?" "I mean when I went to dress." "Oh, you were punctual enough. When I was ready you were already in the hall." The bewilderment of the girl grew apace. "I am sure," said her aunt, "you enjoyed yourself. But you gave the lion's share of the dances to Captain Fontanel. If this had been at Exeter, it would have caused talk; but here you are known only to a few; however, Lady Belgrove observed it." "I hope you are not very tired, auntie darling," said Betty, to change slightly the theme that perplexed her. "Nothing to speak of. I like to go to a ball; it recalls my old dancing days. But I thought you looked white and fagged all the evening. Perhaps it was excitement." As soon as breakfast was concluded, Betty escaped to her room. A fear was oppressing her. The only explanation of the mystery was that she had been to the dance in her sleep. She was a somnambulist. What had she said and done when unconscious? What a dreadful thing it would have been had she woke up in the middle of a dance! She must have dressed herself, gone to Lady Belgrove's, danced all night, returned, taken off her dress, put on her afternoon tea-gown, lain down and concluded her sleep—all in one long tract of unconsciousness. "By the way," said her aunt next day, "I have taken tickets for Carmen, at Her Majesty's. You would like to go?" "Oh, delighted, aunt. I know some of the music—of course, the Toreador song; but I have never heard the whole opera. It will be delightful." "And you are not too tired to go?" "No—ten thousand times, no—I shall love to see it." "What dress will you go in?" "I think my black, and put a rose in my hair." "That will do very well. The black becomes you. I think you could not do better." Betty was highly delighted. She had been to plays, never to a real opera. In the evening, dinner was early, unnecessarily early, and Betty knew that it would not take her long to dress, so she went into the little conservatory and seated herself there. The scent of the heliotropes was strong. Betty called them cherry-pie. She had got the libretto, and she looked it over; but as she looked, her eyes closed, and without being aware that she was going to sleep, in a moment she was completely unconscious. She woke, feeling stiff and cold. "Goodness!" said she, "I hope I am not late. Why—what is that light?" The glimmer of dawn shone in at the conservatory windows. Much astonished, she left it. The hall, the staircase were dark. She groped her way to her room, and switched on the electric light. Before her lay her black-and-white muslin dress on the bed; on the table were her white twelve-button gloves folded about her fan. She took them up, and below them, somewhat crumpled, lay the play-bill, scented. "How very unaccountable this is," she said; and removing the dress, seated herself on the bed and thought. "Why did they turn out the lights?" she asked herself, then sprang to her feet, switched off the electric current, and saw that actually the morning light was entering the room. She resumed her seat; put her hands to her brow. "It cannot—it cannot be that this dreadful thing has happened again." Presently she heard the servants stirring. She hastily undressed and retired between the sheets, but not to sleep. Her mind worked. She was seriously alarmed. At the usual time Martha arrived with tea. "Awake, Miss Betty!" she said. "I hope you had a nice evening. I dare say it was beautiful." "But," began the girl, then checked herself, and said— "Is my aunt getting up? Is she very tired?" "Oh, miss, my lady is a wonderful person; she never seems to tire. She is always down at the same time." Betty dressed, but her mind was in a turmoil. On one thing she was resolved. She must see a doctor. But she would not frighten her aunt, she would keep the matter close from her. When she came into the breakfast-room, Lady Lacy said— "I thought Maas's voice was superb, but I did not so much care for the Carmen. What did you think, dear?" "Aunt," said Betty, anxious to change the topic, "would you mind my seeing a doctor? I don't think I am quite well." "Not well! Why what is the matter with you?" "I have such dead fits of drowsiness." "My dearest, is that to be wondered at with this racketing about; balls and theatres—very other than the quiet life at home? But I will admit that you struck me as looking very pale last night. You shall certainly see Dr. Groves." When the medical man arrived, Betty intimated that she wished to speak with him alone, and he was shown with her into the morning-room. "Oh, Dr. Groves," she said nervously, "it is such a strange thing I have to say. I believe I walk in my sleep." "You have eaten something that disagreed with you." "But it lasted so long." "How do you mean? Have you long been subject to it?" "Dear, no. I never had any signs of it before I came to London this season." "And how were you roused? How did you become aware of it?" "I was not roused at all; the fact is I went asleep to Lady Belgrove's ball, and danced there and came back, and woke up in the morning without knowing I had been." "What!" "And then, last night, I went in my sleep to Her Majesty's and heard Carmen; but I woke up in the conservatory here at early dawn, and I remember nothing about it."This is a very extraordinary story. Are you sure you went to the ball and to the opera?" "Quite sure. My dress had been used on both occasions, and my shoes and fan and gloves as well." "Did you go with Lady Lacy?" "Oh, yes. I was with her all the time. But I remember nothing about it." "I must speak to her ladyship." "Please, please do not. It would frighten her; and I do not wish her to suspect anything, except that I am a little out of sorts. She gets nervous about me." Dr. Groves mused for some while, then he said: "I cannot see that this is at all a case of somnambulism." "What is it, then?" "Lapse of memory. Have you ever suffered from that previously?" "Nothing to speak of. Of course I do not always remember everything. I do not always recollect commissions given to me, unless I write them down. And I cannot say that I remember all the novels I have read, or what was the menu at dinner yesterday." "That is quite a different matter. What I refer to is spaces of blank in your memory. How often has this occurred?" "Twice." "And quite recently?" "Yes, I never knew anything of the kind before." "I think that the sooner you return to the country the better. It is possible that the strain of coming out and the change of entering into gay life in town has been too much for you. Take care and economise your pleasures. Do not attempt too much; and if anything of the sort happens again, send for me." "Then you won't mention this to my aunt?" "No, not this time. I will say that you have been a little over-wrought and must be spared too much excitement." "Thank you so much, Dr. Groves." Now it was that a new mystery came to confound Betty. She rang her bell. "Martha," said she, when her maid appeared, "where is that novel I had yesterday from the circulating library? I put it on the boudoir table." "I have not noticed it, miss." "Please look for it. I have hunted everywhere for it, and it cannot be found." "I will look in the parlour, miss, and the schoolroom." "I have not been into the schoolroom at all, and I know that it is not in the drawing-room." A search was instituted, but the book could not be found. On the morrow it was in the boudoir, where Betty had placed it on her return from Mudie's. "One of the maids took it," was her explanation. She did not much care for the book; perhaps that was due to her preoccupation, and not to any lack of stirring incident in the story. She sent it back and took out another. Next morning that also had disappeared. It now became customary, as surely as she drew a novel from the library, that it vanished clean away. Betty was greatly amazed. She could not read a novel she had brought home till a day or two later. She took to putting the book, so soon as it was in the house, into one of her drawers, or into a cupboard. But the result was the same. Finally, when she had locked the newly acquired volume in her desk, and it had disappeared thence also, her patience gave way. There must be one of the domestics with a ravenous appetite for fiction, which drove her to carry off a book of the sort whenever it came into the house, and even to tamper with a lock to obtain it. Betty had been most reluctant to speak of the matter to her aunt, but now she made to her a formal complaint. The servants were all questioned, and strongly protested their innocence. Not one of them had ventured to do such a thing as that with which they were charged. However, from this time forward the annoyance ceased, and Betty and Lady Lacy naturally concluded that this was the result of the stir that had been made. "Betty," said Lady Lacy, "what do you say to going to the new play at the Gaiety? I hear it very highly spoken of. Mrs. Fontanel has a box and has asked if we will join her." "I should love it," replied the girl; "we have been rather quiet of late." But her heart was oppressed with fear. She said to her maid: "Martha, will you dress me this evening—and—pray stay with me till my aunt is ready and calls for me?" "Yes, miss, I shall be pleased to do so." But the girl looked somewhat surprised at the latter part of the request. Betty thought well to explain: "I don't know what it is, but I feel somewhat out of spirits and nervous, and am afraid of being left alone, lest something should happen." "Happen, miss! If you are not feeling well, would it not be as well to stay at home?" "Oh, not for the world! I must go. I shall be all right so soon as I am in the carriage. It will pass off then." "Shall I get you a glass of sherry, or anything?" "No, no, it is not that. You remain with me and I shall be myself again." That evening Betty went to the theatre. There was no recurrence of the sleeping fit with its concomitants. Captain Fontanel was in the box, and made himself vastly agreeable. He had his seat by Betty, and talked to her not only between the acts, but also a good deal whilst the actors were on the stage. With this she could have dispensed. She was not such an habituée of the theatre as not to be intensely interested with what was enacted before her. Between two of the acts he said to her: "My mother is engaging Lady Lacy. She has a scheme in her head, but wants her consent to carry it out, to make it quite too charming. And I am deputed to get you to acquiesce." "What is it?" "We purpose having a boat and going to the Henley Regatta. Will you come?" "I should enjoy it above everything. I have never seen a regatta—that is to say, not one so famous, and not of this kind. There were regattas at Ilfracombe, but they were different." "Very well, then; the party shall consist only of my mother and sister and your two selves, and young Fulwell, who is dancing attendance on Jannet, and Putsey, who is a tame cat. I am sure my mother will persuade your aunt. What a lively old lady she is, and for her years how she does enjoy life!" "It will be a most happy conclusion to our stay in town," said Betty. "We are going back to auntie's little cottage in Devon in a few days; she wants to be at home for Good Friday and Easter Day." So it was settled. Lady Lacy had raised no objection, and now she and her niece had to consider what Betty should wear. Thin garments were out of the question; the weather was too cold, and it would be especially chilly on the river. Betty was still in slight mourning, so she chose a silver-grey cloth costume, with a black band about her waist, and a white straw hat, with a ribbon to match her gown. On the day of the regatta Betty said to herself; "How ignorant I am! Fancy my not knowing where Henley is! That it is on the Thames or Isis I really do not know, but I fancy on the former—yes, I am almost positive it is on the Thames. I have seen pictures in the Graphic and Illustrated of the race last year, and I know the river was represented as broad, and the Isis can only be an insignificant stream. I will run into the schoolroom and find a map of the environs of London and post myself up in the geography. One hates to look like a fool." Without a word to anyone, Betty found her way to the apartment given up to lessons when children were in the house. It lay at the back, down a passage. Since Lady Lacy had occupied the place, neither she nor Betty had been in it more than casually and rarely; and accordingly the servants had neglected to keep it clean. A good deal of dust lay about, and Betty, laughing, wrote her name in the fine powder on the school-table, then looked at her finger, found it black, and said, "Oh, bother! I forgot that the dust of London is smut." She went to the bookcase, and groped for a map of the Metropolis and the country round, but could not find one. Nor could she lay her hand on a gazetteer. "This must do," said she, drawing out a large, thick Johnston's Atlas, "if the scale be not too small to give Henley." She put the heavy volume on the table and opened it. England, she found, was in two parts, one map of the Northern, the second of the Southern division. She spread out the latter, placed her finger on the blue line of the Thames, and began to trace it up. Whilst her eyes were on it, searching the small print, they closed, and without being conscious that she was sleepy, her head bowed forward on the map, and she was breathing evenly, steeped in the most profound slumber. She woke slowly. Her consciousness returned to her little by little. She saw the atlas without understanding what it meant. She looked about her, and wondered how she could be in the schoolroom, and she then observed that darkness was closing in. Only then, suddenly, did she recall what had brought her where she was. Next, with a rush, upon her came the remembrance that she was due at the boat-race. She must again have overslept herself, for the evening had come on, and through the window she could see the glimmer of gaslights in the street. Was this to be accompanied by her former experiences? With throbbing heart she went into the passage. Then she noticed that the hall was lighted up, and she heard her aunt speaking, and the slam of the front door, and the maid say, "Shall I take off your wraps, my lady?" She stepped forth upon the landing and proceeded to descend, when—with a shock that sent the blood coursing to her heart, and that paralysed her movements—she saw herself ascending the stair in her silver-grey costume and straw hat. She clung to the banister, with convulsive grip, lest she should fall, and stared, without power to utter a sound, as she saw herself quietly mount, step by step, pass her, go beyond to her own room. For fully ten minutes she remained rooted to the spot, unable to stir even a finger. Her tongue was stiff, her muscles set, her heart ceased to beat. Then slowly her blood began again to circulate, her nerves to relax, power of movement returned. With a hoarse gasp she reeled from her place, and giddy, touching the banister every moment to prevent herself from falling, she crept downstairs. But when once in the hall, she had recovered flexibility. She ran towards the morning-room, whither Lady Lacy had gone to gather up the letters that had arrived by post during her absence. Betty stood looking at her, speechless. Her aunt raised her face from an envelope she was considering. "Why, Betty," said she, "how expeditiously you have changed your dress!" The girl could not speak, but fell unconscious on the floor. When she came to herself, she was aware of a strong smell of vinegar. She was lying on the sofa, and Martha was applying a moistened kerchief to her brow. Lady Lacy stood by, alarmed and anxious, with a bottle of smelling-salts in her hand. "Oh, aunt, I saw——" then she ceased. It would not do to tell of the apparition. She would not be believed. "My darling," said Lady Lacy, "you are overdone, and it was foolish of you tearing upstairs and scrambling into your morning-gown. I have sent for Groves. Are you able now to rise? Can you manage to reach your room?" "My room!" she shuddered. "Let me lie here a little longer. I cannot walk. Let me be here till the doctor comes." "Certainly, dearest. I thought you looked very unlike yourself all day at the regatta. If you had felt out of sorts you ought not to have gone." "Auntie! I was quite well in the morning." Presently the medical man arrived, and was shown in. Betty saw that Lady Lacy purposed staying through the interview. Accordingly she said nothing to Dr. Groves about what she had seen. "She is overdone," said he. "The sooner you move her down to Devonshire the better. Someone had better be in her room to-night." "Yes," said Lady Lacy; "I had thought of that and have given orders. Martha can make up her bed on the sofa in the adjoining dressing-room or boudoir." This was a relief to Betty, who dreaded a return to her room—her room into which her other self had gone. "I will call again in the morning," said the medical man; "keep her in bed to-morrow, at all events till I have seen her." When he left, Betty found herself able to ascend the stairs. She cast a frightened glance about her room. The straw hat, the grey dress were there. No one was in it. She was helped to bed, and although laid in it with her head among the pillows, she could not sleep. Racking thoughts tortured her. What was the signification of that encounter? What of her strange sleeps? What of those mysterious appearances of herself, where she had not been? The theory that she had walked in her sleep was untenable. How was she to solve the riddle? That she was going out of her mind was no explanation. Only towards morning did she doze off. When Dr. Groves came, about eleven o'clock, Betty made a point of speaking to him alone, which was what she greatly desired. She said to him: "Oh! it has been worse this last occasion, far worse than before. I do not walk in my sleep. Whilst I am buried in slumber, someone else takes my place." "Whom do you mean? Surely not one of the maids?" "Oh, no. I met her on the stairs last night, that is what made me faint." "Whom did you meet?" "Myself—my double." "Nonsense, Miss Mountjoy." "But it is a fact. I saw myself as clearly as I see you now. I was going down into the hall." "You saw yourself! You saw your own pleasant, pretty face in a looking-glass." "There is no looking-glass on the staircase. Besides, I was in my alpaca morning-gown, and my double had on my pearl-grey cloth costume, with my straw hat. She was mounting as I was descending." "Tell me the story." "I went yesterday—an hour or so before I had to dress—into the schoolroom. I am awfully ignorant, and I did want to see a map and find out where was Henley, because, you know, I was going to the boat-race. And I dropped off into one of those dreadful dead sleeps, with my head on the atlas. When I awoke it was evening, and the gas-lamps were lighted. I was frightened, and ran out to the landing and I heard them arrive, just come back from Henley, and as I was going down the stairs, I saw my double coming up, and we met face to face. She passed me by, and went on to my room—to this room. So you see this is proof pos that I am not a somnambulist." "I never said that you were. I never for a moment admitted the supposition. That, if you remember, was your own idea. What I said before is what I repeat now, that you suffer from failure of memory." "But that cannot be so, Dr. Groves." "Pray, why not?" "Because I saw my double, wearing my regatta costume." "I hold to my opinion, Miss Mountjoy. If you will listen to me I shall be able to offer a satisfactory explanation. Satisfactory, I mean, so far as to make your experiences intelligible to you. I do not at all imply that your condition is satisfactory." "Well, tell me. I cannot make heads or tails of this matter." "It is this, young lady. On several recent occasions you have suffered from lapses of memory. All recollection of what you did, where you went, what you said, has been clean wiped out. But on this last—it was somewhat different. The failure took place on your return, and you forgot everything that had happened since you were engaged in the schoolroom looking at the atlas." "Yes." "Then, on your arrival here, as Lady Lacy told me, you ran upstairs, and in a prodigious hurry changed your clothes and put on your——" "My alpaca." "Your alpaca, yes. Then, in descending to the hall, your memory came back, but was still entangled with flying reminiscences of what had taken place during the intervening period. Amongst other things——" "I remember no other things." "You recalled confusedly one thing only, that you had mounted the stairs in your—your——" "My pearl-grey cloth, with the straw hat and satin ribbon."Precisely. Whilst in your morning gown, into which you had scrambled, you recalled yourself in your regatta costume going upstairs to change. This fragmentary reminiscence presented itself before you as a vision. Actually you saw nothing. The impression on your brain of a scrap recollected appeared to you as if it had been an actual object depicted on the retina of your eye. Such things happen, and happen not infrequently. In cases of D. T.——" "But I haven't D. T. I don't drink." "I do not say that. If you will allow me to proceed. In cases of D. T. the patient fancies he sees rats, devils, all sorts of objects. They appear to him as obvious realities, he thinks that he sees them with his eyes. But he does not. These are mere pictures formed on the brain." "Then you hold that I really was at the boat-race?" "I am positive that you were." "And that I danced at Lady Belgrove's ball?" "Most assuredly." "And heard Carmen at Her Majesty's?" "I have not the remotest doubt that you did." Betty drew a long breath, and remained in consideration. Then she said very gravely: "I want you to tell me, Dr. Groves, quite truthfully, quite frankly—do not think that I shall be frightened whatever you say; I shall merely prepare for what may be—do you consider that I am going out of my mind?" "I have not the least occasion for supposing so." "That," said Betty, "would be the most terrible thing of all. If I thought that, I would say right out to my aunt that I wished at once to be sent to an asylum." "You may set your mind at rest on that score." "But loss of memory is bad, but better than the other. Will these fits of failure come on again?" "That is more than I can prognosticate; let us hope for the best. A complete change of scene, change of air, change of association——" "Not to leave auntie!" "No. I do not mean that, but to get away from London society. It may restore you to what you were. You never had those fits before?" "Never, never, till I came to town." "And when you have left town they may not recur." "I shall take precious good care not to revisit London if it is going to play these tricks with me." That day Captain Fontanel called, and was vastly concerned to hear that Betty was unwell. She was not looking herself, he said, at the boat-race. He feared that the cold on the river had been too much for her. But he did trust that he might be allowed to have a word with her before she returned to Devonshire. Although he did not see Betty, he had an hour's conversation with Lady Lacy, and he departed with a smile on his face. On the morrow he called again. Betty had so completely recovered that she was cheerful, and the pleasant colour had returned to her cheeks. She was in the drawing-room along with her aunt when he arrived. The captain offered his condolences, and expressed his satisfaction that her indisposition had been so quickly got over. "Oh!" said the girl, "I am as right as a trivet. It has all passed off. I need not have soaked in bed all yesterday, but that aunt would have it so. We are going down to our home to-morrow. Yesterday auntie was scared and thought she would have to postpone our return." Lady Lacy rose, made the excuse that she had the packing to attend to, and left the young people alone together. When the door was shut behind her, Captain Fontanel drew his chair close to that of the girl and said— "Betty, you do not know how happy I have felt since you accepted me. It was a hurried affair in the boat-house, but really, time was running short; as you were off so soon to Devonshire, I had to snatch at the occasion when there was no one by, so I seized old Time by the forelock, and you were so good as to say 'Yes.'" "I—I——" stammered Betty. "But as the thing was done in such haste, I came here to-day to renew my offer of myself, and to make sure of my happiness. You have had time to reflect, and I trust you do not repent." "Oh, you are so good and kind to me!" "Dearest Betty, what a thing to say! It is I—poor, wretched, good-for-naught—who have cause to speak such words to you. Put your hand into mine; it is a short courtship of a soldier, like that of Harry V. and the fair Maid of France. 'I love you: then if you urge me farther than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain.' Am I quoting aright?" Shyly, hesitatingly, she extended her fingers, and he clasped them. Then, shrinking back and looking down, she said: "But I ought to tell you something first, something very serious, which may make you change your mind. I do not, in conscience, feel it right that you should commit yourself till you know." "It must be something very dreadful to make me do that." "It is dreadful. I am apt to be terribly forgetful." "Bless me! So am I. I have passed several of my acquaintances lately and have not recognised them, but that was because I was thinking of you. And I fear I have been very oblivious about my bills; and as to answering letters—good heavens! I am a shocking defaulter." "I do not mean that. I have lapses of memory. Why, I do not even remember——" He sealed her lips with a kiss. "You will not forget this, at any rate, Betty." "Oh, Charlie, no!" "Then consider this, Betty. Our engagement cannot be for long. I am ordered to Egypt, and I positively must take my dear little wife with me and show her the Pyramids. You would like to see them, would you not?" "I should love to." "And the Sphynx?" "Indeed I should." "And Pompey's Pillar?" "Oh, Charlie! I shall love above everything to see you every day."

REHARMONIZING STANDARDS
I) BABE WYD, NEW STEM DROPPED
i) What started as a small rant has evolved into a progressively substantiated discussion. That being said, it is absolutely in its infancy, with plenty of things I neglected to reference (such as almost every counter argument). Still, I urge you to read this in good faith that together, all of us (we) can make a difference. We all have the same mission, so let us live in…harmony ;) ;) ;)
ii) for sake of brevity, I will use big-A "Art" to describe everything art typically encompasses such as fine arts, choir, music, theatre, etc.
iii) last disclaimer: i am a lifelong musician (with an equally irrelevant performance degree), third generation music educator and some of my extended family are collegiate level professors as well. i have never been a public school teacher however, due to my lineage and my experience as a teacher of private music lessons to around 30 or so students, i am particularly interested in pedagogy and Learning Theory. In other words, those who can't do, teach…but those who can't teach, write weirdly aggressive/slightly inflammatory Reddit pieces (Smith, 2021).
II) STEM > STEAM
Dear educators and pedagogues, the hour is upon us. I humbly beg this of you: let us fret not; let us continue to ignore the minutiae of an ever-illusive sense of clarity; and let us begin our quest with haste…for our seat at the table (of academic excellence) is demanding we come and claim it (Jones & Johnson, 2019)! My brethren, here and now, gather and rejoice as we paint the new standardized curriculum red (or shades of Blue Rondo…too niche?). My condolences, I seem to have over-romanticized the preface. Typical of me, but I should probably mature in my choice of rhetoric since Chopin's dead, Bob's my uncle, and somebody in the woodwinds is asking to get down to brass tacks.
III) PICK OUT THE STEAMs & STEMs
The conversation surrounding Art's place in education is as well documented as it is trite. It doesn't take a scholar to regurgitate the influence of Art on human culture and thus, proper education (Brown, 2018). Five minutes on google and one will become inundated by TedTalks and op-ed's on the relationship between music and mathematics (Lee & Choi, 2020); or fine art's reliance on both anatomy, chemistry, and psychology (Davis, 2019); heck, the fact that the majority of the population knows what Hamilton is can be used as a child of the synergy between theatre and engineering (Miranda, 2015). Honestly though? That's the problem…and it sucks…and by the time someone bothers to consider the validity of art as an education, the relevance is fleeting. As such, the only ones willing to go and "bother" …cough cough me…well unfortunately we are not the ones who would benefit the most an education such as this. To most mirror the world of academia, here are the cliff notes for the future CEOs, LinkedIn course sellers, and other slackers: I propose we completely reconstruct the HOWWHOWHY of formal education especially as it relates to Art; and by doing so, integrate it more wholly into the current system, STEM.
IV) STEAM BOAT PAPA D
Despite sincere efforts and noble intentions, there is a fundamental flaw, found in the current STEAM manifesto, that regularly discredits itself. It is worth understanding that the championing of STEAM in favor STEM inherently ignores the affliction in favor of the symptom (Wilson, 2017). But, before I describe the very nature of the disease (and cure) let's briefly skip ahead to acknowledge that it is fool's errand to being a campaign when you are on uneven ground. I had a few good analogies picked out but I just thought of my favorite: this would be analogous to imagining the advent of christianity, with all of it's status-quo abandoning, population ostracizing, out-of-place-white-leader-in -middle-east-0-AD, except, they didn't even work out the kinks yet. Heck, imagine Jesus was still going by Jeez and attending PIB (polytechnic institute of bethlehem) as a carpentry fellow, or whatever (gooooo Fish!) (Ehrman, 2014). Idk if I wound up losing the mark there and honestly I DON'T CARE but you're still here so just imagine trying to convince someone of something that they are adamantly against and oh yeah it's sub-optimal AF. I imagine it would not only be ineffective, but detrimental to the cause (appeasement is easier, but show me a time in history it worked out).
okay, now might be an appropriate time to acknowledge that I never defined STEM or STEAM. I could reiterate what I mentioned from the jump (this is a work in progress) or yes I could easily enough just go type it up since this is clearly not simply a post-post edit but instead, a conscious decision to break the flow of the discussion. you know what? yeah that's exactly it. this is an altruistic sense of style. See, y'all are educators. OF COURSE you know STEM & STEAM…or maybe i learned nothing else as a jazz pianist other than to double down on mistakes until it's just right (Berliner, 1994). d'ya like jazz?
Before I go on, it is worth it to acknowledge just exactly why I do not consider this adjacent to STEAM. To sum it up, I believe that whenever Art is approached, it adds too much subjectivity and diminishes academic rigor thus encouraging those who dismiss the importance (Hallam, 2010). From the words found among original manuscripts written by early "STEAM" advocates, to my own experience as a student, I can confidently say that I have never been involved in any sincere exploration that deems "A" deserving of academia citizenship. Consider any other class. Curriculums begin with history and early fundamentals. As students progress, those fundamentals are built upon and skepticism is incorporated. Alongside, there are varying amounts of "proofs" in the academic sense (think geometry), and standardized examinations (Guyotte et al., 2014). These few talking points are the minimum bar for entry. If we hope for a future full of lifelong artists (of life; not necessarily professional) we MUST integrate those very disciplines INTO and position them as integral to STEM education. No longer can we settle for existing as a gimmick, or a leisure reward for good behavior. Walk into any music or art class and the only semblance of academic standard is an adult at the front of the class with an apple on their desk. Hey, who could blame the naysayers! After all, art could never be standardized and objectified. Fine. Enjoy being an underfunded after-school activity, Ms. paintinmyshoe. Instead, educators need to reimagine these courses more akin to theoretical studies. By this I propose lectures based on understanding the foundational theory; assessing the observation of natural phenomenon that led to technological advancements; the representation as the perfect progression from theoretical to practical applications, a mathematical or logical proof for (insert discipline of choice here).
•••••
So, am I really saying to all but eliminate performative based instruction for students? Of course no…I am indeed. I know I know … but I am a performer! Look, we at least should consider reducing the emphasis. Again, look to the big four. We do not expect every student studying algebra to be regularly participating as mathletes. Math exists in various dimensions of professional world. Boiling down any Art to production of said craft (performing or drawing, for example) removes the importance of musicologists or physical therapists specializing in vocal cord rehabilitation (Baker et al., 2018). And with that, of course, reduces credibility and puts Art on the same shelf as PE (if you think I am minimizing physical education, maybe you should check out the worldwide obesity rate) (WHO, 2020).
I ask you to sincerely indulge me in this thought-experiment. It is time to be honest and critical with yourself and look more critically at your peers in STEM. Yes, the exact ones with that desired status of education reverence you so long for. The cold-hard truth is that students that excel in a particular field do so because of the only real benefit of public education, which is to serve as the opportunity to stumble upon a fixation (Robinson & Aronica, 2015). A good primary school teacher should be assessed by their ability to serve as a conduit for excitement and autonomous research. Any additional advancement (of note) always (yes…always) takes place OUTSIDE the institution; typically somewhere at the intersection of mentorship and individual agency. No one becomes Pythagorus in an 8th grade geometry class. Nobody should then try and become Mahler in your choir class either, Ms. Jones. It is important to create well-founded pupils, I'm sure of it; BUT, what we truly need to encourage are more and more categorical anomalies. The ones that create theories, not study them. After all, C's get degrees …but they don't build bridges. I am not saying that education exists solely to find the extraordinary; but it does exist to create the most well-rounded individual possible.
I'll be the first to admit that I too aspire to become Tom Cruise's understudy, alas I am no scholar of the stage. But even I can see that it is quite the bewildering expectation to expect students (and society at large) to abruptly legitimize and encourage collegiate-level art education, forcing them act as if they didn't just spend the past eight years in a a glorified study hall found in the proverbial Concert Hall of Our Lady of Eternal Budget-Cuts.
V) …BUT YOU SAY HE'S JUST A STEM
Do not worry, the cathedral bells you hear are not just in your head! As i said, the hour is upon us. For some, it is the witching hour (clearly this expose is a result of a sleep-deprived maniac) but you know what my casio watch reads? It's time we face the music - i imagine it to be remarkably similar to Phantom. Because the fat lady? Yeah, already here. She's been here for a while. Mocking educators, forgetting to silence her cellphone at the holiday concert last thursday, evading the IRS…typical musician. Heck, she even bought some land! Nonetheless, she's good people…and she's protected under squatter's rights. Might as well let her sing.
••••
Anyway, I am keen to hear y'all's opinion on this piece and I really appreciate the time and focus you dedicated to reading it.
Keep on fighting the good fight, friends!
Happy Hunting,
Papa Discourse
~References~:
Baker, F. A., Tamplin, J., MacDonald, R. A. R., Ponsford, J., Roddy, C., & Rickard, N. (2018). Exploring the self through songwriting: An analysis of songs composed by people with acquired neurodisability in an inpatient rehabilitation program. Journal of Music Therapy, 55(3), 217-254. https://doi.org/10.1093/jmt/thy007
Berliner, P. F. (1994). Thinking in jazz: The infinite art of improvisation. University of Chicago Press.
Brown, S. (2018). The arts in education: An introduction to aesthetics, theory and pedagogy. Routledge.
Davis, J. H. (2019). Why our schools need the arts. Teachers College Press.
Ehrman, B. D. (2014). How Jesus became God: The exaltation of a Jewish preacher from Galilee. HarperOne.
Guyotte, K. W., Sochacka, N. W., Costantino, T. E., Walther, J., & Kellam, N. N. (2014). STEAM as social practice: Cultivating creativity in transdisciplinary spaces. Art Education, 67(6), 12-19. https://doi.org/10.1080/00043125.2014.11519293
Hallam, S. (2010). The power of music: Its impact on the intellectual, social and personal development of children and young people. International Journal of Music Education, 28(3), 269-289. https://doi.org/10.1177/0255761410370658
Jones, J., & Johnson, J. (2019). The case for STEAM education: Why we need to integrate the arts into STEM curriculum. EdTech Magazine.
Lee, S., & Choi, J. (2020). The effects of a mathematics-music integrated program on mathematical ability and musical aptitude of preschoolers. International Journal of Early Childhood, 52(1), 1-15. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13158-019-00258-z
Miranda, L. (2015). Hamilton: An American musical [Original Broadway cast recording]. Atlantic Records.
Robinson, K., & Aronica, L. (2015). Creative schools: The grassroots revolution that's transforming education. Penguin Books.
Smith, J. (2021). The rise of the Reddit scholar: How social media is changing academic discourse. Journal of Internet Culture, 12(2), 34-47.
WHO. (2020). Obesity and overweight. World Health Organization. https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/obesity-and-overweight
Wilson, E. (2017). STEAM versus STEM: The role of the arts in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics education. Journal of Artistic Research, 8(1), 23-39. https://doi.org/10.22501/jar.345678

A bit of a ramble so here goes nothing because I just had a panic attack.
Nobody knows I've left Christianity. My mom talked about how when she was 8 she was getting molested by her dad. She prayed to God for it to stop and later he got sick or something and he never did it again, supposedly...
I told her multiple fucking times about dad being abusive in many ways, and...she just couldn't be bothered. Pretended I was the problem. Had a slight smirk on her face when she asked if I'd been molested. Had an even bigger gleeful schadenfreude smile when I confronted her about her preferential treatment towards my brother to which she oh so gleefully replied "you're just jealous!!!!" Pushed forgiveness so she didn't have to deal with her burdensome daughter starting to manifest clinical PTSD.
She refused to help my homeless vet uncle who was addicted to drugs and had the combat-related type of PTSD. He later committed suicide and she milked so much supply posting how much she misses her brother every so often.
My atheist friend died of a brain tumor the same year my stupid idiot moron of a father decided to run a smear campaign on me. Found a condolence card my mom had written under a bunch of magazines. She must have forgotten about it and couldn't be botheted to send it.
My narc ex who talks about how he loves God so much still talks shit about me to this day even though I dumped him 15 fucking years ago because I didn't feel physically safe around him throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn't lend him money.
The ex I broke up with after him was verbally tearing me down all the time and constantly making misogynistic comments and made fun of people woth disabilities...his new wife talked-about how much her new husband was such a godly man, went to my Facebook page and sent a friend request to me on my birthday (pretty calculated move) just to hurt me and make me jealous. It did hurt, but not for the reason her small peabody brain was mustering.
I broke it off with him for a darn good reason - why would I be jealous of your future buyer's remorse? It hurt because they called themselves Christians yet they were acting in such a calculated manner.
Went to work at a church camp to getaway from all of the bs. Was ostracized and gossiped about. The cook came up to me and said it wasn't me, it was a pattern he noticed the summer staff doing every year. He said I was doing a great job and to just focus on the campers.
Look I never blamed Jesus, but his followers are making me very, very tired. They enjoy hurting me. They enjoy my suffering. My lack of "forgiveness" makes me bad, although it's really just my unwillingness to continue to put up with abuse. My mother enjoys torturing me yet posts so much God and Jesus bs on her fb. She's a respected veteran. Nobody would believe me.
Maybe I did do something to piss off God. He must enjoy torturing me too. He listened tomy mom but ge likes ignoring me and my cries for help forthelast 8 years. His followers absolutely LOVE hurting me. I think God enjoys my pain. I feel so broken and I don't ever want to go back to church ever again.

When you visit someone for shiva, what do you say to the family members? And is there a 'correct' response back from the family members?
Background: My partner has had an extended relative die, and we went to prayers/shiva for the relative. At the shiva, my partner said we both should wish "long life" to every family member. I did so, because it's his family, so his customs. Literally, no I'm sorry or anything just saying "long life". I was not able to hear how other visitors approached and if they said too "long life".
I have literally never heard this before, and my usual condolence line is "I'm sorry about X. May his/her memory be for a blessing". I have also heard variants of "may you be comforted among the mourners of Zion" and "baruch dayen emet".
My partner is absolutely adamant that "long life" is the correct way to approach mourners (and has never heard of the other phrases.) He is secular (NOOJ) and uncomfortable around death, while I am more religious than he is, though I did not grow up in Judaism. I often care for dying patients and grieving families (primarily Muslim, Hindu, and Christian), and based on my experiences with the dying and grieving, wishing "long life" to mourners seems callous, especially for older people whose spouse has died and young people whose friends have died.
I feel like I am offering them a curse: may you live a long time alone, without this person whom you deeply loved. This is the deepest fear of many mourners I care for: that they have been abandoned, that this grief will go on for ever, and it will be a very long time to live like this.
For peace in the house, I will say whatever my partner wishes me to say to his mourning family members. But can someone please help me understand this? Or the nuances of what lines to say and when?
Bonus, is there a traditional/correct response from the mourner back? (I will likely be a mourner soon, so want to anticipate what I should say if I am wished 'long life'.)
Thank you. Todah raba.

So a death occurred in the family. The person who died had a life insurance policy. To cover the cost of funeral, spouse and kids right. I knew the amount and didn't offer any money towards the funeral. I remember as a kid seeing older ones giving money to the family members of the person who died. If yall knew the amount of the life insurance policy would yall still offer condolence money? (Christian family here)

I can't say this to her face as she always throws rage fits when I have something to say agaisnt her ideas, but, sometimes, I need to let it out. Thankfully, the comments have never been towards me but they are still infuriating.
A year ago, we experienced a sudden lost on our family and this relative was greatly loved by everyone in general, especially that she had multiple siblings and kids. And, since then, all her family have tributed her memory by submitting photos, texts, thoughts, and recopilations in their accounts on media. Today, they all went to a place she loved.
After watching this, my mother ranted to me how they all are mourning the wrong way using vocabulary that they ""shouldn't"" use and uploading old videos to the person who's not longer here. She doesn't care about the inmense recent pain her family has been going through but that her approved mourning and grief methods are perfomed and she's badmouthed all the affected whenever she sees those tributes.
For example, according to my mom, you can't talk to the dead in present nor using pronouns like "you" because the deceased is not longer here and it's in the heaven of the Lord; in the same vein, you must pray with the same passion as you miss your dead relatives, otherwise, it isn't worth it to mourn or pray for them because you don't pray God. Finally, you shouldn't post of your relative ever again because you must get over the lost. If anyone do this, my mother would instantly call them false believers or ignorants.
Unfortunately, I'm the landfill of her dirty mouth and her whining. I've never met someone who's this apathetic and doesn't spare a bit of condolences nor comfort. What happened to the good samaritan principle and comfort those in distress? She claims most days she's the most caritative and selfish Christian and that God knows her heart, however, she'll badmouth and humilliate the same people that need her sympathy at any given chance because they mourn different than her.
This is not a first time occurence, she's told me since 3 months after our relative passed away that all her family is mourning wrongfully and she's looked down their ""weak faith"".

Jesus, I gotta get through 64 failures. Alright. Rapid Fire.
First Four
Howard
I was this close to ripping Wagner to shreds for nearly blowing a double-digit lead with less than 4 to go. Luckily the basketball gods relented with awful shooting on the final possession. The 5th boro rises again, bitches!
Virginia
Damn. I haven’t watched Virginia basketball all year. They really ARE terrible as everyone said they were! Seriously. Only 14 points in the first half?! Five years felt like an eternity, huh? Well, six years feels just like it was yesterday. Committee, this is your fault. We would’ve had a much more entertaining game if Seton Hall or St Johns were playing. DO BETTER.
Montana State
It was about time that Grambling would be featured in the tournament for the first time ever. The basketball gods would not allow both HBCU schools to go out in the First Four, so they served us up the first comeback and overtime win of the tournament instead. Now I have a legit reason to call Montana State’s college town “Boozeman”, and not the carefree blackout manner you’re thinking of. Drink away, lads.
Boise State
Yeah, I call bullshit that Boise State even made it this far. Saw it coming because the Broncos only had one signature nonconference victory. Boise State’s winless record in the tournament is now up to 10. Kindly take your CBS bribe money and get outta here.
First Round
Mississippi State
Finally. A matchup to determine who is the real MSU. And the fake one just got Izzo’d. Happens to the best of teams.
BYU
Duquesne had ended their long drought of 55 years without a tournament. With Dambrot retiring, they claim its not good enough for them. BYU, nice that you made it through the Big 12 gauntlet, but it's time to pay your dues. You know the rules: the Mormons cannot have anything nice. Who knew that a mediocre Big 12 team would be the first upset of the tournament? DUKAINE’S GHANTA FINALS!
Akron
No MACtion?
Long Beach State
Looks like Arizona learned its lesson last year. Nothing more to say.
Wagner
Let me put it in laymen’s terms. UNC is DEEP; Wagner has only two men on the bench they could actively play. Even if Wagner played their best, they cannot beat UNC on that fact alone. Points for trying, though.
Morehead
Remember, kids. Be like Illinois and use a condom before performing sex. Even oral.
South Carolina
It seemed that my bet on South Carolina being a sleeper backfired. Oregon was blazing hot off of their Pac-12 Tournament win. And it turns out Jermaine Cousinard, a former Gamecock player, dropped 40 on his former team. Karma’s a bitch, huh? Nobody in Columbia cares one bit as they will be cheering on the women. But I know that the men ‘Cocks will have a lot more in them in the coming years. Ugh, I cornered myself, didn’t I? I swear, it was unintentional!
Nevada
This was probably the most brutal choke of the tournament. Nevada had Dayton down by 19 with 7 to go, figuratively on the ropes. But then Nevada would somehow allow Dayton to score 20, yes count it, 20 unanswered points in the last 4 minutes. Literally all of Reno is having an aneurysm for just me saying that. No wonder why UCLA dumped Steve Alford when they had the chance. (YOU BLEW ITTTTT!)
Colorado State
You thought that Virginia’s performance was embarrassing enough? Why not make it 11 points in the first half for the team that beat them? Yes, Colorado State put up only 11 points in the first half. With the way things are going, this is contagious and Texas will get it next.
McNeese
Of course. The one team that I actively picked for an upset lays an egg. Nothing to take away from McNeese with how they had 30 wins to the season. But it takes more than a 30-win record to topple Gonzaga.
South Dakota State
People were saying this was a potential 15 seed upset, in which I did not buy. Iowa State is better than that. With the way the Cyclones are striking hot, it’s too late to bet against them early.
Kentucky
Built for March, huh? Really? Built for March? Oh yeah, you’re built alright. TO SELF DESTRUCT! First St Peters, now Oakland! An Oakland team that has a geriatric as a head coach?! An Oakland team that is winless in the tournament proper (that is First Round onward)?! And you’re telling me that the only guy that showed up in this deep lineup that Kentucky has is Antonio Reeves? I want to say that Calipari should be fired to oblivion, but unfortunately for the Kentucky Fried Kittens, his contract is Jimbo Fisher-level unescapable! This class of failure should be studied for centuries to come. They should be in a choke exhibit alongside Purdue in the Naismith Hall of Fame, if there even is a thing. One name rings out in the night as Calipari makes the long walk towards his locker room. JACK. FUCKING. GOLKHE!
And one more thing, fuck Greg Sankey and anyone who want to diminish the power of these smaller conferences. The SEC was 0-3 to start the tournament.
St Peters
Oh, my wishful thinking gets the best of me. With Kentucky’s loss and Purdue’s loss last year to FDU, maybe I changed my perception of the greatest Cinderella program of all time. It was dumb luck all along. I mean, I wasn’t unfazed at all. Tennessee is a real contender. And without Doug Edert and your former head coach, it just was smooth sailing for the Vols. Fun while it lasted. Back into the MAAC pit you go.
Texas Tech
Well, now that Cream Abdul-Jabbar can’t compete in this tournament, I have to look for another stud to root for. Ooh I got it. DJ Burns! And on a hot NC State team coming off of the ACC Tournament. And of course they beat a mediocre Big 12 team. A recurring theme, isn’t it?
Drake
How’s it feel to be the most hated team in the tournament, Drake? You had it coming. Thanks, Wazzu.
Samford
Not even Kansas is immune to the Big 12 mediocrity. They nearly blew a 22-point lead to Samford of all teams. But then, Nicolas Timberlake woke up. But even then Samford will not quit. BUT WAIT! Do I hear a make-up call from the MVP of the game? IT IS! IT’S REFBALL! Timberlake was blocked on a dunk attempt to get the lead to 3. Despite a Samford player touching only the ball, they called a foul and he would make both free throws. With Samford crashing and burning on the next possession, it’s safe to say that they were screwed.
Colgate
Another dominant year in the Patriot League and Colgate STILL can’t make it past the First Round. Yearly tradition.
Florida Atlantic
OK. I'm actually pissed. This contagion that Virginia unleashed had crossed over regions. Florida Atlantic, a very good shooting team, was held to 20 points in the first half. And the funny thing about it was they were leading by one. But of course, Northwestern made them play down to their level and controlled the tempo all the way through. Turnovers were the Owls’ undoing. The worst part was that you had them on the ropes and failed to defend the last shot of regulation for Northwestern. It took an overtime surge for the other Wildcat team to put you away. All this hype for nothing. Imagine if Lamont Butler didn’t make that onions shot last year.
Stetson
Let’s face it. Taking on #1 overall in the tournament will automatically get you a trip to St James Infirmary. Accept this fact and walk home.
UAB
It’s typically hard to knock off the runner-up of last year’s tournament. Especially because the Aztecs retained most of their guys. I’ll give it this, you put up a massive effort. It just didn’t go your way at crunch time.
New Mexico
The 11-seeded upsets in the First Round were very common this year. There is one dud: New Mexico. They were supposed to hold down the Mountain West and yet they got blown out by Clemson. I know I’m ranting, but this is your Mountain West Champion, committee. Yeah right, they are superior to those “mid” Big East teams. Fuck off!
Western Kentucky
The Hilltoppers were a big surprise bid when they won C-USA. I’ll give them credit that they kept it close for most of the game. But with Marquette pulling away late, it wasn’t meant to be. To Bijan Robinson, my sincerest condolences. The day that Kentucky flips colors will be the day hell freezes over. *Mitch McConnell steps away*. No, I don’t mean in politics!
Florida
The Primetime effect is real. I have no words to the bloodbath that I watched from this matchup. When this match is a fistfight between two scrappy upstart programs and both teams each put up 100 points, all you could say is bravo. But next time, Florida, get a defense.
Auburn
Just when I spotlighted Auburn and how they turned their basketball team around, this happened. At least those Tigers could blame a culprit this time. Auburn was having a fine lead early. But then in just three minutes, Chad Baker-Mazara would throw elbows and get ejected for a Flagrant 2. The whole team fell apart after that. Greg Sankey, this is your champion from the SEC Tournament. And now Auburn gets the ultimate embarrassment: Yale getting a visit from your rival head coach just to rub it in. The Ivy League gets the last laugh again.
Nebraska
Ironic that the same matchup of Aggies vs Huskers would be for both the men’s and women’s tournament and in the same round on the same day. With that being said, even with Nebraska’s long absence, they still can’t break the mold. It had to happen against a former conference rival, too. And in the presence of Johnny Football. *airhorn* Goddamnit, Huskers.
Grambling
Welcome to the annual Purdue Invitational. Do any of you small programs have what it takes to bring down the “giant” of the Big Ten? Up to the challenge is Grambling, in their first tournament ever. So much for the sentimental as Purdue FINALLY gets their shit together and thoroughly rinsed them all four quarters. Still, wasn’t as impressive as the other #1 seeds. Baby steps. You are one step closer to dying with honor than dying while being laughed at.
Charleston
Well, at least Alabama is normal. Greg Sankey could have at least a bit of sanity that the top-scoring offense would be no match for a scrub program like Charleston. At least you tried to keep up, but that’s what a team with no defense gets ya. NOW you can talk shit at Auburn, Bama fans. Give em hell.
Vermont
With Caleb Foster out for the tournament, Duke is gonna have a bigger challenge. Their ineptitude was showcased in the first half against the Catamounts. But like any prime competitive school, Duke pulls away when Vermont gets a sense of hope in the air. For Vermont, it’s not March Madness anymore; it’s the season of the sticks.
Longwood
Remember, kids. Guests at Phi Slama Jama parties are only for people that don’t have long wood. Ugh, that was even more lame.
Wisconsin
There is not a more bipolar team than Wisconsin. What I loved about them is, even in their bad losses, they made each game competitive. This was inexcusable. You got served by JMU by 11 points. JMU goes on to the 2nd round for the first time in 41 years. The cheesehead part of the Wisconsin proceeds to drown themselves in beer while the Marquette side continues on.
TCU
Your Hypnotoad powers are strong, I admit. But it is no match to the hyponotic “Winning Team/Losing Team” Chant. Look it up on Youtube in all seriousness. It’s one of the best basketball chants on Earth.
St Mary’s
There is a reason that ESPN doesn’t prop up the other teams in the WCC. This is why. A 12-seed upset by a team that got their first March Madness win out of three tries. That team is Grand Canyon University. Ironically, they tangoed with the Zags last year, so they learned well. Saint Mary’s hopes were just like in their name. Gael: Gone with the Wind.
Round of 32
Dayton
A legit matchup of pure talent. Two of the best players face-to-face. Da’Ron Holmes and Caleb Love. They didn’t disappoint. But with Dayton being a mid-major, they just didn’t have the depth to keep up. At least you could hang on to the ankle breaker by Kobe Elvis as your souvenir for the tournament.
Kansas
If this was a few years ago, you would consider it a dream match. But Gonzaga with the off year they had, you would think they would lay down and die playing Kansas. I assumed wrong. When playing against Mark Few’s Gonzaga, you cannot put your foot off the pedal for one moment. What happened was a Jayhawk massacre. Kansas’ flaws from last game showed in spades. Not even the refs could save them this time. Talk about all the easy draws Gonzaga has in the past, this one was actually impressive. How impressive, you ask? Gonzaga won by 21 points. I think we have a new sleeper in the tournament.
Michigan State
Speaking of dream match, we get our first “blue blood” clash early on. We get to celebrate yet another tradition: Tom Izzo getting a tournament win and dipping. To be fair, it was UNC, but I’m sure that Izzo is past his expiration date. But of course, they won’t realize it until the streak of consecutive tournament appearances ends.
Wazzu
Welp, with this loss, Wazzu is demoted to being a mid-major. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. The Cyclones’ path of destruction marches on.
Oakland
We live in a certain moment in time to witness two titans among men clash for much to our content. DJ Burns vs Jack Gohlke. Suffice to say their battle was legendary. Overtime worthy, in fact. Oakland looking to become the first 14-seed to knock off an 11. NC State looking to continue their hot streak. In overtime, the Pack simply had more gas in them. Golkhe, you had your moment in the sun. Now bask in the glory of the overweight wonder of DJ Burns. 24 points, 11 rebounds for him in the game. Tremble at his feet, you peasants!
Texas
What did I tell you? I told Virginia’s curse was contagious. I called Texas having the same first-half scoring woes two days ago. I call an immediate quarantine for the whole city of Austin. No, I don’t care that you made it close against the Vols. NO EXCEPTIONS. Once again, folks, Texas isn’t back. Tennessee is the real UT. But, of course, with Texas moving into the SEC, this will only be the beginning of this rivalry. Now lock down Knoxville before it gets to them, too. They have a week to recover if it gets to them anyway.
This also is the final appearance of Max Abmas in the tournament. A true legend of the game, first leading Oral Roberts to the Sweet 16, ending it as a Longhorn. Go tear it up.
Duquesne
Dambrot’s final ride was a joy to witness. Duquesne achieving their ambition of going to the tournament after 55 years is something Yinzers have dreamed of for eons. The other is Pitt being a legit team again. But I digress, Illinois destroyed what foolish hope for the Dukes to go on a meaningful Cinderella run. I myself may not be a Yinzer, but for all of us, we salute Dambrot on all of his future endeavors. Peace out, legend.
Oregon
You would be wrong to sleep on Oregon at this point. Cousinard was deadly last game, after all. What we got from these two was another classic that went to 2 overtimes. Oregon was clinging on for dear life. That Cousinard guy had 32 points and made a three-pointer to tie the game and send it to Double OT. But Creighton does just enough to boost them up to the next round. Could not fault either team for a performance like that. But more challenges are ahead for Creighton.
Colorado
This was not the only Big East/Pac 12 matchup in this round. Colorado is a very good shooting team, as we witnessed last round. But when you play a solid team like Marquette, the Primetime magic wears off. It was close, but Marquette showed up when they needed to. The Big East, by the way, are still undefeated in the tournament. Just saying.
Utah State
Stepping up next in the Purdue Invitational is Utah State. They survived the might of the Hypnotoad in the first round. With them taking on Purdue, there is always a shot. Let’s see how they do. *nuclear blast*. Holy fuck, Purdue! I know you had a lot of unmitigated anger for smaller teams but was it necessary to put up 106 points? This kind of performance would make every white man in Utah shriek in horror. Where the hell was this Boilermaker team in tournaments past? More of this, please. But what do I know? The competition is getting harder each passing round. Enjoy punishment via Gonzaga.
James Madison
What a year for JMU in athletics. First ever bowl bid in football even though they weren’t supposed to be there and now their first NCAA tournament win while in the Sun Belt. Now they bow out the tournament with the ultimate honor: getting bitch slapped by the real Duke. Coach K approved.
Baylor
Another average Big 12 team has fallen. I would’ve expected better on their performance with their 5 stars. In the end, tigers beat bears apparently. The ACC so far are undefeated in the First and Second Rounds (minus Virginia).
Grand Canyon
Am I seeing this with my own eyes? Alabama in trouble against a small school and missing shots? Call it a whiplash all you want, but there is more to this. Alabama has always been a team that plays dirty, and good god this game was nasty. Turnovers and fouls galore. This sloppiness was enough to keep GCU in. But unfortunately, GCU also had a malaise in shooting, especially in the second half with no three-pointers made in that span. With Mark Sears commanding the game and Bama chewing clock, Bama would seal off any hope for a massive upset. Nice try, Lopes, but even in basketball, Bama is inevitable.
Fun Fact: Did you know GCU, a private Christian College, is publically traded? Me neither.
Northwestern
The only program that was not heavily affected by the hazing allegations last summer basically had its season ended like a moth to a flame. More prey for the unstoppable Huskies force. In fact, UConn has broken the 8-year streak of defending champions not making it out the first week.
Yale
The aspirations of an Ivy League program is contractually bounded to their academics. In other words, in any case, it is tradition that an Ivy League school never gets past the first round. Call it conspiracy that Yale can’t play up to their abilities to a reeling Aztecs team. In fact, San Diego needs this bounce back.
Texas A&M
The Aggies continue their reunion tour with a former Southwestern rival. Sadly, this is where the 12th man’s cheers get drowned out by the dunks of Phi Slama Jama. I mean, the Cougers can’t disappoint. After all, they got Jim Nantz in the audience. It may be a close game, but it’s fine. The Aggies have a second to work with down by three. There is absolutely no- HOLY SHIT HE JUST MADE THAT!
*colored bars*
Let’s not talk about that. There we go. A reboot in overtime and the Cougs did enough this time to keep the Aggies out of contention. The frat is saved for now. Houston, please don’t scare us like that.
Round of 16
Arizona
I’m sorry. What the FUCK was that, Arizona? What the actual fuck was I watching? How were you this piss poor beyond the arch? Clemson was a 6-seed, an EASY opponent, and they just walked all over you. I mean, I knew you were gonna blew it in the Round of 16, but this is unacceptable! The fate of Pac-12 basketball was in your palms and you let it slip like you had grease hands. And of course, when you needed him most, Caleb Love just had to lay an egg. Thanks to you Wildcats, Clemson just got in their first Elite 8 in more than 40 years. And not to mention the ACC is still undefeated in the tournament (minus Virginia).
San Diego State
Normally we don’t get a Finals rematch in the tournament, but we have it for UConn and San Diego State. To save you the trouble, this was a wash rinse repeat performance from UConn. The Aztecs would not have a chance to get to the finals anyway, let’s face it. UConn is still unstoppable.
By the way, this eliminates the Mountain West this season. Another reminder that the Big East is still undefeated so far.
UNC
This was a matchup that I’d rather see both teams lose. When going up against Bama, you have to play their game. Granted, UNC played with all their might, copying the Tide beyond the arch. But when the going gets tough, Nate Oats remembers he has a defense and closed the gates very late with Grant Nelson coming up clutch. The first #1 seed is gone. Nothing on UNC except the last drive, but you gotta give credit where credit is due. The ACC’s win streak is over, and so is their best chance of getting a championship for the conference. So now, Alabama will be facing… Clemson. *internal screaming* We just could not escape this, can we?
Iowa State
This had been arguably the greatest basketball year for Iowa State in their history. Too bad things come to an end quick in the tournament. Especially when a more competent regional rival takes you down. You’ll be back eventually. Hold your heads high. Hold on, who’s still left in the Big 12?
Marquette
I pointed out in my Hater’s Guide post that Marquette goes on cold streaks against inferior opponents. Well that problem has reared its ugly head. Yet another season ending in bitter disappointment for Milwaukee; losing to a double-digit seed. It is NC State, America’s team, but that is not a logical excuse. The almighty reign of DJ Burns continues. We officially have our Cinderella for the tournament.
Gonzaga
They may be mid-major, but it is a hefty challenge stepping up in the Purdue Invitational: Mark Few’s Gonzaga. No introduction. Purdue, you’ve done enough. Now it’s time for you to lay down your armor and make way for the real teams. Wait? Why are you scoring efficiently? Am I seeing this with my own eyes? Purdue is a REAL contender? I mean, I was expecting Gonzaga to run out of gas eventually. Maybe I am wrong about the Boilers.
Houston
This was the big test for Houston. They are the final Big 12 team remaining and they’re going up against Duke. But trouble strikes early. *injury* Jamal Shead out early for an ankle injury. With the Big 12 player of the year out, Duke would rise to the occasion and decommission Phi Slama Jama for the year. Once again, the Cougers go home empty-handed in the most heartbreak fashion. Tar Heel fans are salty as hell.
Creighton
It was an even match on paper and was what I was expected. Tennessee would pull away late with Dalton Knecht making defensive plays while scoring efficiently. At least you didn’t choke. And oh how the tables turned. The remaining two SEC teams both defeated their respective opponents while UConn is left in the Big East and the Big 12 has no team left. But Tennessee has to stop a train to get to the Final Four. Knecht is not superman, just saying. And yes, I’m confident this time.
Elite Eight
Illinois
“WE WANT UCONN!”
God, this curse extends to the hardwood now? Well Illinois, you made it this far. And hey, you went toe to toe with UConn… for a full half. That was until you gave up 30 unanswered points to them. I mean I said it constantly but goddamn this Huskies team is DEADLY. If you want the epitome of why this is a championship team, this is their moment. And Illinois isn’t a scrub either. They’re just too good for the field. Back you go to the middle of nowhere, Illini. This leaves one Mid-10 team remaining. Guess who.
Clemson
It’s time I regale you of a story; a tale loosely based on the book of Exodus. It may or may not be biblically accurate. There once was an illegitimate Wisconsin boy, Nate Moses. Alabama had suffered for decades in basketball, the figurative slaves for their football program. But for this story, Clemson are the pharaohs. One day while he was in exile, Nate Moses saw a sign of the one true God: Roll Tide Willie. When he returned, he turned the Clemson sea Crimson Red and the Tiger faithful parched for days. With Bama’s awe-inspiring talent, Nate Moses would part the sea and the Tide would make it to the promised land. The Tide would close in on both sides for their rival. And so onward, Bama would move on to the Final Four. And would live by one true commandment: Thou shall not give a piss about nothing but the tide.
Tennessee
Next in the Purdue invitational, it’s a rematch from early in the season. The Vols had the misfortune to witness the masterclass of Zach Edey themselves for a second time. It was by far his best game, eclipsing 16 rebounds and 40 points, a career-high. The only way that Dalton Knecht would match up with him is if he was playing Connect 4. See what I did there? We truly live in a fucked up timeline. For the first time in 45 years, the Boilermakers are in the Final Four!
Dook
It wasn’t enough that we had Duke vs UNC a couple of years back to send off Coach K, we have another in-state rivalry with a Final Four bid on the line. Surely Duke would put their illegitimate Raleigh cucks to the grave and… why is the Earth rumbling?
*brass bonanza*
RRRRRRRRRRRALIEGHHHHHHH! DID YOU MISS ME?! SURE I HAVE MY DAY GIG OF GETTING CANES FANS TO COME TO OUR GAMESSSSSS, BUT I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THE JUNIOR CIRCUIT! AND WITHOUT A SHADOW OF A DOUBT, I CAN CONFIRM: THE PACK IS BACKKKKK! WITNESS THE MAJESTY OF OUR OVERWEIGHT OVERLORD DJ BURNS, WHO, DESPITE HIS STATURE, CAN SURE PUT UP POINTS! THE SPIRIT OF JIMMY V IS INVIGORATED IN THIS SQUAD! I CAN FEEL IT COURSING IN MY VEINNNNNS! WE MADE IT TO THE FINAL FOUR FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE “THE TIP” WHICH CAUSED ALL OF THE REST NORTH CAROLINA TO DROWN IN SALT FOR A YEAR. THE PACK IS NOT STOPPING! UNDEFEATED SINCE THE ACC TOURNEY! AMERICA IS BEHIND US! SEE YA IN PHOENIXXXXXX! PACK THE STANDS IN RED! DO IT!!! (this message was not endorsed by or does not represent the Carolina Hurricanes)
*colored bars*
What the fuck happened? Anyway, we are down to our Final Four. No more true blue bloods, all chaos. UConn, the #1 overall is still in the mix. But they have an interesting matchup. Alabama will be facing them in their first Final Four in program history… and no one is happy because it’s Bama. On the other side, #1 Purdue somehow is alive. But next match will be their final test to suppress their choking temptation. A fellow team that hasn’t made the Final Four since the early 80s, NC State, will try to keep their Cinderella hopes alive. They are America’s team, btw. What will be at stake? For UConn, it is coronation. For Purdue, it is legacy. For NC State, its for Jimmy V. For Bama, its for pissing off everyone again. So who will win?
For the National Championship, I still have UConn, but I have a gut feeling about NC State. UConn will win the national championship anyway because no one comes close to their level. Call me bias, fuck you. Just know that Dan Hurley will inaugurate a new blue blood by the end of next weekend.

Greetings,
As the topic says, I just found out that our wonderful school counsellor just lost her son to suicide. He was 40 years old. I cannot imagine the pain of the loss.
Obviously I want to respect her religion but want to express my sincerest condolences. How can I best do it? She is a school councillor and is the rock for many students with tragic life experiences
I feel this is further compacted by it being Ramadan. Do you have any advice for me?
Kind regards,
A thoughtful Christian with a heavy heart for someone that does so much for others.

The Holy Hieromartyr Kirion II (known in the world as George Sadzaglishvili) was born on November 10, 1855 in the village of Nikozi in the Gori district. His father was a priest who served in the mountains and did a great job of restoring and establishing Christian traditions among the Ossetians.
He enrolled at the parochial school in Ananuri, then at the theological school in Gori, and finally at Tbilisi Seminary.
In 1880 he graduated from the Kiev Theological Academy and was appointed assistant dean of the Odessa Theological Seminary. From 1883 to 1886 Saint Kirion was active in the educational life of Gori, Telavi, Kutaisi, and Tbilisi. In 1886 he was appointed supervisor of the Georgian monasteries and dean of the schools of the Society for the Renewal of Christianity in the Caucasus. He directed the parochial schools, established libraries and rare book collections within them, and published articles on the history of the Georgian Church, folklore and literature under the pseudonyms Iverieli, Sadzagelov, and Liakhveli (the Liakhvi River flows through his native region of Shida [Inner] Kartli, the central part of eastern Georgia).
After the death of his wife and children, he became a monk, assumed the name of Kyrion, and was ordained to the position of Archimandrite at Kvatakhevi Monastery in 1896. Kirion continued his scholarly pursuits and intensified his spiritual labors. He collected folklore and ethnographic materials and studied artifacts from ancient Georgian churches. He generously donated the reliquaries and rare manuscripts he found to the antiquities collections at the Church Museum of Tbilisi and the Society for the Propagation of Literacy among the Georgians.
In 1898 Kirion published a description of the historical monuments of Liakhvi Gorge. His publication is an important resource for scholars and historians, since most of the monuments he describes were toppled by Georgia’s ideological and national enemies in subsequent years. (Kirion would later join the Moscow Archaeological Society.)
In August of 1898 Archimandrite Kirion was consecrated Bishop of Alaverdi.
Saint Kirion began at once to rebuild Alaverdi Church, and he offered his own resources for this momentous task. At the same time, he began to study the ancient artifacts of Kakheti and Hereti in eastern Georgia. Among the manuscripts he turned over to the Church Museum of Tbilisi was a Holy Gospel from the year 1098, unknown to scholars until that time.
Bishop Kirion was a tireless researcher, with a broad range of scholarly interests. To his pen belong more than forty monographs on various themes relating to the history of the Georgian Church and Christian culture in Georgia. He compiled a short terminological dictionary of the ancient Georgian language and, with the linguist Grigol Qipshidze, a History of Georgian Philology.
Kirion fought the appropriation of Georgian churches by the Armenian Monophysites. He sent a detailed memorandum to the Russian exarch in Georgia demanding that the confiscated Orthodox churches be returned.
In 1901 Kirion was installed as Bishop of Gori. By that time it had become clear to the Georgian exarchate that the educated and progressive clergymen were endorsing the holy hierarch Kirion and contesting the abolition of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church. But the government found a way out of this “dangerous situation” by frequently reassigning Saint Kirion to serve in different parts of the Russian Empire: in 1903 he was reassigned to Cherson, in 1904 to Orel, and in 1906 to Sokhumi. In Sokhumi, Saint Kirion exerted every effort to restore and revive the historical Georgian churches and monasteries, though he would soon be reassigned to the Kovno diocese.
In 1905, at the demand of Georgia’s intelligentsia (under the leadership of Saint Ilia the Righteous), the regime formed an extraordinary commission to formally consider the question of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church. Saint Kirion delivered two lectures to the commission: one on the reasons behind Georgia’s struggle for the restoration of an autocephalous Church, and the other on the role of nationality in the life of the Church. The commission rejected the Georgian claims to autocephaly and subjected the leaders of the movement to harsh repression.
In 1907 Saint Ilia the Righteous was killed, and the government forbade Saint Kirion to travel to Georgia to pay his last respects. Saint Kirion managed only to send a letter of condolence to Saint Ilia’s loved ones. In the months that followed, the regime tightened down even more severely on Saint Kirion. In 1908 he was accused of conspiring in the murder of Exarch Nikon, deprived of the rank of bishop, and arrested. This treacherous deed roused the indignation not only of the Georgian people but of the faithful of Russia as well. Even the democratic forces in Europe founded a society for the protection of the rights of Bishop Kirion and gathered signatures to demand his release from prison. The bishop himself humbly carried the cross of his persecution and consoled his sympathizers with the words of the great Georgian poet Shota Rustaveli: “‘Not a single rose is plucked from this world without thorns.’ We must bear our suffering with love, since suffering is the fruit of love and in suffering we will find our strength!”
By the year 1915 the regime had ceased to persecute Saint Kirion. They restored him to the bishopric and elevated him as Archbishop of Polotsk and Vitebsk in western Russia. He was not, however, permitted to return to his motherland.
In March of 1917 the Georgian Apostolic Orthodox Church declared its autocephaly restored. At the incessant demands of the Georgian people, Saint Kirion finally returned to his motherland. One hundred and twenty cavalrymen met him in Aragvi Gorge (along the Georgian Military Highway) and reverently escorted him to the capital. In Tbilisi Saint Kirion was met with great honor. Soon after he was enthroned, Saint Kirion sent an appeal to all the Orthodox patriarchs of the world in which he described in detail the history of the Georgian Church and requested an official recognition of her autocephaly.
On May 26, 1918, Georgia declared its independence. The next day Catholicos-Patriarch Kirion II presided during a service of thanksgiving. The chief shepherd and his flock rejoiced at the restoration of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church and the independence of the Georgian state, though from the beginning they perceived the imminence of the Bolshevik danger. The socialist revolution, now showing its true face, posed an enormous threat to the young republic and her Church.
On June 27, 1918, Catholicos-Patriarch Kirion II was found murdered in the patriarchal residence at Martqopi Monastery. The investigation was a mere formality and the guilty were never found. Rumors were even spread that Saint Kirion had shot himself.
Kyrion's death remains a mystery to this day. He was buried at the Tbilisi Sioni Cathedral.
When the Holy Synod of the Georgian Apostolic Orthodox Church convened on October 17, 2002, it canonized Holy Hieromartyr Kirion and numbered him among the saints.
(from johnsanidopoulos.com)

The Holy Hieromartyr Kirion II (known in the world as George Sadzaglishvili) was born on November 10, 1855 in the village of Nikozi in the Gori district. His father was a priest who served in the mountains and did a great job of restoring and establishing Christian traditions among the Ossetians.
He enrolled at the parochial school in Ananuri, then at the theological school in Gori, and finally at Tbilisi Seminary.
In 1880 he graduated from the Kiev Theological Academy and was appointed assistant dean of the Odessa Theological Seminary. From 1883 to 1886 Saint Kirion was active in the educational life of Gori, Telavi, Kutaisi, and Tbilisi. In 1886 he was appointed supervisor of the Georgian monasteries and dean of the schools of the Society for the Renewal of Christianity in the Caucasus. He directed the parochial schools, established libraries and rare book collections within them, and published articles on the history of the Georgian Church, folklore and literature under the pseudonyms Iverieli, Sadzagelov, and Liakhveli (the Liakhvi River flows through his native region of Shida [Inner] Kartli, the central part of eastern Georgia).
After the death of his wife and children, he became a monk, assumed the name of Kyrion, and was ordained to the position of Archimandrite at Kvatakhevi Monastery in 1896. Kirion continued his scholarly pursuits and intensified his spiritual labors. He collected folklore and ethnographic materials and studied artifacts from ancient Georgian churches. He generously donated the reliquaries and rare manuscripts he found to the antiquities collections at the Church Museum of Tbilisi and the Society for the Propagation of Literacy among the Georgians.
In 1898 Kirion published a description of the historical monuments of Liakhvi Gorge. His publication is an important resource for scholars and historians, since most of the monuments he describes were toppled by Georgia’s ideological and national enemies in subsequent years. (Kirion would later join the Moscow Archaeological Society.)
In August of 1898 Archimandrite Kirion was consecrated Bishop of Alaverdi.
Saint Kirion began at once to rebuild Alaverdi Church, and he offered his own resources for this momentous task. At the same time, he began to study the ancient artifacts of Kakheti and Hereti in eastern Georgia. Among the manuscripts he turned over to the Church Museum of Tbilisi was a Holy Gospel from the year 1098, unknown to scholars until that time.
Bishop Kirion was a tireless researcher, with a broad range of scholarly interests. To his pen belong more than forty monographs on various themes relating to the history of the Georgian Church and Christian culture in Georgia. He compiled a short terminological dictionary of the ancient Georgian language and, with the linguist Grigol Qipshidze, a History of Georgian Philology.
Kirion fought the appropriation of Georgian churches by the Armenian Monophysites. He sent a detailed memorandum to the Russian exarch in Georgia demanding that the confiscated Orthodox churches be returned.
In 1901 Kirion was installed as Bishop of Gori. By that time it had become clear to the Georgian exarchate that the educated and progressive clergymen were endorsing the holy hierarch Kirion and contesting the abolition of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church. But the government found a way out of this “dangerous situation” by frequently reassigning Saint Kirion to serve in different parts of the Russian Empire: in 1903 he was reassigned to Cherson, in 1904 to Orel, and in 1906 to Sokhumi. In Sokhumi, Saint Kirion exerted every effort to restore and revive the historical Georgian churches and monasteries, though he would soon be reassigned to the Kovno diocese.
In 1905, at the demand of Georgia’s intelligentsia (under the leadership of Saint Ilia the Righteous), the regime formed an extraordinary commission to formally consider the question of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church. Saint Kirion delivered two lectures to the commission: one on the reasons behind Georgia’s struggle for the restoration of an autocephalous Church, and the other on the role of nationality in the life of the Church. The commission rejected the Georgian claims to autocephaly and subjected the leaders of the movement to harsh repression.
In 1907 Saint Ilia the Righteous was killed, and the government forbade Saint Kirion to travel to Georgia to pay his last respects. Saint Kirion managed only to send a letter of condolence to Saint Ilia’s loved ones. In the months that followed, the regime tightened down even more severely on Saint Kirion. In 1908 he was accused of conspiring in the murder of Exarch Nikon, deprived of the rank of bishop, and arrested. This treacherous deed roused the indignation not only of the Georgian people but of the faithful of Russia as well. Even the democratic forces in Europe founded a society for the protection of the rights of Bishop Kirion and gathered signatures to demand his release from prison. The bishop himself humbly carried the cross of his persecution and consoled his sympathizers with the words of the great Georgian poet Shota Rustaveli: “‘Not a single rose is plucked from this world without thorns.’ We must bear our suffering with love, since suffering is the fruit of love and in suffering we will find our strength!”
By the year 1915 the regime had ceased to persecute Saint Kirion. They restored him to the bishopric and elevated him as Archbishop of Polotsk and Vitebsk in western Russia. He was not, however, permitted to return to his motherland.
In March of 1917 the Georgian Apostolic Orthodox Church declared its autocephaly restored. At the incessant demands of the Georgian people, Saint Kirion finally returned to his motherland. One hundred and twenty cavalrymen met him in Aragvi Gorge (along the Georgian Military Highway) and reverently escorted him to the capital. In Tbilisi Saint Kirion was met with great honor. Soon after he was enthroned, Saint Kirion sent an appeal to all the Orthodox patriarchs of the world in which he described in detail the history of the Georgian Church and requested an official recognition of her autocephaly.
On May 26, 1918, Georgia declared its independence. The next day Catholicos-Patriarch Kirion II presided during a service of thanksgiving. The chief shepherd and his flock rejoiced at the restoration of the autocephaly of the Georgian Church and the independence of the Georgian state, though from the beginning they perceived the imminence of the Bolshevik danger. The socialist revolution, now showing its true face, posed an enormous threat to the young republic and her Church.
On June 27, 1918, Catholicos-Patriarch Kirion II was found murdered in the patriarchal residence at Martqopi Monastery. The investigation was a mere formality and the guilty were never found. Rumors were even spread that Saint Kirion had shot himself.
Kyrion's death remains a mystery to this day. He was buried at the Tbilisi Sioni Cathedral.
When the Holy Synod of the Georgian Apostolic Orthodox Church convened on October 17, 2002, it canonized Holy Hieromartyr Kirion and numbered him among the saints.
(from johnsanidopoulos.com)

Pretty much just the title. All I really have is the plot, themes and characters, but I'd like to see if anyone finds it offensive due to a preacher being the villain. Not that I think it'll ever get made, but if it does I'd like to hear your thoughts. Be as harsh as possible, the last thing I want to do is offend the average church goer.
Feel free to ask me any questions by the way!
PLOT;
Set in modern day post pandemic America, David Joshua has returned from the fall of Afghanistan excited to see his mother Gladys despite his PTSD.
However, upon turning up to his small town childhood home David finds that Gladys has given her life savings and those of the local church goers to the prosperity gospel Bible thumper mega church pastor Kenneth Joel because she believed his televangelist messages on the Internet.
The arrival of her son and the stress of losing the money is too much for Gladys, who suffers a fatal heart attack shortly after.
At her funeral, a reminder to pay and a request for more money pamphlet is sent from Kenneth along with a clearly AI generated message of condolence that spells David's mother's name as Galdays.
This is too much for David, who now plans a heist to steal Kenneth's famous priceless golden bull ring off his hand to sell for everyone's funds. He is joined by a host of characters from the church, and they plan to steal the ring during the grand beginning of Kenneths 50 state playbook (where Kenneth preaches at one mega church in every state for 50 days straight).
They do succeed despite trails and tribulations, with Elvis song Bosom of Abraham (thank you Elvis for this great recommendation) and then the Elvis cover of I've got Confidence plays over the credits.
THEMES;
Prosperity gospel is bad and used by people for exploitation.
CHARACTERS;
Kenneth Joel - antagonist arrested at end for all the scams he's pulled
David Joshua - Protagonist
Aretha Adams - Love interest and pickpocket
Quincy Adams - The Lancer (Han Solo role) who can get them the equipment because he "knows a guy"
Mr Fred - The financier of the plot and Gladys best friend
Father Jesse Brimstone - A former bank robber in the 1970s, he was kicked by Elvis off a Las Vegas stage where he was apprehended by the venues security manager Chuck Red, father of newborns Elwood and Jake. After spending time in prison and befriending the chaplain, Jesse decided to rebuild his life by following the Lord in his childhood hometown. He acts as the teams advisor, having done this before.
Richard Brimstone - Jesse's gay nephew who he adopted after Richard was disowned. Richard is the groups hacker.
Oscar Santiago- the Latino bus driver for the church who becomes the getaway driver. Hopefully played by Danny Trejo. A man can dream lol.
Officers Elwood and Jake Red - The local security assigned to protecting Kenneth, but they are outwitted.
Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love a Christian perspective on it, as I'm not currently practicing any faith so I don't know how well this will be perceived if it ever gets made.

Hello everyone! I’m back! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get this next commentary out. We adopted new cat recently and they’ve been consuming all my free time lol
Before we get into this episode, thank you to everyone who helped correct my minor confusions and whatnot from last episode. As it turns out, the cabbage merchant is not a fire nation spy lol And the king of Omashu is not the same person as the Earth King. Apparently the Earth Kingdom has two kings (hey, it worked for Sparta).
Let’s start episode 4!
Episode 4- Into the Dark

1. Those dungeon torches are so cool! Glowing green crystal? I dig it (earthbending puns!). Also I’m so happy that Iroh’s been captured and not killed. I was a little worried about that last time.

People are screaming in the dungeon. Do Earth Kingdom soldiers practice torture on enemy combatants and criminals? That’s not a good look for the good guys. Oh, Iroh just told Aang they’re not kind to their fallen foes. Kinda ironic, when you think about it, since he’s on the side of the aggressor but the defending nation is resorting to unethical brutality.

1. Huh. I was not expecting Sai to be the fire nation spy but Teo to be innocent. I got major untrustworthy vibes from Teo. But Sokka’s right. Sai’s a fool if he thinks his inventions aren’t applicable to warfare. EVERYTHING has a warfare application.
   
2. Did Zuko just kill that Earth Kingdom soldier? I don’t know why I’m surprised, he IS the bad guy, no matter how hard the narrative tries to get me to love him lol
   
3. Oh, flashback to 100 years ago. Wait, I know the name Bumi. Is that Omashu’s king when he was a boy? And holy crap, how old is he if he was alive back then? No wonder he’s lost his nerve. People over the age of 65 really shouldn’t lead countries.
   
4. I love that Iroh is the kind of guy to praise his enemy, even when he’s in their dungeon lol He’s right, what little I’ve seen of Earth Kingdom architecture is amazing.
   

Iroh’s given us a glimpse into Ozai’s psyche, and his face fell when he mentioned lost loved ones. Did Iroh lose someone in the war? Is that why he’s so nice?
And oh yeah, what is the deal with Zuko’s banishment anyway? I get that he has to capture the Avatar to go home… but why? I know they’ll explain it eventually but it’s kind of frustrating to wait lol And this is an interesting development! Iroh feels like he owes Zuko some great debt. I wonder if Zuko’s banishment has something to do with that. Like, Iroh isn’t allowed back to the fire nation either, right? What if Zuko defended him for whatever he did to get banished, and then got banished himself?

1. Why is Teo always leading people into caves and tunnels? Lol Also, not that I’m a snitch or anything, but shouldn’t someone be turning Sai into the guards?
   
2. The Earth Kingdom keeps prisoners of war in forced labor camps? Uh… are we sure the fire nation are the actual villains here? Lol I’m partially kidding. I know they are. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe the Earth Kingdom sucks too. What if the war between them is like the war between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union? Two horrible superpowers fighting it out in a race to see who can commit the most war crimes. I’m quite certain that Zuko’s going to rescue Iroh before he gets to the camp though. Or break him out of it.
   
3. Okay, I’m finally no longer suspicious of Teo lol he actually does just want to kill firebenders! He’ll fit right in at the concentration camps.
   
4. King Bumi is not what I expected. He seems more lively than I pictured, but he’s definitely a few pebbles short of a rock pile.
   
5. I wonder if Katara’s speech to Jet is representative of the Earth Kingdom as a whole. Jet is clearly fighting the wrong way for the wrong reasons, even going so far as to try to assassinate his own king. But what about the rest of the Earth Kingdom? They keep their prisoners of war in forced labor camps (that Iroh implied are also death camps) which means they’re not treating their enemies humanely, nor are they exchanging prisoners. What if after 100 years of war the Earth Kingdom has devolved into ruthless warmongers themselves? Even if Ozai decided to end the war today, would they even accept that? Or would they keep the war going themselves out of sheer hatred?
   

It’s nice to see Katara kick a little ass too. Also, she can freeze the water?! That’s so useful! She could literally make ice spears and impale people from a distance!

1. I wonder if people outside the fire nation know about Zuko’s… birthmark? Still not sure what that is. It would make this whole ruse kind of hard then, eh?
   
2. I love how Bumi’s jokes are so terrible but his court laughs anyway. When your king makes a joke, you laugh or you get sent to a labor camp! ...and now I’m suddenly suspicious of Bumi.
   

Oh yeah, Bumi definitely has some resentment here. He’s being nice, but those remarks about Aang are telling. He’s pissed, and he’s about to do something to show it. Oh yeah, he’s calling Aang out here. I guess it would be horrible to live through a hundred years of war. And that “challenge accepted”. Does that mean he’s lost hope?

1. I love how there’s just people singing and dancing in the cave lol I wonder if that’s to contrast what we’ve seen so far of the earthbenders? Like, most of the Earth Kingdom characters we’ve met are really jaded and aggressive, and then there’s these guys living their best life. They kind of seem like hippies lol They’re all about “harmony, music, love” and they’re “doing what we’re doing”. Like… they’re definitely hippies, and possibly on drugs.

Wait, Oma and Shu? Omashu? Oh, they were the first earthbenders! And they learned how to earth bend from animals called badgermoles. Bumi mentioned those earlier.
WAIT A MINUTE! Oma and Shu are both women?! There are lesbians in Avatar?! Aaahh!! I love that there are lesbians in Avatar! My people are represented! Lol But I’m too excited, this is supposed to be a sad story. But also, lesbians were the first earthbenders! Hah! You’re welcome, Earth Kingdom.
Oh wait, is this story a parallel to the current war? Shu could have killed the enemies who killed Oma, but she decided to spare them and end the war peacefully. Would the current Earth Kingdom do the same? With everything we’ve seen so far, I kind of doubt it.
Lol I love these hippies. The way that guy said “They’re doomed” with such a big grin made me giggle.

1. Oh, we’re getting Iroh exposition! When he was the Dragon of the West, he laid siege to Ba Sing Se for 600 days. That sounds impressive.

Hey! Don’t you beat on my Iroh! He’s a prisoner of war, he has rights! Or at least, he would in a civilized society. Oh but I do love how this is blurring the lines between right and wrong. Iroh is a general, or at least was, for a genocidal warmongering aggressor. By all rights, it’d be a great victory for the Earth Kingdom if they killed him. But… does that make it right to abuse him when he’s in custody? Would I feel differently about humans rights violations if they’d captured someone despicable and not a character I love?
God, this writing is amazing. I love how it forces me to think about hard questions.

1. That growing crystal is so cool! Also… did Bumi just eat a piece of it and call it candy? Lol he really is senile? What’s elder care like in Omashu?
   
2. I freaking love Sokka lol not only a warrior and an engineer, but also a poet and romantic at heart! At least, when he’s not being a jerk to Katara. I do agree with her that he’s too dismissive of her at times, but I also think she’s too trusting. They both need to discuss things with each other more. Together, they’d make a pretty good team!
   
3. Ugh, this Earth Kingdom soldier is a jerk. Oh… well I kind of understand him now. Iroh killed his brother. That’s gotta be hard to look past.
   

But I really love Iroh’s actor’s acting here. You can see the regret on his face, in his eyes. Even before he speaks, he’s already conveying so much! But let’s not sleep on this other actor either! He’s really selling the barely restrained anger! And that line: “You know… I can still smell smoke when I go to sleep at night.” Gives me chills, man!
Oh, speaking of impressive facial acting… damn! This is the first time that Iroh’s actually been scary! He can really threaten with nothing but his eyes! And it’s so weird to hear the soldier accuse him of having no humanity when I’ve been thinking of him as being one of the more compassionate characters on this show.

1. Holy shit. Iroh abandoned the siege of Ba Sing Se when his son was killed? Also, can Ozai’s “condolences” sound any less sincere? Also, while I’m paused, I just want to point something out: Ozai is noticeably younger than Iroh, but somehow he’s the Fire Lord and not Iroh. Is that a lore thing that I don’t know about? Like, is it not the eldest son who inherits the throne? But that doesn’t make sense because Zuko calls himself heir to the throne and yet he’s clearly older than Azula (well, unless Azula just can’t be Fire Lord cuz she’s a girl lol).

Is that Zuko? But… his face is normal. So it’s not a birthmark? Okay, I have a theory now but it’s going to take some explaining… Is Zuko’s eye thing a scar from a burn? It looks like a burn mark, but up until now I’ve been watching this show under the assumption that firebenders are fireproof. Didn’t we see Sozin set himself on fire in the first episode? Haven’t we seen other firebenders touch fire without getting hurt? But maybe I’m just dumb and they can be burned like normal people lol In that case, how did Zuko get burned? Or was it something else that gave him that mark?
Again with the facial acting. You can see just how broken and empty Iroh feels here. Also, just so you know, I am crying right now. This scene is really beautiful.

1. Sokka complimented Katara! She’s getting good at waterbending! Then he immediately ruins it with his judgmental attitude lol But now they’re making up again. They’re recognizing each other’s accomplishments! He recognizes that she’s getting good at waterbending, she recognizes that he stepped up to be a protector and leader when no one else did. I love it!
   
2. Ooh, Aang is not saying the right thing here. Bumi hasn’t been that fun-loving, carefree kid for a hundred years. He’s lived through constant trauma and stress every day of his life for a century. As the king, I’m sure he’s also carrying a huge amount of guilt over the times he couldn’t protect his people, or the times soldiers died carrying out his orders. Aang might have to grow up a bit and realize how much things have changed.
   

Oh damn, Bumi wants to fight him to the death? I keep forgetting that just because his resentment is understandable, that doesn’t mean he’s not crazy lol But oh man, it’s gonna be so traumatizing for Aang if he’s forced to kill someone who used to be his friend.

1. Badgermole!
   
2. Was it really necessary for Zuko to free Iroh by kicking the chain? No… but it looked rad as hell. But I am very excited to see Zuko and Iroh team up and fight side by side! Let’s see what Iroh can do!
   

I find it interesting that Iroh fought with his chains. He even heated them up with firebending first. I wonder if that’s supposed to be a metaphor? I really do believe that deep down Iroh is a good person. If he’d been born in any other nation, we’d probably consider him a great hero. But he was born in the Fire Nation, and as the son of the previous Fire Lord no less. His element is fire, and he had no choice in it. He uses the most destructive element to fight for a destructive nation… because what else can he do? His firebending power, his status, his family, even where he was born… it all forces him to be the Dragon of the West. He fights with firebending, he fights with chains around his wrists. Are the power of firebending and his position in life his chains?
Or am I thinking way too hard about this?
Also, what the hell?! Iroh’s fire blast looks so much bigger and stronger than the other firebenders we’ve seen! It did in Omashu too but I figured he was really trying there. Is Iroh just that much stronger, all the time? No wonder they call him the Dragon of the West!
And Iroh shows compassion where the Earth Kingdom soldier showed him none. Yes, Iroh is responsible for his brother’s death. But the Earth Kingdom is responsible for Iroh’s son’s death, and yet Iroh doesn’t hate the Earth Kingdom or their soldiers.
This is very reminiscent of Oma and Shu. Shu lost someone she loved to war, and instead of retaliating, chose to end the fight. Just like Iroh just did.

1. Oh yeah, Badgermole. Is it blind? It moves its head from side to side as it walks, like it has poor eyesight or something. Which would make sense for something that lives underground.

Oh, it is blind! And it can sense feelings! That explains why badgermoles taught Oma and Shu how to earthbend. They reacted to their love for each other. Oh man, that adds a whole other layer to the Earth Kingdom now! The Earth Kingdom is fighting a war of hate (don’t bother trying to argue this point. You don’t put people in death camps unless you hate them) but the very first earthbenders were taught earthbending in the first place because of their love. Everything the Earth Kingdom is doing now is antithetical to the origins of earthbending.
It makes me wonder if the Fire Nation went through something similar. Clearly, they weren’t always an imperialistic power. I want to know what the original Fire Nation was like, and who taught them how to firebend.
And Sokka, in his own humorous way, shows us that the badgermoles can understand human speech. They’re intelligent! Which explains how they were able to teach humans earthbending in the first place.

1. I can see the tears in Bumi’s eyes as he rages at Aang for leaving them. And I finally understand why Aang never defends himself when Kyoshi or Bumi or anyone else accuses him of running from his responsibilities, even though that wasn’t exactly how it happened: He believes it too. He blames himself for not being there, for not stopping the genocide of his people or the conquest of the world. It doesn’t matter if he only meant to go for a quick flight to clear his head, he still wasn’t there. Would any of the people who suffered for the last 100 years care about that nuance? No, they wouldn’t. But more importantly, Aang doesn’t either.

Oh! I get what Bumi’s doing! Yes, he’s trying to teach Aang a lesson about making hard choices but he’s also trying to end his own suffering. He’s been making those choices, day after day and year after year, as he puts it, and he wants it to be over. Look at how relieved he was when he saw that rock about to fall on him, and how he made no effort to save himself. He wants to die. He’s trying to commit suicide by Avatar and force Aang to grow up at the same time. Look how upset he is that Aang didn’t let the rock crush him. That’s what he meant earlier when he said “challenge accepted”. He really did lose hope.

1. I’m glad Sai did the right thing, but now Omashu’s under attack (hey, I guess Sai had to make an impossible choice too. Either that, or Teo threatened him lol I wouldn’t put it past that bloodthirsty little shit). Oh hey, there’s the cabbage guy again lol
   
2. Oh, look at those bandages on Zuko’s face! That mark is definitely a scar. Even if it’s not a burn scar, it’s a scar of some sort. Wait… why is Zuko banished while he’s healing from an injury? Did his own father do that to him? Holy shit, that’s so dark if it’s true! And how would even portray something like in the kid’s show?
   

I’m literally sobbing right now. When Iroh said, “Home. Everything I need is on this boat.” I just couldn’t stop myself. And he means it too. That’s real, unconditional love.
PAUSE
I’m going to talk about some personal things here, and it’s gonna get ugly, so if you’re not willing to see that just skip ahead to the unpause. Honestly, I thought about not writing this down at all, but fuck it. This is what the show made me feel, what it did to me. It feels disrespectful to the power of the story not to at least acknowledge it.
I don’t have an Iroh figure in my life. Iroh is clearly a real father to Zuko. It’s so obvious every time they’re together that he loves that boy. He 100% meant it when he said everything he needs is on that boat. That’s unconditional love. Iroh would never stop loving Zuko if Zuko were gay, or if he didn’t believe in the same religion, or if he wanted to do something other than what’s expected of him.
My parents don’t love me like that. Their love is conditional. If they knew that the girl I live with is not just my roommate, and that I’m in love with her, they would completely cut me out of their lives. And what’s worse, I’m not even sure that would be a bad thing. And it’s the same for my grandparents, my aunts and uncles. They all go to the same church, and have the same strict morals, and the same intolerance for anything different. They say they love me, but they wouldn’t if they actually knew the real me. They don’t love me like Iroh loves Zuko. Maybe that kind of love doesn’t actually exist in real life, but I hope it does for someone.
Now I’m gonna go cry for awhile and pet my cats and then I’ll finish the episode.
UNPAUSE
Oh, well… there wasn’t much left to finish lol
Concluding thoughts: You guys, maybe I just overthought everything, or maybe I just missed it in the previous episodes, but this episode had the best writing so far. I mean, amazing writing! Maybe that writing comes from the cartoon show, maybe not. Either way, I cannot express enough how impressed I am with it.
This whole episode was about choices and love. Every single part of it played into that somehow. Oma and Shu’s love for each other, and Shu’s impossible choice that led to peace. Iroh’s capture, the death of his son, and his choice to show his enemy compassion rather than continue the cycle of hate. Zuko choosing to save his uncle rather than pursue the Avatar (don’t think I missed that! He was so close to Aang in that scene!) a choice made from love. Sokka and Katara letting go of their frustration and prejudices toward each other and embracing their love, which leads to them being spared and helped by the very same creatures that taught humans earthbending, because of… you guessed it, love. Iroh choosing to accompany Zuko in his banishment, giving up everything just to be with his nephew. Bumi letting go of his hate and resentment toward Aang for abandoning him to 100 years of hell when he’s reminded of the love they once had for each other. Sai choosing to help Omashu despite the danger to his son and to the city itself.
Even Jet and the hippies in the cave play into the themes. Jet’s lost his way because he can’t let go of his hatred for the Fire Nation. He’s become a poison even to his own people. On the opposite end of the scale, you have the singers and dancers in the cave, living their best life and loving every moment despite the horror around them.
I love this episode. It’s my favorite so far.
And this might upset some the people who love the original show and don’t like this one, but I’m going to say it anyway: I just don’t understand you. For two weeks I’ve seen people calling this show trash, saying it has weak writing and acting, or that it ruins the story of the original.
Are you serious? Did you seriously watch this episode and come to the conclusion that the writing was bad? Did you not see how layered it is? How every little part played into the overarching theme so well? Granted, I have the advantage of active viewing versus most people’s passive viewing but come on. Did you seriously watch the performances of Iroh and Zuko’s actors, and Sokka and Katara’s, and come to the conclusion that their acting is poor? How?
Maybe the original show really is just that amazing, that this show and its writing are a poor imitation. But I literally cannot even fathom that.
One thing’s for sure though: If you’re one of those people who keep insisting that this show is “objectively bad”, you’re just wrong. I refuse to believe anyone can watch this show, and this episode especially, and come to the conclusion that this show is bad. There is no way in hell you’re being objective. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, especially since I haven’t seen the original, but I just can’t take you seriously anymore after this episode.
Anyway, that’s my thoughts! Sorry, this one got a little personal towards the end. Twice lol I just love how much this show is bringing out my emotions. I think this is probably one of my favorite shows now. With the first three episodes, I really enjoyed it, but after this one… I feel like my horizons have been expanded with this episode. And who knows, maybe that’s a symptom of me not having watched much besides shitty christian propaganda movies all my life.
But I don’t care, I love this show, and I can’t wait for the next episodes and I’M SO FUCKING GLAD IT’S BEEN RENEWED FOR TWO MORE SEASONS!!!!! I’ll try not to take too long getting my commentary out for the next episode. I swear, this one took like three and a half hours to do lol

Hello everyone! I’m back! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get this next commentary out. We adopted new cat recently and they’ve been consuming all my free time lol
Before we get into this episode, thank you to everyone who helped correct my minor confusions and whatnot from last episode. As it turns out, the cabbage merchant is not a fire nation spy lol And the king of Omashu is not the same person as the Earth King. Apparently the Earth Kingdom has two kings (hey, it worked for Sparta).
Let’s start episode 4!
Episode 4- Into the Dark

1. Those dungeon torches are so cool! Glowing green crystal? I dig it (earthbending puns!). Also I’m so happy that Iroh’s been captured and not killed. I was a little worried about that last time.

People are screaming in the dungeon. Do Earth Kingdom soldiers practice torture on enemy combatants and criminals? That’s not a good look for the good guys. Oh, Iroh just told Aang they’re not kind to their fallen foes. Kinda ironic, when you think about it, since he’s on the side of the aggressor but the defending nation is resorting to unethical brutality.

1. Huh. I was not expecting Sai to be the fire nation spy but Teo to be innocent. I got major untrustworthy vibes from Teo. But Sokka’s right. Sai’s a fool if he thinks his inventions aren’t applicable to warfare. EVERYTHING has a warfare application.
   
2. Did Zuko just kill that Earth Kingdom soldier? I don’t know why I’m surprised, he IS the bad guy, no matter how hard the narrative tries to get me to love him lol
   
3. Oh, flashback to 100 years ago. Wait, I know the name Bumi. Is that Omashu’s king when he was a boy? And holy crap, how old is he if he was alive back then? No wonder he’s lost his nerve. People over the age of 65 really shouldn’t lead countries.
   
4. I love that Iroh is the kind of guy to praise his enemy, even when he’s in their dungeon lol He’s right, what little I’ve seen of Earth Kingdom architecture is amazing.
   

Iroh’s given us a glimpse into Ozai’s psyche, and his face fell when he mentioned lost loved ones. Did Iroh lose someone in the war? Is that why he’s so nice?
And oh yeah, what is the deal with Zuko’s banishment anyway? I get that he has to capture the Avatar to go home… but why? I know they’ll explain it eventually but it’s kind of frustrating to wait lol And this is an interesting development! Iroh feels like he owes Zuko some great debt. I wonder if Zuko’s banishment has something to do with that. Like, Iroh isn’t allowed back to the fire nation either, right? What if Zuko defended him for whatever he did to get banished, and then got banished himself?

1. Why is Teo always leading people into caves and tunnels? Lol Also, not that I’m a snitch or anything, but shouldn’t someone be turning Sai into the guards?
   
2. The Earth Kingdom keeps prisoners of war in forced labor camps? Uh… are we sure the fire nation are the actual villains here? Lol I’m partially kidding. I know they are. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe the Earth Kingdom sucks too. What if the war between them is like the war between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union? Two horrible superpowers fighting it out in a race to see who can commit the most war crimes. I’m quite certain that Zuko’s going to rescue Iroh before he gets to the camp though. Or break him out of it.
   
3. Okay, I’m finally no longer suspicious of Teo lol he actually does just want to kill firebenders! He’ll fit right in at the concentration camps.
   
4. King Bumi is not what I expected. He seems more lively than I pictured, but he’s definitely a few pebbles short of a rock pile.
   
5. I wonder if Katara’s speech to Jet is representative of the Earth Kingdom as a whole. Jet is clearly fighting the wrong way for the wrong reasons, even going so far as to try to assassinate his own king. But what about the rest of the Earth Kingdom? They keep their prisoners of war in forced labor camps (that Iroh implied are also death camps) which means they’re not treating their enemies humanely, nor are they exchanging prisoners. What if after 100 years of war the Earth Kingdom has devolved into ruthless warmongers themselves? Even if Ozai decided to end the war today, would they even accept that? Or would they keep the war going themselves out of sheer hatred?
   

It’s nice to see Katara kick a little ass too. Also, she can freeze the water?! That’s so useful! She could literally make ice spears and impale people from a distance!

1. I wonder if people outside the fire nation know about Zuko’s… birthmark? Still not sure what that is. It would make this whole ruse kind of hard then, eh?
   
2. I love how Bumi’s jokes are so terrible but his court laughs anyway. When your king makes a joke, you laugh or you get sent to a labor camp! ...and now I’m suddenly suspicious of Bumi.
   

Oh yeah, Bumi definitely has some resentment here. He’s being nice, but those remarks about Aang are telling. He’s pissed, and he’s about to do something to show it. Oh yeah, he’s calling Aang out here. I guess it would be horrible to live through a hundred years of war. And that “challenge accepted”. Does that mean he’s lost hope?

1. I love how there’s just people singing and dancing in the cave lol I wonder if that’s to contrast what we’ve seen so far of the earthbenders? Like, most of the Earth Kingdom characters we’ve met are really jaded and aggressive, and then there’s these guys living their best life. They kind of seem like hippies lol They’re all about “harmony, music, love” and they’re “doing what we’re doing”. Like… they’re definitely hippies, and possibly on drugs.

Wait, Oma and Shu? Omashu? Oh, they were the first earthbenders! And they learned how to earth bend from animals called badgermoles. Bumi mentioned those earlier.
WAIT A MINUTE! Oma and Shu are both women?! There are lesbians in Avatar?! Aaahh!! I love that there are lesbians in Avatar! My people are represented! Lol But I’m too excited, this is supposed to be a sad story. But also, lesbians were the first earthbenders! Hah! You’re welcome, Earth Kingdom.
Oh wait, is this story a parallel to the current war? Shu could have killed the enemies who killed Oma, but she decided to spare them and end the war peacefully. Would the current Earth Kingdom do the same? With everything we’ve seen so far, I kind of doubt it.
Lol I love these hippies. The way that guy said “They’re doomed” with such a big grin made me giggle.

1. Oh, we’re getting Iroh exposition! When he was the Dragon of the West, he laid siege to Ba Sing Se for 600 days. That sounds impressive.

Hey! Don’t you beat on my Iroh! He’s a prisoner of war, he has rights! Or at least, he would in a civilized society. Oh but I do love how this is blurring the lines between right and wrong. Iroh is a general, or at least was, for a genocidal warmongering aggressor. By all rights, it’d be a great victory for the Earth Kingdom if they killed him. But… does that make it right to abuse him when he’s in custody? Would I feel differently about humans rights violations if they’d captured someone despicable and not a character I love?
God, this writing is amazing. I love how it forces me to think about hard questions.

1. That growing crystal is so cool! Also… did Bumi just eat a piece of it and call it candy? Lol he really is senile? What’s elder care like in Omashu?
   
2. I freaking love Sokka lol not only a warrior and an engineer, but also a poet and romantic at heart! At least, when he’s not being a jerk to Katara. I do agree with her that he’s too dismissive of her at times, but I also think she’s too trusting. They both need to discuss things with each other more. Together, they’d make a pretty good team!
   
3. Ugh, this Earth Kingdom soldier is a jerk. Oh… well I kind of understand him now. Iroh killed his brother. That’s gotta be hard to look past.
   

But I really love Iroh’s actor’s acting here. You can see the regret on his face, in his eyes. Even before he speaks, he’s already conveying so much! But let’s not sleep on this other actor either! He’s really selling the barely restrained anger! And that line: “You know… I can still smell smoke when I go to sleep at night.” Gives me chills, man!
Oh, speaking of impressive facial acting… damn! This is the first time that Iroh’s actually been scary! He can really threaten with nothing but his eyes! And it’s so weird to hear the soldier accuse him of having no humanity when I’ve been thinking of him as being one of the more compassionate characters on this show.

1. Holy shit. Iroh abandoned the siege of Ba Sing Se when his son was killed? Also, can Ozai’s “condolences” sound any less sincere? Also, while I’m paused, I just want to point something out: Ozai is noticeably younger than Iroh, but somehow he’s the Fire Lord and not Iroh. Is that a lore thing that I don’t know about? Like, is it not the eldest son who inherits the throne? But that doesn’t make sense because Zuko calls himself heir to the throne and yet he’s clearly older than Azula (well, unless Azula just can’t be Fire Lord cuz she’s a girl lol).

Is that Zuko? But… his face is normal. So it’s not a birthmark? Okay, I have a theory now but it’s going to take some explaining… Is Zuko’s eye thing a scar from a burn? It looks like a burn mark, but up until now I’ve been watching this show under the assumption that firebenders are fireproof. Didn’t we see Sozin set himself on fire in the first episode? Haven’t we seen other firebenders touch fire without getting hurt? But maybe I’m just dumb and they can be burned like normal people lol In that case, how did Zuko get burned? Or was it something else that gave him that mark?
Again with the facial acting. You can see just how broken and empty Iroh feels here. Also, just so you know, I am crying right now. This scene is really beautiful.

1. Sokka complimented Katara! She’s getting good at waterbending! Then he immediately ruins it with his judgmental attitude lol But now they’re making up again. They’re recognizing each other’s accomplishments! He recognizes that she’s getting good at waterbending, she recognizes that he stepped up to be a protector and leader when no one else did. I love it!
   
2. Ooh, Aang is not saying the right thing here. Bumi hasn’t been that fun-loving, carefree kid for a hundred years. He’s lived through constant trauma and stress every day of his life for a century. As the king, I’m sure he’s also carrying a huge amount of guilt over the times he couldn’t protect his people, or the times soldiers died carrying out his orders. Aang might have to grow up a bit and realize how much things have changed.
   

Oh damn, Bumi wants to fight him to the death? I keep forgetting that just because his resentment is understandable, that doesn’t mean he’s not crazy lol But oh man, it’s gonna be so traumatizing for Aang if he’s forced to kill someone who used to be his friend.

1. Badgermole!
   
2. Was it really necessary for Zuko to free Iroh by kicking the chain? No… but it looked rad as hell. But I am very excited to see Zuko and Iroh team up and fight side by side! Let’s see what Iroh can do!
   

I find it interesting that Iroh fought with his chains. He even heated them up with firebending first. I wonder if that’s supposed to be a metaphor? I really do believe that deep down Iroh is a good person. If he’d been born in any other nation, we’d probably consider him a great hero. But he was born in the Fire Nation, and as the son of the previous Fire Lord no less. His element is fire, and he had no choice in it. He uses the most destructive element to fight for a destructive nation… because what else can he do? His firebending power, his status, his family, even where he was born… it all forces him to be the Dragon of the West. He fights with firebending, he fights with chains around his wrists. Are the power of firebending and his position in life his chains?
Or am I thinking way too hard about this?
Also, what the hell?! Iroh’s fire blast looks so much bigger and stronger than the other firebenders we’ve seen! It did in Omashu too but I figured he was really trying there. Is Iroh just that much stronger, all the time? No wonder they call him the Dragon of the West!
And Iroh shows compassion where the Earth Kingdom soldier showed him none. Yes, Iroh is responsible for his brother’s death. But the Earth Kingdom is responsible for Iroh’s son’s death, and yet Iroh doesn’t hate the Earth Kingdom or their soldiers.
This is very reminiscent of Oma and Shu. Shu lost someone she loved to war, and instead of retaliating, chose to end the fight. Just like Iroh just did.

1. Oh yeah, Badgermole. Is it blind? It moves its head from side to side as it walks, like it has poor eyesight or something. Which would make sense for something that lives underground.

Oh, it is blind! And it can sense feelings! That explains why badgermoles taught Oma and Shu how to earthbend. They reacted to their love for each other. Oh man, that adds a whole other layer to the Earth Kingdom now! The Earth Kingdom is fighting a war of hate (don’t bother trying to argue this point. You don’t put people in death camps unless you hate them) but the very first earthbenders were taught earthbending in the first place because of their love. Everything the Earth Kingdom is doing now is antithetical to the origins of earthbending.
It makes me wonder if the Fire Nation went through something similar. Clearly, they weren’t always an imperialistic power. I want to know what the original Fire Nation was like, and who taught them how to firebend.
And Sokka, in his own humorous way, shows us that the badgermoles can understand human speech. They’re intelligent! Which explains how they were able to teach humans earthbending in the first place.

1. I can see the tears in Bumi’s eyes as he rages at Aang for leaving them. And I finally understand why Aang never defends himself when Kyoshi or Bumi or anyone else accuses him of running from his responsibilities, even though that wasn’t exactly how it happened: He believes it too. He blames himself for not being there, for not stopping the genocide of his people or the conquest of the world. It doesn’t matter if he only meant to go for a quick flight to clear his head, he still wasn’t there. Would any of the people who suffered for the last 100 years care about that nuance? No, they wouldn’t. But more importantly, Aang doesn’t either.

Oh! I get what Bumi’s doing! Yes, he’s trying to teach Aang a lesson about making hard choices but he’s also trying to end his own suffering. He’s been making those choices, day after day and year after year, as he puts it, and he wants it to be over. Look at how relieved he was when he saw that rock about to fall on him, and how he made no effort to save himself. He wants to die. He’s trying to commit suicide by Avatar and force Aang to grow up at the same time. Look how upset he is that Aang didn’t let the rock crush him. That’s what he meant earlier when he said “challenge accepted”. He really did lose hope.

1. I’m glad Sai did the right thing, but now Omashu’s under attack (hey, I guess Sai had to make an impossible choice too. Either that, or Teo threatened him lol I wouldn’t put it past that bloodthirsty little shit). Oh hey, there’s the cabbage guy again lol
   
2. Oh, look at those bandages on Zuko’s face! That mark is definitely a scar. Even if it’s not a burn scar, it’s a scar of some sort. Wait… why is Zuko banished while he’s healing from an injury? Did his own father do that to him? Holy shit, that’s so dark if it’s true! And how would even portray something like in the kid’s show?
   

I’m literally sobbing right now. When Iroh said, “Home. Everything I need is on this boat.” I just couldn’t stop myself. And he means it too. That’s real, unconditional love.
PAUSE
I’m going to talk about some personal things here, and it’s gonna get ugly, so if you’re not willing to see that just skip ahead to the unpause. Honestly, I thought about not writing this down at all, but fuck it. This is what the show made me feel, what it did to me. It feels disrespectful to the power of the story not to at least acknowledge it.
I don’t have an Iroh figure in my life. Iroh is clearly a real father to Zuko. It’s so obvious every time they’re together that he loves that boy. He 100% meant it when he said everything he needs is on that boat. That’s unconditional love. Iroh would never stop loving Zuko if Zuko were gay, or if he didn’t believe in the same religion, or if he wanted to do something other than what’s expected of him.
My parents don’t love me like that. Their love is conditional. If they knew that the girl I live with is not just my roommate, and that I’m in love with her, they would completely cut me out of their lives. And what’s worse, I’m not even sure that would be a bad thing. And it’s the same for my grandparents, my aunts and uncles. They all go to the same church, and have the same strict morals, and the same intolerance for anything different. They say they love me, but they wouldn’t if they actually knew the real me. They don’t love me like Iroh loves Zuko. Maybe that kind of love doesn’t actually exist in real life, but I hope it does for someone.
Now I’m gonna go cry for awhile and pet my cats and then I’ll finish the episode.
UNPAUSE
Oh, well… there wasn’t much left to finish lol
Concluding thoughts: You guys, maybe I just overthought everything, or maybe I just missed it in the previous episodes, but this episode had the best writing so far. I mean, amazing writing! Maybe that writing comes from the cartoon show, maybe not. Either way, I cannot express enough how impressed I am with it.
This whole episode was about choices and love. Every single part of it played into that somehow. Oma and Shu’s love for each other, and Shu’s impossible choice that led to peace. Iroh’s capture, the death of his son, and his choice to show his enemy compassion rather than continue the cycle of hate. Zuko choosing to save his uncle rather than pursue the Avatar (don’t think I missed that! He was so close to Aang in that scene!) a choice made from love. Sokka and Katara letting go of their frustration and prejudices toward each other and embracing their love, which leads to them being spared and helped by the very same creatures that taught humans earthbending, because of… you guessed it, love. Iroh choosing to accompany Zuko in his banishment, giving up everything just to be with his nephew. Bumi letting go of his hate and resentment toward Aang for abandoning him to 100 years of hell when he’s reminded of the love they once had for each other. Sai choosing to help Omashu despite the danger to his son and to the city itself.
Even Jet and the hippies in the cave play into the themes. Jet’s lost his way because he can’t let go of his hatred for the Fire Nation. He’s become a poison even to his own people. On the opposite end of the scale, you have the singers and dancers in the cave, living their best life and loving every moment despite the horror around them.
I love this episode. It’s my favorite so far.
And this might upset some the people who love the original show and don’t like this one, but I’m going to say it anyway: I just don’t understand you. For two weeks I’ve seen people calling this show trash, saying it has weak writing and acting, or that it ruins the story of the original.
Are you serious? Did you seriously watch this episode and come to the conclusion that the writing was bad? Did you not see how layered it is? How every little part played into the overarching theme so well? Granted, I have the advantage of active viewing versus most people’s passive viewing but come on. Did you seriously watch the performances of Iroh and Zuko’s actors, and Sokka and Katara’s, and come to the conclusion that their acting is poor? How?
Maybe the original show really is just that amazing, that this show and its writing are a poor imitation. But I literally cannot even fathom that.
One thing’s for sure though: If you’re one of those people who keep insisting that this show is “objectively bad”, you’re just wrong. I refuse to believe anyone can watch this show, and this episode especially, and come to the conclusion that this show is bad. There is no way in hell you’re being objective. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, especially since I haven’t seen the original, but I just can’t take you seriously anymore after this episode.
Anyway, that’s my thoughts! Sorry, this one got a little personal towards the end. Twice lol I just love how much this show is bringing out my emotions. I think this is probably one of my favorite shows now. With the first three episodes, I really enjoyed it, but after this one… I feel like my horizons have been expanded with this episode. And who knows, maybe that’s a symptom of me not having watched much besides shitty christian propaganda movies all my life.
But I don’t care, I love this show, and I can’t wait for the next episodes and I’M SO FUCKING GLAD IT’S BEEN RENEWED FOR TWO MORE SEASONS!!!!! I’ll try not to take too long getting my commentary out for the next episode. I swear, this one took like three and a half hours to do lol

Remember, Anna’s whole thing about self-referentiality being a death-spiral? Find that statement, true.
Self-referentiality is a closed-circle. The moment you start repeating and remixing. It’s complete unto itself. Static in its realization of what it is. In concrete terms, financially self-sustaining. A friend of mine once compared Red Scare to Kevin Smith. Like Kevin Smith, Red Scare hit its peak, carved out a niche and settled into it, became what it was and always will be. Limit expectation and appreciate what’s already there because everything from this point is just a repetition. Shouldn’t expect anything novel to come out of it. Being a Red Scare fan (circa 2021) is akin to being a devoted fan of Kevin Smith. That’s not a diss. The man wrote and directed Clerks. Was lauded as a beloved indie auteur. There was a lot of expectation, people perceived some latent potential to be realized in some future date. Something capable of surpassing Clerks. He made a couple of movies. Made his money. Enough money to invest into more money and into being able to do his own little projects, kept the money circulating within his (relatively-) small sphere. His friends that never made it outside of the View Askewniverse bubble are nonetheless well taken care of. There is always some project Smith is more than happy to bring them into. Where would Jason Mewes be right now, without Kevin Smith? And the ones that did go on to do their own thing and develop a great deal of celebrity and wealth, likely pitch in from time to time. Doing their part insuring the canalization of funds. Kevin Smith for the foreseeable future can only ever repeat Clerks, regardless of a projects particular Form it remains Clerks-in-Content. He’ll never surpass it. Good enough, special enough.
Probably because the "Leftist"-space is already complete. A Closed-Circle. Might also have something to do with relationships, behind-the-scenes, personal and mundane little things. Working under the assumption that the relationships that actually matter in this instance are the in-person with the people you actually bump into, chit-chat and controlled substance abuse . And necessarily so, it’s the small number of people you’d remember (not) visiting you in the hospital, or calling to offer condolences, taking the time to recall personal details and dates, offering to bring over food and medicine, offering to take you in incase you’ve been stranded in the alien city during a holiday. Friends. At very least capable of generating that suspension of disbelief. That maybe this could survive. Would like it to survive. Would like it to be the reality of the current moment and the remainder once the moment passes.
They’re the ones who might also serve as intermediaries between you and the people who you don’t see, who you don’t bump into, who you don’t do bumps with. Defending and promoting. The people who could or would. One of the biggest issues with Red Scare I think, besides A&D’s own self-sabotaging tendencies, is that very little was done to mitigate the viral negativity surrounding their brand. The forest fire was anything but controlled. And why should anyone do this?
I personally forgive Dasha Nekrasova for her youthful indiscretions.
Hanging around garage band ghouls, goblins, and fiends with nary a thought for the consequences. Classic woman behavior. Obviously she was so stricken by her love for the villain Brace Belden, that her other senses were dulled. She couldn't possibly have heard the collective groaning of the ancestors tossed into mass graves or the sighs of future Dasha appreciators refusing to denounce her, despite the impact it might have on their careers.
I can already see the dossier being pulled out.
"So HR launched an investigation into your past anonymous online activities. It appears here that you shamelessly simped for this radical rightwing ethnonationalist camgirl." They produce the picture of her sun saluting next to an SS banner. The one she had leaked herself.
"Do you denounce?"
"No. No you don't get it, she's a Belarusian woman and she was dating a very Jewish man at the time..."
"I see."
And then Anna proceeds to drop a retweet captioned “Maybe one of these African migrants will be the next Bach.”
“Listen I can explain. The way people respond… that’s the punchline. Like with the IQ stuff! The person ends up revealing the value they put on being high IQ and Bach while also revealing their assumption that African migrants couldn’t possibly be high IQ or the next Bach. But there will never be another Bach and IQ is a placement test for ants. Reveals the truth of them. Of their values. And the dissonance between their personal values and the doctrine they uphold. It’s the contradiction between progress and egalitarianism. The assumption that with enough time, money, and resources, anyone on Earth not only could be but should be… a genius. They project this problematic dissonance into the negative space provided by Anna’s tweet….”
Breathless. Sweating.
It’s over.
My reputation is in tatters.
But I’m willing to sacrifice my social standing for the Truth. For my Friends.
Helen Mirren once said in an interview, "You are what you are and you are what other people think you are. You can't avoid that."
You can't really invite people who want nothing to do with you. Unless you're willing to cheapen your brand by inviting on a ton of low follower account, substack article writing, academic nobodies. And low-to-mid level follower accounts who market themselves as Leftists will either sincerely dislike Anna and Dasha on ideological grounds or refuse to associate their nascent brand with Red Scare. Which is logical. If your intention is to draw an audience and patronage and the way you intend to do this is
It's a liability rather than an investment. Really it’s a gamble. As such, this kind of defense should be reserved for strivers-who-want-to-be-friends… at this point. Especially when there is a clear self-destructive tendency at work. Defending Red Scare is an opportunity for the enterprising, just as much if not more then shitting on Red Scare and “Dime Square” is an opportunity. Which do you think is saturated. The clever capable of stunting on dumb and the frothing. Coalescing into its own thing.
​
Think part of this has its Nietzschean antecedents, and it also seems to me to come from a place, of like... "avoid attracted melancholy and miasma and misfortune into your life through self-effacement." And a sense that doing so is manipulative (how can you beat a loser without looking bad in the process?) at worse inspires pity and at best disdain. Might also lead to people not wanting to work with a person who can't handle stress, handle criticisms, make deadlines, etc...
Have to be capable of being cruel to others. Take it for granted that you can be cruel to yourself. Be grateful for the cruelty of others.
Comes across as a sort of magical act. Even if all it amounts to is an enclosure built around the Serotonin fountain.
“The other thing they have in common—not all of them, but enough—is, of course, proximity to René Girard. This may have something to do with Peter Thiel. Girard’s disciple is widely held to be bankrolling large parts of this pocket ecosystem—although most of its major figures like to maintain a strategic ambiguity about whether they’ve personally received any “Thielbucks,” and if so, how many. But Thiel is a good fit with the more heterodox elements of the New Right. One of the ideas he seems to have extrapolated from Girard is a rejection of the principle that capitalism produces universal benefits through economic competition. “Actually,” he writes in Zero to One, “capitalism and competition are opposites. Capitalism is premised on the accumulation of capital, but under perfect competition all profits get competed away.” He likes monopolies: big, stable, all-embracing institutions unperturbed by rivalry and its accordant dangers.”
Brings to mind the difference between “Thielbucks” as a meme and the reality of Peter Thiel’s funding. Especially as it relates to his patronage of a nascent Art scene. This speculation is genuinely phantasmagoric in the fascination it exudes. We find ourselves drawn for whatever reason into it. Art magick like in Thomas Ligotti’s Gas Station Carnival, at first we attribute the contaminating glamor whose intoxicating effects are akin to those of the Brugmansia tea. We find ourselves wandering listless in our collective delirium, smoking phantom cigarettes as we recall in vivid detail the synthetic memories welded into our personal histories.
Who set the events in motion? Was it a crimson woman slighted? The artist humiliated by the critic, what was it you’d called her, a “deluded no-talent”? How dreadful the realization that she seems to be every bit as much a victim of this collective delirium as you or I. In fact she accuses in a whisper, her assistant and if not her, some Occult Order. We don’t know who started it. Who do we apologize too.
Think a lot of them are also young. The ones that aren't were young back when the whole Alt-Right frogtwitter thing started becoming more visible. It's pretty incoherent. Plus a lot of them seem fixated on classifying artists as "Leftwing" or "Rightwing" for silly reasons. But the politics are too incoherent and I just don't see "stricter border control and deportations" as something that would produce anything but an absolute piece of propaganda schlock. Especially when it's attempting to communicate that the people implementing these policies are the good guys.
Somehow managing a way to lack subtlety and grandeur.
Still working on the piece. And yea man. I think there is a certain stagnation. At least it becomes apparent to me when I view them.
Only read the Anna interview (think we're talking about the same anthology) and it was annoying. The dude doing the interview was too memefied. Maybe it was a conscious decision that helped highlight Anna's role as the Wendy Darling.
Element of performance anxiety. And fear over being "culled" and the inability to really understand the potential of this. To feel it (even if it's a delusion).
To much commitment to vulgar political forms and vulgar commentary, something which I think has been totally incentivized by the rinky-dink patronage network a group of people managed to cobble together, Koch and Thiel I imagine.
​
This this is what it means for the "Scene" to be Rightwing; It means that it is pay-for-play, if you're going to be "in-development" prepare to sacrifice some ambition in order to be handler. Ah nobody wants to be a handler... so what do you have in the works and what are you doing in order to get by? Are you sending your stuff out to magazines that can't afford to pay you a penny a word for a 2000 word essay? No? Well do you come from money? No!? Not only do you not come from money but like the Immigrant laborer there is some desire to send money back home... sweetie this is not the scene for you. Are you willing to be subversive, to be sneaky, to make shitty propaganda commissioned by people who despise the audience the piece is made to appeal too? No you have "principles". So you expect what? For people to be so very enamored by your work. To make moves on your behalf, in order to secure the bag and make your dreams come true? Are you fine with $20s a month? No, then yea you should make peace with the inevitable.
Rightwing in so far that it is honest. Dishonest in so far as it copes its way into pretending that this is a good thing. Look at all the kids who can afford to be drug addicted wastrels and Christian converts. What a grand thing. This rightwing scene of ours.
Forced labor. Prophesy, description, and prescription.
Go on then, tell us what you think Nietzsche really meant and how it's actually to your benefit.
What a stupid fucking burden.
What was it she said again? Something about Battlestar Galactica'ing a way out.
Sure. Can't wait to be making edits for your pet project politicians, maybe this time, if I truly set my sights towards Twitter success, I'll get a retweet. Just need to lose the social anxiety. Just need to download Grindr, see if I can score some meth of it. Don't worry it's just too snort it in increments. Purely utilitarian. Rack up the graveyard shifts. $300s a week and a battered constitution to avoid become the target of familial distress.
"You chose to do this, why are you being such a fucking bitch about it dude? Don't be surprised when we all turn away."
Yea.
Or perhaps what ends up happening is that the moron who sticks around has a body of material that leads to easy diagnosis. In which case it's just a question of navigating your way through the bureaucracy and into your developed nations respective social welfare system. In which case rejoice! You get to post forever. Pursue a career as an artist.
Our little rightwing scene. Remember this. Suicide is contagious. Especially amongst younger women.
Anyways. Current events…
It helps if you look at it like a radio show. As Live Autofiction. Dasha and Anna are incredible weavers when viewed through this perspective.
Listen. I know. I’d be the first to acknowledge. I’m parasocialed out. But I need to comment about Jake Flores. I don’t find it in myself to hate him. Based on what I’ve gathered he was part of that OG group of like up-and-coming comedians, writers, musicians, etc… who would live the Bohemian lifestyle of 12 people living in a very small and dingy apartment. Scraping up the funds working bullshit service sector jobs that give just enough money, for them to have a roof over their heads, running water, electricity, and wifi. All so that they can each individually work on their real passions (becoming a pro Stand-up comedian and/or a comedy writer for some studio, maybe try to do some voice work, make cameo appearances, build a brand and make the social connections needed to land a speaking role in some HBO series or if you really hit the jackpot, getting initiated in the realm of voice actors. You’re pretty set if you’re getting regular voice acting work on the dub of a popular anime or in a series like Adventure Time or Steven Universe. Just look at the cast for Over the Garden Wall. Starting off with Elijah Woods aka Frodo Baggins.
Tom Kenny is like a god of this Pantheon. Dude voices SpongeBob, voices Ice King in Adventure Time, and is pretty much doing a good bit of work everywhere you can possibly imagine AND he was the monochrome lover in the music video for Smashing Pumpkins Tonight Tonight.
I think everybody who is anybody is in some way shape or form connected to the world of animation in some capacity. Another dude who does voicework (a prolific amount), Kent Osborne. I love that guy. From being part of Rob Schneider’s comedy writing team, to a storyboard director for Spongebob. He’d go on to do the same for Flapjack…I think that show was the result of a young journeyman crew of animators and writers going from Nickelodeon to Cartoon Network (from Paramount Global to Warner Bros. Discovery… know this, all of these people, they’re basically runoffs and rejects in designer rags surviving or subsisting off the mold growing at the base of these enormous Art Deco Citadels. Most of us are slum-dwellers of one kind or another. Not Tom Kenny and Kent Osborne though they’re doing great last I’ve heard.
He was also in a ton of mumblecore movies, Joe Swanberg loves him. Made a movie about Kent Osborne starring Kent Osborne based on Kent Osborne titled
Uncle Kent. He also appeared in one of my favorite Swanberg movies, All the Light in the Sky. Yea man I’ve been super inspired by Osborne’s career success. Dude became a storyboard artist without knowing how to really draw BUT he learned perspective.
You can’t hold it against anyone for being cool. For being in the right place at the right time and making moves.
Rambled about this people cause I always saw the whole “Dirtbag Left” Chapo-Cumtown Brooklyn configuration as being in sympathy with that West Coast scene and being like 3 degrees of separation away from Joe Rogan.
Think Eugene Kotlyarenko’s Wobble Palace perfectly captures what I imagine what it was like for the aspiring creatives living in the margins of that CalArts Alumni World.
That’s Indie Darling Dasha. Would love to read a memoir. Big fan.
It’s obvious that they are chain-negging for Clout and I think it’s cool that Anna and Dasha are doing that for Jake Flores. He ate his own cum on a cookie? 93! Frater F.’.F.’. we are in the presence of some sort of Magister Templi here. We believe in Religious Freedom in our Country don’t we? If we cannot protect the Right to consume your own effluvium as a sacrament… then what can we protect. First they came for the cummunionist and I said nothing. In fact. I shared screenshots and made sure to very VERY publicly show my support for his arrest and prosecution.
You know. You know that those takes were spicy. Discourse baby. We’re all gonna be riche.
Be dumb and brutal and cunning? Nice when you aren’t. Really. Just understand the world you are in and understand that you'll likely end up being dumb and brutal and cunning in more underhanded ways. Become a person who points out how everyone else is dumb, brutal, and cunning. Especially the successful. Because you didn’t get to be the thing you wanted to be and worse you have someone who has quicksilver whip for tongue and fingertips pointing out that it’s in fact your fault. Better to lament circumstances bondages quietly. If you want to preserve it as some salve. Go and make friends. Reconnect with old friends. Reconnect with your mother lodge. Obviously you've been repressing a tearful apology. Obviously the public confession is on the tip of your tongue. Don't complain otherwise, after all... it's pride. Just pride and a gambling addiction that has got you down this bad. Don't expect to be mourned or admired in your current state, cultivate at the very least a Beautiful Body in order to leave behind a Beautiful Corpse. That the coroners might themselves tempted. That sweating they might proclaim you to have been one that was well-bred and well-shaped.
All these people are a tearful confession away from a solid quality of life. Are you? Sucker.
What excuse? That you haven’t told us. Don’t tell us. I got my own fucking problems.
​
Cutlass in one hand and a wad of cash in the other, breezily Martin made his way back to the place he’d been allotted, between the stalls of the Florist and the Old Man Fortuneteller. Nuzzled between the Fortuneteller’s old city tongue chants, the saccharine bite of the resin incense mixed with bitter herb, votive candles, and pungent bulk of carnations, peonies, sunflowers, and lilies blazing in their remaining life. Two women trailed behind him. The steely raven-haired one, Dianne, who’d come by herself to Martin’s little nook some weeks prior with disposable credits and a desire to poke and prod the miraculous. Seemed to be one of the many who’d fit a regular visit into her schedule. This time she’d arrived accompanied by dirty blonde-haired almond eyed pallid companion who’d watched the performance with inscrutable expression broken by a single curt cough into the side of her closed fist. Stuffing the crumpled donation into his shirt pocket, Martin settled down on his small wooden bench, crouching half of the distance before letting himself free fall onto this sturdy little throne. Looked up at the ladies. Not as tense as she had been when she had initially approach him. Familiarity growing.
"Pretty cool right?"
Money well spent and mission accomplished.
Reaching under the bench he pulled out a bottle of clear rum. A quarter of the fiery liquid remained, just enough to close out the day, making a mental note to let the old man know.
"That looked kind of fun,"
The space had become dense with the vapors of their confrontation. Looking down at her, she met and held his gaze unbroken. Unblinking, her back pressed against the white wall. Breathing at one another. Choppy. Martin studied her, realizing how the unfamiliar might interpret the act as unprofessional, but the magnetic gaze was essential for the performance.
Cheeks reddened, threatening to ignite the light gleaming off her skin. The scent of jasmine intermingled with the heady sweetness of an afternoon cappuccino and a commuter's exertions. A match to a lighting strip, he found himself wounded by sudden self-consciousness. Wondering if she had noticed the nose hairs merging with his mustache. A butterfly fluttered up between them, midnight blue with a single yellow spot at the tip of each wing. Together they tittered, seamless their focus transitioned from one another, to the butterfly, and back.
​

I wish it happened sooner. He was an awful person. Everyone is acting like I should be sad. My mom called me and told me I was an asshole for reminding her that he liked to beat the shit out of her. I don’t know what people expect. I hated the asshole when he was alive, why would I be sad that he’s finally gone? My weird Christian aunt told me she’s going to pray for my loss. I asked her why and she told my mom I’m awful. He’s finally gone. He can’t hurt people anymore.
I don’t understand. People are calling me and expressing condolences. He was awful and he enjoyed hurting people. People that he abused are scandalized that I’m glad he’s gone. What the fuck!?

Trigger Warning: Please note that Mr. E will tackle Nazism, anti-semitism, and the long lasting effects of the Holocaust. This will be done through the usage of real ideologies held by people, derogatory language, and depictions of Nazi violence. As a Jew myself, I find it important to portray these things in the book as realistically as possible. While Mr. E is set in the fantastical world of the Marvel Universe, antisemitism and the actions of Nazis are real and should be treated as such. Please read with this in mind.
New Jersey, 1938
From blocks away, the noise of people convening in front of a synagogue can be heard. It’s loud, it’s volatile, and it calls for action. The people inside the place of worship move away from the windows, mothers and fathers holding their children’s heads to their chest. The men outside have not made any attempt to enter the synagogue, nor have they begun to deface it, but the protest is just beginning. It does not take a genius to know it would only take a second for the people outside to grow violent.
The stone walls of the sanctuary seem to quiver as the loud chants from outside force their way onto the ears of those cowering in fear. The veins of those inside run cold as a single phrase is repeated over and over, “Fight for God and the Country.”
Looking from on top of a nearby building, Victor Goldstein sighs. He was hoping his information was wrong, but it seems that the German American Bund has gotten a grip on his state. He is a realist; he knew it would have happened eventually. Pro-Hitler movements have been spreading throughout the country. Hell, on Long Island there is reportedly a summer camp advertising itself as pro-Hitler, but he had hoped that New Jersey would be safe for longer.
He knows he is being selfish. Nazi sympathizers can’t just be ignored if they aren’t at your doorstep, but he still wishes they weren’t so close to home. No longer are the protests merely something he heard about in passing before services, or seen in the newspaper and on television, now it was in his front yard. Thinking that his friends, his community, his wife could be hurt by these bastards… Well, it fills him with a sense of dread he has never felt before.
Victor watches and counts about twenty people, all men in the age range of 18 to 40. None seem to be outwardly brandishing weapons, but that means nothing. Ignoring the potential of hidden guns and knives, he sees that many have brought signs brandishing messages about how Jews are secretly communists or how Christianity needs to be returned to America. Not conventional weapons by any means, but anything can be dangerous in the hands of the angry.
Victor checks his gear one last time. Brass knuckles covered by gloves, check. Cape for distracting, check. Smoke bombs for his grand entrance, check. Two pistols in case things go very south, reluctantly check.
A small smile latches onto Victor’s face as he cracks his neck. The only good thing about Nazi sympathizers in your neighborhood is that it means they’re close enough to punch. Jumping off the roof of the building, cape billowing in the air, Victor is ready.
BLAM.
The noise of a heavy object slamming down into a metal car causes the assorted German American Bund members to turn in silence. What they see is the roof of the car dented and a man on top, a single knee and fist touching the cool metal.
The top of his face is covered by a brimmed fedora, his eyes peering through a dark red mask. Shining bright in the sun is a Star of David necklace hanging around his neck. A grin is on the man’s face, one with dark knowing, one accentuated by his glaring eyes.
Jumping down from the car, the man, Victor, says, “Hello boys. I’m guessing you all aren’t here to help make the minyan.”
For a moment, silence reigns supreme. The protestors feel their bodies tense in fear. They were expecting to yell a bit, maybe deface the building, and then call it a day. They knew the police weren’t going to stop them; they’ve seen the police’s poor attempts at breaking things up at other protests. But now that this man, this vigilante, is here, well… things can get dangerous. Victor, though, remains still despite everything telling him to move. He wants to break the jaw of the nearest man, but he reminds himself that he has to give them a chance. If these bastards have a brain cell and decide to pack up before it gets ugly, well, then, that is better for everyone involved.
Slowly, one of the men steps forward. He has broad shoulders and a bald head that seemingly shines in the glow of the sun. “We are good, honest American citizens. We have a right to be here and make our voices heard.” the man says, his tone strengthening with every word. Victor can’t help but feel that his little speech was more to assure himself than for Victor’s ears.
Behind the mask, Victor raises an eyebrow. His voice calm, he says, “And I have just as much of a right to tell you that this isn’t going to end the way you want it to.”
The man grins, but it's weak. It’s the grin of someone who knows they are over their head, but are too invested to quit now. He begins to saunter towards Victor, “And why should I listen to you? One heeb against all of us, I doubt there is much you can do.”
So focused on his own bravado, the man fails to notice Victor grabbing a smoke bomb from his belt. Instead, he just continues forward until he is in front of the masked vigilante. Pushing Victor’s hat down with a lazy hand, the man asks, “What? No answer?”
Victor lets out a dry laugh, “I can do a hell of a lot.”
Before the man has time to process the answer, Victor’s fist is in his gut and smoke envelops the two of them. The man doubles over, his knees hitting the ground as pain courses through his body. His mouth opens; the man gasps for breath to circumvent the pain.
Outside the cloud of smoke, people are running. They scramble over each other, signs dropped as they rush away from the doors of the synagogue. They were cowards, willing to stand in a group and yell at those weaker than them, but now that the balance of power has changed, they trample each other to get away. From the twenty that were at the event, only five remain, one of them currently heaving for air on the ground.
Victor walks out of the smoke, his body seemingly larger than life as his red cape paints an image of divine judgment on those who stand before him. Once again, he does not move forward to attack, merely standing there as if taunting them with his unbloodied body.
The first one forward is a younger man, definitely in his mid twenties. He rushes at Victor as he takes something out of his pocket. The vigilante only has seconds after seeing the glint of the weapon to prepare a defense. Victor grabs onto his cape and side steps as the man thrusts out the knife he is holding. Victor wraps his cape around the knife and the man’s hand, the knife falling with a clang. The man drops seconds later as Victor slams his foot into his ankle.
Letting go of his cape, Victor looks forward to the three men remaining. He can’t help but note that he’s been lucky. These men obviously aren’t experienced with fighting, at least not with fighting someone who can punch back. If they coordinated their attack, or, hell, even all rushed him at the same time, they might have a shot, but even then, Victor’s experience would give him an edge.
“One last chance,” Victor says, taking a half step forward, “Leave now before I have to make you leave.”
His words get through to two of the men. One just outright makes a break for it, sprinting down the road as fast as he can. The other one is much more deliberate. He slowly places the sign he is holding on the ground and puts his hands in the air. Step by step, he walks backwards, making sure to show that he is unarmed. Victor gives him a curt nod and the man turns around and books it.
The remaining man looks at Victor with hatred overflowing in his eyes. “You think I’m fucking scared of a godless jew who can throw a punch?”
Victor watches silently as the man gets into what can only be called a fighting position. The legs are straight, and his fists are too close to his face, but at least the man didn’t put his thumbs into his fists.
The man rushes forward and throws a clumsy cross at Victor who dodges and grabs the man’s wrist. Victor follows it up with an elbow to the face, the nazi-sympathizer’s nose breaking with a crack.The man tries to break free and slam his foot against Victor’s but the vigilante merely slides back before snaking his arm around the man’s throat.
In one solid movement, Victor slams his foot against the back of the man’s knee and pulls his arm back, breaking the elbow in the process. Victor then lets go of the man, allowing him to drop to the ground.
Black spots cover the man’s vision as pain blossoms from his now broken elbow. Gasping in pain, the man can barely move. Victor stands above him, his face as much of a mask as the cloth that rests near his eyes. In a cold tone, Victor says, “I’ll only say this once. Next time I see one of you Hitler-supporting bastards, I won’t let anyone leave peacefully. The people of New Jersey are protected by–”

Mr. E

By: u/DarkLordJurasus
Edited by: u/dwright5252, u/deadislandman1, u/Predaplant, u/FPSgame48, u/PresidentWerewolf and u/MadUncleSheogorath
-----------------------------------
New Jersey, 1942
Victor drags himself through the arch of his company’s doorway. His body hurts, bruises already forming on his arms. Luckily, for accounting, long sleeve suits are expected, so no one will see the purplish-red welts running up and down his forearm.
Anyone who is looking close enough would see the rigid way that Victor walks on his way to the front desk. It’s slow, calculated, and it is the result of the vigilante fighting his body. Last night, when the group of robbers he was chasing threw a garbage can at him, Victor twisted his ankle. It’s not the worst injury he got last night, that probably goes to the potential concussion caused by a good right hook to his head, but it is the most debilitating. Unlike the pain in his arms and torso, he can’t just avoid straining the injured area. He needs to walk, and just in case, he needs to make it seem he wasn’t hurt at all. Sure, a twisted ankle might not immediately connect him to vigilantism, but it will be a hint that isn’t needed.
Walking over to the front desk, Victor places his arms onto the wooden top. Slowly, he places more weight onto his hands, shifting it off of his bad ankle. The woman at the desk smiles at him, and he smiles back, strained from pain and exhaustion.
“Hello Mr. Goldstein.” the woman says, her head dropping down to read from a notebook, “Your 2 o’clock is still on today, but your 4 o’clock has requested to reschedule. They would like to potentially meet after 6 today, but you usually leave the office at 7, so I didn’t know if you would be fine with staying in a bit later.”
Victor stands back up, his eyes clearly displaying his discomfort. “I’ll call Laura and tell her I’m staying in for another half hour.”
The woman nods, still not looking up from the notebook, and scribbles something down. “I’ll get right on it then.”
Victor gives a curt nod back and begins to make his way to the back of his office. Before he can take more than two steps though, his receptionist calls out, “Also, someone from the government is currently sitting in the main conference room. Joshua tried talking to him, but the official insists that he must speak to you.”
For a moment, Victor pauses. Government officials coming to his firm aren’t strange, but they always work with Joshua, and they rarely ever come in person. Maybe his company forgot to submit a document, but that’s unlikely to lead to someone coming in person on such short notice. Usually there would be a call or two as a warning beforehand.
“Thank you for letting me know,” Victor responds absentmindedly. Slowly, he walks to the conference room, the pain in his ankle drowned out by the myriad of possibilities.
Getting to the foggy glass of the conference room, Victor stands outside for a moment. He’s at a total loss of what the government official may want. Grabbing the door handle, Victor can feel the tension in his shoulders. Closing his eyes, Victor takes a deep breath and opens the door.
Walking into the room, Victor sees an impeccably dressed man staring straight at him. Straight, slick, black hair matches the color of the official’s suit and tie. A brown, leather suitcase stands to the man’s side.
“Sorry for making you wait so long,” Victor says with a smile that does not reach his eyes.
The man shakes his head and gives a short chuckle, “It is no problem at all, Victor.” For a moment there is silence, the man’s face contorting as a smile splits it in half. Then the man corrects himself, “Or should I say Mr. E?”
Every muscle in Victor’s body painfully freezes, time stopping for a brief second. The vigilante’s mind begins to slam back and forth from denial, that this can’t be happening, and dread, how can this be happening? He’s been careful, he thinks to himself, leaving few ways for anyone to trace Mr. E back to mild-mannered Victor Goldstein. The only thing that Victor can think of that links the two is that both are Jewish. Hell, Victor even goes out of his way to change where he starts and ends patrol each night just for this reason.
Shallow breaths leave Victor’s mouth, his heartbeat audible in his ears. No one was supposed to know of his double life, much less the US government. Slowly, he closes the door, his fingers shaking on the glass the whole time. He turns around to once again look at the government official.
The man looks at Victor and gestures for him to sit. Going into his briefcase, the government official begins to talk to Victor, “Don’t worry about being in trouble. We aren’t fond of vigilantism, but even I have to admit you're one of the better ones at it. You haven’t killed or even shot any of your victims and have been keeping injuries to only bigger threats. It’s better than we can say for others like The Thunderer and Father Time.”
Victor releases a breath he was holding in, his chest and shoulders shaking as immense amounts of pressure are released. “Then may I ask, what are you doing here?” Victor asks, his voice shaky.
The man looks at Victor and responds, “We’ve noticed you have been a bit extra violent when it comes to Nazi-supporters. There were reports of your fights with the German American Bund before they disbanded last year. You really went all out with them.”
Victor nods, afraid words will escape him if he tries to speak.
“Well,” the government official says, “how would you like to fight more than Nazi-sympathizers? The American Government would like to welcome you to a chance to join the war effort.”
—--------------------
New Jersey, 1942
Laura Goldstein sits on a wooden chair, tears in her eyes. Her hand loosens its grip on the fork she is holding, the utensil forgotten upon hearing her husband's words. Europe, so close to the discussions that labor the country on the daily, but still so far away. She knows it matters: the deaths, the destruction, the inhumanity of the war and of Germany’s Final Solution, but the desire to cling on, to pretend it’s all fiction, nothing more than a show made for ratings courses through her.
“You want to go.” The words come out in a forceful whisper. It’s a matter of fact, not a question.
Laura feels a desire to throw her plate of food at the wall, to stand up, to shout, to tell Victor she won’t allow it, but she doesn’t. Victor is selfless, she knew that when she married him. She knew he was a vigilante, that he risked death every night when she said “I do”. She can’t stop Victor from getting involved, from fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves.
Victor nods, “Our brothers and sisters… they are being massacred, Laura, killed for the crime of being Jewish. I can’t stand here and watch it happen through a screen. How many names will never be uttered again, how many families will be wiped out? I can do something to help, maybe not much, but something.”
Laura’s lips whiten as they are pressed together and for a moment she is silent. She has nothing to say, what can you say? Any argument she could use would sound selfish, is selfish. The fork feels heavy in her hands, the metal digging into her flesh as her grip hardens. “You’ll be gone when she’s born.”
Guilt flashes through Victor’s eyes. She hates it, she hates more that she’s the one who put it there. Of course he knows he will know that he’ll miss the birth of his daughter, but still Laura needed to say it. She refuses to allow it to be an elephant in a room full of fragile discussions the two refuse to have.
“I know.” Victor says. That's all he can say. “I know”.
Taking a deep breath from her nose, Laura nods slightly, “Okay then.” A single rogue tear slides down her face. “Just come home. Please, I don’t care if you have to fight Adonai himself, just come home to me.”
“I promise.”
—-------------------
Poland, 1942
In the cover of deep night, Victor lies under a tree. The wind sways the leaves back and forth, the whooshing noise violent in the vigilante’s ears.
Victor picks up his head, his chin in foliage, searching out to the world. In the distance, the glow of a lantern burns brightly, golden light searching the darkness for something out of the ordinary. Nazis with dogs at the source, barking, hunting, ready to eviscerate and devour anything they come across.
The desire to scream comes to Victor suddenly. It’s a desire to curse his bad luck. His first mission was supposed to be simple: sneak into The Wolf’s Lair, steal some Nazi intelligence, and get out without being seen. His supply of smoke bombs out, a bullet slammed into the back of his left thigh, and now a good two dozen or so Nazis hunting him down, Victor can easily say the mission has been compromised.
The light starts to move away from where Victor is hiding, and in response, the vigilante slowly rises to his feet. It’s a slow process to do so, taking a good minute or two to do so. Victor slides his hands to be parallel with his chest and methodically, he pushes away the sticks and leaves underneath his hands. Having clear dirt, he pushes himself up. Between the pain of the bullet hole, and the strain of his muscles from previously running, Victor struggles to keep himself from a groan that births itself deep in his throat.
On his feet, Victor makes a small step.
Crack
Victor winces, all that work for a random branch to give him away. He can’t help but hope it was unheard, but he knows that is unlikely. A silent forest can echo out a noise into the infinities.
In the distance, there is talking. Between the distance and not being fluent in German, Victor is not quite sure what they are saying, but he is quite sure what will happen next. At least one soldier will come this way in search of him.
Victor scouts the area around, his mind desperately thinking of a way out. He can’t outrun them. Even with his headstart, his injury will make him far slower. Going into a tree isn’t going to help either. He’ll be unable to easily get down, essentially making him a sitting duck.
Closing his eyes, Victor sighs. He knows what he has to do. The only way out of this is by shooting his way out, and even then, he knows he is highly outgunned.
The rustling gets closer. It seems to be only one person, potentially a scout to see if it was just a wild animal. Good. Even if the sound of a gun going off alerts others, at least this means Victor get’s more time to think something up.
Victor takes out his gun and sighs. He’s never shot at a person before. It’s self-defense though, kill or be killed. Surely he can forgive himself, surely G-d will forgive him. Who is he kidding? He actively joined the war. He knew he might have to kill. Neither him nor the one he kills will meet G-d with a clean conscience.
Even in the dark, Victor can see nearby bushes shake as something climbs through it. A thumb pushes down on the hammer with a click.
As a flashlight turns on, a loud bang blows through the empty forest for all to hear.
In the hours following that bang, Victor escapes to a secret hideout a few hours west of the Wolf’s Lair. While Victor survived that night, until the day he died, he could not escape the vision of wide eyes behind the glowing of a flashlight. Every night, the vigilante was tormented by the images of a body falling backwards, blood seeping from a chest wound. Victor never could run away from reliving the first time he ever took a life.
—------------------------------
Soviet Union, 1943
Hidden deep in the cold depths of the Soviet Union sits a small base currently being used by a collective of Soviet and American vigilantes. The base does not have a name, for their role in the war is to be kept as secret as possible.
The base, disguised as a rundown three story house has a small basement. In the claustrophobic room is a single light source, one flickering bulb in the center of the room. It was not made for comfort. In all honesty, it was made to never be used. The gritty concrete walls and ceiling were formed as a last case scenario, a potential way for the people inside to survive a bombing or a shelling if the situation arised.
Now though, the grime-covered concrete is the current living place of a single man. The man, Franz Wagner, sits on a wooden chair in the center of the room, his hands chained behind his back. His blond hair looks brown, dirt and blood dying it darker. Covering his body is an SS uniform, slashed across his chest to allow for a medic to take out the bullet previously inserted into his body. Gauze now sits over the wound, taped across his bare chest.
Creak
Franz tries his best to look bored as he hears the creaking of the steps in front of him. He’s been starved for two days now, barely given a full glass of water a day from a person wearing a full face mask. From what he hears from above, the people who captured him speak a mixture of Russian and English. Franz knew that it meant any chance of rescue was slim. Chances are they were holding him up north, and the chances of any German soldiers surviving the winter, much less finding the hideout were non-existent. Closing his blue eyes for a moment, Franz makes a decision: he will probably die today anyway, so no matter what his captors do, he won’t give in.
Victor enters the room, his veins flowing hot with liquid rage. His fingers twitch inside their black gloves, the desire to let out his anger boiling over. He stays at the outskirts of the room, his body only partially visible in the shadows. Victor circles the room in silence, once, twice, then a third time. It takes him that long to calm his desire to just kill the Nazi where he stands.
The man in front of him is the only survivor of the most recent raid on Armin Zola’s Poland base of operation. Victor was no fool of the horrors of the Nazis, but seeing them was different from knowing them in the abstract.
It seemed that Zola was experimenting on the human brain inside his lab. Scalped children were kept alive as electricity was shot through their brain, burnt corpses littered the walls, and in one room laid a man who was being consistently drugged to keep him awake. Of course, all the experiments were done on so-called undesirables. From the documents found in Zola’s office, an equal number of Romanis, Jews, and Black people were experimented on. It seems that Zola wanted to make sure there were similar results on each group before he moved onto experimenting on “white” prisoners.
Victor takes a deep breath, and turns to be eye to eye with Franz. His anger isn’t gone, but the vigilante is able to keep it restrained. If not cracking the Nazi’s skull right now means that Victor gets a chance to put a bullet in Armin Zola’s head, he’ll accept the compromise.
Victor clears his throat and asks, “Wo ist Armin Zola?”
The Nazi glares at Victor and spits at the vigilante. Speaking in English, he says, “Don’t disgrace the German language by letting it escape your dirty lips.”
Victor ignores Franz’ outburst and takes out a pistol. A shaky finger rests on the hammer of the gun, Victor’s skin cold against the metal touch of the weapon of death. Unblinking, Victor brings the barrel of the gun up, the eye of the weapon staring straight down at the Nazi.
“Where is Armin Zola?” Victor repeats, this time in English. His voice is low, calm, the total opposite of how he truly feels.
Both American and German are quiet for a moment, the air in the room growing heavy. Franz stares at the dark shadow in front of him, his eyes dashing back and forth from the visible gun to the face hidden in shadows.
Finally, the silence is broken by a laugh, a dry, coarse laugh. Franz throws his head back, a taunt at his captor. “What are you going to do?” Franz asks, his eyes lightened with false humor, “Shoot me? You can’t, you need me alive to talk.”
Franz watches as the gun lowers just an inch. It’s barely any movement, but in Franz’ mind, it’s enough. It’s a sign that he has control in this situation. “Word of advice, if you aren’t willing to –”
Bam
Franz’ eyes widen as pain explodes in his knee, a bullet wedged inside. It takes all his strength not to scream, the Nazi’s mouth quickly clamping shut to avoid his throat wrenching with noise. In front of him is his captor, his pistol still smoking.
Victor stands there, his knuckle white as it grips the trigger. Bile rises in the vigilante’s throat, but he quickly swallows it, refusing to let the sight of crimson red dripping down the leg of a tied up man get to him.
“You have one more kneecap,” Victor tells Franz. “One more kneecap, and then I aim for your balls.”
A shaky finger lets go of the trigger as a thumb goes to the hammer. With a click, the next bullet is ready. Pointing the barrel to Franz’ other knee, Victor asks once more, “Where is Armin Zola?”
The Nazi merely spits at the floor, his eyes daring his captor with a glare.
Victor pulls down the trigger. With a bang, the bullet leaves its nesting place, shredding through the air with immense speed, finding a new home in Franz’ kneecap. This time the Nazi can’t stay silent, a grunt of pain escaping his barely parted lips as the sharp pain destroys his senses, leaving him with a throb that travels up his knee and into his ears.
Victor takes two steps forward, becoming clear in the dim light of the room. For a split second, Franz forgets himself, forgets where he is. The symbol in front of him, the dark red cape, the eyes hidden by the shadows of a hat, it looks demonic in presence, a spirit of death and vengeance brought to life. But then, Franz sees it. A golden necklace, glinting a drop of the room's light in his face. It’s a Star of David.
Franz’ lips curl up, an idea in his mind. He knows he is going to die. If he gives up Armin Zola’s location now, he’ll just slowly bleed to death from his wounds. No, he doesn’t have any pull or power to use in order to remain alive. What he does have control over is how fast he is going to die. He’ll never give up the location of one of the Fuhrer’s elites, and they are going to torture him for it. If he can get his interrogator to crack though, get the Jew to fire a bullet through his head in anger, well it would be a much easier death.
“You know,” the Nazi taunts, “I always loved when one of your kind was part of Zola’s experiments.”
Victor’s breath hitches and Franz’ smile grew. The Nazi has his captor right where he wants him.
“They would pray in the cells, hearing the screams of others subjected to the test.”
Victor grits his teeth, all his energy placed in keeping still, in avoiding the taunts. “Where is Armin Zola?” Victor asks again, but this time, his voice is short, each word grunted out with challenge.
Franz only laughs, “I wonder how loud your screams would have been as your flesh burned.”
Victor drops his pistol to the ground. The vigilante takes a single step forward, his fingers clenched into fists.
“Would you have cried out to your god, I wonder?”
Victor takes another step closer, his brass knuckles heavy on his hand. He knows that Franz is trying to rile him up, but frankly, in that minute he doesn’t care. He’ll get the information he needs, even if it is out of a broken jaw.
Franz half stands, his eyes shining with malicious glee, “Oh Adonai, oh Adonai,” Franz mocks in a high pitch tone. “Save me, please save –”
Crack
Franz slumps back down into his chair, the rest of his taunt forgotten as pain blossoms from the shattered nasal bone. Blood rushes down his face, entering his mouth and dripping off of his chin. In front of him is Victor Goldstein, his hand coated in crimson liquid. Not even bothering to ask the question again, Victor slams his other first into the side of Franz’s jaw. The second punch in a night filled with them.
—----------------
Atlantic Ocean, 1943
Victor sits down, a gun in his left hand. He can hear above him the sound of gunshots and screams. In 24 hours, he is supposed to be in Britain preparing to retake Tunisia. He knows he won’t make it that long.
It’s strange, Victor supposes, how different it feels to be close to death, and to know death is inevitable. In the past, even against impossible odds, Victor had been able to keep a calm mind. He used his intelligence to outwit and survive whoever he was fighting. Now though, now as he hears the slaughter of Allied forces above, his mind is blank. He is cowering in fear as others die, his survival instincts overtaking any other thought.
The wooden boards of the boat shake as Victor can’t help his leg from moving. He doesn’t know what is worse: going out there and dying, or somehow surviving being shot. The vigilante knows the rules of “civilized war” won’t matter to the Nazis when they get their hands on him, the Jewish Vigilante.
For a brief moment, Victor thinks of turning his gun on himself. “Maybe,” a small voice in his head suggests, “maybe it is better to go out on his own terms.”
Victor shakes the thought away. No, he owes it to himself, his loved ones, and all those who died in this war to go out fighting.
Victor’s index finger shakes on the gun’s trigger as the vigilante rises. If he’s going to die, he might as well take some Nazi fuckers out with him.
—---------------
New Jersey, 1943
Brrrrrrring
Laura sighs as she puts down the cardboard box she is holding. She finally got Anna to sleep, but now her brief time to pack before her daughter wakes up is being taken up by a house visit.
Walking over to the door, she steels herself for what’s on the other side. It’s been three months since Victor died and everytime someone comes over to wish their condolences, the wound bleeds a bit more.
Opening the door, she sees a sight she was hoping to avoid, Rabbi Abromowitz. A middle-aged man with brown hair and black eyes, she knew this was a conversation that would happen, but her hope was to avoid it for as long as possible.
“Hello Laura,” he says. “I just heard that you sold the business. People in the community are worried. First you stopped attending Friday night services, and now this.”
Laura resists the urge to slam the door in his face, to yell that he doesn’t need to know, that it’s her life. She knows that he is just trying to help, but that only makes the rage hotter. Instead, she responds neutrally, “I’m moving.”
“I-” Abromowitz stutters in shock before catching himself, “I can’t imagine how tragic losing Victor was, but that’s why it's so important you lean on your friends in this time of need.”
Laura’s eyes feel hot, pins pricking them. “Please, I– I can’t do this now.”
Abromowitz stands there for a moment, trying to find what to say. He doesn’t want to leave her, one of his congregation, one of his friends, this close to breaking down.
“You said that we don’t need a synagogue to pray, that god can hear us anywhere?”
Abromowitz nods. He now knows what is coming next. Laura isn’t the first one to make the decision during these past few years, and he is sure she won’t be the last.
“They found him maskless,” Laura whispers, more to herself than anyone else. “His mask was gone and a Star of David was carved into his skull. The Nazis who left him wanted us to know that they took extra pleasure in his death.”
A loud sob escapes Laura’s lips, tears now streaming down her face. “I can’t do it. W-what if it happens here? What if someone firebombs a synagogue with my daughter inside? I can’t take that chance, Rabbi. “
Abromowitz hugs her with both arms, her tear-ridden face going into his shoulder.
“I feel like I’m betraying myself, betraying Victor, but the thought of stepping foot into a synagogue kills me. I can’t get the image of Anna dead and it being all my fault.”
The two stand there, embracing. This is the last time they’ll meet, their paths are going in different directions. Rabbi Abromowitz and his family will stay at Temple Beth Israel, his son studying to be the rabbi after Abromowitz eventually retires. Laura will move to New York City and change her last name, removing any ties that connect her or her daughter to the Jewish faith.
Eventually, Anna begins to cry again and the two let go of their embrace. With a sad smile on his face, Abromowitz says, “I’ll check on Anna, see what’s wrong. You should continue packing.”

I don’t use Reddit often. I had an old account where I mainly posted Biblical quotes and floral arrangements, but I’ve never made a post like this before so apologies in advance if I’m not doing this right or if this is too long. For obvious reasons, I will not be using real names in the story.
I (27F) and my husband James (29M), have been married for 7 years. I come from a large family (I’m the fifth of eight) and my husband has only one sister, Sarah (30F). James and Sarah have never been close and their interactions are neutral at best. James and I got married very quickly (met in January 2016 and married in July), and his family generally didn’t approve at the time. Sarah in particular would always make comments to him about me when we were engaged. A few of her greatest hits include; “You're marrying a money pit”, “Make sure that prenup is iron clad” (for context, his family is relatively well off financially while mine is middle class, not poor, not rich) and “She’s probably more ran through than a train track.” She wasn’t subtle about it and these are the only ones I overheard, as she would say these and others when I was knowingly in earshot.
Still I tried to make an effort to get to know her and foster a good relationship, but we are two very different people. She is a Marxist, atheist, feminist and I’m pretty much the exact opposite of that, so we didn’t exactly click. I at least wanted to have a somewhat friendly relationship, but it became clear that she didn’t want that, so I just tried being neutral.
I fell pregnant pretty much immediately after the wedding and throughout my pregnancy she was riddled with “jokes” about my baby’s potential skin colour. One I distinctly remember was; “What's the bet that baby comes out as black as the ace of spades.” We are both white and I have never been with any other man. When James called her out, she played it off as a lighthearted joke and accused me of “sympathy hunting.” Even after our daughter was born, we’d still get comments about how her hair is too blonde for a family with all brown hair (I’m a natural blonde, I’ve dyed it since I was 12) and how she doesn’t resemble anyone in their family (she was 7 months old when this comment was made).
James is from the City, whilst I’m from a somewhat rural town on the outskirts. His grandfather owns a large holiday home in my town (it’s how we met) and after we got married, we had a lease arrangement drawn up between him and his grandfather. We rent and if we pay two-thirds of the value of the home, the deed gets transferred into our name. If he passes before it is paid, the home is included in his portion of the inheritance. Sarah has had a lot to say about this, telling us it’s irresponsible to have kids without owning a home, how James is a freeloader mooching off his grandpa’s money, etc.
Keep in mind that she has never owned any property. She’s back and forth, living with my mother-in law and whatever guy she's seeing at the time. She has also told my husband that we’d be able to actually buy a home if I got “a real job.” I’m a stay-at-home mum, but I also work part-time at my church offering youth counselling to teens. She has also had a mouthful to say about my church and my faith, saying I’m indoctrinating my children, that God is a delusion and that I’m supporting pedophilia by supporting my church.
When something even remotely religious comes up in a conversation, she goes on a rant about how it’s all a lie and a scam. She only does this when I’m there because she knows I’m devout and wants to make an example of me because she hates me and my ideals. Whenever I even slightly disagree or try to debate what she says, she then rambles on about the “intolerance” of Christians to other beliefs.
I don’t like conflict, so I don’t try to argue with her or stoop to her level. I either just try to ignore her stirring the pot or if it gets bad, James will intervene and tell her off. But after a while, we just began phasing out seeing her. His family always came for a weekend once a month and we also visited them once a month. There was only a 50/50 chance we would even see her, and if we did, I would keep myself preoccupied talking to his other relatives.
Fast forward to April 2020, I was eight months along with our twin boys and was on temporary bedrest stemming from my abnormally high blood pressure. We last saw Sarah at Christmas, and for obvious reasons, were unable to see the family now. My DM’s on my Instagram randomly started getting spammed into oblivion. I checked my phone and I had around 15 messages from people I didn’t know. They were calling me an a-hole, the b-word and other insults. I called James out of confusion and he was also getting DMed from the same people. He said he knew a few of them as Sarah’s friends.
I checked Sarah’s story out of curiosity and saw she had posted a massive text, where I was directly tagged. She claimed in the text that her “transphobic” family wouldn’t support her new boyfriend (who I believe is transgender). She said that my mother-in law and her grandfather had bullied him away, and accused me and James of liking “transphobic twitter accounts”, directly tagging my handle and only my handle. Meanwhile, I was on emergency bedrest to curb my blood pressure and was getting spammed all these hateful messages.
I didn’t even know she was dating anyone, nor did I say or do anything to influence what they may have said. Neither my mother-in law nor my grandpa-in law follow my Twitter page, and neither does Sarah. I got a bit worked up, and James called Sarah on speaker phone (she didn’t know I was listening). Basically she said that she tagged me, because I deserve to be called out, that I “want certain peoples rights taken away” and that I had always hated her, among other things. When James told her I was upset by the messages I was receiving she said I was “riding on the sympathy train” and that I had to get over my “baby brain.”
It got very heated and it only ended when James noticed how upset I was and came to comfort me. I gave birth two weeks later without issue. After the lockdowns ended, his family came over for James's birthday and Sarah tagged along. Surprisingly, she bought a nice gift and actually made an effort to talk to me. There were no jabs or backhanded compliments, and I felt she was really making an effort. In hindsight, James probably said something to her beforehand, but I was just really relieved that she was actually nice to me for a change.
At subsequent family events, I was occasionally invited in conversations that she was in and there wasn’t really any tension that I noticed. However, during the second-wave of COVID lockdowns in 2021, things went right back to how it was. Besides the family group chat, I had no personal contact with Sarah and I hadn’t seen her for over six months when in September, she randomly posted to the family group chat about a “Christmas Plan” she came up with.
The idea was instead of getting each other individual Christmas presents, we all do a Kris Kringle, where everyone buys one person one gift with a 50 dollar limit. I was fine with this, as this was meant for adults only and now that I’m older, I don’t particularly care for Christmas presents. However, she followed up with a thing saying that this would be all the presents everyone would be getting that year. Meaning the kids wouldn’t be receiving any presents from their paternal side.
Everybody seemed to be down with the idea, until me and James both interjected saying that it was unfair to our kids that they receive no presents from them, and we proposed an alternative that the adults do the Kris Kringle and our kids each receive one present from everybody. Sarah disapproved of this idea and said that due to COVID, everybody is financially dire (Sarah doesn’t work and mooches off whatever boyfriend she has, whilst my mother-in law and her parents are all retired and very well off).
She also said that as our kids are so young, that they will just think that this is the norm (they were 4 and 1 at the time) and that they will receive lots of presents from my family. Then she tried to turn it around on me, saying, this is the exact text; “I thought as a Christian that you would value the religious experience and educating the kids about Jesus.”
We were extremely annoyed and I, regrettably, went quite far with my choice of words to her. I won’t write exactly what I wrote, but to summarise, I told her that she is just using the Kris Kringle to be a tight ass because she is too lazy to work and get actual money, that she is using this to unfairly screw over our kids over her vendetta against me, in addition to being a disgusting, promiscuous whore who leeches off older men for money. Even though it was the truth, I regret how I went about what I said, as it only made me look bad and aggressive.
My mother-in law booted both me and James from the chat, and called him later to chastise him for not sticking up for his sister (I could write a whole thing about her as well). We didn’t see his family for the rest of the year and we spent Christmas with just my side of the family (and yes, his grandparents and my mother-in-law both sent gifts for the kids in the mail).
After things had somewhat cooled, we went to visit my mother-in-law over the weekend in February. Sarah came to collect something from her house, and completely ignored both me and our kids, only briefly speaking to James. His family came to visit at our place a few weeks later. It was just meant to be his grandparents and my mother-in-law. However on the second day, Sarah did eventually pull up and when she entered, actually greeted my eldest. So I told her; “Wow, you finally said hello this time.”
She erupted after I said this, saying that she won’t be disrespected in her house. When I told her that this wasn’t her house, she said it was, that this was a family house and I wasn’t family. James, his grandfather and my mother-in-law were in the backyard working on the barbeque and my youngest was asleep upstairs, so it was only me, her, my eldest and my grandma-in-law. She tried to calm Sarah down, but she kept on ranting about me and how terrible I’ve treated her over the years. That was when I finally erupted. It’s a bit of a blur, but it culminated in a screaming match, which brought everyone inside.
James tried to diffuse it, but after all was said and done, Sarah told me to go hell and stormed off, and got back in her car and left. Everyone was a bit frazzled and my eldest was crying so I had to take her upstairs to calm her down. My mother-in-law was extremely pissed at me for the rest of the stay. She never said anything, but I could tell.
Sarah later posted, again on her Instagram, that I had put her in the hospital along with a picture of her in a hospital bed. She has me blocked, so I only knew about this after James showed me. She has an extremely minor heart condition that I apparently triggered by causing her stress. She could walk it off for all I cared. James and his grandparents were on my side, and he had to tell his mother off before they left.
After this, it was at a bit of a stalemate. Our back and forth visits were rare now and we only attended events if Sarah didn’t go and she was no longer welcome at our home. If we were aware Sarah was going, we’d stay home. It stayed like this for nearly a year, until James’ aunt (mother-in-law’s sister) died in January last year. My mother-in-law, not wanting any conflict at the funeral which we were all attending, made me and Sarah have a sort of reconciliation. We eventually reached a truce that we wouldn’t say or do anything to each other and be neutral.
Following the funeral, Sarah began actively messaging me and conversing with me, seemingly trying to build a rapport. I went along and we actually seemed to be getting along decently well, building an almost friendly relationship. We saw each other and got along well at multiple following family events, and she even came back to our house in April. We avoided mentioning the past and his family was pleased that we were getting along.
When I found out I was pregnant with my fourth, she couldn’t stop telling me how happy she was and wanted to be involved in my pregnancy process. I declined, but she kept persisting with sending me baby names, links to cute baby clothes and maternity clothing, as well as chocolates and other small gifts. At this point, I actually considered ourselves friends and I began giving her updates about how me and the baby were doing.
My fourth pregnancy has been my most difficult by far and I’m still in the recovery phase. At 15 weeks, we were told during an ultrasound that foetal abnormalities had been detected in our daughter. We were told that they were unable to discern the exact condition but that she could have down syndrome, cystic fibrosis, cerebral palsy or another debilitating condition greatly diminishing her quality of life.
Obviously, we were devastated and even though the doctors strongly implied that I should, I knew I wasn’t aborting. We weren’t initially planning on telling anybody, as we prayed that the results were inaccurate. However, when Sarah and the rest of the family came over to celebrate the twin’s birthday, she persisted in asking for updates on the baby and I let it slip what they told us. She was all hugs and condolences, and I made her promise not to tell anybody.
The very next day, my mother-in-law called me to inquire about the baby. I initially thought nothing of it and lied my way through, but she kept on asking if there was anything wrong with her. I realised that Sarah had let it slip and within a matter of hours, his grandparents, his uncle, even his cousins were texting James to send condolences. It even got back to my side of the family and I was being rampaged with calls about it.
I was devastated and I felt so much shame and embarrassment from it all. I sent Sarah a very long message telling her how much she betrayed my trust and that I was not speaking to her for the time being. She tried calling me multiple times over the next few weeks, but I didn’t answer. I was 17 weeks along at that point.
In the 23rd week, I went into premature labour. The doctors did everything wrong. They screwed up the epidural, they screwed up the c-section. I didn’t get to hold my daughter. She was carted off away immediately into the NICU and I didn’t get to see her until her sixth day of life. The doctors screwed up my stomach stitches which became septic overnight and I required emergency surgery.
My stay in the hospital lasted a total of 22 days. I didn’t get to hold her until her 9th day and she couldn’t even come home with me. My only saving grace in all of this was that the doctors detected no physical or cognitive ailments with her. They have been known to develop during infancy and I pray everyday that she remains in good health, safety and care. Due to severe nerve damage, I was in a wheelchair for the first month and had to go to physio to regain full control of below my waist. I have had other complications, some worse than others, but I am progressing and that is the main thing.
Our daughter was discharged on December 3rd and we have no further complications as of late. Both of our families managed our three eldest in our absence, including Sarah. As of now, I am on a cocktail of postnatal medication and even though I am improving, I am still in a poor state. On Christmas, his family came down and spent the holiday with us, and I even found the strength to go to midnight mass.
Sarah came down to spend the Australia Day weekend with us and to help out around the house. I didn’t care enough to hold a grudge and I was overall thankful to have someone to help with the kids, as James works full-time and is not a househusband. On the Saturday night, I was up late due to my medication giving me partial insomnia and I heard Sarah downstairs in the living room, so I went down to go talk to her. I got very emotional talking about everything that has happened and how it has affected me. She comforted me throughout and I was very grateful to have another woman to talk about this too.
But then she told me that I shouldn’t have gone through. I asked her to elaborate. She told me that after all the pregnancy had done to me, I should’ve just gotten an abortion. She told how pretty I was before, how I was so active with a great body and how I’ve turned into “how I am now.”
I couldn’t even process what she had said in full, because my instincts kicked it and I told her to just shut up. She looked confused and I repeated myself over and over again, until I was almost shouting. She was taken aback and told me that I asked for an opinion and was getting one. I told her, no, that wasn’t an opinion, it was a horrible thing to say to me knowing how I am and that she had no right to come into my home, without an invite, and say such horrible things to my face.
She seemed almost offended that I dare challenge what she said and she asked if my life is better now with my daughter. I told her that it absolutely is because she is my child and I gave her salvation, and if it was up to most other women, would've chosen death given the circumstances and that she has no right to speak on this topic because she is not a mother.
She then became defiant, putting her hands forwards and repeating whatever. I pushed her hands down and got right into her face, telling her that this is not done because she didn’t just come for me, she came for my family. She looked away from me as I berated her, which really struck a nerve for some reason. I slapped her using all my strength and cussed her out using a bunch of expletives.
She was on the verge of tears, muttering an apology, which somewhat calmed me down. I then got out of her face, and told her to get the f out. She refused, so I yelled it to her this time, getting back into her face. She got up, but kept saying she didn’t have her things. I still just continued on demanding that she leave. After her third refusal, I used all my vocal might and began screaming for her to get the f out. She stood stupidly, not moving in shock. So I shoved her and screamed again. She began itching towards the front door, as I continued to scream at her. When she got to the door, I unlatched it, pushed her out, before promptly slamming it in her face.
You might have thought I would feel a sense of relief or of a weight being lifted off my shoulder. But I didn’t. I just felt pain. I began sulking uncontrollably and then suddenly felt so tired. I eventually collapsed on the couch and just fell asleep. Somehow, James slept through all of that and woke me up in confusion. The meds had practically wiped my memory and it wasn’t until James showed me a message that Sarah had sent to him after I threw her out that it came back to me.
My mother-in-law was pissed that I hit her, but agreed that Sarah was out of line. I have blocked Sarah on everything and haven’t had contact with her since. I blame the meds for my behaviour, but as I am a Mama Bear, had I been sober I’m not sure my reaction would’ve been much different.
It’s been nearly a month and things have improved. My body is recovering well and I’m working to go back to the gym. My youngest is doing well and I am no longer so worried about her. She is healthy and progressing fine, and that is all that matters for time. My mother-in-law came over last week and apologised on Sarah’s behalf. I didn’t accept and I’m not going to. I should’ve cut her off a long time ago and I regret not doing it sooner. I am very satisfied with my current family and we don’t need her to be complete.