Poem in spanish for father

My late grandfather has kept a few writings of poetry in Cypriot Greek sung by the natives of Yalya (Γιαλιά), mostly our relatives. Chatismada poetry was mostly sung but sometimes said without melody, in daily interractions, as a means of story telling and for important events (like weddings or at harvesting/threahing time), examples of the first two categories,i have posted before but not of the third. As a result of the attention my last post recieved, i saw that since the last time i visited it the subreddit has aquired some knowledgable members, so i would like to ask a question using the example of the below poem to further illustrate my example. İn my previous posts or comments that made in Greek, i used an orthographic style somewhere in between Greeklish and Turkish trying to use as grammer as correctly as possible, using the afforementioned orthography. One example would be i would use the english "j" or "dj" for what would be "τζ" using the greek alphabet instead of the or using the turkish "ğ" for "γ" , altough this sound is close but not exact as "γ" it is more akin to the silent glossal consonant invetween "α" and "ε" in "αέρα" which i would write as "ağera" instead of the nasal "γ" in "αγάπη". . İ am saying all this because the exteact below is not watered down unlike what i have shared previously and is written completely using the Turkish alphabet and would be almost imposible to decipher, so i would put a trasliteration under every line for this reason i redownloaded Reddit on my phone. The reason i am writing it as it was recorded is that it relates to my question below the poem as it would not make much sense whithout seeing it in its orriginal form. Here it is:
DOBİYİMMAN DİSNİFFİS(Το Ποίημμαν Της Νύφφης)
Ennasasbo miyan fimin neyan (Εννά σας πω μιαν φήμην νέαν) Ennasasbo enan galon biyimman (Εννά σας πω έναν καλόν ποίημμαν) Ofeğos masedogen miyanevloğiyan (Ο Θεός μας έδωκεν μίαν ευλογίαν) Na ehumen myan familyan neyan (Να έχουμεν μίαν φαμίλιαν νέαν)
Ennasasbo miyan alisgân (Εννά σας πω μίαν αλήθκειαν) Ofeğos isdes yenneces din omorsgân (Ο Θεός είς τες γενέτζες την ομορθκειάν) Edogen navrusin efdişan (Έδωκεν να βρούσιν ευτυσ̌άν) Ceda mandilya (Τζαι τα μαντιλιά) Brosdadefgun iyafrobi budin amardiyan (Προστατεύκουν οι ανθρώποι που την αμαρτίαν)
Elada omorfimmu goruğa (Έλα δα όμορφην μου κορούα) Ağeyi digissu bigan (Άε η δικήν σου ποίκαν) Ağeda befgassu sanduca(Άε τα πευκά σου σαντούτζα) Ağeda ğrusafenassu sdolisgâ (Άε τα γρουσαφένα σου στολίθκια) Ceda marmarga su anciya(Τζαι τα μαρμαρκά σου αντζία)
Hade ra omorfimmu goraşa (Χάτε ρα όμορφην μου γορασ̌ά) Aboşeredise yidikissu bedigididan (Αποσ̌αιρετίσε η δικήν σου πεδικότηταν) Edimase donlehossu me aroman (Ετοιμάσε τον λαίχως(?) σου με αρόμαν) Anigse meyeman ibataniyan (Ανοίξε με γιαίμαν η παττανίαν) Ofeğos nasu dogi bolla befgâ(Ο Θεός να σου δώκει πολλά πεθκιά) Cemellicin ağnyan(Τζαι μελλιτζήν αγνιάν)
A little while ago i saw a video on YouTube that talked about the griko language(dialect?) in Southern İtaly and the main thing that caught my attention was the fact that they used the latin alphabet to write Greek in and the manner in which they did so, obviously the orthography was created by a person that was able to use the Greek alphabet, it's main feature was that μου-μας-του etc. Were written adjacent to the noun for inctance "our father" would be written as "ocirimma" or my mother would be "imamammo" . When seeing this the first thing that came to my mind was the records of my grandfather. As a few examples of similarities with the above principle "yidigimmu"(η δικήν μου) could be presented as an example. The thing is Greek written in the Turkish alphabet can be read as entirely different from what it would be using the Greek alphabet, especialy without the use of intonations, while my grandfather had and other relatives that were native Greek speakers don't have the stereotypical Turkish Cypriot accent when speaking Cypriot Greek this i think derives from their proper use of intonation and the ability to use the sounds of θ and ττ(which only exists in a few Turkish dialects) which can be seen from the fact that θ is written as f or s above like in the example of "ofeğos" (ο Θεός). The Greek written in the Turkish alphabet would be uniteligable without a prior knowledge of intonations. This became clear to me when a friend who was trying to learn Greek came to me asking how to know how the accent mark would be placed when writing and when i illustrated the sound difference he wouldn't understand it while it was (mostly) easy for me when i first how to write using the Greek alphabet as i was already well versed in the language as in the above poem it can be seen that those without an intonation merge together like "ceda" (τζαι τα). Making all these points above now i can ask what i want to: How is the written grammar of a language determined when it encounters a writing system, how has the orthography of Greek changed overtime and why is it written in the manner it is and what alphabets has it been written with other than its own throughout history. To me Greek written using the Greek alphabet is superior in its ability to fully transmit what is to be conveyed, is there any pother reason to this other than its richness of letters and the ability to utilise intonation like the interraction of different words with one another?
My other question would be the word lehos, in this case it does not mean throat but was translated to Turkish by my Grandmother as "gerdek" which means the mariage bed, the first intercourse of a maried couple, the below reference of the oppening of a bloody blanket refers to the archaic tradition of showing the villagers blood stained blanket resulting from the bride's hymen being broken during the intercourse prooving her chastidy, this tradition was practiced in Cyprus as it was and still in across Eurasia. İf you know a name for this practice sharing it would be greatly apreciated.Thanks in advance for your patience and wisdom.
With regards.
-RevolutionStandard99

Hello! I'll start talking about myself, then about my boyfriend, then how our relationship went down and how we got back together. Sorry for my English in advance.
So. I'm Brazilian and a 20 year-old Law student. I'm very empathetic, and I came from a family with many challenges - financial and emotional. My parents marriage isn't the best, and I grew up in a pretty hostile environment (in the sense that my parents were very strict about grades, and my father is very aggressive in general). However, they did the best they could with what they had. Last year, I came to live in another state, 7 hours away from home by car, because I got into one of the best colleges in the country (currently second best at Law) and couldn't miss the opportunity. I've been learning how to be an adult more and more day by day. I've got a nice internship and work another job aside from that.
When I thought I was finally free from my mother's controlling behavior, I decided it was finally a good time to date someone. And so I began talking to this boy (at the time, a 22 year old) through the internet. He seemed wonderful. Spent three years in Romania to study (even tho he didn't get to graduate) and then came back to Brazil to pursue his true passion, International Relations. We hit it off pretty quickly and started officially dating after a month.
At that time, even thought he had dated multiple girls in the past, I was his first serious relationship. Even today, he says I'm the only girl he ever felt (and still feels) love for. I got to know later on that he had Bipolarity, depression and Borderline Personality Syndrome - all of those conditions that weren't being treated or medicated for months.
He had problems with money, problems with dates, problems with compromises, problems with his grades, problems with his addictions (cigarettes). He didn't know exactly how to make a girlfriend feel safe, he would often not include me in his routine, sometimes he wasn't careful with his wording... and many other things. Every time I talked about our problems, he would only say "sorry" "I can't guarantee I'll actually change" "maybe I'm not the one you're looking for". He followed a LOT of girls, and always told me "I don't check out Instagram anyways so it's nothing".
Then, after 7 months in the relationship, I went over to my mother's house for Christmas and New year. He also went to his dad's house at that time. We cried a lot when we had to part, because we did absolutely everything together.
Well. Once he got into his dad's house, he began to be more distant (if we chatted for 10 minutes a day, that was rare) and I was exhausted. I just wanted a conversation of some minutes, and I understand he wanted to be with his family, but a nice call at the end of the day or just a few texts wouldn't keep him from them. I talked about that with him and I ended up being the one apologizing for not being understanding.
Phew...
Then, after two weeks of vacation, it happened. A girl going to my DMs and exposing an intimate conversation she and my boyfriend had just a few minutes ago. I exploded. She was Spanish. She wasn't even Brazilian. She was an online friend. He sent messages talking about how he wanted to kiss her on her bed, about how he was horny, asking her for a fit check, and sending pictures of his underwear.
She checked his Instagram later just to find out my name in his bio. So she went over and sent me everything. Every screenshot.
I was betrayed. I never thought he would ever do this to me.
I talked to him. He said he was sorry, that he loved me, that he didn't get why he'd done that, that he was stressed, that he would never do it again, that I was wonderful, that I didn't do anything wrong and he didn't want to lose me...
I'll be honest, at that time, I didn't want to break up. But I HAD to.
So I broke up with him, but told him we could try again if he made an effort, and we should also talk in person about everything. Told him he should seek therapy and a psychiatrist. My condition was that he would tell me if he got together or flirted with another woman until I got back from vacations so we could have that talk.
It didn't take long for him to start telling me he was feeling numb. That he didn't think it was a good idea to get back together. However, he would send me good morning and good night texts every single day, and sometimes he would text me that he loved me. Weeks later, when he stopped texting as much, I found out he was flirting with other girls. So I cut off contact, and told him that I couldn't believe he didn't keep what he promised me (telling me if he flirted with someone else). He hid it from me, and I didn't even understand why.
Days later, I found out he slept with a prostitute, and even told his friends to gang b*ng her. My heart completely stopped. I was heartbroken.
My own depression came out of hiding. So I contacted a therapist, and tried to appreciate the other things in life other than him.
Later on, I came to know he was also working on himself, getting medicated and all.
2 months later, I come back to the state I studied in, where he already was. I come in peace, relaxed, and happy to be in another place full of opportunities. But my heart still weighed.
Then I went to have that talk to him. He apologized for everything. We had a long, long talk about things, and I felt a lot better. But then he started getting physical; hugging me for hours, caressing me, kissing my cheek, kissing my forehead, putting his hand on my thigh...
Before anything could get any more serious, I went back home alone.
Then, another day, he came to get gifts I had gotten for his family (it was his stepmom's birthday, whom I cherished, and on vacations it was his little brother's birthday). I wanted to go to the pharmacy after that, and he asked to accompany me. I accepted, as it was late and I didn't want to go alone.
After sometime, he started talking about how he missed me. How he missed my jokes, my humour, my personality, my presence in his life. He hugged me. I told him it was a bit late for that. That I had given him the chance to have me back, and he didn't appreciate it.
Then we went to talk in a park. We sat together, and he started to tell me even more things. That he would see my clothes and other things in his room and cry, wondering why he'd cheated on me, telling himself he was stupid for letting me go and disrespecting me. He would often miss his way from home and go to my place by mistake. That he'd never stopped loving me, and that he was just running away from conflict l.
Well. I couldn't help it. I missed him like hell and he told me everything I wanted to hear. I ended up kissing him.
We then got back together oficially after three months of going out and sorting things out. He's been wonderful, everything I asked for and more.
But it still hurts, as you might think.
Most of the times I feel insecure he comes running over to my place to make sure I'm not breaking up with him again.
He knows I know about the prostitute, btw.
I just don't get it. He says he regrets it, that he regretted before and after. Well, if he regretted before, he could have just not done it. I didn't get anything... I still couldn't accept why he'd done everything. I felt ugly, I felt like I was not enough...
Then he told me about his past with childhood trauma, which explained a lot to me in my head. I cried when he told me his story, and apologized for what they've done to him, because the person who did bad things to him him was his family and never apologized. He'd never told this story to anyone.
That alone explained a lot of things in my head. His hypersexuality, his tendency to deal with things alone, etc. But the prostitute thing still gets to me.
I keep wondering what she'd looked like. How was it. If he liked it. Why he'd done it.
He says he did it because he just wanted to forget everything, but it just didn't work. That he's here for me now, that he'll never do such thing again, that he'll be good to me from now on...
Idk what to do. I want to stop thinking about her, but idk how.

Claude Debussy, a prominent figure in Impressionist music, revolutionized harmony, melody, and cultural perceptions in music through his innovative compositions. Let's break down his impact statistically:

1. Harmony:
   
   • Debussy's harmonic language moved away from traditional functional harmony, embracing modal and pentatonic scales, whole-tone scales, and parallel chords.
   • Statistical analysis could show a decrease in the prevalence of traditional tonic-dominant relationships and an increase in the use of non-functional harmonic progressions.
   • Debussy's harmonic vocabulary expanded the tonal palette available to composers, influencing subsequent generations of musicians.
2. Melodies:
   
   • Debussy's melodies often featured fluid contours, incorporating elements of pentatonic and whole-tone scales.
   • Statistical analysis might reveal a departure from conventional melodic structures, with a focus on atmospheric, evocative lines rather than traditional, singable melodies.
   • His melodies often blurred the lines between melody and accompaniment, contributing to the overall impressionistic aesthetic of his music.
3. Culture:
   
   • Debussy's compositions challenged traditional notions of form, structure, and tonality, reflecting the changing cultural landscape of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
   • His rejection of German Romanticism and embrace of French musical traditions helped to establish a distinct national identity in French music.
   • Through his use of exoticism and non-Western musical elements, Debussy contributed to the broader cultural fascination with the exotic and the mysterious during the fin de siècle period.

Statistical analysis of Debussy's compositions could provide insights into the frequency of specific harmonic progressions, melodic contours, and stylistic features. By examining patterns and trends within his music, researchers can better understand his unique contributions to the development of music harmony, melody, and cultural expression.

• Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun (Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune): This orchestral tone poem, inspired by Stéphane Mallarmé's poem, is a quintessential example of Debussy's impressionistic style. Its dreamy atmosphere, fluid melodies, and innovative harmonic language evoke the sensual world of the faun.
• La Mer: Debussy's symphonic sketches for orchestra, La Mer, depict the ever-changing moods of the sea. Through innovative orchestration and harmonic exploration, Debussy creates a vivid sonic portrait of the sea's power and beauty.
• Clair de Lune: This piano piece, part of the Suite Bergamasque, is one of Debussy's most famous works. Its gentle, shimmering harmonies and delicate melodies evoke the moonlit tranquility of a nighttime landscape.

1. Cultural Examples:
   • French National Identity: Debussy's rejection of German Romanticism and his embrace of French musical traditions helped to establish a distinct national identity in French music. His compositions, with their evocative depictions of French landscapes and folklore, contributed to a sense of cultural pride and nationalism.
   • Impressionist Movement: Debussy's music is often associated with the Impressionist movement in painting, which sought to capture the fleeting impressions of light and color. Like the Impressionist painters, Debussy focused on atmosphere, texture, and suggestion rather than precise detail, creating music that is more about mood and impression than literal representation.
   • Cultural Exchange and Exoticism: Debussy's fascination with non-Western music and exoticism is evident in works like Pagodes from Estampes and La soirée dans Grenade from Iberia. These pieces incorporate elements of Javanese gamelan music and Spanish flamenco, reflecting the broader cultural fascination with the exotic and the mysterious during the fin de siècle period.

You already know I can kill you in one move, that's why I'm king and do it myself. Not that you gave me a choice to be king when you put me in a live audience. Not like the others that have to move around from where they start to get to you. Knonivore should have taught you that. I'll tell you the rest when I figure out why my horses are on Shogon.👻🦌♟️ Not that a stolen hand doesn't reveal the origins of my arsenal that lead to the Games appearance. My father says not to worry about in this lifetime, otherwise my would have been Johnathan🦊♟️ But my Mother says if that's the case, how did it cross over to our dimension? It's probably that stolen heart beat by from someone that crossed over from a stolen organ who intended on harming king and queen.☯️🔥 Not that Sherlock and Shazam don't share something similar, too bad it's the way my lower half investigates on BBC while I wait patiently on the grass in Brazil👽 Experiment 626 says you waste our time not producing the Fruit Aladdin promised, too bad the waters all dried up in Aladdins mind when the world forgets pray to Aladdin and not God. Not that Gos couldn't hear you with that knife in your back in that place you were getting paid for sex, it's just not cool when Moses loses his staff to Shazam. Not that the staff belonged to you anyway. That staff you see that man and the others carrying including that woman in Shazam's film along with Black Adam all belong to me. That's why false God's die Young as I promised you as it appearedin the Second Film, Shazam A god amoung us should reveal the footage now.. That's why I'm waiting this one out without as I said I would, in kings positions with John Snow, not that I'm done tech him how to take your measurements as well, along with those intent on collecting the bounty on him who continie to play him as if he could be Joker Enough to fight you naked🖕 Like the Wolf and I had to on Wall Street naked, hoping for an Eazy A and always ending up with a Leap Year. Not that I respect stone beneath my foot in American X or grass would be eternally mine, that's why you failed this city.👻☯️ I think I'll add the name Oliver to my collection, not that Stephen Amell ever got the full meaning of who I am when he showed up to stick it in my ass as a kid. Too bad Mothers don't forget when they show up dismembered on Jerry Springer while their heirs wait on submarines being forced to take water or give blood. Don't worry. I'm sure the missiles you send to hide the truth will work this time for sure, like they did in Colorado near my building. I'm sure that Red Neck Audience enjoyed laughing at my mother. Too bad I DEATH says he feels cheated that he couldn't get that drink with Shazam. Now he has to talk to a dragon about this Reborn program Alan keeps talking about alone. So long as it leads to more grass than stone, we're making it our objective in Africa now that the Pyramid wax has been updated. Not everyone can be Reborn Amazing. Otherwise, there'd be looking like the way we do on hulu, forced to take Dick when Robin and Batman make a deal with the Joker. Too bad if Elsa's hair gets cut then you all die cutted and wait it out as a corpse like I had to. That's price you pay when you fool God into a relationship with the government. Your compass divides you equally if you North and South a break from this Pole we're told to dance from in Russia. Not that you make it look easy to Spin the World when the Blood of Shazam in Bruce Almighty. Too bad it's temporary when where I'm standing. Once I figure out what medicine you're giving Aladdin it's over. See you at Worlds End 2030 fuckers. ☯️♟️ Those idiots you brought back in Avengers go back to Sand as they didn't want to be Reborn or feel Amazing I promised them. You fall fall the same to Lobo, Anubis, and Aladdin, because if their going down to Walt Disney, you are too. Shazam's Order as promised all the same to Magneto ♟️☯️ Too bad you rather die as sand than follow Shazam's Divine plan for your World Government, not that you can't deal with it but it look like you rather life in fear than to tell your bloodline the truth. That's the wolf and I deal with you on Gears of War, never Campaign only horde mode until we survive the last wave in pairs of 2, like we told all those creatures that went on ti Noah's Ark. 300 years to wait for someone isn't back when Alan cums quietly in the middle of the night to Pornhub to any Elf able to get blood from Aladdin as Santa requested. I learned not to sing, too many people die with a Dick down their thought when they think what Aladdin gives away fruit for free. Too bad Magic always comes with a price. That's what makes your magic weak. Too bad Person of interest only has one soul I'm interested in saving, the rest can wait this out while I take your measurements. Not that if ever required tape or a knife to get done so be careful when you end messing with God's only child and deal with both your tools shoved up your as like Will Smith had to learn in Hancock.🖕♟️🐺☯️🦌 Now I have to fight you the same way I did all these people, from bed wishing I lay naked. Too bad there's not much left of me to enjoy according to the people in Chelsea Philippines bloodline, in fact they say I'm all dried up like Aladdin's bloodline for thinking they could walk freely could giving us a taste of their taste Treat. Too bad my Mother knew better and told me to give Aladdin for the death of my Dragon you call Shendu and my Night Furry, not that she knows what it takes you make a God cry. That's what the Psychology office at Google is for, to make Aladdin's pain last for an Eternity for thinking we could deal with a Shapeshifter calling himself Anubis and not giving us his tastey treat despite how much pressure we out on Muslims on TV, but no he still won't tell us his fucking kids name, now we have to take who ever these Muslims are to Processing because whatever a hand held computer is meant more to Alan than his sibling. Too bad you all had to crack black and call it fake news. 🍣♟️ Not that your burger ever tasted good to me, apparently that's what Processing is, so be careful Aladdin♓ That's why all my heirs make their weapons from sand, so we can still get in touch with the dead, not that Hugh Jackman is making it far after our father trained us to play with paint.👻❄️🔥 I would bother ever going in front of a camera I didn't bless a photo with, too many Fringe level murders who those that don't learn English, that's why I had to learn Spanish too.☯️🖕 Too bad I don't trust the city as it doesn't stop breaking down Wood to make Real Steal to Walk Tall. Too bad the Chalk Board doesn't last when Anubis and Aladdij make a deal when they observe the people that pass though an Easy A while wearing Scrubs. You need hands to get things done, unfortunately you keep trying to give mine a job in Sex on the City. Too bad for you Catia Denny's Order was to leave you broke and penny less like the cast from the Big Bang Theory, not that we warned you that you wouldn't survive in Tangled. 🖕♟️☯️👻 So you shave your beard to say you die cut in half? And you shave your pussy to say your heir died? But if you shave your butthole that means someone pulled put your intestines? I knew poenhub had such a story.🦌 I much rather all learn to break bome than to let them touch your hair. Not that you'll appreciate why if you don't win. Not that Knonivore can afford you all to suffer and not be Reborn. Not that the throne my Father and Mother built is ever going Elsa.☯️ Those organs you keep walking away with means you want to wait equally as long to receive yours back, not that Elsa and I aren't keeping count.

FIRST CHAPTER
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This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
I'm Back Bitches! Again!
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Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero knelt before a semi-sparking control panel and sighed. She, and a large band of her fellow Engineers with Marine support, had boarded the pirate frigate with the singular goal of ensuring that the pirates didn’t scuttle their floating hulk and doom the slaves aboard to a, if they were lucky, a swift death in space.
The problem, of course, came with the pirate’s maintenance schedules and decisions to forgo certain… safety measures when it came to repair.
Like the panel before her. Usually a perfectly functional control system for the reverse-magnetic bulkhead doors that ensured void seals in power outages, some pirate at some point in their dumb, dumb life decided to fix the panel blowing a fuse… by ripping the fuse out and replacing it with a high density power cable. Which meant the entire thing was one massive shock hazard and actively sparking as the reactors deep in the ship flickered and surged due to damage.
Che’keero swore as an arc of electricity flashed towards her face after a tool that was not supposed to be magnetized, cheap dick WaDepth requisitions, caught a magnetic field, fusing the entire system shut and turning the formerly barely functional control system into nothing but pretty, decorative wiring and cheap solder. She punched the now utterly unfunctional control box and toggled on her radio. “Three-Two to Three-Lead, this door’s fried. You’ll need to bring in the cutters if we want to get to the rest of the ship. Might as well also bring in an inflatable airlock, I’m not liking how some of the metal strain sensors are flashing at me.”
A semi-synthetic voice replied back to Che’keero, “Three-Lead copies. I’ll be over there shortly with the stuff. Double check those sensors, I’m not getting the same readings, so let’s make sure something isn’t blocking errors from reaching me.”
“Copy that Three-Lead, Three-Two ou-” Something tapped against the back of her helmet and Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero mentally swore.
“Now, now, lassie, how about you sit right there and don’t move.” A nasally, unfamiliar voice called out to her while tapping what a camera she set up to watch her back revealed to be a laser pistol to Che’keero’s helmet. “I think that you’re going to be our new best friend and way off this dead end ship.”
Che’keero paused, letting the situation settle in her mind, “Wait, what? Are… are you taking me hostage?”
“Yes!” The pirate replied.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking me hostage? This won’t work, none of the shuttles are jump capable and if you try anything, you’ll just end up jumped by marines. They specifically train to deal with pirates taking their engineers hostage. If you want to survive, you should just surrender and take the penal colony when it’s offered.” Che’keero mentioned, shrugging and continuing her inspection of the door.
The pirate seemed baffled at the sheer nonchalance of this response, the pistol slowly falling to merely point at her upper back instead of her head, “You… you really aren’t taking this seriously. I’m a pirate! I’ve killed people! I’ve killed boys, and you’re just sitting there like this doesn’t mean anything!”
“I mean… I wouldn’t say that.” Che’keero replied.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!” The pirate screamed, the pistol moving away from Che’keero’s body by a fraction of an inch during an angry gesture.
It was at that point, a ceramic alloyed, carbon steel blade punched clean through the back of the pirate’s suit, slicing through their central nervous system and striking with enough force to shatter the faceplate of said pirate’s helmet on the way out. Muscles twitching, the laser pistol fired off randomly, missing Che’keero and slagging a chunk of bulkhead.
“I’m just buying time,” Che’keero replied cheekily.
“You really need to remember to check your cameras,” The semi-synthetic voice of Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns commented as the ex-pirate fell to the ground and blue blood dripped from the long blade sprouting from her right arm and a toolbox hanging from her left hand. “This isn’t the first time you have been flanked, and this one wasn’t during training.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Che’keero replied a bit testily.
“I’m sorry…” Ventures Forth prodded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Much better. Right, now what do we see in this- yeah you were right on it being fried.” Ventures Forth gently shoved the Junior Systems Engineer aside and took her place at the control panel. “Do a sweep of the strain systems. I don’t want this section of the ship breaking apart. Feel free to call up our hull patches. We’ve got plenty to share and this might have to be a lifeboat.”
“Aye, ma’am aye,” Che’keero replied with a crisp salute before rushing off to her duty.
Deeper inside the ship, Ventures Forth could hear laser fire, clashing of metal on metal, and cries for help.
The pirate ship was doomed, it was shattered and broken, but it was not destroyed. Not yet. \
And if she had her way, Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns would keep it that way.
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Roshal stood still as her steward continued to clean the dark blue and rapidly congealing blood off her armored form. “Comms,” She called out, “Do we have any contact with the shuttle we sent to the station?”
“Negative, ma’am.” The comm officer replied. She wasn’t the same one that was present when Roshal left to fend off the boarders. At the unspoken question, the woman continued “Communication’s Mate Second Class Lev’tal, ma’am. My superior got a concussion when the pirate ship rocked our ship during boarding. Strap snapped, prior damage. I took over.”
Roshal nodded approvingly, “Good initiative. Send a message to the station, see if we can’t rai-”
“Ma’am! Contact!” One of her sensor techs called out, “Belay that, two contacts. First contact, nav point 782 spinward, possible bogey, cruiser weight. Unknown movements. Second contact, nav point 102 coreward, aerospace assets inbound. Small flight. Hard to determine numbers due to damage. No less than two, no more than five.”
“Focus on getting a hard contact on that possible cruiser. Weapons, what is the status of our anti-aerospace.” Roshal demanded, holding her sword arm out for the steward to scrub at a particularly clotted chunk of blood splattered over her wrist.
The weapons officer shook her head, “If we’re lucky, then we’ve got 20% coverage on half our sides. If we’re very lucky, I might be able to bump that number up to 35%. Not going to quote doctrine, but that’s not nearly enough to fend off a flight of Aerospace assets on a strike run, and that’s assuming they don’t hit us on an unprotected flank.”
Roshal nodded once more, “Sound general quarters and get weapons and tactical back online. Tell the damage control parties to not be distracted and focus on critical systems first. Engine room, report. Can you give me maneuvering thrust?”
The nearby ship phone chimed in with a staticy hiss, “Negative, ma’am. The shot we made with the spinal mount tripped breakers up and down the reactor room. This isn’t an engine problem, we need to make sure our reactor doesn’t blow up when we siphon power. Before you ask, emergency power is still flowing and none of their circuits tripped, but that means we’re down to life support, basic systems, and dockyard thrusters. It will take at least 20 to get the reactor in a safe state. If you want 10, send the chaplain down so we have someone praying for good luck. The fact most of our structural engineers are doing an EVA boarding to ensure the pirate ship next to us doesn’t go critical and render the entire exercise moot isn’t helping matters at all.” The engine room replied Roshal bit down a bit of annoyance at the snark, but engineers were always a finicky sort with authority. They were the first to remind uptight officers that while the Captain’s word may be iron law, it was their work that truly moved the ship.
“Confirmed, engine room.” Roshal instead replied. “Chaplains will be arriving shortly. Do what you can and inform me when you’re three minutes out from full power.”
The engine room didn’t even bother replying, just sending over the affirmative light as they got to work. Roshal approved of that. Sometimes, you just had to insult someone in order to get it working right.
“Captain, we have confirmation on contact. He’s an Alliance Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser on intercept course. Energy readings are spiking… they’re charging their guns, ma’am!”
“Issue a hostile challenge and give me a firing solution with any gun still functional.”
“No response, ma’am. Hostile Karcharidon is increasing speed. Hard contact in 15 minutes.”
Roshal snarled, emotion breaking through her mask. “Of course, the pirates had one more vessel. Helm, fire our maneuvering thrusters, use the pirate hulk as cover. Weapons, get whoever’s left of our Interceptor flight to engage the enemy. Comms, get me in contact with the merchant fleet, tell them to evacuate. We’ll provide cover.”
“Aye ma’am.” The Communications Mate Second Class said with a shiver in her voice. “Sending-”
“Update on Aerospace assets!” Her sensor tech called out.
“Deliver!” Roshal demanded, cutting off the comms officer with a slice of her hand.
“Weapons fire. Definitely less than four contacts. Seems to be two grou- negative, only two contacts remaining- weaponsfire- one contac- IFF received, oh goddesses, IT’S RUNOFF THREE! FRIENDLY AEROSPACE INBOUND!”
//////////
Milk gripped her crash harness hard as Cookie slammed the Interceptor’s fusion torch clean past its safe thrust marker and into the red as g forces crushed her chest. “Last target down.” She reported after Cookie’s final laser burst hit something critical inside the final Aerospace fighter’s frame. “That’s 20 for 20. All enemy bogeys down. All standard munitions are in the black. Static drive is 48%, dump core ejected. All we’ve got left is our ASM and front laser.”
Cookie flashed back an affirmative signal.
“We going for that cruiser?”
Another affirmative.
“Well, I’m braced and ready on the release. Ready.”
“Ready.” Cookie spoke, his voice horse.
It’s funny what people think when their lives are on the line. Because charging towards a fresh enemy Heavy Cruiser, nothing but a single anti-shipping missile worth a damn, no allied support but the faint glimmer in IFF screens of their fellow flight doing the same… all Aoibhinn McDermott could think of was a poem she had read at least a decade ago or more at the Naval Academy.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
//////////
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns could do nothing but furiously swear as the basic sensor system her engineering team had restored on the thoroughly ventilated secondary command bridge of the pirate hulk revealed an enemy Heavy Cruiser bearing down upon their homeship.
“Weapons are trashed. We cored their reactor, anyway.” One of the tangential engineers reported, “Other teams are calling in. Things are worse where they are. We’ve found the slaves, though, luckily it was one of the few airtight bays. Also, have some more captives, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”
“No shit.” Ventures Forth replied, “Can we do anything?”
The engineer looked back to her, visor depolarizing so the Gearschilde can look into the black and yellow eyes of her Shil coworker.
“Pray.” The woman replied simply.
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns did just that.
//////////
Low chanting filled the engine bay as a small group of priests stood around the engine praying to whichever god that would listen to allow them one more shot. One more fight.
Around them, black handed engineers scurried, ripping out blown fuses and replacing them with soldered in high strength wire. A final measure of desperation. Sparks flew as engineers swore and chaplains prayed, power still remaining in circuits needing to be bled out before bypasses could be installed, turning every bit of solder and every ripped out fuse into a deadly gamble.
Already, someone was lying on the ground, no longer twitching.
They didn’t have time to check on their fallen comrade, the work was too important.
A clock ticked down. Four minutes elapsed.
//////////
Lieutenant Commander Cenywyn swore as she watched Runoff 2 die.
Their single Interceptor had mistimed a maneuver and had been caught dead in the middle of an Anti-Aerospace array, shredded in an instant. The only consolation she could take was that, seeing as the first shot went clean through the cockpit, they didn’t even notice they died.
“Runoff 4, stay in formation.” She ordered over the radio, “We’ll lead you in for the run.”
“Yes ma’am.” The hesitant voice of Junior Flight Lieutenant Griogill replied. She swallowed, “We’re- we’re ready when you are.”
“No fear, Lieutenant,” Cenywyn called back to the child she was leading to her death. “We’re pilots in the Imperial Patrol. We do our duty. No fear.”
A clock ticked down. Six minutes elapsed.
//////////
“Talk to me!” The last remaining senior engineer in the reactor bay called out to anyone who was able to reply.
Someone, she didn’t even bother looking to see who, called back “We’ve bypassed 60% of the fuses. Should be able to give ourselves a burst of combat power. No more than 10 minutes of it before the entire system overheats and we either die, or the reactor shuts off.”
“Any chance we can get more than 10 minutes?”
“Not before that Heavy Cruiser delivers us straight to the stars.”
“Fuck it, good enough.” She slammed her fist on the ship phone’s dialing button resting near the console the engineer had just ripped the last safety override out of. “Captain. We’ve got your power. You give us the word, and we’ll give you ten minutes.”
//////////
Roshal breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. 10 minutes of combat power before the entire ship shut down into uselessness. She’d done more with less. She couldn’t remember when, but she had. Luckily, this was a Patrol Carrier instead of a standard ship, so it was more than capable of combat maneuvers with nothing but RCS thrusters. That should give her some time.
Movement, movement was going to be the key.
“Comms, tell the engineering crews on the hulk that they are ordered to figure out anything that could draw the attention of the Heavy Cruiser,” She began, “Systems, break our mooring lines. We’re going to have to split from the hulk. Helm, prepare for maneuvers. RCS only. We are going to have to do this carefully. Engineroom, prepare for power activation, but hold until my command.”
This needs to be perfect, Roshal thought, A single mistimed action ruins it all.
A clock ticked down. Ten minutes elapsed. The Karcharidon had entered maximum weapon’s range.
//////////
He of Slender Tail shivered where he stood. The secondary command bridge was silent as Roshal began giving orders to fight. This was… this was insane.
They were in a ruined ship with nothing but a merchant fleet beginning to flee and a three thirds dead pirate hulk on their side against a fresh Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser.
They couldn’t win.
This was suicide.
They would die here.
\ So why didn’t He of Slender Tail feel afraid?
He stood at his post, a secondary bridge console where he would relay orders to other departments, freeing up the other Watchkeeper to collate those orders, there was nothing he could do to help win this impossible battle, and yet…
And yet he felt heat blossoming inside his chest with every single order delivered.
“Mooring teamsss, you are to cut your linesss immediately.” He relayed to a crew of Shil scurrying around the ruined bulkheads, “Damage control, prepare for electrical firesss and arcsss.” He commanded, switching between teams instantly.
He didn’t feel fear. He could see his Watchkeeper shiver every time the sensors reported the enemy contact was still closing, but he didn’t feel the same.
What he felt… was indignation.
How dare this pirate scum threaten his vessel, his crew. How dare they ambush this valiant ship after they had fought so hard to win. How dare they.
He let his fangs fold out as he spat the next order, “Anti-Aerossspace teamsss, prepare your batteriesss for grouped fire. Gunnery calculationsss are on their way.”
How dare they stand up to him.
A clock ticked down. 12 minutes elapsed. Weapons fire.
//////////
Roshal swayed slightly as she could feel the ship beneath her feet move. Movement is life in naval warfare, movement is death. “Right RCS fire, bring us clear of the hulk. Bow thrusters, up twenty.”
“Aye, ma’am, aye, right standard and bow up twenty.” The Helmswoman replied.
“Confirmed. Next maneuver, give us rear thrust-”
“Torpedo!” The sensor operator called out in a shrill voice, “Two marks on intercept course! Range, twelve K and closing fast!”
“Decorum!” Roshal snapped at the panicking sensor technician. “Comms, order Runoff flight to divert and intercept those torpedoes. Rear RCS to full, give us momentum.”
Roshal turned away from the bridge as affirmations were shouted, and the ship began to move, “Engineering, prepare to activate combat power on my mark and prepare for hard maneuvers. Mark in five.”
//////////
Griogill swallowed bile and tried not to feel too thankful that the enemy vessel had fired torpedoes at their home ship. Being diverted from an attack run had a much higher chance of survival than striking through an AA bubble.
“Runoff 4 engaging far torpedo. Moving in for intercept. Bre’kas, give me lock.”
Griogill’s backseater muttered something, and a target lock appeared on the far torpedo as Runoff 1, their previous Drill Sergeants, dashed by in a hard burn and blazed away at their own target.
“Right. We can do this. We can do this. No fear.” The rookie muttered as the sight of her friends in Runoff 3 being turned to vapor echoed in her mind. “I can do this.”
The target locked. She fired. The torpedo detonated.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in four.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser loomed closer as the comparatively tiny Patrol Carrier spat its defiance in the form of two Interceptors dancing between the stars.
As a pair of torpedoes detonated, four more were launched, the anti-shipping weapons built for this specific purpose. Destroying disabled vessels.
And so the last two remaining Interceptors on CAP dove into the fray, risking themselves against an ever approaching AA bubble in order to save their ship.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in three.”
//////////
All Cookie could do was stare and push his meager aerospace fighter further on its nuclear thrusters as shimmering dots of torpedoes lanced out from the Heavy Cruiser attacking his new home.
He pushed his hand forward and felt the throttle once more push back against him, the lever pushed all the way past safe thrust and into the further setting on his console.
The Interceptor was fast. It didn’t feel fast enough.
And so he spoke the words he spoke once before, back when he’d had to listen to his backseater’s screams of pain and the rush of wind after shrapnel pierced his fuselage, and the hospital was so, so far away.
Father, I pray that you will not hide your face from me. Whenever I pray, Lord please hear me and answer me speedily in Jesus' name. God, I pray that you will grant me speed through your help.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in two.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser shifted, engine flaring and it began to close the range. A single disabled ship on emergency RCS thrusters and a pair of Aerospace fighters was nothing it would have to deal with.
It fired a third spread of torpedoes.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
They took the bait. Roshal thought with a vicious grin.
“Mark in one.” She paused, “Execute.”
In an instant, power flowed through the ship, emergency lights flickered off as the burning red boarding lights returned their fiery glow. The entire ship shook as the main thruster came back online, and capacitors began to charge for maneuvers.
“Hard burn, full thrusters, right, on my mark.” Roshal watched as the Heavy Cruiser began to react to her movements, the enemy ship was alive, you needed to roll to broadsides to begin bombardment, come on come on…
Roshal watched as a torpedo flickered out of existence, Runoff 4 gaining another kill.
Come on, dammit, you don’t get put in charge of a Heavy Cruiser without- THERE!
The Heavy Cruiser flinched, turning her bow away from the no longer stricken vessel, preparing for broadside.
The Captain’s grin showed more teeth than smile. “Execute! Full right thrust!”
“Full right thrust! Aye ma’am aye!” Her helmswoman called out as maneuvering thrusters dead cold roared to life and physically threw the vessel to the side, causing everyone not strapped in on the bridge to rock as a barrage of fire flew past their former location, manual targeting systems in play since the automatic systems would still be getting warmed up.
“Full thrust forward, prepare to divert all power to secondary weapons. Weapons, give me a firing solution.” Roshal commanded, hand raised and pointed at the enemy’s display as if she were commanding from a tall ship.
A chant of “Aye ma’am aye” flowed out across the bridge as the weaponsmistress was silent before calling out. “Port side is up to 45% secondary fires and 32% point defense. That’ll be our best bet.”
Roshal nodded. “Make it so. Target their main weapons. Helm, get us that facing.”
“Ma’am. We’re getting a call from Runoff 3. They are entering the AO and are asking for a target.”
Roshal smiled, “Weapons, shift target. Aim for the anti-aerospace systems. Let’s give Runoff 3 the opening they need.”
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Cookie, we’ve got a targeting path.” Milk called forward. “Putting it up on your HUD.”
“One second… I’ve got it. Moving to comply. Did the Captain give us a plan?” her front seater replied, causing her stomach to do funny things as the Aerospace Fighter maneuvered while under high thrust.
“Something like that. She asked for a munitions report and specifically about our anti-shipping weapon.”
Cookie paused.
“Ah.” He finally said.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Well, let’s hope they’re able to open us up to a window of opportunity. Or this will be a short charge.”
“Not our place to question why.”
“Just our place to do and die.”
Time to target… three minutes.
Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
Two vessels, three Aerospace fighters, one chance.
Six minutes of power remained. All actors took their places on the stage.
One hundred kilometers, close enough to check the weld quality of hull seams, the two ships danced across from each other. Maneuvering.
Five minutes of power remained.
The Karcharidon Heavy Cruiser rolled itself trying to keep the vulnerable top deck away from the Patrol Carrier’s presumably still working main gun as Roshal’s vessel jumped to the side. Thrusters roared.
Four minutes of power remained.
Runoff 1 and 4 shot towards their formerly separated comrade, forming up behind them in a wedge. The trio climbed towards the sun as their captain continued to chase and harass the Karcharidon.
Three minutes of power remained.
Roshal spoke. The lances of her vessel fired. Laser blasts carved across the hull of the enemy ship as it rolled.
The rolling ceased. A helmswoman swore as a full broadside caught the Patrol Carrier in the flank. The port hangar pod was ruined, armor shattered and all inside exposed to hard vacuum. Those who could scream died the fastest. The Interceptors had their opening.
Two minutes of power remained.
Silent wings swept through vacuum as three Interceptors began their dive, their formerly speedy arrowhead shape giving way to an inverted t as their wings swept out for stability, the ASF dove and dove and dove.
Five Kilometers away.
The range was too wide. They had one shot. It had to be perfect.
One minute of power remained.
The Into Harm’s Way spat its defiance into the world, limited power drained to give her pilots a seconds more of time.
30 seconds of power remained.
Three Kilometers.
Hard Lock! Milk shouted from the back seat of Runoff 3. Cookie was silent. The range was still too wide.
15 seconds of power remained.
Two Kilometers.
The Karcharidon seemingly began to roll before the Patrol Carrier once more fired, its last remaining weapons spouting their defiance against the world. Deep in engineering, systems began to blow, wires that replaced fuses sparked power and delicate circuit boards shorted out into useless scrap.
The lights went out.
No power remained.
Roshal, in her head, began to count down as lances of light began to sweep across her ship. Damage control did what they could, but the beams began to cut like an overly enthusiastic shipbreaker.
Five.
One Kilometer.
Four.
Cookie’s thumb depressed the firing stud as the Interceptor screamed at him.
Three.
The ASF launched its deadly payload.
Two.
Three Interceptors pulled back hard on their sticks to avoid colliding with the deck.
One.
The thruster of the anti-shipping missile roared as it rocketed the point blank aerospace distance to target.
Impact.
The armor piercing tip of the missile punched into the upper deck plating of the Heavy Cruiser, classified alloys allowing it to pierce into the armored plating just enough to allow the shaped charge to open up a hole as momentum kept the weapon moving.
Within the frame of a single second, the warhead of the missile had entered the ship and, before the alarms even had time to sound, detonated.
A new sun appeared in the void for a split second as a plasma-fusion warhead detonated inside the Karcharidon heavy cruiser’s hull.
//////////
Roshal allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief inside her head as the emergency power lights flickered overhead and the gravity ever so slightly lightened. What was left of their sensor arrays showed the enemy vessel powering down. “Engineering. Good work, your 10 minutes were just what she needed.” She called out, picking up the ship phone.
There was no answer from engineering.
She signed externally before pointing at one of the marines guarding the bridge, “Find a crewmate in a void suit. I have need of runners.” The marine clasped a fist to her chest before leaving to execute her captain’s commands. “Comms, do we have any contact with the engineering teams on the pirate hulk?”
The Comms officer held up a hand, Roshal waited, “No, ma’am. We aren’t getting- wait. We’ve got visual on flashing lights from the hull. Apparently, something shorted, so they’re having to rebuild broadcast arrays. They can receive just fine, though.”
“Good, once we can maneuver, bring us broadside of them. What’s the status of the merchant fleet?”
Navigation spoke up now, “Still heading for the Jump Point. Should we send the recall order?”
“Not yet, we are still unsure if the area is safe. If we have any sensors remaining, begin sca-”
The mentioned sensor technician interrupted Captain Roshal, “Ma’am, new contact, signature unknown. Just jumped in from outside the starlane!”
“Give me details. Course, range, and speed?” She demanded.
“Signal confused, can’t get a lock!” Navigation called out, “Can’t tell if confusion’s from them or us.”
Not another one… Roshal sighed, “All forces prepa-”
“Ma’am, we’re being hailed.” Communications called out.
“On squawk.”
“This is Captain Al’yosha Cal’rada of Her Imperial Majesty’s Ship Spear of the Knyaginya, responding to Merchant vessel distress calls. Imperial Patrol Carrier, are you in need of assistance at this time?”
Roshal recognized the voice. A junior officer from her days in the Navy and a fellow Sevastutavan. The memory of the fresh faced girl when she’d joined her as an Ensign straight of the Naval Academy flashed before her eyes. “Captain Cal’rada. Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“Admiral?” Roshal could hear the shock in her old protege’s voice.
“That’s Captain, now, Al’yosha. I require your aid in ensuring the disabled vessel still glowing from an ASM strike remains disabled along with Search and Rescue teams for our sister Carrier.
“Whatever you want, you’ll have it, Admiral_… Helm! All ahead flank and plot course to intercept. Launch gunships and prepare to deploy Bluejackets. We’ll test our _Orcas’ teeth today!”
The line cut out a moment later than it should have, and Roshal nodded in approval.
“Captain, I still don’t have a read on new contact. What is it?” Sensors asked.
“A Drep’na inspired vision, come to life.” Roshal watched, feeling an odd sort of parental pride as Al’yosha’s experimental warship began closing the distance towards the Karcharidon at breakneck speeds. “A swift sailing vessel and ten carriage guns…” Roshal murmured the line from an old Vaasconian poem from the ancient Age of Sail. She had heard Cal’rada had succeeded in petitioning the Navy to build her dream-ship, burning every favor and passing out favors to any and everyone to see the program through. Now, there she was, standing on the bridge bearing down on a ship twice her size, but if the rumors were true, only half her guns.
“Ma’am, contact is still not resolving, but IFF confirms Imperial Navy designation. An Akula Class Attack Transport. I’ve… I’ve never even heard of this class.”
“Perhaps we shall hear of them more in the future. Fortune favors the active.”
“Contact is disgorging multiple signals, moving at speeds consistent with aerospace assets.”
“That is our signal we may disengage. Comms, inform the merchant fleet that the area is secure and to begin refueling procedures. Helm, get us alongside the pirate hulk, we have people to recover. Marine, get me a runner to the MP’s, we shall need the port hangar prepared for an old tradition the Navy has regarding pirate prisoners…” Roshal commanded. The fight was over, it was time to begin the cleanup.
//////////
So… that took a while. Sorry about that.
Turns out when a combination of writer’s block, decision paralysis and LIFE hits you over the head, it becomes a touch difficult to get your shit together long enough to write something down.
On the plus side, we are out of the “unplanned bits” and right back into the parts I have brainstormed, so I won’t be staring at a screen trying to think how to make things connect as much anymore. On the other hand, that means we are now entering the epilogue of book 1 of Top Lasgun.
Don’t worry, the story isn’t ending, I’ve got “three” books plotted out in my head, so we’ll see how that shakes out, but for the most part, this is where I start wrapping up plot threads, laying down threads for what comes next, and all that other good stuff.
So yeah, next chapter is going to involve everyone wrapping up what happened here, some fun little Military Justice, and potentially a bunch of plot. Also, I’m planning on starting a “rewrite”/edited version of this to go up on AO3, so keep an eye out for that. Early installment weirdness is a bitch and I’m not proud of what the older stuff looked like.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening whenever you read this and I will see you next chapter.
[NEXT CHAPTER]

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

Backstory: I am Indigenous American, First Nation or Indian(whichever you prefer to use). I grew up on the rez and joined the Navy for a better life. My wife is Caucasian and grew up in a Mormon household with a father who is a German immigrant with a subservient mother. I proposed to my wife on our fist date and she said yes (a story for later).
Growing up my father stressed the importance of education and to study and appreciate other cultures and ideas. When I met my wife I was working on my bachelors while in the navy. I was also studying foreign languages and can communicate in French and Spanish and I understand German.
So when I met my in-laws for the first time it was a bit of a shock to them that I was not white. For the first few months my conversations with them never progressed past one of two topics. 1. So your Indian (sometimes proceeded by the derogatory chant) or 2. You should join our religion. I was already familiar with the Latter Day Saints and their religious claims on North America. Instead of being offended or confrontational, I chose to just avoid them which was easy because of my deployment schedule.
Now because my soon to be wife was raised in the church all she wanted from me was a wedding in the Mormon temple. To oblige her dream and because I put no stock in most religions other than outward respect of differences, I pretended to be Mormon. I took lessons and passed the various interviews required to get married in the temple, which none of my family could attend because they were not worthy.
Now comes the reception, which my family could attend. Most of the guests were my wife's friends and church acquaintances as well as the extended German side of her family. After a while my wife and I are talking with her relatives when her father says ( in German) "I am disappointed that she married him and my grand children will not look like me." I would like to say I was surprised but I already figured this to be the case considering the limited knowledge he had about me combined with our previous limited conversation. As my wife was never taught German by her father because she was female, she had no idea what was said. As my insides twisted I continued to smile and keep my mouth shut. This was going to be my wife's perfect day no matter what.
Two derogatory comments in German later about being an uneducated dirty Mexican/Indian the reception was over. My wife went to change and my relatives came up to me to wish me luck and inform me what they overheard. My uncle and brother both served and were stationed in Germany for a time so they were also somewhat fluent.
Cue Entitled Boomer FIL. My family and I were conversing in a mix of English Spanish and Navajo which is completely baffling unless you grew up with it. And he says "Oh is this some kind of Indian blessing?". My uncle turns to me waiting for approval which is quickly granted with a nod and he says in German "it is a blessing so that his children not only NOT look like you but also not be as STUPID as you." And the look of the realization striking him directly in the balls, that we all knew, is something I will always cherish.
My wife and I left that night with her commenting about her father crying before we left. At the time all I could say was "It is difficult for a father to let go of his daughter and trust her to another man". It was years later at a family holiday celebrated with my family that my wife learned the truth about that night from my brother. She said to me that it was not until she met me that she could truly comprehend that her father was not a good man.

Monday is the first day of the work week that many people dread. Not all people dread it, but some. Let's take a look into the Numerology of Monday to decode the energy and what it can be used for to work with it and not against it.
M - this is the 13th letter of the alphabet vibrating at the energy of 4. The energy of 1 is action and the energy of 3 is connecting with others through collaboration. This puts a focus on responsibilities and for most people, it's a work or school day which connects with this. Although it is about being responsible, it's still the energy of 4 which is mellow and controlled energy. O - this is the 15th letter of the alphabet vibrating at the energy of 6 which is about using your creativity constructively to take care of the tasks or duties you need to take care of. 6 is the number of beauty, duty, and routine. N - 14th letter of the alphabet vibrating at the energy of 5. This is about using your energy to be responsible and making space for enjoyment while doing so. 14 is a karmic number, but not when used correctly. As a karmic number, 14 is about someone who ditched their responsibilities and now have to deal with some challeneges(5). Proper use of this energy is using it for creative purposes. D - 4th letter vibrating at the purest energy of 4 which is about calmness, caution, and security. A - vibrating at 1 as the first letter of the alphabet, this is about action and energy. Y - The 25th letter of the alphabet vibrating at the energy of 7, but through cooperation with others(2) and compassion for others(2) and with the use of creativity (5) or even humor(5). Big lover energy as 5 can point to romance and 2 can point to soulmates.
Monday full numerology comes down to 8 and 8 can represent long and drawn out processes, wait times, and pressure. The dreadful energy can be moreso due to this 8 energy. People can work with this energy by being patient as 8 points to tedious tasks. With this insight, you can now simply start expected a little time in between things and pacing yourself. It can seem like a long day or your duties may be plentiful.
This is a day best utilized in a constructive (8) way with the use of wisdom and calculation(7). The 7 is the soul urge influence of Monday based on the vowels. 2 vowels A and O which equals 7. Being calculating and seeking depth will allow you to master the energy of Monday. Use this day to get the most done with your projects or workloads.
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monday 9 am pst to ist 9/11 museum free monday 9 minutes on monday 90 days from monday 90 day fiance monday night 911 monday 9-5 monday to friday jobs 9/11 monday night football 9-5 monday to friday jobs near me 9-5 monday to friday how many hours

This is the most plausible answer. I think this is exactly how he did it using facts from sermons, emails, texts, news, interviews, maps, and extensive experience with parasitic Narcissistic sitic abuse. If there is anything that I am incorrect on please let me know and I will recalculate. After typing this up two days ago, I stumbled upon Mica’s father‘s interview, and it completely solidified it to the point where I started violently shaking. I think this is what happened.
I was told Winslow‘s property backs up against that state forest. 200 acres. Right down the road. Now remember. Somebody on his staff was told to go and trim back the overgrowth on that specific property shortly before all of this happened,
I think Mica at some point had conversation with Winslow and agreed to come and talk to him at his property, a “safe place JP wouldn’t know.”, thinking she could trust him. I think mica went to winslows and JP was waiting there for unknowingly.
I think Winslow has JP‘s phone and I think JP has Winslow‘s phone so they’re not gonna ping the towers. All they saw was the license plate they never verified He was actually there.
I think JP and Winslow met at a undisclosed location and swapped vehicles. JP went up to Winslow’s NC property with Winslow‘s vehicle and cell phone, and Winslow went down south with JP cell phone and truck. I can’t quite place the girlfriend, but she is an alibi therefore she is aware that something has happened or is going on. I cannot figure out whether or not Winslow was with JP and she took the vehicle down south either or we need to find out the location of where the girlfriend was and where Winslow was. That could all be found by bank financial records of the days in question. Nobody uses cash in 2024 for an entire getaway.
Didn’t they say he got a new truck? There was something new about the truck? Did he get a new one so it wouldn’t have any of Winslow’s DNA inside of it? If Winslow drove it, his DNA/finger prints on the steering wheel would easily be on the steering wheel. Why else would he need to drive Winslow‘s vehicle if there were indications, he was driving the vehicle. Now remember one of them is a lawyer he knows what they look for. JP‘s and Winslow‘s vehicles both need to be tested for gunpowder residue.
Mica shows up to Winslow’s property, JP is there with Winslow’s vehicle, ambushes her OR Winslow is there too and the girlfriend took her phone and truck south. He already has a plan of where he’s going to take her to unalive her before she arrives. JP drives Mica’s car with Mica in it to the final location parking lot, walks her into the woods kills her, puts her stuff down and walks back to Winslow property through the woods. Girlfriend says she was with him, I think she stayed at the property or she drove a vehicle to come get him after he was done if she was there. either way Winslow or girlfriend somebody picked him up or was waiting or he went back to the property and gotten Winslow‘s vehicle and left. Remember it’s not that far away..
Now, after reviewing the 911 recording again, I do not think it is AI. The biggest reason why I know it wasn’t AI is because if you listen to the fast response when asked for the phone number, there wasn’t enough time to record that and send it at the same time. So she replied too fast. Now, when have you ever heard a 911 operator asking somebody for their phone number? That never would have been written. You still have the type stuff in the AI creators. Also, she delayed pause between every number, how would she have replied in half the time it would have taken to type all of that out. Think about it, he would have had to type a number hit space type a number hit space over and over. In a rush I know I mess up you don’t think he would have messed up? He never would have been able to get that recorded smoothly quickly in the time it took for her to respond. Again, when have you ever heard of 911 asking for your phone number?. I believe he is in the car with her after they just left Winslows property. I believe he’s sitting right next to her in the car and allows her to make the call thinking it’s going to cover up everything and benefit him. She was sending out the whistle to her family and She’s trying to buy time for them to locate her. He knew to turn off the location because she mentioned She turned it on notice how it ended at that?. My point with this is at the end.
Logically speaking if she was purposely driving to that park, she would have known the name to GPS it. She would’ve known the name of the park to give the operator. That’s why she was pausing, probably looking to him to see where they’re at. That’s why she says “yes that’s it” cause he nodded. he had enough time to process what the operator was saying before Mica was able to answer that’s why she was able to reply quickly because the operator was speaking slowly. He heard the first word and nodded. She didn’t know, but now suddenly she knew? If she was going to purposely take her own life, and she really wanted her body found, why wouldn’t she have found the name of the park before she called to give them proper location?
She would have seen oh look it’s a park and read the sign and pulled into it. She didn’t know the sign because she was terrified because he was with her. She just knows she’s in a park.
I would possibly look to see if there was any dirt roads that led to where her vehicle is at back to Winslow’s property. That might be why she didn’t see a sign. I haven’t looked too much into that part but it’s a suggestion if anybody wants to do any homework.
SO That’s why the phone was put on airplane mode so cops wouldn’t track them into the woods at the site of the incident and he would be able to get away in time into the woods without being seen.
Also airplane mode was turned on while in the car, at the end of the 911 call, I think he took the phone put the airplane mode on which is why the airplane mode was put on because she mentioned it out loud specifically, he knew the cops were coming time to MOVE, can’t follow us to the woods though. THATS why there’s no bird sounds, they did it in the car after they got to the parking lot. I think subconsciously she thought knew this was going to happen. Kinda like I told my family this was going to happen, and then it clicked what she needed to do. He brought the phone with them to paint the picture. Why would she turn off her location herself if she wanted to be found? She was already going to enter her life right? She was obviously not going to wait a long time right? Listen to her voice when it got emotional when she said she was going to kill herself. If she was unsure, why did she skip up in the exact moment? She was almost free, she had fought so hard. When you’re almost free, what would make you think she would want to stop now? Listen to me clearly, he was in the car. She needed to send out a dog whistle to the people she had told she she told him she would admit to the suicide if she could have her body found. She knew she was going to die and she knew she needed to make sure her family could piece this together. Therefore the only plausible answer is he was in the car with her. She was emotionless probably because the gun was already on her, the phone was removed from her because she mentioned the airplane mode specifically he thought they can’t trace us out to the woods, airplane mode goes on. He walked out to the woods. He needed Time to get away and couldn’t have them knowing exactly where he was to go to first so he could escape right after.
Now he goes into the woods by possibly dragging her which is why she has a bruised wrist. That might be why she started crying. She might have tried to get away when she knew what was going to happen or that it was happening hence why there’s multiple rounds. This led to possible yanking, and then the gunshot, which is why the fisherman heard the crying. Then it was over. Put her in the water he placed her belongings and Then he walked back towards Winslow‘s property. I want to know if there’s a phone call between mica and Winslow, was this drive scheduled day of or days prior and gave enough time for it to be planned. I believe at that time he got back into Winslow’s vehicle met somewhere with Windlow switched vehicles again. JP going to his home and Winslow going back to his home. The funeral and everything was already preplanned and scheduled due to the fact they already knew what was going to happen and already had it pre-planned and needed to make sure it was swift and left no room for delay. Her family, knowing they would want to see her, he manipulated them into signing the cremation holding her body over their heads. Taunting them via text message blaming them to create the narrative. Otherwise, what would be the big deal of allowing them to see the body without needing something in exchange? He knew they would have questions afterwards. At that time all they had was the 911 call and a body, sometimes you need time to process. You know when something happens and then later on you’re like wait what? He wanted to make sure that body had no stop on the cremation process to get rid of all evidence before thosequestions inevitably came. He got ahead of it so there was no hiccup in delays because he knew he had to allow them to see the body to the public that would be the moral right thing to do. Not allowing them to see the body would be suspicious. He figured out how to make it work for both. He talks about laying with her body four times and trying to raise her from the dead, was this guilt or was it like when somebody puts a deer head on the wall?
Now remember, she has already been predisposed to trust Winslow. He mentions Winslow in an email to her previously, obviously showing that he & his wife were a trusted friend of hers as well. It’s 100% a possibility that Winslow told her to come up and talk where she was protected and JP wouldn’t find them, and Winslow left with the truck and met with JP and they switched. Winslow south, JP north. Winslow had asked his staff to clean up that overgrowth on the property. It being a wooded area, was this done so that the roadway was assessable for the plan? she probably drove down some type of dirt road, and he ambushed her in some manner. North Carolina Woods are dense, therefore easily to hide when she pulls over.
Now, how do I think that JP convinced Winslow to help, I believe JP convinced Winslow , Mica was going to tell on all of them and ruin their lives. This could have been backed up by the fact that all the documentation that she had previously collected had gone missing, and was brought to Winslow to paint Mica as an enemy so this was enough for him to convince Winslow that their future and freedom was inJeopardy. When JP was actually afraid she was going to tell on his abuse and life and ruin him. So they killed her to protect their life.
They said something yesterday about breaking news how they found that the notary was forged? Thats enough for me to draw speculation because it was done by Winslow that he is now in on the dirty dealings. He is a part of the actual dirty dealings against mica He knows something is being done wrong and he is condoning it.
That notary that was done on the power of attorney from mica was falsely notarized. Mica was not present for the notary. There was an article on earlier I was looking at but I was in information overload. I just know It was not legally notarized. This shows that Winslow does not have integrity. How far is he willing to go to protect JP and all of their secrets?
I think she told JP she just wanted her body to be found for her family and she would go without a fight. I believe that it was a dog whistle to her family. The clue they would need to know this wasn’t suicide. She told them and now she needed them to remember. She knew she was going to die and everybody needed to know about the gunshot specifically that she warned everyone about days prior. He didn’t know she told people close to her that that. That’s why her voice broke up when she said she was going to unalive herself. She did not want to die. She just wanted people to be able to solve the crime. She manipulated him into thinking he was going to get away with this because she is admitting to it being a suicide. Not knowing She had whistled what was going to happen, she needed people to listen. She offered up no extra information during the 911 call which then delayed the process hoping they would find her location. She told her dad days prior she’s getting a gun for protection. I think she got it before she drove up there just incase and the bruises on her hand may be him wrestling it from her. Maybe at arrival.
A search and rescue dog can smell from weeks to months after somebody has left the area, and if anybody can get something of his and be able to place him there in the woods, you have convincing beyond a reasonable doubt.
After writing this up yesterday when I was complete, I got super sick to my stomach. I was shaking. I could see it completely out in my head where all the facts completely aligned. I believe tthis is the only plausible theory there is.
What people need to realize at the end of the day the good attention and bad attention is still attention to a narcissist. He is enjoying the intention is getting from this primarily from getting away with it. That’s why I believe he visited her body four times after she was deceased. Because he already had a girlfriend, he already talked about going and getting a hot wife and then after she dies, he does an interview about how she’s the most incredible wife and supportive. He made the obituary about how awesome he thought she was to still collect her validation and the validation he got from being her husband because she was good. She was light and he was jealous of that. He wanted that that’s why he had that position. She loved him so much he claimed and how she was so wonderful he claimed yet she didn’t want him when she had a no contact order and wanted a divorce obviously, he wasn’t that. and if you guys don’t think he groomed her go to the memorial of life sermon and listen to the poem again. Now switch the words, “school” and “church.” And follow the story line.
He killed Mica Miller.

I am searching for a poem I came across many years ago, possibly posted on a blog. But I have very little info and not getting very far... Wondering if the powers of Reddit can help!
It was written by a woman about the grief she and her mother felt at losing her father.
She says something along the lines of "we took our grief on holiday" and talks about being "arm in arm at the Duomo" "not sure if I'm holding her or she is holding me"
This is literally all I can remember and it's driving me crazy! Thank you!🙏

This is the most plausible answer. I think this is exactly how he did it using facts from sermons, emails, texts, news, interviews, maps, and extensive experience with parasitic Narcissistic sitic abuse. If there is anything that I am incorrect on please let me know and I will recalculate. After typing this up two days ago, I stumbled upon Mica’s father‘s interview, and it completely solidified it to the point where I started violently shaking. I think this is what happened.
I was told Winslow‘s property backs up against that state forest. 200 acres. Right down the road. Now remember. Somebody on his staff was told to go and trim back the overgrowth on that specific property shortly before all of this happened,
I think Mica at some point had conversation with Winslow and agreed to come and talk to him at his property, a “safe place JP wouldn’t know.”, thinking she could trust him. I think mica went to winslows and JP was waiting there for unknowingly.
I think Winslow has JP‘s phone and I think JP has Winslow‘s phone so they’re not gonna ping the towers. All they saw was the license plate they never verified He was actually there.
I think JP and Winslow met at a undisclosed location and swapped vehicles. JP went up to Winslow’s NC property with Winslow‘s vehicle and cell phone, and Winslow went down south with JP cell phone and truck. I can’t quite place the girlfriend, but she is an alibi therefore she is aware that something has happened or is going on. I cannot figure out whether or not Winslow was with JP and she took the vehicle down south either or we need to find out the location of where the girlfriend was and where Winslow was. That could all be found by bank financial records of the days in question. Nobody uses cash in 2024 for an entire getaway.
Didn’t they say he got a new truck? There was something new about the truck? Did he get a new one so it wouldn’t have any of Winslow’s DNA inside of it? If Winslow drove it, his DNA/finger prints on the steering wheel would easily be on the steering wheel. Why else would he need to drive Winslow‘s vehicle if there were indications, he was driving the vehicle. Now remember one of them is a lawyer he knows what they look for. JP‘s and Winslow‘s vehicles both need to be tested for gunpowder residue.
Mica shows up to Winslow’s property, JP is there with Winslow’s vehicle, ambushes her OR Winslow is there too and the girlfriend took her phone and truck south. He already has a plan of where he’s going to take her to unalive her before she arrives. JP drives Mica’s car with Mica in it to the final location parking lot, walks her into the woods kills her, puts her stuff down and walks back to Winslow property through the woods. Girlfriend says she was with him, I think she stayed at the property or she drove a vehicle to come get him after he was done if she was there. either way Winslow or girlfriend somebody picked him up or was waiting or he went back to the property and gotten Winslow‘s vehicle and left. Remember it’s not that far away..
Now, after reviewing the 911 recording again, I do not think it is AI. The biggest reason why I know it wasn’t AI is because if you listen to the fast response when asked for the phone number, there wasn’t enough time to record that and send it at the same time. So she replied too fast. Now, when have you ever heard a 911 operator asking somebody for their phone number? That never would have been written. You still have the type stuff in the AI creators. Also, she delayed pause between every number, how would she have replied in half the time it would have taken to type all of that out. Think about it, he would have had to type a number hit space type a number hit space over and over. In a rush I know I mess up you don’t think he would have messed up? He never would have been able to get that recorded smoothly quickly in the time it took for her to respond. Again, when have you ever heard of 911 asking for your phone number?. I believe he is in the car with her after they just left Winslows property. I believe he’s sitting right next to her in the car and allows her to make the call thinking it’s going to cover up everything and benefit him. She was sending out the whistle to her family and She’s trying to buy time for them to locate her. He knew to turn off the location because she mentioned She turned it on notice how it ended at that?. My point with this is at the end.
Logically speaking if she was purposely driving to that park, she would have known the name to GPS it. She would’ve known the name of the park to give the operator. That’s why she was pausing, probably looking to him to see where they’re at. That’s why she says “yes that’s it” cause he nodded. he had enough time to process what the operator was saying before Mica was able to answer that’s why she was able to reply quickly because the operator was speaking slowly. He heard the first word and nodded. She didn’t know, but now suddenly she knew? If she was going to purposely take her own life, and she really wanted her body found, why wouldn’t she have found the name of the park before she called to give them proper location?
She would have seen oh look it’s a park and read the sign and pulled into it. She didn’t know the sign because she was terrified because he was with her. She just knows she’s in a park.
I would possibly look to see if there was any dirt roads that led to where her vehicle is at back to Winslow’s property. That might be why she didn’t see a sign. I haven’t looked too much into that part but it’s a suggestion if anybody wants to do any homework.
SO That’s why the phone was put on airplane mode so cops wouldn’t track them into the woods at the site of the incident and he would be able to get away in time into the woods without being seen.
Also airplane mode was turned on while in the car, at the end of the 911 call, I think he took the phone put the airplane mode on which is why the airplane mode was put on because she mentioned it out loud specifically, he knew the cops were coming time to MOVE, can’t follow us to the woods though. THATS why there’s no bird sounds, they did it in the car after they got to the parking lot. I think subconsciously she thought knew this was going to happen. Kinda like I told my family this was going to happen, and then it clicked what she needed to do. He brought the phone with them to paint the picture. Why would she turn off her location herself if she wanted to be found? She was already going to enter her life right? She was obviously not going to wait a long time right? Listen to her voice when it got emotional when she said she was going to kill herself. If she was unsure, why did she skip up in the exact moment? She was almost free, she had fought so hard. When you’re almost free, what would make you think she would want to stop now? Listen to me clearly, he was in the car. She needed to send out a dog whistle to the people she had told she she told him she would admit to the suicide if she could have her body found. She knew she was going to die and she knew she needed to make sure her family could piece this together. Therefore the only plausible answer is he was in the car with her. She was emotionless probably because the gun was already on her, the phone was removed from her because she mentioned the airplane mode specifically he thought they can’t trace us out to the woods, airplane mode goes on. He walked out to the woods. He needed Time to get away and couldn’t have them knowing exactly where he was to go to first so he could escape right after.
Now he goes into the woods by possibly dragging her which is why she has a bruised wrist. That might be why she started crying. She might have tried to get away when she knew what was going to happen or that it was happening hence why there’s multiple rounds. This led to possible yanking, and then the gunshot, which is why the fisherman heard the crying. Then it was over. Put her in the water he placed her belongings and Then he walked back towards Winslow‘s property. I want to know if there’s a phone call between mica and Winslow, was this drive scheduled day of or days prior and gave enough time for it to be planned. I believe at that time he got back into Winslow’s vehicle met somewhere with Windlow switched vehicles again. JP going to his home and Winslow going back to his home. The funeral and everything was already preplanned and scheduled due to the fact they already knew what was going to happen and already had it pre-planned and needed to make sure it was swift and left no room for delay. Her family, knowing they would want to see her, he manipulated them into signing the cremation holding her body over their heads. Taunting them via text message blaming them to create the narrative. Otherwise, what would be the big deal of allowing them to see the body without needing something in exchange? He knew they would have questions afterwards. At that time all they had was the 911 call and a body, sometimes you need time to process. You know when something happens and then later on you’re like wait what? He wanted to make sure that body had no stop on the cremation process to get rid of all evidence before thosequestions inevitably came. He got ahead of it so there was no hiccup in delays because he knew he had to allow them to see the body to the public that would be the moral right thing to do. Not allowing them to see the body would be suspicious. He figured out how to make it work for both. He talks about laying with her body four times and trying to raise her from the dead, was this guilt or was it like when somebody puts a deer head on the wall?
Now remember, she has already been predisposed to trust Winslow. He mentions Winslow in an email to her previously, obviously showing that he & his wife were a trusted friend of hers as well. It’s 100% a possibility that Winslow told her to come up and talk where she was protected and JP wouldn’t find them, and Winslow left with the truck and met with JP and they switched. Winslow south, JP north. Winslow had asked his staff to clean up that overgrowth on the property. It being a wooded area, was this done so that the roadway was assessable for the plan? she probably drove down some type of dirt road, and he ambushed her in some manner. North Carolina Woods are dense, therefore easily to hide when she pulls over.
Now, how do I think that JP convinced Winslow to help, I believe JP convinced Winslow , Mica was going to tell on all of them and ruin their lives. This could have been backed up by the fact that all the documentation that she had previously collected had gone missing, and was brought to Winslow to paint Mica as an enemy so this was enough for him to convince Winslow that their future and freedom was inJeopardy. When JP was actually afraid she was going to tell on his abuse and life and ruin him. So they killed her to protect their life.
They said something yesterday about breaking news how they found that the notary was forged? Thats enough for me to draw speculation because it was done by Winslow that he is now in on the dirty dealings. He is a part of the actual dirty dealings against mica He knows something is being done wrong and he is condoning it.
That notary that was done on the power of attorney from mica was falsely notarized. Mica was not present for the notary. There was an article on earlier I was looking at but I was in information overload. I just know It was not legally notarized. This shows that Winslow does not have integrity. How far is he willing to go to protect JP and all of their secrets?
I think she told JP she just wanted her body to be found for her family and she would go without a fight. I believe that it was a dog whistle to her family. The clue they would need to know this wasn’t suicide. She told them and now she needed them to remember. She knew she was going to die and everybody needed to know about the gunshot specifically that she warned everyone about days prior. He didn’t know she told people close to her that that. That’s why her voice broke up when she said she was going to unalive herself. She did not want to die. She just wanted people to be able to solve the crime. She manipulated him into thinking he was going to get away with this because she is admitting to it being a suicide. Not knowing She had whistled what was going to happen, she needed people to listen. She offered up no extra information during the 911 call which then delayed the process hoping they would find her location. She told her dad days prior she’s getting a gun for protection. I think she got it before she drove up there just incase and the bruises on her hand may be him wrestling it from her. Maybe at arrival.
A search and rescue dog can smell from weeks to months after somebody has left the area, and if anybody can get something of his and be able to place him there in the woods, you have convincing beyond a reasonable doubt.
After writing this up yesterday when I was complete, I got super sick to my stomach. I was shaking. I could see it completely out in my head where all the facts completely aligned. I believe tthis is the only plausible theory there is.
What people need to realize at the end of the day the good attention and bad attention is still attention to a narcissist. He is enjoying the intention is getting from this primarily from getting away with it. That’s why I believe he visited her body four times after she was deceased. Because he already had a girlfriend, he already talked about going and getting a hot wife and then after she dies, he does an interview about how she’s the most incredible wife and supportive. He made the obituary about how awesome she thought HE was to still collect her validation and the validation he got from being her husband because she was good. She was light and he was jealous of that. He wanted that that’s why he had that position. She loved him so much he claimed and how she was so wonderful he claimed yet she didn’t want him when she had a no contact order and wanted a divorce obviously, he wasn’t that. and if you guys don’t think he groomed her go to the memorial of life sermon and listen to the poem again. Now switch the words, “school” and “church.” And follow the story line.
He killed Mica Miller.

Destination Covered New Delhi – Agra – Jaipur – Goa

TOUR ITINERARY DETAILS

Day 01: Arrive New Delhi

On arrival Incredible Tour To India representative shall meet you at the airport to welcome you and transfer you to hotel. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 02: Delhi

Enjoy full day city tour covering Laxmi Narayan Temple – The Place of Gods, India Gate – The memorial of martyrs, Parliament House – The Government Headquarters, Jama Masjid – The largest mosque in Asia, Red Fort – The red stone magic, Gandhi memorial – The memoir of father of the nation beside these some other places to visit are – Qutub Minar Complex and Humayun’s Tomb. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 03: Delhi to Agra

Today we shall drive you to Agra. Agra is 205 kilometers away from Delhi and take 5 hours drive to reach. Arrive in Agra and check in into hotel. Later, we shall take you for a city tour covering -Taj Mahal – a poem written in white marble, the most extravagant monument ever built for love, Red Fort – a visit to the fort in ‘Agra’ is a must since so many of the events which lead to the construction of the Taj took place here, Itmad-ud-Daula’s Tomb – The tomb is of particular interest since many of its design elephants overshadow the Taj. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 04: Agra to Jaipur

Early morning, drive to Jaipur. The city is 235 kilometers away from Agra and take 5 hours drive to reach. En route visit Fatehpur Sikri (Old Deserted town of Mughal Dynasty) and its monuments which include Jama Masjid, The Buland Darwaza, Palace of Jodha Bai, Birbal Bhawan & Panch Mahal. Arrive in Jaipur and check into the hotel. Later relax in the hotel. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 05: Jaipur

Today morning we shall take you for a tour to Amer Fort. Take joy ride on Elephant (presently Elephant Ride closed at Amber Fort for the time being). Afternoon enjoy city tour covering City Palace – occupies a large area divided into a series of courtyards, gardens & buildings and a perfect blend of Rajasthani & Mughal architecture, Royal Observatory – An observatory with some rare qualities to its credit, Nawab Sahab Ki Haveli, and the Bazaar etc. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 06: Jaipur to Goa

In the morning, you’ll be transferred to airport to board connecting flight for Goa. On arrival in Goa met our representative and get transferred to your Hotel. Rest of the day is at leisure. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 07: Goa

In the morning, enjoy half day sightseeing tour of Old Goa. Evening is at leisure. Overnight at the hotel.

Day 08: Goa

Full day relax by the poolside/Beach. Overnight stay.

Day 09: Goa Departure

Morning is at leisure. In the evening, you’ll be transferred to the airport to board connecting flight for your onward destination.

Spoilers ahead…
Dear Karthik Subbaraj,
Congratulations on yet another interesting movie, and for resisting the impulse to name this one, too, after a food item. Iraivi is an unusual feminist film, in the sense that it’s seen entirely through the prism of sympathetic male characters. Your men aren’t monsters who drink or cheat on their wives or subject them to torture. They do these things, yes, but… differently. Arul (SJ Surya) drinks, but only to drown out his sense of failure – he’s a director and his film is in the cans, being held hostage by a sadistic producer. Michael (Vijay Sethupathi) has sex with Malarvizhi (Pooja Devariya), and he continues to lust after her after his marriage to Ponni (Anjali) – I love that all your women have names that suggest classical heroines, including Arul’s wife Yazhini (Kamalini Mukherjee) – but it’s a marriage he committed to in a hurry and he still hasn’t reconciled himself to it. He’s being a bastard, certainly, but he’s not a one-note villain. And the torture they inflict isn’t the stubbing-a-cigarette-into-the-wife’s-bare-arm variety. It’s more mental than physical.
So we get women who are collateral damage – and I include Arul’s comatose mother (Vadivukkarasi), and the nurse who’s not allowed to do her duty – of men being men. They’re being babies, really. Yazhini tells Arul that he should get on with his life, write another story, make another movie. He says it’s like her trying to have another child while still pregnant with their daughter. (Yes, all these men end up with girl children.) He’s a wallower – but maybe all artists are. You like to do that, don’t you Karthik? Even in a film like this, you deliver a commentary about filmmaking and the artist. Why, even Arul’s father is a sculptor, and though we never see him ill-treating his wife (thank you for sparing us the clichés of raised hands and raised voices), we’re informed that he’s responsible for her state. His son’s following the father’s footsteps. Maybe you’re trying to say that the wives of obsessed artists are doomed to become collateral damage. Your films make us think, Karthik, so thank you for that.
All your stories have at their centre a filmmaker, or at least (in the case of your first film, Pizza) a storyteller. And through them, we seem to hear your voice. “Works of art should not be in places where they are not respected.” “Namma padam pesanum, naama pesa koodadhu.” You compare masala movies to a massage with a happy ending. (I laughed, but please don’t judge me when I say I rather like massages with happy endings – I refer to masala movies, of course.) We even get a line of dialogue about Dolby Atmos. (What will the B/C-centre audience make of this, Karthik? But then you don’t really give a shit, do you? More power to you.) And you like your insider jokes. That crass, egoistic producer who does not care about art – he reminded me of the crass producer from your earlier film, Jigarthanda. You like Rajinikanth too. You referenced Thillu Mullu in Pizza, Thalapathi in Jigarthanda, and now you have Arul singing Malayala karayoram, Michael singing Oorai therinjikitten.
Or is that more of an Ilayaraja homage? You like to keep the audience guessing, right? When the Bobby Simha character in Jigarthanda said he was a Shankar-Ganesh fan, it appeared that you were mocking the endless Ilayaraja nods in Tamil cinema, but here you are, doffing your hat to the maestro. “Raja Raja dhaan.” Arul says this… twice. (By the way, which is that nightclub which plays Maanguyile poonguyile? Do let us know.) And the reuse of Unnai thaane – first in a scene between Michael and Malarvizhi; later in a scene between Michael and Ponni – is the kind of Easter egg we come to your films for. Let me list some others, though I’ll probably need to watch the film a second (or third) time to get them all. The name of the bachelors’ quarters is Ambal Mansion – it goes with your theme and title. I didn’t get the bit about the windmills (something connected to the gust of wind that makes the row of cycles fall over in the first scene?), or why you showcased the book of Shanta Shishunala Sharif’s poems. (I confess. I Googled up that name. I can’t remember the last time a Tamil film made me Google something up. Madras, maybe.) And despite your note at the beginning that Iraivi is inspired by the works of K Balachander (he made female-centric films, but I don’t know if I’d call them feminist films), this is really more of an ode to Mani Ratnam, isn’t it? Specifically, Aayidha Ezhuthu. The three men, one of them – the impulsive one – named Michael. The film starting out as Arul’s story, then becoming Michael’s story, and finally Jagan’s (Bobby Simha) story. The finale with the woman on the train. Plus, the arc of the Madhavan-Meera Jasmine plot was essentially about being easily misled (in the case of the man) and becoming collateral damage (in the case of the woman.) And yes, the rain. All that rain. As though the skies were weeping for these women.
Am I digressing, Karthik? If I am, I’m just following your style, which is the opposite of simple and linear. As a result, I find your films longer than they need to be. (You may feel the same about my reviews.) For instance, I did not care for the scene in the nightclub where a director is felicitated. I realise it was there as a last straw for Yazhini, but it felt redundant. But I suppose they couldn’t be any other way, because you like these shaggy-dog stories that you then embellish with novelistic detail. I love the way you introduce your characters, the time you take with them. Our films lay out characters and their relationship to each other the minute we set eyes on them, but you make us wait to know how Arul is related to Jagan and where Michael fits in and so on. And when it appeared that a semblance of a plot was kicking in (something about Arul needing money to buy back his film), I dug out my phone and checked: it was a whole hour into the movie. Borrowing an image from Malarvizhi’s profession (oh wait, she’s an artist too; she’s literally an artist), it’s like daubs of paint slowly forming a bigger picture.
And you really like an expansive canvas. Not only does the crass producer have a brother, you also bring in his wife later on, to conclude a deal he began making. These segments practically form a mini-movie, with another woman left reeling by the actions of her man. Your films have this… density. They’re packed – with characters, with complications, with information doled out in bits and pieces. (A character says, “Un kitta onnu sollanum.” And instead of hearing what he has to say, we cut to someone else.) Take the scene where Michael asks Arul for money he is owed. You just need to get Michael to Arul’s antiques shop, so the next part of the plot can be staged. Arul could have told Michael to collect the money at the shop. Instead, this is what we get. Arul tells Michael to wait for a week, when he can get the 50 lakhs he is owed. Michael says he wants only 10 lakhs. Arul says he has only 8 lakhs, he’ll give the remainder later. Michael goes to Arul’s father, in the hospital. He has only 5 lakhs. And he directs Michael to the shop, to get the remaining 3 lakhs. Your signature intercutting adds to this texture, Karthik. Shots of Michael and Arul’s father in the hospital are intercut with shots of Arul hunting for booze. Shots of Michael and Jagan outside a courtroom are intercut with shots of Arul being consoled by his father. Happenings are stretched and meshed the way they would be in real life, and not compacted according to the page-per-minute requirement of screenplay-writing textbooks.
I could never predict where the film was going (win!), what these people were going to do (again, win!) –though I must admit I found this to be the weakest of your “twists.” The subplot about stealing sculptures, too, I found rather conceit-y, something half-heartedly cooked up to fit with the title and the theme, rather than something plausible, something these people would do. When Michael, here, commits murder, with a hammer, I went, “This mild-mannered chap? Really?” But then, even in Jigarthanda, I wasn’t quite convinced that the characters would do the things they did. They seemed to be puppets of a screenplay rather than credible human beings, whose actions evolve organically from who they are (or at least, who they seem to be).
But even if I am not convinced by the overall trajectory of your characters, I love how fleshed-out they are on a moment-to-moment basis. I loved the scene where Arul barges into Yazhini’s house, after their separation, on the day of her engagement to someone else. In a lesser film, she would have asked him to get out, and he’d have dug his heels in, and she’d have cooled down and… But here, she rushes straight into his arms. And you make us see why. She was frustrated, fed up with him. But she’s also confused. Was she hasty in abandoning this man? Should she move on with another man? Does she even need a man? With just this one scene, you’ve compensated for the underwritten heroine of Jigarthanda. The story arc may be Arul’s, but Yazhini registers as a fully formed character. Similarly, Michael’s arc allows for the delineation of Ponni and Malarvizhi, and through Jagan, we get glimpses of his mother, and possibly of all womanhood as viewed by a compassionate man. And then you say that women don’t need even this compassionate man (poor chap!), that they have to emancipate themselves instead of looking for a penis-wielding emancipator. What delicious irony, given that you begin the film with women talking about marriage, tying themselves to a man!
Or not, in the case of Malarvizhi, who is easily the film’s most interesting character. Her husband is dead, and she doesn’t want love anymore – only sex. When Michael buys her a diamond necklace, she gives it back to him – she can buy her own trinkets, thank you very much. But the character feels shoe-horned into the film, Karthik. I felt betrayed – and I bet she did too – that after a point, she was used simply as a plot device to get Michael and Ponni together, and also to illustrate Michael’s (who is now standing in for all of mankind) hypocrisy. I felt she deserved more. And yet, I appreciated your generosity in fleshing her out like all the others, without judging her. She gets to be the rare woman in Tamil cinema who dumps the man, and the way she lets go of Michael is echoed in the way Arul lets go of Yazhini, with a heavy heart and some playacting. A side effect of the Malarvizhi subplot is the reassurance that Vijay Sethupathi is still interested in making cinema, rather than just massy entertainers targeted at the box office.
Ponni gets a better deal (and Anjali is terrific, raw and expressive in a way she has never been). In a great scene – rather, a set of book-ending scenes – Michael tells Ponni that he was forced to marry her, and she’s going to have to “adjust” to this if she wants to be with him. Much later, she throws the “adjust” word back on his bearded face when he asks her if she slept with someone else. In a different kind of movie, we’d be invited to see this symmetry, stand up and applaud. But you’re too subtle for that, Karthik. Iraivi is your subtlest film. Which is why I winced at the melodramatic lines about men and women, most of which came towards the end. Aan, using the long-sounding vowel, versus penn, with the shorter one – for such a visual filmmaker (this is another outstandingly shot film, less showy than Jigarthanda and probably richer for that), do you really need the crutch of linguistic special effects from another era of filmmaking? Also, when the rest of your film is so allusive, isn’t there another way you can explain the twist without having a character resort to such an inelegant information dump?
And why is it that your films come together more in the head than in the heart? Why are they easier to admire than love wholeheartedly? I used to think it was because your characters are essentially deceitful, self-serving and unsympathetic, so though we were invested in what they did, we didn’t really warm up to them. But here, you have Ponni and Yazhini and Malarvizhi – and they’re still remote. But perhaps this is bound to happen when there are so many people, so many strands, when we don’t follow one person’s simplistic “you go, girl” journey like we do in, say, 36 Vayadhinile? But when the parts are so well-crafted, we don’t complain as much about their sum not adding up to a satisfying whole. I am sure that you will, one day, make that wholly satisfying film, but for now, thank you for these parts. Thank you for the ambition. I felt there were too many songs (some good work by Santhosh Narayanan), but thank you for ensuring that they don’t break character, the way songs usually do when a character speaking in his or her voice suddenly segues into the playback singer’s voice. Thank you for giving us SJ Surya, the actor – I never dreamed he had such a capacity to hold a scene, to hold the screen. Thank you for continuing not to sell out. Thank you for trying to do so much, even if not all of it needed to have been tried. And thank you for making me fight with myself, for not making it easy to decide if you’ve made a “good” film or a merely “okay” film. For now, Iraivi is a fascinating film, and that’s enough.
Sincerely, etc.

1. Terza Rima: A poetic form consisting of tercets (three-line stanzas) with interwoven rhymes, often used by Dante in "The Divine Comedy."
   
2. Clerihew: A humorous and whimsical poem of four lines, with irregular meter and rhymes, focusing on a person, often the poet.
   
3. Triolet: An eight-line poem with a specific rhyme scheme (ABaAabAB), featuring repeated lines.
   
4. Ballad: A narrative poem often set to music, telling a story with a strong rhythm and rhyme.
   
5. Renga: A collaborative form of Japanese linked-verse poetry, typically composed by multiple poets in alternating stanzas.
   
6. Senryu: Similar to haiku, but focuses on human nature and emotions rather than nature itself.
   
7. Paradelle: A complex and rare form of poetry that repeats lines with variations, creating a challenging structure.
   
8. Golden Shovel: A form where each word in a line of an existing poem is used as the end word in a line of the new poem.
   
9. Haibun: A combination of prose and haiku, often describing a journey or a nature experience.
   
10. Villancico: A medieval Spanish poetic form often used in songs and carols, characterized by repetition and refrains.
    
11. Palindrome Poetry: A poem that reads the same backward as forward, creating a mirrored effect.
    
12. Blackout Poetry: Creating poetry by selectively redacting or highlighting words from an existing text, often creating a visual element.
    
13. Tetractys: A five-line poem with a syllable count of 1, 2, 3, 4, 10, creating a pyramid shape.
    
14. Rubaiyat: A Persian form of poetry with quatrains, typically written in iambic pentameter with the rhyme scheme AABA.
    
15. Fibonacci Poem: A poem following the Fibonacci sequence for syllable counts in each line (0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc.).
    
16. Calligram: A visual poem in which the words or letters are arranged in a shape that reflects the poem's subject.
    
17. Shape Poetry: Poems that take on a visual shape related to their subject, enhancing the overall meaning.
    
18. Tanka Prose: A prose poem followed by a tanka, combining the concise nature of prose with the emotional depth of tanka.
    
19. Found Poetry: Creating poetry from existing texts or found materials, rearranging and recontextualizing words.
    
20. Blitz Poem: A form of poetry with a rapid, stream-of-consciousness style, using repetition and wordplay.
    
21. Sevenling: A seven-line poem with specific guidelines, including three lines with three elements, and a concluding statement in one line.
    
22. Pantun: A Malay poetic form with quatrains, featuring an interlocking rhyme scheme between stanzas.
    
23. Cento: A collage-like poem composed entirely of lines from other poems.
    
24. Cinquain Chain: Connecting multiple cinquains to create a longer poem or narrative.
    
25. Rhyme Royal: A seven-line stanza with a specific rhyme scheme (ABABBCC), used by Geoffrey Chaucer.
    
26. Haiga: A combination of haiku and visual art, where an image complements the haiku.
    
27. Minute Poem: A strict 60-syllable poem with a 8-4-4-4 structure and specific rhyme scheme (aabb).
    
28. Nonet: A nine-line poem with a descending syllable count in each line, often 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1.
    
29. Tanka Tumble: A series of linked tanka poems, creating a flowing narrative.
    
30. Dramatic Monologue: A poem in which a character speaks directly to an audience, revealing their thoughts and emotions.
    

-- I just kinda wrote down how i'm feeling at the moment. I made it in the style of a story. But it's the best way i can get it out. Sorry it is long. Just read it. That's all I ask. --
I don’t know what I’m doing. For the better part of 10 years, my entire adult life, I’ve never known what it is that I’m trying to accomplish. Am I doing the right thing by dedicating all my time to my work? What do I consider my work? Is it my actual job that pays me biweekly? Or is it my job as a father... or maybe it’s my major at university? Whatever it is, it’s never enough. Life is supposed to be fulfilling and right now, I can’t tell the difference between fulfilling and life-sucking. Distractions scratch an itch but have never satisfied my hunger.
Enough complaining, let me tell you what I do on a daily basis. My day starts at 6 AM. Why? Because I’m a slave to the corporate machine. But that’s a story for another day. Work ends around 4 PM if things go the way they should, and often they don’t. My commute home usually takes 30 to 45 minutes due to the ignorant shipyard traffic that consumes every road, freeway, and dirt road. Hundreds of moron drivers that create a ghost of a traffic jam. It’s now 5 PM. I’m free. Respite from retail hell. From the public. I’m alone. At least for now. What’s next? Dinner, dishes, workout, or relax? God knows relaxing isn’t a real option. Working out? No thanks, I’ve been on my feet for 10 hours. Dinner will get me yelled at by my family if I pick the wrong thing to eat, we’ll get to that later, so dishes it is! 6:30 PM. They arrive. My wife, my son, and the attitude that comes along with it. What did I do this time? Why is everyone raising their voice at me? Why do I get attitude, huffing and puffing, and whining when I ask for any kind of help? Oh, you worked for 3 hours today and your back hurts. I’m sorry. The kid has been a pain since you got home? I’m sorry. You don’t feel good? I’m sorry. Have you noticed my problem yet? Obviously, I haven’t made dinner yet. Good job thinking about other’s feelings. Worked out great.
Back in 2019, I was let go from my job. COVID was great, right? Unemployment was paying more than I made working my full-time job. I’m not going to pretend to be a good little boy and not abuse it. I did. I milked the fuck out of it. I took a leap and applied for college. My dream has always been to make video games. My life has revolved around them since I was in diapers. I signed up for a 4-year degree in game programming. Little did I know that this was just a misguided investment in my own validation.
It is now 9:00 PM, and aside from the wife and the kid asking me to come to the room every 15 minutes, I have time. Not much, but I have some. Enough. I hope… What is left that I need to do? I need to do homework. Yay. The time is now 2:00 AM. I should probably go to bed… but I’ve had absolutely zero me time. A couple YouTube videos wouldn’t hurt right? What’s the difference between 4 hours of sleep and 3 hours of sleep? Not much honestly. Some time between 2 AM and 4 AM I go to bed. Every night is different, don’t judge me.
The cycle continues. 2-4 hours of sleep, work, cleaning, yelled at, dinner, homework, repeat. For the record, that is not all I do. There are some smaller amounts of time where I spend time with my son, or I have a few minutes free to play games, or spend time with my wife. Even when I’m being judged or yelled at, I’m expected to stay calm and levelheaded. It’s my job. I’m a man, welcome. I’ve also searched for more fulfilling hobbies and that’s what comes next.
From 2015 to 2017 I was streaming on twitch. I loved every minute of it. I was growing and making real money. Then THE big event happened. My wife, my girlfriend at the time with our newborn child, and I were supposed to be moving out that weekend. I took off early from work that day to get started. I walk in the apartment. Empty. Aside from a bed in the corner of the room, a dresser, my computer, and my poor dog Bella inside a cage. I let the dog out, walked around to see what else I needed to move. I called my girlfriend, excited that she had gotten a head start on our move. If you’ve figured it out already, yes, she did. If you haven’t, she was leaving me and taking our child. This was the start of my downfall.
A lot happened between then and now. But it worked out. We got married. Almost divorced. A lot of toxicity between us. But I loved her. And I loved my son. They were, and still are, my everything. So, I stuck it out.
Enough babbling. I’m currently learning two languages to further my own personal education. Spanish and Japanese. Spanish because it’s difficult to get by in life without it, and Japanese because I am obsessed with Japan and Japanese culture, and I hope to travel to Japan someday. So, on top of everything, I’m also doing that. It takes a lot out of me.
Is that it, OP? You’re overfilling your plate… You’re going too fast, doing too much, and not living a healthy lifestyle. No. It’s not it. Here comes YouTube. No, not the videos I watch. I also make videos. The 30ish minutes I have available to play games? Yeah, I multitask and use my game time to record a video. Shameless mid story plug? You be the judge.
Some nights are spent mashing watching videos, doing homework, or relaxing with editing the videos. No one wants just a recording of some idiot playing video games. It needs quality, it needs cuts, it needs love, it needs hours…
Is it alot to some people? Yeah, and some others might say that it’s light work. It’s not good to have such little sleep. On top of the sleep apnea I already have, which makes my 2-4 hours of sleep the equivalent of 1-2 hours of sleep.
I’ve realized that I’m stuck. I’ve done way too much to give up, and I’ve done way too much to keep going. I’m financially ruined, physically destroyed, and metaphorically molested. All because I wanted something. Validation.
Take it from me. It’s not worth it. Live your life. Know your limits. Don’t seek validation.

My aunt has 3 kids all from separate dads , she works I believe two jobs. She lives with my grandma , her brother (my uncle) and another sister (my aunt) with a total of 4 kids (3 are hers ,1 is her brothers , my uncle) she’s always had problems with her eldest daughter they get into screaming matches and from what I’ve heard the daughter has even put hands on her- this post is about the daughter and my aunt , her daughter is 20 almost 21 in December - she pays no bills , no rent other than a 100$ to help with the phone bill - my aunt tells her to take care of her brother and she refuses telling my aunt that she “should’ve kept her legs closed” other things like “whore” and “I hate you” now I could never think of even telling my mom something like that , I feel like her daughter is mad about the life they have , no father present and not doing the best financially but still the daughter goes out of town with friends to concerts but refuses to help her mom out with bills. My grandma and aunt are no help towards my aunt they side with her daughter saying “well she has a right to be mad , you’re not a good mom” and let me tell you this ! last year they made my aunt give her daughter half of her taxes ! Which was about $2000 saying that money was basically “her daughters money” and laughed about it. Anyways today my mom gets a call from my aunt and she’s crying she goes on to tell my mom that her daughter was helping her pay a bill because the person on the phone only spoke English (my aunt only speaks Spanish) and with that her daughter ended up going through her phone and found that she was still having connections with the father of her youngest son , this part is so crazy to me she then proceeds to throw my aunts phone breaking it and lunges at her pulling her from the hair and telling her “she never learns” , “she’s such a whore” and no one helped my aunt get her off with both my grandma and aunt being there ASWELL AS THE CHILDREN! & get this my grandma and aunt still sided with her daughter!!! I feel so bad for my aunt like even I’m at a lost of words but what advice would you guys even give ? I know my aunt may not be the best mother but she tries you know , a month ago with her tax money she took all her three children to Disney land for their first time. What sucks even more is that literally that all happened today and she got in a car crash earlier today as well. (“Her daughter” is also my cousin) anyways please lmk your thoughts cause I just can’t -

TW Self Harm, TW Abuse.
There is a lot to unpack here.
I'm in my low mid 30s. I'm adopted since birth, and I've lived my whole life with my family so far. I have clinical depression and chronic anxiety, to the point of extreme intrusive thoughts and That kind of ideation.
My parents both come from horrible families themselves. Going into the military was a blessed relief for each of them from what I know of their pasts. They met each other, got married, and eventually adopted my siblings and then me.
Mom is a fixer. And regardless of everything that happens, I love her. She has always had my back, always been in my corner, always bent over backwards or fought for me. When I was younger, we used to struggle a bit here and there in regards to some moments, but once we realized how badly the entire family had been ignorant in regards to mental health, and started trying to be willing to talk about our different perspectives while being civil, our connection has never been stronger. Or at least I'd like to say that, and I'd like to keep it that way.
The man who I will keep calling Dad, for lack of a better term... is not the worst man in the world. He paid for things growing up. He's present for a decent amount. We had some bonds over video games and dragon ball and godzilla. There was love there. And Mom has made it clear that love is still there, at least from her point of view. She says he's gotten better, and the problems aren't as frequent, true.
But for me, the negatives have started eclipsing the positives in my memory. Particularly as my problems started manifesting while I struggled with life, and my opinions stopped being so simple. Particularly politically, where they come from a different time, and I couldn't be more opposed to them.
With Mom, we can still talk and honor each other's right to have differences.
With Dad, because of his past and mind, he doesn't do well with opinions that don't match his own. Even when he's being civil, he'll give politician type answers to yes or no questions while never addressing the point. It makes him insufferable to talk to. And he hates being challenged. He gets shouty. He gets angry. He gets threatening.
I'm 6'2, 260lbs of mix between fat and muscle, with 2 permanent injuries and struggling with fitness. He's taller than me, a veteran, a former prison guard, and can still weight lift like double his weight in his old age.
When we've had disagreements, he gets terrifying. Looming over me while yelling with his deep voice; that's his go-to, but sometimes there's violence. Folk needing to wrestle him off me. Him punching me in the face. Chasing me down a hill while I was in crutches and on the phone. Busting down my barricaded door and screaming at me, then holding my dog (18 long years, RIP) by her neck when she (a rescue in and of herself) got between me and him and started barking at him.
The last time Mom and I talked, she mentioned that I shouldn't still be holding these against him, both that it's not good for me and because the relationships would never mend, particularly that I'm not blameless in regards to family drama. But I've never hit anyone. I've never threatened to kill anyone, regardless of the invasive voices. I've never said "I"M GONNA SQUEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU" while pressing my elbow into someone's neck, over a literal quarter.
I sincerely could be being too sensitive about this. It could be me not remembering enough of the good, and still being too bothered by the bad. Mom mentioned me hurting folk as well, so it's not like my emotional outbursts are that much better than his, even if I'm actively trying to deal with mine with antidepressants and trying to acknowledge and understand my behavior, and trying to avoid touchy subjects in general to help keep the peace.
This where I ask AITAH.
Mother's day 2024; I come downstairs, read Mom a poem I came up with, and small talk is made. Eventually Mom jokes to me and my sister (who I also find troubling to talk with because she can be bitchy at times, though never to the point of intimidation and violence) that we should have married for money, not love, so that we'd have an easy life. I reply that I could never do so, particularly because I'm too ugly to do so, and the conversation shifts to recent therapy and my mental health, to which I say I have to battle with my lack of confidence every day.
To which Dad says "[my] problems are [my] choice". To which I start getting heated in the moment, and tell him "No, you're wrong." We both repeat, louder. He assumes his 'rearing Grizzly' stance, yelling "I'M NOT GOING TO ARGUE WITH YOU!", and after Mom tries to use Mother's day to coo him down, makes another scathing comment from the kitchen that I could hear.
I go upstairs, and when Mom follows me, I try to talk about other things. But she's determined to ask me if I hate him. I keep trying to dodge, and beg her not to push me into answering, to which she just confirms the unspoken and walks off.
Fully triggered, I try to leave before I make things worse, but when Dad tries to ask me not to go, I tell him to Fuck Off before just driving. Apparently while I was gone, he punched and broke a door in his rage that he still can't connect to me. And when Mom went to buy a new door, their truck hit a pole. And then when I come back, and she tries to talk to me, I scream at her. (I couldn't handle being told "Oh, it's okay. I don't deserve a mother's day because I didn't birth any of you.") Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.
While I was gone, the family called me almost 30 times. I wanted to leave, to destress, to get this venom in my arms to settle, to not lash out. I ended up calling multiple emergency phone numbers to try to vent. And I tried to go to the arcade to vent. Invasive thoughts about stabbing a family member? Terrible. Thoughts of shooting zombies for a few hours? Much better. But I couldn't at all relax and distract myself as Mom and sister wouldn't stop calling me.
Next day, Mom and I try to talk again. With her wanting me to find forgiveness and peace, even as I both despise him for these lows, and myself for this guilt I feel about the family dynamics. And we fail to reach a resolution, with her depression and my own only making each other worse. Thinking I wouldn't be allowed to leave the house to cooldown, I go upstairs, max out my music, and scream. A bit of floor slamming, but largely screaming as much as I can, to try force out the venom I can feel inside me. Understandably, Mom came up to stop the noise. Unfortunately, that noise was the only think surpressing my worst thoughts, and the feel of venom in my arms. Fortunately, Mom came back quick enough that my first (and hopefully only) scars are largely scratches that will fade. If anything, her pulling the work knife out of my hand knicked those fingers even worse. And understandably, even as her former Marine tried to force more conversation that day, I just remember feeling defeated inside. I contact as much of my support group as I can muster, take a sick day, and go to sleep.
Next morning, my therapist calls me, and we talk. And I share all of my feelings. All of this. Unfortunately, the appointment was later in the morning than normal, family were up and about in the living room, and I didn't realize they were basically all just listening. And they heard. Every. Word. Everything of this. Apparently I reduced Dad to tears, let alone offending everyone else.
For the second time in multiple days, I thought I was going to get kicked out. Mom did offer me my own place, but being trapped with my mixed feelings would make that a complete waste of money and effort. I'm basically just not on speaking terms with the family, and I feel like a Pariah.
To the point where after crying about it for an hour at work, I eventually sucked it up, called Mom, asked Dad to be on speaker, and suggested family counseling, at an attempt at an olive branch.
But isolated in my room away from everyone else (to the point of not even showering, eating, and largely not even touching my computer), and then at my next day of work, I've had time to think. Think about how these lows still keep happening. About how the schism between me and the family has always been growing politically. How previous therapists, emergency numbers, friends, coworkers, and the domestic abuse hotline, all say it's a cycle of (unintentional) abuse. How as is, I wouldn't take back like 90% of what I expressed because it feels true. How he also used to blow up on other people as well. How his senelessness can lead him to yelling at a 2nd Rescue Dog that barks too much. Or sending pictures of Tarantulas to a cousin with extreme mental illness (think drugs in the womb type mental troubles) as just casual texting.
But I also still feel guilty. Even with personality, interest, and political opinions differing, they do still try to care. I've been with them all my life. And it makes me feel horrible when they help by trying to cook or clean or anything, when the interpersonal relationships are so low.
And as much as I reflect on the lows being so unbearably low with him, I can't pretend they've been not as frequent, nor that I grew up 1000x better than how they did. My problems are first world as all hell, and plenty would kill to be as privileged as I am. This can not be understated. I don't think it justifies his behavior, but to say that it makes sense is at least fair.
And I want to stay connected, at least to Mom. And even if my sister and I don't have a really personal feeling relationship, I like being the cool uncle to one of my nephews. Teaching him about video games and sonic and dragon ball has been great. I don't want to let that go.
And as bad as his worsts have been... others don't even have their families. And others still have been hurt even worse by family, or outright thrown out by now, and similar...
So yeah; I know that's a lot to unpack, but I'm so mixed up inside I honestly don't know. AITAH for overreacting to a potentially acceptable level of family drama/not letting go of my lingering grudges and feelings in regards to my father? Or have I noticed a slowing, but still present, cycle of abuse?

Hi all. I hope it's okay to share this here. I'm new to this whole thing and I just need to let out some thoughts and feelings that have been weighing on me lately. It's been a really difficult year.
Where to start.. Perhaps some context. My partner and I currently live in a small single bedroom studio apartment in the UK. We have just given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy who has just turned one month this previous Sunday.
11 Months ago, in June, my partner and I suffered a late miscarriage of our son at 18 weeks. It was devastating and heartbreaking, and holding him in my arms was a moment that I will never forget and will weigh heavily on my heart for the rest of my life. Carrying his coffin through the crematorium and reading the poem I wrote him is something I never thought in my life I'd ever have to do. Then, two weeks later, I lost my job. It was due to a mistake on my part, one I'll always hold my hands up and admit to, but the timing of it couldn't have been worse. It stung.. it still stings, because the job market hasn't been kind to me since. Every single day I'm out looking for work, doing odd-jobs here and there to get by but I've been unable to find a new consistent job, and so we're having to rely on government benefits to get by financially.
Fast forward to now.. we've been blessed with a gorgeous baby boy. But with blessing comes challenge. My partner is battling PPD, struggling with her self-image, and feeling lost in herself. She can't walk past a mirror without breaking down and the stress of looking after him alone when it's my turn to sleep causes the same reaction. Our baby boy has colic and so, to ensure we're actually resting, we're currently rotating in shifts to look after him. We tried the standard 8 hours each and that didn't work out for us so now we're rotating in 3 hour shifts. For 3 hours I'll take him, then we'll both look after him together for 3 hours before my partner then takes him for 3- and then so on. Admittedly, we've struggled to stick to that routine but it's definitely working better than the one before.
I've been doing my best to hold everything together. Since we brought him home I've taken the lion's share of responsibilities so my partner can rest and recover from childbirth, as well as have the time she needs to push through her PPD. I usually let her sleep over the 3 hour mark by quite a fair bit and in the beginning the baby was glued to me to allow her to recover. I was more than happy for this and I want it clear that I'm not complaining. I made that choice and I am happy with it. What I'm venting about here is a bit more complicated.
I don't... feel anything with him. I don't have the connection with my son that everyone else seems to have. It's like I'm babysitting a stranger's child. Am I not supposed to have this overwhelming feeling of love and joy? My partner and each of our parents all have this connection with him. They have so much love and pride when they see and hold him and I.. don't. What I feel is instead a sense of responsibility, a paternal desire to protect and keep him safe.. but I don't feel anything else. I'm always told that it's because my partner carried him for 9 months and that our parents have had children before themselves so they know what it's like.. but I can't help but feel guilty and cruel because of it.
And ultimately, I think that's what it boils down to. Guilt. It's eating me up inside. I feel guilty for not feeling what everyone else seems to feel, for not being able to provide financially, for not always knowing what my baby needs. I miss our lost baby every day, and it's hard not to see him when I look at our new baby. It'll be a year since we lost him in a few weeks and it's a painful reminder of what we lost. I'm terrified of being the type of Dad my Father was, I'm terrified that as he grows older he'll resent me because I was unable to provide for him the way I should. I just.. I've always dreamed of being an this amazing Father and an amazing future Husband to my partner and with each day I feel like it's a dream I'll never achieve.
I know that it's supposed to get better. Everyone says it and I don't doubt it.. but it's hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel. One thing I'm incredibly grateful for, though, is how supportive my partner and I have been with each other. Every trial and tribulation has only ever made us stronger and I fall more in love with her every day. Seeing her be the Mum I always knew she'd be.. it makes everything just a little bit easier. I've told her all of this and she's told me her own woes, and we're doing everything we can day by day- and it's for that very reason that I want to do right by them both.
I'm sorry if this post seems out of place or self-indulgent. I just needed to let these thoughts out into the world, to lighten the load even just a little bit. Thanks for listening, Dads. And sorry if this isn't the right place for it. I'm still learning the ropes of this whole new Dad thing.

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I've been getting into writing and art making lately and really wanting to work with poetry (why's it so hard - ugh! lol). This is my latest attempt at a poem (free verse). I think it shows progress but I'm really looking for critical feedback on what I can work on going forward and how this one can be improved. It's meant to reflect a complicated/complex relationship - IDK how well that comes across. Thanks for reading.  
My mother is the wind
(which is to say, she is air in natural motion, relative to the earth's surface);
She moves invisible; I see her dance with fallen cherry blossom petals in May;
(Men have tried to map her contours, as if knowing her shape and velocity will bring them closer.)
She can not be held, but I feel her – always – (blowing with whatever degree of gentleness or violence);
Knowing she is there can relieve a fever in sweltering July;
She has touched every speck of dust in this place without ever knowing why;
She is why I am drawn to the water; I am a long wave rolling in from the ocean;
she finds me like a piece of prized sea glass —
the coolest blue-green (in bony fidgeting hands);
When I breathe, my lungs fill as a gust of love;
She is more than half of my favorite photograph: My mom and I at the shore of the bay, taking in the sea air at peace,
where water meets land and the wind kisses my face.
On a perfect day, I go outside; I sway from my father's branches, and watch a little girl flying a paper kite in the park and I feel my mother's smile.