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Hello Vanlifers
Oh how i wish I am you, its always been a dream of mine to do a bit of van life, and i thought why not shoot my shot,
I (23F) am planning to go south europe for about a month and a half from June to July, mainly to surf (though bear in mind, i've only recently caught the surf bug and definitely have miles to go before i am shredding, so there is that caveat) but also to see southern europe and have one last great summer hurrah before i have to unfortunately move back to indonesia,
I guess what I'm trying to say is, is there potentially anyone of you amazing vanlifers around the area in that time who may be willing to adopt me?
Here's what I can offer on board,

• I cook incredible, italian, asian, german, whatever you like, so you have a personal chef right here,
• great impeccable music playlists for those blissful i-cant-believe-this-is-our-life moments
• have way too much energy and is always up to do something (sleep is for the weak)
• charming af

What more can you ask for from a companion?
Also yes, you can definitely screen me and take me on a free trial before adopting me, and am more than happy to share socials etc

Reverse Logistics Market Overview:
A comprehensive examination of statistical data concerning current and emerging trends provides insight into the dynamics of the Reverse Logistics Market 2024-2034. The report employs Porter’s Five Forces framework to assess the significance of different aspects, including supplier and customer understanding, risks from various stakeholders, competitive intensity, and potential newcomers. Additionally, it encompasses research findings on various companies, including their benefits, gross margins, strategic choices in the global market, and more, presented through tables, charts, and infographics, thus serving as a valuable resource.

A new report dives into the global reverse logistics market, offering an in-depth analysis of opportunities and industry forecasts from 2024 to 2033. The market size in 2023 was estimated at a substantial USD 655.3 billion, and it's projected to grow at a healthy Compound Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 6.4% between 2023 and 2032. With 2023 as the starting point, the report explores future trends for the next decade.

In simpler terms, reverse logistics deals with managing the movement of goods back from customers to manufacturers or distributors. This can happen for various reasons, including product returns, recalls due to safety concerns, or simply reaching the end of a product's life cycle. As businesses strive for greater sustainability and efficiency, reverse logistics becomes an increasingly critical and intricate part of the entire supply chain. Analysts predict significant growth for the reverse logistics market in the coming years. Understanding the key factors driving this expansion will empower businesses to develop effective reverse logistics strategies that are not only efficient and cost-conscious, but also contribute to a more sustainable future.
Download the Premium Sample Report @ https://www.quincemarketinsights.com/request-sample-63257
Key Players
C.H. Robinson, DB Schenker, Delcart, Deliveryontime Logistics Pvt. Ltd., FedEx Corporation, Kintetsu World Express, Reverse Logistics Company, The Deutsche Post AG, United Parcel Service, YUSEN LOGISTICS CO, LTD. and others.
Our expert team continuously gathers and analyzes updated data and information on the business processes of key players relevant to the market. This information is invaluable for shaping future strategies and making predictions regarding market trends.
Industry News

• In November 2023, Accenture announced its acquisition of OnProcess, a company that specializes in reverse logistics
• In October 2023, UPS announced its plans to acquire Happy Returns, a software and reverse logistics company, to expand its returns footprint and improve its digital solutions.
• In September 2023, the National Retail Federation (NRF) announced its acquisition of the Reverse Logistics Association (RLA), a global trade association for the returns and reverse industry.

Market Segments
The report offers an exhaustive examination of diverse market segments, providing insights into their respective market sizes and Compound Annual Growth Rates (CAGRs) to assess their attractiveness. It encompasses market forecasts for various regions, significant developments, revenue projections, and other pertinent factors to provide a comprehensive overview of the market landscape. The Reverse Logistics market is segmented By Return Type (Recalls, Commercial Returns, Repairable Returns, End-Of-Use Returns, And End-Of-Life Returns), By End User (E-Commerce, Automotive, Pharmaceutical, Consumer Electronic, And Others)
Drivers

• Surging online shopping translates to higher return volumes, necessitating efficient reverse logistics solutions.
• Rising demands for free and effortless returns pressure companies to refine their reverse logistics processes.

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Regional Analysis for Reverse Logistics Market:
The market undergoes regional analysis across North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, South America, and the Middle East & Africa.
⇥ North America (U.S., Canada, Mexico)
⇥ Europe (U.K., Italy, Germany, Russia, France, Spain, The Netherlands and Rest of Europe)
⇥ Asia-Pacific (India, Japan, China, South Korea, Australia, Indonesia Rest of Asia Pacific)
⇥ South America (Colombia, Brazil, Argentina, Rest of South America)
⇥ Middle East & Africa (Saudi Arabia, U.A.E., South Africa, Rest of Middle East & Africa)
This Report Unveils:
✔ Go to Market Strategy- A roadmap to successfully product launch or service in the target market.
✔ Gain a clear picture of the market's health and growth trajectory through neutral analysis.
✔ Deep Market Insights delve into development trends, competitor landscape, supply and demand dynamics, year-over-year growth patterns, and key players' performance. This comprehensive analysis will include a QMI quadrant to visualize competitor positioning.
✔ Upon request, we can provide customized reports focusing on specific regions or countries, offering a granular view of their markets.
✔ Identify high-potential niche segments and regions poised for significant expansion.
✔ Analysis of Market Size (historical and forecast) Total Addressable Market (TAM), Serviceable Available Market (SAM), and Serviceable Obtainable Market (SOM) to understand the market's overall size and your achievable market share.
✔ Gain a comprehensive understanding of the competitive landscape, including market share distribution, key players (innovators, startups, laggards, and pioneers), and their respective strengths and weaknesses.
Have any query? Ask our analyst @ https://www.quincemarketinsights.com/enquiry-before-buying/enquiry-before-buying-63257
Few Points From the Reverse Logistics Market Report
1. Reverse Logistics Market in a Nutshell: This section provides a concise summary of the report, including the research scope (timeframe, methodology), key players covered, market segmentation (product types, applications, regions), study objectives, and the years considered in the analysis.
2. Competitive Landscape: This chapter delves into the competitive landscape of the global Reverse Logistics market. It analyzes key players based on factors like sales figures, market share, growth rates, recent developments (acquisitions, expansions), pricing strategies, and product portfolios.
3. Top Players: This section focuses on the leading Reverse Logisticsmanufacturers worldwide. It provides detailed profiles of these companies, examining their sales performance, core products, profitability (gross margin), revenue streams, pricing strategies, and production capacity.
4. Regional Analysis: This chapter explores the Reverse Logistics market across different regions: North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Middle East & Africa, and South America. It analyzes regional market size, growth rates (CAGR), sales figures, market share distribution, and gross margin variations.
5. Market Segmentation: This section offers a deep dive into the Reverse Logistics market segmentation. It analyzes how different segments (product types, applications, end-users) contribute to the overall market size and growth.
6. Future Outlook: This chapter focuses on the production side of the market. It forecasts production volumes and value, key producer trends, and production forecasts based on product types.
7. Key Findings and Insights: This section summarizes the report's key findings and offers valuable insights derived from the market analysis.
8. Conclusion: This final chapter presents the overall conclusion of the research study, summarizing the key takeaways and future prospects for the Reverse Logistics market.
Frequently Asked Questions:
⇥ What are the global sales value, production value, consumption value, and import and export figures for the Reverse Logistics market?
⇥ Who are the key global manufacturers in the Reverse Logistics industry, and what is their current operational status in terms of capacity, production, sales, pricing, costs, gross profit, and revenue?
⇥ What opportunities and threats do vendors in the global Reverse Logistics industry face?
⇥ Which product types or applications are likely to experience incremental growth opportunities? What is the market share for each type and application?
⇥ What factors are driving and constraining the Reverse Logistics market's growth?
⇥ What are the various sales, marketing, and distribution channels utilized within the global industry?
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The problem with tahreef is that you can’t authenticate hadeeth narrations, as in Shias can no longer prove a narration is weak or strong by checking whether it goes against the Quran
A person cannot be a true Twelver Shi’ah except if he believes that the Quran is Muharaf! [1]
While this might seem strange, what follows is even stranger. Ahl Al-Sunnah transmitted the Quran from the Prophet [May Blessings of Allah and Peace be upon him and his household] through Tawatur [2] and a multitude of widespread authentic chains. These Mushafs that are printed today, and people all over the world read from, are from one of these four narrations:

1. The narration of Hafs from ‘Asim, and this is widespread in the Arabian Gulf, Egypt, Shaam, Iraq, and Yemen.
2. The second is the narration of Warsh from Nafi’, and this is common in Morocco and Algeria.
3. The third narration is that of Qalon from Nafi’, and it is widespread in Libya.
4. The fourth is the narration of Al-Duwri from Abi ‘Amr, and this is common in Chad and the South of Sudan.

In addition to these there are other narrations which are not that common among people, but are being taught in institutes and Universities.
So ask [May Allah bless you, benefit you, and make you a benefit for others] … ask their scholars: Where is the Quran of Aal Al-Bayt? Where is the Mushaf which the Imams narrate and transmit from each other?
Where is the chain of: Al-‘Askari from the way of Al-Hadi from Al- Jawad from Al-Ridaa form Al-Kazim from Al-Sadiq from Al-Baqir from Zayn Al-‘Abideen from Al-Husien (the grandson of the Prophet) or Al-Hasan (the grandson of the Prophet) from Ali [May Allah be pleased with them all]?
Did the students of these Imams narrate everything from them except the Quran?!!
Are the scholars of the Shi’ah capable of producing a chain of the Quran up to the Messenger [May Blessings of Allah and Peace be upon him and his household] without relying on or referring back to the chains of Ahl Al-Sunnah?!! I am definite that they are incapable of producing such a thing, so go back to them and check if they can correct me. What I think they will say to you, though, is: there is a narration, and it is the narration of Hamza Al-Zayaat from the way of Al-Sadiq from Al-Baqir from Zayn Al-‘Abideen from Al-Husien from Ali.
This should raise another important question: Why is this being narrated by Hamza Al-Zayaat [3] from Al-Sadiq [4], and not by Al-Kazim [from Al-Sadiq]? And why isn’t Al-Kazim’s son: Al-Rida narrating this from him? And why isn’t Al-Jawad narrating it from Al-Rida … this is a very important point to pay attention to.
Then I add to this another question to the Shi’ah: Where are your chains today to Hamza Al-Zayaat? And where is the recitation of Hamza Al-Zayaat being recited today?
All the countries that the Shi’ah recite Quran in today follow: the narration of Hafs from ‘Asim, the narration of Warsh from Nafi’, the narration of Qalon from Nafi’, or the narration of Al-Duwri from Abi ‘Amr. Where is the narration of Hamza? I do not know of a Mushaf that is printed upon the narration of Hamza on this day.
If the Companions were Apostates, especially the famous ones from among them, and they were the ones that transmitted the Quran: How can a Shi’ah trust the narration of those who he believe are Apostates? This Quran that is between our hands today, is from the narration of those companions of the Prophet [May Blessings of Allah and Peace be upon him and his household], and it is the one narrated by Hafs from the way of ‘Asim from Abi ‘Abdulrahman Al-Salami from ‘Uthman and Ali and Ubi and Zayd.
Where is the chain of the Shi’ah to Hafs or to Warsh or to Qalon or to Al-Duwri?
After answering these questions you would understand why we said that you will not be a shi’ah except if you say that the Quran had been subject to Tahreef.
We add to this, that some Shi’a scholars, such as Ni’mat-u-Allah Al- Jazai’ri [5], Al-Nuri Al-Tabrasi [6] , and others proclaimed that Mutawatir narrations were transmitted from the infallible Imams stating that the Quran is Muharaf, yet you do not find even one narration from the Imams clearly stating that the Quran is free from any such Tahreef. The first to say that [the Quran is] free from Tahreef from their earlier scholars are four, they are: Al-Tabrasi Abu Ali[7], Al-Tusi[8] , Al-Murtada [9], and Al-Saduq [10]. As for Al-Mufeed [11] he has two sayings in this matter.
It follows, that all those who claim to follow the Twelve Imams should also say [as their Imams are reported to have said] that the Quran has been subject to Tahreef, since the narrations that came from the way of the Imams attested to such a thing. As for those who don’t wish to follow the Imams and choose to follow someone else, like Al-Tusi, Al-Murtada, Al-Saduq, and Al-Tabrasi then that is their matter.
For that reason you will find that the scholars of Ahl Al-Sunnah are strict in this matter, and say that whoever says that the Quran is Muharaf is a Kaffir, and they clearly declare such a thing based on what Allah the Exalted said: {Indeed, it is We who sent down the Qur'an and indeed, We will be its guardian}Hijr 15:9 . The scholars of the Shi’ah, on the other hand, do not say that, rather they just say that he who says such a thing is just mistaken.
Many times we hear of a narration called “Hadith Al-Thaqalayn”, and the Thaqalayn as is known are: The Book of Allah, and Aal Al- Bayt. This tradition, which came in the Shiah books, state that the Quran is the Major [Thiql], and Aal Al-Bayt is the minor Thiql. So after this we say:
Don’t all the scholars of the Shi’ah with no exception, say that the killers of Al-Husien [May Allah be pleased with him] are Apostates, since Al-Husien [May Allah be pleased with him] is a member of the minor Thiql, thus his killers are Apostates due to their attack on a member of the minor Thiql, based on this tradition. Yet they do not accuse any of those who attack the major Thiql, the Quran, of any of that?!
For that reason a huge number … yes a huge number … from the big Shi’ah scholars said that the Quran is Muharaf. So do you accept these [scholars] as the symbols and heads of the Mazhab you are attributed to? [These are the scholars] whom you ask Allah to bestow his Mercy on, and whom you highly praise the knowledge and books they left behind. Do you know, May Allah Bless you, that Husien Al-Nuri Al- Tabrasi 13 said that the Noble Quran has ridiculous, silly verses (I ask refuge in Allah for me and you from such Apostasy)!
I ask you: Is he after saying that a Muslim?! What he said can be found in his evil book: “Fasl Al-Khitab Fee Ithbaat Tahreef Kitab Rab Al-Arbab” .
Go ask Shia scholars, ask them about the status of that man among the scholars of the Twelver Shiahs.
If we do not stand up to defend the Quran, and we do not show animosity towards those who disrespect it, and do not free ourselves from those who attack it, then By Allah how can our Islam remain correct. Push Shia scholars, May Allah bless you, to declare all those who slander and attack the Quran as non Muslims, in the same way as they openly declare the Apostasy of the Nawasib [12] [May Allah curse them], even though the Nawasib showed animosity to humans i.e. the household of the Prophet. Why then don’t the Shiah scholars also declare as Apostates and curse those who show animosity or attack the Book of Allah the Exalted.
As for us Ahl Al-Sunnah, we Praise Allah, who has guided us to the path where we do not distinguish between those who attack the Book of Allah, or the Household of the Messenger, or his Companions. We have one Manhaj in defending all that which is revered in this Religion. We show animosity and free ourselves from all those who attack the Book of Allah, rather we declare him as an Apostate, and we hate and free ourselves from all those who slander and attack the household of the Messenger [Blessings and Peace of Allah be upon him and his household] or the companions of our Prophet [Blessings of Allah and Peace upon him].
Shias will usually tell you about the burning, the goat & ibn umar like atheists do: www.twelvershia.net/2015/11/25/defense-sunni-view-quran/
You do realise the Qur'an is an oral tradition, don't you. If you can't accept this then I am afraid you have to become Sunni because the earliest traditions are Sunni.
The earliest Hadith books are Sunni. The earliest Fiqh books are Sunni. The earliest 'Aqidah books are Sunni. The earliest Sirah books are Sunni. These were written several hundred years before Shiite books were written. Study and read the earliest books, and you will gain a good understanding.
Shias might attempt to steal the chains in the Sunni books and attribute them to themselves, which is pathetic and shows the weakness of their way. `Asim bin abi al-Nujoud, Hafs bin Sulayman and Hamzah al-Zayyat are all great Imams of Ahlul-Sunnah, the Twelvers cannot prove that they were Rafidhi imami Shia neither through their books or ours. If they were to prove that they were Shia, the Shia of the time were Sunni in their worship, and even if they try their best to prove that they were Rafidhah, then even the Imamiyyah at the time had different sects all of them enemies who make Takfeer on each-other.
By consensus`Asim and Hafs are two great Imams of Qira’at. The weakness attributed to Hafs is in regards to his skills as narrator, and the accusation of him being a liar is a baseless exaggeration. And if true still doesn’t strengthen Shia’s view.
The rules for the authentication of a narrator in a Hadithi chain are different than the rules for the authentication of a Qur’ani recitation.
1 Tahreef is the belief that the Quran has been subject to alteration after the Death of Prophet Muhammad [Blessings and Peace be upon him], and that the Quran that we have today is not the same as the one left to us by him [Blessings and Peace be upon him]. Such a belief would place one outside the fold of Islam according to the Scholars of Ahl Al-Sunnah wa Al-Jama’ah.
2 Tawatur or Mutawatir is a narration reported by a significant number of narrators at each level of the chain of narration, in such a way that it becomes beyond possibility that these narrators could have conspired to forge such narration. It is of the highest level of authenticity, and the highest level of Tawatur is that of the Quran.
3 Hamza Al-Zayaat (80 H to 156/8 H): He is Hamza b. Habib b. ‘Imarah Al-Zayat Al-Kufi. He is one of the scholars of his time in the Qiraat. He was known for his worship and piety. He took the Quran from: Sulaiman Al-A’mash, Humraan b. A’yan, Ja’far b. Muhammad Al-Sadiq, Abu Ishaq Al-Subai’y, and many others.
4 Original source did not mention Al-Sadiq, however according to books of Qiraat Al-Sadiq was one of those Hamza Al-Zayaat took the Quran from not Al-Baqir (Refer to Ghayat Al-Nihaya). The next paragraph was modified accordingly.
55 Ni’mat Allah Al-Jazaeri (1050 H – 1112 H): is a highly praised Shi’ah scholar. From his scholars are Muhammad Baqir Al-Majlisi (known as Al-‘Alamah Al-Majlisi) and Muhammad Mohsen (known as Al-Fayd Al-Kashani), as well as many others. He was praised by a number of Shia scholars including Al-Majlisi in the Ijazah he gave him, Al-Hur Al-‘Amili, Yusuf Al-Bahrani, as well as others. Refer to what he said about Tahreef Al-Quran in his book: Al-Anwaar Al-Nu’maniyah
6 Husien Al-Nuri Al-Tabrasi (1254 H – 1320 H): He was praised by the Shia Shaykh Aaqa Al- Tahrani who said of him: “… One of the greatest scholars of the Shia, and one of the grandest men of Islam in this century”. Also Al-Sayid Mohsen Al-Ameen said of him: “He was a noble scholar, a Muhadith, with great knowledge in both the Science of Hadith and Narrators … He was the most unique scholars of his time when it comes to knowledge of narrations and traditions …”. He is the author of the book: Fasl Al-Khitaab fee Ithbaat tahreef Kitab Rab Al-Arbab. 7 Al-Fadl b. Al-Hasan Al-Tabrasi (460 H – 548 H): The author of Majma’ Al-Bayan fee Tafseer Al- Quran.
8 Muhammad b. Al-Hasan Al-Tusi (385 H – 460 H): Known as Shaykh Al-Taefah. 9 Ali b. Al-Husien known as Al-Sayid Al-Murtada (355 H – 436 H). 10 Abu Ja’far Muhammad b. Ali b. Musa b. Babawayh Al-Qumi (305 H – 381 H): known as Al- Shaykh Al-Saduq.
11 Muhammad b. Muhammad b. Al-Nu’man (336 H – 413 H): Abu Abdullah Al-Mufeed.
12 Who are the Naasibis and what is the ruling on them? http://www.islamqa.com/en/ref/43322/

Temen w mengalami gejala sakit jantung dan dokter di Indo menduga kemungkinan aritmia karena tidak terdeteksi EKG. Disarankan untuk ambil tindakan EP study (elektrofisiologi / electrophysiology study) ... belum banyak info soal tindakan ini di forum" indo, banyakan di subreddit luar?
Jujur pas baca di subreddit luar negeri AFib dll agak menakutkan prosedurnya huhu...
Agan" ada yang bisa sharing pengalaman mengenai tujuan dan tingkat kesuksesan nya?

Welcome to the thirty-sixth season of DK's Survivor.
For this season, 20 new contestants will be left to fend for themselves in the Aran Islands of Ireland, where they will face a brand-new twist in Ghost Island, giving them a chance to right the wrongs of past castaways.
In the end only one person will be left, and they will claim the title of sole survivor.
Season link: https://brantsteele.com/survivo36/r.php?c=FWrXAgyj
Caherard Tribe:

• Amadeus Artadi - 22 - Gymnast - Los Angeles, CA, USA - u/swoldow
• Ashley Dixa - 22 - Unemployed - Orlando, FL, USA - u/AshZomboy
• Darrick Timmings - 25 - Musician - Buffalo, NY, USA - u/SilverOwl24
• Georgia Powell - 28 - Nurse - Salt Lake City, UT, USA - u/Ripecornball60
• Jeremy Fox - 32 - Teacher - u/APurplePenguin_
• Lillian Gray - 27 - Event Planner - Boston, MA, USA - u/SilverOwl24
• Mateo Dunn - 55 - Former Child Star - Las Vegas, NV, USA - u/Ripecornball60
• Roger Lavoie - 67 - Construction Worker - Little Rock, AR, USA - u/Popular-Scientist648
• Sakura Chiba - 25 - Model - Las Vegas, NV, USA - u/BigTeddyBear20
• Trisha Brown - 31 - Novelist - u/ToastieGreep

Kilronan Tribe:

• Cameron Sheaffer - 27 - Fashion Designer - Statesville, NC, USA - u/Sxvorii
• Cecily Maga - 72 - Model - Los Angeles, CA, USA - u/AshZomboy
• Clint Moonshine - 46 - Club Owner / Retired Actor - Colorado Springs, CO, USA - u/swoldow
• Kisha Han - 24 - Tech Assistant - Reno, NV, USA - u/Sxvorii
• Layla Worthington - 26 - Event Coordinator - New York City, NY, USA - u/wordonthestreet2
• Mariano Puentes - 19 - High School Student - u/Nahuelfire39
• Miriam Wexon - 61 - Unemployed - u/ToastieGreep
• Noah Kaimana - 28 - Server - Honolulu, HI, USA - u/Technical_Mushroom12
• Rose Wheeler - 27 - Veterinarian - Camarillo, CA, USA - u/Technical_Mushroom12
• Steven Carr - 44 - Actor - Kettering, OH, USA - u/APurplePenguin_

Winner: _____Steven Carr_____
Runner-Up: _____Noah Kaimana_____
Second Runner-Up: _____Clint Moonshine_____
Fan Favorite: _____Mateo Dunn_____
Link to wiki page for the season: DK's Survivor: Ghost Island DKSurvivor Wiki Fandom
Quick thoughts:
This season turned out great in my opinion. It had several fun pre-merge and post-merge characters, and the Ghost Island twist ended up playing a significant role in multiple rounds. Overall, my favorite contestants were for sure Clint, Noah, and Steven. They controlled so many eliminations, and played very interesting games. Truthfully, I was disappointed that the final vote wasn't a bit closer, because while Steven absolutely played a winner worthy game, it's hard to ignore how well Noah and Clint did as well. Specifically, that double idol play by Clint was just so iconic lol. Either way, I'm still happy with how everything turned out. Super fun season.
Feel free to share your thoughts below. Stay tuned for the sign-ups for season 37!
Previous seasons:

• Honduras
• Indonesia
• The Everglades
• Morocco
• Greece
• Tonga
• All-Stars
• Palawan
• The Brazilian Highlands
• Mariana Islands
• Maldives
• Kenya
• Wild West
• Fiji
• Melanesia - Fans vs. Favorites
• China
• Peru
• Canada
• Mexico
• Heroes vs. Villains
• Grenada
• Redemption Island
• West Pacific
• One World
• Puerto Rico - Fans vs. Favorites
• The Caribbean
• Blood vs. Water
• Wallis and Futuna
• Thailand - Blood vs. Water
• Second Chance
• Australia
• Millennials vs. Gen-X
• India
• Game Changers - Nicobar Islands
• Ireland

23 F Somali, Canadian if I’m getting to know you it’s strictly has to be halal way with mahram involved. Serious guys only.
I’m looking for someone who shares my commitment to our deen and has high aspirations in their religious journey. I enjoy seeking knowledge and attending lessons daily, and I plan to continue this after marriage. I'm considering moving to a Muslim country next year, so it would be great if my future husband is open to that possibility. I'm currently a student, so moving might be a bit tricky for now. I dress according to shariah and like to be adventurous within the bounds of our faith.
I'm looking for someone who is also deen-oriented, puts Allah first, and has a good relationship with the Quran. Financial stable and responsible has stable job, university would be ideally but not dealbreaker. Someone with good character and manners. Ideally, he should attend lessons and be connected to the masjid, with some of his prayers performed there. I'm open to someone who has been divorced ( no kids but has to be healed from it or never married.
Preferably from someone from the West & strictly North America. Hijra is must for me as I have plans to seek knowledge upon the Quran and sunnah from the scholars in shaa Allah. Plus I don’t see myself raising my children in the West in Shaa Allah
also someone who hasn’t had past in haram way, lowers his gaze from the opposite gender, doesn’t have social media presence ( since I don’t it’s only right) doesn’t free mixing willingly unless it’s out of necessity. Nice smile, good teeth, takes care of his hygiene and his appearance, doesn’t smoke

Hi everyone I’m a Christian looking to learn more about Islam . I recently went to Barnes and noble and bought a Quran unfortunately this Quran was translated from someone who many Muslims believe is a heretic. Looking for other Qurans led me to the one message foundation that gives away a free Quran . My only fear is that once I put in my information and get the Quran they might send other Islamic mail to my house, which would be pretty bad considering my Father is a devout catholic as well as my mother and they both have very anti Islam views . Thank you.

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Ranking system:
5 - full size bottle already in my cart 4 - really enjoy it 3 - wouldn't buy again but might use up 2 - Could try one more time before giving away 1 - scrubbed and giving away
Super fast shipping, beautifully packaged, and a free sample ( Lost Lenore).
Surf Girl - (Notes of pink grapefruit, mandarin, bergamot, lychee, and cantaloupe with a touch of jungle greens and white tea leaves all on a bed of vanilla infused coconut milk and dusted with a light sugar musk.)
2 - A nice smell but 100% smells like whatever my grandma used to weause for soap. Very powder forward on me
Blackberry Lace - (Fresh and sweet, with just a touch of mystique. Vanilla and rum soaked blackberries with sweet pineapple chunks, delicate jasmine petals, dewy strawberry leaves, crisp apple peel, and wrapped in airy tendrils of white musk and soft amber.)
2 - Horribly saddened that for some reason it smells like mineral sunscreen on me.
The Moon Never Beams - (Notes of split vanilla beans, tonka infused cream, vanilla sugar musk, and just a whisper of vanilla orchids.)
2 - A pretty delicate powdery vanilla
Candied Orchid - (Sweet candied lemon peels nestled around sugared dipped vanilla orchids in a wash of fresh coconut milk and whipped vanilla cream topped with a kiss of spun sugar musk.)
2 - A sweet powdery floral
Violets & Cream - (Simple, beautiful, elegant and oh so delicious; candied violets and rich mounds of homemade marshmallow fluff and fresh sweet cream.)
2 - Four words: Choward's Violet Mint Candy
Kisses Like Candy - (Simple, sweet pink cotton candy kissed with a touch of pink magnolia, mandarin peel, soft amber, night blooming jasmine, pomegranate, heliotrope, and sugar musk.)
3 - Like you're taking a bubble bath while eating cotton candy. Really enjoy the dry down.
All the Ways - (Sweet and unassuming, a beautiful skin musk fragrance that is both comforting and alluring. Rice flowers, pink amber, fresh Asian plum, a touch of sweet coconut water, miniature violets, blackberry juice, and sheer vanilla musk.)
2 - Powdery soap.
☺️The Way You Blush - (Sweet and all innocence. Cotton candy, sweet vanilla infused sugar, crystalized bergamot, and candied violets)
5 - A LOVELY scent. It smells more sophisticated than what I had expected based off the description. I'm getting lots of tantalizing sweetness with a nice touch of bergamot to balance it out.
🎀Pink Petal Sugarcubes - (Notes of fresh cut peonies and tulips, wild honeysuckle branches, candied tangerine, glistening sugar cubes, raspberry syrup, and whipped vanilla.)
5 - It has what I'm coming to realize is Wylde Ivy's signature powdery scent. However, that's in the background for me. This description is not going to give it justice but: a watermelon jollyrancher with the coquette aesthetic. I said what I said and will not be elaborating.
🌹Lost Lenore - (Notes of dewy pink roses, faded parchment, ambergris, dried heather flowers, and white amber sugar)
5 - Never would have picked this one on my own but mannn do I love it! I realized that it was very close to something I'd worn in the past. It's Delina La Rosse by PDM! I wore them on opposite wrists and they smell like sisters (one preppy and one goth). To my nose they share the same rose heart note but Lost Lenore is more musky and dare I say complex.
In conclusion a lot of misses for me (3/10) but the ones I liked, I really enjoyed! There is something about certain notes pared with the powdery scents that are too nostalgic and bittersweet for me to get on board with. Unfortunately, I haven't pinned down exactly what notes it is lol. All in all I will be purchasing more from Wylde Ivy again. What I didn't like I know another person who enjoys powders will love.

WARNING: CONTAINS A LOT OF SPOILERS
Introduction:
Hello there! My name is Brian, and I am interested in this Reddit group because Hell's Kitchen is one of my favorite TV shows. I am particularly fond of the Thailand variant since I have experience visiting a Thai restaurant.
For those of you who don't know, I work on Hell's Kitchen fanon projects as part of the community.
I have been thinking about the new contestants, head chefs, sous chefs, and maître d’hôtel. If it were up to me, Hell's Kitchen would take place in Tokyo instead of Los Angeles/Las Vegas, since Japan is a popular tourist destination. In this version, Gordon Ramsay would not be featured, but instead, he would appear as a guest judge in future episodes.
Interestingly, none of the contestants would have any culinary experience, and they would be aged between 21-35 and come from different parts of the world. I am anticipating the presence of a main protagonist, a main antagonist, some supporting characters, and a few minor characters.
Lastly, I would not include their last names to protect their privacy.
Blue Team:
Ben, 25, YouTuber & Philanthropist, Greenville, North Carolina
Bianca, 31, Book Reviewer, Milan, Italy
Brian, 25, Voice Actor, Los Angeles, California
Cecilia, 23, Cosplayer, Atlanta, Georgia
Corrie, 35, YouTube Gamer, Amsterdam, Netherlands
David, 27, Musician & Singer, Evansville, Indiana
Domingos, 30, Tech YouTuber, Lisbon, Portugal
Efrain, 30, YouTube Gamer, Madrid, Spain
Evelyn, 29, Tailor, Yerevan, Armenia
Evert, 26, YouTuber & Actor, Zoetermeer, Netherlands
Georgina, 27, Digital Content Creator, Tirana, Albania
Gisele, 26, Disney & Pokémon YouTuber, Asnières-sur-Seine, France
Hans, 34, YouTuber & Game Director, Oslo, Norway
Herve, 27, Japanese Culture YouTuber, Neuilly-sur-Seine, France
Isaias, 22, YouTube Gamer, Montevideo, Uruguay
Justine, 27, Writer & Illustrator, Adelaide, Australia
Karlotta, 29, Anime & Manga YouTuber, Hamburg, Germany
Lucas, 29, YouTube Gamer, Dallas, Texas
Marco, 29, YouTuber & Musician, Savona, Italy
Mathieu, 32, YouTube Comedian & Vlogger, Paris, France
Priya, 22, Model & Cosplayer, Guwahati, India
Raquel, 29, Content Creator, Madrid, Spain
Shirlene, 30, Blogger, Chelmsford, United Kingdom
Valerie, 21, Chess Player, Fuengirola, Spain
Wendy, 29, Model & Singer, Minsk, Belarus
Red Team:
Alex, 27, Commentator, La Crosse, Wisconsin
Amelie, 28, Digital Creator, Paris, France
Brendan, 27, Twitch Streamer, Trenton, New Jersey
Caroline, 29, Twitch Streamer, Trenton, New Jersey
Claudio, 24, Gameplay Commentator, Mallorca, Spain
Diana, 26, Model, Amsterdam, Netherlands
Felix, 29, Podcaster & YouTuber, Sydney, Australia
Flora, 31, Lifestyle & Travel Luxury Creator, Jakarta, Indonesia
Franklin, 25, Author, Brighton, United Kingdom
Hannelore, 29, YouTuber & Podcaster, Munich, Germany
Herman, 34, YouTuber, Vlaardingen, Netherlands
Iris, 28, Twitch Streamer, Chicago, Illinois
Karen, 28, Anime YouTuber, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Kyllian, 28, Live Streamer & YouTuber, Hollis, New Hampshire
Larisa, 25, Writer & Wellness Teacher, Ljubljana, Slovenia
Natalie, 32, Cosplayer & Twitch Streamer, Belfast, United Kingdom
Nicholas, 24, Presenter & Podcaster, Blackpool, United Kingdom
Noah, 27, Twitch Streamer & YouTuber, Denbigh, United Kingdom
Olga, 22, Content Creator, Moscow, Russia
Paul, 30, YouTuber & Editor, Tallinn, Estonia
Stefano, 31, YouTube Gamer, Rome, Italy
Tamiko, 34, Entrepreneur, Los Angeles, California
Teresa, 33, Youtuber & Blogger, Perth, Australia
Tobias, 31, Photographer, Dublin, Ireland
Tristan, 33, Podcaster & YouTuber, Bangkok, Thailand
Head Chefs:
Jake, 34, Maidstone, United Kingdom: Jake is a strict and short-tempered perfectionist chef who gets easily frustrated when his chefs make mistakes such as serving raw food, not communicating properly, or talking back to him. However, he does care for chefs who try their best, as he always expects the best from every chef he works with. Jake is also known to make sarcastic comments by comparing served food to something else or even customers when they try to confront him. Despite his criticisms and insults, Jake's intention is to find out which chef has the potential to be his new head chef. None of the critiques and insults he gave out were too personal, and there are rare occasions where he gives praise to a chef and lets them know they are doing well. For this reason, he earned the nickname "Asian Gordon Ramsay".
Kim, 40, Boston, Massachusetts: Kim is one of the head chefs that Jake hired, and she acts as his right-hand woman during services. Unlike her co-workers Jake, Eleanor, Lola, and Renata, Kim is always calm and collected and never gets angry, even when chefs make mistakes. She is generally a charming and cheerful person who provides chefs with advice and encouragement to help them succeed during dinner service and any challenges that may arise.
Eleanor, 71, New York City, New York: Eleanor is one of the head chefs hired by Jake and she acts as his right-hand woman during services. She is generally more subdued than Jake and Renata, but she has her limits. When she is pushed, she will lash out at any chef who disrespects her. She can also become rude and annoyed when chefs are being unprofessional and talking back to her. However, overall, Eleanor is a nice and helpful person. She has a lot of cooking experience in the past, and is known for preparing restaurant-quality dishes.
Lola, 48, Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico: Lola is one of the head chefs hired by Jake. She acts as his right-hand woman during services, and holds the same high standards as Jake. Lola often gets irritated by contestants' constant mistakes. However, she is not as subdued as Kim, Eleanor, and Renata. She has her limits, and when pushed, she will lash out at any chef who disrespects her. Lola becomes stern when the chefs aren't doing their jobs properly. She easily gets angry, uses vulgar language, and is sarcastic when a chef is not professional, makes mistakes, or fails to meet Jake's standards. Despite this, Lola is generally kind and humorous.
Renata, 42, Berea, Ohio: Renata is one of the head chefs hired by Jake. She acts as his right-hand woman during services, holding the same high standards as Jake. However, she can become irritated by the constant mistakes made by the contestants. While she is more subdued than Jake and Eleanor, she has her limits when pushed and would lash out at any disrespectful contestant. Her behavior is often passive-aggressive. Renata becomes stern when the contestants don't take the competition seriously. Her criticisms can be considered slightly or overly harsh, sometimes even taking a contestant's poor performance as a personal insult and berating them for their mistakes. Otherwise, Renata is generally respectful and polite. She is an expert in desserts.
Sous Chefs:
Wilson, 27, Union, Missouri: Wilson is Jake's Sous Chef and acts as his right-hand man during services. He holds the same high standards as Jake and gets irritated by the constant mistakes of contestants. Wilson is generally calm and composed, but he becomes stern when chefs fail to do their jobs properly. He warns them that he can be as aggressive and harsh on them as he won't tolerate poor performances leading to bad dinner services or losing challenges.
Lily, 32, Chicago, Illinois: Lily, the Sous Chef of Jake, serves as his main assistant during services. She shares the same standards as Jake and often gets frustrated by the constant mistakes of the contestants. Despite that, Lily is generally friendly and caring. However, she has her limits, and if disrespected, she will become stern and lash out at the chefs. She is known to lose her temper with chefs who do not perform their jobs adequately during dinner services or in challenges.
Maître d’hôtel:
Louise, 34, Toronto, Canada: Louise was one of the most respected and loveable staff in the history of the show. As the Maître d'hôtel at Hell's Kitchen, she served at the front of the house and often handed out tickets to Jake. If there was a tableside dish, she was responsible for instructing the assigned chefs on how to make it, due to her vast experience in cooking. However, she would get upset with the chefs when they made mistakes that resulted in customer complaints.
Conclusion:
I have created a detailed summary for my upcoming project. I plan to release the first episode when I can find some free time. It will either premiere after the conclusion of Hell's Kitchen Thailand or at a time that I believe is appropriate. This project will have more intense and unique rewards and punishments compared to the previous ones. As expected, none of the contestants will be nominated by the head chefs, and all of them will be eliminated properly, except for the Running the Pass Service. The head chefs are expecting two chefs before the finale. I also expected the teams to not be divided by gender. I would love to see friendships and romance develop between members of opposite genders. Furthermore, I'm excited to see how the best blue team and the worst red team in the show's history compare to previous seasons. There is going to be more drama, bad dinner services, and brutality, unlike Gordon Ramsay's version. As anticipated, there will be no punishment pass, Cook For Your Life Challenge, and Black Jackets Challenge because it would not be fair for certain chefs who wanted a reward and stayed in the competition for obvious reasons. The winner of this series will receive a prestigious head chef position at the Gordon Ramsay Bar & Grill Restaurant in Sunway City, Kuala Lumpur, with a salary of $250,000. Interestingly, all the chefs who competed throughout the series will return for the finale to join one of the largest Final Service Brigades in the show's history. Please let me know if any changes need to be made. I'll put contestants' personalities next time as a separate post, due to space limit on Reddit.
Here's the link: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1rJkba0klyA99Sd-gXyK_EtjtT2FXb_hT?usp=sharing

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*