I use to work with a team of 10-12 other girls and we all pretty much got along with each other.
You had this one girl, let’s just call her “Susan”. Well Susan was one of those girls that wore “orange” fondation, bleached her hair blonde - white, wore low riding jeans so you could see her string riding up her back…
Susan and I worked “well” together, despite the fact that I didn’t like her too much bcuz I always try to remain professional at work no matter who I’m working with on my shift, but it’s hard to do this when Susan likes to make fun of you..
I was the chubbiest girl out of us all but it had never bothered me before and as mentioned, we all pretty much got along with each other.
it was the early 2000s, I had purchased my FIRST low riding jeans: pure white. But as I am artistically talented I jazzed up those jeans with song lyrics, ripped knees, added some spikes and other bling… I did a pretty good job for a DIY project and so they became my favourite pair of pants. I wore them ALL the time.
One day, I was wearing my fav jeans, it was a shift rotation so we had like 6 or 7 people all hanging around about to log on/log off) when Susan out of nowhere just decided to blurt out to me in front of of the girls “you know, it’s so funny how we all mostly have the same haircut” (she was the only one who bleached her hair and had hers cut in a short Bob, while the rest of us had long hair coloured between brown to black) “and yet, the best way to tell each other apart from the back is you’ve got the biggest ass here” and she tried to laugh and make it seem like it was nothing, but nobody else laughed and just kinda fell awkwardly quiet.
All her rude comments to me, always side eyeing me and making fun of me… I couldn’t hold back so I replied “yeah? That’s cool. At least when I insult someone I can look at them straight in the eyes”.
She never bothered me again 😎👉👉

Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language. It’s a long story (get your popcorn ready)
So my(33f) whole life I have a very sensitive skin. It’s mostly painful but manageable for me to do manicure and pedicure, I don’t go to cosmetologist as I have a high risk of getting an allergy or redness. However, I like to dye my hair and I have been to numerous hairdressers as well as done it myself for about 15 years
Three years ago I had severe health problems which caused me to lose half of my hair (among other symptoms) and at one point I almost died. At that time I stopped dyeing my hair and chopped it off due to bad quality. 2,5 years later I’ve been feeling good, my hair grew out and I decided it’s time to make my 2 dreams come true: to donate my hair so they can make a wig for cancer patients and to dye the bob that will be after the haircut bright pink
I’ve spent a lot of time to find a hairdresser that would fit me. The one that chopped my hair didn’t work with bright colors and actually chopped off 10cm more than I asked. I was sad but ok as it went for charity
After a few month I finally found the one that had pretty good works and the price was good enough
When I came to the appointment It felt weird, I think we didn’t clicked, but were pretty respectful towards each other. I told her right away that I have sensitive skin and she seemed ok with that
Although I didn’t like that she didn’t ask for my permission to take photos or videos for her social media, and I was just told that she will take them after she finishes her work. I swallowed it as I always supportive of hairdressers, makeup artists etc. I loved her work on me and was absolutely happy, but during the filming she was irritated that I’m posing not like she wanted although I never got the instructions
A few days later she posted an IG reel with me and she put a filter on my face for a preview picture. Mind you, I almost haven’t recognized myself. She never asked me if I’m ok with that. I was livid but once again swallowed it because it’s so hard to find a good hairdresser where I live
During the next appointment she held her blowing dryer too close to my head that it felt like it burned a hole in my head. I politely asked to hold it a bit further and she reacted normally, and tried to do so. Sometimes she pulled my hair too much and I made some quiet noises as I can’t control my reaction
During the third appointment she fucked up with bleaching my roots and I got a light strip 1 cm wide. At first it wasn’t noticeable due to the lighting and I saw it the next day and sent her a message right away. She never apologized and tried to make it seem like it was my fault, but eventually said to come to her salon to fix it (for free ofc). Her fixing didn’t help that time and the next one. So I had to walk like that for 2 months. She never acknowledged her fault, and newer apologized. Okay, things happen, I understand. I swallowed my frustration once again
Now to the main problem. I’ve been at her salon for 5-6 times and after at least the last three of them I’ve noticed that she washed my had very bad leaving A LOT of dye. This caused a very painful itching after only 2-3 hours after the appointment was finished and the last time this itching continued for two weeks. Okay, she has only 3-4 years of experience, I get it, mistakes happen. I thought that I would talk to her about this and it will be better
Yesterday was my last appointment. I addressed my concerns in a very polite manner, she tried to break my speech answering that it’s the dye that is so strong or the bleach causes the irritation and she is not sure it can be fixable. I told her that I have years of experience and never had this problem before. I’m just asking her to wash my head more thoroughly. She agreed to try
Well, the issue seemed resolved, she have bleached my roots and the part she fucked up before, washed my hair and started to blow drying it before dyeing. During the blow drying part I felt that she holds the blow dryer too close to my head again (mind you, when it’s just hot I remain silent, I say something only when I can’t bear the pain), I again asked her very politely to hold it a bit further
In response she started to raise her voice (not screaming) telling me how it irritates her that I have sensitive skin and I always say that it’s too hot, to painful or that I have allergic reaction. She said it’s uncomfortable for her to work like this with me and this is the last time [she allows me to say things like that]. She said that next time things will be different
I was shocked and said that I didn’t choose to have sensitive skin or get an allergic reaction. What should I have to do? To shut up when I’m in unbearable pain or have an allergy?
She responded only that she is uncomfortable with me and her other clients never have this problem
I said okay and sat completely silent and shocked knowing I will never be back as it was the last nail in the coffin
She dyed my hair, washed it again (surprisingly, she did it the exact way I asked for) and dried it. During drying she once again held the blow dryer so close to my head that I had to tilt in other direction from her in absolute pain and put my cold fingers on that place for a half a minute. She just remained silent looking more irritated and started to hold the blow dryer too far like on purpose
After she finished I paid for the service, came back home and blocked her. I never want to see her again or interact with her
Now, to my question: my husband said that blocking her was an overreaction, and I could just unfollowed her (she didn’t follow me). He didn’t say that in any rude way or so, just his opinion. I didn’t think I overreacted, but maybe I did? Idk, what do you think? Am I wrong in my reaction?
EDIT: Wow, thank you so much for this response, I didn’t expect that much and got overwhelmed and couldn’t answer all of the comments, sorry. I read all of them though
I appreciate all of your support, kind words, new perspectives and even offering help in finding the new stylist (I was extremely touched)
I learned my lesson and heard all of you and will be asking the potential new stylist about experience with sensitive skin and will not be coming back if they won’t hear me the first time
Thank you all SO much!
To explain some things: I live in Germany, it’s very hard here to leave a bad review online as it could lead to the court and a lot of businesses get rid of bad reviews like this. I personally don’t have financial or emotional capacity to fight with her in the court right now, especially because businesses usually win in this case

Hello, I’m a 16 years old and I have literally never been happy with my hair. It’s extremely troubling as it’s thin, fine, and flat. As such whenever I’ve gotten a haircut they’ve just cut length off and added “long layers” (they’re not even noticeable) and then left my hair to hang straight in my face. Right now my hair is fairly long reaching a little above my elbow and I ABSOLUTELY HATE LONG HAIR the tangling is horrendous with how fine it is. I’m definitely past due for a hair cut but this time I would like to take some length off and get layers maybe even something to frame my face. Every time I search good haircuts for thin hair it’s just constant bobs (no way am I ever doing a bob). I do like the wolf cut type of styles but to my mom I’m notorious for not understanding styling (which I am.. I absolutely suck at styling, but I am willing to learn). If it also helps I have a heartish face shape.

It's been hard to find time to write this past week, but I'm chugging along, however sluggish. I also want to give a huge thanks to u/icallshogun for telling me how to use new-old reddit, because it's already saved me a bunch of time posting this single chapter.
I have a bad habit of last minute editing before I post chapters. I'll usually go over once or twice and switch up a few things. I didn't this time. Why am I telling you this? No idea. Enjoy.
A little PSA: if the next chapter button is missing, it's most likely in the comments (either that, or the next chapter isn't out yet), because sometimes reddit likes to say posts are more than 40k even when they aren't, making them impossible to edit. I just had this problem adding the link to chapter 12.
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin for making NoP!
Prev -First- Next
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Chapter 13: A million miles away
- Memory Transcription Subject: Arlene Brandy, Human Refugee
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 20th, 2136
The refugee center crested the horizon, with UN banners draped from the second story, and signs marking some of the nearby buildings as temporary housing. I wondered how exactly they convinced people to hand over entire buildings for use. One of them wasn’t even an apartment building, it was offices.
There were more humans around, of course, with the venlil population extremely sparse, only a few brave enough to be anywhere near the ‘den’. I grabbed the door, and opened it, revealing the main lobby, which to my utter surprise, had a venlil at the desk along with a human.
It feels so weird to point out when people are human or not, but that’s just how it is now. I ambled towards the pair, keeping my movements slow and calculated, not to scare the guy. He noticed, and let out a chuckle.
“No need to worry about me ma’am. I’m quite used to humans by now.”
I relaxed, blushing a little. “That makes sense.”
“What do you need?” The venlil asked.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to get one of those datapads. I have family at home I need to get in touch with.”
“And you are?”
“Arlene Brandy.”
“Uh huh.” He clicked at the computer for a moment. “Well, you’re a little late to the party. We just got five hundred or so new residents, so we’re out of new pads, but I’m sure you can find someone willing to let you borrow theirs.”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. You’re staying at Golden Ridge apartment 113, correct?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ll have one sent to your door when we get a new shipment.”
“Thank you.” I turned to leave.
“Wait, we wont get more for a few paws yet. Why don’t you try asking to use someone else’s?”
I turned back around to the desk. “Can I use yours?”
"Sorry, mine doesn’t connect to the Earth networks.”
“Shit.”
“Please try not to swear so much, there are children around.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The guy at the desk was so comfortable around me that it started making me uncomfortable. While the human at the desk didn’t even register me. I bet he was playing solitaire.
I entered the common room. People ambled, walked, teetered, and even ran around, from door to door and table to table. Seating was plentiful, but there weren’t any free spots, because the place was so packed. There really were a lot of them. Refugees, I mean. This was only a tiny fraction too.
How many more? Is there an end to it?
I searched for someone to approach, but found nothing. Everyone was grieving. I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to know it was there. My stomach turned in a horrible spiral, and I soon found myself bent over a toilet, ejecting breakfast. I was drooling over the bowl like a rabid dog, eyes watering and legs quaking. My diaphragm expelled one last gust of air, in a horrible coughing fit that lasted uncomfortably long.
I don’t know how I found the bathroom without help, it wasn’t marked very well. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing I guess, whatever ‘that sort of thing’ is.
On my way out, I washed my hands twice, not that it made a difference. The common room was still full of chatter and sobbing, quiet and boisterous both in their own right.
A man in a dress shirt sat alone at a table with his head in his hands. A mother cradled a baby in her arms, rocking him to sleep. In the corner of the room sat a group of people sitting on the ground playing monopoly. A boy ate a droopy sandwich next to a parent, munching listlessly. They all looked so tired. So tired that it could suck the breath right back out of you.
At one of the tables was a man with burns on his arms, and another bandaging him up. He winced when the bandages touched the splotches where blisters used to be, dry and scabbed. There was a good chance the burns were inflicted on purpose, by them. Monsters.
He locked eyes with me, his empty like all the rest. My head jerked away, embarrassment on my face like dye, the mask doing little to hide my frenzied posture. I power walked to another part of the room, behind a group of people conversing. I took off my coat so I wouldn’t overheat in the stuffy room… and also to blend into the crowd.
Staring at burn victims? What is wrong with you?
I looked down at myself. My boots were brown, my pants were black, and my shirt was as well, with a picture of an album cover on the front. My hands were twitchy, and my arm was still bandaged. I could’ve, should’ve lost the dressings by then, but I hadn’t got around to it. I put my coat back on
Since I wasn’t getting anywhere, I decided to take a trip down the hallways, into the dorms, where it was less crowded.
Down the halls, past a few turns, was an open door, with warm light spilling out, and cheerful discussion taking place inside. Taking a peek, I saw a group of 3 people, one of whom was a venlil, playing cards. The funny thing, is it was one of those grungy decks with pictures of naked ladies on them. Well, I don’t know if it was funny, but it stuck with me.
“Hello?” Spoke the venlil.
The other heads turned in my direction. I was discovered. A pang of cold crawled through my spine.
“O-oh, hi.” I tried and failed to act like I hadn’t been watching them for several seconds.
“Hey there, are you one of the new arrivals?” Asked the girl sitting next to the venlil.
“Uh, no, I’ve just been living in a different spot.”
“No wonder you look like shit.” Spoke a middle aged guy with scars. There was an ankle monitor on his leg, though I certainly wasn’t going to question him about it.
“Ben! Don’t be rude.” The girl replied.
“I’m not being rude. We all look like shit. Some of us are shit right now.” Ben mumbled.
“Well you don’t have to be so nihilistic about it.” She turned back to me. “Wanna join us? We could use a fourth.”
“No thanks. I’m trying to get in touch with my family.”
"Well if they’re here, I can find them. I know everyone here.” Said the girl, with a big grin.
"They’re on Earth. I just need to use someone’s datapad. The guy at the desk said we were out of new ones.”
“Did you break yours?”
A nervous laugh escaped me. It felt so weird to have a normal conversation. The last time I talked to a human was only a few days ago, but it felt much longer. Years maybe… or not. My shoulders felt tight, probably from the extra weight. I swallowed a lump that had been growing in my throat since leaving Earth, and my stomach got heavier as a result.
What did she lose?
I cleared my throat. “N-no, I never got one in the first place.”
“Well, no worries. You can use mine if you want. I’m Taylor by the way.” She smiled.
I didn’t smile back. The mask would’ve hidden it anyway. “Thanks. I’m Arlene.”
She handed me the weird alien phone, which I soon realized I didn’t know how to use.
The venlil piped up. “Want me to do it for you?” He stood up.
“Yes please.” I handed him the datapad.
He started tapping away at the device. “These things are super outdated. The interface is really clunky, especially the UN comms.”
I loomed over his shoulder, watching him type in a bunch of stuff into text boxes. “You have to login to make calls?”
“No, this is just the path the call will be taking. Where are you calling?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Where is that?”
“North America.”
*“*Okay, there we go.” He handed the datapad back to me. “Just type in the phone number and you’re good to go.”
“Thanks.” I started punching in the number.
“No problem. I’ve had to do it for Taylor a million times by now.” He chuckled.
“Hey, I know how to do it now!” She replied.
“Then why didn’t you show her how?”
Taylor snorted. “Because then you wouldn’t be useful anymore, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Whatever you say.” He flicked his tail.
“Hey, enough with the snarky tail language.” She crossed her arms.
“What did he say?” Ben asked.
“He said I was a goober.”
I looked up from the datapad. “You have a tail sign for ‘goober’?”
“Of course we do, why wouldn’t we?” He shrugged.
Ben raised his eyebrows, and Taylor laughed. I was still wearing the mask.
"Hey, do you mind if I uh… you know.” I pointed to my face.
“Oh please, you couldn’t possibly be uglier than Taylor.”
“You better be careful Talnek. You’d get a beating if you insulted a lady where I come from.” Ben stated.
Taylor punched Ben in the shoulder. “He’s just messing!”
I removed the mask, and set it down on a table. “Is it alright if I make the call outside?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t manage to brick the thing.” Talnek said, sitting back down at his cards with a snicker.
Taylor shot him a dirty look.
“Thanks again Taylor.”
She grinned like a little kid. “No prob bob!”
I stepped into the hallway, holding the datapad up to my face, and pressed the call button.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang…
Until the display lit up with the face of my dad. My lips curled up in a smile.
“Hey dad.”
“Ope!” He flinched, then grinned. “Hey there sweetie. Havin’ fun up in space?”
“Nevermind that! Are you guys okay? Did Luke make it back alright?”
“Oh we’re doing fine yet. Luke got discharged because of injuries. He got pretty banged up in a crash, but he’s alright.”
“Is mom around?”
"Sorry kiddo, she’s out of town getting gas for the generators.”
My eyes widened. “Generators? Is the power out? Have you been able to get dialysis?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh don’t worry yourself. We’ve got diesel running the place.”
My hands left marks of sweat on the device. “You are getting your blood cleaned, right?”
“Yes, I am. Even if I wasn’t, your pa’s still got some fight left in ‘em.” He patted his bicep.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Jesus dad, you had me worried for a second there.”
He chuckled. “Don’t be. Try to have fun up there. No use worrying about somewhere you’re not.”
A sigh escaped me. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl! How are the aliens treating ya?”
I frowned. “Well, if I’m being honest, most of them are assholes.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’ve met a few that don’t mind me, but I can count them on one hand.”
“Well that’s better than nothing, ain’t it?” He raised an eyebrow in a joking manner.
I smiled a little. “I guess so.”
“So, tell me about these nice aliens then.”
“Sure- Hold on, is Luke there?”
“He’s sleeping right now. Doctor’s got him on the good stuff.”
“Is it that bad?”
He shouldn’t have enlisted. Asshole. He’s such an idiot. He could have died! “I wanna meet aliens” my ass.
*“*The doc says he’ll be up and at em in a few days, but the pain is still kicking him.”
*“*Is he alright? Like, is he shellshocked?”
Dad frowned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” He looked past the camera. “He’s pretty bitter about the whole thing.”
My blood ran cold. I knew what it sounded like when he was downplaying something. “Dad. Is he gonna be okay?”
His expression softened. “Luke’s a strong boy. He’ll be okay.”
“He better. I’ll kill him if he’s not. You be sure to tell him that.”
Dad laughed. “Sure, sure. Back to the aliens, if you will.”
“My bad.” Warmth filled my face. “So there’s this guy who lives in my apartment building, right? I come back home after a day of trying, and failing, to get my hands on any materials, craft materials are super expensive here for some reason, by the way, and he’s coming home at the same time, so I say hi to him, and he jumps me!”
Maybe things would get better.
“Their claws are sharp! He scratched me up pretty bad, look.” I raised my arm to the camera, and my dad gasped in response.
"Whoa, that’s a lot of bandages.”
“Yeah, right? I may have put too much actually. Anyway, he charges me, and so I put him in a headlock, and I yell at him to calm down. It might have been a misplay on my part, I have to admit. What, with the venlil thinking we want to eat them and all that jazz.”
Dad nodded, eyes full of stars. This was nice.
“Well, he starts crying, and now I felt like an ass, so I try to calm him down, but he’s not having any of it. So I hand him a doll I made, but that didn’t do much either, so I ended up just having to leave him there. Would you believe it if I told you he came knocking on my door the next day? He wanted to learn felting!”
He burst into laughter, having to wiping a tear from his eye. “I have to say, you have the strangest way of making friends.”
Maybe I was worrying over nothing.
“Oh, I forgot to mention, so, I was trying to get wool, right? But there’s obviously no sheep here on venlil prime.”
“Oh, don’t tell me.”
“So I went around offering free haircuts.”
Dad started wheezing like he had sand in his lungs. He struggled to point a finger at me. “S-so…” He burst into another fit of laughter. “You went around with shears, offering haircuts to the fluffy aliens who think you want to eat them?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. I give damn good cuts too.” I grinned, face full of mischief.
“So this friend of yours took you up on the offer? What’s his name?”
“Meba. And yes, I sheared him.”
“Okay, Meeh Baah? Are you pulling my leg?”
“Nope, that’s his real name. It means ‘little person’ in venlil, apparently.”
“You’re kidding! That is priceless! What happened then?”
“I sheared him, and then we went inside, and I taught him how to felt, and he got all flabbergasted when he saw me eat vegetables. He did this,” I held up a pointer finger, closing my eyes. “and then he said ‘You can’t eat vegetables, you’re a predator.’”
“Uh huh.”
“So after that, to skip to the good part, he has me follow him to work to *‘*protect him from humans’, and on the way back, just as we’re getting back to the apartments, he collapses in the hallway, hyperventilating and shaking.”
Maybe I could finally calm down.
“Oh no, was he okay?”
“Yeah, I brought him inside and calmed him down, but then the exterminators barged in! He stuffed me into a closet to hide me.”
Dad’s face swelled with disgust. “Ah yes, I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, they mess up the whole apartment, and they only leave because Meba is friends with their boss.”
“He’s buddy buddy with those folks?”
“Well, I don’t really know, but he used his connections to protect me, so I don’t mind. I was scared shitless the whole time. I barely kept myself still.”
“But you’re okay, right? They didn’t hurt you?”
"No, I was fine. I kind of blew up at him though. We made up though, and now he’s even comfortable around me with the mask off!”
“Mask?”
“The UN makes everyone wear masks in public so we don’t scare people.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“Yeah… it’s kinda scary sometimes.”
Home was still there.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure the rest of em will fall for your charm soon enough.”
“Yeah. After all, who could hate such an enchanting young lady?” I made a not so dignified face.
Dad shot a silly look right back, making us both laugh at our shared stupidity.
“So, since everything’s intact, when should I come home? I should be able to pretty soon.”
He smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about that. You should stay up there until the power comes back in… oh I don’t know, it should be on in a week or two. No reason to come back when the town is still out of whack.”
“What? But I can help out. Isn’t there work to be done?”
His eyes were warm. “Arlene, just have fun. We’ll be fine. Come home when it’s more comfortable.”
What?
“But I miss you guys.”
“I know, I miss you too.” He glanced off to the side for a moment. “But just wait a little longer. I want to roll the red carpet out for you. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Fine, but I expect a royal welcome.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “I better let you go, I have to make dinner.”
“Oh.. okay. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me about what’s going on in town.”
“Nothing crazy, just the usual but with flashlights instead of street lamps. Say hi to Meba for me.”
“Okay. Bye dad.”
“Bye kiddo. Try not to worry yourself so much.”
“I’ll try. I love you,”
“I love you too.”
He hung up the call, and home was gone again.
I popped back into the room to give Taylor her datapad back.
“How’d it go?” She asked.
“Good. I think.” I grabbed my mask, and handed her the device.
She smiled. “I’m glad. Want to stay for a bit? Today is pizza day.”
“I’m good. I should probably head out. Thanks though.”
“Wait a second, here.” Taylor handed me a card.
I turned it over in my fingers. It was off white with gold lettering. A business card. Very… eccentric.
“What’s this?”
“My info, so you can get in touch with me when you get a datapad. I’m kinda the self appointed caretaker of this place. If you need anything, anything at all, I’m your gal.”
I took another look at the card. “Thanks. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome! See you later.”
“See you.”
---
I sat on the bench by the office, legs crossed, working on a mini venlil, my third one actually. Yes, I was building an army. An army of little venlil that I would use for… something. Each one measured no more than four inches tall, with floppy yarn tails, and bits of blue yarn affixed for eyes.
They say the one who folds a thousand paper cranes will be granted a wish. What do you get for one thousand woolen venlil?
“Arlene?” Meba was walking towards me. His eyes were unfocused, and his tail was motionless, like a doll’s. He dragged his feet on the ground, and his bag weighed on him like a heap of iron. To put it bluntly, he looked like shit.
“Oh hey there. Done with work?”
“Yeah. What are you making?” His voice was monotone.
“More mini venlil.”
He leaned over. “It looks like me.”
“It is made out of your wool. It would be worrying if it didn’t resemble you.”
“I guess. Does this one have a name too?”
“Not yet. Do you have any ideas?”
He thought for a moment, ears swiveling like satellite dishes. “Mulek.”
“Mulek it is. Is that a common name?”
“It was my father’s name.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Oh, speaking of which, my dad says ‘hi’.”
“He’s the… rancher, right?”
“Yeah.” I got up off the bench. “He’s not as scary as he sounds. If you met him, you’d realize his head is just full of muscles and fart jokes. Ready to go?”
He flicked an ear, and we started walking. The sheer complexity of venlil body language never failed to impress me. Not the ear flicks, those were easy, but the tail signals were insane.
“Hey, Meba?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m a computer scientist. Why do you ask?”
“You look really tired. Six hours, sorry, I mean a claw and a half. It’s a long shift for venlil right?”
“Yes, but my job isn’t very physically demanding.”
“It isn’t taking a toll on you?”
“No.” He lied. I mean fuck, did he think I was stupid? I wasn’t, I think. If it wasn’t his job, it was something else.
“Really?”
“Yes, I just didn’t sleep well.” His eyes were drooping in real time.
Fine, be like that. If you won’t open up, I’ll just help another way.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Meba stopped in his tracks. “C-carry me?”
“You aren’t very heavy. I could give you a piggyback ride the rest of the way.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon, I could use the exercise.” I crouched down, beckoning him over with my hands.
"Arlene, I can walk on my own.” He sounded offended.
"At least let me carry your bag.”
Meba sighed. “Fine.”
I stood up and grabbed his bag. “And away we go!”
We arrived at the station, just in time to catch the tube. Meba yanked his bag out of my arms to swipe his card through the terminal. This particular transport was packed to the brim with people, more than a few of them human. Meba visibly stiffened. He sat down, I remained standing.
“You okay?”
“Y-yeah. It’s just a-a lot.” He most definitely wasn’t, he was trembling like a leaf.
I stood between him and the crowd. “Better?”
“A l-little… thanks.”
“Hey, why don’t you work on the scarf, take your mind of things?”
“S-sure.” He grabbed the yarn ball from his bag, along with the crochet hook. Slowly, he removed the clip that was stopping it from unraveling, and stuck the hook through, starting right where he left off. He was definitely getting faster.
The tube rattled.
Outside, the city still breathed.
Kids coming home form school, people like us, coming home from work.
Same old same old.
In my mind, I pictured a fleet, swooping through star systems, making daring maneuvers, shooting down other vessels. So many lights. I imagined the metal stretching, and the hull creaking as it moved. I imagined the little people inside, scurrying around like ants, each wholly insignificant, but still, moving that massive shape.
I turned around to check on Meba.
He was still shaking, like a wet dog in the snow.
God, I miss Milo. Too bad they don’t let dogs on venlil prime.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you gonna be alright?”
He looked up at me, with his funny little eyes. They were full of anger.
“Yes. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He let out a breath, clenching his jaw. “It’s so s-stupid it makes me sick.”
“Sorry?”
“There’s no t-threat. I shouldn’t be scared.”
I gave him a gentle shake. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You’re doing well.”
“I’m doing h-horrible. I hate these stupid instincts.” He growled. “H-how is this supposed to be an evolutionary advantage? I can b-barely think straight.”
“Take a deep breath.”
“B-brahk this.” He muttered. “You k-know, we’re famous for being w-weak. The b-best in the whole brahking f-federation.”
I frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“We c-can’t run, and w-we can’t fight.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“I can’t even c-control myself. I h-hate it.” He let the scarf slide back into his bag.
“Meba, you’re the bravest venlil I’ve met.”
“What d-does that say about us? That I’m one of t-the ‘brave ones’? It’s brahking p-pathetic.”
“Don’t say that about yourself.”
“Brahk! What else am I supposed to say?” He hissed, head finding its way into his paws. “It’s horrible. Horrible, horrible, h-horrible.”
I sat down next to him, and put my arm around his shoulder.
“This is s-so stupid.” He muttered.
“Tell me what happened?”
“No.”
A sigh escaped me. This was exhausting. “Okay.” I pulled him close.
He removed his paws from his face to look at me. “How am I gonna t-talk to Gram’s friend like this? I can’t even h-handle being around a few random humans. How am I going to deal with him e-eating in front of me?”
“You saw me eating, didn’t you?”
“That’s… d-different.”
“We don’t have to go if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“N-no. I need to d-do this. I can’t keep b-being scared all the t-time.” He clutched at his fur.
I bent over to grab the work-in-progress scarf from his bag, and offered him the half finished garment.
Meba received the scarf, with eyes full of ash. “Thanks…” He continued weaving.
But before he could get into a groove, the brakes forced us to brace ourselves. We were home.
The ground still rumbled as we left the station, even with the rubbery pavement dampening the vibrations. The scent of rain was in the air, carrying with it a special tint from the alien soil. Wind was billowing now, whipping my hair and pushing against my thick greatcoat. Meba was somehow unbothered by this, thanks to his wool I assume. There weren’t clouds overhead, but that would change. My hands hid in their pockets.
‘Twas too cold madam!’ Said lefty.
‘Not for I! It’s simply more comfortable in here.’ Said righty.
We passed the yard, heading up to the second floor, and my apartment. I shivered.
*“*I think it’s gonna rain soon.”
*“*Huh? Why do you say that?”
*“*It smells like rain.”
He tilted his head, ears flopping along with it. “I thought human noses weren’t very strong?”
*“*Well, not for most things, but we can smell when it rains from quite a ways away.” I opened the door, and stepped inside, yanking my feet out of their shells. “Come on in.”
Meba followed with no hesitation, even when I deposited the mask on the coffee table. He plopped down on the couch, deflating for a few seconds before digging around in his bag for the scarf. I grabbed some snacks from the kitchen, and brought them to the couch. I plopped down beside him, and flipped the TV to a random channel. Hopefully lazing about would help both of us.
After a few minutes of zoning out to The Exterminators of all things, I managed to doze off somehow. Sights and sounds melded into goop, as my brain ceased exact function. Facts became obscured, no concrete understanding remaining. Static resonating with time stretching like putty, everything subjective, only in the moment.
A tower, in the desert, numbly stalking around crumbling balconies, arms like swarms, legs like chicken wire. No need to blink. Down below is something terrible, but it doesn’t matter. It is safe here. But snow falls, the sky tearing like an old t-shirt, is it? The weave becoming tighter, it stretches along the north, through to the south, a taut little line of cotton. Now I’m tearing too. The tower isn’t crumbling, but folding. ‘Here’s the sun’, I think, mind reeling back to wakefulness, a snout by my face. Milo?
“Who?”
“Huh?” I tried to sit up, bringing a hand to the kink in my neck. My mouth was dry with viscus saliva, the aftermath of a nap. When I made it about half way up, my skull collided with Meba’s freakishly solid face.
I fell back, gripping my forehead with a groan.
Meba jumped back, startled. “A-are you okay?”
"Ugh…” I curled up into a ball to further cradle the lump growing on my head. “Owwie…”
He started hyperventilating, almost jogging in place.
I grabbed him by the arm. “I’m fine. That just hurt like hell. What is it?”
The squirming stopped. “Sorry for waking you up. I just wanted to know if you think this is long enough.” He held up the scarf to my face, which was still partially covered by my other hand.
Jeez, more than enough. That thing must be at least 80 inches. How long have I been out?
“Yeah, need me to help you finish it off?”
“Yes please.”

Hailey Bieber Numerology Reading

Before becoming the wife of Justin Bieber, she went by the name of Hailey Rhode Baldwin. Firstly, her first name being her main name and being Hailey, let's see what that usually indicates on a general level.
Being someone who holds the first name, Hailey means that you appear either quiet, mature, or shy amongst others. You likely have an impression that can strike others as strong, serious, mean, or relaxed, depending on other factors. The name Hailey holds no double numbers, so it is a good balance of energies, but there are still general lessons people with the name Hailey has. This name holds the energy of 8,1,9,3,5,and 7. The numbers we don't see is 2,4 and 6. This could be why people with the name Hailey may not seem easily approachable by many people, but certain people may be drawn to this energy and won't notice anything off balance. Hailey names give people naturally embedded strength and some form of power, even if it is subtle. They may not always have a simple love life because with 2, 4, and 6 missing, these women/females can struggle sometimes with commitment or close intimacy and could have been too independent or avoidant at one point when someone was trying to love them. The name Hailey makes someone complex because on one hand, they a serious regarding their disposition(8) because they want to appear structured and well received by the public (1) or it makes them feel good to be well put together. They are naturally independent which could sometimes come off as distant(9), but they just want to explore and learn continuously(3). These are not initially people who place importance of romance.
Even if she is into relationships, she would likely not trust easily because of her name ending with the energy of 7 from Y which equals 25 before it is reduced to seven. This can make her a little cautious or strategic with her approach to any type of connections in her life because she want to make sure she can trust these people before she fully opens up.
Now as we look into her being Hailey Rhode Baldwin, this give her a lot of 5 energy. She has a few repeating numbers in her full name which are 8 twice which is good because she isn't overbearing, bossy, or mean, but she has tenacity and ambition most likely. Her capability of dedicating herself could be very strong. She can be obsessive, but it won't be too intense with the 2 8's balancing each other out. In other cases, this could cause her to overthink sometimes or have trust issues.
1 twice as well which emphasizes her not being a bratty type of woman because 1 and 8 can give someone a mean complex if there is enough of it. 1 is about being bold and taking the initiative.
9 three times in Hailey Rhode Baldwin's name which gives her emphasized 9 energy which is about power, authority, popularity, maturity, and travel. One thing she will likely always make time for is travel and learning. Could be into cultural knowledge as well.
Skipping to the fact that she has four 5's in her name, this is the energy emphasized the most. This equals 20 and then 2 making her appear soft, calm, loving, or sensitive. She could be very emotional with this energy and most likely have to perfect her emotional well-being.
Being HAILEY RHODE BALDWIN gives her the Destiny #4, soul urge #9, and Personality #4
Destiny #4 is the same as Halle Bailey. Destiny 4 people are private, especially about things they value and things they see as important and dear to them. It's serious. These types of people are naturally capable of withstanding or handling responsibility. They are evolving into mastering a life that is in order. Don't force these types of people out of their shell if they are not ready. Once these Destiny 4 types feel safe around you, their personality expands and show clearer.
As a soul urge 9, Hailey Bieber is a natural at quick learning and experience. She may be someone who could see something once and would know the ins and outs after that first time learning or practicing. 9 is mastery and wisdom.
As a personality #4, this makes Hailey a cautious person. She will not do or say anything if she isn't feeling comfortable to do so. She takes calculated steps and won't do anything she considers risky or stupid. She has to warm up to environments before she allows herself to be part of the festivities. Likely not too big on parties as an importance.
April and May of 2024 were very romantic times for Hailey Bieber which makes sense that she is now pregnant with Justin Bieber's baby.
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PART 1 HERE ***The paragraph numbers in this post continue from Part 1, as in, that post ended with paragraph 11, so this one starts at paragraph 12 instead of restarting at 1.***
12: All good so far, but, BUT, then Jesse appears in 5x12. Rick had made considerable progress up until then, such as symbolically shaving his beard (a practical choice, but also a manifestation of his desire to let go of "the fight" that Michonne wished for him), but then he meets Jesse. Many people say Jesse was a pointless blip in Rick's life, or that he had more chemistry/was better suited with her than with Michonne, and I myself originally hated this arc because I thought it was unnecessary since he seems to have forgotten her the episode after she dies, but now, I've come to a different conclusion. Realitychker20 and others explain it very well, IMO. When Jesse gives him a haircut, she makes an allusion to Lori, which causes Rick to shed a couple tears. This confrontation with the past, combined with Jesse's resemblance to Lori (in what she represents, not appearance or personality) and Rick's clean-shaven face harkening back to pre-apocalypse days, takes him right back, unconsciously, to the root of his trauma: Lori's death and his guilt about it. His mind has reverted back to that time, as shown when he says to Daryl that "Lori and [him]... used to drive through neighborhoods like this." This wound is now at the forefront of his subconscious, winning out over his desire to be with Michonne.
13: It is further shown that his trauma has overtaken him when later that first night in Alexandria, he and Michonne share a last moment together before she knocks him out in 5x15 (it's very telling that they don't interact much in the next 3 episodes after 5x12. They do have another moment after the one I'm about to talk about, albeit a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment right after Deanna offers them the job of being constables and Rick says yes to Deanna then quickly gives Michonne a look asking for her approval, to which she nods and smiles. It's very brief, but further proof that they're so in sync on many things (not all, as we can see at the moment)). They're talking about Deanna giving them jobs, whether they want one or not, and what it signifies to accept one. Michonne is ready to commit to a job and to Alexandria exploring a relationship with Rick, but Rick, who seemed to be leaning in that direction at the end of 5x11, is regressing, giving in to his fear. In his mind, it's absolutely necessary to fix everything that went wrong with him and Lori, and Jesse can provide that absolution for him. Yes, he's attracted to her, but his true motivation for seeking her out is to heal his Lori trauma, not because he feels this great bond with her (he already has that with Michonne). In addition to this, he, in a sense, turns down Michonne in favor of Jesse because it is far easier and less risky for him to be with someone who doesn't truly have his heart. If things don't work out with Jesse, he has far less to lose than if things don't work out with Michonne, namely, the pain he'd feel with Michonne's death would tear out his heart as viscerally as Lori's death did, perhaps even more so. So, being reminded of Lori through Jesse also reminds Rick of what he stands to lose should he truly allow Michonne into his heart.
14: Next, in episode 5x14, I think Rick kind of realizes the cause of his unhealthy fixation on Jesse, possibly after being shocked at his own cave-man-like instinct at the end of 5x13 when he reflexively reaches for his gun (that he got a hold of without informing Michonne, dun dun dun) and snarls (would you call that a snarl? or more like a look of contempt? I'm not sure. Also, that's the best clip I could find of the scene, with the least amount of annoying edits) upon seeing Pete place his hand on Jesse's back (he's obviously not shocked at himself in the moment, but perhaps later, off screen). He wants his group to legitimately try to integrate themselves into the community and for them to be accepted by the Alexandrians in return, so he unconsciously acknowledges that if he follows his base instincts in order to heal his trauma, he'll likely ruin his group's chances. We do see him at the beginning of 5x14 go to Jesse's house and kinda flirtily ask her about the broken owl sculpture, but I think that interaction really put the lid (temporarily) on his attachment to her. Pete then visits him and it further seals the deal for Rick to stay away. His visit seemed a little like a warning and Rick picks up on that, so he decides to forget his strange Jesse predicament. This is before Rick knows Pete is abusive to Jesse, so while he clearly does not like Pete and senses him to be off in some way, that's not enough to warrant the break-up of their marriage, and therefore decides to stop meddling. He even notices his wedding ring right after Pete's visit and takes it off. He's really putting 2 and 2 together between his need to rectify his role in Lori's death and Jesse. He senses the danger for his group, for Jesse, and for himself.
15: But unfortunately, Carol's got some bad news for him. She informs him of Pete's true nature immediately after deciding to let go of his irrational attachment, thus flinging him right back into Jesse's path. There's no way he can let things be now, obviously, though he is reluctant to jeopardize the group's haven. At the top of episode 5x15, Rick asks Carol why she cares about Jesse, which shows this reluctance. Carol reminds him of Ed, then says she knows why Rick cares, as she's "seen [him] talk to her," implying that Rick has a crush on Jesse. Rick's face during the anticipation of Carol's answer and in the aftermath of it, however, tells a different story. He does care about a woman being abused and genuinely wants to help her, but he knows that he feels particularly strongly about it not because of a crush, but because this is his chance to save Lori. He's scared of what that means for his group because since his feelings are so strong, he knows he'll have trouble restraining himself in subduing Pete. He could easily take it too far and ruin things for his group (which he almost kinda does, lol). But he's also subconsciously scared of what it means for himself, for his mental and emotional health. He wants to help someone in need, but this specific case hits too close to home. He senses he could get messily tangled up in his ulterior wishes and fears, all under the guise of honor and love?? (I don't think even he would use this strong of a word, but I can't think of a better one).
16: Later on in this same episode, Rick reveals to Jesse he knows the truth about Pete. He offers his help, but Jesse is alarmed at his heavily invested interest (they do barely know each other). She asks him, "Why do you care? Why is this so important to you?" Of course, we know why. It's because he doesn't "want [Jesse] Lori to die." He claims he "can help [Jesse] Lori... [and] can keep [Jesse] Lori... safe." He places a good amount of emphasis on the fact that he himself can, in fact, help her, save her. He feels so guilty about Lori's death, about the awful state of their marriage during the last months of her life, and about the fact that he didn't make an effort to mend it at all after months of silent contempt, despite Lori reaching out to him near the end (yes, I know Lori was the cause of their relationship's downfall at the end of season 2, and I'm not a Lori fan, but I mean come on, Rick really found the energy to hold on to that grudge for 7-8-ish months?? I mean, I suppose she did reject him pretty harshly without hearing a proper explanation of what went down with him, Shane, and Carl, so I guess Rick is justified... but still, that's pretty excessive considering Rick's character and his whole family loyalty thing. Anyway, I digress). He feels so guilty, and he now sees his opportunity to redeem himself through Jesse. He tells her he wouldn't help anyone else like he's helping her, and he's right, not because he wouldn't actually help other people in a similar situation as her, but because he's primarily helping Jesse because of her connection to Lori, in his mind, and no one else could be Lori for Rick but Jesse (I'm sure there's other women out there in the apocalypse who could also fit the bill, but you get the gist).
17: This next moment I'm going to talk about, Rick’s speech at the end of 5x15 that lent part of itself to the name of the Richonne spinoff, is ummm... probably a bit of a stretch, more so than my previous points. I'm not entirely sure if I should include it because it's a pretty iconic speech and to attribute some underlying Richonne/Rick trauma tones to it is... wild? blasphemous? 😐😬😐 IDK... but here goes (take it with a grain of salt). Yes, he’s talking about the Alexandrians having to open their eyes to the reality in front of them, but in an obscure way, he’s also subconsciously talking about himself having to open his eyes about Jesse and Michonne. He “wish[es] things weren't what they are,” meaning he wishes he didn’t have a reliance on Jesse to fix himself and wishes he could be brave enough to pursue his feelings for Michonne. He claims that in order “to live… to stay standing,” (i.e., be true to himself and be more fulfilled), he has to stop pushing away what he wants, he has to stop his irrational mission to change the past, and he has to fight for what’s truly important to him. He recognizes that his "way of doing things is done" and that it's "gonna destroy this place." If you go back to paragraph 9, where I explain the significance of Rick's line about the relative safety of his way of doing things compared to Michonne's dangerous way, it is evident he's unconsciously come to realize that he was wrong when he said those words to Michonne. He doesn't want to destroy himself, his potential happiness, by living in the "safety" of choosing Jesse, of choosing the easy, familiar pain instead of venturing out to find a better life for himself. Unfortunately, of course, he comes across as a raving lunatic when he says these (true and valuable) things, so Michonne is forced to save him from himself. Yet another perfect example of how they truly understand each other and how willing they are to help each other.
18: In episode 5x16, when Rick admits to Michonne in the holding cell that "it's like the train car [and] after the whole thing, [he's] still there," he's, perhaps now more consciously, admitting his problem of his tendency to get stuck in the weeds of the past. He says he couldn't tell her about the contraband gun because she "wanted this place," (i.e., she was subconsciously brave enough to want to pursue their connection), implying that he was too scared to do the same, and so he's been hiding stuff from her and distancing himself. When she asks him where he got the gun from (the gun being a symbol of Rick's trauma and the reason for his fixation on Jesse. Oh my god, someone help me, I'm looking wayyyyy too into this!!) just as Carol, Glenn, and Abraham join them in the holding cell, Rick's face looks like he wants to tell her the truth (Carol, Daryl and I made a pact to steal it and a couple others from the armory I feel super guilty about Lori and I'm transferring that guilt onto Jesse and I know it's a huge mess now), but Carol deftly gives a false answer before he can say anything (plus the vulnerable moment between them is broken by the arrival of these 3 characters).
19: Later on in this same episode, when Carol goes to wake up Rick, there is further evidence of him realizing he was wrong to push Michonne as well as his own inclinations away. He owns that he deserved getting knocked out by Michonne and he explicitly states that he doesn't "want to lie anymore." He knows what he has to do for himself, for Michonne, for Jesse, for the Alexandrians, and for his own group, so he starts putting this into practice soon after when he finally tells Michonne the truth about the gun (if you've read this far, I'm sure you can guess by now what I believe the deeper meaning to be, lol. Sorry, I've been at this for hours now. Plz send help). He tells her (and this is huge!!!) that she could've talked him out of it. Please recall the pattern that we see 4 times that I discussed at the way beginning of this analysis. Remember that he couldn't help but be swayed by her first 3 requests, and remember that he was on the verge, but hesitant, to accept being swayed by her 4th request, the request to better himself, emotionally-speaking. At the time she made that request, it was too much for him to accept, but he was heavily contemplating it because of the influence she has on him. His fear got the better of him upon meeting Jesse, and so, to run away from the scary thing Michonne asked of him, he became distant (colluded with Carol and Daryl about the guns and about a possible coup d'état). He didn't want to be talked out of his fear. Michonne, with her steadfast hope and optimism, tells him she'll stand by him whatever he decides to do. Later, after Michonne leaves, Rick calls to mind what Bob had told him several episodes before, in 5x02. Rick is turning over in his mind the idea that the nightmare, his own personal nightmare, will soon end, and also contemplates the new possibilities created by its end.
20: And so, this is the frame of mind we leave Rick and Michonne in at the end of season 5. A lot more hopeful (in Rick's case) than at the start of 5b. Sure, there's still 9 more episodes between this and when they finally do get together, and yes, he does still linger a bit on the Jesse illusion during these episodes, but if I'm not mistaken, those first 9 episodes of season 6 all take place within the span of like a day or two, at most. And the first episode of season 6 takes place, I think, the day after the events of 5x16. Not to mention the fact that from the time the group arrives at Alexandria to the end of 5x16, what?, like only 11-ish days have passed, right? I'm not 100% sure on the timeline, but if I'm in the ballpark, then it means Rick only knew Jesse for like two weeks before she died. Their relationship was a short-lived, intense emotional reaction on his part, grounded in fear and regret, the final remnant tethering him to the past, whose ultimate purpose was to make perfectly clear to Rick what he didn't want (and the dangers of clinging onto that despite not truly wanting it) and what he did want. There's also a 2 month time jump between episodes 6x09 and 6x10, as confirmed by Danai Gurira on the Talking Dead episode of "The Next World." It's not made very clear in the show, but it's a reliable piece of info from an insider. In those 2 months, I'm sure Rick mourned the loss of Jesse, but not for too long because A.) he barely knew her for two weeks, and B.) I'm like 99% certain he had, by that point, completely figured out the true cause of his being drawn to her. He became fully conscious that his regard for her was NOT because they were kindred spirits, and therefore, his heart wasn't too moved by her as to merit an extended grieving process. Like I've said before, Realitychker20 and many other fans have pointed out this, I think, very accurate interpretation of the Jesse storyline. Yvette Nicole Brown also explained it quite well in the Talking Dead episode for "Try."
21: What else did Rick become conscious of in those 2 months, I wonder? Maybe, possibly... yes, yes, I know. I know you know, too. Rick confirmed as much in The Ones Who Live, episode 5. That whole time they were living as a family unit, Rick was hyper-aware of his feelings for Michonne and was just waiting for the right moment to confess. Which he did. With the power of the mints.
22: Well, I think I've done it. Finally finished writing this dissertation, lol. I've gone insane!! Jk, jk, it was a labor of love. The beauty of this is that the story of Richonne has many more phases and layers that one could look into. Ultimately, I did this because I generally hate romance stories because many of them are just awful, unhealthy, toxic, or not nuanced enough to be realistic, but this is one glorious exception. I know there are other examples out there, but this one is very iconic and resonates so deeply with me because I know for a fact that these two characters, unquestionably, are soul mates. I mean, the fact that Rick admits to Abraham in episode 6x15 that he is, in fact, afraid to be so vulnerable as to allow him to be in a relationship with Michonne, but has the strength to do it anyway, just makes me love them even more (in this same episode, btw, we get the apple scene, in which he looks like an Adonis-type figure to me). I can only compare them with the other iconic rivals-to-lovers couple of over 200 years ago: Lizzie and Mr. Darcy.
To the people who stuck around for this whole thing, I'm greatly honored. I sincerely thank you for following me on this journey. Peace out, fellow Richonners!!
PART 1 HERE

Lemme preface this with a quick note to the mods to please remove this post if it doesn't fit.
So, for context, I live in New England. I saw .y barber today. He's a boomer! He's pretty cool, though. He's retired, works more or less whenever he feels like it, only takes clients by appointment, takes a week off like every 2 months to go on some insane trip, and keeps things simple. He just upped his prices to $25 for a haircut and shave, which, where I live, is properly fucking amazing.
He's more of a lukewarm boomer, to be clear; Overall, dude's pretty cool. Definitely a bit of a boomer but one of the more harmless ones. He doesn't say or believe wildly racist, or sexist, or homophobic shit. At most I could see him being the "Fuck whoever you wanna fuck so long as I don't have to see it" type, y'know?
But he's squarely got some of the more harmless but very prototypical boomer qualities. And today was fucking quintessential.
Me: Been on any cool trips since last I saw you?
Him: Nah, Monday! Monday I leave for London.
Me: Cool! Ever been?
Him: First time! Trying to learn this phrase, apparently it's a light profanity. Cheeky bugger! Like calling someone an "asshole" here, y'know? Apparently that's light profanity over there! Cheeky bugger!
Me: Know what's light profanity in Australia?
Him: What?
Me: Cunt.
He wasn't expecting that, laughed hard, and after a minute or so I said --
Me: My other favorite thing about Aussies is this idiom they have. I read it once and immediately added it to my vocabulary, then whipped it out at one of my close friends the other day and she needed a minute.
It means "Let's stop wasting time and get down to business."
Him: What is it?
Me: "We're not here to fuck spiders!"
He put down the razor mid-shave, picked up his cellphone, and immediately dialed his buddy to tell him "this amazing new Australian saying I just learned!" He was cackling and spent the rest of the appointment repeating it and emphasizing how he had to work that into his vocabulary.
Walking out, it just struck me how readily and easily he accepts any information he's presented with that doesn't explicitly challenge his worldview and reality as fact. Believe you me there've been a time or two he's pushed back on something because it challenged him, but as long as he's not challenged? He'll accept it at face value, immediately. No critical thinking! I even told him to google it to verify, but he didn't. He went straight to sharing it.
I have to imagine wherever he got "cheeky bugger" from was the same. Just, no serious effort to make sure he's learning something factual! He's harmless and a pretty unserious person just enjoying life as best he can, and I still like him, but damn, to live that way. Quintessential boomer! 😂
P.S. Bonus round --
As I was walking out, he says, "Thanks for stopping by, you cheeky bugger!" So I throw back, smiling, "Thanks for the adequate haircut & shave, cunt!" He cackled. See you next month, Bob!

When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben murmured, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes sparkled, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her gaze found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house.
I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around his tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”
Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)
When I bothered turning around, Jules was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my glass of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes.
“No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom yelled down the phone.
“Coming home now.” I muttered.
“Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my squeak. “Mommy, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood.
It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt.
“Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day.
Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
"Yeah?"
Whatever he was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
“I don't even wear glasses!”

Ok so Im trans ftm and my parents wont let me just get my hair cut masculine :( im gonna get my haircut soon and i kinda have a fuck ass bob rn💀💀💀 its like neck length and has these 2 shorter strands at the front Im wondering how to subtly ask to have my hair like a boy to them without outright out saying so like instead of showing pictures I’ll describe it to my parents, and then my parents will tell the hairdresser to get what i described😭😭 I wanna be sneaky tho so dont be like:”erm ask for a skinfade!” Because thats obvious Do you get what im saying?
UPDATE: i decided i’ll try let them say i need a trim, but minutes before the appointment i grab a strand of hair behind my neck and cut that strand off and wear a hoodie with the hood up so they cant tell. My parents usually leave the salon so i’ll take my hood down and tell the hairdresser to just say she had to cut my hair short bc i have these two shorter strands at the front. That way they dont get sued and i dont get in trouble Will it work??? Should i do it???

General venting because I'm just so sad about this.
I (20F) got a shitass haircut today. I had shoulder length curly hair; it was limp and sad and I needed to shape it up a little to feel better. I've been struggling with heavy hair loss for a long time now (alopecia runs in my family), and recently my hair has gotten really thin and I'm full of openings. I thought a haircut would make it better.
I went to the hairstylist closest to my house, who's well known in my town, and asked for an asymmetrical bob. I like the back very short with a shaved nape and a gradient into a collarbone length front. I've done this cut many times before - I know I like how it looks. But the hairstylist kept arguing with me about how it would look bad, how "people will make fun of me" for it. I disagreed but she was having none of it.
I specifically told her to cut at the back and leave the front alone, but she ignored me and cut the front anyway.
Note that: Curly hair has something called shrinkage. Shoulder length curly hair will become jaw length once it dries and curls up, that's why you can't cut curly hair too short. I explained this aspect to her multiple times, that it was the reason I didn't want her cutting the front, but she didn't listen. She cut it jaw length and it's now cheekbone length when dry. It looks absolutely ridiculous and my self image has never been this bad.
I was visibly very upset when she finished, like deeply frowning at the mirror and shaking my head. I even said "this was NOT what I wanted." but she had the most whatever attitude possible to it. Basically she just shrugged and told me hair grows back. I paid for this shit. Not only was she so unprofessional by disrespecting my wishes, she also just humiliated me by pointing out my hair openings and saying people would make fun of me for the haircut I chose. She called me "the most complicated customer I've had in 30 years" for arguing for her not to cut the front.
I went home crying. I've been crying on and off the whole time since then. I covered all the mirrors in the house cause I can't bare to look at them. I have horrible self esteem issues, my hair is very important to my self image - and now it's just ruined. God this sucks.

1. If we are in a store, looking at and/or comparing products we are buying 2. Picking out a videogame 3. Looking at books in a bookstore 4. In a line at a festival 5. Sitting on a bench at a festival, snacking or reading or on our phone (be subtle if we are on the phone, be polite, not loud) 6. Entering an event, standing in line. 7. Walking around in an event 8. At an event kiosk or concession stand 9. Leaving work 10. Leaving a store we just did an errand at. Sometimes it could be as simple as one of us walking out of a restaurant or food shop with a milkshake or something. 11. Events related to our interests 12. Another one is right after we get a haircut somewhere. Thats another opportunity. You could then approach us and ask “Excuse me sir”(then fill in what words you are going to use to convince/seduce us to date you and give you our number) Swap phone numbers as quickly as possible and express and spark that interest. Get us to text you, add you to contacts, text us, add us to contacts. Make plans for another date immediately. (You probably were already planning one) Make haste, Life is short, so enjoy it and take care of yourselves. 13. Walking into a store 14. Walking out of a store 15. Browsing products in an aisle 16. Looking at books in a bookstore 17. There are multiple opportunities to approach us, I just hope this all gave you a better idea. 

Hello, fellow Redditors, before we discuss about this current situation, I’d like to say that the “Josh” person I was talking about from last post and I have reconciled and became friends again. Ok, on to this.
Yesterday, I (21 Fem) got a choppy and slightly uneven bob done by myself because I was in the mood for a haircut. I took a picture of it and sent it to my friend, who I’ll refer to as ”Jessica” (19 Fem). Jessica is a fervent fan of the adult show “Hazbin Hotel”, so she made a reference to it by comparing my haircut to one of the characters in aforementioned show. This is the reference: “😂😂😂 You’re rocking the Lute haircut. Don’t worry about your lost arm, I have a prosthetic one for you. Here it is 🦾.” At first, I didn’t get the joke. I searched it up and found that this “Lute” character is an angel that lost her arm in a fight between heaven and hell. So I replied, “I don’t appreciate you making jokes that are related to my health, namely, me losing an arm.” I don’t know what in blazes I’ve said in my text that was aggravating, but Jessica started saying tons of stuff I didn’t understand, like, “HEY, THAT’S ABLEIST!!!” Or, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT, YOU’RE BEING TOO SENSITIVE!” When she said, “You’re a sensitive motherf**er (she typed the actual word) and you’ll never be more than that! What’s wrong with Lute getting her arm ripped off?!”, I got enraged and typed:
“Oh, please, you’re not going to be a jerk over me saying that I didn’t appreciate your joke, aren’t you?” No response.
Now, whenever I see her, she seemed gloomy and depressed with her shoulders slumped, very much contrasting her usual bubbly and cheerful behavior and good posture. Although all I said was that I didn’t appreciate what Jessica said, I feel like that I was being a blame-shifter and that I was the villainess who provoked this second version of Jessica.
Reddit, am I really the asshole? I don’t want Jessica to be stuck like this forever.
​

You sit shoulder to shoulder in the auditorium. Your scratchy black suit rubs against two arms wrapped in finer material. You shift in your seat, moving uncomfortably in the plush chair beneath you. Your leg is shaking; you are anxious for the show to begin. The massive room rumbles with murmurs of conversation—inquisitions about how the show will be, complaints of hunger, protests of too-tight clothing, and ties choking necks. You are silent.
September 6, 1981
Louise trudged up the dusty gravel path towards her home, a rotted trailer perched atop a steep hill. The bus driver never ventured up the path, leaving Louise to trek the quarter mile herself. She stopped momentarily and watched as the yellow bus sped away; the shadow of a lone hand waved her goodbye. She waved back, too late for anyone to see it, “Bye, Miles.”
Her house stank of cigarette smoke. The soft shag carpet collected to odor, spitting it out with every step. The windows and walls were yellowed with nicotine. The trailer was quiet; the constant droning of the radiator was the only thing to be heard. Louise set her backpack down and walked into the kitchen to make herself dinner. Her mother wouldn’t be home for several hours, and school lunch was never enough.
After Louise ate a measly bowl of microwaved leftover Kraft, she sat down to do her homework. She pulled out the math sheet they had gotten that day. Numbers shifted and combined; they peeled off the page and swam around her. Louise needed help. She dialed a number she knew by heart. The line rang.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered, her voice slightly distorted through the phone.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson,” Louise said in a timid voice.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice softened, “I’ll get him for you.”
Louise heard her muffled yell, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hey Louise! What’s up?” a boy's voice asked.
“Hi, Miles. Have you done your math homework?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
Louise stretched the cord to where she sat at the table, “Great.”
The lights dim, and silence washes over the crowd. The curtains part. Fifty people in tuxedos sit on stage, various instruments in hand. The conductor stands tall. He introduces the orchestra, lifts his gloved hands, and the music begins.
March 9, 1983
“You’re still coming, right?” Miles questioned nervously.
“Yes, Miles, I’m still coming,” Louise rolled her eyes before smiling at him.
Miles relaxed a little bit, “Okay, good.”
Miles had mousy brown hair that was cut short. His dad had served in the military, so he thought this boy should have a ‘man’s haircut.’ He was tan even in the wintertime. He had bright hazel eyes that glowed electric green in the sunlight. Louise was about an inch taller than Miles, a fact she was immensely proud of.
The pair walked down the school hallway. It was Friday. Wonderful, glorious Friday. Louise rejoiced in the days that she didn’t have to come into school and pretend she liked people— pretend she liked anything, really. She hated the teachers, her peers, the hospital grey of the walls. She liked Miles. He ignored the cigarette stink of her clothes and the rudeness of her tone.
Today was Miles’ birthday. He’ll be ten. Miles had invited everyone to the party; there would be a bounce house. He’s ‘going all out for the big one o’ as he kept telling Louise. She was nervous about the party; her gift was okay at best, and she dreaded the disappointed but polite smile she knew Miles would pull.
“My mom will be here right after school to pick us up. You know what my mom’s car looks like, right?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Lousie walked out to Mrs. Wilson’s car, a sleek, silver Porsche; Louise felt like a celebrity when she rode in it—rich and important.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson smiled, “How was school?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. It was good.”
Louise settled into the plush leather seats and set her backpack in front of her. They sat in silence for a moment, the soft drum of the radio filling the air. Miles ripped open the door, excitement lighting up his face. He sat down, his position mirroring Louise’s.
“Hey, buddy. How was your day?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“It was great, Mom,” he smiled.
She smiled back warmly, “Well, that’s good.”
Mrs. Wilson pulled out of the parking lot, Louise and Miles chatted idly about school and the party. After a short while, they pulled up to Miles’ house—a two-story white house with columns in front. Louise loved it. Sometimes, during sleepovers, late at night, she pretended it was hers. She quietly walked down hallways, running her fingertips across the smooth wallpaper. She felt the soft carpet on her bare toes and imagined it knew the shape and weight of her foot. She opened the fridge and pretended not to be surprised at the selection of food that awaited her. Then, she would return to Miles’ room and lie down next to him in the sleeping bag he lent her, stare up at the tiny glowing stars stuck on his ceiling, and pretend it was her and her mom that put them up— that it was her mom that held the step stool for her so she wouldn't fall.
Louise and Miles hopped out of the car, ran up to his room, and plopped their bags down. They still had a few hours before their other classmates would arrive. They sat on the ground and leaned against the bed. Louise pulled out Miles’ gift from her bag and handed the small gift bag to him, “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not time for the party,” Miles said, confusion evident in his voice.
Louise shrugged, “I wanted to give it to you now.”
Miles smiled at her before gently taking the tissue paper out of the bag and reaching in. He pulled out a light blue paper swan. Lousie had spent hours getting the folds just right so the paper was sharp instead of rumpled. It was beautiful.
“Louise,” Miles started, his face curved into a slight frown, like he was about to cry, “Thank you.”
“Do you really like it?” Louise asked nervously; she fidgeted with her fingernails.
Miles set the swan down gently and dove towards her, wrapping her in a hug, “I love it.”
The party was a hit. Louise nearly made herself sick from the combination of an ungodly amount of candy and jumping in the bounce house. Almost everyone from their class was there, shoving presents in Miles’ hands before running to the snacks and entertainment. Night fell, and Louise climbed in the Porsche again, though it was just her and Mrs. Wilson this time.
“Did you have a good time, Louise?” she asked, making eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, it was awesome. Thank you for having me,” Louise responded, polite as ever.
“Oh, you are always welcome, sweetie,” Mrs. Wilson smiled.
Louise looked out the window for the rest of the drive, the stars blurring against the black night sky. They pulled up to Louise’s house; her driveway was empty.
“Are you sure you are okay until your mom gets here?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Louise smiled fakely, “Yeah I’ll be alright. She should be home soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
Louise climbed out of the car and walked to her door. She looked back before stepping inside—Mrs. Wilson’s face was a mirage of pity and sympathy. Louise waved and stepped inside, choking down guilt as she did.
The sweet sound of a violin fills your ears—a lone instrument bellowing a quiet tune. It starts slow—soft, like a warm hand caressing your face, a mother wiping away your tears.
You forget yourself for a moment; you are back in your childhood home, where your bed is indented with your shape. You smell your favorite meal being cooked downstairs. You hear your mother humming her favorite song from the kitchen. Your father isn’t home yet. You are excited to see him.
You wish it were real.
It is not.
June 11, 1984
Louise was having a terrible day. Her mother was off work and slumming around the house— she was like a ghost in her own home, and she had nothing to do. They didn’t have cable this month, so Louise’s options were to sit in her bed and do nothing or visit Miles. She chose the latter. Louise bid her mom a short goodbye, telling her where she was going and not much else, and peddled off on her bike. She was drenched by the time she arrived at Miles’ house. So she ditched her bike in the grass and ran to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Wilson answered.
“Oh. Hello, Louise,” she smiled.
Mrs. Wilson was a nice woman, and Louise absolutely loved her. She was as thin as a twig but had a motherly warmth about her that Louise itched for. Miles was the spitting image of her, matching her tanned skin and bright eyes.
“I’m afraid Miles isn’t here,” she continued.
“Oh,” Louise said, disappointment swirling around her tongue.
“I’m sorry, hun,” Mrs. Wilson gave her a sympathetic look, “He’s out with his dad fishing for the day.”
“That’s okay,” Louise lied and started to walk back to where she abandoned her bike.
“Wait a second, sweetheart,” she called, “Do you want some lemonade? I’d hate to just send you home after you rode all this way.”
“Sure, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you.”
Louise followed her into the kitchen and sat down at one of the barstools to wait. It wasn’t long before she had a nice tall glass of lemonade in front of her and a bag of chips in her hand.
“You can go watch TV if you want,” Mrs. Wilson smiled at her, “I’ll be out in the garden if you ever need anything.”
“Okay, thank you,” Louise said.
She wandered into the living room, and the plush carpet under her feet felt amazing. She flicked on the television and turned it to her favorite cartoon station. She did feel strange behaving like she lived there, especially when the house was empty, but her desire to relax in the air conditioning trumped the feeling. She mindlessly watched Jerry outsmart Tom in the comfort of a home that wasn’t her’s.
Louise finished her snack but didn’t feel like returning home; she knew her mother would be there, heating the house with cigarettes and sex. Mary had moved on from Steve quickly. So, she laid down and continued watching television. At some point, she fell asleep. Louise woke up to the soft voices of Miles’ parents talking in the kitchen. Someone had turned the TV off and taken her dishes. She could hear the shower running upstairs. Louise had no idea what time it was; the sun was now visible in the living room windows, the sky was orange. She was about to get up and ask Mrs. Wilson when she heard her name. Miles’ parents were talking about her. She got up as quietly as she could and snuck closer to the swinging kitchen door.
“Is there something we can do?” Mrs. Wilson asked her husband in a concerned tone.
“I don’t think so, Jenny,” Mr. Wilson responded, “She just has a hard life, that’s all.”
“I feel like we should do more for her.”
Mr. Wilson sighed, “We can only help her when she’s here. You know what Mary thinks about handouts.”
“Oh, poor Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, her tone sympathetic, “I should call her and tell her Louise is gonna stay the night.”
Louise heard footsteps sound in her direction. She ran as softly as she could back to her position on the couch, feigning sleep. Mrs. Wilson swung open the door and picked up the phone that hung on the wall next to it. Louise heard the click-clack of buttons being pressed, the muffled ringing, and then her mother’s voice on the other line.
“Hey, Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, “Is it alright if Louise stays here tonight? She passed out on the couch and I don’t think it’d be smart to have her ride home now.”
Lousie couldn’t hear her mother's exact words, but she must have said it was fine because the next thing Louise knew, she was being picked up and carried up the stairs. Mrs. Wilson set her down in a room she was unfamiliar with. She figured it was the guest room. Mrs. Wilson kissed Louise gently on her forehead and told her goodnight in a whispered tone. Louise missed her mother.
The room was bird-themed. The walls were painted a dark navy, and a thin metal peacock stared at her from where it hung. A copy of the NATO phonetic alphabet was hanging, too. It must have been Miles’ old room. Louise remembered when he came to school in second grade and told her he was moving into the attic. There was an opening to the roof up there, and Miles was in love with the idea of sitting up there and watching the sun set and rise.
Miles was in love with a lot when he was little— the sun and sky, the warmth of his mother’s hugs, iced tea on a hot day. Louise didn’t think she was in love with anything. She didn’t think she ever would be. Louise was almost asleep, the plush, silky sheets lulling her into another bout of slumber. Her door squeaked open. Miles’ small frame was a shadow in the doorway. He looked so small. He didn’t walk into the room, choosing to loom in the entrance.
“Goodnight, Louise,” he said in a small voice.
“Goodnight, Miles.”
When you were little, you thought everything was perfect. The world was alive with hope and magic. Everyone got along, and there was nothing wrong.
Of course, now you know that is not true. But a part of you, a little tiny part, wants to go back to when you didn’t know. When life was good, and you didn’t know better.
That’s how the music sounds. Like you are an innocent kid sitting on the front porch eating a red cherry popsicle. The juice runs down your face. It looks like blood.
July 15, 1984
Louise was once again sitting in the back seat of the Wilsons’ Porsche, but this time, she was without a backpack-- sans her school clothes. She wore the itchy Easter dress her grandmother had gotten her two years prior. Louise wore it to her funeral. She stuck out like a sore thumb, a pastel beacon amongst the waves of black. It was Sunday—the Lord’s Day, as Mrs. Wilson had told her. Louise hadn’t been inside a church for a good reason—she’d never been to a regular Sunday mass. But last night, she had stayed the night at Miles’, so she was on her way to church. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
They pulled into the parking lot, the ancient steeple looming over the car. Louise could recognize that it was a beautiful church, but the body of Christ hanging in the stained glass window did nothing to settle her nervous stomach. The pop of car doors sounded; there was no going back.
The wooden pew was uncomfortable, the kneelers even more so. She listened to Miles’ soft whispers of direction and did as he said. She fell and rose when she should; she crossed her arms instead of taking communion, she shook hands with strangers, and mumbled, ‘Peace be with you.’ And then it was over, and Louise was waking back to the car, her white flats cutting into her feet.
“What did you think, Louise?” Mrs. Wilson asked in a kind voice.
She shrugged her shoulders, “It was okay. I didn’t really know what to do.”
“You’ll learn,” Mrs. Wilson responded, a promise on the tip of her tongue.
Louise was silent on the ride back; she leaned against the window and watched as trees blurred together in a mirage of green. Louise didn’t know what it was like to believe in God. She thought she felt it there for a moment-- a quiet tingling in the back of her mind. But then she remembered that she wasn’t with her family; the Wilsons were not her parents. She remembered her mom was working a double today so they could have electricity. And what God would think that was fair? Not one Louise wanted to believe in.
The music sounds like the church hymns your mother made you sing. She meant well; she thought she was giving you the gift of her religion. You couldn’t tell her you didn’t want it. It was all she had ever known.
What child betrays their mother?
May 21, 1985
It was the summer after sixth grade. Lousie and Miles had biked to the pool in town, a desperate attempt to escape the heat. The air was thick and humid, and sweat sprouted from Louise's skin, dampening her shirt and shorts. The sun beamed down on her back; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The pair parked their bikes out front and ran into the small building. A bored-looking teenager accepted their fifty cents each and let them in. The air reeked of chlorine, and the painted concrete was slick with warm water. Miles and Louise threw their towels down and began to shed their swimsuits. Louise’s hands were shaking with anticipation; she hadn't been to the pool in so long.
“Race you,” Miles said, darting towards the water's edge.
“No fair,” Louise groaned as she kicked off her flip-flops and ran after him.
Louise heard a distant whistle ringing and a call that running wasn’t allowed before she splashed into the blue depths. The cool water encapsulated her, and goosebumps formed on her skin. She bobbed to the surface and saw Miles climbing out and heading towards the diving board.
They stayed until the sun was beginning to set; Miles’ mom didn’t like him being out that late on his own yet, so they peddled back home soggy clothes and pruny skin.
When Louise returned to her house, it was dark. She could see the kitchen light shining out onto the brown lawn. Steve was home. Louise’s mom, Mary, had picked him up a few months back. He was a short, fat man. His breath always smelled like beer, yeasty and vile. He had dark hair and a beard to match. Her mother claimed she really liked him, but Louise knew she just needed someone to help pay the bills.
One of the few good things about having kids as young as Louise’s mom had her is that she never had a hard time finding a sleazy older guy to keep around. Being pretty also helped, and Mary sure was pretty. Mary was tall and slender, with long, curly auburn hair. She was covered in freckles and had eyes that glowed emerald green. When Louise was young, Mary would smile often, but as her eyebags grew, her smile faded. She could fake it when needed, but it was never like Louise remembered.
Mary and Louise could have been twins— minus the smile lines she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to earn. Maybe that was why, when Louise walked into her kitchen in nothing more than a bathing suit, Steve forced himself on her.
You clutch the armrest on your chair, digging your nails into the fabric. The music is screeching, a distorted version of what it once was. You want to cry. You think your ears are bleeding. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping to distract yourself from the perverted disgust mess of noise assaulting you. Your mouth tastes like metal. The urge to stand and walk, no, run, out of the theater is so strong you can hardly bear it.
You do not get up.
May 22, 1985
Miles called and asked if she wanted to go swimming again. Louise didn’t have the heart to tell him she never wanted to go swimming again, so she lied and said she was sick. Miles was at her door an hour later with a container of homemade cookies and Guess Who.
The two sit on the floor of Louise’s bedroom, the soft blanket she put down covering the scratchy carpet. Louise’s room was small and dingy. The walls were cracked and stained; she lived out of one small bureau that had been unceremoniously shoved into a corner of the room. Last Christmas, she begged her mother to help her hang lights on the ceiling. They were still up, casting a rainbow glow over the room. It was the only source of light she used. She had a small nightstand piled with pencils and markers; she had long since stained her light pink sheets while drawing. Cookie crumbles littered the floor. Louise was losing the game; most of her people were still up, while Miles only had about five people left to choose from. He chewed his lip in concentration. Louise usually laughed at him for it; he always seemed to take the board games they played too seriously. This time, she didn’t notice he was doing it.
“Does your person have brown hair?” Miles questioned.
Louise didn’t respond. “Louise? Are you alrigh—”
“Do your parents ever touch you?” Louise said, eyes trained on the floor.
Miles’ face scrunched up in confusion, “You mean like hugs?”
“No.”
“What do you mean then?” Miles questioned.
Louise’s eyes fogged up with tears, “Never mind. Let’s just play the game.”
Miles eyed her with sympathetic confusion before realizing what she meant, “Louise…”
He moved to hug her, but she flinched away from him. Miles sat back; he wasn’t touching her but was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. Louise sniffled, trying desperately to contain her emotion.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Miles whispered.
Louise turned to look at him, her face pale and puffy, “Please don’t.”
Louise and Miles sat like that for a long time. When the sun set, he got up and called his mom, begging her to let him stay the night. Louise didn’t hear the conversation, but Mrs. Wilson must have agreed because the next thing she knew, she was being guided to bed, and Miles was settled on the floor next to her, leaning against the bed and holding her hand.
The music turned sweet. It drifted through your ears pleasantly, passing over the cracked, dry blood. A chorus of flutes is playing, light and soft.
It feels like the pillow in your dorm room, childhood mixed with freedom.
You know this feeling won’t last. But right now, in this moment, you lay your head down and pretend the world is new.
May 17, 1986
Miles and Louise had biked miles to the movie theater. Miles had begged Louise to see the new movie coming out, one that Louise was less than excited about. He had been to the movies some months before with his mom and had seen the trailer. The next day, he begged her to see it with him when it came out, and she agreed, not knowing anything about it.
Miles was practically giddy with excitement. His eyes glowed with it. The theater was packed; they stood in the line shoulder to shoulder with what must have been every other kid in town. Louise clung to the red crushed velvet rope that segmented the line for dear life. The feeling of so many people pressed up against her was nauseating. She screwed her eyes shut, pushing down a wave of oncoming dizziness. Before she knew it she was being pulled along to the ticket stand. Miles produced them with a broad smile on his face, “Two for Top Gun.”
He then bought a giant thing of buttery popcorn and two glass Cokes. They made their way to their seats and waited for the movie to begin. Miles shoved popcorn in his mouth, salty yellow kernels going everywhere. Trailers for various movies played on the big screen— Miles leaned over nearly every time and asked Louise if she would go with him. She said yes every time.
The movie was beautiful. It was nothing like Louise had ever seen before; it made her yearn for the sky, the feeling of freedom unlike anything she would ever know. And then it was tragic, and she was crying in her seat, wailing over someone she didn’t know. Begging him to wake up.
They left in silence, walking to the bike rack to a chorus of shoes against pavement. They stalled for a moment before getting onto their bikes and parting their ways.
“What would you do if I died?” Miles said, his eyes trained on Louise’s.
“I don’t know,” her eyes were red and puffy, “I don’t think I could go on.”
“Me neither,” Miles agreed.
Miles stared at her for a beat before getting on his bike and peddling home. Louise imagined her life without Miles on the way home. Sharp metal against skin, blood seeping into water. She didn’t think it would be much of a life.
When you were in 6th grade, you played the clarinet. You always had a fondness for them.
They were the only ones playing, the dulcet tones of a wooden reed against black plastic. The song was picking up pace, like a heartbeat.
In 6th grade band, you sat next to a girl you liked. She was better at the instrument than you. You didn’t care. You remember taking her to the winter formal and carrying her shoes when her feet got sore. You remember your dad giving you the talk before you went.
You haven’t seen her in years. You wonder how she’s doing.
The clarinets are done with their solo. You forget about her again.
August 21, 1987
This year, Louise’s birthday fell on the first day of school. She dressed nicer than usual, an attempt at vanity that made her hate herself. Miles had given her a music box that played You Are My Sunshine. Louise had told him that she missed it when her mom sang it to her before bed. She cried in the bathroom.
At lunch, she stood in line with a group of girls in her PE class. Miles was a few feet ahead of her, and the kids in her school took cutting in line more seriously than she thought was necessary, so she stayed put. She stood silently while the girls talked about a teacher they didn’t like, choosing instead to eavesdrop on the conversations around her rather than contribute to the one she was in.
Brian Miller’s voice sounded broken and raspy, like a kid with money for cigarettes and not much else. He was a stereotypical bully, big and tall, with an ugly look plastered everywhere he went. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone not being in pain. He was talking to Miles, his voice loud enough for Louise to hear from where she was: “Why do you hang out with that poor girl all the time? Does she give it up easily?”
His lips were curled in a cruel sneer, showing off his yellow teeth. Miles looked at him, barely visible to Louise over the people between them. Then, suddenly, he wound up and punched Brian square in the face. Louise heard the crunch of his nose being broken— blood spurted on the floor and onto the onlooking students. Brian grunted in pain, bringing his hand to touch his bloodied face slowly before launching into a vicious returning attack. He only got a few punches on Miles before the nearest teacher pulled him away. Louise pushed through the crowd that had formed, leaning down at Miles’ side. His face was nearly unrecognizable; bruises were starting to form already.
“Why did you do that? Oh my god, Miles, why did you do that?” Louise choked out, tears fogging her vision.
“I love you,” Miles tried to smile, blood staining his teeth.
A teacher pushed Louise out of the way, assessing the damage. What felt like seconds later, an ambulance appeared, along with Mrs. Wilson. She was frantic; her hands were shaking with fear. Everything was silent. At some point, everyone had cleared out except Louise. She was standing here like an idiot, staring at Miles’ bloodied face.
Louise felt a strong hand grab her arm, a mother’s hand, “Come on, Louise. You can ride along.” Mrs. Wilson stood in front of Louise. Her eyes were red, but she had composed herself. Louise’s voice came out as nothing more than a whisper: “Okay.”
She let herself be pulled into the ambulance; the siren was the only thing she could hear. She watched as the EMTs worked, their skilled, gloved hands dancing over his body.
“Louise, he’s gonna be okay,” Mrs. Wilson whispered in her ear, “Come here.”
She pulled Louise into a hug, hiding her view of Miles. Louise closed her eyes against Mrs. Wilson, willing her breath to slow. They stopped abruptly at the hospital. Louise and Mrs. Wilson climbed out and watched as nurses and interns swarmed Miles’ gurney. They were ushered to the waiting room and sat down on hard, terribly patterned chairs. At some point, Mrs. Wilson called Louise’s mother to tell her where she was. A doctor brought them to Miles’ room after over an hour. His face had been cleaned and bandaged, and his nose was clearly broken.
“Louise,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up.
“Miles,” Louise responded, “Are you okay?”
“I’m right as rain,” he tried to smile but winced.
“Don’t lie to me, Miles.”
“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
They stood like that until Louise’s mom came to get her. Louise crawled into Mary’s beat-up Sedan and slumped in the seat.
“Are you okay, baby?” Mary asked her.
“Mom, what if he died?” Louise ignored the question.
Mary sighed, “Sweetheart he’s fine. He’s just got a concussion and a broken nose.”
“I know,” Louise said, “I know he’s fine.”
The bags under Mary’s eyes seemed heavier today, and her face seemed more wrinkled. Louise looked more like her every day.
The music takes on a somber tone. Long, drawn-out notes fill the air. You think of your mother again, the way she looked sunken in her hospital bed— decaying before your eyes. You remember the feel of her bony, pale hands wiping away your tears in her final moments.
It was the first time you saw your dad cry.
The wail of violin chokes you.
December 17, 1988
Louise was lying on her back in Miles’ bed. He’s had the same one since they were kids; the box springs creak under their weight. Miles was above her, his eyes boring holes in hers. His parents were not home, the house was eerily quiet— the ambient creaking distracting Louise. His record player sang sweet music from his desk. His room was cluttered with dirty clothes and various knick-knacks. A blue paper swan sat on his bookshelf next to his worn copy of The Hobbit. His closet was open, casting weird shadows along the walls. The lights were off.
The soft touch of Miles’ lips trailed down her chest to her stomach. She tried to push down the nausea— make her body stop squirming. Her hand clutched his shoulder tightly. He had asked if this was okay. She had said yes.
Louise felt another article of clothing being slid off her body. She was cold. Her eyes shot to the ceiling. One glowing star was still stuck on the popcorn texture. Miles had taken them off the year before. He had missed one. Louise felt the heat of salty water run down her face into the soft pillow. She hated herself.
‘Dear God,’ she thought, ‘if you can hear me please, please just let me be okay. Let me want this.’
She didn’t receive a response. God wasn’t listening. It was just her and Miles in a house too big, in a world too small.
“Louise?” Miles said, his voice laced with concern, “Hey. Are you okay?”
All she could muster was an ‘I’m sorry’ before getting up, running into the bathroom, and emptying her stomach into the toilet.
The air stunk of sour yeast.
The music bounced up and down, building up to its crescendo. Excitement filled your chest, the entire orchestra almost all playing now.
A chorus of brass filled the air—French horns and trumpets battle for dominance on stage. Your eyes are wide in anticipation; you have waited the entire night for this.
You are sixteen, and you and your friends sit around a fire, passing a bottle of Jack around. It is the Friday before school starts. You wanted one last night of summer fun before your life filled with books and assignments.
The whiskey burns a path down your throat. It makes you nauseous. You get so drunk you can’t stand up. Your vision blurs as you stumble into the surrounding woods. You are alone. You vomit more than you thought was possible. You think you are going to die. You miss your mom.
You haven't drank since.
You don’t think you ever will.
August 4, 1989
The granite bar was cool under Louise’s fingertips. She sat in Miles’ kitchen, spinning nervously on the metal bar stool. She was chewing her lip; her mouth tasted like blood. Miles sat next to her, his demeanor the exact opposite of Louise’s.
“I mean, come on, Louise. What are you gonna do with your life?” Mrs. Wilson lectured her.
“I don’t know,” Louise mumbled.
Mrs. Wilson sighed, “Miles has wanted to be a pilot since he was eight. What do you want?”
Louise took a deep breath, “I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be like Miles. But I’m not your fucking kid so leave me alone.”
Louise stood up and stomped up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Wilson yelling her name, but she didn’t turn around. She buried herself in Miles’ bed, wrapping herself in his soft comforter. Louis heard the stairs creak with weight and then a knock on the door.
“Louise, I’m sorry,” Miles said, walking into the room.
Louise sat up, her face dry, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t yell at me.”
“I still feel sorry,” he said as he sat down next to her.
Louise took a deep breath and leaned on his shoulder. Miles rested his head against hers, “She loves you, you know.”
“I know.”
“She just wants you to do well,” Miles said.
“She wants me to be better than my mother,” Louise corrected.
“Is that so bad?”
The music doesn’t matter right now. You are fifteen, and your father is yelling at you about your future. You don’t know what you want to do. You want to be better than him.
He backhands you.
The arm of the person next to you brushes against yours. You jump. The conductor's hands are blurry with movement. The theater is alive with sound.
You miss your dad.
February 14, 1990
Louise and Miles sat across from each other in a restaurant that was too nice for the amount of money they brought. Louise ran her fingers across the laminated menu, fidgeting nervously with the edge of the paper. The restaurant was packed, Miles had made the reservations months in advance.
“Do you know what you want?” Miles asked.
Louise pursed her lips, “I think I’m gonna get the chicken piccata.”
Miles eyed the menu, “That looks good.”
“What are you gonna get?” she returned the question.
Miles smiled, almost boyishly, “The steak.”
Louise hummed in response. She set her menu down and reached for her water glass, running her finger across the rim. Condensation dripped down outside the glass, her fingerprints marking the surface.
“Are you excited about prom?” Miles asked.
Louise laughed a little, “Do we really have nothing else to talk about other than a dance in two months?”
Miles rolled his eyes playfully, “I guess not. What did we talk about when we were kids?”
“I have honestly no idea,” Louise smiled, “I don’t think we talked a lot. We mostly played.”
“We did play an ungodly amount of Donkey Kong.”
Louise chuckled, “God, was that game even good? Or were we just kids?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Miles smiled.
The waiter came by and took their order, collecting their menus and refreshing their drinks. It wasn’t long before their food arrived; the plates were decedent and beautiful. They left the restaurant with doggy bags in hand and significantly poorer than when they walked in. Louise clambered into Miles’ truck and waited for Miles to start it. But he didn’t. He was staring at her instead.
“What?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled at her, “I have something for you.”
Her face fell in surprise, “Miles, you told me the dinner was a gift.”
“Well,” Miles shrugged. He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. She took it gingerly into her hands, excitement boiling in her chest. She opened the box softly and found two silver rings. One was engraved with ‘Miles,’ and the other said ‘Louise.’ Miles picked up the one that said his name and handed it to her.
“This one is for you,” he looked at her with huge puppy-dog eyes, “And the other one is for me.”
“Miles…”
“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.
She melted, “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, leaning in and kissing her sweetly.
“Are your parents home?” she asked against his lips.
“No, they won’t be home in hours.”
This time was different than the first. No bile rose up into Louise’s throat; she didn’t have to repress her squirming body. The air smelled like clean linen— fresh and new.
You are crying, and you don’t know why. The music sounds more like singing now, wrapping you in lyrics and hugs. You feel warm and fuzzy. Like you are a little kid who just got home after swimming all day. You are tired in the perfect way. You sink into your blankets and fall asleep.
A humming noise wakes you up. You are in the theater. There is music playing. You aren’t a kid anymore.
You had a drink at dinner before the concert.
You swallowed it with ease.
March 20, 1990
The hum of the radio filled the sweet night air. Louise and Miles lounged in the bed of his beat-up pickup. It was his father's old farm truck, a janky, rusty thing that only ran when it felt like it, but Miles loved it. It was his pride and joy. Any weekend he wasn’t with Louise, he was fixing it up; he would spend hours under the body of that thing, coming into the house reeking of oil and exhaust. Mrs. Wilson hated it; she feared for the safety of her nice beige carpet and the cleanliness of his jeans.
It was freshly spring; it was dry and warm for the first time this year. They were laying on his mother’s old picnic blanket, something she probably wouldn’t care for if she knew. It was pitch black, the only thing that illuminated them were the stars and the faint light of Louise’s kitchen light. They had returned from cruising around town, and neither wanted to go inside yet. They had been lulled into a comfortable silence, their hands knotted together perfectly. And then, suddenly, Louise had a question.
“Do you hate me?”
“Louise…” Miles sighed.
Nervousness leaked into her tone, “I was just making sure.”
“That I don’t hate you? Even though we’re dating?” Miles scoffed, “Why would I be with you if I hated you? What would I gain from that?”
“What if you were using me?” Louise said, her voice small.
“Oh my god,” Miles sat up and put his head in his hands, “‘What if’ Louise, when have I ever, in our entire lives, used you?”
“I don—” she started.
“If you are basing your fear of our relationship on ‘what ifs,’ maybe we shouldn’t be together. You are so absorbed in your past that it's like you aren’t even seeing me, not now, not in the present,” Miles shot at her.
“That’s not fair,” Louise said, her voice breaking with emotion.
Miles took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for what happened, and I get that healing is a hard and long process. But, Louise, I’m tired, too. ”
Hot, stinging tears rolled down Louise’s face, wetting the blanket, “I know you love me. Sometimes I’m just scared.”
“Why are you scared?” Miles whispered.
“I don’t know,” she sniffled, “I am what I am.”
“You are what you are,” Miles repeated, “And I’m tired of pretendning I can change that.”
“Then stop.”
Louise wiped the tears off her face and climbed out of the truck. Her receding footsteps echoed in Miles' head, a pounding that sounded eerily like his heartbeat— fast and hard. Miles sat there for a long while. The radio was still on, blasting The Smiths.
Trumpets blast loud, then louder. You think your eardrum might burst. Then, the music lulls to a stop. The lights do not come on. It is like the entire world has stopped to take a breath. One big inhale. You fill your lungs. The air smells like honeysuckle.
You are a child running in the yard with your dog. You are barefoot. You step on a bee. You limp into the house and cry to your mother. She puts your foot on ice.
You will never feel the grass on your bare foot again. You do not need to learn the lesson twice.

Back in 2022, I went through a drawn-out and ill-tempered breakup with my then-fiancée, Savannah. She’d been getting unusually close to one of her co-workers, and her behavior had suddenly shifted. I accidentally overheard one of her phone calls, revealing that the two of them were, in fact, having an affair. I confronted her about it, and she didn’t bother to hide it anymore. This was about a week before we were supposed to go on a couple’s retreat that we’d planned for months.
So instead of a 5-day weekend with my bride-to-be, it was aiming to be a miserable pity party. But hey, the deposit was non-refundable, and I needed space. I decided to go on my own while she packed her things. I couldn’t bear to watch our life being put into boxes.
I headed for Alaska.
 
Now, one might not think of Alaska as the first place to go for a vacation, but there are some amazing ski resorts up there. There was this one place that had a little bit of everything. A main lodge with a bar, a restaurant, and a gym. Nothing huge, but more than expected. Savannah and I had rented one of the many 2-man cabins, complete with a built-in sauna. Thing cost an arm and a leg, but it came with complementary champagne, so what the hell.
I got there an early Thursday morning. I checked in and explained to the receptionist that there wasn’t going to be a second person joining me. It earned me my first sympathetic look and an involuntary “oh”.
I was shown to my cabin. It was in a cluster with six other cabins, a straight walk from the ski lifts. One of the staffers showed me how to work the sauna (bucket and all), where to find linens, and how to order room service. Then they handed me the keys and sent me on my way.
 
Savannah and I got the place a little cheaper because of how far in advance we booked, so we had no idea that it was gonna be such a rough winter. There’d been a constant overcast for about a week, and we’d booked a little earlier in the year than one should – meaning it was oppressively dark outside. Even at the height of noon, all I saw was a grey-washed sun peeking through layers of clouds like a shy schoolboy.
There were a couple of others there though. In the cabin straight across from me were a pair of what can only be described as socialite hipsters. A man and woman in identical haircuts and matching outfits. They had customized prints on their shoulders with their Instagram tags. At first I thought it was some sort of joke, but every single time I saw them together they seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Kinda made me feel bad for thinking less of them, to be honest.
There were two men in their 50’s. They weren’t an obvious couple, at first look, but you could kinda fill in the blanks to draw your own conclusions. I think they just wanted to get away – they didn’t even bring any skis. They seemed pretty chill, spending most of their time enjoying the amenities of the lodge.
There was one final couple next door. A man and woman in their early 40’s. I got the impression that they were parents enjoying a weekend away from their kids. They talked on the phone a lot and had to repeat themselves, referring to “your sister” and “your brother” in a way that only a stern parent could. I caught their names as Tyler and Ginger.
 
But out of everyone there, I think I was the one who stood out the most. This whole cluster was intended for couples, but the staff didn’t have the heart to ask me to move. It was clear that something had gone wrong, and they just wanted to look after me. I got a complementary breakfast, a couple extra chocolates on my pillow, and they always had this apologetic tone when speaking to me; like they were afraid that I’d break.
To be fair, a couple of times, I did. That first day, I spent most of my time in bed. I wasn’t even tired, I was just hurting from all the empty space and lack of noise. I kept going back to my socials to see if Savannah had posted anything. I kept updating, over and over again.
It was well over 7pm when I realized I’d spent all day doing nothing but wallowing in misery. I decided that I was gonna at least try to make the best of it. I let the battery on my phone run out and left it empty while I headed for the bar.
 
I didn’t spend too much time or money, but just enough to get a chat in with some of the guests. There were single people and friend groups there too, but only about a handful. By chance, I ended up spending the evening with my next-door neighbors; Tyler and Ginger. They confirmed immediately that yes, they were indeed exhausted parents. I offered them a sympathetic mojito, and after that, we were best friends.
Tyler was this enormous, lanky man. Easily 6’6 and bald as an egg. Ginger on the other hand barely reached 5’4. You could tell she’d been stressed; it carried under her eyes. That didn’t stop her from laughing herself silly at every stupid joke we made.
It might’ve been the Mojitos talking though.
 
Later that night, I ended up taking a smoke break with Tyler out back. I hadn’t smoked since college, but I figured now was as good a time as any to ruin my life a little. He handed me a lit Marlboro red, leaning against the railing. I’d been telling Tyler and Ginger about Savannah and our recent breakup, and he was in full guy-support mode.
“At least there’re no kids involved,” he sighed, sucking down his cigarette. “It gets hella complicated, you know. And fast.”
“But it’s worth it, right?” I asked.
Tyler grimaced, bobbing his head side to side, making a little unsure hand gesture.
“Depends,” he continued. “I mean, they’re gonna suck the life outta ya’. It’s gonna be every day, every way, all the time. There ain’t no ‘you’ anymore, it’s … ‘us’, you know.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I get it.”
He finished his cigarette, flicking it into the snow.
“But you can see it. You can see yourself in another person. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like… that’s you. And unless you really hate yourself, you can’t help but to love ‘em.”
“So it’s worth it then.”
Tyler snorted, heading back inside. He blew the last puff of his cigarette out his nose; or it might’ve just been hot air mixing with the cold night.
“I’m theirs.”
 
I stayed behind, looking over the dark snow. Nothing gleamed or glistened. It was like a frozen black ocean as far as the eye could see. Not a single star twinkling above. The entire resort felt like something lost in deep space; isolated and displaced. A monument to comfort in a subdued wilderness.
I could see the others debating what song to put on for karaoke. They were gonna drag me up there eventually too. I didn’t mind that much. I can do a decent ‘Killer Queen’. I turned back towards the endless snow a final time.
And I swear, something glimmered. And it wasn’t the snow.
Eyes?
 
I woke up close to noon the following day; the result of one too many drinks and not a single alarm set for the first time in years. I drank what felt like a bathtub’s amount of seltzer, threw up, and grabbed some take-away lunch from the restaurant. Got my wallet back too – not that I’d noticed ever losing it.
As I headed out, one of the receptionists stopped me. She gently grabbed my arm, excusing herself.
“Did you see a woman here last night?” she asked. “About 5’7, dark eyes, blonde hair?”
“No, uh… was she here with anyone?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she smiled. “We think there’s an unregistered guest. She’s not your missing plus one, is she?”
I shook my head, causing a temporary motion sickness. I reassured her that I hadn’t seen anyone matching that description, and promised to let her know if I did. It was strange – she seemed a lot more worried than I thought one might be about an uninvited guest.
 
I took some time to actually go skiing that day. There’s something mind-clearing about plummeting down the slopes without a care in the world. No one to break your stride. Free reign as far as the eye could see. I lost track of time and ended up spending a little longer than anticipated.
That evening, I got to the restaurant just as they were about to close. I managed to sneak in an order for a plate of chicken carbonara, but I was the only guest left eating something. The others were at the tail end of dessert. That’s when I heard some commotion from one of the other tables. Looking up, I could see the two men from the other couple’s cabin.
It was a proposal.
 
The whole lodge erupted into cheers. Free drinks from the bar. Hugs and kisses all around – and I was stuck sitting there with my plate of pasta. To round out the proposal, there was a short firework display outside. Blue and green rockets against the coal-black sky; lighting up the snow like sand dunes of emerald and sapphire. It was beautiful. And I didn’t even get a good look of it.
As guests funneled back inside, I finished my plate. I was about to go congratulate the couple and join the budding party when I heard a knock. The restaurant staff were too busy closing up to notice it, but I saw someone outside.
She couldn’t have been older than maybe… 20, 21. She wore a thin black nylon jacket and a trucker cap, resembling some kind of catering crew. She gave me a little hand wave, pointing to the door.
“You mind letting me in?”
“Sure, yeah.”
Strange. The glass door was already unlocked. I thought she might’ve been locked out.
“Thanks,” she smiled. “Must’ve pulled at it the wrong way. Sorry.”
She pushed past me, but turned with a smile as she did. Her eyes weren’t just a dark brown – they were almost black.
“You should join us,” she smiled. “It’s gonna be fun.”
She disappeared into the bar crowd. Her smile faded behind a blonde ponytail the second she thought I wasn’t watching. It took me a moment to realize she matched the description of the woman the receptionist had been asking me about.
 
I tried getting a hold of a staffer, but they were running about like headless chickens. After a short but valiant effort, I decided to celebrate with the others. After all, it was Friday night, and I needed a reason to drink. Or a better reason, at least.
Things got a bit hazy around midnight. The newly betrothed were off in a corner, sharing a bottle of red. Tyler was trying his best to keep Ginger from a fifth cocktail. The hipster couple had retired early, choosing to spend the remainder of the night in their cabin. Other guests filtered out one by one, leaving a handful of people behind.
As I stumbled back to my cabin for the night, intent on spending some time in the sauna, I noticed the strange blonde woman in the distance. She was standing outside the hipster’s cabin, knocking on their door. She looked back at me with an expressionless face; her dark eyes looking like holes in the head.
I could tell something was off about her. I always could. But I didn’t know exactly what.
 
I spent the night in the sauna. Not by choice, but happenstance. I didn’t even start it, I just put my head down on a towel and blacked out. By morning, I was more hangover than man. It was also the only time the sun decided to peak out, if only to tease my retinas. I spent some time getting ready, munching on a couple of protein bars and chugging a bottle of orange juice I’d nicked from the open bar.
Just past lunch, I was the only one on my feet. I didn’t spot any other guests from the cluster, and all the cabins were closed. No sign of the strange blonde woman either. Maybe that was for the best.
But the more I wandered about, the more I noticed something was off. The ski lift wasn’t working, and most of the main lodge was locked. All the lights were off – both inside and out. The restaurant’s curtains were drawn, as well as at the bar, and the reception. The gym was locked with a “closed” sign out front.
 
I tried knocking, but no one opened. I tried the main lodge and the other cabins – nothing. I looked all over the resort, but it was all empty. The parking lot, the maintenance shed, changing rooms… everything was either locked up tight or empty. Something must’ve happened. One of the side entrances leading to the restaurant kitchen was not just locked but chained up.
Going back to my cabin, I checked my phone; only to remember that I’d let the battery drain. There was no power to charge it. The temperature was also going down; fast. It didn’t take long before I had to bundle up with a jacket, even indoors. By the time I realized I’d run out of options, the sun was already setting.
I sat on my bed with my legs huddled up against my chest, looking out the window. The snow had stopped glistening as the sun had, once again, wrapped itself with a cloud cover.
 
That’s when I realized what’d bothered me about that strange woman the other night.
There was no vapor coming from her breath. No hot mixing with cold.
It was as if she hadn’t breathed at all.
 
By nightfall, I could see movement in the distance. Doors opening, lights turning on. There was laughter coming from the main lodge. A few remaining fireworks from the other night flaring up into the night sky. Someone had cranked up the music in the bar a little too loud. Heat was coming back, and power was restored. I fumbled for my phone, plugging in the charger.
As I did, I spotted one of my neighbors through the window. One of the two older betrothed men. He looked ecstatic; skipping through the snow like a child. He lost his glasses as he haphazardly threw snow into the air, leaving an arc of snowflakes slowly tumbling back to the ground.
I walked up to the window, ready to call on him. I wondered where his fiancé was, but I only had to wonder for a moment.
His fiancé was dragging the headless corpse of the hipster woman behind him. Colorful jacket and all.
 
I crouched down, covering my mouth with my hands. I didn’t want a scream to slip out. I could hear my chest pounding in my heart; making me twitch with every beat. I felt my cheeks flush as my tongue went dry.
They dragged the body through the snow, their hands and faces covered in red. There was a long trail of blackened blood reaching all the way from the hipster cabin to the middle of the field. The two betrotheds kissed, laughed, howled, and cheered. They waved at someone off in the distance, screaming with joy.
And there was no vapor coming from either of them. No hot air mixing with cold.
They were cold as ice; and just as pale.
 
I saw it all from my bedroom window. Cleaners hanging bloodied linens out the windows like war banners. A woman throwing torn body parts off the roof of the main lodge. A gang of four restaurant workers set fire to the maintenance shed, dancing around it like shrieking primates.
The receptionist, who’d talked to me earlier, was wandering in a circle out near the back entrance. She had knives stuck through her arms and throat but was moving around like it was nothing; her back straight and her movements precise. Predatory. There was a glow in her eyes; a reflection of the raging arson. The pity I’d once seen in them were long gone.
I frantically dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, my mind went into a lockdown. I couldn’t decide whether to scream or whisper, so I ended up doing this strange wheezing. I had to repeat what I said three times to even identify myself. I have no idea what I even stuttered after that, but I managed to give them an address. I think I got the point across.
People were dead, and things were on fire.
 
There was a knock on the door.
My immediate reaction was to toss my phone halfway across the floor. I never hung up, I think. I figured whoever was outside might’ve heard the noise and came to investigate.
“Would you mind letting me in?”
The same voice as the other night. The blonde woman who I’d opened the door for at the restaurant. This time, I didn’t move. I didn’t answer.
“I thought I checked this building,” she chuckled. “Where’ve you been hiding?”
There was a whisper. Someone was with her. Then – a giggle.
“You slept in the sauna? No wonder we didn’t see you!”
 
I looked for something to defend myself with. There was a fireplace, but it was only decorative. There wasn’t even a fire poker. I grabbed my empty bottle of complementary champagne; it was heavy enough to cause some damage.
But as I looked at that closed door, all the fight ran out of me. There were so many of them out there. I counted nine in total, surrounding the building. Dark shadows pressing up against the window; none of which were fogging up the glass. Not a single breath. Not one.
“It’ll be quick.”
Her voice was muffled, but only barely. It would be so easy for them to break through. It was just glass. And yet – none of them did.
“Open the door.”
 
Of course, I didn’t. I grasped the bottle tighter hoping against hope for them to just… leave.
Instead, there was another knock. A slap on the windows. A few familiar faces with an unfamiliar glow in their eyes, looking my way.
“I heard you went through a rough breakup,” she sighed. “We’re a community. There’s no loneliness on this side of the door.”
Something in me snapped. It was one thing to hear someone talking, but now they were talking to me, specifically. Those words were meant for me, no one else. There was no way to trick myself into believing this wasn’t happening. A reflex made me throw the bottle against the door, but it was useless. The bottle thumped against it and rolled away. They all erupted into laughter.
A bloody handprint slapped against the window. Then another. Then an eager tongue, licking it up like a thirsty cat.
“Alright,” she laughed. “Then we’ll make you come to us.”
 
The restaurant workers in the distance stepped up. They were using empty beer bottles from the other night, filled to the brim, with a rag on top. Molotovs.
I didn’t have time to go for my phone, and I couldn’t leave. The first place I could think of was the sauna. It was at least heat resistant. It could buy me some time.
I hurried into the sauna as the first heatwave pushed the door shut. Bottles were being thrown through the windows, shattering against the bedroom floor. They cheered, singing a scream rendition of ‘London Bridge’ at the top of their lungs. Blood-curdling falsettos.
Six bottles, one by one, added to an inferno. The smoke was already billowing into the sauna, staining my lungs.
 
There was no option left. I had to get out. I’d die if I didn’t.
I dipped my sauna towel in a bucket of water and wrapped it around my head. I tucked my arms into my jacket, covered my face, and considered my route. The shortest way was the window facing the rear; a sharp turn to the left, and then straight forward. I plotted it. I envisioned it. And as laughter drowned in the crackling flames, I felt my tears grow warm.
And I ran.
One step outside, and there was already something on me sizzling. Pain on my shoulders, like a searing sunburn. I could feel my skin flaking. I stepped down with my right foot, turned, and leaned into a sprint.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. I wasn’t as much running as falling with purpose. And as I crashed through the window, and air surged out around me, I threw myself into the snow by force of body weight alone.
 
I didn’t stop. Stopping meant death. Instead, I kept sprinting forward in a pace that knocked the breath in and out of my lungs like a piston. I threw the towel off my face, feeling the chill night air burn against my exposed shoulders. I was burned, but I couldn’t stop to check how badly.
Most of them were too busy howling and cheering to even care. Some of them were occupied with suckling on something raw and bloody; others were too busy enjoying each other’s company. Some of them were pointing my direction. One of them fired a gun, but the shot went wild. There was only one that remained focused and calculated. This wasn’t a game to her. This was survival.
I made my way around the side of the main lodge, following a blood-spattered trail in the snow. The ground was cluttered with miscellaneous furniture thrown from the second-floor window. I could see breathless faces peering out at me, but they didn’t seem to care. Maybe they thought I was one of them. Maybe they thought they’d already won.
Maybe they had.
 
As I rounded the corner to the parking lot, I saw a familiar face.
Ginger.
She was perched on the hood of a car in nothing but her underwear, barefoot, with the bloodied remains of Tyler splayed out in front of her. There were no tears in her eyes; just a blank-faced thousand-yard stare. She was holding up his left leg, licking an open wound clean as she pressed and prodded the dead veins for blood to squirt.
A crazy idea went through my head as I grabbed a handful of snow and stuck it into my mouth. I tried to calm my breathing as I stepped into her vision. Hiding my breath might trick her long enough to gain some distance.
 
There was visible confusion on her face. Maybe a hint of recognition. The snow kept my breath from turning to mist, making me look just as breathless as the rest of them. Ginger looked me dead in the eye as her face contorted into a snarl.
“He’s mine! Mine!” she shrieked. “He’s all mine!”
She observed every step I took. She sucked air into her lungs, as if to make herself look larger, making an uncanny reverse hissing noise. There was no vapor coming from her breath as she exhaled. There was no chase – she already had her meal. Like a house cat eating a Saint Bernard.
 
I had to get out of there. There had to be something I could do other than to run blind into the wilderness.
By the south corner of the main lodge, there was a pile of clothes. They smelled of turpentine, but no one had lit them on fire just yet. Maybe they wanted to add more to it before they did. I stuck my hands in there, letting the chemicals sting my open wounds. Rustling through discarded shirts and pants, some of which still had limbs attached, I managed to find a set of car keys. I held onto it for dear life, thanking whatever Gods may be for the little blue sunflower keychain I’d felt at the top of my fingertips.
The keys lead me to a campervan. There was a small picture of the two betrothed men above the glove box. Since I’d seen them out in the field, I figured I had some time before they came looking for it. I put the keys in the ignition, and my heart froze.
 
There was a knock on the driver side door.
“This is hardly a fitting domicile.”
Her.
I fumbled the keys, trying to get the thing to start. The campervan was probably older than me, and I’m not good with driving stick, but I didn’t have much choice.
“Invite me.”
“That’s… that’s just it, isn’t it?” I cried. “You… you can’t do it. You can’t come in.”
“You wanna bet?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, let’s bet. Let’s do it.”
I was just buying time. The moment the engine roared to life, I stepped on the gas. A bloodied hand squeaked against the window as I took a hard right turn, making the tires slip on the graveled road.
 
I saw it all in the rear-view mirror. The fires, and a gathering crowd. Some of them waved goodbye. Some cheered.
All of them rejoiced – together.
Breathless.
 
By the time I got to a nearby town, fire trucks had already passed me by. Once I talked to the police, they seemed to already know the story. To them, there’d been reports of arson. Several casualties. About eight in total. They had people on-site investigating.
But the people I’d seen out there, celebrating a massacre? They were never reported as victims, or suspects. In fact, they were seemingly just… innocent bystanders.
 
I have kept my eye on this for years.
Some of the firemen who got to the resort that night have permanently switched to night shifts. Most of those who survived that night have mysteriously vanished from social media; but they still pop up in posts, very much alive and kicking. I’ve seen people who look suspiciously similar to Ginger, and the two betrothed men. They didn’t fake their deaths or disappear; they just made themselves socially invisible. Slipped into the background.
All deaths were easily explained. Arson. All they found were burned bodies, and the fire marshal in charge seemed less than eager to delve deeper into the causes. Most of the eyewitness accounts were taken on face value. Strange how the fire marshal first changed to a night shift, then fell off the radar completely.
It was arson, end of story. No need to look closer.
And my 911 call? No one ever heard about it.
 
No wonder they didn’t bother to hide it all from me. I was never a threat. They’d already done what they came for. That one woman, the one who didn’t breathe, was the source of it all.
And to the best of my knowledge, she is still out there.
And she is not alone anymore.

I received an email from an associate, good old “Big Cock from Table Rock”, or “BC” for short, referring a Sasquatch nuisance case to me. Apparently, there was a farmer down in Macon County that was having livestock go missing. He was asking for some help to put a stop to this. At first he assumed that since most of the missing animals were chickens and rabbits the perpetrator was most likely a fox, coyote, or a bobcat. But then something happened to change the farmer’s mind.
See, this farmer was staking out his critter pens by laying up between two big bales of hay. He was armed with a shotgun loaded with 00 buckshot shells. He was expecting to kill the thief with it. But as it turned out, that shotgun would be no match for this thief.
A little past 2:00 a.m. while staking out the animal pens, the farmer had drifted off to sleep. He was abruptly awakened by the alarmed sounds of his chickens. He immediately raised up a bit and raised his shotgun toward the chicken coup. At first he did not see anything. The coup itself stands 5’ high, and runs about 20’ long. It houses 30 chickens normally. But by now the count was down to 23.
The farmer could not see anything. It was dark, of course, but there was enough light emitted by the full moon high in the night sky above to illuminate the coup and surrounding area. The farmer figured that the interloper was on the other side of the coup. He considered changing position in order to intercept and dispatch the invader before it got inside the coup. Then suddenly, the trespassing creature stood up. It was clearly on the opposite side of the chicken coop. And it was HUGE.
It was on two legs. It’s legs and pelvic areas were hidden behind the chicken coop. It’s stomach is the first thing you see standing above the coup. The farmer was awestruck. He described the creature as bipedal and standing at least 14’ tall. It had very broad shoulders, probably 7 feet across. It was covered in long and matted black hair, had a prominent brow ridge, and dark sunken eyes.
After standing up, the farmer says the creature forcefully opened the roof of chicken house roosting area, stuck its huge arm inside, grabbed 2 chickens and pulled them out, then returned the roof back to its original position. The beast then looked around and walked away heading to the wood line approximately 100 yards to the east. The farmer never moved nor made a sound. He was too frightened to announce his presence. He watched the monster retreat into the woods with his chickens. Then he waited a few more minutes before moving out of fear that the monster may still be nearby and may see him. He was finally able to muster the courage to shimmy out from between the hay bales, then he ran all the way back to his house. He went inside, locked the doors, and sat in the living room the rest of the night with his shotgun at the ready in case the creature returned.
The farmer immediately knew it was a Sasquatch. They are not common in this area, but there have been cases of them moving up and down the Flint River valley. And that is exactly where the farmer’s property is situated. The fact is, there was nothing else this creature could have been. It was a big “hairy man”. And it perfectly fits the description of other Sasquatch seen in the valley over the years. The farmer had heard the stories but did not believe them before tonight. As unsettling as the sighting was for him, the one thing that worried him more than anything else was how BIG the thing was. He knew that there was no way his shotgun, or any other gun in his safe, was big enough to stop an animal that size. He figured it would take an elephant gun, minimum, to kill that thing.
The poor farmer was at a loss for what to do. He could not let the creature keep stealing his animals. Plus, he felt like the Sasquatch may be a threat to his family. He wanted it gone. He just did not know how to do it. So he made some phone calls to the families who had members who had seen these things in the past. Of course, his calls and the story he told were subjected to scrutiny and laughter by most. After a couple days of this the farmer got nowhere, save for succeeding in ruining his reputation as a sober, standup man in the community.
A week and a half later, and several chickens and 2 calves lighter, the farmer received an unsigned note in his mailbox. There was no return address. The note said “I’ve seen it too. It’s a Bigfoot. It’s real. If you need help, then call me. My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX (redacted)”. The farmer was at wits end and immediately called the number. It turned out to be another farmer in the area, with property on the other side of the river.
The other farmer had a very similar tale to his: a large, hairy bipedal monster showed up and started stealing his animals. It turned out that this other farmer had a nephew who is into Bigfoot and other creepy things. He had some contacts with Bigfoot hunters who would come out and remove these animals from your property. The other farmer told him that he would be happy to get his nephew involved to help him run off the Bigfoot if he likes. The farmer readily agreed!
The next day the other farmer’s nephew visited the troubled farmer. He listened to the farmer’s story intently and inspected the area where the Bigfoot was seen. They even found a footprint. The nephew measured it, then cast it. It was 24” long and 11” wide. A real monster!
Realizing that this farmer had a real problem on his hands, and possibly a very dangerous situation, he told the farmer that he knew someone who could help him. He explained to the farmer that while he is a Bigfoot researcher he is not really equipped to engage them. But he knew someone who could come out and remove the animal if he wanted. The farmer eagerly said he wanted it gone and that he would be glad to pay for the service. “Well then, let me see about getting ahold of him and getting him out here”, the nephew said to the farmer.
As you probably have figured out by now, the nephew is my associate, good old Big Cock from Table Rock (“BC”). He is a paranormal investigator. Upon assessing the farmer’s precarious situation, BC contacted me, The General.
When the email notification “binged” on my iPhone I was right in the middle of eating out the ass of a hot little MILF I picked up earlier in the evening at the bar in an Applebee’s. I ignored the email. This chick was super hot! She is really petite, just like I like them, standing maybe 5’5”, size 4, and 105lbs soaking wet. Oh, and a very legit c-cup. She was a brunette with a little bob haircut. Perfect! She was probably what I would rate a 7 due to her face not being perfect. But that’s fine with me. It’s not like I am looking to marry the bitch, ya know what I mean?
The bummer in the deal, though, is that this chick was at the bar with her fat friend, Bernice. She was a real tank, and sloppy as shit. If I was going to get into my chick’s pants I had to get old Bernice layed. Thinking on my feet I called in a favor from a buddy of mine, old “Thick Meat Pete”. Old Pete got caught bootlegging a truck load of shine a while back. I managed to pull some strings and get the charges dropped. See, I just happened to be in possession of some Polaroids of the Sheriff modeling some lingerie. When the Sheriff learned about this he got so upset he forgot all about that little bootlegging matter involving Pete!
So I called up old Pete. After some pleasantries I told Pete I needed a favor. He asked what I needed. I said, “I need you to fuck a fat skank so I can wet my dick in a top-shelf fuck-puppet.” Old Pete hem-hawed around, such as not being too interested in fucking a pig. I said, “Remember, Pete. You fucking owe me. If not for me you would be rotting away in the county jail right now.” Pete finally agreed.
Me and the girls went back to my place. Pete finally showed up, late. I made a mental note to smack the shit out of him tomorrow for this. Anyway, me and the brunette went back to my bedroom and started fucking. I left Pete to entertain the pig out in the living room on the couch.
We had been at it for a good long while when the email notification sounded on my phone. I had already destroyed that MILF’s pussy, so I started on her wazoo next. Shortly thereafter there was a knock on my bedroom door. “Fuck off!”, I said. But it continued. Then I thought that maybe Pete needed a rubber or something. “Whatever”, I thought, “whatever keeps him and that fat bitch outa my hair.”
I told tits “Hold on a minute, honey. I will be right back.” I cracked the door open to find Pete standing there. “General!! Come here!!”, he said. I told Pete to fuck off, but he kept insisting that I come out there. I start getting pissed. However, Pete looked shaken. Reluctantly, I stepped out of my bedroom to see what was going on, closing the door behind me.
Once in my living room I smacked the piss out of old Pete. “OUCH!!! Why’d you do that, General?!?”, asked Pete. I said “Because you are a shit-sorry wingman, Pete! You are supposed to be keeping that fat fuck busy so I can fuck her friend!! Now what the hell is so important that you have to fuck up my shit?!?”
Pete turned and pointed to Bernice lying there on the floor. She was all naked and covered in folds of flesh. “Oh, that is just fucking DISGUSTING!”, I said. Then Pete layed the bad news on me. “General, that bitch is DEAD!”, said Pete.
I looked at Pete in his eyes. He was serious. Then I looked over at the fat bitch. “Disgusting”, I said. Then I turned back to Pete and smacked the shit out of him again. “Owwww!!l, said Pete. I said “Pete, you are a shit sorry wing man, you know that?” Then I asked him how she ended up dead.
Pete went on to tell me that the two of them started making out, then one thing led to another, and pretty soon they were fucking. “Ohhh … That is disgusting!”, I interjected. Then at some point Pete was holding the fat bitch up off the ground while he was fucking her. But he lost his grip and she fell backward on the fireplace, cracking her head wide open on the bricks. I asked Pete how in the world he could have dropped her. He said, “Well, she’s really heavy, General.”
I moved in closer to inspect the fat bitch. I told Pete he could have at least covered her fat ass up before getting me out there. “Fucking disgusting”, I said again. After failing to locate a pulse I confirmed that she had, in fact, expired. Then I looked around her head and found blood. Then I lifted her head off the bricks. “Yep, there it is”, I said. “What is it?”, asked Pete. I said “It’s her fucking brains. They’re everywhere.”
Well, that really shook up old Pete. He started heaving and puked right on the floor! “You dumb sumbitch!! Not on my floor!!”, I said. I smacked the unholy shit out of Pete and told him to get some wet rags and clean up his puke. “Pick up these fucking brains too, you incompetent fuck!”, I said.
From in my bedroom I heard the brunette call out, “Hey General! Am I going to have to come out there and get you?”. I said “No, I will be right back!”, I called back.
Pete was already on his hands and knees cleaning his puke off my living room floor. Clearly, he was falling to pieces. Tears were streaming down his eyes as he scrubbed up the sick. “What are we going to do, General?!? I am on probation!”, said Pete. I told Pete to shut up and clean all that shit up, including cleaning the brain and blood. I told Pete we would figure something out after I was done. “Done doing what?”, asked Pete. I said, “Done fucking that bitch in my bed, dumbass!” Then ‘SMACK!!’, I smacked the shit out of Pete again.
I returned to the bedroom and resumed defiling that little brunette. “Is everything ok, General?”, she asked. I said “Everything is beautiful!”, I replied. We continue to suck and fuck for 2 more hours. She dozed off exhausted around 5:00 am. Once I was sure she was asleep I decided to go check on Pete. I slowly rolled off the bed so as not to disturb … uh… well shit, I don’t even know her name. The brunette bitch!
I quietly closed the bedroom door behind me. I saw old Pete on the couch. He was sitting up, but had obviously dozed off, as his head was hanging way back. I looked first at where he puked all over my rug. It looked spotless. I bent down to look closer. It WAS spotless. “Goddamn, Pete! Good job!”, I said quietly. Then I glanced over at the fireplace. The dead bitch was gone. I walked over there half expecting to see the brick stained with blood and brains. But the bricks were completely clean!! Old Pete has done exactly as he was told!
I decided to wake up old Pete. I shook him and said “Pete! Pete!! Wake up you dumb fuck!!!”, and shook him some more. The bastard just sat there lifeless. Then a thought hit me: Maybe old Pete started feeling guilty about killing that fat bitch and killed himself. “Shit!!”, I said to myself as I turned and walked to the window to look through as I pondered my situation. This is all I needed right now. I already had one homicide to deal with. Now Pete was going to lay it all on me to deal with on my own AND throw a second death on top of it?!?! That fucking son of a whore!!
I turned violently and started toward the couch where Pete sat, intending to rip what’s left of him to shreds out of pure, blinding rage. But I was immediately stopped in my tracks. “PETE!!”, I exclaimed. Unknown to me, old Pete had got up from the couch and was now standing between me and it. “Holy fuck!!! I thought you were dead!”, I said. Old Pete replied, “Aww, nah. I’m just a heavy sleeper, General.” I called him a “stupid fucker” in response.
Anyway, I queried Pete for an update on the post-mortem cleanup operation. It seems that Pete had wrapped up the fat bitch in a rug and stuck her in the bed of his pickup truck. He then scrubbed everything down with Windex window cleaner, followed by stuffing all the paper towels and other remnants in a garbage bag, sealed the same, then placed said bags in my kitchen. Pete then realized his mistake, discovering that Windex is window cleaner. He subsequently located a bottle of bleach then repeated the foregoing.
“Good job, Pete”, I said. “What now?”, asked Pete. I told him that he needed to start a fire in the fireplace, and that it needed to be a great big roaring fire. Then he needed to burn the contents of those garbage bags and the bags themselves. “No DNA”, I told Pete. He nodded in agreement. I told Pete to give me his truck keys because I was going to get rid of the shit he loaded in his truck bed. Old Pete obliged. I said “Ok, Pete, I am going to take care of what’s in your truck while you take care of business here. Got it?” Pete nodded. Then I said, “Remember: NO DNA!”.
So I left in Pete’s truck and headed down to the river. I will not get into all the particulars of what transpired after I left the house. Suffice it to say that before I left the house I grabbed my chain saw, some wire, and some concrete blocks. I also grabbed some pliers so I could do some dental work while I was out. I traveled to the river, a couple of creeks, and a remote tract of woods. All in all my trip took about 3 hours. By the time I got done the sun was up.
On the way home I went through the drive-thru window at a Dunkin Donuts to buy Pete and I some coffee and a couple of biscuits. When I pulled up to the window I was greeted by a pretty face and a wide grin. “GENERAL!! I thought that was you!!! Hello, baby!! How you been?!?”
I had no fucking idea who this bitch was. But she seemed to dig me and, more importantly, she had a rocking set of tits. So I played along. “Hey there, sweetie! You is looking GOOD girl!! You been working out??”, I said. I sat there for a few minutes talking to this bitch without any idea who she is. Finally, I heard car horns blasting from behind me. This royally pissed me off. I hung my head out the window and shouted at the driver immediately behind me that if he blows his horn again then I was going to come back there and murder him on the spot.
The fact is, talking to the bitch here in the drive-thru window was getting me aroused. More accurately, looking at her hard nipples being pushed forward, thrust at me, through her Dunkin Donut uniform shirt by those big old double D titties … it was driving me crazy. It also gave me a huge, throbbing shanker. I had definitely allowed myself to become distracted.
The bitch then said, with a sad look on her face, that I had better pull on through. “My Iranian bosses are really strict. They are ball busters, in fact. I fucking hate them”, she said. Then I thought to myself for a moment. Iranians. I fucking hate Iranians. Instinctively I reached for the .357 mag revolver on my hip. I had it half out of its holster before I caught myself. I then repeated the mantra taught to me by the court-appointed anger management therapist: “De-escalation”.
I turned to the bitch in the window with a grin on my face and said “Fuck those Iranian pricks! Hop on in here with The General and we’ll have us a good old time!” The bitch let out a “Yee Haw!” and jumped through the window and into my lap. “Fuck yeah!” I said, then hit the gas. I headed back to my place with the intent to fuck this cute bitch silly.
We were only halfway to my house when the bitch had my cock out and started blowing me. “Oh General, I have dreamed of that big hard cock of yours for months!”, she said as she slurped and gagged on my rod. I still had no idea who this bitch is. But whatever. I let her suck on my pole as I drove home.
I finished off just as I pulled into my driveway. I sat there for a moment or two, then we got out and went inside. I had my hands all over her ass as we walked inside. I was already throbbing again! Then the sound hit me. It was loud snoring, from inside the house!!
I immediately went on full alert. I told the bitch to take a time out as I pulled out my magnum. Someone was inside my house! Determined, I moved purposefully toward the sound. It was leading me into my living room. At the doorway I slowly slid my head inside and looked, with my pistol at the ready. There I found the source of the snoring. There was a man sleeping on my couch.
It was Pete!! Holy shit, I forgot about that sumbitch!! Suddenly, the reality of the preceding night set in and I remembered what Pete and I had been doing before I went to Dunkin Donuts and got distracted by the cute bitch.
Right then the cute bitch asked who that was sleeping on my couch. “Shut up”, I said. I knew I had to play this scene just right given what had gone down here last night if I was going this bitch to willingly give up her cooch to me. I turned to her and asked her to go into the bedroom and get herself ready for me. She obliged. Then I turned my attention to Pete.
“WHAP!!!”, I smacked the shit out of Pete upside his head. He jumped up and whined “Ouch!! Why’d you go and do that, General?”. I told him to shut up. I then asked if he had taken care of everything like I told him to. Pete nodded, then said “Yessir! I took care of everything, even the girl.”
“THE GIRL?!?” Holy shit!! I forgot about the Applebee’s bitch in my bed!! And I had just sent the Dunkin Donuts bitch back there!! Oh shit!! This is going to be awkward! I immediately started concocting what to say so I could turn this into a rocking 3-way. My dick hardened at the thought of this! What a fortunate turn of events, I thought!!
Then Pete interrupted my train of thought, saying “General, I took care of everything like you said. Even the girl…”. I told Pete to shut the fuck up because I was preoccupied with what was about to go down in my bedroom. After 5 minutes of hearing nothing from my bedroom I figured that the 2 bitches had met and that everything was going to be cool. I told Pete to chill out for a bit while I went to work. I then went into my bedroom, cock first!
I went in and got into bed with the Dunkin Donuts bitch. The other bitch was not in bed. I assumed she was in the bathroom. The donut bitch and I started making out. She started stroking my old tallywacker as I was finger fucking her cooch. It was getting all hot and steamy in there. I started wondering where the Applebee’s bitch was. Was she in the bathroom taking a shit? Fuck!! What a fucking slob, I thought.
Now, I had already blown 4-5 loads on the Applebee’s bitch the prior night. I had just blasted a load in the donut bitch’s mouth in my driveway. And here I am about to pop again. I know that I don’t have much left in me before I am going to have to take a nap, and I want a 3-way. So I put a stop to the foreplay with the donut bitch so I could go fetch the other bitch. She did not want to let me go, so I told her I had to go take a shit.
I got up and walked over to the bathroom door. My massive wang was leading the way. I lightly knocked on the door. No answer. I turned and looked at the donut bitch. She was just mindlessly looking at her fingernails. I tried the doorknob to the bathroom. It opened. It was dark inside. “Hello” I quietly spoke. Nothing. So I walked in and hit the light. It was empty! Nobody was in the bathroom!
I was like “What the fuck?!? Where is the Applebee’s bitch?!?” Then it came back to me: Pete tried to tell me something about the Applebee’s bitch but I was not listening to him. The gushing sound in my ears of the blood rushing out of my brain and into my cock was deafening in the moment. “I need to talk to Pete”, I said to myself.
I walked out of the bathroom. But before going out to talk to old Pete, I went back to bed and dumped a large protein shake down the donut bitch’s throat. “Be back in a minute, babe!”, I told her as I walked out the door to the living room, being sure to shut it behind me.
I walked over to Pete sitting on the couch. “Where’s the Applebee’s bitch?”, I asked. No answer. I noticed that Pete’s gaze was to south of the border. “Hey! Pete! Stop looking at my pecker!”, I commanded. Pete looked up and me and said “Dude! Put on some clothes!! You just walked out here bare-assed naked and swinging your huge schlong around!” I had to admit that Pete had a point, and that he was correct that I had committed a social faux pas. So I went back to my bedroom and threw on some pants and a tee shirt, told the donut bitch I would be right back, then went back to the living room.
Again standing in front of Pete I asked “Where’s the Applebee’s bitch?” Pete simply said “I took care of it. I replied, “What the fuck do you mean you took care of it?” Pete said “I got rid of the DNA. All of it.”
I asked Pete if he had killed the Applebee’s bitch. Pete simply said “No witnesses. No DNA.” He said it so calmly and coolly it was chilling. See, old Pete is a peculiar person. He acts dumber than a tree stump most of the time. But the fact is that he is not dumb at all. He is just wired differently from most of us. I pondered on this for a moment. Then I looked at old Pete and said “Good job, Pete”, to which he nodded.
I plopped down on the couch beside Pete. We sat there looking forward for a couple minutes. Then I said to Pete, “I guess we got some more DNA to clean up in the bedroom”. Pete looked at me and asked whether I was sure I was done with it. I said “Hell, I have been nutting up all night. I am dry and exhausted. So yeah, I’m done.” Then I looked over at old Pete and said “You can go hit it if you want. I have only dumped loads down her throat. Her cooter is clean.” Old Pete got a big old grin on his face. I told Pete to go on and have fun, I was going to take a nap on the couch because I was fucking exhausted.
Well, I woke up around 5:00 pm to the sound of Pete coming through my front door. I said “Damn, Pete, you should not have let me sleep so damn long”. Pete made a dismissive gesture with his right hand. He told me that he had already gotten rid of all the DNA and cleaned my house. “Shit, I would have helped you!”, I said. Pete said it was not a problem. “You needed the sleep, bro.”, Pete said.
Pete and I then said our goodbyes. He went on his way and I made some coffee. I eventually sat down in my chair in my den with my coffee, picked up my iPhone, and checked my emails. I saw the email from BC about the Bigfoot down in Macon County. Believing that this presented me with both a money-making opportunity and a chance to go shoot critters (both things I love to do), I kind of shrugged to myself and then dialed BC’s cell number.
BC picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”, it was BC’s voice on the line. I said “It’s The General. I received your email”. The voice on the other end of the line said “Hey General! Big Cock here!! Thanks for calling me back!! I got a job for you!”
I heard what sounded like a bitch voice in the background. I asked BC if he was in the middle of something. BC said “I’m just fucking this bitch. I can talk.” BC then proceeded to tell me the back story on the Macon County sasquatch. The heavy breathing and moaning on the other end of the line told me that BC continued to fuck his bitch as he told me the story.

We let le bon temp roule at our New Orleans microwedding! Words can’t describe how it feels to have married my absolute best friend–and in such a low stress, fun and fabulous way. (Photos Here)
He wanted people present, but I wanted to elope so we ended up with a low-key destination wedding hosting 10 of our closest friends. We’ve made plans to throw a more traditional reception later and celebrate fully with our families.
Timeline:
Tuesday, April 16: Flew into the city, dropped off our bags at the hotel, handled the marriage license with our personal officiant in tow.
Later, we treated everyone to a laid back, semi-traditional, bach celebration at Backspace Bar and at Bacchanal Winery.
Wednesday, April 17: Ladies met up in our room, while fellas got ready in our friends hotel room. We all arrived at City Park by 1:30PM where DH and I had our first look and then went off with our photographers for some pre-ceremony pictures.
Ceremony was held by a fountain at 02:00PM and after a celebratory glass of champagne, we all headed over to Cafe Du Monde for beignets and coffee while we signed the official paperwork.
There was a few hour gap between Cafe Du Monde and our dinner reservation at Ralphs on the Park where I encouraged all our guests to explore the many activities at the park (New Orleans Museum of Art, Botanical Gardens, Gondola Rides…). Some of us checked out the Botanical Gardens, and then to beat the heat we actually ended up in a local bar called Evangeline’s where a local bought us a round and one of our friends paid the rest of the tab. Other guests checked out a few things or ran back to the hotel for a quick change and some rest.
Everyone met back up at Ralphs on the Park for our 06:30PM reservation. The restaurant staff was fantastic and treated us to complimentary appetizers. They also made us a fabulous wedding cake after our original baker caught COVID and canceled a few days before. The food was out of this world, the environment was perfect, and we were never rushed.
At around 09:30PM, most of our guests caught a rideshare back to their hotels, but our officiant was ADAMANT about taking a streetcar. So, DH and I followed him down to the stop and we rode the last streetcar back to our hotel. When we arrived at our room, the hotel staff had laid out a three tier tray filled with chocolates, macarons, and chocolate covered strawberries along with a small wedding cake and bottles of sparkling water.
Afterward, we spent the next four days enjoying a nice “mini-moon” and exploring NOLA.
Budget Breakdown:
And we did it all for well under 10k! Our total cost for everything (including the mini-moon) came out to just under $6.5k. While we still have a reception of 125+ guests in a few months, it looks like everything will come out to close to $15k–which considering the average wedding in our state is over $30k feels like a dream.
Check out our full budget breakdown below along with notes filled with advice, context, and important information.
FLIGHTS:

• United Airlines Roundtrip x 2: $700.00

LODGING

• Four Season Hotel Executive Suite x 6 Nights: *FREE* (see notes)

PHOTOGRAPHY:

• September Co. Two Photographers (Old Film & DSLR) x 2 Hours: $1500.00
  • *Not the pictures shown in this post\* I’m currently waiting on the official photos, but our photographers were the freaking BEST! They’re a husband and wife duo that specialize in both old school film and digital photography. Working with them was an absolute breeze and I cannot believe I found them on instagram! Definitely check social media for local photographers!

VENUE:

• City Park, New Orleans Owen Memorial Fountain x 1 Hour: $250.00
  • While I could gripe about paying $250.00 for what was a 20 minute ceremony with no rain protection (and it was originally supposed to have ‘tons of rain’), I love the fact that the money goes toward maintaining and supporting such a wonderful public space. City Park is conveniently located, comparably inexpensive to rent, super walkable, filled with tons of activities, and drop dead gorgeous during springtime. If you’re privileged enough, just a reminder to consider the economic impact you have on the community that is hosting your wedding and the wedding industry as a whole.

FOOD:

• Cafe Du Monde Beignets & Beverages: $65.00
  • Because the ceremony was at 2PM, but our dinner reservation wasn't until 6PM, we treated all our guests to some Cafe Du Monde after the ceremony.
• Ralphs On the Park Dinner & Wedding Cake: $800.00
  • The restaurant was fantastic! The service was wonderful, the food was amazing, and they even made us a custom wedding cake when our original baker ended up canceling due to COVID. One of our guests bought and shared bottles of wine with the entire table and refused to allow us to pay for them so our alcohol cost was actually much lower than expected.

GUEST EXPERIENCE:

• Welcome Bags: $75.00
  • We put together small bags filled with essentials we knew people wouldn’t think about like OFF! Bug & Mosquito wipes (it’s Louisiana) and some sweet souvenirs like Cafe Du Monde Beignet Mix.
• Bachelor Night Backspace Bar: $150.00
• Bachelorette Night Bacchanal Winery: $50.00
• Botanical Garden Tickets x 2: $20.00

APPEARANCE:

• Ceremony Dress HaveDressStore: $315.00
  • If you’re struggling to find something within your budget and vision–or you have a non-mainstream body type (I’m super petite at 62 inches and under 100 pounds–consider having your dress custom made. After so many disheartening experiences trying to find a short ceremony dress that worked with my body type, was made of lightweight material, and fit my unique sense of style, I finally came across HaveDressStore on Etsy. After a quick conversation with Olena, I settled on the Arielle dress made with a corset and to my custom measurements (so no need for alterations). A month later, my dress arrived at my door and was absolutely perfect right out of the box (I didn’t even have to steam it).
• Bridal Hair Treatments Cut & Color: $100.00
  • I’ve been bleaching and coloring my own hair for over five years, but if you don’t have a lot of experience I’d highly advise to not DIY your typical hair treatments. Afterward, I went in for my regularly scheduled cut with my stylist.
• Bridal Hair Accessories: Bridal Bow: $25.00
  • Because I planned on doing my own hair for the wedding, I wanted to use something that was bridal but also easy to install. This bow was absolutely perfect at giving me the dramatic veil look without the dramatic veil hassle and adding a little extra.
• Bridal Nails DIY Lily & Fox x 3 Styles: 10.00
  • I do my own nails and swear by Lily & Fox nail wraps! I grabbed three styles to mix and match (one had “I do” written on them). There are so many tutorials on how to use them, but they added such fun detail and a set typically lasts me 3+ weeks.
• Bridal Makeup DIY Products: $50.00
  • As with my hair, I also handled my own makeup. Because I do a lot of events where I’m on stage (music) or being photographed, I have a basic understanding of how to handle makeup with photography and felt confident using other events to practice this DIY. Also, this is how I look, and I hated having wedding photos where I looked like a different version of myself.
• Bridal Boots (unpainted): Soda Boots: $50.00
  • Because I have a lot of experience running events, I knew choosing the right shoe was crucial. Whenever I’m looking for something that’s cute, comfortable, durable, and all weather (in case of mud), my boots have never let me down. Also, they went well with my punk rock aesthetics.
• Boot Paint: Angelus Leather Acrylic Paint Set: $25.00
  • I didn’t want my boots to look too plain or grunge–it’s my wedding day afterall–so I purchased a bunch of acrylic leather paint and spent a lovely afternoon pretending to be Bob Ross with my happy little boots. (I’m a musician & writer with no actual artistic ability, so if I can pull that off, you can too.)
• Bridal Purse Heart Shaped Lola: $25.00
  • There are so many pretty clutches and mini purses out there, but I wanted something I could use as my main bag for the whole trip as well. This purse is so freaking cute, fits everything I need (makeup, hairbrush, charger), is pickpocket proof because of the odd shape, and goes with almost every outfit I own so I can use it again and again!
• Bridal Bouquet: $100.00 (Guesstimate)
• Grooms Boutineer: $25.00 (Guesstimate)
• Grooms Suit Customized & Purchased: $500.00
  • Listen, renting a suit is absolutely cheaper (and if you’re not the kind of person who regularly goes to events that call for formal attire, then logical). However, if we’re allowed to spend this kind of money on a dress we’ll wear for only one day, your dude should be allowed to spend it on a suit he’ll wear multiple times. My husband isn’t always the most confident, and wearing that suit made him feel like a ZZ Top song. Let’s normalize treating our grooms with as much love and luxury as we treat our brides.
• Groom Haircut Local Business: $50.00

WEDDING BANDS & GIFTS

• His Band Vera Wang Black Gold with Diamond Chip: $175.00
  • While Christmas shopping, DH found his wedding band on clearance in Kohl's as they were getting rid of their jewelry counter to put in a Sephora. Originally, the ring was priced at over $800.00, but between the sale and his love for “Kohl's Cash”, it came out to $175.00.
• Her Band White Gold - Onyx Inlay with Moissanite Stones: $250.00
  • I always envisioned our wedding bands matching, but I also wanted something that went well with my vintage engagement ring. Late night stress scrolling let me to find this gorgeous mid-century style band on Etsy. Ring arrived faster than anticipated (one month), matches his wonderfully, and fits perfectly.
• Engagement Ring White Gold - Mined Diamond circa 1948: FREE
• Grooms Gift NYC Subway Token Cufflinks: $115.00
• Brides Gift Black & White Lab Diamond Hoop Earrings: $200.00 (Guesstimate)

MINI MOON (5 Days)

• Food Costs: $500.00
• Activities Costs: $200.00
• Transportation Costs: $300.00
  • We took a lot of rideshare trips because of time constraints due to the conference, but you can definitely lower this cost by using the NOLA Jazzy Pass ($24.00 x 4 Days unlimited rides on all streetcars, buses, and ferries).

Notable Bonuses:
We were already scheduled to be in NOLA for an art conference that ran last week. The anniversary of the day we met is actually April 17–and we met at an art event–so it just seemed like the perfect opportunity.
Several of our guests were already planning on attending the same conference. So, it wasn’t a big deal for them to travel–and NOLA was a really affordable and exciting destination for everyone. .
We were also able to get great deals from travel expenses and vendors due to timing. Our trip was well after Mardi Gras, but before Jazz Fest. According to our photographers, April is actually at the tail end of wedding season in NOLA because the summers are insufferably hot. We also saved money by having our ceremony on a Wednesday at 2PM–which if you can manage that without too much trouble for your guests, I highly recommend.
Gifts & Free Expenses:
Listen, while I normally grumble at people who come on here with their budgets filled with “freebies” settling unrealistic expectations, I promise you can ABSOLUTELY swing a similar experience while keeping everything under 10k.
*LODGING*: Some insanely generous friends offered to put us up with them at the Four Seasons hotel for the entirety of our stay. It was a mind blowing wedding present and the hotel definitely took our experience to a whole other level. Compare: Most 4+ star hotels were quoted at around $150 to $250 per night for a total of $900 to $1500 for our 6 night stay.
*ENGAGEMENT RING*: Originally belonging to my great grandparents from 1948. I had no idea this ring existed until my mother offered it after hearing about our impending engagement. It had been sitting in a box for nearly 30 years and she almost forgot she even had it.
So, don't hesitate to ask family members first! Sentimental value aside, vintage rings are a wonderful, timeless, and affordable option. You can find ones similar to mine for $600 to $1200.
*OFFICIANT*: We wanted a ceremony that felt really meaningful–but not at the $400+ some of the more popular officiants were quoting us. Because we were getting married out of state, we originally thought that having a personal officiant was out of the question. But our absolute GOAT of a bestie works in government and had no trouble navigating the process of getting ordained and becoming officially registered in the parish from out of state. While I was originally worried about making him feel pressured to attend or putting him out, he had an absolute blast and was so deeply honored to be a part of our day.
Other Advice:
While I understand this option doesn’t work for everyone, please consider it. As a professional event organizer for nonprofits, here is my advice: do not let the feelings of other people, tradition, or the wedding industry place you in a headlock. I approached our wedding like any other event I organize–a very special, meaningful event, but still!
If a wedding is supposed to be the preparation, facilitation, and celebration of a new marriage, then choose things that serve those purposes and expel the things that work against it. Attending your wedding is a privilege foremost reserved for the village of people that will continue to help tend to your marriage “for better or for worse”. And while, of course, you’ll end up with guests that do not fit that description–it’s a hella great place to start.
Also, therapy. Seriously, therapy. Shout out to my therapist for holding space and helping me navigate through this entire process with all the support and none of the judgment.