An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

For the past year I’ve been dating my gf. We met in 8th grade at the time she had a boyfriend so whenever I would make advances they’d just get shut down. We rekindled my senior year of high school when I discovered her instagram page. At the time I didn’t know if she was currently in a relationship and didn’t really care to ask. We made small talk here and there but never anything flirtatious or sexually suggestive. One day she texted me and asked if I wanted her to hook me up with one of her friends, so of course me being me I accepted the offer. She then proceeded to ask me if I was a cheater, I told her no. She then asked for my number to put us into contact and right after I sent it. She texted me on iMessage stating that she thinks we’d make a good couple. I had been tricked. And in this moment when I read her text I couldn’t help but feel like the nice guy who finished last and got what was left over. we started chatting again more frequently and this was probably at the peak of my “hoe phase” I had just recently got a car gifted to me by my loving parents. So as a horny teen who just recently graduated I was doing bad. Seeing girls daily (intimately) sometimes even two. So as you could imagine I was not in the mental head space to jump into a relationship especially seeing that I’ve never been in one. Mind you she knew the type of guy I was, Because during my “hoe phase” I would publicize me going on dates with various girls on my instagram story cause I thought it was cool and my buddies would always ask how can I maneuver so carelessly and still have women that still put up with me. Around this time we weren’t in a relationship yet so their wasn’t any consequences for my actions. She’d see it complain then brush it off. But seeing that I did use to like this girl a lot…and I mean a lot, Just to put it into perspective for you on how delusional and down bad I was. When we first started chatting again, I went to our old Snapchat messages and reread every single one which took about 3 hours and they were so cringey and sappy to me that I took the time to delete every single one. (She was one of those weird people who’d saved the messages instead of letting them automatically delete after 24 hours) I felt like I had to do this because I didn’t want her to have any recollection of that desperate version of myself. Fast forward a few weeks and we went on our first date. I decided to take things slow with her by limiting myself to only kissing and fingering her. Then About a month after that is when we first had sex. And it felt exactly like I expected it to…magical. It was like we were two bodies who were meant for each other that finally met. Fast forward a few more months now it’s time for her to go off to college and when she left I slowly started reverting back into my old ways of seeing multiple girls a week and being promiscuous. This continued up until about January the next year when I got caught. Long story short, she cried I cried and we both decided that we’d like to move forward. During this season of our relationship I was constantly feeling guilt so much to the point where I ever considered suicide. I was constantly in my head saying things like “is it even worth it” “she probably doing it too and you just don’t know” “leave her” “it’ll never work” “you won’t regain her trust” “our relationship is irreparable” “don’t waste anymore of your youthful years on this failing relationship”. And with due time these negative thoughts stopped consuming my mind and we actually started doing better. I quit my job moved in with her and started working remotely. At this point in my life I couldn’t be any happier. It felt like a dream come true. All it took was one weekend and all of this ended. At this point it’s around spring break so all the surrounding colleges are having parties. I devised a plan to pick all the boys and go on a little road trip. We hit different colleges daily to party, drink and smoke and the biggest of incentive all, to meet girls. Looking back on it, this was a recipe for disaster. On one particular night I uploaded a video of me getting twerked on my by a girl to my close friends on instagram not remembering that she was still included in it. And before I could even sober up and realize what the fuck I’ve just done she eventually saw it and messaged me stating that this is her last time and “we’re done”. In this moment when I read the text while being drunk & high I just couldn’t find it in me to care or fight for our relationship. So I just thought to myself “ok”. As the night proceeded I found myself in some random suite where a girl approached me and began express her interest in me and long story short I ended up cheating. When all the fun was over and I dropped all the guys back home. I was still tasked with having to drive my girlfriend m back to her dorm cause she stayed with family for the weekend. I didn’t want to take her but no other buses were departing and everyone who she could’ve possibly asked was already preoccupied or just didn’t feel like doing a 4 hour drive there and back. And plus before all this turmoil I had already promised to her that I’d drive her back. I go to pick her up and she’s all moody and for the first 3 hours of the ride she gives me silent treatment. And the first words out of her mouth were “you know when we get back to my dorm you’re packing your shit and leaving right?” At first I didn’t respond. I laughed actually, not hysterically but more of a “wow after all we been thru you’re really ending this?” Laugh. All types of thoughts started racing thru my head. Part of me wanted to serve the car in front of an oncoming 18 wheeler but then I remembered that she’s still here with me and as ironic as it sounds I’d never want to hurt her, especially in a way that could result in fatality. The laughing slowly turned into silent tears. The pain I was feeling in my stomach was so excruciating it felt as if I had just been stabbed with a 10 foot sword repeatedly over and over and over again. I eventually started uncontrollably crying and spewing out my feelings. While doing this I confessed to cheating on her and told how I’d been long before that weekend. I pulled over to the side of the interstate in the middle of nowhere with no reception got out and just started crying even harder so she couldn’t see. I felt like my life had been ruined and the only person I could blame for it was myself. I eventually got back in and started driving in silence again. After all that crying with the added partying the past week and weekend I must’ve been real tired cause I started to doze off which I usually don’t. I’ve taken the drive enough to become accustomed to it and have built up enough stamina to make it all the way through without having to fight the feeling of tiredness. She noticed this and offered to take the wheel which I respectfully declined. I then told her I’d be pulling over to the side of the road to catch a quick 2 minute nap. I typically do this whenever I’m on extra long drives and my friends know me for it. I set a 2 minute timer on my phone and let my body temporarily rejuvenate as much as possible. And chances are they usually fall asleep too. Because I’d literally rather trust myself to drive tired before I let one of my unlicensed friends behind the wheel. I put my head down for what felt like 10 seconds and woke up to her nudging my shoulder saying that 7 minutes have passed. This bothered me because if I was so tired to the point I myself didn’t hear the alarm she should have came to the realization that I was genuinely tired and let me rest a little longer. But because it was her birthday she probably overlooked this aspect of my situation because she was just tooeager to get to her own birthday party that her friends had started without her. I began driving again will still tired and now aggravated from being woken up. I began to speed at this point we’re 40 miles away from our destination. The tiredness began to take over again and before I knew it I wake up to the screaming of my name as the car is slowly drifting off the road and I’m stuck in mud on the side of the interstate. A state trooper and tow truck arrive to assess the situation and we end up taking a Uber the rest of the way. At this point I’m stranded. I spent my last on tow truck fees and don’t even have anything saved up to pay for the mechanic fees, let alone worry about gas money. We somehow managed talk and temporarily bandaid the under lying issue and sleep in the same bed that night but things progressively kept on getting worse and worse as the days went on. It got so bad to the point where we slept in different rooms, Or so I thought. The morning after I go into her room to check on her and see paper towels and her sitting up still crying in the same position she was the night before. I on the other hand actually slept pretty well. She then came into my room still with water in her cute pearly big eyes. And to my surprise sat down directly on my lap and told me how she couldn’t get no sleep. We hugged and talked and cried then ultimately came to the conclusion that our relationship is worth more than my stupid mistakes and I have some more maturing to do.

So I got very suspicious when mom was chatting with someone and I crept behind her. She was chatting with someone and most of the messages were deleted. She closed off everything frantically when she realized I'm behind her. I was super suspicious. After a while I asked her for her phone and noticed all the chats from that contact were deleted. She then later on proceeded to delete a lot of chats with her other friend which honestly felt like a cover up. I ask my mom for her phone to play games and she hesitated a bit. I noticed her chatting with that number multiple times. I had a suspicion about who could it be and I checked the contact number on a verification app. My suspicion turned out to be true. I was still a bit not sure so just now I went through the recycle bin of her gallery and found weird cheesy good morning text images and also a photo of the person(the photo was a casual photo of him working on his desk). All of this happened in a day. I don't know what to do. We are also on a vacation currently. We'll return home tomorrow.

I just switched from an iPhone 13 pro to the Galaxy Z flip3 and was looking at my files and noticed that the screenshots show a circle with a "12" in it, I'm so curious as to what this means & not getting any luck finding any info online. I figured this would be the best place to get my answer. I obviously get that the pic I downloaded shows the "file" symbol/badge but no clue as to what the 12 stands for... would greatly appreciate knowing what this means
Thank you guys!! Really enjoying this switch so far but still got lots to learn, it has been years since I've last used a galaxy/android os, I still have my 13 pro but I just used up all my memory and the phone completely bugs out where I can't use any apps properly basically not enough space for any of the apps to function properly literally EVERY APP. Simple fix just need a hard/flash drive or SD card to transfer all my photos and videos to since they use up all my storage just been lazy and when I do go to delete something it'll either pop right back up or go to deleted photos and then when I try to permanently delete it just pops back up, won't let me use my camera, snap chat constantly will not post my snap resulting in me loosing some picture perfect moments which really sucks, I had a video of a hawk swooping down catching a rat in the alley over here in the windy city went to post it on my story and ofc it said failed to post and lost that forever.... sorry for the rant just giving my appreciation towards the android team- boy do I miss the freedom and customization.... I think I'm officially team galaxy- Also, opinions on the flip3? My coworker gave me one that he got from his other job since he knew my issues w my iphone.... for FREE. NO BOX or charger or anything just the phone but literally brand new still has the stickers on the screen lol talk about a blessing plus it appeared to originally be linked w Verizon, however i stuck my sim card in and was compatable w T-mobile so im assuming it's unlocked/ not carrier locked & these look like they're still relatively in the 300-500 used range in good condition and for being 2 Years old still up to date and running smoothly only big flaw I've seen is the battery life which is making me consider just selling this flip3 or use it as a trade in and just switch to the S series since that's the "big daddy" of the Galaxy line.

I met a boy at a university event the day before yesterday. After having a bit of small talk, he asked me if I had time for coffee the next day. I agreed, and we met the next day for coffee at the university.
I noticed that he was looking deeply into my eyes from the beginning and that the conversation flowed very smoothly. He asked me about my interests, and when I said 'art,' he said, 'I'm interested in art too. Would you like to visit an art museum with me soon?' I agreed and was happy that he suggested something like that. I then gave him my number. We sat across from each other, and then I sat down right next to him to show him a picture of art galleries I had recently visited in Italy. I noticed that he was breathing deeply, and suddenly he pressed his leg against mine and didn't move away. After chatting a bit more, we said goodbye, and he told me he is going to text me to make plans for going to the art museum.
What do you think? Was he just being friendly to me, or could it be that he's interested in me? And did he ask me out on a date? I'm a bit unsure because I can't imagine he finds me attractive. He's extremely good-looking and I am not

Hi, I have hypertts installed to give me audio on my Japanese cards. I also have autoplay audio enabled in anki settings. It works great and on mobile, it even autoplays the audio without issues.
On desktop, only the first card in every deck will play audio, but every card after will not automatically play audio. This includes decks that don’t use hyperTTS but have their own audio.
I have noticed that before installing hyperTTS on another PC, this was not an issue. Only presented as an issue once hyperTTS was installed.
I have asked ChatGPT to make a script and also have perused Reddit for an answer but I am too coding-stupid to really make anything work. I can think of 2 solutions if you’re willing to help:
1) fix hyperTTS so that my audio can autoplay on all decks OR 2) someone please write me a script for the card templates that can force anki to autoplay the audio as SOON as the card appears.
Please help me! This is driving me crazy!

I met a boy at a university event the day before yesterday. After having a bit of small talk, he asked me if I had time for coffee the next day. I agreed, and we met the next day for coffee at the university.
I noticed that he was looking deeply into my eyes from the beginning and that the conversation flowed very smoothly. He asked me about my interests, and when I said 'art,' he said, 'I'm interested in art too. Would you like to visit an art museum with me soon?' I agreed and was happy that he suggested something like that. I then gave him my number. We sat across from each other, and then I sat down right next to him to show him a picture of art galleries I had recently visited in Italy. I noticed that he was breathing deeply, and suddenly he touched my leg with his leg and left it there. After chatting a bit more, we said goodbye, and he told me he is going to text me to make plans for going to the art museum.
What do you think? Was he just being friendly to me, or could it be that he's interested in me? And did he ask me out on a date? I'm a bit unsure because I can't imagine he finds me attractive. He's extremely good-looking and I am not

This mofo's reaction?
"Yeah, and how come there's no photos of me and your dad on your Facebook? I just noticed and that's not okay."
"Look at these elephants! Even them having to work!" (Bitch doesn't work. She's on her phone all day. I work my ass off, even if I'm pregnant.)
"Anyway, how many months now then? Nice pointy noses like their dad."
"Oh, it's been so difficult for me here. Retirement isn't easy."
.
Why the fuck do I even bother? I told this new in the family group chat. It was my foster dad at first who replied with congratulations then she said it was her using his phone to write. Bullshit.
Just pure bullshit and I'm raging now at the entitlement of this asshole.

Hello and welcome to my post. I would like to make a friend.
Here are my interests:
History. I have had an interest in history for almost a decade now, it started back in school and developed from there. Well, now that I think about it one could argue that it started even earlier in my life as I liked watching the odd historic documentary or film aired on television but it wasn't regular back then, I never actively sought it out. I am mostly interested in European history in the period between the 18th-20th century but I sometimes branch out to other time periods and other parts of the world. I watch various channels related to history and read articles and sometimes books. I have recently got a few books on the German revolution of 1848/1849 and a historical magazine on the Thirty Years' War. Besides that I try to visit museums sometimes.
Literature. Especially old novels. I like to immerse myself in the Worlds of these books, I tend to read them while listening to thematically fitting music and take my time with them. One time you are following a troubled Youth in his quest for spiritual understanding of the world, another you see the aged and decrepit Doctor gambling his very Soul on the promises of abtaining satisfaction in earthy pleasures, then again your olfaction notices the most pleasant scent known to man even as the one eminating it has the appearance of a revolting Frog. These and many other stories open up to you once you decide to set foot into the literary World.
Languages. I know three, with one being a bit rusty. I am currently working intently on strengthening it. I believe that if I continue to apply myself in this regard then I should be able to finally conquer it. What language am I working on? Well, if you were to stack all the major works in it they would be as tall as a house... It is fun to go through different works in multiple languages, the same goes for film, games and such.
Games. I recently played Cyberpunk 2077. Well as recently as I played any major story centric game. Now that the dust has settled and the bugs mostly removed...It's not that bad. The main questline at least. Besides that I tried Fallout 76 (Very average, I'm dissapointed with what they made the "RPG" system) and I might give Deus Ex Manking Divided another spin (since it's somewhat similar to Cyberpunk when it comes to its aesthetics). Dark Souls is one of my favorite series, I still haven't beaten Elden Ring though. When it came out I wasn't in the right mindset to invest a hundred hours into it, with all those bosses and difficult locations. I think I'll only consider playing it if I am streaming it to someone. I am generally interested in either streaming games or having the person I am talking to stream them to me. To be specific I mean streaming to a single person while being on call. Besides that I'm a big fan of Paradox strategy games, especially Europa Universalis IV and Heats of Iron IV, I tend to only play single player since I find multiplayer with many people to be rather stressful but on the other hand I have nothing against a co-op game. I'm not the best player though, despite the ammount of hours I have in them. Another great game I would mention would be Dragon's Dogma. A very underrated RPG. I recently beat it again and it was an atmospheric and interesting experience. It is one of those games that feel like they have an endless ammount of depth and constant new secrets to discover.
Anime and Manga. In recent times my interest in them has waned but I still watch the occasional series here and there. Like Cyberpunk Edgerunners (Which I found to be rather mediocre) and the very good first season from the new arc of Bleach. Some of my favourite series include: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, Death Note, Fate;Zero, Psycho Pass, Code Geass and Attack on Titan. I wouldn't mind if you were to introduce me to some new series, maybe based on the ones I mentioned. My favourite Manga is Berserk which I still follow, althought I am still not certain on the direction that the new author is taking. I suppose it really is a matter of contention whether a somewhat (or considerably warped) vision is better than an unfinished work. One could argue that a few novels remain unfinished and possess a macabre appeal to them as such.
Music. Classical music has a very special place in my heart. A few of my favourite pieces would be: Clair de Lune, Nocturne Op. 9 No.2, Devil's Trill Sonata, Danse Macabre, Valse Sentimentale, Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92: II. Alegreto (by Beethoven) and Suite from Swan Lake, Op. 20a: I. Scene. Moderato. There are more but these ones always invoke something in me when I listen to them. Besides Classical I also enjoy listening to Synthwave, old Western pop and J-pop, both modern and from the 20th century.
Well that about wraps it up for my interests. I would like to add a few things before I finish. I am neurodivergent (autism spectrum) and struggle with mental health. I respect the struggles others have but due to certain negative experiences I would prefer to find another Aspie. I am rather introverted and I do not have a large social circle. If I like someone I want to spend as much time with them as possible. I have been hurt in the past by caring about someone much more than they about me so I would like to avoid such things now.
If you decide to message me I ask that you send a DM instead of a chat and tell me about yourself. Take care.

Hello and welcome to my post. I would like to make a friend.
Here are my interests:
History. I have had an interest in history for almost a decade now, it started back in school and developed from there. Well, now that I think about it one could argue that it started even earlier in my life as I liked watching the odd historic documentary or film aired on television but it wasn't regular back then, I never actively sought it out. I am mostly interested in European history in the period between the 18th-20th century but I sometimes branch out to other time periods and other parts of the world. I watch various channels related to history and read articles and sometimes books. I have recently got a few books on the German revolution of 1848/1849 and a historical magazine on the Thirty Years' War. Besides that I try to visit museums sometimes.
Literature. Especially old novels. I like to immerse myself in the Worlds of these books, I tend to read them while listening to thematically fitting music and take my time with them. One time you are following a troubled Youth in his quest for spiritual understanding of the world, another you see the aged and decrepit Doctor gambling his very Soul on the promises of abtaining satisfaction in earthy pleasures, then again your olfaction notices the most pleasant scent known to man even as the one eminating it has the appearance of a revolting Frog. These and many other stories open up to you once you decide to set foot into the literary World.
Languages. I know three, with one being a bit rusty. I am currently working intently on strengthening it. I believe that if I continue to apply myself in this regard then I should be able to finally conquer it. What language am I working on? Well, if you were to stack all the major works in it they would be as tall as a house... It is fun to go through different works in multiple languages, the same goes for film, games and such.
Games. I recently played Cyberpunk 2077. Well as recently as I played any major story centric game. Now that the dust has settled and the bugs mostly removed...It's not that bad. The main questline at least. Besides that I tried Fallout 76 (Very average, I'm dissapointed with what they made the "RPG" system) and I might give Deus Ex Manking Divided another spin (since it's somewhat similar to Cyberpunk when it comes to its aesthetics). Dark Souls is one of my favorite series, I still haven't beaten Elden Ring though. When it came out I wasn't in the right mindset to invest a hundred hours into it, with all those bosses and difficult locations. I think I'll only consider playing it if I am streaming it to someone. I am generally interested in either streaming games or having the person I am talking to stream them to me. To be specific I mean streaming to a single person while being on call. Besides that I'm a big fan of Paradox strategy games, especially Europa Universalis IV and Heats of Iron IV, I tend to only play single player since I find multiplayer with many people to be rather stressful but on the other hand I have nothing against a co-op game. I'm not the best player though, despite the ammount of hours I have in them. Another great game I would mention would be Dragon's Dogma. A very underrated RPG. I recently beat it again and it was an atmospheric and interesting experience. It is one of those games that feel like they have an endless ammount of depth and constant new secrets to discover.
Anime and Manga. In recent times my interest in them has waned but I still watch the occasional series here and there. Like Cyberpunk Edgerunners (Which I found to be rather mediocre) and the very good first season from the new arc of Bleach. Some of my favourite series include: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, Death Note, Fate;Zero, Psycho Pass, Code Geass and Attack on Titan. I wouldn't mind if you were to introduce me to some new series, maybe based on the ones I mentioned. My favourite Manga is Berserk which I still follow, althought I am still not certain on the direction that the new author is taking. I suppose it really is a matter of contention whether a somewhat (or considerably warped) vision is better than an unfinished work. One could argue that a few novels remain unfinished and possess a macabre appeal to them as such.
Music. Classical music has a very special place in my heart. A few of my favourite pieces would be: Clair de Lune, Nocturne Op. 9 No.2, Devil's Trill Sonata, Danse Macabre, Valse Sentimentale, Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92: II. Alegreto (by Beethoven) and Suite from Swan Lake, Op. 20a: I. Scene. Moderato. There are more but these ones always invoke something in me when I listen to them. Besides Classical I also enjoy listening to Synthwave, old Western pop and J-pop, both modern and from the 20th century.
Well that about wraps it up for my interests. I would like to add a few things before I finish. I am neurodivergent (autism spectrum) and struggle with mental health. I respect the struggles others have but due to certain negative experiences I would prefer to find another Aspie. I am rather introverted and I do not have a large social circle. If I like someone I want to spend as much time with them as possible. I have been hurt in the past by caring about someone much more than they about me so I would like to avoid such things now.
If you decide to message me I ask that you send a DM instead of a chat and tell me about yourself. Take care.

There's these renters that moved in next door. They've been here for a year. They're in their 40s. Newly partnered. They both have adult children from past relationships. They just had two babies back to back. Two boys that are now 2 1/2 and 1 1/2 (when they first moved in, I chatted with the wife for a bit, so I know this information).
It's been watching the husband totally exploiting her and benefit from it. She looks so haggard and miserable. They're borderline alcoholics. They seem like Trumpers. They have an 'all lives matter,' sticker on their car. They leave ugly trash in their yard for months when all it would take is walking over to pick it up! If it ever gets picked up, more trash just appears! HE will leave their trash been out in the street for days when all the other neighbors take ours in within a reasonable amount of time. The husband comes home from work, and usually gets out of his car with an open beer in his hand.
All my life, I've noticed that many peoples babies don't seem as happy and comfortable as my kids were as babies. I know that many people aren't going to be as good at it as me. I excelled at mothering my babies. I've seen my own friends be just average at this. I get it that we all can't be the baby whisperer. Their babies just always seem upset and uncomfortable. They hardly ever go outside, or leave their house! I hear them crying all the time. I do seem them enough to know that they're physically ok, and enough people come and go to check the situation out. She cuts hair out of her home, some clients come and go.
In our neighborhood, every two driveways are side by side, (theirs and mine) and we both enter our house from the side, so we have less separation and space than would be typical in a single-family-home neighborhood.
Today, I was coming down my driveway to enter my house, and I heard the dad yell at his toddler through an open window, "SHUT THE FU*CK UP DUDE!" In that split moment, I just couldn't control myself. I yelled, "Shut the the fu*k up! Shut the Fu*k up!," and then I went into my house and slammed the door.
Even though we're fake, and cordial and hide it, we have grown to dislike each other because of our incompatibilities as people. I know he thinks I'm an uptight B and sends me bad vibes when he sees me. I hope this helps him realize that I know and think that he's a bad parent. I am not at all condoning my behavior. I'm autistic, and am realizing that social injustice is a real trigger for my autism. That this puts me at risk and could get into trouble.
I hope they move! Maybe this will inspire them to.

My boyfriend met this woman at his job last year and they worked together for a few months before she quit. They quickly bonded because her and I are from the same country. She felt very comfortable to tell him about her dating life and her personal life. The friendship was very platonic and they would text here and there but it never went further than that. After she quit, they never really spoke again.
A couple months later she reaches out to my boyfriend and sets up a double date with us + her new boyfriend. We had a pretty great time with them and I felt like they were a really cool couple. We’ve hung out with them a few times after and have even been in larger group settings with them where they got to hang out with our other friends.
I never really felt like I could get close to her past a certain level just yet and just kind of categorized her as someone that I could hang with only on a group setting. Maybe also because I hadn’t gotten to know her well just yet and I only got to hang out with her twice outside of a group. But my boyfriend now frequently talks to her boyfriend and they have gotten really close outside of our group chat.
But there were a few red flags that occurred along the way: I notice she never compliments me or other women, one time she INSISTED on crashing on a date after my boyfriend had explained to her that this was quality time for us because our new work schedules doesn’t allow us to go on dates as much, she talks about herself…A LOT. Like the times I’ve hung out with her it was all about her. Although I did feel like I got to share my side a bit the second time, I still felt so drained after the interaction. One of those times we were out to lunch with another girl and after that girl was talking about how she was so worried that she wasn’t getting hired after her layoff and her numerous interviews, new friend proceeded to talk about herself and how perfect her new job that she just got hired will be. I thought that was so inconsiderate and tone deaf. She’s also extremely insecure and always needs opinions about her relationship issues. I feel like she doesn’t really take the effort to get to know me. I just ruled those out at first as her maybe just truly being lonely because she has no other friends and was really grateful that I was hearing her out. I also try to understand that she has EXTREME anxiety and overthinking.
But then, her boyfriend goes out of the country for work. She gets extremely depressed and lonely so she messages my boyfriend asking if we can see her. That weekend we already had plans so we set something up for another date. He then reposts that night a picture of him and his buddy as a GUYS night. She sent a passive aggressive joke about the picture and my boyfriend told her to not be that way. She then expressed that she’s annoyed that he didn’t invite her knowing how she’s so lonely and depressed that her man isn’t here and feels like the only way she’d be invited is because of her boyfriend. My boyfriend responded by telling her that he was with the guys and it would be strange for him to invite her especially because I am not there. She then proceeded to send him a bunch of texts questioning who it would be strange for. He ignores all of the following texts and calls me to tell me what happened. What I don’t like is that she then texts me and involves me by asking me if I would have an issue with him hanging out with her in the same group setting without me 🤦🏻‍♀️ it was a series of anxious texting and me trying to reassure her that there isn’t a preference between her and her boyfriend. She also told me that she really liked having my boyfriend as a friend when they were working together because he helped her through her heartbreak with her last guy (an emotional affair with a committed man btw—-I gave her the benefit of the doubt at first and ran with my own narrative that he was manipulative because it was semi true but she also admits that part of it was her fault). I just really did not like the dramatics and have really bad experiences of old controlling friends being this way with me. I felt like she feels entitled to my boyfriend’s time and him because she was “friends with him first”.
This situation gave me so much anxiety because for me it was like “here we go again, another damsel in distress that needs my boyfriend”. While I do appreciate my boyfriend for setting boundaries and being understanding what is respectful and what is not, we have grown A LOT from our past. In the past, like three years ago, I always felt like I had to compete for my boyfriend’s attention with his other females friends because he used to prioritize his friends’ feelings over mine and was always running to the rescue of other people. He completely changed when he realized he was losing me and now fully understands where I’m coming from and was more than willingly to set boundaries.
He thinks we should still hang out with her because he doesn’t want to lose the friendship with the boyfriend and he wants to establish boundaries in person.
I just see why she doesn’t have any girlfriends and I really don’t like that she just assumes that my boyfriend should be there for her. Self absorbed on top of that. Am I looking too far into this all and is it really my own insecurities from the past coming back?
TLDR: boyfriend’s ex coworker and her boyfriend have been hanging out with my boyfriend and I. My boyfriend has gotten much closer to her boyfriend. I’m very hestitant of her because she has some self absorbed characteristics and over talks for hours. I feel like she hasn’t tried to get to know me at all. But she has extreme anxiety and insecurities. She got annoyed with my boyfriend because he didn’t invite her while he was out with other friends and she was home alone because her boyfriend is away. She kind of got me involved in that situation. We have set plans with her but the dramatics really turned me off. My boyfriend thinks we should go because he wants to continue being on great terms with her boyfriend and he feels the need to establish boundaries with her once and for all in person. Am I just being really hard on her because of my past insecurities and she just has bad anxiety?

So the other day I host a diff 8 bot mission. Got 3 other ransoms to join and we’re all lvl 40-50. Before starting I notice one diver take an orbital, and eagle and 2 turrets and I’m like whatever. Then we drop in on a fabricator I call in my back pack and support weapon while we’re waiting for drop ships to come. I run up a bit and start shooting or whatever but then he takes my backpack and my AMR. I go on voice chat and ask him to drop it but he just runs off. I asked him one more time but still no response. I kick him. What would u guys do in this situation?

I (28F) started a new job earlier this year and there's this one cute co-worker (27M) who I fancy. At first, he was just there, existing. But these past two months, my eyes always trail him inside the workplace and I sort of developed a crush on him. I also noticed we have similar interests.
He's a gentleman, kind, and a happy-go-lucky soul. A competent person and always help those in need. I don't really have a chance to talk to him daily since he's working at another small building but I always try to greet him with pleasantries and put on a smiley face if I saw him. Initially, when I started working here, he was sort of awkwardly polite with me but he became more friendlier now though like he'll be the first one to greet me. He's also not a dry texter when we talked about work (like using emojis and use sticker).
Over time, we had chances to work together (along with some other co-workers). I noticed and thought that through his body languages, he's interested in me. Some of the things he did:

1. Always mirroring my body gestures
2. Keep glancing towards me when I'm not looking
3. But when I caught him, he prolong the eye contact (never shy away. like he wanted to read me or something)
4. He put his belongings exactly next to mine (when the office literally has so many empty spaces where he can place his stuffs and he knew they were mine)
5. He always stand or sit near me (once he sit next to me when we were having a meeting)
6. Very good and attentive listener when we're chatting

There's more of these signs too. Like literally at least one thing happened per working day. But today I found out he's actually taken and looks content. I feel so devastated because I thought he was giving me green signals and had a thought of confessing to him one day. Maybe I'm just delusional or blind after all because I like him so much 😭 Any advices on how can I move on? Because it's clearly not appropriate to make advances to someone who's taken.

You are the GOAT of Jersey shore - You give us all the tea and drama.
But I will DISOWN you if you fail to bring up this Snooki and Jionni drama next season.
There is no reason for you NOT to create a group chat about this Ashley Madison drama with Snooki. I’m sure she’ll throw a beaacchhh fit and threaten to leave the show if we dare talk about her life on reality television but she’s barely on the show anyway and no one would notice. This is THE PERFECT opportunity for you to stir up a new shit show and will create some second hand drama when Angela gets mad that she’s no longer the center of attention.
Please Micheal, we have been faithful fans! Deliver us some piping hot tea. For the love of god, I can’t watch another chicken eating contests.
Sincerely, Your number one Stan.

So, I'm not entirely sure what my goal is with this post. One thing I know for certain is that it will be very long, and probably sort of jumbled and frantic, more stream of consciousness than anything. I guess I just sort of wanted to share some of the important realizations I've had in recent months, and see if: 1. Other people think that they're fair or "correct" realizations, and I'm not becoming, like, delusional or something. 2. Maybe my sharing these perspectives will help or inspire someone else who has struggled in ways similar to me.
So, here's the basic background of things. I've always been a really reserved and quiet person, ever since I was a little kid. Add in being skinny and nerdy for most of my life, and maxing out at a height of 5'9", and I'm not exactly a hot product for the average girl my age (19, turning 20 in a few weeks). In fact, I'd never had a relationship until this past year in college, but I'll get more into that in a minute. Hell, I hadn't had so much as a first kiss until this past year, either.
And, at the beginning of this past school year, being my second year of college (as a commuter student, so socializing is pretty difficult), I began to really get down on myself for having never been in a relationship, never kissed a girl, being a virgin, etc. It started to really take a toll on my mental health, because I believed that there was something intrinsically wrong and unlovable about me. Whereas a lot of young men who struggle socially romantically seem to be directing their sadness, frustration, and anger outward toward the world, especially toward women, I instead found myself directing those feeling toward myself. I was convinced that, on a basic level, there was some vital component to who I am as a person that disqualifies me from being worthy of love or affection. After all, that's what 19 years of evidence suggest, right?
Looking back, I think a large component in this was how I had been struggling, and still struggle to a degree, with my identity as a young man. I'm naturally a pretty progressive person, and I make an effort to be open to the perspectives of other groups and listen to their stories. Unfortunately, as we all know, a lot of people have been harmed by the men in their lives. And I know, I know: if I'm not doing anything wrong myself, then I shouldn't take any of these stories personally.But I guess, given the poor mental state that I was already in, I took it as validation that there was in fact something intrinsically wrong about me, and that thing was being a man. I started to avoid people on the street, especially if they were a woman or presented as feminine. At work, I avoid going anywhere near female customers, out of fear of making them uncomfortable. I'd keep my head down walking from class to class on campus, worried that I might make someone uneasy with my gaze. It wasn't that I thought I was a threat; in fact, I knew that I was not. But I also knew that the people around me didn't know that. In their eyes, maybe they have to assume that I'm a creep or that I'm a dangerous type of man. And it hurt to realize that, and I realize now, like I said, that I took it as validation that there was something intrinsically wrong with me.
Due to that, as well as other factors, such as stress and exhaustion from overworking (I'm a full-time student and work about 30 hours a week, which is a lot for me, might not be for others, I admit), I experienced some of the worst periods of depression I've ever had, since being diagnosed with it and anxiety in 2021. I tried going to therapy. I went to a few sessions, then gradually started missing more and more due to a lack of time, until my therapist cancelled all of our scheduled future sessions. It was on me. I wasn't committed.
I lost my passion for my hobbies and interests, like creative writing, which had previously been an important emotional outlet for me. A lot of nights would be spent lying in bed, listening to a playlist filled with sad music and hugging a pillow, wishing it was someone who loved me in the way that I thought, or hoped, love would work.
At the behest of my friends, to whom I only presented my issues as being a little down about never having been in a relationship, I started messing around with dating apps. At first, I felt good about making some sort of effort to put myself out there. Like I said, I've always been insanely reserved, so doing something like making a dating profile felt like an accomplishment. Of course, nothing much came of it. Over the five or so months that I was on the app, I maxed out at about six likes on my profile, and only matched with two people.
But one of those two people was a girl who went to the same college as me, and we seemed to have a lot of interests in common. And I mean a lot. To the point that it was almost comical. Of course, I realize now that having some hobbies in common isn't enough to form a good relationship with someone, but I realize now that I was just desperate for someone who I could convince myself halfway-tolerated me. She and I started to go out, and after a while, we decided to make things "official." My first kiss. My first relationship. My first girlfriend.
It lasted for only a few months. After a while, something felt off. I wasn't as excited to see her as I had been before. It was hard for us to make time for each other, between my working and her being involved in extracurricular stuff around campus. Car rides and dates began to be filled with longer and more frequent stretches of awkward silence, as I tried to think of something to say or talk about, only to come up empty-handed. As we got to know each other better, I realized that we didn't have as much in common as I first thought. She was a little more conservative, not necessarily in a political sense, but more in terms of "status", if that makes sense. I learned that financial success was very important to her parents, and I could tell that it was important to her, too. She avoided telling her parents that I was an English major, instead opting to tell them that I was getting a degree in computer science, as that was my minor at the time. It seemed to me that the status of a relationship was more important to her than the quality of the relationship (pot calling the kettle black, yes, I realize). For example, there was a dance on campus that she wanted to go to, pretty much just to take pictures of the two of us together so she could show them to friends and family. But as for the dance itself, it was more of the same that had been happening before: awkward silence, short conversations, lots of looking around at anything other than each other.
After a while, I decided that, for both of our sakes, I needed to break things off. I didn't want to waste her time when I knew that my heart wasn't in it anymore. So, at the beginning of April, I drove over to her dorm, and we talked it over in my car for a while. At the end, we hugged one last time, and I haven't seen her since.
I think a key component in the decision I made is the fact that I reconnected with some old friends from high school, who are still local, even though they are going to another university. Over Christmas break, I hung out with them for the first time since the pandemic as, during that time, I ended up having a falling out with them over some dumb high school drama and political differences. To my surprise, they had changed a lot, and had managed to pull themselves out of the incel trajectory that I had seen them beginning to fall down during high school. They were kinder, more accepting people. My surprise was matched only by my pride in them. I had feared and assumed the worst of them, and I couldn't have been happier to be proven wrong. Since then, I've been invited back into their group chats, and I see them in-person with some regularity, when our schedules allow it.
I think having that connection made me feel more comfortable with the idea of being single again, and since the break up, I've been able to rely on them for support, laughs, and just feeling like I have somewhere I belong. Before, I found myself desperate for any kind of connection and fell into a cycle of denying myself that connection because I was convinced that, since it didn't just present itself, I wasn't worthy of it.
And maybe it has something to do with that, but on the drive home from my now-ex's dorm (though I still wonder if I should/could really call her an ex. Sure, we agreed to make things "official", but we still only dated for a few months), I felt my perspective on, well, at the risk of sounding over-dramatic or overly romantic, everything, being to change.
And I guess that's what the title of this post is about. The things I've begun to realize in the time leading up to and following that break-up.
Above all else, I've realized the importance of connection. If I didn't have a stable friend group again, I don't know where I'd be. Probably still in a stale relationship, clinging on and trying to convince myself that I'm not feeling the way that I'm feeling. I have people to talk with again, to confide in when I feel stressed or depressed. I go out and do things again, which I didn't realize I hadn't really done very much since the pandemic.
But I know that for a lot of people who are/were in the position I had been in, finding friends is difficult. If it weren't for my unique circumstances of being reunited with an old, estranged group of friends, I would absolutely be in the same position. I still really struggle with social anxiety, and talking to new people is a huge struggle for me. So, I've also had some realizations that don't have as much to do with the friendship side of things, and I hope that these can be of some use to people who also struggle with social anxiety.
I know that the idea of "working on yourself" is cliche and overused, so I won't frame it exactly like that. In my opinion, saying it like that makes it sound too daunting and tedious, and having been in those dark, dark places myself, I know that it was the last thing I wanted to hear. So, instead, I like to think of it this way. It's more like living in spite of your circumstances. Over the course of this past year, I essentially shut my life down, because I was so convinced that there was no point, because I felt that I knew that I would never be loved or accepted. Now, I feel an urge to go on living for myself, almost in direct spite of the fear that I may be forever alone. It's a fear that I still deal with, and who knows, maybe things will end up that way.
And, I suppose, that leads into my main realization, which is sort of an extension/restatement of the last one, now that I think about it. I now feel the desire to accumulate enough in my life, to reach a point where I am satisfied enough, that I can rest knowing that I will be okay, with or without a relationship. Before, my self-worth was almost entirely attached to my relationship status, and my lack of romantic experience. Now, I realize that a relationship can only come when I don't need it, or at least don't feel that I need it. Being a huge nerd and a writer, I think a lot about quotes from books, shows, movies, and games that have stuck with and there's one from God of War: Ragnarok that comes to mind here (by the way, I actually highly recommend playing or watching a playthrough of God of War 2018 and Ragnarok if you've struggled with masculinity in the same way I have, the music and cutscenes from those games have actually helped to pull me out of some mental spirals about my self-worth and identity as a man). It comes from a scene in which Kratos confronts his younger self, and is trying to decide if he is willing/ready to be a god again:
"Should I lose everything and everyone, will there still be enough left inside so that I do not become you? I do not know. But I have hope."
It's a quote that resonates with me now more than ever (even though it's from a DLC that just came out around Christmas, lol). I know now that I want to get to a place where there is enough left inside me that I know I'll never fall into that dark mental state again.
Something else that I've noticed has happened is the return of my passions for my hobbies and interests, especially for writing. I don't want to sound too arrogant, but I think I've begun to realize an important goal for my writing. If I'm lucky enough, I want to be able to write and release stories that explore masculinity and isolation, and, if I can, I want to create stories that can help guide other young men and boys who have struggled in the way I have and continue to do. I want to create characters who serve as positive male role models, who are emotionally strong, intelligent, and kind. I want to write stories of personal redemption, and show that no one is truly ever too far gone to be able to recover. If my writing could help even just one person who is struggling, then I would consider my career to be a success.
At the risk of being too cheesy, I'd like to end this very long-winded post with another quote, this one from a YouTube channel I recently discovered, and one I would highly recommend to just about anyone: Cinema Therapy. It's from their video about "A Silent Voice", which also happens to be one of my favorite movies, and one of my main inspirations when it comes to the kinds of stories I want to tell.
"Depression doesn't go away, doesn't lift for most people. But there's a capacity to feel again. There's a capacity to feel joy. The cure for so many things is connection. And we may think 'no one want to connect with me.' But we just need to find the right people."
I think the only thing I would add to that is that, in my opinion, the connection can also be with yourself.

This is the first time I have written some chapters. I'm not a native English speaker but I did my best. If someone can give me some pointers or help I would immensely appreciate it! It's a bit of sci-fi, if you are into it let me know. If not, that's cool too.
Thx in advance!
Chapter 1: The farm
Hagr stood at the edge of the farm, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of Zandarius stretching out before him. The sky above was a canvas of swirling purples and blues, streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the enticing scent of Heyla flowers.
With a sigh, Hagr set down his mechanic wheelbarrow, the last of his chores for the day completed. He began to make his way back towards the farm, his footsteps crunching softly against the rocky terrain. As he passed through the pink and green garden, the aroma of his mother's porridge drifted towards him, tempting his hunger.
Despite eating the same meal every day, Hagr's stomach grumbled with anticipation. The suuka porridge was all he needed right now, its warm, comforting embrace promising to chase away the chill of the evening.
Arriving at the farm, Hagr took in the familiar sight of their plascrete igloo. Half of the structure was comprised of little octagon windows, through which the warm glow of a fire emanated from the chimney. It was home, humble yet comforting in its simplicity.
Entering the igloo, Hagr found his mother, Altha, bustling about the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hagr, dear, could you set the table?" she called out, her voice gentle yet firm. Hagr nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he arranged the mismatched dishes in their usual places. Each plate was different, yet they always ended up in the same spot, a testament to the routines of their daily life.
Once the table was set, Hagr ignited the moonlamp, casting a soft yellow glow across the igloo walls. Altha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of suuka porridge. "Careful, Hagr," she warned, as she placed the pot on the table. "It's hot." Hagr nodded as he heard this many times before, his mouth watering at the sight and smell of the hearty meal before him. They ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of spoons against bowls as they savored each mouthful.
After a moment, Hagr broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder what's beyond Zandarius, Mumu?" he asked. Altha hesitated, her expression guarded. "I don't know, Hagr," she replied softly. "But we have everything we need right here on the farm." Though disappointed by her response, Hagr nodded in understanding. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to explore together. Altha caught his eye and winked, a small glimmer of hope in her gaze.
As they finished their meal, Hagr and Altha moved to the small kitchen area to wash the dishes. The kitchen was cluttered yet cozy, with shelves overflowing with pots, pans, and utensils. Beyond the kitchen, the interior of the igloo was a snug retreat from the harshness of the outside world. A small cupboard, crafted from Zandarius rare Bennam wood, stood in one corner, its doors closed tight to conceal its overflowing contents. Nearby, a plush couch with pillows offered a comfortable spot to relax after a long day's work. Opposite the couch, a large hammock hung from the ceiling. Above it, a smaller hammock swayed gently in the breeze, providing a cozy nest for Hagr during the night. Every inch of space was utilized to its fullest, creating a sense of warmth and intimacy within the cramped confines of the igloo.
As the hour grew late, Altha reminded Hagr of their upcoming journey to Kihar. With a yawn, Hagr climbed into his hammock, gazing up at the stars through the little octagon windows above. "Goodnight, Hagr," Altha whispered, her voice soft in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Mumu," Hagr replied, his eyes closing as sleep overtook him. And with that, he drifted off, thoughts of tomorrow's journey fading into the comforting embrace of dreams.
Chapter 2: The trip
Hagr awoke to the gentle light filtering through the little octagon windows of their igloo. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that his mother's hammock was empty. Mu-mu?" he called out, but there was no response.
Curiosity piqued, Hagr peered outside and spotted his mother tending to the kikkamoos, their pig-like creatures with reptilian legs and Fluffy tails. With a swift motion, he leaped out of bed, his movements practiced from years of experience. After quickly dressing himself, he hurried outside, calling out to his mother. "Altha!" he yelled, using her full name in his urgency. His mother turned towards him with a warm smile. "Haggie!" she called back, using his pet name.
Hagr wasted no time and dashed off to fetch Tsjoopa, their trusty mechanical unicycle cart already loaded with goods for trade. As he returned with the cart, he found his mother waiting back at the farm. "Ready to go, Hagr?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Absolutely!" Hagr exclaimed, brimming with energy. And so, they set off on their journey to Kihar, the nearest town for trading.
The road ahead seemed endless, traversing through vast and barren plains broken only by occasional patches of vegetation. Sparse woods flanked the roadside, offering concealment but little wildlife, a testament to Zandarius' unforgiving environment.
After a few hours of travel, they finally reached a landmark known as the Sharp Knives, a crossroad marked by sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. "We’re here, the Sharp Knives," Altha remarked, her gaze sweeping over the rugged terrain. "We're halfway there, Hagr." Hagr nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Already? Time flies when you're in good company." A mischievous glint sparkled in Altha's eyes as she reached into the cart. "Speaking of good company, I brought something special for our halfway mark." Hagr's interest was piqued. "What is it?" With a dramatic flourish, Altha revealed a small container of sosuuka, a sweeter version of yesterday's porridge. "Sosuuka!" Hagr exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic despite his familiarity with the dish. Altha chuckled at his feigned excitement. "I thought it might be a nice treat for our journey." Hagr grinned, playing along. "Absolutely! Thanks, best mumu on Zandarius." Lost in thought, Altha gazed into the distance, her attention drawn to the gathering ominous clouds on the horizon, a harbinger of stormy weather to come. "We might have some rough weather ahead," Altha remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Hagr glanced up at the darkening sky. "Should we stop and wait it out?" Altha shook her head. "We need to keep moving. We can't afford to delay our journey." Guess we'll have to save the view for another time," Hagr sighed, reluctantly agreeing with Altha's decision, while she nodded in understanding. "But, after all," Hagr declared, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride, "at ten years old, I'm practically a grown man! I can handle anything, even eating sosuuka on the way without spilling a drop." Altha burst into laughter at his boast. "Sosuuka without spilling? I'd sooner believe kikkamoos could fly!" Hagr joined in her laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape as they continued on their journey to Kihar.
Chapter 3: Arrival in Kihar
As Hagr and Altha approached Kihar, the plascrete town sprawled out before them, its streets winding like intricate mazes through the heart of the city. In stark contrast to the barren landscape of Zandarius, Kihar was a vibrant tapestry of life, with lush vegetation adorning every corner. Hagr’s eyes roamed over the cityscape, taking in the sight of the bustling alleys and the constant mist of smoke that hung in the air. Despite having visited many times before, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the bustling energy of the tradetown.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, the tantalizing aroma of food mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter, tempting Hagr's senses and reminding him of the porridge-filled days back on their farm. Finally, they reached the local market, a bustling hub of activity where traders hawked their wares amidst the thick scent of spices and exotic foods. "First stop, Old Taramor's," Altha announced, her voice carrying above the din of the market. Hagr's thoughts drifted to Taramor, the old, grumpy trader who had been a fixture in Kihar for as long as he could remember. Despite his rough exterior, Taramor was one of the few honest traders left in the city, and Hagr had always respected him for it. "Sounds good to me," Hagr replied, his tone positive.
As they approached Old Taramor’s, Altha hopped off the Tsjoopa and turned to Hagr. "Hagr, could you fetch a crate of Heyla bottles from the back of the cart?" she asked. Hagr nodded silently, already moving to comply.
Entering the shop, they found Taramor snoozing behind his counter, the cluttered shelves and dusty displays a testament to his lack of care for his surroundings. Altha hesitated, reluctant to disturb the old trader, but time was of the essence. "Taramor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. No response. Again a bit louder this time “Taramor”. Still no response. Growing impatient, Hagr couldn't help but raise his voice. "Taramor!" Startled awake, Taramor shot upright, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell's going on?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it's just you two," he muttered, recognizing Altha and Hagr. Altha gestured to Hagr to take a look around while she spoke with Taramor. Hagr nodded and wandered through the cluttered shelves, his curiosity piqued by the assortment of strange and exotic items on display. In the background, a television played the news, the volume turned low but still audible. A news reporter's voice cut through the air, reporting on the recent assassination of a high-ranking official. The military had already neutralized one suspect, but two others were still at large. The camera footage showed two figures cloaked in dark red and black, their faces obscured. Zooming in on one of the suspects, the reporter noted a tattoo of a three-headed monster on their neck, linking them to the notorious syndicate known as the Three-Headed Beast. "People are urged to remain vigilant," the reporter concluded, "and to report any sightings of the suspects to the authorities." "Hagr," Altha called out, pulling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he set down a strange-looking coffee maker he had been inspecting and hurried over to join them.
Outside, Hagr turned to his mother, concern etched on his face. "How did the trade go?" Altha hesitated before answering, her tone guarded. "It wasn't as successful as we had hoped, but we'll manage." Trying to sound confident, Hagr responded, "No need to worry, Mumu. We'll make it work."
As they made their way back through the bustling market, Hagr glanced at his mother. " Can we get some Uja skewers now?" Altha smiled warmly. "Absolutely, Hagr. Let’s grab some delicious Uja," she said, turning on their trusty, albeit rusty, Tsjoopa.
Chapter 4: Best place is home
As Altha and Hagr made their way home in the fading light, a bird soared above them, its silhouette dark against the dusky sky. They were nearing their farmstead, the exhausting trip almost at an end. Hagr turned to Altha, his curiosity piqued. “What is coffee?” he asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Altha pondered for a moment before responding, “I’ve heard of it. It’s some sort of black drink. Similar to Puggatree juice, they say, it gives you energy.” Hagr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never been fond of Puggatree juice, finding its thick texture and slimy consistency unappealing. With a shake of his head, he decided he didn’t want to try coffee after all.
As they chatted, unaware of the figure watching them from afar, the landscape growing darker with each passing moment, they finally arrived at the farm.
Altha unloaded the traded goods from the Tsjoopa, and with a nod to Hagr, she motioned for him to stow it away in the barn. Hagr complied, placing the Tsjoopa in the barn, where sturdy plascrete walls and reinforced wooden beams protected it from the harsh winds. With the task done, he made his way back to the igloo. As he approached, he noticed that the interior was unusually dark, the comforting glow of the moonlamp absent. With a sense of unease gnawing at him, he entered cautiously.
To his horror, he found himself face to face with a cloaked figure in dark black and red, his alien eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Before he could react, he spotted his mother on the floor, tears streaming down her face, with another figure standing over her, a scarred human face, and a sinister three-headed beast tattoo on his neck. “Mumu!” Hagr screamed in terror. The figure with glowing eyes uttered incomprehensible words, while the scarred man cursed, "We can't leave any witnesses, Deskva.” Altha whispered urgently, "Hagr, stay calm. Everything will be fine." Hagr looked at his mother in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's going to happen?" his voice trembled with fear. The scarred human scoffed, "We can sell the boy on the black market, but the woman? She's too old to bother selling. Not worth the hassle, Des." With brute force, Deskva grabbed Hagr, who fought against his captor with all his might. "Please, let me go!" Hagr pleaded, his voice desperate as he struggled against Deskva's grip. As Hagr cast a desperate glance at his mother, tears welling in his eyes, the scarred man turned his attention to Altha, deeming her of no value. Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired, the shot piercing through Altha’s skull with a sickening thud echoing through the silent igloo. Hagr’s world shattered as he watched his mother fall, tears blurring his vision, bile rising in his throat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a brutal blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.

Here we are again in the shit stew that is the Fallowveil trailer park. We’ve got soul eating strippers, jobs that kill us, and plenty of weirdos, both the trailer trash and the potentially paranormal variety. It’s the place where even your own computer sometimes threatens to kill you. I can’t tell if I should be worried, or annoyed that all my neighbors have such irresponsible web habits. I know it’s not me that brings in all these machine wiping viruses.
So even though I got a system error that literally said “you’re useless and you should die” I’m less interested in that. Stupid thing. Like I don’t already know I’m useless. That’s not what I’m depressed about.
Well… I suppose it's tangentially related.
I hope anyone reading will forgive me. I’m feeling the sting of rejection right now. It was really stupid of me to ask. Especially now. Nobody here really likes me. They’ve only been nice to me as a courtesy because I was almost involved in a god damn shootout. And my idiot self decided that was the perfect time to push one of my few friends all the way away. Never ask your friends out on dates. It ruins everything.
So there’s this woman. I’ve talked about her in the past. Trista Ramone. She lives in the far back corner of the trailer park. You can instantly tell which unit is hers because she’s covered every square inch of the property with gardens and a rabbit hutch. The place usually has beads and colorful flags hanging on its walls as well. She’s kind of a right winger’s nightmare. I know some of those flags represent various lgbtq plus communities.
She and I have been friendly in the past. We’re both night shift workers. We crossed paths quite a bit going to and from work so we struck up a friendship over the years.
Let’s just ripped the band aid off. Recently I’ve started thinking I had… stronger feelings for Trista. I got stupid and decided to tell her about them. She wasn’t interested. I get why. We have very different lifestyles. I like meat, and she thinks the meat industry is murder. I’m not willing to give up meat, and she’s not willing to give up her beliefs. It's as simple as that. Now things are incredibly awkward with one of my closer friends and I’m still spiraling into self loathing, where I belong.
She swore up and down that she absolutely still wants to be friends with me, but I’m not sure I believe her. The look she gave me when I told her I’d like to ask her out. It looked like sadness, but a small part of me is convinced it was pity, or worse, disgust and loathing, and that small part gave me ever shuts the fuck up. But anyway, she gave me permission to write about her.
She is one of the creepy fixtures of our little neighborhood after all. She told me to make her seem as insane and scary as I possibly could and that she should get to kill me at the end. She also handed me a few of her high school yearbooks, advised me to chat with another neighbor of ours who she went to school with, and to only use creepy rumors for the rest.
Part of me is really willing to describe her as awful, but that’s just my anger. I don’t like that part of me. Trista’s not a bad person at all. She’s just weird and she doesn’t want to date me. God damn it, Petunia’s right. I need therapy.
So, I’ve told the story of the sexy, scary lady living in a polycule here in the trailer park. I think she’s got a bigger heart than she lets on. I’ve talked about the stories surrounding the Schroeder Slaughterhouse. Now let’s talk about the hippy everyone thinks is a vampire.
She’s a taller woman, maybe five-seven or eight, and she’s skinny. Her typical wardrobe is… interesting. Try to imagine your typical new-age hippy/stoner girl, wearing colorful sarongs, crop-tops, beanies, baggy sweaters, T-shirts with colorful sayings on them, sandals, boots woven from some sort of exotic plant, beaded necklaces, bracelets, a few too many piercings and some intricate tattoos. Can you picture that kind of person? Well, take that and dip them in “goth” dye. Everything is black, and contrasts to her pale white complexion, her eyes are this unusual violet color, and then make the woman wearing all that seem kind of depressed about something. That’s the look Trista has going on. Like if Wednesday Addams was forced to dress up for Hippy Day.
I’ve heard people call her an emo vampire, but as a former emo myself, she doesn’t fill out all the criteria. She doesn’t typically wear any super tight pants or cake on the eyeshadow. I guess she’s just Trista. It might sound weird (and it is) but the whole thing suits her. Her style, tattoos, and complexion all create this image of skinny vampiric waif with a mysterious past and a freaky sarcastic attitude and I found the whole thing… kinda hot.
Trista keeps to herself. She’s made the most out of her little corner of the trailer park. Like I said, she decked out her unit with garden squares, and a Rabbit pen. No idea why she’s allowed to do that. A lot of these places don’t allow pets. I heard she was also trying to put in a beehive too, but her neighbors are fighting her on that one. Our park is a bit too condensed for bees. She has a permit to grow hemp, but of course it’s not for recreational use. She treats it and uses it to weave things like handbags, clothes, and other stuff. There’s a consignment store in town that sells all kinds of things Trista has crafted herself. So she’s handy and self sufficient too. She paints, she carves wood, she weaves, she crochets, she sews, and who knows what else. She’s so good at her little crafts that apparently she’s able to support herself just selling them and working part time at the Moonlight Inn outside of town.
She’s also relatively friendly. I almost feel bad calling her weird, but here’s the thing, I’ve seen some REALLY weird shit. People jokingly call her a vampire, and she seems to embrace that, but part of me seriously wonders. The big clue is, like I mentioned, she’s completely nocturnal. She’s always asleep during the day, and every blind and curtain is drawn tight. The one time she came out during the day, she had on this full body suit with a helmet with UV glass and everything. Even then, she only showed up to give Petunia a hug, before leaving again.
That was the first time I saw Trista, come to think of it. I was kind of intrigued. It was kind of hard not to be when someone shows up to a community cookout in a freaking astronaut suit. I approached Petunia after she left.
“Who the heck was that?” I wondered.
“MASON! I’m so glad you could make it! You’ve been here about three months now! How’d that job interview go?”
“Oh. It went well. I might be doing janitorial work soon.”
“Night shift?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“If it’s the night shift, you’ll definitely meet the person who just left. That’s Trista. She’s the girl with the rabbits in the far corner. Poor girl. She’s got a really bad skin condition. Can’t let sunlight touch her.”
“Oh. Is she like… albino or something?”
“No, she’s got pigment. I don’t remember what the condition is called. I guess it started in high school or something. You’d have to ask her. And hey! If you work the night shift, you’ll probably get to chat with her!”
Petunia wasn’t wrong. I started working as a nighttime janitor for a number of local businesses. That was when I first started noticing the pale goth hippy. She rides around on a moped, with her dark hair and her sarong barely billowing behind her. I couldn’t see her face through the helmet, but she waved to me as she passed by.
The next time I saw her, she was jogging, but here’s where it gets weird. When I first stepped outside, all I saw was a blur. It actually startled me as I whipped toward it, but then there was this skinny tattooed pixie, somehow still looking like a stonehippy/vampire in jogging gear. I swear she was moving inhumanly fast when I first noticed her. That was when we introduced ourselves. She actually jogged over to say hello.
“Hey! You’re the new guy right?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. My name’s Mason!” I reached out to shake the pretty girl’s hand, like an awkward loser. She smirked and shook my hand. Her grip was weirdly strong, and a bit cold.
“I’m Trista. I’m the weirdo in the back with the rabbits.”
“Trista… oh, are you the one who has a thing with sunlight? I think Petunia mentioned you.”
“Yup! That’s me. Xerodoma pigmentosum. Sunlight hurts. I hate that it hurts.” She lamented.
“That’s gotta be rough,” I said sympathetically.
“You get used to it. You work at night?”
“Yeah. Works better for me.”
“I get that.”
And so on and so on. She’s pretty cool, with a bit of hilarious snark in there. And she secretly procured recreational weed she was willing to share. I kept working the night shift just hoping for another chance to talk to her and possibly buy a joint. Eventually she invited me over to share a joint. The inside of her place was actually pretty sparse and spartan compared to the outside. Though she was a fan of hanging beads. Most of the main room was taken up by her various crafting projects and supplies. Hemp weaves, some paintings, and even a wood carving of what I think was a rabbit, but it wasn’t anywhere near complete.
I followed her to her kitchen where she reached into the very back of her pantry and pulled out a shoebox. Inside was her stash, but there was something else which I found very strange. It was a pack of syringes and a thing I assume is to sterilize syringes. I know what you’re thinking, and that was my first thought too. It’s a poor neighborhood, the woman already smokes weed illegally, it’s not that big a shock that maybe she was involved in other drugs too. I decided not to ask at the time. We shared our joint, and we laughed, a lot. She made fun of me for being a lightweight, while I got completely hypnotized staring at the patterns of a shawl she had woven.
Months went by and we got closer, but I couldn’t forget those syringes. After a while I got worried. I’ve seen what heroine does to people. So the next time I went over to smoke and eat (vegan) pizza with her, I asked.
“Trista? Are you using anything other than weed?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Why?”
“You can tell me if you are.”
“Mason, sweetheart, I’m a stoner. I don’t fuck around with anything else and I never have.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay. Can I ask what that set of syringes are for?”
“Oh. In my stash box? Those are… part of my condition. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh. Is it like… embarrassing?”
“Yeah. So don’t ask. Can we just watch a movie?”
So I don't ask anymore. But I still have no idea what she does with those syringes. Based on what I read about that Xerodoma Pigmentosum thing she says she has, I have no clue what she would need to inject herself with.
Another time she asked me to check on her rabbits for her during the day, as her usual “sitter” had something come up. All I had to do was chop up the lettuce and carrots she left out. As I was enjoying the adorable fluffy faces, one of Trista’s neighbors, a woman named Bridget, poked her head outside her door.
“Hey. Do you know what Trista injects those rabbits with?”
“I… what?”
“I’ve seen her use syringes on those rabbits. She said she was just giving them medicine, but I swear I see her inject them every week.”
“I… I wouldn't know. She just asked me to feed them.”
“I love Trista, but that always seemed so weird. She has to know vaccines are a hoax!” I tuned the woman out after that one. My mind was on that set of syringes. Why would she be using them on rabbits? These things were her pets.
I was starting to crush on her by then. But I couldn’t help feeling weirded out by that. I was actually going to confront her, but the next time I came to visit, she was literally inside the Rabbit hutch, on her back, squealing with delight as her rabbit friends nuzzled and played with her.
“Bonnibelle! That tickles! Marcy! No chewing. Finn? Watch where you’re sticking that foot! Jake? Where are you? EEEEE Lumpy! Not the neck!”
It was as silly and adorable as it sounds. She was forced to whip herself upright when two of her little friends tried to burrow under her dress. She finally stood up with a laugh, cradling a rabbit in her arms and cooing at it.
There was just no way in hell this woman was doing anything that would hurt these animals. Bridget is a paranoid antivax weirdo anyway. If Trista was using syringes on the rabbits, I was convinced it was only for their benefit.
So life went on. I got more and more reclusive over the years. Petunia, Trista, and my next door neighbor Fred were the only things keeping me remotely connected to the outside. And so we get to now. So let’s see. What are the stories about the weird vampire woman?
Well, there’s the fact that she jogs at night, solo, in a poor neighborhood. Petunia keeps the shitty people contained and behaving for the most part, but I still wouldn’t exactly call it safe, especially for a young skinny woman. But she does it without a care in the world.
There’s one strange event that some people like to connect to this. I never knew this guy, but from what I hear he was a total weirdo who leered at anyone even remotely female. And this is despite the fact he was married. His name was Josh.
I remember him a bit. He’s the guy that Petunia chased away from one of her barbecues. Supposedly he was heard saying inappropriate things to the groups of ten year old girls that were playing in the bounce house Petunia rented. Telling them how pretty they were. Trying to coax them to take off their jackets. Police reports were filed but ultimately nothing could be proven. The guy's wife, Carole, always defends him for some reason.
But anyway, I remember hanging out with Trista one night a little over a year ago. She hadn’t gone jogging like she normally did. I asked her what was up with that.
“That weirdo, Josh has started catcalling when I pass his place. It weirds me out.”
“There aren’t other people who do that at night? I’m still shocked you jog alone.”
“Not like this. I can flip off a wolf whistler. But this guy… he keeps trying to get me to stop and talk to him, and when I don’t? He shouts about my ass. I’m gonna have to talk to Petunia about that shithead, if anybody can reign him in, it’s her.”
I’m gonna guess she never got a chance. Two days later, the whole town was awoken by sirens. I was getting ready for my shift when I heard them. I walked down the road a bit to see if I could figure out what was going on. The cops were heading toward the other side of the park, so I couldn’t see much. But I did notice Trista, in her jogging gear, skulking in the shadows. I wondered if she was in trouble. But before I could call out to her, she sprinted straight to Petunia's house and banged on the door. Petunia welcomed her inside, and that was all I saw. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, so I just shrugged and headed to work, figuring I’d text Trista later.
I didn’t learn till later that Josh was found dead. He was lying prone, face down, partly hidden by bushes at the edge of the park. His neck was cut open. He’d bled out rapidly. He had a knife in his hand, and officially it’s believed he fell on it and accidentally killed himself. There was a cocktail of drugs in his system so most people accept that explanation. But others swear they saw Trista out for her jog around the same time Josh would have been bleeding to death. She got questioned, and she swore she didn’t see anything. Without evidence, there was nothing else that could be proven.
Trista’s a friend. I know that guy was being creepy to her. So I’m happy to take her word for what happened, even if my seeing her going to Petunia’s pokes a bit of a hole in that. I can’t be sure it was Trista though. So I’m not saying a word. But if a certain creep attacked a certain lady who is rumored to be a vampire, it’s not that surprising to me that he ended up dead after bleeding to death. I’m not all that broken up about it.
I’m not the one spreading that story. Josh’s wife was the one who started the rumor. So now some people are even more convinced that the weird nocturnal hippy chick is secretly a vampire.
She’s no killer. No matter what they say. She would only have defended herself.
So that’s all the stories I’ve heard that have any credibility to them. There’s more people who swear she and Petunia perform weird rituals, and people who saw her moving “inhumanly fast” and such.
But now I have to share what I found in the yearbooks Trista gave me. I wasn’t really expecting much. I checked her senior yearbook out first. She looks about the same. Pale, goth, hippy, and sort of sad. She kind of looks even sadder in these photos if I’m being honest, but that’s high school for you. She graduated in the top half of her class, no sports or extracurriculars. I’m left wondering how she managed to go to school at the time of sun was so bad for her. I’ll have to ask her about that. So nothing really new there.
It was the yearbook from her junior year where things got really interesting. I was in shock when I found her. Trista is somehow impossible to miss, but unrecognizable all at once. She’s full of color! She wore more typical tie dye hippy attire. Bright vibrant pinks, reds, blues, greens, and yellows, in every photo, and holy shit was she busy. Captain of the soccer team, first chair flutist, president of the “green living” club and the “vegan alliance,” top ten in her class, it was all incredible. I think the main reason I didn’t recognize her was her skin. It was tan, as though she were out in the sun a lot. Furthermore there were photos of her playing sports and standing outside in bright sunlight.
It was like her disease wasn’t there, which confused me. She told me it was something called Xeroderma Pigmentosa. But that’s a genetic condition. She would have had that from birth.
I sent her a text, wondering about this.
- Hey! Just went through your yearbooks. What happened? You had color? Did you discover Linkin Park?
- My disease happened. Right at the end of Jr. year. That’s why I wasn’t there for the final class photo.
- But your disease is genetic… isn’t it?
- I guess it was dormant in me.
- So it just… happened?
- Pretty much.
- I’m sorry.
- I got over it. Mostly. It was hard. My parents were both hardcore vegan naturalists and we lived in a place that was all natural light and such, so I had to live in a shed for a bit while they built a space for me. But in my family? We kinda lean into whatever life throws at us. It took months of depression to come to terms with it. All of a sudden I couldn’t be out in the sun, and I had new dietary needs that absolutely required non-vegan sources. So I leaned into it. I was a vampire now. I can dig dark colors and “vampire style.” I could make it my own by avoiding leather. And I’d be as vegan as I possibly could.
- You’re kind of awesome.
- Damn straight. So I learned to love the night too and now, here I am.
I gained new respect for her after that. Frankly I feel kinda shitty about making fun of her for being a vampire. There might not be anything paranormally weird about her after all.
She sent me one more text telling me I should talk to a guy named Frankie. She’d gone to school with him. He’s a decent enough guy. Works in the Bicounty mall in town.
I had to wait a day or two for another of Petunia’s get togethers to talk to him.
“Hey!” I said awkwardly as I tried to figure out how to strike up conversation with someone I haven’t really spoken to in a long time. “Frankie, right?”
“Oh. Yeah. Been a while. How are you Mason? You okay after that whole thing at Red Nights?”
“I’m trying to be. Look, I’ll cut to the chase. You went to school with Trista Ramone, right?”
“Ol’ Boho Ramone? Yeah. We were sort of friendly. But I was a jerk to vegans back then. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been hanging out with her. She’s being all mysterious.” He chuckled at that. “She said I should talk to you to learn more about her… weirdness? Everyone thinks she’s a vampire now.”
“She’s totally a vampire. I have no idea what else to call her?”
“Why do you say that?”
“What did she tell you about school?”
“Nothing. She just showed me two yearbooks. Between Junior and Senior year she went from colorful club president, to lonely vampire, because of her disease.”
“Nah man. I don’t want to talk bad about her. But she was kind of a bitch, junior year. She wasn’t just a colorful vegan. She was one of those “holier than thou” types who scoffed and talked down to anyone who dared to eat meat. Her “hippy” thing meant she never hung out with the popular girls but still, she acted like she owned the place at times. I was friends with this weird guy named Steven Jones. He was just kind of a weirdo. Skulking around in the background, you know? He HATED Trista. For a while I totally understood. I thought she was kinda stuck up. But this guy was like… irrationally enraged by that girl’s existence. I guess he tried to ask her out when he was a freshman and she politely declined. But he took that shit personally.”
“Huh. So like… why’s that matter?”
“Because Steven kept saying to anyone who gave him a second look, that he was gonna ‘ruin’ her. Never elaborated. But then the last month of school rolls around, Trista gets assaulted by an unknown assailant and a week later she’s got this new disease. Meanwhile, Steven spent a week strutting around the school looking smug, and saying ‘she got what she deserved.’ Then he disappears too. Teachers said he moved away.”
“She was assaulted?”
“Yeah. Someone in a face wrap tackled her while she was at one of her protests at the meat factory. The dude freaking BIT her.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. I was there. I came to the protest. I’ll admit I was trying to hit on Trista or one of the other girls there. But yeah. Dude dressed in all gray with a face wrap just charged in and went right for Trista. Knocked her down, bit her like a freaking zombie, then ran away before anyone could stop him. Didn’t even take his face wrap off. It was freaky, man.”
“What the actual fuck.”
“That’s what we all said. Trista needed a stitch. But while she was at the hospital, I guess she started getting more symptoms. She was out for the rest of the year. From then on, she was like she is now. Total vampire.”
“Was Steven a vampire?”
“I dunno. Probably. Little dickhead is what he is. Must have been him that attacked Trista, but nobody could prove it. Bite mark didn’t match or something. So why are you asking? You hang out with her at night right? You asking her out or something?”
“Oh. No. Just a friend.”
That was all I really learned from Frankie. It’s quite a story, and it’s full of unknowns that Trista refuses to explain. So I guess I’ll let readers be the judge. Is she a “real” vampire? Or just a weirdo? All I know is, she’s totally standing behind me right now and now I’m dead. Bleh.
I did come back to life to talk to Trista once I finished writing this. She enjoyed it. I may as well include that interaction.
I went to her place on my night off. She read my take on her and what the neighbors thought and she grinned. “Ha! I’m a total monster!” She chuckled. “So. What do YOU think, Mason? Am I a vampire?” She cocked an eye and playfully gnashes her teeth at me, making a pleasant little click.
I sighed. “No idea. You’re Trista. And… you’re my friend. I’m sorry if I made things awkward.”
She looked surprised by that. “Aw. Thanks Mason. You’re my friend too. It’s okay. I’m flattered.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“So we’re cool?”
“Absolutely not. We’re both weird shut ins.” She laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. It made me happy.
“Yeah but I got the ‘mysterious vampire’ thing going.”
“You have dirt in your hair from rolling around with bunnies. And you’re a vegan.”
“Bite me.”
“Says the vampire.”
“You know, if I were a vampire, I could have bitten you when we both went to the slaughterhouses a few weeks ago.”
“That just makes me stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Mason. You’re not a loser either.”
“So. You know of any other good spooky town stories that I can do next?
“Oh, sure. You ever heard the tale of Salome? She was a witch who would mash up the seeds of a Sinapis Alba plant to make a diabolical potion she’d dump on herself. They called her the ‘Witch of the Sands.’”
I’m embarrassed to admit it took me four days to realize Trista was just fucking with me. I only figured it out when I looked up Sinapis Alba and learned that mashing the seeds just makes mustard. “Salomi the sand-witch.” Well played, vampire hippy…
Sexy Neighbor
Haunted Slaughterhouse

Since they've rolled out chat gpt-o4, I notice chat gpt4 stopped streaming it's answers and it takes several minutes for one prompt. I pay 20 bucks a month for this shit and they can't even maintain their service.

I am a guy in my early 30's. I'm an International Student in the country where I live. I got a match on CatholicMatch with a girl just 6 months older than me who lives 158.3 km away in the same country, it would take me 4.5 hours to get there by train. She was beautiful. Not a supermodel, but she has a pretty face and gorgeous eyes. She is 6 months older than me, from a similar culture, and we speak the same language. We both accepted the match in November 2022.
We started chatting and the conversation was pleasant. She told me that she lived with her older brother, she worked as a babysitter and that she didn't have a visa. The conversations were a bit slow, because we both took our time responding, but it was pleasant. I often mentioned that she was busy studying and doing my homework. Actually, by looking at old messages, I could see that it was me the one who took longer took longer to respond. Sometimes, because I didn't know what to say and others times because I didn't notice her replies. I suggested her that when I had some free time, we could we could go and explore a town together. I thought we could meet in the capital because there should be lots of fun things to do and it's kind of in the middle for both of us. She seemed happy, but when I suggested a date, she didn't respond in time. In early February 2023, I gathered some courage, found her on Facebook, and sent her a friend request. She accepted it. I looked at her photos and realized that she came from a lovely family and that in 2015 she wanted to be a nun and she went through the Discernment period for five years (2 years with vows). I felt more attracted to her after that. We started chatting and she said she was glad that I found her there. I suggested going to see a cultural site. She responded that her immigration and financial situation was not the best and that it would not be wise for her to get out of town for a date. She said that she would like to meet me, but that to do so she would have to travel to where she was.
Maybe I sabotaged myself because I responded that I would like to be friends with her and chat on Facebook and that I could go there, but that she would take me a little longer. I She responded that getting to a woman's heart requires some sacrifice and that she wasn't doing it on purpose to test me. I said she understood. What I meant was that I would like to start as friends and that I would be willing to go whenever I have free time. She doesn't know it, but I was dealing with a serious procrastination and anxiety problem. I tried to message her again after that, but she seemed a little distant. I even wished her a happy Valentine's Day and she responded with just a smiley face but no words. The last time I texted her was in August for her birthday. But there wasn't much conversation. Months passed and communication cooled down, it went through some academic research challenges as well, but I kept hoping to resume communication at some point after I graduated. I just didn't know how to do it.
In December of last year, she posted a photo on Facebook with her new boyfriend. I felt sad, but I tried to understand it. Because I was curious, I checked her boyfriend's profile and found out he is from her hometown but lives in this country, and his a dad. She also posted a picture with him again one momth ago and this time it did affect me. It doesn’t make sense that something I already knew could affect me so much. Just in case you are wondering I taking therapy, and I also have ASD, so it’s hard for me to let things go.
I know this is not serious love, because we never got to meet each other, and it's not good to idealize people or 'building castles in midair', but I still feel like I was a jerk and not a real gentleman to her. I'm just writing this as a form of catharsis. but I feel better now after writing this and talking to my therapist.