My emotionally and verbally abusive dad
I feel like their relationship is falling apart. I’m starting to hate my dad, the way he behaves, the way he talks, the way he thinks, basically everything. He’s an oil and gas company employee and earns 100% income of my family, which means he doesn’t spend a lot of time at home. I'm 18F, and the time he spends in my life can basically be cut to half, because he only comes home for two weeks and works for two weeks every month, since I can remember.
He’ll always get triggered by the smallest things ever and starts to verbally abuse my mum or everyone in this family because he thinks he’s the financial source of this family and he can do whatever he wants for the sake of being a provider of this family. Yes, he financially supported us for about 20 years now, and I’m truly grateful for it, but the role of being a dad is definitely more than that, right? Plus, he only gives about 25% of his income to my mum and expects her to take care of four people’s spending every month and be a homemaker.
Here are the little things I’m gonna share with you that he’ll get triggered by. Whenever my mom was the driver he would be in the passenger seat yapping about how my mum’s driving skills were bad and belittling her. I hate to see that. He’s a misogynistic person, since I could remember he’ll always say a lot of things about women like he wasn’t raised by one. My grandmother is evil towards my mum, she’ll always try to gossip about my mum in front of my dad and makes my dad mad at my mum. My mum raised three of us, me, my brother and my sister because he’s barely home. Whenever he comes back from work, he’ll just meet up with his friends and drink till late at night and come home drunk. Or he’ll just go on bike trips with his friends for a few nights every week.
One time my mum was sick and overslept and missed my little sister's school time she straight up yelled at my mum for being irresponsible and he even said “You must send her to school every day unless you die.” It was shocking and awful, I would say I was already used to his tantrums but this is new and it's very out of line. My mum must felt so hurt at that time.
I never talk back to him. I never talked back to him since I was a kid, never, cuz whenever I had a little objection to his opinion I would get yelled at, very badly.
He always thinks he has the right to say all those bad things about us because he’s my mum’s husband and our dad. My dad would always start a fight with my mum about money. He thinks we’ve spent so much of his money and always being ungrateful to him which we did not. And the fight he had with my mum would always end with “You don’t know how many women are aiming at my money, I can still pull girls and choose not to stay here with you.” My mum will always be quiet about it because it’s the only way he will stop yelling.
His insecurity of fearing no one will take care of him when he gets older is getting really obvious now as he’s older. He’s unwilling to pay for our expenses and decided to cut off 5% of the money from the 25% he was initially giving us. I guess he’s trying to save up for his retirement but as his children, we did not say we would abandon him. Sometimes they will also fight about why me and my siblings rarely start a conversation with him and accuse my mum that she’s turning his kids against him. This is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard of, I genuinely don’t know what he’s thinking. Btw he barely pays any attention to us, he only cares about his money and his bike.
Here's a little fun fact about him, he likes to brag. Whenever he gets anything that is “braggable” he will start to brag, and show off to the other relatives and friends, making others think that he’s a super generous person and he’s being very generous towards us, but the truth is, he’s not.
Whenever they fought, he’d say awful, hurtful stuff, and yell at my mom and they would stay quiet for a few days until they started talking again. Then things go back to normal and we live peacefully like a normal family and things will repeat.
I really wish that one day I could drag my mum out of this shithole. Maybe we are the problem too, we are too dependent on his financial support. I just needed to let things out for a sec so that I could focus on my study, cuz I don't know what to do now. I feel like they should've gotten a divorce
thanks for reading my rant

I’m not good with technology, I’m old, and I suck as a person. I joined my brother at his job like a year and a half ago. I got a crush (got bad advice) went for it and got turned down. I was way too old to do it but my meds kind of made me act stupid. I’ll own up to that. Then I got married shortly after with someone working there too. Even though I knew I shouldn’t have
2 months in we had issues with her kid ( she has 3) and then I started feeling like I was being poisoned. It never stopped. With my meds I knew I had to get away from them so I wouldn’t hurt them or my self. 6 months I tired to tough it out. I went to live my mom. I was good for like 4 months , then it started again.
It got to the point I tired to leave to other states to get away from it. But it never stopped. Weird ppl would interact with me and I’d be sick. Went back home to moms place and it got worse. The more I got into moms security and put in my own it would get better, but it never really stopped.
I stopped taking my meds 4 or 5 months ago and I know it’s not my meds but I have given up so I just now suffer. I guess I pissed off the wrong people. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m not good but I’m not evil. I’ve tried everything but I know I’ll be dying a painful death. My brother and sister are in on it. Hopefully I die drunk. Wish me a quick death

Continued from part one.
In the mirror I saw a figure of the darkness next to the foot of my bed. I screamed, only for the figure to dash back inside my closet and close the doors behind it. To the naked eye, the doors seemed to roll back on their own, but because of the many mirrors inside my room, I could see the shadowy figure.
“What’s wrong?” my mom burst into my room not even four seconds later.
“J-j-just a nightmare?” I was uncertain if my imagination was too strong for my own good so I held back on the truth.
I wish I told her the truth. That wasn’t the last time I would see the figure in the mirror.
It happened again, about five years later. Yeah it didn’t happen right away. I wondered if the figure I saw was friendly and I simply scared it away for a while. That was my first mindset, but then I second guessed myself and simply thought maybe it was just my imagination playing with me.
At age 12, things started to become rocky with my parents. They fought over the same things, but they also fought over me. I had gone into the world of music to the point where I wanted to take up guitar, piano, and violin. My mom took one side of the stance where she didn’t believe that I could commit to any of them. My dad believed the opposite, fighting that I could do anything if I set my mind to it.
Again, conflict resided. My angry mother could still barge into my room if I didn’t lock the doors. She once found me writing, insisted on me showing her what I wrote, when I resisted she pulled it away from me and read my vampire fanfiction.
I was an angsty girl. Hence my writings were a bit suggestive at the time. My mom and my dad both read my work. My dad actually liked what I wrote aside from the fact it was about the supernatural. Of course, my mother again got mad since she’s the most religious in our family. She was, in a sense, a heretic.
Needless to say, since my family’s religion absolutely detests “spiritualistic and demonic” media, I got grounded. Also to clarify, yes this also meant I never read or watched the Harry Potter series, including the Twilight series. Although I don’t think I missed out on much with the Twilight series lol. Eventually I managed to rent a book that I got from my school’s library, called Hush, Hush, which laid in my backpack, tempting me to read it.
So there I was, no laptop and in my room. I didn’t really care since I had a guitar and a notebook. I still could find pleasure outside of my laptop, which of course my mother absolutely detested as well. Whenever she grounded me, she used to take away any kind of toy. Then, once she realized I could read on my own and was making up stories when I couldn’t read, she began to take books away. Punishments with my family wasn’t really a punishment, I could always find a way to entertain myself. Even if she took my notebooks away, I’d still end up daydreaming about something, even act out scenes I’d come up with in my head.
Now you can understand why I pushed off the incident with the figure in the mirror as a figment of my imagination. I had figured it was a draft, that the wheels and tracking were well lubricated with some kind of oil that makes it hard for them to stay in place.
Sitting on my bed at age 12, I leant back and closed my eyes. I had notebooks, several books, a keyboard for me to practice piano on, and a guitar. It wasn’t a big deal. (Yes I was a spoiled child. I’m owning up to this since I was the only girl among four boys- plus I was also 13 years younger than my youngest brother.) However I was so tired, that I decided on lazily daydreaming. Besides, I could always sneak my laptop back late at night.
As a devoted writer, I continued on imagining the story I began. I imagined what it would feel like to have fangs teasing the throat of the neck, how it would be to be kissed and then bitten by a vampire... my mind was rolling and it didn’t stop. I was a twelve year old girl going through puberty.
I told myself to stop and I decided to pull out the book, smiling at my little success. I went back to the page I left off on at the library earlier that day. I buried myself into the book and became sleepy. I nearly finished the book by the time I set the book aside and stupidly put it on my bedside table.
I passed out soon after. I don’t recall what kind of dream I had at first, all I know is that sometime later in the night, I woke up again, but I could not move my body at all. I looked around my room, which was now fully dark. I barely could recognize anything around me. The familiar outline of my vanity was gone, any silver reflection was gone, I did not see a single mirror, so I knew I was no longer in my room anymore.
A slight humming noise was around me, the room I was in lit up with a red flashing light. It felt like I was being pinned down by some kind of restraint system, so I looked down and noticed these short pale creatures crawling on top of me, towards my face. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, and I knew one of the creatures had bit me already.
It became to feel like sharp knives stabbing me all over my body, until five creatures met my face, their eyes sullen- beady- staring down at me with bloodied mouths and lunged at my neck, causing me to scream..The sound finally piercing through and I could hear myself breathing again, I could hear my screams and my frantic prayers escaping my lips.
Had my mom not come into my room and slapped me on my face, jolting me out of it- whatever it was- I would have seen more than I could bare. She saw the book and her anger brewed even more at me.
“Are you tempting the demons to attack you or something?” she fumed and took the book off of the table. She led me down to the entryway and opened the garage door. “Put it in there.”
I followed her command and put the book into the garage. I knew it wasn’t the book’s fault, but it was associated with “demunz” in her eyes, so I didn’t dare argue against her.
“Do you want to die? If you keep associating with demons, you know god will never forgive you. You won’t inherit everlasting life, only everlasting death. You know that right?!?” she yelled at me, had my dad been there that night- he would have stopped her from going that far. I suddenly missed him.
Her anger then died down after she ranted at me, once she recognized that I was still petrified. She at least brought me to, which made me thankful, but I also felt betrayed. She was supposed to protect me, but all she cared about was the idea of force feeding me her belief system. All she cared about was telling me I was wrong.
“I’m-” she had begun, and I just looked away from her and saw a shadow in my mirror again, standing behind my mom. It didn’t feel as eerie anymore. It felt almost comforting to see it, it moved from my mom to me. A figure of it’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I felt the cool breeze raise goosebumps at it’s touch.
“Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?” her voice lowered.
“I’ll sleep alone,” I remarked, still stung with the hurt from her hurtful remark.
She looked hurt for a second, but then returned to her normal frown. “I’ll sleep in the little entertainment room next to you, if you need me just yell out again.”
“Fine,” I simply just pulled my blankets over me again, waited for her to leave, then cried into my pillow.
My mom left, not seeing the dark figure in the mirror and went into the adjacent room. At her departure, the darkness came into my bed, the eerie feeling no longer there and it snuggled against me.
Shh. It hushed me and brushed my hair.
I didn’t question it. I had been afraid of it for so long, but with the sweet affection it gave me- the affection I desired and longed for from both of my parents.
The falling tears turned into a silent sob, my body shook against the bed, little breathy whimpers muffled by my pillow.
Shh, it repeated until I fell asleep again.
When morning came, I woke up with a sore neck and I was irritated with my mom. I remembered what happened and then I snuck out to my laptop and searched up what had happened to me. I learned it was sleep paralysis and figured maybe my imagination went too far with the vampire thing. I was stiff, my body was so sore and I saw my closet doors closed.
Again, I had felt as if my imagination had made it up. I knew the kind of comfort it gave me is what I desperately longed for. It gave me what my family didn’t, and I hated myself. I thought it was a figment of my imagination since it knew all the things I wanted. That is, until something else showed up. The shadow figure in the mirrors was just the start of it all.

So, my father has been absent since I was 2. He was physically abusive to my mother and was a drug usedealer. He burned every bridge he could. I learned he threatened my mother to avoid having to pay child support too.
When I was a teen I decided to hunt down contact info and tried to talk with him. He mentioned how I'm always on his mind and he always talks about me on my birthday. Which is clearly lies because only a few weeks after he broke contact for whatever reason and I haven't heard from him since. So without counting that small attempt it's been 30ish years he's been just gone without a care.
Now, recently he's attempted to reach out to some family saying he's not doing well and believes he is dying soon. He'd like to speak with me. To "provide me with bloodline health info and allow me to get anything off my chest."
I'm not sure how to feel about this. I have nothing but pent up anger and hatred for the guy. I struggle with major depressive disorder, ptsd, bipolar, and I have a schizoid personality disorder. All of which I tend to blame on his absence and how my mother decided to raise me. I've attempted suicide twice and I've spent years wishing I could harm him or that he would die.
The only reason I could see myself going through with actually accepting his request would be to try to hurt him mentally. Maybe knowing how garbage of a life I've led and how much anger I have towards him would affect him somehow. Then, part of me also feels he doesn't even deserve to know that much about me.
I'm not really even sure what my question for everyone here is. Like, is this a bad idea? Should I just ignore him? Would it be good to just get all that out? What would you do in a similar situation? Has anyone had a similar situation? I wouldn't know how to frame this without sounding nasty and kind of childish. Should I be concerned with sounding nasty? I just dont know man...

Me: evening, how's it going over there
Her: good thanks and yourself?
Me: sweet, I'm also doing fine thanks...I was just checking up on you that's all.
Her: Why??
Me: For no particular reason, I guess it's just how I'm
Me again: Maybe next time on any day I'll wish you a happy birthday just because (was trying to be funny)
Her: For what reasons??
Me: I don't think explaining will help, isn't it normal to just check up on people?
She never answered since then. So am I wrong in all of this, is there something that I missed? I always check up on my contacts and see how their doing, but in this case I don't know where I went wrong. Mind you it's the first time I'm checking up on this person.

So, my father has been absent since I was 2. He was physically abusive to my mother and was a drug usedealer. He burned every bridge he could. I learned he threatened my mother to avoid having to pay child support too.
When I was a teen I decided to hunt down contact info and tried to talk with him. He mentioned how I'm always on his mind and he always talks about me on my birthday. Which is clearly lies because only a few weeks after he broke contact for whatever reason and I haven't heard from him since. So without counting that small attempt it's been 30ish years he's been just gone without a care.
Now, recently he's attempted to reach out to some family saying he's not doing well and believes he is dying soon. He'd like to speak with me. To "provide me with bloodline health info and allow me to get anything off my chest."
I'm not sure how to feel about this. I have nothing but pent up anger and hatred for the guy. I struggle with major depressive disorder, ptsd, bipolar, and I have a schizoid personality disorder. All of which I tend to blame on his absence and how my mother decided to raise me. I've attempted suicide twice and I've spent years wishing I could harm him or that he would die.
The only reason I could see myself going through with actually accepting his request would be to try to hurt him mentally. Maybe knowing how garbage of a life I've led and how much anger I have towards him would affect him somehow. Then, part of me also feels he doesn't even deserve to know that much about me.
I'm not really even sure what my question for everyone here is. Like, is this a bad idea? Should I just ignore him? Would it be good to just get all that out? What would you do in a similar situation? Has anyone had a similar situation? I wouldn't know how to frame this without sounding nasty and kind of childish. Should I be concerned with sounding nasty? I just dont know man...

So I[M22] met her[F23] in june, last year. At that time both of us were in different relationships and very shitty ones. We became friends and then as time went by, we came closer and closer and then realised that yes we are legit perfect for each other. Cut to feb of this year, althogh we both went through a rollercoaster in these months and eventually figured things out, Feb was the month she needed me the most. Her health was very poor and instead of supporting me and instead of actually being there for her, I just said that yes i am here for you always. I hurt her a lot at that time and i was kind of selfish too. I did not address her pain but all I did when i made a mistake saying that yes i know this was wrong and i will not do that instead of really trying to understand the pain that i made her go through. I made her cry on the valentines day and i fucking hated it. She wanted to break up then beacuse she is not wrong. She being the best woman on this earth, decided to give me another chance. I was acting immature but she gave me another chance to grow up. it was my birthday in April and she legit made it the best birthday ever in my last 22 years. I was so goddamn happy on my birthday, it was magical. we also went on a staycation on early may and it went amazing too.

Now we were both supposed to go for masters this year. I could not get in but she did and she did in the top instituitions of my country. Her being a goddess, she decided that she wants to go with me so she decided that we can go together next year. She delayed her professional life for an year because of me. While on our staycation, she explictly told me that "I need you, PLease be there for me" Now dumb me thought that she meant that be available for me instead of being emotionally there for her. I did not even acknowledge her decision because I thought that i dont want to make her cry because she is going through a lot at home because she has to deal with thte pressure about not going. I have said thank you to her countless times but never really acknowlege about the fact that how much she is going through for me. Today is her birthday and she is crying because of me on her birthday. It was my mistake and blunder as i should say to this relationship. and she is not wrong about breaking up, but i dont want her to go. Now that I know how I was not there when she needed me the most, I know how to be there now. And me saying sorry again and again must sound very very irritating I dont know what to do, I am and I will make amends but I really do not want to hurt her. This was not a casual relationship, we both were dating each other to marry. 

I know where I was wrong but I really hope it is not too late to amend. I have done horrible things and have hurt her. I really wish I loved her the way she did. She is a goddess and I want to make her feel what she made me feel like.

I, (29 female) have been in a strange relationship with my boyfriend (33 male) for over 10 years now. I was 16 when we met and 18 when we had our first child of 2. Before having kids we had a bit of a wild side and would sometimes bring another person or 2 into the bedroom with us, we never got jealous and we're just young and having fun. We settled after the first child but about a year or so after having the second child I was not as sexually active as him and we started to explore the swinging world once again. This was mostly to satisfy my partner but also as a 21 year old I was interested in the fun. As we began to explore he also took up the art or making home brew. This was the beginning of the worst 4 yrs of my life... he would drink alot every day, he was a happy drunk so I wouldn't mind at first but it got really hard for me, he would not help with anything or play with the kids, infact I was genuinely scared of him around the kids or holding the kids as he would fall over alot and brake their things. At this time my oldest son was starting school, behind on speech, hated school and needed alot of therapy. My youngest child was diagnosed with Autism not long after, the highest on the spectrum. All while I'm dealing with this, my partner decided to have multiple litters of nednose pittbulls, each time she had 10 btw lol. So I'm trying to raise 2 toddlers who have special needs and 10 dogs... but all he cared about the whole time was drinking and swinging.... the house was in constant chaos... every birthday party, every Christmas, every event I worked so hard on he would just get so smashed and ruin the whole thing for the kids. But that alone I could have maybe dealt with and maybe we would be fine now but while all this was in full swing he would constantly be making plans with other couples, he would send people my pics and videos then invite them over without even asking me.. well he was asking me but then wouldn't ask if he knew I would say no.. but I already gave him boundaries not to bring them to our house or our kids to be around, we wer supposed to get a baby sitter... I just played along the first time because they were nice and didn't know the situation at all. But then he just kept doing it, random couples rocking up at our house and they were people I didn't want to sleep with, I told him I was not attracted to them but he would keep pushing and peer pressured me and I'd give in. I was around 21 and he wanted me to sleep with 50yr olds that I never even met, one time I just got drunk and told them to leave because I didn't know them and never messaged them, another time when i gave in and we be began sex and I hated it so much I pretended to be sick from drinking. It was constant fighting to keep these random people away. This was constant for years! I just wanted to focus on my kids, I cried every night, became so depressed and dangerously skinny with an eating disorder.
After 4years he proposed we move in with his parents to save money and buy a house, I only agreed because I knew he couldn't do it anymore but by this stage I was so burnt out and depressed I was bed ridden and just wanted to die. Him and his parents were so mad that I was depressed and told me I was so pathetic and lazy and had to get a job, I lost 2 jobs in a row because the school and therapy were so constant I couldn't be at work enough... I was never good enough no matter how much I did.
We eventually bought a house and I had a steady job that I enjoyed but I couldn't help feel resentful, I could no longer enjoy sex with my partner, I was pretending to like it but I was digusted. He had already broken my heart so many times that it no longer felt right.
Now for the last 3 yrs we have been in a back and forth battle of weather to end it or not. He says it's in the past and doesn't matter but it was a large period of my life and quiet traumatic. He says he will do anything for me and for the past 3 yrs he has been the best partner anyone could ask for. He does all the chores, shopping, cooking, cleaning and just anything I ask. He does all the kids stuff and is just amazing.. but I hate it. I wish he was there for me when I needed him the most, when I couldn't eat or shower when the babies were crying... when I just wanted a sleep... basic human needs... how can you look at the mother of ur kids struggling so bad, just wanting to eat or shower, wanting to end her life and just not care at all... the way he treated me... I don't think I can ever get over it. I've been expressing this to him for 3years. We tried and tried to get over it and make things better but his touch still makes my skin crawl.
But every time I try to leave him he won't let me! He begs and calls and texts and promises the world and won't leave me alone!!! He left for a few days last week but now he is back here and says he is happy to live with me but not have sex. I'm so fked in the head right now. He makes me feel bad, like I'm making the wrong decision. I feel like a bad mum, denying her kids of a better future with their dad. I don't know what to do, he's driving me crazy and it feels like the longest break up in history!
TL;DR: baby daddy won't let me go after a strange abusive relationship.

My account have both the GPTs store and GPT4o since yesterday, and I saw a lot of people that doesn't have it so I will summarize the 2 biggest problem for free user I had with them: GPTs one:
It's an awfully useless feature. You only have 5 use and you can't generate an image, programming apps are not as useful GPT4o was with the same question

I have this code for connect to my bluetooth earbuds "Xiaomi Buds 3T Pro" using java. I want Java to detect if I use one of the press button of my earbuds

The code as it was ONLY WAS ABLE TO CONNECT to bluetooth. No other code included
As far as I looked into, this question is impossible to answer because Xiaomi doesn't allowed individuals to give a way to, unless I code it by myself THAT I CAN'T DO, be able to let a Java code interact with the specific earbuds
What they answered me rougthly :

• GPT3.5 : Go to device manager and select Xiaomi Buds 3T Pro. Find the parameter named "UUID" and find a UUID that's contain "Press Control Id". Copy paste into the code as (shows me a new method he created)
• GPTs : I can't do that
• GPT-4o : This may seems impossible, but have a look for some SDK published by Xiaomi. They probably didn't put it online, but if you found some, you may be able to find what you are looking in a zip file

I sent to GPT-4o the only one zip file I found, asked him to look out if the bluetooth connexion I'm looking for exist, it doesn't, but GPT-4o "considerated" the file was may including the connexion, so created me a probable code to make the connexion work, I didn't even tried to launch the code because I read the file before he did and even the given structure of the file wasn't the same as the real zip structure of the file.
GPTs WON'T try to give you an answer. and you can't even use it to generate image using your daily 5 request, so it seems, for me, very useless. I stopped trying GPTs after 10 tries
GPT-4o biggest problem for free user is that you won't have priority against Plus I did 30 tries this time, and number will be better to express what I mean
On 15 tries I wrote note about, almost only 3 had a less than 1 second wait before starting writing and ending writing in less than 10 seconds, 10 were "slow" with writing around 10-20 seconds The worst, 2 tries were lost because the chat crashed before the interesting part. The first try I did was at a speed of around 5 letters per second, but the last I did 15 minutes ago, he started me writing again A WHOLE java code I did, but didn't even write something I could use, and crashed in the import part of the code
The worst about the last try is that it was so slow (around 1 letter per second), that I just left my computer 3 minute to celebrate my brother birthday, the code was only starting writing the import part of the code, and then crashed some minutes ago.
I'm sorry for that, but if OpenAI don't want Free users to use their service, they just remove the whole free plan instead of giving very bad service

Around 2 years ago, my sister (29) just completely stopped talking to me and had zero contact with me and my son (5 at the time). I messaged a few times and had all my messages ignored, and because of how it upset my son due to the fact she’d made all these promises about seeing him etc, I decided at that point to completely cut her out of mine and my sons lives as we evidently didn’t mean a great deal to her. I knew this given the fact she was posting on friends walls etc on Facebook that I could see and wishing them a happy birthday yet completely missed her nephews and mine.
I don’t hold any grudges against her, I just simply wish to surround myself with genuine people that care and don’t want people in my sons life that will up and drop him repeatedly and make him feel upset as I know first hand how detrimental that can be when growing up. Today after not speaking for around 2 years she randomly messages me with a scan photo and some message about being an auntie. I moved it to my archived. Later received a messaged from my step mum saying she’d sent a message to my requests so I told her I’d saw and got zero response.
AITA for not replying? I don’t ill wish her at all and I’m happy that she is getting what she always wanted out of life, I just can’t get past how upset she made my son and I don’t wish to speak to her, especially as there has been zero attempt at an explanation of why she just cut us out - up until that point we’d had a great relationship never had an argument etc so it was entirely out of the blue and actually upset me for some time. Am I being cruel?

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

In the vast countryside, away from the busy city of Savannah, exist hills as tall as buildings and green as emeralds. There was also an aura of calmness, with a few birds twittering away in dispersed trees, followed by the gentle swaying of the wind.
Then, out of nowhere, came a small, lonely girl wearing a once-lily-white summer dress with a striped long-sleeved t-shirt underneath it. She was also wearing a dark blue and cream-white baseball hat with the letter D on the front of it. She was moving wearily, with a pistol in one hand, and wiping her damp eyes with the other.
She knew what happened to make her weep. According to her, it was her fault that she got him killed; she was convinced by a towering man who said he knew her parents. But that was a brainless, childish lie that got Lee killed. She shouldn’t have run off. At least, Lee taught her how to use a gun and what to expect in the future before his tragic passing. But now she was all on her own.
Eventually, she came to a log, which was next to the rusted shell of a car. Anyway, she proceeded to sit down on it. Throughout all of this, she was as quiet as a mouse, only looking at her feet and wiping her blood-red eyes. She noticed that on the floor next to the log was a mixture of bullets—some shell casings and some unfired ones. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and examined it before exhaling deeply, which is when she noticed something else. Something she could just about make out if she scrutinised her eyes—something on the nearest hill—looked like two figures. One followed the other, and they looked like they stopped to look at her, making her start to hyperventilate as her eyes extended to the size of oranges. Was it someone she knew? Was it a threat to her? She didn’t know.
"Lee said I needed to find Omid and Christa before he got killed because of me." She said to herself, still looking sad, as she noticed that the two figures were now coming down the prominent hill—they didn't look like walkers. So she clasped her gun tightly until the figures came into view. She ended up not firing the gun and running towards the figures, as it was Omid and Christa, and they were alive!
Omid was a tall, slim Persian-American man with short dark-brown hair and a beard to match.
Christa, on the other hand, was a slightly taller African-American lady. She also had jet-black hair tied up in a ponytail, and she was Omid’s girlfriend.
"Clementine, honey, where's Lee?" Christa asked, kneeling to the nine-year-old.
"H-h-he's...dead." She answered with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
"Oh, Clementine, we’re sorry," Omid said, who started to kneel to her height as well.
"W-where's Ben and Kenny?" Clementine asked, still with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
Omid and Christa then looked at each other without Clementine noticing, and it was Omid who told her what happened to Ben and Kenny.
"So, it’s just us three," Clementine responded, now looking at Omid and Christa with her eyes dry again, a short while later.
"I guess, Clem, I guess so." Christa replied, "Come on, let’s go somewhere safe."
With this, the trio (Clementine, Omid, and Christa) began to walk, with Clementine tagging behind while Omid and Christa were in front. They were busily talking away, apart from Clementine, who was still looking at her feet, along holding the gun in her hand. As a result of this, she wasn't engaged in the conversation that they were having. She was too melancholy about what happened today. With her being kidnapped, seeing her walker parents, Lee dying, and now Kenny and Ben dying as well.
It was a lot for her to take in.
* * * * *
Sometime later, the trio found an abandoned house that had been abandoned for decades, as thick ivy hugged the walls. Furthermore, it reminded Clementine of that house they stayed at in Savannah; it was hard to believe that was a month ago.
Anyway, they succeeded in getting into the house rather than struggling, so now they could search within it.
Clementine, honey," Christa said, kneeling to her. "Omid, and I believe you can search parts of this house on your own. Just remember, if someone, walker or not, tries to hurt you, you got your gun. If you run out of bullets or are in a tight place, call us, and we will help you if you get into trouble. Do you understand?"
“Yeah, I do, Christa; I will be careful."
“Good," replied Christa, "let me know if you find anything."
With this, Clementine strayed a little by searching for anything useful on her own, though she stayed close to Omid and Christa.
As usual in the kitchen, she found faded, rusted cans with nothing but spoiled food inside. So she decided to head upstairs, and it seemed like they creaked with every step; as Omid and Christa were searching the enormous living room. Once she was upstairs, she clasped her pistol tightly and opened the door with one of her hands and the other on the pistol. Nothing. The room was that of a bathroom, with its normal interior—a bath, sink, toothbrushes, and some cupboards—which was stripped of life.
So she closed the door, walked to the next door, and proceeded to open it in the same manner she did for the bathroom. This room was that of a child’s room, which made Clementine remember her room back in Georgia, with its toys and books. It felt like she was just coming home from school and wanted to play with her dolls until supper time; it was hard to believe that was a year ago. Yet, here she was searching for anything useful in terms of survival—and not searching for a certain toy she wanted to play with at present.
“Just as well Lee found me when he did.” She said to herself as she glanced over at the room, trying to remember simpler times. When she went to school, she watched cartoons all day and rode her bike in the park with her parents. When she was thinking about this, she noticed that there was a medium-sized lump near the wall, cloaked in dust. It was a doll, and there was a string attached to its back, and when Clementine pulled it, it produced the word "Mama”.
Clementine remembered the doll that her mother gave her for her sixth birthday; it was probably still in the back of the wardrobe.
Eventually, she found an old pocket-sized backpack with a few flowery stickers, along with a dark-blue hoodie in her size.
“Have you found anything, Clementine?” called out Christa.
“Yeah, a backpack and a hoodie," answered Clementine, walking towards the edge of the stairs where Omid and Christa were.
“Just remember to check the bag, Clem; they might have something useful." Replied Christa.
“Ok," Clementine replied, unzipping the bag and then putting her hand into it, but not looking into it. Lo and behold, she found a working lighter, and it looked like it had a decent amount of fuel for a while.
Clementine then walked to the conclusive door upstairs, and like what she did before, however, the door required a little exertion to open. As a result of this, Clementine noticed that the noise she made alerted her to the presence of a walker heading towards her. This, of course, made Clementine a little timid, but she knew what to do. As her heart started to ram against her ribcage, likewise, a thick seal of sweat began to form on her hands, transferring onto her gun.
Always aim for the head," Clementine said to herself as she exhaled deeply and fired the gun. BANG!! The walker fell with a deafening thud, and Clementine was astounded at herself for shooting the walker that was coming towards her.
I did it, I did it," she exclaimed in a loud whisper. Which is when the door bursts open to reveal Omid and Christa with perturbed faces.
"Is everything OK, Clem? Are you hurt?" Asked Omid.
Yeah, I’m fine; I’m not hurt. Replied Clementine, as the trio all stood in stupefied silence at the walker that Clementine gunned down. "Did you find anything? Clementine asked after a minute of silence.
"Yes. We have found two cans of beans and some water." Christa replied.
"Oh."
“Well, let’s keep moving on, Clem. People might have heard the shot and might come here.” Omid said.
“Ok," responded Clementine. "I said already, but I found a backpack and a hoodie."
“Put it on, Clem; it’s starting to get colder, and we get going."
“Ok, I’ll put it on now."
Clementine then took off her hat, gave the gun to Omid, put on the dark blue hoodie, put her hat back on, and took the gun back from Omid. After that, Clementine followed Christa and Omid downstairs and out of the house and walked on.
* * * * *
Some short weeks later, the trio now situated in a substantial-sized forest under a thick canopy of leaves with Omid tending to a fire. Clementine and Christa, however, were sitting down on some nearby log around the fire.
Christa was busy talking to Omid about her pregnancy, whereas Clementine was busy herself by looking at the stars. The stars flickered and danced in the sky like a million tiny flames, casting a shimmering glow over the forest below. Furthermore, the sky itself was filled with low oranges, along with a mixture of light blues. Which were progressively getting into the realms of dark blues, purples and then full-on jet-black. Moreover, there seemed to be a chorus of crickets hiding somewhere in lush grasses, chirping away harshly.
“I would say that rabbit is cooked now, Omid.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” replied Omid, as he began to take the cooked rabbit off the spit – and handed it out to Christa and Clementine, then to himself.
"Thank you very much," Clementine said as she reached for the rabbit meat before going back to look at the stars. She thought to herself as she ate: "How many are there? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?"
“Hm, what – sorry Christa; what did you say?”
“Omid and I said that we are going to rest here tonight and get going in the morning."
"Ok, as my legs still ache from all that walking we did today."
"Well, get some rest, you're going to need it," Omid said, rising from poking the fire.
"Ok," responded Clementine, getting up from the weather-worn log, wishing Omid and Christa a good night before she got onto the floor near the fire and began to close her eyes. She then began to dream about what she would be doing tomorrow, what would happen, and what she would see.
The next morning was filled with colours ranging from warm yellows trickling through the gaps in the trees. Clementine rubbed her eyes before getting up from the harsh, tough ground and walked to the log where she sat last night, where she saw Omid was cooking again.
"Morning, Clem," Omid said. "How did you sleep?"
"Ok, I'd rather sleep in a bed than on the floor."
"Yeah, I don't like it either, but it's necessary until we get to Wellington."
"Where's Christa?" asked Clementine, now looking around the campsite as she noticed Christa wasn't there.
But then, five minutes later, after Clementine had eaten, Christa came back - and with this, the trio began to walk on; with her now near Omid and Christa. Yet, like last time, Clementine's fingers were still wrapped around her pistol as if it were a part of her. But instead of looking at her feet, she was looking around the pensive clearing.
The clearing was serene, where only a few walkers were roaming around, but they could be seen more evidently through a few hacked trees. The trio strolled down the lane through dappled light filtering itself through the trees; moreover, the sound of the leaves rustled in the weak wind. There was also an occasional bird twittering away on a pile of stacked logs near the broad track Clementine, Omid, and Christa were walking. There was also an infrequent number of signs that littered the road.
"TWO MILES UNTIL TRUCK STOP", Clementine read as she walked on with Omid and Christa.
"How about...Isabella?" Christa said aloud.
"Nah," scoffed Omid, "James is far better."
"That's if it's a boy, Omid. Clementine, do you have any name ideas?"
"What about...Carley?"
"Yeah, that's a good name." Responded Omid, with an expression of puzzled thought in his voice.
For the next couple of miles, they (primarily, Christa and Omid) talked about what seemed to be endless baby names for Christa's child; to pass the time. Clementine wondered if her parents had this amount of difficulty when they chose her name.
Eventually, Clementine stopped a little as Omid and Christa walked on regardless; as she noticed there was a blackbird perched on a nearby tree which cawed before flying into the lush forest.
"What do you think?" asked Omid, as he poised at the truck stop over the abandoned road before crossing it with Christa and Clementine.
"Omid, you can't be serious," answered Christa.
"I am."
"We are NOT doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because one of you is enough!"

This is about to sound really dramatic, but bear with me. I was going through my old box of games (Mostly PS1/PS2/and DS) and found my old collection and I'm feeling nostalgic today, and I was reminiscing and I thought to myself just "wow". I played 1-10 countless times throughout my entire childhood. Anything after ten has been a "just once or twice" play through so Im not talking about those games as much. But I was thinking that I practically owe so much of my life to the franchise. When I was a kid my older brother taught me to read during a play through of 7, where he wouldn't press X until I read the entire line of dialogue. Then he made me do it for 8. My favorite thing was watching him play the games when I was little. My parents and home life was a really chaotic place, and it made me not love the world I live in, it made me not fit in with a lot of kids because their homes were more normal. When I say chaotic I more or so mean my moms place. At my dads he worked non stop so I was always alone and whenever he was home he'd just sleep or hang out in his room, at my moms apartment my brother was there for a while, but my mom was a drug addict, and I almost preferred when she wasnt home because when she was it was always some dramatic scene taking place. It affected my social life at school, most people knew about my mom, especially considering that she wasnt past throwing an embarrassing scene at my school and has done this several times. So I was a really lonely kid, especially after my brother left (military). I always wished that I could live in another world, and lived that fantasy out through the final fantasy games.
The second I got home from school id be playing one of the games, every summer id play through all of them. I pictured myself there, on some big adventure, with a big group of friends, making the world a better place. Weirdly enough even now I can feel my subconscious still looks at each character like an old friend. I realize looking back that most of the advice I got, and most of the influence that shaped a huge change in my personality is all thanks to them, even though each character was fictional they made me a really good person, or at least I hope so. Not everything from the games became who I am, but all of who I am can be found somewhere in them, if that makes sense. I don't really ever play them now, and I might do a mass replay soon, but I'm just sitting here a man in his mid 20s who used to hate the world and pretended like all these fantasy worlds was more my home than where I actually was. I did great as soon as I grew up, I have a nice house that I live with my two best friends in, a really great group of friends, and the confidence to believe in myself more each day. And I never realized I had the franchise to thank for getting me here.

Happy birthday, my dear.
May the stars always shine in your Northern Lights eyes and the golden hour always be present in your smile.
You deserve it all, child of Spring – you deserve your beautiful garden filled with sounds of laughter, surrounded by the people you love – your friends, your beautiful family... No one I know deserves this fullness more than you.
As for me, I’ll content myself with just staring through the bars of the gates, seeing your happiness and knowing that this fate is not for me. That you are not for me.
Your garden is full of joy. Full of life. The green lawn is filled with colorful flowers that you might not even see the colors, the trees are lush and their leaves move lazily with the warm breeze. The lake shines like it’s full of diamonds under a reddish and yellow setting sun...
The outside from where I stand, however, is nothing alike – it's barren, it’s cold, and it's somehow incomplete. Nothing but weed-like vines climbing up the tall walls that separate our lives, nothing but patchy burned grass, and not a single flower in sight. No beauty, no sound of laughter, no joy. Our lives couldn't be more different.
But I’ll smile through the bars, seeing you happy and complete, because maybe that’s the meaning of love, isn’t it? Being happy if you are happy. And smiling, even if I want to cry, if you’re smiling.
Happy life, my love. I could never wish you anything else but happiness.

This happened to me when I was 3 years old. I’m 36 now and I still remember it very clearly.
In my first house, the living room was set up with two couches in an L shape. The “top” side of the L couch was against the wall, and the “bottom” couch had a space behind it where people could walk around and to the front door and the rest of the house, which was my parents' bedroom and the upstairs. The very “top” part of the L shape was next to the kitchen's entrance (which also lead to the hallway with my parents' room), and the TV was situated in the opposite corner.
I was watching TV at the end of the couch closest to the kitchen (the very top of the L). It was broad daylight outside and I was most likely watching Cinderella for the four millionth time. Nothing scary. Nothing religious. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement and turned to see a man walking behind the other couch from the direction of the front door.
He had a beard, long, medium-brown hair, and, to my memory, was wearing white. AKA, he looked like your typical Christian portrait of Jesus, like the ones with the blue sash across his chest. Three-year-old me launched off the couch with the force of slow-cooker explosion and went running to my parents’ bedroom via the kitchen.
They still, to this day, remember me body slamming their door open screaming “Jesus is in the living room!” My dad went running out and checked all over the place and didn’t see anything, and the front door wasn’t open (was likely locked anyway because my hometown has never been a safe one), and the man did not at ALL resemble my older brother, who was not home anyway.
My mom, who has always been very religious, has told me that she does not think it was Jesus (neither do I tbh), because I would not have been scared had it been him. I have no clue WHAT I saw but for a while I just started referring to him as a “hippie ghost”. Not sure if anyone ever died in that house, but those houses have been there for a while and back when I was little, there were some extremely spooky woods right behind the neighborhood/my block, that I was told to absolutely never go into. Maybe connected? Not sure.
At any rate, this is perhaps my favorite personal ghost story. I have dozens more, but “Jesus” was the most full bodied apparition I’ve ever seen.

Previously, on rewatcher's diary: https://www.reddit.com/buffy/comments/1crl8ks/rewatchers_diary_season_2_episodes_8_to_10/
On today's menu: Ted (2x11), Bad Eggs (2x12), Surprise (2x13), Innocence (2x14).
The quick thoughts: Ted is better than I thought, Bad Eggs proves that even bad Buffy is good TV, I was too tired watching Surprise and Innocence but they're as great as I remember them. On to me having too random thoughts, in a random order.
Ted

• There's a fun bit where Buffy has had enough of Ted, gets out of the house, sits on a swing(?) and calls out "vaaampires? Heeere, vampires." in a "here, kitty kitty" voice, reminiscent of how Spike called for Buffy in School Hard (2x3). Are we suggesting there's a connection between Spike and Buffy?
• When Ted says "you'll spend your best dating days [years?] locked away in a mental institution", that hits harder when you know—from Normal Again (6x17)—that Buffy has already been in an institution.
• I enjoy collecting Terminator references. I don't think "he's a robot" is enough to count. Maybe. Dunno.
• Giles and Jenny talk about how his past actions ended endangering her in The Dark Age (2x8).
• But then Jenny seeking Giles out (while he's out patrolling) results in her endangering and hurting him.
• Giles' past actions got someone killed, mirroring how Buffy (according to her beliefs) got Ted killed. It seems the apple doesn't fall far from the surrogate tree.
• Buffy being horrified—first at Ted being Ted and being in her life, and then at having killed him—really stuck with me. That's probably my favorite aspect of this episode: those powerful feels.
• When Buffy is wailing on Ted and chucking him down the stairs, one wonders whether it didn't stop being self-defense at some point.
• On the whole not fantastic, but better than I expected.

Bad Eggs

• Willow and Buffy grow suspicious that there's something going on between Xander and Cordelia. Huh, I wonder where this is going.
• I had forgotten just how funnily awful the chemistry between Xander and Cordelia is.
• In the beginning when Buffy fights one of the Gorch brothers, he does a stunt where his hat falls off while he's falling to the ground and/or is rolling on it, but then he grabs the hat mid-roll and puts it back on before getting up and running away. For my money, that stunt was really fun and a bit cool. He seemed really attached to his hat.
• Eggs, chestbursters, mind/motor control, underground vagina monster. Whatever, meh.
• Meh.
• Oh hey, having sex might have bad consequences. Chekhov's... egg? Foreshadow much?

Surprise

• Willow said "date"!
• I'm more of a Tillow shipper but man Willoz is so god damn cute. Hush: no rush.
• "A: what do you want for your birthday? / B: Surprise me / A: I will". He is truly a man of his word.
• Joyce asks "do you really think you're ready", then drops a plate—first in Buffy's dream, then in reality. I think we'll see further repetitions of this motif in S5.
• Drusilla with blood in the corner of her mouth (in Buffy's dream) is such a great image.
• Gasp, Jenny is not who we thought she was!
• Her suggesting Angel should be the one to get The Judge's arm out of the way is a clever move: it will (or rather: would) drive Angel and Buffy apart, but in a way where Jenny has plausible deniability.
• "[the flowers:] I can't abide them" — Dru, are you high on your own supply? She's sooo much fun.
• Gasp, Buffy and Angel get captured by Drusilla and Spike!
• Brian Thompson returns (yay!) to play his second and final role: The Judge.
• So what's with the dream and the worry about Drusilla killing Angel? Is there a sense in which she did? I think I can connect the dots partially: in Lie to Me (2x7), Angel reveal a dark truth about how he (er, Angelus) drove Drusilla mad and turned her. Drusilla brought out the monster in Angel(us). What "killed" Angel at the end of Surprise was linked to that: the monster coming back out. Yes, the real trigger was him experiencing a moment of happiness (or maybe relief?) with Buffy, but that only happened because Buffy lied to herself about Angel being covered from head to toe in red flags, and the biggest such red flag was Drusilla. I'm not sure this amounts to "Drusilla was instrumental in bringing out Angelus", but she was... related to it, I guess.
• Maybe it just reflects Drusilla's attempt on Angel's (uhhh) life in What's My Line 2 (2x10).

Innocence

• Trio of vampires, assemble! Angelus is back!
• What is it with trios and even-numbered seasons: trio of vampires, trio of initiative bros, trio of nerds. It's a trio of trios.
• Like many others, I like the screen presence of DB-as-Angelus more than DB-as-Angel. Angelus is twisted and evil and awful and... so much fun to watch.
• Sticks and stones may hurt my bones but words... actually, it looks to me like it was Angelus' words that cut Buffy the deepest. She looked stone cold when she talked about having to kill Angelus, which was as a consequence of him using sticks and stones.
• In the dream sequence, is the implication that they (Buffy, Angelus, Jenny) are looking at Angel's grave? Did I miss a smoking gun on that? I figure it has to be, since that's the thing that makes the most sense—it shows a recent loss of Buffy's; it shows Angelus having arisen from his metaphorical tomb, i.e. from inside Angel; and given the next events (Buffy going to Jenny) the dream must have incriminated Jenny, but that only makes sense if the dream demonstrates she knew something, and the only knowledge that would incriminate Jenny is knowledge about Angel vs. Angelus.
• When Angelus comes and grabs Willow (intending to kill her), Xander shows his greatest and most consistent two virtues: courage, and his love of his friends. He grabs the cross and confronts the monster to protect his friend, potentially putting his own life at risk. Xander is not the greatest guy but he does have has a great side, and it's good to see it.
• Being brave and taking a cross to Angel(us) mirrors his bravery in Prophecy Girl (1x12), in which he was brave and took a cross to Angel—although taking a cross to Angel wasn't brave in itself, it was part of a bigger act of courage. I'm also thinking of Grave (6x22), during which his courage and his love for Willow saves the day, and there he doesn't even have a cross or other artifact to protect himself. (There are several other instances where we see his love and courage saving the day.)
• Angelus betrayed and murdered Angel. It's like poetry, it rhymes with Star Wars. "Darth Liam"?
• If we blur the Angel/Angelus distinction a bit, we see someone who's in love with Buffy turn to the dark side—i.e. become corrupt on the inside—and then switch their allegiance from the good guys to the bad guys. That kinda' mirrors Faith going dark starting in Bad Girls (3x14) and then siding with the Mayor.
• In the car with Giles, Buffy feels guilty about losing her innocence. (Yes, that was a pun.)
• I would be remiss if I didn't mention that rocket launchers are awesome.

Updated episode tier list

• S-tier: 7 13 14
• A-tier: 9 10
• B-tier: 3 6 > 1
• C-tier: 8 11 > 5
• D-tier: 2 4 > 12

okay first of all i’m gonna start off by telling you a little backstory of my family. when i was 1 my parents got divorced, i have lived with my mom for my entire life along with my stepdad and my sisters, i visited my dad every other weekend for most of the 18 years i’ve been alive. my dad never knew me, he always had more important things going for him in his mind than a relationship with me. he always used to tell me he wished he was in my life more but he never changed his ways. at my dads house there is my dad and my stepmom and also my younger brothers who still live with them because they are under age. over the years my dad or my stepmom would start a huge fight with me about random shit. two years ago it was because of thanksgiving when my stepmom tackled me trying to take my phone out of my hands because i was being “disrespectful.” when i was finally ready to go back and mend the relationships with them after a month or so, my dad and stepmom decided to block me on everything, all socials, and imessage. now recently my stepmom and my sister were partying in vegas for my sisters 21st birthday, my stepmom got absolutely plastered and admitted to my sister that our new baby brother, was not my dads baby. having heard this news my sister was distraught in the weeks after, and when i found out i was also quite in shock. my dad and stepmom both knew about this however they decided that if they agree to never tell anyone then nobody would find out and so they decided to lie to all of our family and everyone about this. we all thought he was my dads son which isn’t true. now i had voiced my hurt to my dad and stepmom to which i was blocked by my stepmom. when i told my dad about the hurt i have been going through i told him i don’t know how to rebuild a relationship with him again and he told me to never talk to him again and to have a good life essentially. there is a lot more to this story but this is just the short. basically after telling my dad the amount of hurt i had been going through he told me to not talk to him again and to have a good life, he then also decided to block me on everything. i feel like instead of facing his problems and mistakes he wants to run from them, instead of healing the hurt he has caused he would rather continue the lie and push me out of his life and all of my siblings lives. i love all of my little siblings dearly, i have had to be sort of like a parent to them for all of their lives because of how terrible of a dad my dad is and has always been. my siblings have all told me they want to get as far away from them as possible when they turn 18. but i don’t know who to talk to about this so i thought id type it out on here. i will do an update explaining more of the situation but this is essentially the long story short of it all. is there any advice you guys can give me? am i in the wrong here, i feel like my dad should be the one to mend the relationship because he is the one that lied to me and has made countless mistakes and when he apologizes for them he doesn’t improve himself at all. my dad has always been abusive and one time he put his hands around my throat and choked me when he was angry. idk i guess im just looking for advice because i need an outlet to talk to. i’ll do an update explaining more in the coming weeks.

My ex broke up with me about 1.5 weeks ago. It was pretty out of the blue , he’d been struggling with an increased workload so he was extremely busy and stressed out for a while, and decided he just didn’t have the time or energy to give me what I deserved (although he dumped me the day before his second job ended, but whatever). It was also the day before my exams started for my final year of university , so not amazing timing from him, but I have a big principle of going with grace and conducting myself well in breakups (unless i’ve been like cheated on or something bad lol). There were no hurt words or anything nasty, we never argued during our relationship (we’d only been together around 3 months, but still). I text the next day later wishing his grandmother well with her operation and stating that I understood if he’d rather have limited contact , but i wanted to extend my support as a person who cared about him, and he was thankful for this and said nothing about no contact, though i have not messaged him since. I largely got the hint after he said nothing when i finished university a week later , and i was surprised as he is on friendly enough terms with his exes that they each wish each other well at big life achievements / birthdays etc.
Fast forward to yesterday , I was sent to a&e and then hospitalised over an Abcess in my throat and tonsillitis which had developed into a pretty terrifying fever. I was pretty profusely medicated and scared, especially since i was on my own. I was posting a lot on my private story (which has just my closest friends on and him , i forgot i hadn’t removed him), out self admitted need for validation , keeping people updated and trying to tackle the loneliness of the situation without directly reaching out if people whilst they worked (i figured they could pop up as and when they had time , and as a disabled person who’s often in hospital this is something my loved ones are used to and have said that they prefer).
my ex said absolutely nothing. He viewed every story, often the first person to do so. I know he owes me nothing , maybe he’s struggling, but he quite happily dumped me, and i don’t know . I just can’t fathom being in a full on relationship with somebody one week and not caring at all the next. I am normally not one to seek attention this way (i know it’s immature), and i was not banking on anything from him , but when I saw that he was still on there and hadn’t said anything I was just so hurt? i feel a bit ridiculous and immature now , but i actually thought I was going to pass away for a minute there and the fact that he wouldn’t have had the care to even ask was just a bit of a gut punch.
How do you accept that some people just don’t , or can’t , care any more ? I can’t imagine ever not checking in on an ex or old friend if i saw similar, even just as a fellow person … I’m obviously still hurt from the breakup , but sue me, i’ve just pulled a week long all nighters to get my degree done , got dumped and got hospitalised, im fragile !

my girlfriend and i have been together for almost 5 years now and i have plans to propose next month when we go to greece for my grandpa’s birthday. i have never loved anyone the way that i love her, she’s the best person i know. i personally think she’s the most beautiful girl in the world but that seems to be the problem. for a small backstory she’s always had a toxic relationship with her mom, at least as long as i’ve known her. her mom seems like the type of mom that’s jealous of her daughter which is super weird to me. the first time we visited was christmas break during her freshman year of college and her mom made a lot of backhanded comments towards her. like “this is the kid who stole my beauty” and “i hope you have a backup plan for when school doesn’t work out. try taking up modeling.” (my girlfriend graduated summa cum laude, maintained a 3.9 gpa throughout college and is on track to do the same in grad school.) we don’t visit her mom often and we both kinda shrug off her comments when we do but i didn’t know they held so much weight for her. i recently started a new job for a marketing company after graduating from grad school. they had a social night for the incoming grad school new hires and we both attended the event. i introduced myself to my new colleagues and said “and this is my beautiful girlfriend, x” which she kinda smiled shyly but after that she was distant. we stayed for maybe an hour afterwards and the drive home was silent. when we got home she immediately broke down in tears and asked me why do i love her. i was confused and caught off guard with the question and failed to find an answer before she said “exactly” and went back to her apartment. she sent a series of long text messages explaining how much she hates when i say how beautiful i think she is and that she wishes that i would talk about her qualities without mentioning her looks. before i could respond, she turned off her phone. i went to her apartment, she wouldn’t answer the door. i’ve been sitting outside of her apartment for 4 hours. i sent a text message telling her that she’s so much more than her looks. she’s incredibly smart, she’s kind and gentle. she’s extremely funny. she talented in so many ways. she’s an excellent dog mom and just genuinely a good person. she has all of the best qualities in a person that you could find. i just don’t know how to show her that she’s so much more than her beauty. especially when she won’t talk to me.

My wife (30F) and I (30M) both have a busy work life schedule, but we always try and make time to celebrate big occasions, like birthdays and wedding anniversaries. We plan our wedding anniversaries together, but on birthdays, we like to surprise each other, and we’ve been doing it for years.
My birthday was a couple of months ago, and my wife completely forgot about it. When she didn’t wish me that morning, I thought it was a joke she was playing, but I realized shortly after that she had genuinely forgotten it was my birthday. Work was getting really busy for her, so I understood that her mind was preoccupied, but to just forget my birthday entirely? I really felt horrible that day. A few days later, my wife realized she had missed my birthday and she genuinely apologized and she took me out to my favorite restaurant and we had a great time, and she gave me a really nice gift.
My wife’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and while I knew it was her birthday, I did not want to celebrate it with her on that day, and acted as if I didn't know it was her birthday. I still felt slight hurt from my wife forgetting my birthday. That evening, I told my wife I was going out with my sister to a game, and that I would come home either late night or probably the next day. I came home the next day. A few days later, I too apologized to my wife for forgetting her birthday. I then took her to her favorite restaurant, and gave her a gift which she really loved. We had a great time.
However, last night, my wife and I were talking, and she asked if I had done that on purpose and if I had really forgotten her birthday. She said it really hurt her that day that instead of celebrating with her, I had gone out with my sister. I then confessed that I hadn’t forgotten about her birthday, and I had done it on purpose because I was still feeling really hurt from her forgetting my birthday and that celebrating her birthday that day would just reignite those hurt feelings. I told her that I needed some space from her that day, and that I had a great time with my sister. My wife and I talked some more, and I think we are back to normal now.
Was I the AH?