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2024.05.17 09:57 inwhichzeegoesinsane "See? He left, he doesn't care about us..."
Shhhhh, calm down, stop extrapolating. It's okay. I'm still here for you - the moment you tell me you want me to be.
I know it's not just my heart facing storms. I've been tracking my demon, this shell-of-a-man you helped me find in me long enough; starting to have him cornered, understood, figured out. (Thank you again for helping me to see him, and helping to remember Me. One way or another, you always do that.)
Yet I'm wondering about Her, too. Your demon. (Can you feel her? Do you hear her?) She's that part of you who tells you I
don't care.
She snidely scoffs, weaves you a shell by telling you you're superior, better off - yet isolates you, keeps you to herself, traps you in her own web of Words, their resonance protecting you even as they provide a reprieve from the warmth you might've felt, the comfort and reassurances rising to be a salve for those inner core wounds.
She tells you not to connect with people - that we're all only going to hurt you, when the truth is many of us have scars on our hearts and souls too. Even if you hate me, if you never speak to me again - that joy I felt thinking you hadn't given up on
us, on people in general, had me relieved. I don't know if I'd've ever forgiven myself if what I was to you was that
last chance you gave us. Maybe you were right; you needed someone Secure (or earned-Secure). I hadn't been, yet. Still am not, though a lot of times I feel it.
You don't have to if you don't want to. I won't presume to tell you what your happiness would look like, anymore. That was my prize mistake; we can never decide happiness for each other, nor assume ours map to others'. I'm sure I'll make it again with others someday - I keep getting excited when I think I'v'e it figured out; but the truth is I rarely if ever do. I make mistakes, repeat, iterate. I'm sure it's when I'd assert something patently false that you'd've seen me, maybe accepted me with a chuckle (or an inevitably adorable eyeroll) had you stuck around.
What you want, what you decide - that is up to you, but remember you don't have to leave it up to your Demon, either. You decide what your happiness is, not me, not her. The real you who decides to agree it's worth it to reach out to people; not the one who'd sooner leave herself up in the tower, itself a cage of her own design. I'm sorry I couldn't be the one you felt comfortable letting your guard down around; I'm so, so sorry I didn't take the time to hear you, listen to you, realize how important that moment was to you.
The fact that I hurt you so much hurts me, because the person you are, I love so much too. You did what I thought impossible; made me fall in love with lights, yours shining brighter than any fiber-optic signals. In this beautiful era, this age of the 'net, having found each other through such a wonderful revolutionary iconic technology - I'd still have wanted to revisit the others through the ages with you. Telegraph and ham radio. :3 (Oooo! The lab could have Nixie tubes! =D)
...But yes, part of me will always love you, though you may doubt me - I know the person you are. You showed me, in perhaps the most beautiful, vulnerable display; that deluge of honesty a welcome reprieve in a sea of superficial people barely able to muster ten words to describe themselves. You were just you, and the you-you-are is
I'd give anything to hear your true voice again, as I feel I hear when you're talking to The Void, when you think no one's listening. I'd be silent for days, weeks, just to let her talk. And someday, I'll figure out what she needed - a keyword of silence, a Void to talk into, home field language advantage - for her storms and mine to finally harmonize, and layer together.
You decided back then to just be yourself, your full self, and damn the consequences. (Even if the consequences were an inexperienced blue blob who scampers too loudly to listen, only learns mistakes after he's broken the vase, can't read caution tape...) And that you - that honest, vulnerable, caring, loving, warm, cold, ruthless, pragmatic, silly, caring woman? Ask me how I feel about her in person sometime; after you've convinced yourself I couldn't possibly have known you, loved you; and maybe then you'll believe me when I hold her close, and tell her how long I knew.
And I might never get to do that; but no matter what happens, _ _ _... I wish you all the happiness in the world.
I won't mark this "Strangers" - I know you feel safer there, I know you know my established handles, way of speaking - but I don't think I could ever feel that way about you again.
Hopefully someday you feel we could at least be friends - I know any moment I spent around you I'd enjoy, even if it's just talking about silly fun mangas.
But to show you, I can be strangers too... If that's what you really want. :winks:
:eyes you, then Her, then you again pointedly:
I can't defeat your Demon for you; just as you couldn't've mine. The most I can do is give you the Weapons, my words and actions, to use against her when she starts telling you I don't care. But don't let her control you. It's okay. I'm here for you.
I don't care how many other people exist between me and you. That thing I built when we thought we'd lost each other? I'd build it again, and again, as many times as it takes. For as long as I believe you might still be that loving, caring, warm soul who dared to hope against herself that I care about you, don't worry. I'm here for you, and as long as I think I might know that about you I always will be.
You're safe. We found each other. As long as we care about each other, can be honest with each other, can be ourselves with each other someday. As long as I can remember to simmer down, to hear you. (I was hoping as long as you realize being yourself won't make me leave, just attract me more... :3)
And if you're the person I think you are, I think you might like me too. My well of optimism, my own cold ruthless Logician (whom you might've underestimated? =3 :scribbles proofs:) protecc'ing my own happy-dumb core. And so someday, if you need help fighting her, I'll reach out again too. Help you show her what I know and you want to believe.
...
:looks up:
We're a couple of silly ducks, aren't we. đ
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2024.05.17 09:52 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning [13]
First/
Previous The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemmaâs self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
Iâd peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellarâs entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw theyâd pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemmaâs shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, âHarlan, is it alright?â
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. âItâs safe. Iâll be up a bit longer. Iâll watch.â
Andrew asked, âCanât sleep?â
âIâll sleep in a bit. Donât worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, âWhy do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems Iâm asleep after you and only awake after you too.â
âYeah,â said Andrew.
âItâs cool at night. I can listen to the wind.â I shrugged.
âYou should be the one that tries to get some sleep,â said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
âHere,â Gemma said, âMove your bedroll closer.â She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
âIâll sleep later.â I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemmaâs arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrewâs hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldnât be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I couldâve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, âWhat are we going to do about food? Water?â
âWeâll push on.â
âWe could turn back?â asked Andrew.
âThe more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.â Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. âSave your urine.â
They made faces but did not protest.
âDoes that work? You ever drink pee?â asked Andrew.
I laughed, âI thought weâd be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thingâs hunted us for daysâlast night was the first time it ainât bothered us. Itâs got me wondering why.â
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, âDo you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?â Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, âAt least we warned them.â Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. âCanât say. Donât think itâs smart to turn back. Wonât be long and weâll touch the 40 and then itâll be a straight on to Babylonâcouple of daysâcanât turn back though. Maybe without food; thatâs doable. Waterâs the worst, but if it comes to it,â I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), âLike I said, âsave your urineâ.â
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that Iâd taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it couldâve been homeâit never was in all the times Iâd gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too wouldâve been better for Suzanne; how it was that theyâd seen anything in me, I donât know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like meâI warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roofâitâs doubtful that he even realized that heâd slowed my demise; perhaps he did knowâI wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when Iâd found her, tortured in Baphometâs well; Andrew was a dullard boy whoâd lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. âYou still got your hand, donât you?â
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, âNope.â
âDammit, no! The hand in the jar!â
Andrew raised his eyebrows. âIn my pack.â
âStop,â I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own packâs shoulder straps, took into the circle weâd formed.
The girl asked, âWhat about the jar? Itâs nasty, but I guess itâs his.â
âI think thatâs it,â I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, âWe could use it!â
âWhat?â The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. âWhatâs that got to do with anything?â
âI think Iâve got it! Itâs good for a trap.â I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. âItâs worth a shot!â
âItâs mine.â He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
âYouâll feel differently about that,â I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrewâs pack and tried ripping it open. âGive it to him!â shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. âItâs mine, isnât it?â
I took a step forward, âNo, not anymore.â I put out my palm, âGive it.â
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. âWhy?â
âI told you why,â I said.
âYou donât even know if itâll work, do you?â his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, âAndrew, please.â
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
âWhat does it even matter?â she asked.
âItâs mine. You donât know what itâs like.â
âDonât be ridiculous!â
âCâmon,â he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. âTake it then.â He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. âTomorrow,â I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
âWhat will you do with it?â she asked me.
âNot sure yet.â
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didnât.
âYou think it will work?â asked Gemma.
âNothingâs a guarantee. Theyâre smartâAlukah.â
âSmart enough to figure out a trap?â
I shrugged. âWeâll find out.â
âWe could put stakes in a pit.â
âKeep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.â
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it downâthough I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The skyâred and full of thin and transparent drifting cloudsâseemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasnât an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe Iâve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didnât feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain Iâd made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We shouldâve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true:
You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think youâd deal. Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
âGetting darker,â called Andrew as we came to where signpostsâworn and bent and barely legibleâtold us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveledâI was briefly caught in imagining what it mightâve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal wallsâthin wallsâwe took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machinesâthree in allâcultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door weâd entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocksâI removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where theyâd discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivatorsâfar extended on foldable armsâstruck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intendedâlost and frozen and contemplative.
âThereâs a room,â said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. âBoxes,â he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what heâd meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summationâall choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
âI hope itâll work,â said the boy, âWhatever it is that you plan on doing with it.â He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Troubleâs chin and whispered, âGood girl,â into the top of her head where heâd pushed his own face.
âIâm hungry,â said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that Iâd hoped to ignore for longer.
âI know.â I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. âThe dog?â
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. âIt was a joke.â
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, âMaybe.â
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girlâs direction, and she shrugged. âIf itâs life or death.â
He didnât say anything and merely continued stroking Troubleâs coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after weâd turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, âI promise it was a joke.â And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemmaâs stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrewâthough he kept his complaints to himselfâsmacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon thatâd been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelmingâin those few minutes thoughâit felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrewâs rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. âSay goodbye,â I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
âItâs strange you care so much anyway,â said Gemma, shruggingâher eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
âWeâve enough oil, I think,â my voice was raspy from it being early, âEnough for good fire, but if we use it, itâll mean a few more dark nights on our way.â
âWeâre going to set it on fire?â Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. âIt worked good enough last time. Itâll work,â I nodded, âI has to, doesnât it?â
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
âLetâs dig,â I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding weâd taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. âIâll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.â
âWe canât help?â asked Gemma.
âYou can help by staying out of the wayâthe mutt too,â I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
âWouldnât it be better if we stuck together?â asked the girl.
I shook my head. âYou stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.â
âThatâll put you at a bigger risk,â Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, âThereâs hardly any cover over there.â
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
âDoesnât matter,â I said, âNo matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you donât open the door and you donât screamâdonât make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you donât do it.â
âPfft,â Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. âAlright,â she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding weâd earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containersâthe only ones found that wouldnât leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar thatâd once kept Andrewâs hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
âIs it enough?â asked Gemma.
âWeâll see,â I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, âWhatâs that?â
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
âA fiendâthatâs what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.â
She held the binoculars up and frowned. âA mutant? So, it was once human?â
âA fiend was once many humans.â I pointed out to the horizon though she couldnât see me doing so and continued, âIf you look at the edges of its shape, youâll see itâs got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what itâll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. Itâs got faces too. Many faces.â I shuddered.
âI can barely see any details,â she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, âWhatâs it do?â
âWhat?â I asked.
âWhatâs it do if it catches a person?â
âIt pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.â
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, âIt wonât mess up your trap, will it?â
âWeâll keep an eye on it,â I said, âYou donât want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.â
First/
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2024.05.17 09:50 Public-Inevitable772 Palestinian Happy Family
Palestinian Happy Family
A short story.
A father in his 30s named Ammar, looking so weak and exhausted. With his 7 year-old daughter named Lara, a thin injured girl in her arm with bandage under her brown hair covering wounds having green eyes filled with holded tears. They live inside a ruined house in Gaza.
Everything around them is dead. Wrecked streets are dead. Collapsed Schools are silent. Children and families used to fill the air here with life are now either dead, injured with no hospitals to rescue, or forced to leave places they have always belonged to.
The girl breaks a long dead silence saying to her father: âDadâŚwhy all that happened? What was the wrong thing we did to deserve this punishment?â The father replies in disappointment: âI don't know!â.
After short silence while Lara is looking around to see what happened in pity and pain, she asks again in confusion: âHow comes?! My mother and brother were killedâŚlost 5 of my friends who were killed alsoâŚwhat was our faultâŚbefore all this happened to our district, we were playing Hide and Seek after finishing our school dayâŚcan Hide and Seek game deserve this punishment?â
Ammar with a smile: âwouldn't you eat? I baked this loaf of bread to you using the oven we made together yesterday from mud, sticks, and cementâŚOh! Thank GodâŚwe are really genius.â The girl looks at her father longly into the eyes and says: âWhere's your loaf?â He answered: âI ate a piece from yesterdayâs breadâŚwe are out of flour nowâŚbut don't worryâŚI will find my way to some flour again. Don't underestimate your father.â
The girl began eating hardly but stopped again after eating two small pieces saying: âDad! You changed the subjectâŚwhat did we do to deserve this punishment?â She continues on: âYou know dad! I heard someone say that it's because we are MuslimsâŚbut what about my friend Cristina who was killed last week?â Ammar says: âOh Lara! I didn't ask my old brother all these questions when my father and mother were killed when I was at your ageâŚI know that you have the write to ask all the timeâŚbut sometimes questions have no answers.â
Lara looks at her father's face silently and after a while she asks with pain: âDad! Are you trying to hold your tears? Didn't you get used to being into this throughout your life? You spent your life either in war or in calm ordinary big prison sieged by poverty, corruption, soldiers, tanks, and planes.â
Ammar keeps silent and silent. All of a sudden, he breaks down crying while trying to hide his face by his hands. He begins talking with distorted voice: âWhat a shame; I can't do thisâŚI can't be weak in front of youâŚthere's no one left for a tiny girl like you in this world but meâŚbut Iâm a humanâŚI can't stand all of thisâŚwon't I see my girl go to school in peace and joy?! Wonât I see my girl in a home again?! Will I be able to find you a loaf of bread tomorrow?! What if I can't?! What did you do to deserve all of this?! What did your mother and brother do?! What did my father and mother do?! What did my imprisoned for life older brother do?! What did your tiny friends do?! I feel weak in front of you and it kills me every single moment as a fatherâŚI and you despite our weakness should be proudâŚwe will die but inside ruins of our homeâŚthese bricks are not of bricksâŚevery brick means home, means motherland, means dignity, means resilience, means glory and prideâŚreal pride.â
Lara rises up and hugs her dad who is sitting tired after a hard speech leaning on a wall standing tall from the wrecked home. Rain comes heavily on their heads. They hide under remains of a roof. Sounds of a new air raid are heard.
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2024.05.17 09:49 Babybarks *important gamersups announcement*
Yes, I am aware this may not be worth anyones time...bear with me. Especislly you you BIG Texas GUY! Actin all big. Acting all smug! Hiding in the Alamo like most Texans do... living it up with your 5lb bag of tofu jerky, like the soy boy really are... deep inside. Yea, you probably bought that shit with the money you claim to not spend on Jack Daniels HONEY!
I KNOW BETTER! I know what you're really up to with that last 5$
Better known by you as 4.60 euro. Since your so in love with acting like a French PRINCE!
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH!
Go ahead, convert that back to 5 USD like a real BIG GUY! AND WHAT DO YOU GET!
YOU GET NOTHIN!
Or atleast thats what you, and the so called customer service that my fiance never contacted thinks! Yea. I bet your like maybe if you did, but ive had enough of what if... You caffine covered RAT! If thats what you even claim to be! Who knows!
Its been nearly two years, schlatt. (Thats right amongst all of the capitalization I [capitalized!] Chose to lower case your name and will from here on out!) Anytime I listen to you. WHICH I USUALLY DONT MIND DOING! However, thats starting to change! Ya wana know why?
Its not because all of the god damn dogs you've made too scared to serve MY country. I could make LIST schlatt. A list... numbering the things you find more important than me!
Its because almost two entire years have passed... and my fiance is still waiting for her sampler that she NEVER RECIEVED!
You know what i do most often schlatt.(god why can't I make your name smaller)
I WORK SCHLATT
With my regretful hands! I wake up, shower, and in that shower it's not so bad to hear you just act like you don't give a shit. But on the other side of that wall when I walk out is my fiance.
Do you know that all that good ass work juice you pump my heart leaks out all over my shitty wood floor right when she point it out.
She says,"Is that schlatt, I can't believe he did that to me!?" Anytime she hears your voice. She use to like you shlatt... Shes hot as shit covered in tattoos, beautiful smile... and you took her last 5 USD, the type of currency that we use here in America, and she invested in you schlatt. She wanted those samplers.
I hear about this roughly every other day since. She won't let it go. Why would you take her money. Why make her do this instead of talking to support? Why won't you, without being aware, reach out to ME personally and fix my little shower problem.
Do you know what it's like to come home after standing on a ladder all day just to have someone you consider to be a hero, a friend, a brother just repeatedly stomp on your loved ones bank account!? Not even sprinkle any dust in there?
I hate to say it but if you don't do something soon I may loose it all. We were willing, where were you when she needed you schlatt. Why do I have to hear this every time I try to listen to you. I'm trying to help you! I'm not even asking for a refund, I just need your advice... she doesn't see you the way she did schlatt... and I'm afraid she will never recover.
I will not be gratified by your response. I can continue to imagine you as some sort of dog stomping ghost if i need to. You have a responsiblity here. She WAS your fan. Can you help a helpess homie out with a solution here or what.
BECAUSE IF YOU CAN NOT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO SEE IF TUCKER OR TED HAVE ANY DUST FOR SALE!
IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT US TO DRINK. I see no other option. Bring her back, don't put Teds fucking dust in my mouth BRO! Just do something. Please! Before it's all over. I have four step children that are going to be drinking the dust off of these guys dude. Its just not right what you have done to me. Sometimes you can try your best and all you have is smog flavored dust. However, Tucker's has a rather robust high note. So idk may just have to drink his dust i guess... until i jump off a bridge into normal water. With no tits... no juice... no hope.
No hope guys! No hope and no dust!
I don't want to hear it again!
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2024.05.17 09:47 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Oh, Dear Brother of Mine, How I Hate What I've Made You [12]
First/
Previous Gemma was right about the skyâs open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it mustâve been a greater tragedyâthe 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 despotâthe 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 plentyâor 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 neckâit was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
âThere is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
Thatâs a power, thatâs the power,
That must rule in every land!â
Iâd 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 daysâand maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way thenâI 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 Iâd 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.
âIs it hard?â he asked.
I nodded, âSometimes.â
âKilling monsters ainât so bad. Donât know if I could do it to a person.â
âYou could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,â I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasnât a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was rightâwhatâs right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later Iâd feel that sentiment well up in me, but if thatâs true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated itâthis 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.
âLooks good,â I said.
âDonât think I look stupid at all?â
I smiled over my drink, âYou always look stupid.â I sipped. âThe neckwearâs fine.â
âGive me a break,â said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. âArenât you ever afraid youâll die?â
âSometimesânights like thisâI wouldnât mind it.â
âReally?â my brother asked.
âThereâs always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.â
He smiled. âI wish I had that confidence.â
âYouâll get it,â 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 hatredâthere was learning there too though. Besides, Iâd 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 couldnât be sure whatâd happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldnât find my weapon and I couldnât find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasnât 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 couldnât 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 strikeâalienâand 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.
âWhatâs happening?â 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 wheelsâwe lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where Iâd pulled him down.
âShh,â I told him, âShh, please. Please.â 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 wasnât 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 themselvesâfiendsâexhausting 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 destructionâothers still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
âPlease,â 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 wasâevery shadow was a potential threat, every second couldâve been the last. We were holding hands; then we werenât.
Only a glanceâthatâs all I afforded my brother and nothing moreâwhat 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 nightâit was only once Iâd 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 airâcopper tooâand 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 theyâd 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 couldnât 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 wouldâve 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? âH-harlan.â
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.
Iâve 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 canât fix all thisâitâs too muchâbut thereâs a person you love, I know. I could bring them back. âDoctor?â In retrospect it was such a naĂŻve question.
He shook his head.
âAngel?â
He grinned and nodded,
Sure. âDemon?â
Undoubtedly. His eyesâpits of gray in that radiant faceânearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse.
Whatâs the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soonâI canât dally. There was a sharpness to the words.
Canât dally. We must convene soon, or Iâll mosey on. I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. âOkay.â
Deal? I nodded, âDeal.â
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto,
Sleep and youâll be rewarded in the morning. âYou said itâs a deal.â
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said,
Yes? âWhat is it you want from me?â
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 wonât be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon. I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldnât 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 Iâd guessed was Jackson couldnât be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylleâs 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 calecheâs 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 Iâd become more delirious, Iâm sure I mightâve 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 couldnât careâI 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 Sibylleâs hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; heâd already tugged her holster belt around his hipsâhe could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
âYouâre alive,â 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.
âBilly! Hell, youâre alive!â
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. âYeah.â His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. âGoddammit.â I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. âOh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.â
He nodded toward the horizon, ââLanta?â
âSure.â
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 couldnât want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that heâd 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 glanceâI 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. Iâd 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 longerâyears 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.
âEveryoneâs dead?â He asked.
âYeah.â
âYouâre sure?â
âYeah,â I repeated.
âHow ainât I? How ainât you?â
To say that it was luck wouldâve 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 Iâd left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that Iâd fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, âYeah, how are you alive?â
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.
âFire,â said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathanâtill then I had no belief in dragonsâglided 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 weâd 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 Iâd see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and heâd 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 heâd 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 Iâm aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when weâd 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 mostlyâI 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 wasnât 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 nightsâmaybe weâd taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or weâd locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleepâIâd watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylleâs hat and holster lying beside him, and Iâd think of putting him down but heâd stir and in a brief shadow Iâd see my brother as heâd been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where Iâd shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard Iâd 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 Indianapolisâthatâs what it was called back thenâand 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. Weâme and Billyâs revenantâwere travelling with a group of traders weâd taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I mightâve 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 Lazarusâher brothers came along with herâand 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.
âWelcome. You can call me Lady.â
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than sheâd 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, âAnd you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.â
Though Maronâas heâd named himselfâwas 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, sheâd 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 teachingâhers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and Iâd 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 himâit 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 headsâher 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 Ladyâs brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Ladyâs 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 motherâs books. Thereâs a hopelessness in me that Iâll 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/
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2024.05.17 09:45 AwkwardJewler01 You Will Be Safe With Us by AwkwardJewler01
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 shouldnât 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 bulletsâsome 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 eyesâsomething on the nearest hillâlooked 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 didnât 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 hillâthey 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 Omidâs 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 Christaâs shoulder.
"Oh, Clementine, weâre 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 Christaâs 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, itâs 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, letâs 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?"
âYeah, I do, Christa; I will be careful."
âGood," 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 interiorâa bath, sink, toothbrushes, and some cupboardsâwhich 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 childâs 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 survivalâand not searching for a certain toy she wanted to play with at present.
âJust as well Lee found me when he did.â 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 "Mamaâ.
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.
âHave you found anything, Clementine?â called out Christa.
âYeah, a backpack and a hoodie," answered Clementine, walking towards the edge of the stairs where Omid and Christa were.
âJust remember to check the bag, Clem; they might have something useful." Replied Christa.
âOk," 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, Iâm fine; Iâm 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."
âWell, letâs keep moving on, Clem. People might have heard the shot and might come here.â Omid said.
âOk," responded Clementine. "I said already, but I found a backpack and a hoodie."
âPut it on, Clem; itâs starting to get colder, and we get going."
âOk, Iâll 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.
âI would say that rabbit is cooked now, Omid.â
âOh, right, yeah,â replied Omid, as he began to take the cooked rabbit off the spit â 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?"
âHm, what â sorry Christa; what did you say?â
âOmid 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!"
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2024.05.17 09:34 DuckRubberDuck I am tired of people saying that schizophrenia/psychosis is a blessing
I was recently invited into a private sub, due to some posts and comments I made about nature and how I try to serve nature. Anyways, itâs a very, idk even know how to explain the sub, very spiritual and reflective good stuff and a lot of nonsense, I can relate to a lot not to other stuff. Anyways there was a post recently where someone said psychosis and schizophrenia was a blessing. I tried to give my perspective of how it has ruined my life and others I know. I was basically told, not by the admin who invited me but from others, that if I canât see psychosis a a blessing maybe the sub wasnât for me because I didnât have an open mind. Today someone commented saying I have fell for the propaganda that psychosis is bad, dealing with psychosis is easy. Others from when the post was made also said you can fix it very easily if you just have an open mind. There was a lot of comments like that.
My psychotic episodes have ruined me sometimes, but I had a friend where she constantly saw and smelled the person who molested her as a child, her voices told her to kill herself and harm herself to a point where she almost constantly died from it. How can anybody say thatâs a blessing. Thatâs it âkarmicâ itâs signs.
Iâve lost friends to this illness. I have seen peopleâs lives getting ruined. Myself included.
This is basically a rant but Iâm tired of people telling me I âdonât have an open mindâ, when I tell them how it actually feels like to live with it. That maybe Iâm not welcome in that community (they have no say in that itâs a small sub and the admin has no issue with me, the admin makes good posts and comments), just because I donât agree with one point of view.
I feel like theyâre being condescending and diminishing of what this illness actually does to people. They glorify something that actually kill people. I doubt they would tell someone with cancer that itâs a blessing and a gift. That they should just have an open mind.
Well, rant over, sorry if Iâm rambling.
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2024.05.17 09:33 nomuchodinero If You Don't Have Thing for Slipcovers... And for Those that Do. Thinking of setting up an inventory and would like some thoughts.
We should have like a fair trade/buying option somewhere on this forum for people to send their slipcovers in and keep an inventory to send them out. Something that's NOT labor intensive and I'm not looking to turn this into a for-profit business. I feel as collectors the scalpers really have a hold on us on such small things.
I'd be willing to volunteer to keep inventory of the one's that would like to get slipcovers for a certain movie and there will be full transparency. For example, I want to have all of my Kino films in their slipcovers eventually... If you're one of those people that toss them (or any slipcover) out you could just mail it in to me and once someone "buys it" for the amount of postage (a few stamps should do) and mailing in a 8.5" x 11" envelope (preferably one of those that the school pictures come in) that you paid for plus the cost of me putting the stamps and mailing out you'd get your costs back at that point. I'll send the funds right to you as soon as there's a buyer. Kind of like a middle man but I'll just be keeping inventory and doing the work of mailing out your slipcovers. It's a Win-Win situation.
So if it costs you $1 (or whatever seems a fair price) for it the buyer will pay $2 to mail it out to them. We can use Venmo or cash app for for the transactions and keep the slipcover post with the inventory pinned. Both buyers and sellers will be notified on that pinned post once there's some action. You can ask if there's someone that has a certain slipcover on that post or you can just go through the list and amount of slipcovers I have in supply. I'm creating more work for myself but don't mind doing it for this lovely community.
If everyone's fine with this (mods and admins) we can get the ball rolling.
Any thoughts or suggestions?
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2024.05.17 09:08 MrKurthal Three Weeks Ago I Was Kidnapped By Nothing.. Does Anyone Remember? [PART 1]
The scariest thing about Nothing.. about being Nothing is that nobody remembers. When nothing takes you, it's like you never existed.. till it spits you back out.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened. Hours of your life so meticulously spent doing just enough now behind you.
Time is so precious because of it's one way trip. You got forward, typical. You got backwards, something for the dreamers.. But Time was different for me today. I think that thing took me.. somewhere else. Like if.. if Time were some straight path, then it pulled me off course.
At 4:37 in the morning I took liberty in shutting off my computer. All things considered, I was running considerably late today. Work was backed up, curtesy of trucking errors. To make a long story short, 4 pallets of produce simply.. vanished. All you'd really need to gather from such meaningless information is that I was suddenly put on the for front of discovering how $5,000 worth of food had somehow grown legs and walked away.
The best answer I had..? None! I had not a clue, and after what felt like hundreds of calls, I was greeted to the warm embrace of humid Georgia air. There were no leads. I was no detective, so the ultimate conclusion of this predicament could be summed up as, "It's not my problem."
All I needed in this moment was to make my way to the bus stop. So, that's exactly what I did. Maybe twelve or so minutes had passed. I was excited to see the bus make it's way around those trees. It was by no means the longest wait, but what can I say? I was a hangry fellow.
I convinced myself that it wasn't my problem, that I wouldn't allow it to be my problem. The unfortunate thing about life is that problems have a tendency to fall into the laps of those who just did as they were told. Now, I'm not one to make some social commentary on the state of the world's general fairness, but the point to be made is my adopted philosophy that unless a problem can't just be brushed off my legs, then I'll leave it to someone else.
So maybe I'm an asshole, maybe I lack integrity, but it's honestly no deeper than "that's how the cookie crumbles." We are all cogs in the world, might as well let one of the other gears have a chance to spin! Make their money's worth.
"Helluva' night, huh?"
I jumped to such a sudden question presented to me. It was a problem, in my lap.
"That obvious?"
I responded sarcastically, looking over my shoulder to be greeted by a young face. Some kid, looked no older than twenty with orange hair and foggy eyes.. eyes that admittedly sent a shiver down my spine. The kind of eyes that.. well, you know how they say a dead person's eyes look cold? It was like that, only I wouldn't describe them as cold. Just.. empty.
"Well between the heavy sigh and tapping foot, just seems like you got somewhere to be."
Whoever this was didn't seem to be looking at me. It was quite uncomfortable that he'd just admit to having analyzed my situation, but perhaps I was looking to far into things. He just had his eyes locked forward, so why he made any effort to speak to me was still unclear. It wasn't unusual for a stranger to try to make light talk during the ride, but something about this kid irked me.
Part of me felt some level of guilt when I stopped the conversation there. I'm not sure if I'm lucky or not to say I think the kid took the hint of my uncomfortably, and for the remaining 20 minutes of the trip he was seemingly preoccupied with staring out the window. It wasn't until I stood upon reaching my stop that he ever seemed to bother looking up.. but not at me.
Again this kid had just stared straight ahead, and even now I couldn't get a great look at his face. His hair seemed to obscure it, and whatever the hair hadn't covered seemed to be so enveloped in shadow to a point that identifying him beyond his hair was seemingly impossible. He was dressed so casually, so casually that detailing his worn black hoodie and faded grey jeans would do no good.
I shook my head.. shook this problem off my shoulders feeling the weight of an unsettling interaction lift from my mind the moment I stepped out of that bus onto the final stretch of pavement between myself and my neighborhood. 5:02 AM
Where is the.. humidity?
I felt a bubbling anxiety, just crossing my arms and lowering my head.. I wanted to hide. My heart was suddenly screaming, and the irrationality of it all hit me like a truck.
"What is wrong.. the hell is wrong?"
I'd confused myself with my emotions, my eyes darting from left to right. Nobody was around me, nobody was behind me, I was alone! So I took a deep breath..
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My eyes shot open, suddenly my heart bounding and my breaths heavy. I know I head him I know I did! But he wasn't here. He was still on the bus, he never got u-..
I turned my head to look in the bus window. The doors screeched, shutting firmly as the bus engine practically roared out into the night. The wheels hummed, the burst of air sounding out as the bus continued motion.
My eyes looked into that window. The window I sat at, where he was next to me.. I was aisle side, he was window side.
He never got up.
He wasn't there.
That was the final straw. I began walking home, speed walking. To hell if anymore problems would fall into my lap. Not this morning, not today! I would get home, I'd climb into bed, and I'd sleep this off. I had to sleep.. I had to go.
"It's not my problem.."
I told myself.
"He moved seats.."
I rationalized the situation. Where did he go? I didn't see him.. He couldn't have just disappeared! Those damn pallets! I did anything I could, fought with my mind to mute my rapid heartbeat. Anything I could think of, any way to distract myself from the fact that the crickets were silent, that the stars weren't out that..
Is something watching me..?
When my house came into view, I wasted no time in fully sprinting to my door, finding my keys and barging that door open, slamming it behind me. I swiftly locked it back. To hell with a shower! I'd be damned if I were too...
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My fully body turned faster than my mind could keep up with. That damned voice!
"GET OUT OF MY HOUS-.."
But I saw nothing.
Let me paint this picture for you. When I say I saw nothing, I mean there wasn't only nobody there, but there was nothing at all. There was no room behind me, no bed, no door, no world. Empty.. empty like his eyes! There was nothing! Nothing but that one.. light.
There was a white orb. It got closer, and closer. I saw a silhouette.. It was some lengthy figure with no arms? And.. its wore this cloak of nothing. Somehow I looked into a place? No.. There was something else behind it..? Not like I'd ever find out!
One second my room, my world, was enveloped with an infinitely spanning nothingness, and in the blink of an eye it was contained into this figure! It took all the nothing!
My room was back! My world! WHAT IS HAPPENING? I don't.. remember.. But then it vanished. The nothingness was gone.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened.
Hours of my life so meticulously spent doing nothing now behind me.
It's now 3:37 in the afternoon and I remember. I crashed my car, Thomas is dead. His truck is in that ditch back in Duluth.
I remember.
That's why I took the bus.. Thomas is dead. The truck was flipped. 4 pallets gone.
It visited me tonight. Nothing. I saw that boys face, I just can't remember. Nothing.. almost took me today, but I finally understand why they never looked for me. They all forgot me too. I killed Thomas. I didn't mean to but it didn't matter! Everyone knew! It was on the news, it was everywhere! But..
Nothing walked with me tonight.. and you all forgot. You forgot everything.
~I need you to remember me!~
At 3:37 in the afternoon, two months ago, my car collided with Thomas's truck. He'd fallen asleep at the wheel. I was lucky to make it out with my life. The following weeks my story was covered by local news outlets, and the world moved on. That's what happens with Time.. but it was more than that. I'd forgotten what really happened. That boy.. he was with me, in the car, that day. I think.. I think he is the Nothing. I think he IS the.. the Void. He took Thomas.
We.. we all forgot! 4 pallets? Where'd they go? I couldn't remember the funeral! I was gone for three weeks. When I turned around and saw that light, when I came back.. when he left, it had been three weeks. I didn't have a single call! Not from mom, not from work! I was FORGOTTEN!
But.. it's not my problem anymore.
You all really forgot. I got went to mom's and my pictures were gone. Dad's? Same thing. I was gone, for three weeks. Nothing took me. Nothing is.. mad at me? And I don't know why! I was nothing.. someone please! Suddenly Iâm back and all the work I left behind is still here. I was gone! The world has proved it. But.. nobody remembers? All the logs! Itâs all here. I WAS gone. You can see it in the company finances, yet nobody thought to look for me? Nobody noticed Iâm back..? Itâs like I never left?
Do any of you remember?!
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2024.05.17 08:58 EcoLogicCrusader Must-Not-Miss Interactive Experiences at AniMinneapolis 2024!
| https://preview.redd.it/86f1rxrvpx0d1.jpg?width=2048&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6df558241b7101388809fe2d7691ceea950fceec AniMinneapolis is back and bigger than ever in 2024! This family-friendly anime convention is a highlight for anime enthusiasts, offering an immersive experience that celebrates Japanese culture, anime, and gaming. Held from May 24 to May 26, 2024, at the Hyatt Regency Minneapolis, AniMinneapolis is the perfect place for fans to come together, dress up, and participate in a plethora of exciting activities. From interactive experiences to vendor halls brimming with merchandise, this convention has something for everyone. Organized by AnimeCon.org, this event attracts thousands of fans from all over, offering a welcoming community where attendees can participate in hundreds of different events, meet new friends, and indulge in their shared passions. With three full days of programming, thereâs no shortage of things to do and see. Interactive Experiences One of the biggest draws of AniMinneapolis is its array of interactive experiences. These activities are designed to engage attendees in fun and memorable ways, allowing them to dive deep into the world of anime and Japanese culture. 1. Escape Room AniMinneapolis features a thrilling escape room experience where participants must solve puzzles and riddles to break free from a cursed classroom. The escape room is designed to challenge your problem-solving skills and teamwork, making it an exciting adventure for friends and strangers alike. You have 45 minutes to solve the mystery and escape the room. This interactive experience is perfect for those who enjoy a good challenge and a bit of suspense. Why You Shouldn't Miss It The escape room is a fantastic way to test your wits and bond with fellow attendees. Itâs a unique and immersive experience that brings an element of mystery and excitement to the convention. Plus, itâs a great break from the hustle and bustle of the main events, providing a quieter, more focused activity. 2. Maid Cafe Inspired by the popular maid cafes in Japan, the AniMinneapolis Maid Cafe offers a whimsical dining experience where costumed maids and butlers serve snacks and beverages. The cafe is designed to transport you into a world of fantasy, with attentive staff who ensure you have a delightful time. Why You Shouldn't Miss It The Maid Cafe is a charming and unique part of the convention that allows you to experience a slice of Japanese pop culture firsthand. Itâs a fun and interactive way to take a break, enjoy some refreshments, and be entertained by the maids and butlers. Whether youâre new to the concept or a seasoned fan, the Maid Cafe is a must-visit. 3. Nightly Dances AniMinneapolis hosts nightly dances featuring some of the best DJs, including Party Monster DJs, Lucid Beats, and DJ Oso. These dances are a great way to let loose and enjoy a variety of electronic dance music styles, from techno to hardstyle. Why You Shouldn't Miss It The nightly dances are a high-energy highlight of the convention. Itâs an opportunity to dance, have fun, and connect with other attendees in a lively atmosphere. Whether youâre an experienced dancer or just looking to have some fun, the nightly dances are a blast. 4. Formal Fantasy Cosplay Ball The Formal Fantasy Cosplay Ball is a special event where attendees can dress in their finest cosplay and enjoy a night of dancing. The ball includes professional dance lessons, ensuring everyone can participate, regardless of their skill level. For those without a date, thereâs even a Date Auction before the event. Why You Shouldn't Miss It The ball is a unique and elegant experience that adds a touch of glamour to the convention. Itâs a chance to showcase your cosplay in a formal setting, learn some new dance moves, and perhaps even meet someone special. The Date Auction also adds an exciting twist, making the evening even more memorable. 5. Interactive Panels and Workshops AniMinneapolis offers a wide range of panels and workshops covering various topics related to anime, manga, and Japanese culture. These sessions are often led by industry professionals, voice actors, and passionate fans. From voice acting workshops to discussions about your favorite series, thereâs something for everyone. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Panels and workshops are a fantastic way to deepen your knowledge and engage with experts and fellow fans. They provide insight into the anime industry, offer tips and tricks for cosplay and art, and allow for meaningful discussions. Participating in these sessions can enhance your convention experience and inspire your own creative pursuits. 6. Video Gaming Area The video gaming area at AniMinneapolis features a variety of gaming consoles and arcade machines. Attendees can participate in gaming tournaments, play casual games, and enjoy a wide selection of titles, from classic favorites to the latest releases. Why You Shouldn't Miss It For gamers, the video gaming area is a paradise. Itâs a great place to compete, make new friends, and enjoy some downtime between other activities. The tournaments add an extra layer of excitement, with the chance to win prizes and bragging rights. 7. Karaoke Karaoke is a popular activity at AniMinneapolis, allowing attendees to sing their favorite songs in front of a supportive audience. The convention provides a vast library of songs, including anime themes, J-pop hits, and more. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Karaoke is a fun and interactive way to express yourself and entertain others. Itâs a chance to showcase your singing talent (or lack thereof) and enjoy the camaraderie of fellow anime fans. Whether youâre a seasoned performer or just looking to have fun, karaoke is a must-try experience. 8. Autograph Sessions AniMinneapolis hosts autograph sessions with voice actors, artists, and other special guests. This is your chance to meet your favorite stars, get memorabilia signed, and even chat with them. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Meeting the voices behind your favorite characters is a thrilling experience. Autograph sessions provide a unique opportunity to interact with industry professionals, gain insights into their work, and create lasting memories. Plus, getting your merchandise signed adds a personal touch to your collection. 9. Cosplay Competitions The cosplay competitions at AniMinneapolis are a showcase of creativity and craftsmanship. The grand cosplay competition is the main event, where cosplayers compete for prizes and recognition. There are also other cosplay events, such as photoshoots and meetups, throughout the convention. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Cosplay competitions are a highlight for both participants and spectators. They offer a platform for cosplayers to display their hard work and creativity, and they provide inspiration for future costumes. Even if youâre not competing, watching the competitions is a treat, as youâll see some truly amazing costumes. 10. Anime Screenings AniMinneapolis dedicates a room for anime screenings, where attendees can watch a variety of shows and movies. The screenings include both new releases and classic favorites, providing a chance to discover something new or revisit beloved series. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Anime screenings offer a relaxing way to enjoy some downtime during the convention. Itâs a chance to catch up on shows you might have missed, see new episodes, and enjoy the communal experience of watching anime with fellow fans. The screenings are also a great way to introduce friends to new series. 11. Tabletop Gaming The tabletop gaming area is hosted by Flame Point Games and features a variety of board games, card games, and role-playing games. Attendees can playtest new games, join in on scheduled sessions, or just enjoy some casual gaming. Why You Shouldn't Miss It Tabletop gaming offers a different kind of interactive experience, focusing on strategy, creativity, and social interaction. Itâs a great way to take a break from the fast-paced convention environment and enjoy some quality time with friends or make new ones over a game. 12. AMV Contest The Anime Music Video (AMV) contest is a competition where creators showcase their editing skills by combining anime clips with music. The contest is held on Sunday morning, and the winner receives free tickets to the next convention. Why You Shouldn't Miss It The AMV contest is a display of creativity and technical skill. Watching the entries is a fun and engaging experience, as you get to see how different creators interpret and remix anime. Itâs also a great source of inspiration for aspiring editors and creators. Other Events and Activities In addition to the interactive experiences, AniMinneapolis offers a wide range of other events and activities that fans should look forward to. Vendor Hall While at the con, be sure to check out AniMinneapolisâ vendor hall - a bustling marketplace where attendees can purchase a variety of anime merchandise, artwork, and collectibles. Itâs a great place to find unique items, complete your collection, or pick up some souvenirs. Itâs also an opportunity to support local and independent artists by purchasing their work. ConSweet Need a place to recharge, grab a bite to eat, and meet other attendees? The ConSweet is a hospitality area that provides free snacks, ramen, and soda throughout the weekend. Itâs a lifesaver during the busy convention weekend. It ensures you stay energized and hydrated, and itâs a great place to take a break and socialize with other fans. Plus, who can resist free snacks? Meetups Meetups are scheduled gatherings for fans of specific shows, genres, or interests. These events provide a chance to connect with like-minded individuals, share your passion, and make new friends. Meetups are a fantastic way to build community and make connections. Whether youâre a fan of a niche series or a popular franchise, thereâs likely a meetup for you. Itâs an opportunity to engage in discussions, share fan theories, and bond over shared interests. Tips for Cosplay Cosplay is a major part of AniMinneapolis, and many attendees enjoy dressing up as their favorite characters. When choosing a costume, consider your skill level, budget, and comfort. If youâre new to cosplay, start with a simpler design that you can easily assemble. Think about characters you love and feel confident portraying. If you wish to create your own cosplay, start early and plan ahead. Break the project into manageable steps, and donât be afraid to ask for help or use online tutorials. Focus on key details that will make your costume recognizable, and remember that comfort is important, especially for long convention days. Cosplay Etiquette Respect other cosplayers and their work. Always ask for permission before taking photos and be mindful of personal space. Cosplay is about having fun and expressing your love for characters, so enjoy the process and the community. Tips for First-Time Attendees If youâre attending AniMinneapolis for the first time, here are some tips to ensure you have a fun and immersive experience. - Plan Ahead: Check the schedule in advance and plan which events and activities you want to attend. Make a list of must-see panels, screenings, and interactive experiences.
- Stay Hydrated and Rested: Conventions can be exhausting, so itâs important to stay hydrated and take breaks. Bring a water bottle and snacks, and find time to rest between activities.
- Be Social: AniMinneapolis is a great place to meet new people and make friends. Donât be shy about striking up conversations with fellow attendees. Join meetups and participate in activities to build connections.
- Budget Wisely: With so many tempting items in the vendor hall, itâs easy to overspend. Set a budget for your purchases and stick to it. Remember to also budget for meals and other necessities.
- Register Early: To ensure you get the best rate, register for your tickets early. Ticket prices will increase in a few days, so donât wait until the last minute. Early registration also helps you avoid long lines at the convention.
AniMinneapolis 2024 is shaping up to be an incredible event, filled with must-not-miss interactive experiences and activities. From the thrilling escape room and charming Maid Cafe to the energetic nightly dances and elegant Formal Fantasy Cosplay Ball, thereâs something for everyone. Donât forget to explore the vendor hall, enjoy the free snacks in the ConSweet, and participate in meetups to make the most of your convention experience. Whether youâre a seasoned attendee or a first-timer, AniMinneapolis offers a welcoming and exciting environment for all anime fans. Register early to secure your spot and get ready for an unforgettable weekend! submitted by EcoLogicCrusader to animinneapolis [link] [comments] |
2024.05.17 08:57 485sunrise Frustrated with this Subreddit
I donât care if this gets downvoted. I think it is important this be said.
I was listening to one of the subreddit pods where Tim was talking about GA Lt Gov Geoff Duncan. Heâs a right wing pol, in favor of the heartbeat bill, pro border security, and holds a lot of positions reprehensible to liberals and moderates. Yet heâs willing to say heâs voting for Biden.
And that is the joy of the Bulwark. Youâve got not just the squishes like Tim, but others like Charlie and a lot of guests that Tim brings that still hold these views, yet are willing to speak up against Trump to different degrees. They are more compelling than all of us who are liberal and moderate and never liked Republican politics anyways.
Yet this sub loves to:
- Shit on anyone who says anything negative about Biden thatâs not from the left flank.
- Is to the left of the Enough Sanders Spam subreddit, a sub for progressives who donât like Bernie, when it comes to issues like Israel-Palestine.
- Shits on a lot of people with moderate and conservative view points.
- Wants the Bulwark to turn into a progressive hangout when it is/was (?) perfectly fine as a center right hangout.
Iâve also seen a lot of crooked media posts on this subreddit. Those guys are a bunch of political hacks that cater to far left progrsssives. I used to listen to them religiously until they pandered more and more to the progressives to the point of disingenuousness. Final straw was when Dan Pfeiffer said he couldnât judge Tara Readeâs story because (a) he loves Biden (admirable) and (b) âwe are menâ insinuating men had no right to judge the objective truth about someone that says she was assaulted in a busy Senate office hallway.
Yet this subreddit loves them. (Iâm aware that Tim is close to them. I first heard him on their podcast.)
Maybe itâs just because itâs Reddit that we get these views. But the Bulwark should stay center right. Like JVL said, itâs important to have two healthy parties and that will never happen if all of the center right people become progressive. I know, I lived in California where the state became blue because all of the people in the center right became Democrats, and now we have a state legislature that tries to one up each other with more and more left wing laws and a serious congresswoman who wants a national minimum wage of $50/hr.
Oh and guys like Stephen Hayes and Jonah Goldberg are cool. Despite being right wing hacks they are willing to not vote for Trump which does count for something. Even if their reasons for not voting for Biden make little sense.
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485sunrise to
thebulwark [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 08:57 GiuKun For all the Linux Advertisers. Recommend Fedora! Here is why
I use Fedora, by the way.
Here is my Linux journey so you know where this is coming from:
I started with Ubuntu; ran it for one month and hated it. I used Kubuntu for 2 hours. I often dual-booted to Windows because I played Valorant (it was trending in my friend group at that time).
I switched to Manjaro, cause it got recommended on Reddit, (yes i searched stuff like "best Disto for gaming") and accidentally wiped my Windows partition. I liked Manjaro, but then an update destroyed my desktop, and I couldn't get Plasma to autostart. I always had to start it manually after booting and I wasn't experienced enough to fix it. (Manjaro is not stable; stop recommending it to newbies.)
I used Nobara for a while and loved the project (still do)! But I wanted a more supported project, so I switched to Fedora, and honestly, I never want to use anything else. My T480 runs Arch, but only because I like customizing it a lot.
I installed Fedora on my boyfriend's PC when Windows stopped working properly, and I think it is the best distro for getting into Linux if you are a bit tech-savvy.
But if someone is not techy and just wants to install and use it, then I recommend Linux Mint. Please, guys. Debian-based distros have more support from companies so far (e.g., Discord).
Before anyone says, "Eh, but you can run the Flatpak, and it is super easy," yes, you are right. You can, but think about it. A new Linux user who is not techy doesn't want to deal with it. They could, but they don't want to.
Even if they are techy, it's hard to understand. Hack even I was confused and I am working as an IT-Administrator (windows Domain).
And if thats the case then I think someone who only maybe was clicking in the registry editor or using the command prompt once won't understand it at all.
"But I easily installed Linux and immidiately understood all the Packages, what a DE/Windowmanager aswell as Display Server is and did Linux from scratch and Arch in my first 24h of using Linux" Good for you. I didn't. And I think most didn't either.
Yes, there are exceptions, and maybe a plunge into cold water is a good way to learn, but even then, just give them an easier start. Otherwise, you unintentionally gatekeep Linux.
So, in my opinion:
For non-tech users who want to try it: Linux Mint. Give them easy instructions for the GUI. Since you can use the GUI to install and it is honestly super nice and aproachable.
"But the terminal is faster and they should learn it!" No. They don't need to. They want Firefox or Chrome or whatever, not to speedrun the Linuxexperience.
For techy users: Recommend Fedora. It is the Goldilocks zone between stable and new.
"But Arch is better." Maybe, but not everyone wants to learn so much in the beginning. And honestly, if they are techy, they will probably distro-hop at some point anyway and if they like Arch they maybe stick to it.
Also, can we please agree that, in most situations, the distro is less important for a Linux experience than the DE?
Also, KDE and XFCE are goated; change my mind.
submitted by
GiuKun to
pcmasterrace [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 08:53 GiuKun FEDORA IS THE BEST! Hear me out:
Edit due to comments: Be adviced this is very subjective
Here is my Linux journey, to better understand where I am coming from:
I started with Ubuntu; ran it for one month and hated it. I used Kubuntu for 2 hours. I often dual-booted to Windows because I played Valorant (it was trending in my friend group at that time).
I switched to Manjaro, cause it got recommended on Reddit, (yes i searched stuff like "best Disto for gaming") and accidentally wiped my Windows partition. I liked Manjaro, but then an update destroyed my desktop, and I couldn't get Plasma to autostart. I always had to start it manually after booting and I wasn't experienced enough to fix it. (Manjaro is not stable; stop recommending it to newbies.)
I used Nobara for a while and loved the project (still do)! But I wanted a more supported project, so I switched to Fedora, and honestly, I never want to use anything else. My T480 runs Arch, but only because I like customizing it a lot.
I installed Fedora on my boyfriend's PC when Windows stopped working properly, and I think it is the best distro for getting into Linux if you are a bit tech-savvy.
But if someone is not techy and just wants to install and use it, then I recommend Linux Mint. Please, guys. Debian-based distros have more support from companies so far (e.g., Discord).
Before anyone says, "Eh, but you can run the Flatpak, and it is super easy," yes, you are right. You can, but think about it. A new Linux user who is not techy doesn't want to deal with it. They could, but they don't want to.
Even if they are techy, it's hard to understand. Hack even I was confused and I am working as an IT-Administrator (windows Domain).
And if thats the case then I think someone who only maybe was clicking in the registry editor or using the command prompt once won't understand it at all.
"But I easily installed Linux and immidiately understood all the Packages, what a DE/Windowmanager aswell as Display Server is and did Linux from scratch and Arch in my first 24h of using Linux" Good for you. I didn't. And I think most didn't either.
Yes, there are exceptions, and maybe a plunge into cold water is a good way to learn, but even then, just give them an easier start. Otherwise, you unintentionally gatekeep Linux.
So, in my opinion:
For non-tech users who want to try it: Linux Mint. Give them easy instructions for the GUI. Since you can use the GUI to install and it is honestly super nice and aproachable.
"But the terminal is faster and they should learn it!" No. They don't need to. They want Firefox or Chrome or whatever, not to speedrun the Linuxexperience.
For techy users: Recommend Fedora. It is the Goldilocks zone between stable and new.
"But Arch is better." Maybe, but not everyone wants to learn so much in the beginning. And honestly, if they are techy, they will probably distro-hop at some point anyway and if they like Arch they maybe stick to it.
Also, can we please agree that, in most situations, the distro is less important for a Linux experience than the DE?
Also, KDE and XFCE are goated; change my mind.
I use Fedora btw!
Edit: THIS IS MY OPINION. if you disagree: Ok. Why?
submitted by
GiuKun to
linux [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 08:42 Ekatarina7 Is the work culture here normal compared to the western world? I am going crazy
I grew up and went to school in one of the European countries and lived for a very short while in the US, but my longest work experience has been in Dubai. I came to Dubai when everyone still didn't have a smartphone or use whatsapp, a lot of people did but it wasn't a norm, and when I started working, all the official communication still took place over email and landlines.
Which means, when you leave your office, you don't have your outlook on your phone, you don't have whatsapp, and people know you can only reply during work hours, and they can only reach you on the phone if you're available.
This was the very end of that phase, 2015-16.
Since then, in all the jobs I worked, it is normal for clients to harass you on whatsapp non stop, or the boss doing the same, even on the days off (sure you can not reply, but it is so anxiety inducing). People calling you. People expecting you to asnwer their emails sent in the evening. People not understanding that they need to email because it's so much "simpler" to communicate by sending you 10 2 min voice notes (fuck those to death).
I mean did the changes in tech made this a reality elsewhere, or is just Dubai filled with entitled, obnoxious people who feel that everyone they work with at all needs to be constantly available to brainstorm every thought that pops into their heads? And these aren't young people, it's everyone, just constant whatsapps, you constantly need to set your limits and protect your number.
My home country (southern central Europe) doesn't seem to be like that based on my conversations with friends and other people. It seems most people would find it weird that someone is trying to reach you or expects your attention when you're off.
Now, I am aware a person can protect themselves - you can tell people you don't use whatsapp for work, you can not give your number whenever possible, you can ignore emails and messages during your off time. I do all that, and my boss, while she feels the need to send voicenotes about "urgent matters" all the time, isn't really an asshole. But just being aware that everyone is in this constant state of urgency and awaiting your most urgent reply asap or whatever, it puts me in this unbearable state of constant anxiety and tiredness, and actual deep hatred towards all the clients.
I am sure it also depends on the industry, but I don't know, what are other people's experiences? I worked in 2 different industries here and both are like this, at least now I have more power to tell people off, and I noticed i sometimes get very aggressive because I am so fed up. My colleagues too. I feel everyone is always on edge. I have no energy for a social life here and my work hours are totally nice and decent for Dubai.
I just feel like everyone is eating my brain all the time with the stupidest shit, and how the hell do all these people run their businesses but are utterly uncapable of writing a fucking email?
submitted by
Ekatarina7 to
dubai [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 08:36 Local-Interview-4139 Advice requested for issue with new-build property
Bought a new-build terrace in Q1 of 2022; thin from the front but has a long, south facing brick wall that the rain hits. I went on holiday at Christmas 2022 and when I came back I saw mold creeping up the wall in the living room, began to investigate and noticed that the carpet was damp at points along the wall. First assumption was that the waste pipe was leaking as it is next to the damp spot, but I canât smell anything foul. I pull the couch out and notice itâs damp there as well, as well as further down the room. Seems to be damp around where the air cavity bricks are when looking from the outside. Since the wall is common with both the living room and the kitchen I decide to pull the plinths off the kitchen units and see mold under there as well.
Complained to the developer and they sent someone out. He investigated and thought it was an error with how the damp-proof course and radon barrier were installed; he believed that they overhung the brickwork too much and allowed moisture to creep in due to the capillary effect during heavy rain. I accepted the answer as I had since bought a moisture meter that I would press into the wall and carpet and the higher readings would always be after it had rained. They got to work to correct this and Iâd monitor it throughout the remainder of 2023, the readings on the wall were still a bit higher (15%ish) but the meter was still in the green range and the carpet felt dry so I didnât have any evidence. Come December 2023 and Iâm noticing similar issues again; damp and water ingress. The meter caps out at 22% but I'm measuring that at many points of the exterior wall. No mold this year but that might just be coincidental since the winter of 2022 was a lot more brutal than 2023 in my area.
Complained again and theyâve sent someone out to investigate. The contractor admitted he could smell and feel damp when he came into the living room and reported it back to the developer and said it might need a structural engineer to fault-find. Developer said theyâd arrange work but wouldnât commit to what solution theyâre going to try. Iâve since had the same contractor as 2022 come back and do more work to the brickwork whilst Iâve been away at work. Iâve inquired with the developer but they havenât given me a concrete answer yet and I feel like theyâre fobbing me off. Iâm also outside of my 2 year warranty.
I feel like at this point Iâm ready to contact the LABC and get the ball rolling, but Iâm posting this here to get some feedback on what others would do in my situation. A GDPR request to the developer maybe in case thereâs any e-mails about me that discuss the issue, or maybe speak to my home insurance. Obviously if it is structural then any solutions are surely to be disruptive to me and I want to make sure I've considered everything.
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Local-Interview-4139 to
HousingUK [link] [comments]
2024.05.17 08:30 No-Leg-3400 Bought item kit advertised as new from a website, yet had signs of usage, and then failed 3 days later. Seller refused to offer a refund upon return, and PayPal refused dispute and appeal based on clearly false claims from seller claiming I modified and damaged the item. No idea what to do now.
Hi!
I really donât know where to start with this one. Itâs definitely going to be a long post as I donât want to miss on any potentially crucial detail, hence apologies for posting something this long.
Hereâs my best attempt at summarizing what happened without losing on any detail (feel free to ask for clarification if anything isnât clear):
- I bought a proxmark3 rdv4 as part of a kit which also comes with several of its accessories from an online website selling these kinds of things.
- When I received it, I noticed several smudges on the device itself and the cards that came with it where scratched up to severely, which immediately alarmed me but I really tried to brush it off to just being caused by the manufacturing process.
- Three days after first receiving it, it completely died on me during usage. And showed no signs of life whatsoever.
- Naturally contacted the online websiteâs support and explained the situation, and they responded asking me to try some troubleshooting steps to try to isolate the issue and potentially fix it remotely, all of which didnât work.
- Hence they offered to look into it themselves by having me send it back to them.
- However, I insisted on returning the full kit back for a full refund as it is no longer fit for purpose due to both being defective and the fact that I wouldnât trust a replacement either to not fail the same way now that I experienced this. And since this was 3 days since receiving it, and even 4 days since placing the purchase, it was well within the 14 days period the Consumer Rights Act 2015 allows for. Hence I asked them to just return the full kit for a full refund instead.
- Yet they (or shoud I say he as it turns out this âcompanyâ is actually just one person) refused and said since I now opened it I am no longer eligible for a refund and kept insisting that sending it back for repaireplacement was my only option. (Which is nonsense as how was I supposed to even know it was defective if I didnât open it!!!). They even went as far as stating their ToS also states that defective items arenât eligible for a refund even if they are within the 14 day period (which is also nonsense as even their own ToS states that you can return faulty items for a full refund within 14 days. And either way the Consumer Rights Act 2015 gives me this right regardless of what their ToS say).
- Then things started getting even more suspicious with this sellecompany. They started ignoring my emails stating my rights under the Consumer Rights Act 2015, and just resending the same email asking me if I accept to return it for a repair or replacement. Obviously I was not going to say yes as then they will use that against me and say I accepted to not get a refund but have it replaced instead.
- So having paid by PayPal, it seemed straightforward. Just open up a dispute, explain the situation clearly and upload evidence. Which is exactly what I did.
- Then through the PayPal disputes seller-buyer chat you get when first opening a dispute to try to sort things out together first, the seller again insisted on this whole ToS nonsense and then asked for the item back and provided a returns address but wouldnât provide a returns label unless I accepted not to get a refund (again, not going to say yes to that). So what I did was instead return it under my own dime through Royal Mail Special Guarantee so thereâs clear evidence. And uploaded the tracking details to the dispute.
- Item gets delivered with proof of delivery and a signature and everything (because I thankfully decided to send it special guarantee), yet the seller kept asking for it back and not acknowledging that itâs already been delivered. (Even more suspicious!).
- And when I clearly stated even the tracking showing proof of delivery and everything, suddenly the story changed and the seller now has it back⌠and then things got even more interesting.
- The seller went above and beyond straight up making false statements claiming I damaged and modified the item (which I didnât do). And the funny thing is, not only is what he was saying contradicting with the manufacturerâs own instructions, but his false allegations even contradict themselves! For example, he said the device outer cover is sealed and that I broke the seal and forced the cover open against the manufacturerâs usage instructions. Yet then claimed the tool which is INCLUDED in the box by the manufacturer specifically to open the casing showed signs of usage. Anyone with a brain without even knowing a thing about the device would instantly realize: Why would the manufacturer seal a device and not condone opening it yet include a tool specifically to do exactly that? And to add to that, the reason why you would open the outer casing is to access a SIM slot under there, which you then plug an also INCLUDED SIM-SAM adapter to that slot to use it⌠hence again, why would the manufacturer include an adapter in the box which canât even be used without opening the plastic cover. And mind you all of these are part of the main device box, these arenât the additional accessories that also came with the kit. Hence none of these could have possibly been aftermarket things not recommended by the manufacturer. See how even someone who doesnât know anything about the device can instantly tell how these allegations conflict with each other? And to add to that, the seller also claimed that I admitted that I flashed aftermarket software to the device and that the device failed immediately after, and pointed towards one of my emails who he previously claimed he never received (again! Super obvious lie!). Yet that wasnât what I even said, I said that I updated it to the latest version exactly as the manufacturer getting started docs instruct you to, and it was working fine (hence the failure did not occur after the update!) and the failure only happened 3 days later while I was just reading one of the included NFC cards (yes, one of the ones scratched). Hence again, more clear lies.
- So at that point I clearly explained exactly how his lies conflict each other and conflict with the manufacturer instructions and supplied proof as well with manufacturer documentation and the full terminal log showing all of the things I did and commands I ran with the device, and escalated the claim for PayPal to review.
- PayPal despite saying they will provide a verdict in 5 days, took weeks and them suddenly asked me to provide a police report. Yet when contacting the local police they said they donât deal with these kind of things (which I expected), so now I am being asked for something that the police donât even provide. Gave the PayPal customer service a call and explained that⌠and they rudely just kept repeating that I have to provide that or else my case will be closed in the sellerâs favor.
- After looking around I found the action fraud website so reported the incident there and thankfully the report letter you get after submitting mentions it being a police service, hence that would definitely work. So I went ahead and supplied that to the dispute and again it said they will provide a verdict within 5 days. This time they took even longer than last time and after keeping me on my toes for possibly a month+ they just simply rejected the claim saying I modified/damaged the item effectively blindly siding with the seller despite the clear lies and despite the clear explanation and evidence I supplied showing that.
- So I appealed the decision and this time re-wrote the full explanation and evidence in case it wasnât clear the first time and emphasized everything and made sure it was super clear with numbered bullet points and everything. Yet again they took their time and kept me waiting for weeks, eventually rejecting the appeal too for the same reason. (Clearly they couldnât be bothered to even read a work I said nor even use any brain cells to see how obvious the lies are from the seller).
- Once your appeal gets rejected then thereâs no way to re-open the dispute anymore nor create a new one. So rang the PayPal support again and explained the situation and after the agent looked at the dispute even he agreed that the sellers lies were as clear as day and that my explanation and evidence further proves that, and was confused as to why it got rejected. So he said he will escalate to their head office and I should receive a response in 3 working days. And I immediately asked him: They rejected it twice already and blindly sided with the seller, wouldnât they just do the same? And he assured me that the head office is a different team from the team that handled the dispute.
- Over 2 weeks later⌠and I still havenât heard back from anyone. So I gave them another ring. This time the agent that I got straight up started blaming me for âmodifyingâ the item and saying the same nonsense and after straight up going over how all of them are lies (the same way I went over that twice already in my dispute and appeal, but this time I could actually say it verbally in real time to him as it was a phone call), he kept coming up with random nonsense excuses like saying PayPal disputes donât handle defective items (which is nonsense) and then also went on saying that since the failure occurred 3 days after and not immediately itâs also not covered (again, nonsense), so I reminded him of my rights under the Consumer Rights Act 2015 and he went on saying but thatâs not what they PayPal ToS says, and I also reminded him of the signs of usage I also clearly mentioned in the dispute and appeal hence even the item wasnât as described as it was advertised as new (which in itself entitles me to a full refund even if the device hadnât failed) and I straight up told him PayPal operates in the UK and all UK laws apply to them and they canât legally deny my rights regardless of what their ToS says (and by the way, nowhere in the ToS either was it saying anything this guy was claiming). So regardless of what I kept saying he just kept coming up with excuses and nonsense so I knew that phone call was going nowhere. He even went as far as saying that I should resolve this with the seller directly (AS IF I HAVENT BEEN TRYING TO DO THAT FROM THE BEGINNING TO NO AVAIL WHICH IS WHY I HAD TO FILE A DISPUTE IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!).
- At that point I had reached a dead end as the seller wasnât cooperating, PayPal was blindly siding with him regardless of what I did, and to top this off and I couldnât even file a dispute with my bank as I had used my card from my home country, and apparently when I spoke to them they said they donât even file disputes unless the item simply hasnât arrived (which in itself is just stupid on top of all of the stupidity I have faced so far).
- So now I was out ÂŁ509.99 for the kit, plus the ÂŁ7.65 I paid out of pocket for postage to return it (which honestly I could have written off if I would have at least gotten the money for the kit refunded), and now I donât even have the device nor the whole kit as thatâs been returned to the seller. So I am out both the money and the kit. And the seller gets to keep the whole kit and probably scam someone else with it as well, plus gets to keep the money.
- So I now filed a case with the financial ombudsman as it been wayyyyyyyyyyyy over 8 weeks and PayPal still hasnât resolved this nor even wants to (thankfully didnât need a final response letter due to how long itâs taken otherwise that in itself would have been a nightmare to try to get from PayPal judging by my experience with them so far). But I am honestly not hopeful at all as I have never my life ever won an ombudsman case, as they always blindly side with the company (yes, the same way PayPal blindly sided with the seller), hence no wonder companies confidently refer you to them because they know you probably wonât win.
Hence all of that being said, what are my options now? I am guessing probably small claims court, but if I lose that too then I will also be out the fees for that on top of the already massive losses. Plus I am an international student hence wonât be in the UK over the summer and my schedule during the academic year might not give me time to attend the hearing. Plus I canât speak legalese and I am generally terrible at communicating on the spot due to my ADHD, hence that also wonât be in my favor. And I canât afford to have someone represent me either.
I am really sorry if I am sounding super negative, I just really donât know how to handle this, especially considering how much money I lost now which in itself has been a nightmare.
Any advice would greatly be appreciated whether here or through DMs (my DMs are open if you donât feel comfortable sharing advice here).
Thanks!
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2024.05.17 08:29 eynouement do i move on? (how?...) or do i stay. send help ;-; (im 20M, she's 20F)
hey guys, i'm here looking for advice as to what i should do with myself. the story is a little long so please bear with me. (i'm 20M)
i was 18 when i first met my ex-girlfriend back in 2022, let's name her sofa (20F). we were arranged to be in the same class for the first time after going through 4 semesters in poly, right after i went through a break up. i got to know of her beforehand because my best friend back then was pretty close to her, so naturally the both of us hit it off immediately when we found out that we were in the same class. too natural in fact. to me, it felt like she was an extension of me. by the time week 1 ended, we were able to finish each others' sentences, and we knew most of each others' secrets.
slowly but surely, i fell in love. but back then she let me in onto one of her secrets: she had a boyfriend. i didn't want to be a homewrecker, so i kept my feelings to myself. however, said boyfriend was apparently sexually abusive towards her. and throughout it all, i was there for her emotionally and physically (this includes forcing her to give him a bj and to swallow his jizz, and going down on her when she clearly voiced her discomfort.) we'd skip classes sometimes to just be with each other, because she told me that she needed to get away from everything, and as her best friend i couldn't say no. but now that i think about it, it was probably because i too, wanted to spend time with her.
then one night we were out watching black panther 2, and she held my hand in the cinema. that's when i knew that i probably wrecked a home without meaning to. she confessed that she already had feelings for me long before the movie, probably at the same time i started falling for her. she explained how she got together with her then boyfriend: he was there when she needed someone, especially since they were both in the school band (she was the vocalist), he would pull her confidence up when she felt unconfident of herself. gratitude, she called it, with "it" referring to her feelings for him.
she then told me that she believed in the connection between me and her, and i agreed because i too, had never felt anything like this. after that day, i accompanied her to AFA, where she cosplayed as makima and i helped take photos of her. and the next day, our lips met for the first time. she promised that she would break things off with her ex when she flew to new zealand, i trusted her. long story short, she didnt end things with him. but i didnt know that she actually tried her best, but the man wouldn't take it as an answer. (she was the type to never say no) i cut her off there and then, because i didn't want to get hurt any longer.
months passed, and during that period, i went back to my ex. who popped my cherry, and showed me that sex was actually pretty bad. context: i didn't feel good at all, and took 1h30mins to finish. she enjoyed it though, and i later found out that she was lying about being a virgin, and that she actually loves cock. march came and i went to bangkok, thailand on internship with sofa and my best friend. my ex cheated on me 2 weeks into the internship with some streamer on a chinese streaming platform. i have records of her sending gifts to him all the time. strangly, i didnt feel much when i found out, i was actually okay with it. this is where sofa comes in. she held my hand again one night when me, my best friend and her were watching "the whales" in my room. i never thought that she would still have feelings for me, because the whole time people were saying that she gave up on me long ago. and i too, realised that i was not over her. call me a playboy, whatever. but it was my feelings, and i wasn't mature enough to control them. me and sofa fell in love and fixed our misunderstandings.
we spent 5 months together living in the same room. it was like a honeymoon period minus the actual marriage. we had a hard time adjusting to life without each other after we returned to singapore. and we broke up last year december 30th.
thing is, things didn't stop there. she found another guy 3 days after the break up, but still continued to see me in secret and hooked up with me too. all while dating the guy and having sex with him too. (i didn't know they were together, she claimed that they were just friends). soon enough, her own friends found out about our trysts and sold her out to her new guy. i guess he was as delusional as me, because he wanted to hold on. but things weren't the same, and eventually he ended things with her. this prompted her to come back to me, but with a pre-requisite: she wouldn't date me because she needed time to heal. at that point i felt like it was understandable, because she had been through a lot, and on the other hand completely neglected the 4 months of pain that i went through. i finally snapped at her one day, and told that if she wasn't going to try fighting for me, then i wasn't going to. she sent a whole paragraph to defend herself and then blocked me. i thought that i would be able to move on quickly after that, but its still the exact same as the time when i first broke up with her (i didn't sleep for 4 days in a row and collapsed in class, and often locked myself in my cupboard to just cry). i just enlisted in the army a few days ago and i really want to know how do i cope with this, because truth is i still love her.
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2024.05.17 08:21 Trigger9913 24 [M4F] #Anywhere #UK - Looking for a partner
Hi all! I am currently looking for something longterm. I will accept people from anywhere in the world as long as they can make distance work. I'm not huge or too picky on what I want someone to be like, so i'll talk about myself and see what bites!
About me:
I have a great voice and accent, and so i like using it by voice calling my partner. Ideally you would like to call too!
I am 6'2 tall, athletic build with black hair and dark eyes. I have light brown skin. My hobbies include gaming. I play on pc mainly. My current go-to games are rainbow six siege, warzone, rocket league, lethal company and star wars battlefront 2. Im also into airsoft and practice MMA (brazilian jiu jitsu and muay thai) I would describe myself as easygoing. I am usually very light hearted and i tend to make others laugh. This doesn't mean i cant be serious though, i often can and am. I am also very big on loyalty and communication. I love trying new food and socialising with friends and family.
I am an engineer by profession, having achieved my masters degree a year ago. I love what I do.
If you are someone who is good at communicating often, and wants something real and longterm, feel free to message me to find out more! :) i accept any ages above 18!
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2024.05.17 08:13 CIAHerpes I remember the night I died and saw the Bardo.
There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the stateâs capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
âWhatâs the deal with the new guy?â I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
âHeâs trouble, man,â he said in a crisp accent. âHe got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims heâs been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and thatâs why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I donât know, I didnât listen to the whole story.â
âYou have his file?â I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
âJeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
âHistory: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
âPsychiatristâs note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
âPatient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poorâŚâ
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
âSheâs going to follow you,â he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
âOh, great!â I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldnât care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
âWell, Iâm Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. Itâs good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,â I said, giving her a faint smile.
âThatâs exciting!â Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patientâs number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
âOK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan andâŚâ I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardoâs Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldnât see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
âStay here,â I commanded, seeing Kaitlynâs eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. âDonât leave until I come back and say that itâs safe.â On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
âDoctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,â a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
âYou donât have to do this, man,â Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldnât see what was happening, as Jeremiahâs large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardoâs back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardoâs body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
âStay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,â Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
âLetâs talk about this,â I said, taking a step forward slowly. âYou donât want a murder charge, do you? Youâll never see the sky again.â
âI donât give a fuck! Iâm not afraid to die!â Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardoâs body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patientsâ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
âYou can come out,â a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. âI know youâre there.â
âWhoâs there?â I called out, not stepping forward. âShow yourself.â
âAs you wishâŚâ the voice hissed. âBut I think youâll regret it.â
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
âWho are you?â I asked, taking a hesitant step back. âWhere am I?â
âMy name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,â he answered.
âOh,â I said, my heart dropping. âWell, thatâs not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?â
âSo they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?â he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. âOf bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
âIndeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
âAfter the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
âLike Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
âHis consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.â
Luciferâs body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
âAnd yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything youâve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but donât be afraid.â
âHow could I not be afraid?!â I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadnât been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didnât know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
âThe siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,â he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. âHell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.â
âHow can Hell come and go?â I asked, confused. âIsnât Hell a place?â
âHell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,â Lucifer responded. âIt eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.â He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
âWhat can I do against such a beast?â I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didnât want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
âSeek divine wisdom,â he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. âRemember the source.â
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creatureâs body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hellâs massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hellâs most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, âJESUS said, âI am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.ââ
Now it read, âNietzsche said, âOf all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.ââ I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
âItâs right behind us!â she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. âRun! Get away!â
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The womanâs eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
âCome on, come on!â she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hellâs fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hellâs mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldnât tell where it was coming from.
âClear!â one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young womanâs hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
âAgain!â another voice yelled.
âClear!â the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
âItâs OK,â one of the doctors said, kneeling down. âYouâre being taken to emergency surgery. Youâve lost a lot of blood.â I wanted to say something, but I couldnât talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each otherâs, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
âNnnn,â I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. âNoâŚâ The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, Iâll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, Iâll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I wonât wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.
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2024.05.17 08:13 CIAHerpes I remember the night I died and saw the Bardo.
There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the stateâs capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
âWhatâs the deal with the new guy?â I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
âHeâs trouble, man,â he said in a crisp accent. âHe got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims heâs been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and thatâs why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I donât know, I didnât listen to the whole story.â
âYou have his file?â I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
âJeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
âHistory: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
âPsychiatristâs note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
âPatient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poorâŚâ
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
âSheâs going to follow you,â he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
âOh, great!â I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldnât care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
âWell, Iâm Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. Itâs good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,â I said, giving her a faint smile.
âThatâs exciting!â Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patientâs number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
âOK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan andâŚâ I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardoâs Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldnât see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
âStay here,â I commanded, seeing Kaitlynâs eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. âDonât leave until I come back and say that itâs safe.â On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
âDoctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,â a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
âYou donât have to do this, man,â Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldnât see what was happening, as Jeremiahâs large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardoâs back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardoâs body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
âStay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,â Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
âLetâs talk about this,â I said, taking a step forward slowly. âYou donât want a murder charge, do you? Youâll never see the sky again.â
âI donât give a fuck! Iâm not afraid to die!â Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardoâs body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patientsâ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
âYou can come out,â a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. âI know youâre there.â
âWhoâs there?â I called out, not stepping forward. âShow yourself.â
âAs you wishâŚâ the voice hissed. âBut I think youâll regret it.â
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
âWho are you?â I asked, taking a hesitant step back. âWhere am I?â
âMy name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,â he answered.
âOh,â I said, my heart dropping. âWell, thatâs not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?â
âSo they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?â he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. âOf bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
âIndeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
âAfter the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
âLike Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
âHis consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.â
Luciferâs body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
âAnd yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything youâve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but donât be afraid.â
âHow could I not be afraid?!â I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadnât been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didnât know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
âThe siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,â he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. âHell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.â
âHow can Hell come and go?â I asked, confused. âIsnât Hell a place?â
âHell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,â Lucifer responded. âIt eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.â He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
âWhat can I do against such a beast?â I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didnât want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
âSeek divine wisdom,â he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. âRemember the source.â
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creatureâs body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hellâs massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hellâs most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, âJESUS said, âI am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.ââ
Now it read, âNietzsche said, âOf all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.ââ I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
âItâs right behind us!â she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. âRun! Get away!â
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The womanâs eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
âCome on, come on!â she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hellâs fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hellâs mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldnât tell where it was coming from.
âClear!â one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young womanâs hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
âAgain!â another voice yelled.
âClear!â the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
âItâs OK,â one of the doctors said, kneeling down. âYouâre being taken to emergency surgery. Youâve lost a lot of blood.â I wanted to say something, but I couldnât talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each otherâs, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
âNnnn,â I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. âNoâŚâ The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, Iâll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, Iâll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I wonât wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.
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2024.05.17 08:12 CIAHerpes I remember the night I died and saw the Bardo.
There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the stateâs capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
âWhatâs the deal with the new guy?â I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
âHeâs trouble, man,â he said in a crisp accent. âHe got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims heâs been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and thatâs why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I donât know, I didnât listen to the whole story.â
âYou have his file?â I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
âJeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
âHistory: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
âPsychiatristâs note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
âPatient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poorâŚâ
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
âSheâs going to follow you,â he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
âOh, great!â I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldnât care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
âWell, Iâm Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. Itâs good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,â I said, giving her a faint smile.
âThatâs exciting!â Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patientâs number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
âOK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan andâŚâ I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardoâs Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldnât see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
âStay here,â I commanded, seeing Kaitlynâs eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. âDonât leave until I come back and say that itâs safe.â On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
âDoctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,â a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
âYou donât have to do this, man,â Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldnât see what was happening, as Jeremiahâs large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardoâs back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardoâs body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
âStay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,â Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
âLetâs talk about this,â I said, taking a step forward slowly. âYou donât want a murder charge, do you? Youâll never see the sky again.â
âI donât give a fuck! Iâm not afraid to die!â Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardoâs body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patientsâ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
âYou can come out,â a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. âI know youâre there.â
âWhoâs there?â I called out, not stepping forward. âShow yourself.â
âAs you wishâŚâ the voice hissed. âBut I think youâll regret it.â
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
âWho are you?â I asked, taking a hesitant step back. âWhere am I?â
âMy name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,â he answered.
âOh,â I said, my heart dropping. âWell, thatâs not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?â
âSo they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?â he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. âOf bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
âIndeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
âAfter the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
âLike Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
âHis consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.â
Luciferâs body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
âAnd yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything youâve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but donât be afraid.â
âHow could I not be afraid?!â I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadnât been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didnât know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
âThe siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,â he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. âHell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.â
âHow can Hell come and go?â I asked, confused. âIsnât Hell a place?â
âHell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,â Lucifer responded. âIt eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.â He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
âWhat can I do against such a beast?â I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didnât want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
âSeek divine wisdom,â he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. âRemember the source.â
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creatureâs body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hellâs massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hellâs most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, âJESUS said, âI am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.ââ
Now it read, âNietzsche said, âOf all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.ââ I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
âItâs right behind us!â she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. âRun! Get away!â
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The womanâs eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
âCome on, come on!â she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hellâs fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hellâs mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldnât tell where it was coming from.
âClear!â one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young womanâs hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
âAgain!â another voice yelled.
âClear!â the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
âItâs OK,â one of the doctors said, kneeling down. âYouâre being taken to emergency surgery. Youâve lost a lot of blood.â I wanted to say something, but I couldnât talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each otherâs, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
âNnnn,â I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. âNoâŚâ The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, Iâll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, Iâll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I wonât wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.
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2024.05.17 08:12 CIAHerpes I remember the night I died and saw the Bardo.
There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the stateâs capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
âWhatâs the deal with the new guy?â I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
âHeâs trouble, man,â he said in a crisp accent. âHe got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims heâs been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and thatâs why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I donât know, I didnât listen to the whole story.â
âYou have his file?â I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
âJeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
âHistory: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
âPsychiatristâs note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
âPatient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poorâŚâ
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
âSheâs going to follow you,â he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
âOh, great!â I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldnât care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
âWell, Iâm Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. Itâs good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,â I said, giving her a faint smile.
âThatâs exciting!â Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patientâs number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
âOK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan andâŚâ I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardoâs Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldnât see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
âStay here,â I commanded, seeing Kaitlynâs eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. âDonât leave until I come back and say that itâs safe.â On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
âDoctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,â a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
âYou donât have to do this, man,â Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldnât see what was happening, as Jeremiahâs large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardoâs back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardoâs body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
âStay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,â Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
âLetâs talk about this,â I said, taking a step forward slowly. âYou donât want a murder charge, do you? Youâll never see the sky again.â
âI donât give a fuck! Iâm not afraid to die!â Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardoâs body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patientsâ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
âYou can come out,â a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. âI know youâre there.â
âWhoâs there?â I called out, not stepping forward. âShow yourself.â
âAs you wishâŚâ the voice hissed. âBut I think youâll regret it.â
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
âWho are you?â I asked, taking a hesitant step back. âWhere am I?â
âMy name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,â he answered.
âOh,â I said, my heart dropping. âWell, thatâs not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?â
âSo they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?â he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. âOf bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
âIndeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
âAfter the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
âLike Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
âHis consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.â
Luciferâs body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
âAnd yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything youâve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but donât be afraid.â
âHow could I not be afraid?!â I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadnât been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didnât know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
âThe siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,â he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. âHell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.â
âHow can Hell come and go?â I asked, confused. âIsnât Hell a place?â
âHell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,â Lucifer responded. âIt eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.â He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
âWhat can I do against such a beast?â I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didnât want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
âSeek divine wisdom,â he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. âRemember the source.â
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creatureâs body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hellâs massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hellâs most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, âJESUS said, âI am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.ââ
Now it read, âNietzsche said, âOf all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.ââ I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
âItâs right behind us!â she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. âRun! Get away!â
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The womanâs eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
âCome on, come on!â she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hellâs fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hellâs mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldnât tell where it was coming from.
âClear!â one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young womanâs hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
âAgain!â another voice yelled.
âClear!â the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
âItâs OK,â one of the doctors said, kneeling down. âYouâre being taken to emergency surgery. Youâve lost a lot of blood.â I wanted to say something, but I couldnât talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each otherâs, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
âNnnn,â I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. âNoâŚâ The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, Iâll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, Iâll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I wonât wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.
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