Easter poems speeches

I am back after a break with another reimagining, and I thought this time I would tackle another movie that fell disappointingly short of expectations... Sarkar. Sarkar released to huge expectations after the success of both Thuppakki and Kaththi, but the film failed to deliver on its promise of a Mudhalvan-like political fantasy; I have to admit though, the movie is a guilty pleasure of mine which I do often revisit. That being said:
WARNING: I am not claiming to be a better writer than any of the people involved in the film and this is not a criticism of their ability.
The movie begins with a boarding meeting at one of the companies in Canada that GL (Sundar's company) is about to acquire. The members of the board nervously waiting for the arrival of their new boss, the media is waiting outside and we get the hype up for Sundar's eventual mass intro. After a build a of tension, a Rolls Royce pulls up and the camera follows as a man wearing pair of Tom Ford shoes exits the vehicle and walks into the elevator in the building as the media tries to snap some pics of him. The members of the board continue to wait impatiently, as the elevator doors open to reveal Sundar Ramaswamy (Vijay). He basically walks in doesn't say a word and sits at the head of the table. Sundar's lawyer drops the paperwork on the table, each member of the board takes their turn signing the document. Finally the document comes back to Sundar who flicks his signature onto it and gets up to leave, but one of the board members stops him to ask, "How do you feel after ruining the livelihood of 3,000 employees?". Sundar turns around and smiles at the board before doing the signature 'Vijay gum flick' and walking away in slow motion, queue the 'CEO in the House' song as Sundar heads out to celebrate acquiring the company. The scene is to establish Sundar as a proper overconfident and cocky 'corporate monster' instead of just telling us that he is a 'corporate monster'.
From there the movie continues pretty similarly with Sundar coming back to India to cast his vote, even though he takes his job very seriously he is still a patriot at heart and has a soft corner for his people. Same as the movie, someone else casts his vote and he begins organising lawyers meetings and press conference to get his vote back. All goes pretty much the same until the point Sundar's driver tells him about the atrocities done by the government and the family that set themselves on fire, Sundar is genuinely quite unaware of all this. Similar to the movie, he directs his convoy to go to the colony where the little girl is. Unlike the movie, we have one long take where the camera follows Sundar from behind as he gets out his car and walks through the local area, through the alleys and slums, observing the common folk; this is to show how out-of-touch he really is with reality. He finally comes to the little girl's house, and the camera finally pans to reveal Sundar's somber face; this scene is crucial as this paints his actions for the rest of the movie, it is important that we spend time showing how this incident impacts him. Unable to look at the girl's burnt face Sundar turns around and walks away, he signals his PA to sort the family out with treatment for the little girl.
From here, we go to the scene with Rendu (Radha Ravi) at the hotel; this will go pretty much exactly how it did in the movie. The only difference here is, going into the hotel Sundar is slightly solemn, but his expression slowly changes with Rendu's speech and we get the scene with the 'Topu Tuckeru' BGM as Sundar smokes. The following events also unravel similar to the film with the action block and the 'Simtaangaran song'; these are commercial filler compromises that must be made, its also a staple of the ARM-Vijay combo movies. The following scene is also similar with Sundar instigating the court case to stop Masilamani's inauguration, the key difference though is that Sundar doesn't speak in the court he silently watches from the stands as his lawyer does the arguing. Once the ceremony is stopped, he gets up, does the 'Vijay gum flick' and walks away in slow motion with the 'CEO in the House' BGM; this mirrors the opening scene where Sundar finesses the board room, but this time he's finessed the government. The election is postponed by 10 days.
Meanwhile, Masilamani is furious by what Sundar started, he encourages his party members to start rioting and to find where Sundar is. The riots go on for 2 days, but there is no sign of Sundar anywhere. Masilamani grows impatient and starts seeking advice from Pappa (Varalaxmi), who says that they shouldn't have tried instigated or started beef with him in the first place, saying that she will be back in Chennai within the next day or so. While this is happening, media crews have gathered outside Masilamani's house which confuses him. Rendu goes outside and asks them why they are here, for which they respond: 'Sundar told us to meet him here'. Both Rendu and Masilamani are shocked. Suddenly a convoy of youngsters on bikes arrive with a Rolls Royce travelling at the centre of the party. Sundar gets out of the Rolls Royce and he is followed by his lawyers. Sundar asks for permission to enter, for which Masilamani obliges. The two sit down and face each other, with Masilamani asking what Sundar wants. Sundar responds with this:

1. "I've got 750 youngsters who are ready to work for this party."
2. "I've got 40 crores in hard cash."
3. "I've got the tag of GL CEO."
4. "Will you let me join your party?"

Masilamani and his partymen are shocked, he asks Sundar 'Why should I let you?". Sundar basically responds by saying:

"Your party's image is in shambles, even if you pay people to vote for you, they won't do it. You're guaranteed to lose this election and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm here to offer you the winning card, I will do everything to ensure your party retains. All I ask for is 70cr in campaigning funds and that you give me 2 MLA seats and take in the 750 youngsters that I have brought as party members. If your party loses, I will pay you twice what you paid me as a penalty but regardless of the outcome you can't raise this to the media or I will sue your ass. If you agree, sign the contract. You can let your lawyers read over it, but you have nothing to lose."

Masilamani is shocked by this offer and looks over the contract, he doesn't know how to read so he passes it to his lawyer who verifies it and says that it's legit. Rendu proposes that they wait for Pappa before signing, but Sundar says "if you don't accept this within the next 1 hour, I will take it to the opposition party". Masilamani is properly checkmated now, but what could he possible have to lose? He smiles and signs it, Sundar smiles and shakes his hand. Sundar walks out with a cigarette in-hand, the 'Oru Viral Puratchi' guitar rift rolls in the background.
INTERMISSION
Going into the second half, we have a few questions:

• Why did Sundar join Masilamani's party if they are the losing side?
• Where was Sundar in the two days during the riots?
• How did Sundar get the backing of all these youngsters?
• How does Sundar plan on making the party win and how does this benefit him?

NOTE: I completely ignored Keerthi Suresh's character as it added nothing to my story.
With 8 days left till the election Sundar sits in his office, he calls his team and GL and tells them to run the ads of him giving the post press conference speech after getting back his vote (as he does in the movie). This creates waves in the media and makes him the poster boy for the coming election. He tells his PA not to organise any press conferences until he says so. Sundar has booked out a small venue where he will be speaking to the 750 youngsters that he has inaugurated into the party, this is where he finally reveals what happened in the last 2 days. We get a flashback and it is revealed that he ultimately did the same as what happened in the movie; to run an internet scan on all the most suitable candidates of each constituency and run interviews like a corporate company (I really like the idea of this), he positions the people he selected as independant candidates in their respective constituency. Sundar has been planning this since the scene with Rendu at the hotel; this all plays as a montage over the first half of 'Oru Viral Puratchi'. After the song we cut back to this speech with Sundar and the youth, where he basically says we are going to infiltrate this party from the inside and then he says the 'branding' dialogue from the movie (which I like the idea of, the mannerism was kinda cringe though).
Following the speech, Sundar enacts his next plan. He identifies Masilamani's candidates who are most likely to win in their respective area and launches a smear campaign through his influence over GL. This forces Masilamani to identify alternate party members to take their place, but Sundar presents Masilamani with the constituency polling data which shows that the independant candidates (that he selected based on the internet scan) are in the lead. Sundar suggests to Masilamani that they buy them out with a salary (also like corporate company), however Masilamani doesn't know that these individuals were planted by Sundar. Masilamani is beginning to get suspicious about Sundar's plan but he still hasn't fully sniffed it out yet given his lack of understanding about technology.
Pappa finally arrives in Chennai from Canada and confronts her dad about everything that has happened, she is shocked to find out that he has basically sold the party to Sundar. She is quickly able to deduce Sundar's plan based on the information given by her dad and Rendu. Pappa also reveals here that her husband was one of the board members from the start of the movie, which explains why she knows so much about Sundar.
Given that Sundar now controls most of the seats in the party, he begins his campaign from the background with candidates doing most of the work ; this plays over the second half of the 'Oru Viral Puratchi' song. As soon as this montage finishes, we find out that Masilamani has died. A confusion has now arisen as to who controls the party, with only 3 days left until the election. Pappa gives an angry press conference saying that Sundar had cheated her dad and stole the party, revealing the contract to the public. She also announces that she and her father's loyal supporters will be joining the opposition party. Based on the sympathy votes gained from her father's death the opposition offers Pappa a significant number of seats. Sundar is shocked to see what has happened, he won't be able to sue Pappa as Masilamani was the one that signed the contract (not sure about legal terms, but lets just go with it), suing her will also only get him more negative press.
Sundar gets a call from the GL board questioning him about his extensive involvement in politics given the bad press around his contract stunt. Cut to the next scene, Sundar is in a press conference and publicly announces his resignation from GL as he is about to leave the stage, he is heckled by one of the reporters on his way down. Sundar has to give up his company assets such as his PA and bodyguards, if he loses this election he still owes Masilamani's family 140crs as per the contract that he signed. For the first time in Sundar's life, overconfidence has led to his downfall. With two days left till the election and no internet influence and power, how is Sundar going to win?
The next day he posts a Facebook live and addresses his plan transparently with the party, this can be the same as the 'Idhu Namma Sarkar' scene from the movie. Sundar explains how he chose his candidates and compares it to the millions of college graduates who get a corporate job, highlighting the need for the government to be qualified. This gets some positive buzz for Sundar but not enough to win the election. As Sundar sits in his office, hopelessly, one of his candidates tells him about 'Saatai' Muthukumar (this plotline will be the same as the movie); this could be the ideal trump card to win the election. This ticks of an idea, given that all Masilamani's loyalists have moved to the opposition along with Pappa all the party assets now reside with Sundar. He hires a corporate auditing team to unpack all the party records and finds all the holes in there records this allows him to unpack the 'Saatai' Muthukumar conspiracy and he has all the evidence ready to go public... but he waits. Sundar contacts Pappa for a meeting and the two sit down, with lawyers present. Sundar reveals everything that he has found from his audit of the party and threatens to go public with it unless she voids their contract where he owes her family 140cr, he also agrees to sign an NDA. Pappa obliges and asks him to burn the evidence in front of her, which Sundar does. On the car ride home, Pappa orders for Sundar to be murdered as she doesn't trust him.
The next morning is the day of the election, similar to the actual movie Sundar begins tweeting from a fake twitter handle about the evidence pulled from the audit, leading the media on a wild easter egg hunt to put the evidence together themselves, this removes any paper trails that lead back to Sundar. Pappa and the opposition party struggle to manage the storm that has been caused by the tweeting, she knows this was done by Sundar but has no evidence to prove it; the only way for her save face is if Sundar confesses to his manipulation for which he needs to be alive, so she cancels the hit on him. It is soon revealed, similar to the movie that the fake twitter handle is associated with that of a dead man, begging the question of who is tweeting? Sundar and his team re-route the IP address of the tweets to the leader of the opposition party and spin the narrative that he did this to tarnish Masilamani's reputation as a leader, which leads to in-fighting. Pappa is furious, as although she knows the truth about Sundar's access to the evidence, she can't speak about it due to the NDA (which would open her up to being sued). With no other option, she plots to have Sundar killed, as it looks like he is going to win. We can insert an obligatory climax fight here, where Sundar overcomes the odds but realising an opportunity, he fakes his own death which increases the votes to his party, leading to a victory in the election.
The following day is the swearing-in ceremony as all the candidates take up their positions. Pappa is also present and she along with everyone else believes Sundar is dead. Just as the first candidate is swearing-in, Sundar arrives and sits right next to Pappa, there is a media frenzy happening outside. There is a small bit of dialog between the two and he explains why he did all this (i.e. reference back to the girl who was burnt outside the collecter's office, etc). He finally tells her that the contract he signed with her father was only for 8 days, so his time has expired and he is no longer part of the party. Sundar gets up and walks away in slow motion as the credit roll.
This is my reimagining of Sarkar, what are your thoughts and what would you do differently? And what movie should I do next?

Hello designers, here is my take for my TTRPG, FGFP (Field Guide For Postmasters), a game of magic and couriers, hope you enjoy and we can discuss such topic.
PC´'s have 4 atributes each, Track, Stamina, Delivery and Arcane, each range from 1 to 6 points and have 3 types of skills linked to it.
Track: Hunting, Exploring, Mapping. Stamina: Combat, Running, Healing. Delivery: Cooking, Mail Stamp, Speeching. Arcane: Casting, Memorizing, Charming.
I will give the resolution mechanics for some skills and others you might ask if catch your eye.
Hunting, you roll 1d6 for each point in your Track Atribute, paring numbers will get you successes, the best roll is 6 numbers of a kind (2/2/2/2/2/2) wich equals 7 successes and the lowest is 2 numbers of a kind (2/2) wich equals 1 success, the highers the success more game easier to hunt you will find, (table by region sorted).
Combat, you add up the Stamina value of all characters and determine how many turns your party has in a round of combat. The more the better.
Speeching, same as Hunting and each success translate to three folks in an inhabited area will be interesting to hear your saying. (does not mean that they will immediately believe or buy your saying)
Memorizing, means you can write and remeber poems, songs, names, places, locations, traditions, holidays and other such activities same as your Arcane atribute, players that didnt take notes in something can still remember anything but only if the Player truly remembers.
Ok here it is, my goal with this is to be a fun exploration game, the map wont be random, but there is a mechanic called "Mist" that turns navigation a mess until PC's get out of it, the mist also is the reason why all travels are on foot.

Hello Everyone 📑
lf clients, para sa any activity nyo I'm here po budget friendly, open po ko sa rush and non rush activity or project. PM MEE 🫶
•RESEARCH/THESIS •RRL •FEASIBILITY STUDY •CASE STUDY •CONCEPTUAL PAPER •TRANS / NOTES •ESSAY •REFLECTION PAPER •RESUME • INFOGRAPHIC • BROCHURE •REACTION PAPER •POSITION PAPER •REVISION •POEM •SPEECH • RESIGNATION LETTER • COVER LETTER • MODULES FROM GRADE 1 TO 3RD YEAR COLLEGE
Message me on FB: Maxi Camille

Hello Everyone 📑
lf clients, para sa any activity nyo I'm here po budget friendly, open po ko sa rush and non rush activity or project. PM MEE 🫶
•RESEARCH/THESIS •RRL •FEASIBILITY STUDY •CASE STUDY •CONCEPTUAL PAPER •TRANS / NOTES •ESSAY •REFLECTION PAPER •RESUME • INFOGRAPHIC • BROCHURE •REACTION PAPER •POSITION PAPER •REVISION •POEM •SPEECH • RESIGNATION LETTER • COVER LETTER • MODULES FROM GRADE 1 TO 3RD YEAR COLLEGE
Message me on FB: Maxi Camille

Hello Everyone 📑
lf clients, para sa any activity nyo I'm here po budget friendly, open po ko sa rush and non rush activity or project. PM MEE 🫶
•RESEARCH/THESIS •RRL •FEASIBILITY STUDY •CASE STUDY •CONCEPTUAL PAPER •TRANS / NOTES •ESSAY •REFLECTION PAPER •RESUME • INFOGRAPHIC • BROCHURE •REACTION PAPER •POSITION PAPER •REVISION •POEM •SPEECH • RESIGNATION LETTER • COVER LETTER • MODULES FROM GRADE 1 TO 3RD YEAR COLLEGE
Message me on Fb: Maxi Camille

Chapter 9: Knowing
—
Suggested Listening:
Nicholas Brittel Agape
Required Listening ⭐️ Kwabs Like a Star Cover (Corinne Bailey Rae)
⭐️ Raye Vela Like a Star Cover (Corinne Bailey Rae)
—
“Is your heart doing okay?” I asked.
“Yes. It is fine. I am tired, but alright.”
“Good,” I said. “I was wondering. Can you tell me another poem? And then we can go to sleep.”
Sasha looked at me. “About what?” he said, smoke drifting into my face.
“I don’t know. Tell me one about someone you love.”
“Hmm,” he nodded. “Let’s see.”
He pondered this, then an expression I can only describe as conflicted crept across his face.
“What?” I asked.
“There are few I love so dearly as this person.”
My eyes widened. “Who is it?”
Sasha’s brow furrowed. Then he frowned. At first a little, then deeply.
“What?” I asked gently.
Sasha shook his head. I saw pain now in his expression.
“You don’t have to,” I said, my own brow furrowing. “Please don’t. I can pick something else. Or, actually, we can just go to sleep right now.”
Sasha closed his eyes. Then nodded as if he had come to a decision.
“I will do this. This person I love more than my own self. I would die for him. However, it will not be pretty, this poem.”
I frowned too. “Okay,” I whispered.
“ Sharp Like the tip of a blade Blunt Like the pommel of the same sword Me Like the face of his face Him Like the reflection of my visage Swift Like the bird of prey’s flight Ruthless Like the killing of its hunt Dark Like the night without the moon Troubled Like the Dead River of the Void Alive Like his heart’s beating rhythm Dying Like the joy of his soul “
“Who is that about?” I asked, concerned. “You, ‘the face of his face.’ Your twin?”
“Yes. He is not well,” Sasha said.
“Why? What happened?”
Sasha turned away from me, shaking his head. “It is too heavy to speak of just now. In the future we will.”
“Okay, I get you,” I reassured him.
“Thank you. I worry about him everyday. I call him just as much. I would give my life for him. I owe it to him,” Sasha said fiercely. “He gave his and much more. Because of his strength we survived an ordeal too terrible to speak of.”
I thought back to when he said he felt as if he were dying. I hadn’t known he meant it literally. Then the words he had latched on to: mangled and twisted. A picture was forming. A bad one.
“Thank you for creating this poem. You didn’t have to put yourself through that pain for me,” I said guiltily. Sasha shook his head at me.
“It is okay. Perhaps it was good to express his personality in poetry. It hurts to be away from him in this place. He-“ Sasha stopped. He rubbed his mouth. “I hope he is well enough to come eventually.”
I wondered what he’d been about to say. But I did not press the issue.
“Me too. I’m so sorry you all are dealing with that kind of pain. For what it’s worth, I think the poem you made about him is beautiful. Your brother sounds like a strong Wingscale that’s really going through it right now. I hope whatever joy has been stolen from him—from his soul—renews from the ashes. Or maybe some new joy will settle there, burning brightly.”
“Like a Phoenix,” he smiled. “I will tell him what you said. You two would get along, I think.”
“I can’t wait to meet him then,” I said. I wondered what sort of person he was. Moreover, I found it incredibly interesting that Sasha had a twin considering I did as well. I would tell him that news sometime when he was not already overwhelmed.
“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve had all kinds of heart attacks and poetry and seen fire wings and what have you,” I suggested.
Sasha chuckled. “Perhaps. I must escape from this. I do not think I have made so many beautiful words manifest as poetry as I have tonight. If I do not sleep I will continue.”
“Okay, right? I usually spend some serious time writing these things. But tonight it’s like my mouth is possessed by my own self.”
“What an apt way to describe it. I feel the same. I acknowledge that my manner of speech is skilled, but tonight it holds a level of eloquence that I did not know I possessed.”
I thought back to his oration, the first thing he recited of our lyrical night. I shivered. “Sasha, you can ‘Speak to me’ anytime. This soul is listening. Eloquence indeed.”
“I promise I will speak to you more oration. You are the only person I know who would enjoy such serious strings of words for your own enjoyment.”
“I have a taste for dignity,” I replied.
Sasha paused. “What more do you need of eloquence when your mouth creates it from nowhere?”
“You have the flavor I want.”
Sasha stared at me incredulously and shook his head. “I am done with you again. You talk me into a trap at every turn.”
I cackled at him. “Alright, alright. It’s time for you go to sleep.”
“Very well,” he said, laughing gently.
I held him closer, although it was impossible. His wing came down over me like a shroud of protection. We held on to each other in silence, not needing anything to fill the space. I just breathed him. Smoke. Fire. Silence. Warmth. Breath. Growl. They spoke enough.
After a while of just laying there in peacefulness, he fell asleep. I could feel the regular inhalations and exhalations marked by the shudder of his chest. And he was a heavy sleeper. Or he was exhausted. Both probably. His flames were still wild even in slumber. Small flickers and tendrils of fire peeked every so often from his mouth. A deep growl emanated from his chest and throat at every exhalation. I stroked Sasha’s face as he slept, the heat of his fire on my hand, and he didn’t move an inch.
I watched him for a while until it occurred to me to write out all the words we had recited to each other. I turned over and reached past his wing to grab my phone from the nightstand. The glow from my screen was strange, it’s blueness cutting through the smoky red in my vision. I sat back and typed every amazing thing we had said.
Those collections of words we had stitched together from nothing just floored me. I had never made poetry like what I did that night. Such passion and beauty.
I looked at Sasha again, thinking about the words that had entranced me from his mouth.
‘Speak to me.’
‘Speak to me.’
The phrase kept ringing out in my chest. He was right. It was a rare thing to find someone who would hang on to your every word with the utmost attention. With actual interest, engagement. I wanted to speak to him forever, about anything. And he would listen. I would listen to him.
I closed my eyes and shook my head at such strong thoughts about a stranger. I thought of all the ‘normal’ people I had dated in the past. The relationships had all gone ‘normally’: date, texting, talking into the night, more dates, sex, dates. Accusations, breakups, crying. Getting over it. Normal stuff.
This was not normal, not in the slightest. Never in all my life had I behaved the way I did under that tree. I was still wondering who that was. Who was the Leila that kissed that way, that straddled dragons in broad daylight? That made love without a first date at all and then swore a stranger to an oath of binding, a whole relationship? That spoke poetry at him from her breath like it was my own fire?
Apparently I was her. It frightened me, the speed with which she and I had moved in one evening. And yet it all felt perfectly normal, inevitable.
Of course I had known when Sasha arrived there was something special about him, no matter how I tried to pretend everything was normal. why was I pretending?
That very first day, when I saw him walk into my morning class, I wasn’t paying attention when he said who he was. I had looked up and locked eyes with him. We held each others gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
Every damn class that day, and the following, I missed him announce his name. It was like a comedy sketch. The writing class we shared was the only one I was paying close attention to, and the professor had written his name on the board of course. It was infuriating.
I watched him like a hawk after he arrived that week. In all that time he didn’t speak around me. And I never spoke to him. Why hadn’t I? What had stopped me?
Just like he said, we just kept Circling each other, but never allowed ourselves to meet at the center of our orbit. He felt the same way. He had said he wanted to speak with me as well but for some reason he didn’t.
It was like a force was beckoning us to each other. To finally meet at the center of a Circle.
This day had been the first time I heard his voice at all. If I had heard it earlier, I would have been completely undone. I would not have let him walk away from me so many times.
I stared at his sleeping form, and a thought came to me again. He avoided speaking around me on purpose. Talking to me. He had known that getting close to me might start something, but had he know it would be his voice that caused such a domino effect? Then again, he knew far more than I did about Callings. Frequencies.
I balked at that word. It was so clumsy, so empty to how it felt. We shared vibes. My soul vibrated on the same wavelength as his body. Our mouths breathed the same breath. Our hearts beat the same.
Sameness. Oneness. Vibes.
He knew something would happen to his body if he let us get too close to each other. I was what he thought I was, and he had failed to prevent that change in us. But he didn’t know anything of how these changes would manifest.
It had happened so fast that he was alarmed to see me standing there in class. As soon as I greeted him, the very second he said ‘hi,’ that curious sound beneath his voice started. The thought that he was so helpless at that moment saddened me the same way it did him when he revealed the permanence of Calling. He never stood a chance. I kissed my hand and continued to stroke his face with that kiss.
And then the wings. The dreams and visions. Those two otherworldly beings… What were we? Were we gods or something? Were we reincarnated versions of them? Possessed? Were they using us? What did any of this mean? I did not know.
I tried to be more upset about this breech on our lives that sent us careening down a path we didn’t ask for. But looking at that red dragon, how could I? Our first contact was so lovely. The way we had spoken to each other in class was sweet. Neither of us could keep a smile off our faces. Laughing and carrying on, a perfect match of good humor.
I stared at him trying to conjure up feelings of grief, apprehension, fear, irritation or anything negative at all, and I came up with nothing.
I sighed. I could tell that in that other life, in that place of lakes of fire and expanses of the cosmos, that we were really something special. Something strong. Something beautiful. I was not alarmed at our sudden connection, the strength of it, the passion of it.
But if we broke apart from one another in the future—everything in me said no—that alarmed me. The coldness. The despair. The threat of death at an incomplete attunement. At a great falling away into a chasm. It was horrifying that Sasha could literally die from us being separated. It was unfair.
I would never let that happen. How horrible a thought. Not after this Calling had fallen upon him and surprises kept rearing their heads.
I was done writing our poems and, subsequently, my musings. I put my phone back where it belonged. My head was still swirling with all those thoughts, but I shut my eyes and tried to shut down my mind.
I held Sasha again. Even in his sleep he put his arms back around me. It made me smile to be enveloped in his warmth.
Eventually I drifted off to sleep as well.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I felt Sasha’s heartbeat pick up enough to wake me. It was the time where night lingers in the earliest of hours. Nothing but the soft murmur of calling insects and wind outside.
I groaned and looked up into Sasha’s face, but he was still sleeping.
“What is it?” I asked, groggy.
“Please,” he slurred.
“Please what?” I whispered, more alert.
He mumbled something more in his sleep. “Make it stop,” he whispered. “Please,” he pleaded. “…the shore...”
I put my hands over my mouth. I didn’t know what he could be dreaming about. It occurred to me that all that talk of pain and wounds might have stemmed from ptsd or something like that. He was in the military after all.
I let him be just in case that’s what it was. I did not want to add additional stress or confusion to a ptsd dream.
Eventually Sasha stirred of his own accord. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. I waited until he seemed to be all there with me.
“Hey, you alright?” I didn’t mention his sleep talking.
He didn’t say a word for a moment, just rubbed his eyebrows. Then he patted my back. I let go of him so he could sit up.
He removed his wing from around me, groaning.
“What is it?” I inquired.
Sasha rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at me. “I heard your Calling…” he whispered tiredly in wonder, so low I almost didn’t hear him. “It was soft and quiet, almost imperceptible. But I heard it, still, in my sleep…”
My eyes widened, my heart pounding as well. I sat up. “Really?” I whispered back. “What is it like?”
He moved his head to the side, still listening. “Soft waves. A wind chime. A whisper of song. I have heard it before. That is why I awoke,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. My Calling sounded peaceful like being at the beach. Of course, my favorite place. Interesting. I sleepily folded my arms under my head.
“It is very faint.” Sasha closed his eyes. “I know when I heard it.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“You are sleepy still. We can speak of it later.”
I waved him off. “We are awake now. I have no doubt when we say we’ll sleep again it will be no trouble. I fell to sleep easily and so did you.”
Sasha chuckled to himself. “Very well, Leila.” He leaned his back, head against the headboard. His eyes stayed closed.
“I was sitting with my brother, Pasha, upon a stone wall at the beach. It was the evening before I came to this place. I was unsure if I had made the right decision to go with my father. To leave Pasha behind. I had wanted to throw myself into my work to forget the ordeal we had both gone through. But Pasha told me I needed something new, and that whatever it was lie across the ocean waiting for me. Something fulfilling. He said that, surely, wallowing in guilt, in anger and sadness, would not help me heal my wounds although he was dealing with wounds of his own.”
I wondered what wounds he meant. I had seen the scars on his wings. More pain. More scars. Mangled and twisted. He had died and would do so again. Moreover, he had muttered something about the shore. And here it appeared in his story. What had happened to him?
As if sensing my questions, he inhaled deeply.
“I will tell you of the things that transpired eventually. It was… horrible. It is still too raw for me. I apologize for these strange disjointed hints of pain, of suffering.”
“No, no. It’s okay. We will discuss it all later,” I said appreciatively. “Go on.”
“Hmm. Even after Pasha’s encouragement, I still felt apprehension about traveling to this land. All at once, I heard a woman singing on the beach, yet I saw no one.
I heard the sound of wildly swaying wind chimes, of rain, of whipping winds, but there were nothing anywhere to make such sounds.
My brother thought I was crazy. But that voice stirred my spirit as I stared out at that dark water. It was mournful, like a siren in a tempest whose heart had been broken to pieces.
At one point, she whispered a barely discernible plea: ‘Someone, just please help me.’ ‘I can’t do this.’”
I gasped in alarm, my heart hammering away so hard I thought I would have a heart attack. I knew at once the woman was me. It was me who had been pleading in turmoil, with those precise words, wanting someone to swoop down and save me. By the Goddess…
Sasha continued his tale, perhaps not noticing my change in demeanor. “I didn’t know where she was, or what it was she did not want to do, but I told my brother to give me a moment.
I stood and walked along the shore, looking for someone in need, for anything strange. I never found any such woman. I spoke a word of peace to her, whoever she was, wherever she was.”
At the same time, we both said:“Calm your spirit and be at peace. Whatever you feel, just let it exist. Let it be.”
Sasha stopped. He opened his eyes and stared at me in awe. “You heard those words?”
I nodded, heart still pounding. Which of us was having these heart troubles? Him or me?
Sasha shook his head, rubbing his face. “Madness. But truly amazing nonetheless,” he said quietly.
“Yeah…” I responded. I didn’t know what else to say.
“It was you,” he said, not asked.
“I suppose so…”
Sasha continued.
“I returned to my brother to conclude our talk. I told him I wanted to stay a while, and he stayed with me. The song turned into something sweeter after a time. I went looking yet again but never found you. Of course I could not. You were nowhere near me.
Eventually we left. Pasha and I parted ways, and I returned to my home.
No matter what I did, I could not shake your voice from my mind that evening. It sent shivers down my spine. So I returned to the beach. There was nothing else for it; I would have remained awake all night agonizing over my travels the next day anyway. Why not do so surrounded by such mystical music?
I went to a quiet place, book and blanket in hand. The water was complete still, yet the sound of waves was everywhere. Intangible, lapping against the shore.”
I recalled when I had mentioned sitting at the beach watching waves lapping on the shore. He had paused then, as we stood in his living room, thinking of something. I now knew he had recalled this event and wondered at the similarities.
“The sunset was vibrant, strangely so. It was stunning, like a painting. No one else seemed to find the sight of note but me.
You were singing, but again in sorrow. I stayed out there, reading a book and meditating, until others went away from the beach. Until only I remained. Your faint song, the softest whispers of singing, became sweet again. So much singing, you did. By the gods so much singing. It was like a quiet concert.”
I covered my face. “I’m glad you caught them,” I said, laughing.
“There was only one song I caught well enough to hear the words. You sang it over and over. I did not sleep until you uttered nothing more, your voice fading away. I felt empty at the silence, but content in that, perhaps, my presence had calmed this siren, that perhaps her broken heart had somewhat mended. Unfortunately for me; the absence of your songs caused a melancholy to settle in my spirit. A longing. I came here looking for your voice. I questioned your love of voices because it shocked me, the similarities we continue to share.”
“Hmmm,” I vocalized, not unlike he so often did.
Sasha regarded me, shaking his head in wonder. “Repeating that event back, it is obvious that this woman was you. At the time, back when it happened, I regarded it as a very strange occurrence or perhaps my descent into madness,” he said.
“You most certainly are not mad,” I said.
“Indeed. I know very well at this point that your experience across the ocean happened at that time. You knew my words.”
“I remember them well. Just like a lot of things so far, we have these experiences, the aspects of ourselves that are too similar to be a coincidence. We are like mirrors.”
“Only one of us is larger.”
“Sasha!” I exclaimed.
He laughed at me, hugging me. Then he lay down onto the bed again.
“Speak to me of that same evening,” he said.
I sat up slightly, leaning on my elbow, looking into his eyes.
“I was at the beach too. Certainly the same night, the same week you appeared at school. I have this one particular spot on the beach where no one goes but me. I would make myself a wood fire and look at the smoke swirl into tendrils, embers scattering to the wind. I would sit there to watch storms roll in the distance, writing poetry or doing homework or what have you.”
Sasha nodded, acknowledging the picture I painted was the same as his Call. I nudged him, making him smile.
“But that day? I was having an awful time. Every year I dreaded the same thing, but I always escaped. This time, there was no more running. I was cornered, trapped. And the choice was before me. I stared across the ocean and cried. I said it as you heard. ‘I can’t do this. Please help me.’ I just wanted someone to get me out of that situation, but I wasn’t willing to ask for it again. I was so tired of disappointment.
So I’m sitting there in front of these hypnotic flames singing to myself, trying to shake off those bad spirits. Couldn’t even write a poem about my own despair.”
“Impossible. I refuse to believe such nonsense,” he said, chuckling.
“Shocking, I know,” I agreed, smiling. “That’s when I heard a thunderstorm on the horizon. At least there was that, I thought. My greatest comfort to cheer me.
I’m listening to that distant storm, but there were no clouds, no darkness, no strike of lightning. It puzzled me.
But the sky. Oh Sasha, that was the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The same wonderful night sky you saw. It was brighter than normal, like fire and roses and gold melding with the sea. I have never seen a more beautiful place for the Goddess to drift into slumber.
I stood up and looked around. Further down the beach people were still going into the water, chatting, lazing about, like nothing was happening. Like this gorgeous sky and this distant storm did not exist.
Then I heard this voice. It was faint. Super faint. But so deep—“ I patted his chest, now knowing it was him. “Your voice; you said those words to me such that my soul was contented.”
“Calm your spirit and be at peace. Whatever you feel, just let it exist. Let it be,” he repeated quietly. “I live by these words. I acknowledge the feelings and emotions, the pain and joy, that exist in me, that often loom before me. The negative ones will not simply vanish because I ignore them. Sometimes it is easy to face them. And sometimes it is so, so hard, Leila. So hard it feels impossible. But I try, still.”
“And your way of facing your emotions is the truth. I did as you suggested that night; the intense sorrow I felt was for a reason, for many reasons. And I just let all that sorrow unfold so I could face it. Your words were like a warm hug in the midst of my despair. Thank you.”
“You are always welcome,” he said, stroking my face. “Go on.”
“After that, I stayed out there all night. The storm never showed itself, but only grew louder. It’s like it rolled only for me. And it did, didn’t it?
I slept out there under the stars that night. Didn’t care about school. Didn’t care about anyone or anything. Your voice of peace washed away all my worries. So after that I just sang as the thunder peeled, and I did so all evening and into the night. I started singing to you specifically after that. Joyously. I broke out my best numbers,” I said. I covered my face, cracking up.
He laughed quietly. “Indeed; as I said, what I could discern was beautiful.”
I uncovered my face and smiled. “Thank you,” I said. I sighed, reaching my tale’s conclusion. “The next day I felt like I had come out of a deep meditation. Like the sorrow of yesterday did not exist. I had hoped to the Sun that your voice was the Answer to what troubled me. Then your voice stopped for a time. Until today.”

Chapter 9: Knowing
—
Suggested Listening:
Nicholas Brittel Agape
Required Listening ⭐️ Kwabs Like a Star Cover (Corinne Bailey Rae)
⭐️ Raye Vela Like a Star Cover (Corinne Bailey Rae)
—
“Is your heart doing okay?” I asked.
“Yes. It is fine. I am tired, but alright.”
“Good,” I said. “I was wondering. Can you tell me another poem? And then we can go to sleep.”
Sasha looked at me. “About what?” he said, smoke drifting into my face.
“I don’t know. Tell me one about someone you love.”
“Hmm,” he nodded. “Let’s see.”
He pondered this, then an expression I can only describe as conflicted crept across his face.
“What?” I asked.
“There are few I love so dearly as this person.”
My eyes widened. “Who is it?”
Sasha’s brow furrowed. Then he frowned. At first a little, then deeply.
“What?” I asked gently.
Sasha shook his head. I saw pain now in his expression.
“You don’t have to,” I said, my own brow furrowing. “Please don’t. I can pick something else. Or, actually, we can just go to sleep right now.”
Sasha closed his eyes. Then nodded as if he had come to a decision.
“I will do this. This person I love more than my own self. I would die for him. However, it will not be pretty, this poem.”
I frowned too. “Okay,” I whispered.
“ Sharp Like the tip of a blade Blunt Like the pommel of the same sword Me Like the face of his face Him Like the reflection of my visage Swift Like the bird of prey’s flight Ruthless Like the killing of its hunt Dark Like the night without the moon Troubled Like the Dead River of the Void Alive Like his heart’s beating rhythm Dying Like the joy of his soul “
“Who is that about?” I asked, concerned. “You, ‘the face of his face.’ Your twin?”
“Yes. He is not well,” Sasha said.
“Why? What happened?”
Sasha turned away from me, shaking his head. “It is too heavy to speak of just now. In the future we will.”
“Okay, I get you,” I reassured him.
“Thank you. I worry about him everyday. I call him just as much. I would give my life for him. I owe it to him,” Sasha said fiercely. “He gave his and much more. Because of his strength we survived an ordeal too terrible to speak of.”
I thought back to when he said he felt as if he were dying. I hadn’t known he meant it literally. Then the words he had latched on to: mangled and twisted. A picture was forming. A bad one.
“Thank you for creating this poem. You didn’t have to put yourself through that pain for me,” I said guiltily. Sasha shook his head at me.
“It is okay. Perhaps it was good to express his personality in poetry. It hurts to be away from him in this place. He-“ Sasha stopped. He rubbed his mouth. “I hope he is well enough to come eventually.”
I wondered what he’d been about to say. But I did not press the issue.
“Me too. I’m so sorry you all are dealing with that kind of pain. For what it’s worth, I think the poem you made about him is beautiful. Your brother sounds like a strong Wingscale that’s really going through it right now. I hope whatever joy has been stolen from him—from his soul—renews from the ashes. Or maybe some new joy will settle there, burning brightly.”
“Like a Phoenix,” he smiled. “I will tell him what you said. You two would get along, I think.”
“I can’t wait to meet him then,” I said. I wondered what sort of person he was. Moreover, I found it incredibly interesting that Sasha had a twin considering I did as well. I would tell him that news sometime when he was not already overwhelmed.
“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve had all kinds of heart attacks and poetry and seen fire wings and what have you,” I suggested.
Sasha chuckled. “Perhaps. I must escape from this. I do not think I have made so many beautiful words manifest as poetry as I have tonight. If I do not sleep I will continue.”
“Okay, right? I usually spend some serious time writing these things. But tonight it’s like my mouth is possessed by my own self.”
“What an apt way to describe it. I feel the same. I acknowledge that my manner of speech is skilled, but tonight it holds a level of eloquence that I did not know I possessed.”
I thought back to his oration, the first thing he recited of our lyrical night. I shivered. “Sasha, you can ‘Speak to me’ anytime. This soul is listening. Eloquence indeed.”
“I promise I will speak to you more oration. You are the only person I know who would enjoy such serious strings of words for your own enjoyment.”
“I have a taste for dignity,” I replied.
Sasha paused. “What more do you need of eloquence when your mouth creates it from nowhere?”
“You have the flavor I want.”
Sasha stared at me incredulously and shook his head. “I am done with you again. You talk me into a trap at every turn.”
I cackled at him. “Alright, alright. It’s time for you go to sleep.”
“Very well,” he said, laughing gently.
I held him closer, although it was impossible. His wing came down over me like a shroud of protection. We held on to each other in silence, not needing anything to fill the space. I just breathed him. Smoke. Fire. Silence. Warmth. Breath. Growl. They spoke enough.
After a while of just laying there in peacefulness, he fell asleep. I could feel the regular inhalations and exhalations marked by the shudder of his chest. And he was a heavy sleeper. Or he was exhausted. Both probably. His flames were still wild even in slumber. Small flickers and tendrils of fire peeked every so often from his mouth. A deep growl emanated from his chest and throat at every exhalation. I stroked Sasha’s face as he slept, the heat of his fire on my hand, and he didn’t move an inch.
I watched him for a while until it occurred to me to write out all the words we had recited to each other. I turned over and reached past his wing to grab my phone from the nightstand. The glow from my screen was strange, it’s blueness cutting through the smoky red in my vision. I sat back and typed every amazing thing we had said.
Those collections of words we had stitched together from nothing just floored me. I had never made poetry like what I did that night. Such passion and beauty.
I looked at Sasha again, thinking about the words that had entranced me from his mouth.
‘Speak to me.’
‘Speak to me.’
The phrase kept ringing out in my chest. He was right. It was a rare thing to find someone who would hang on to your every word with the utmost attention. With actual interest, engagement. I wanted to speak to him forever, about anything. And he would listen. I would listen to him.
I closed my eyes and shook my head at such strong thoughts about a stranger. I thought of all the ‘normal’ people I had dated in the past. The relationships had all gone ‘normally’: date, texting, talking into the night, more dates, sex, dates. Accusations, breakups, crying. Getting over it. Normal stuff.
This was not normal, not in the slightest. Never in all my life had I behaved the way I did under that tree. I was still wondering who that was. Who was the Leila that kissed that way, that straddled dragons in broad daylight? That made love without a first date at all and then swore a stranger to an oath of binding, a whole relationship? That spoke poetry at him from her breath like it was my own fire?
Apparently I was her. It frightened me, the speed with which she and I had moved in one evening. And yet it all felt perfectly normal, inevitable.
Of course I had known when Sasha arrived there was something special about him, no matter how I tried to pretend everything was normal. why was I pretending?
That very first day, when I saw him walk into my morning class, I wasn’t paying attention when he said who he was. I had looked up and locked eyes with him. We held each others gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
Every damn class that day, and the following, I missed him announce his name. It was like a comedy sketch. The writing class we shared was the only one I was paying close attention to, and the professor had written his name on the board of course. It was infuriating.
I watched him like a hawk after he arrived that week. In all that time he didn’t speak around me. And I never spoke to him. Why hadn’t I? What had stopped me?
Just like he said, we just kept Circling each other, but never allowed ourselves to meet at the center of our orbit. He felt the same way. He had said he wanted to speak with me as well but for some reason he didn’t.
It was like a force was beckoning us to each other. To finally meet at the center of a Circle.
This day had been the first time I heard his voice at all. If I had heard it earlier, I would have been completely undone. I would not have let him walk away from me so many times.
I stared at his sleeping form, and a thought came to me again. He avoided speaking around me on purpose. Talking to me. He had known that getting close to me might start something, but had he know it would be his voice that caused such a domino effect? Then again, he knew far more than I did about Callings. Frequencies.
I balked at that word. It was so clumsy, so empty to how it felt. We shared vibes. My soul vibrated on the same wavelength as his body. Our mouths breathed the same breath. Our hearts beat the same.
Sameness. Oneness. Vibes.
He knew something would happen to his body if he let us get too close to each other. I was what he thought I was, and he had failed to prevent that change in us. But he didn’t know anything of how these changes would manifest.
It had happened so fast that he was alarmed to see me standing there in class. As soon as I greeted him, the very second he said ‘hi,’ that curious sound beneath his voice started. The thought that he was so helpless at that moment saddened me the same way it did him when he revealed the permanence of Calling. He never stood a chance. I kissed my hand and continued to stroke his face with that kiss.
And then the wings. The dreams and visions. Those two otherworldly beings… What were we? Were we gods or something? Were we reincarnated versions of them? Possessed? Were they using us? What did any of this mean? I did not know.
I tried to be more upset about this breech on our lives that sent us careening down a path we didn’t ask for. But looking at that red dragon, how could I? Our first contact was so lovely. The way we had spoken to each other in class was sweet. Neither of us could keep a smile off our faces. Laughing and carrying on, a perfect match of good humor.
I stared at him trying to conjure up feelings of grief, apprehension, fear, irritation or anything negative at all, and I came up with nothing.
I sighed. I could tell that in that other life, in that place of lakes of fire and expanses of the cosmos, that we were really something special. Something strong. Something beautiful. I was not alarmed at our sudden connection, the strength of it, the passion of it.
But if we broke apart from one another in the future—everything in me said no—that alarmed me. The coldness. The despair. The threat of death at an incomplete attunement. At a great falling away into a chasm. It was horrifying that Sasha could literally die from us being separated. It was unfair.
I would never let that happen. How horrible a thought. Not after this Calling had fallen upon him and surprises kept rearing their heads.
I was done writing our poems and, subsequently, my musings. I put my phone back where it belonged. My head was still swirling with all those thoughts, but I shut my eyes and tried to shut down my mind.
I held Sasha again. Even in his sleep he put his arms back around me. It made me smile to be enveloped in his warmth.
Eventually I drifted off to sleep as well.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I felt Sasha’s heartbeat pick up enough to wake me. It was the time where night lingers in the earliest of hours. Nothing but the soft murmur of calling insects and wind outside.
I groaned and looked up into Sasha’s face, but he was still sleeping.
“What is it?” I asked, groggy.
“Please,” he slurred.
“Please what?” I whispered, more alert.
He mumbled something more in his sleep. “Make it stop,” he whispered. “Please,” he pleaded. “…the shore...”
I put my hands over my mouth. I didn’t know what he could be dreaming about. It occurred to me that all that talk of pain and wounds might have stemmed from ptsd or something like that. He was in the military after all.
I let him be just in case that’s what it was. I did not want to add additional stress or confusion to a ptsd dream.
Eventually Sasha stirred of his own accord. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. I waited until he seemed to be all there with me.
“Hey, you alright?” I didn’t mention his sleep talking.
He didn’t say a word for a moment, just rubbed his eyebrows. Then he patted my back. I let go of him so he could sit up.
He removed his wing from around me, groaning.
“What is it?” I inquired.
Sasha rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at me. “I heard your Calling…” he whispered tiredly in wonder, so low I almost didn’t hear him. “It was soft and quiet, almost imperceptible. But I heard it, still, in my sleep…”
My eyes widened, my heart pounding as well. I sat up. “Really?” I whispered back. “What is it like?”
He moved his head to the side, still listening. “Soft waves. A wind chime. A whisper of song. I have heard it before. That is why I awoke,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. My Calling sounded peaceful like being at the beach. Of course, my favorite place. Interesting. I sleepily folded my arms under my head.
“It is very faint.” Sasha closed his eyes. “I know when I heard it.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“You are sleepy still. We can speak of it later.”
I waved him off. “We are awake now. I have no doubt when we say we’ll sleep again it will be no trouble. I fell to sleep easily and so did you.”
Sasha chuckled to himself. “Very well, Leila.” He leaned his back, head against the headboard. His eyes stayed closed.
“I was sitting with my brother, Pasha, upon a stone wall at the beach. It was the evening before I came to this place. I was unsure if I had made the right decision to go with my father. To leave Pasha behind. I had wanted to throw myself into my work to forget the ordeal we had both gone through. But Pasha told me I needed something new, and that whatever it was lie across the ocean waiting for me. Something fulfilling. He said that, surely, wallowing in guilt, in anger and sadness, would not help me heal my wounds although he was dealing with wounds of his own.”
I wondered what wounds he meant. I had seen the scars on his wings. More pain. More scars. Mangled and twisted. He had died and would do so again. Moreover, he had muttered something about the shore. And here it appeared in his story. What had happened to him?
As if sensing my questions, he inhaled deeply.
“I will tell you of the things that transpired eventually. It was… horrible. It is still too raw for me. I apologize for these strange disjointed hints of pain, of suffering.”
“No, no. It’s okay. We will discuss it all later,” I said appreciatively. “Go on.”
“Hmm. Even after Pasha’s encouragement, I still felt apprehension about traveling to this land. All at once, I heard a woman singing on the beach, yet I saw no one.
I heard the sound of wildly swaying wind chimes, of rain, of whipping winds, but there were nothing anywhere to make such sounds.
My brother thought I was crazy. But that voice stirred my spirit as I stared out at that dark water. It was mournful, like a siren in a tempest whose heart had been broken to pieces.
At one point, she whispered a barely discernible plea: ‘Someone, just please help me.’ ‘I can’t do this.’”
I gasped in alarm, my heart hammering away so hard I thought I would have a heart attack. I knew at once the woman was me. It was me who had been pleading in turmoil, with those precise words, wanting someone to swoop down and save me. By the Goddess…
Sasha continued his tale, perhaps not noticing my change in demeanor. “I didn’t know where she was, or what it was she did not want to do, but I told my brother to give me a moment.
I stood and walked along the shore, looking for someone in need, for anything strange. I never found any such woman. I spoke a word of peace to her, whoever she was, wherever she was.”
At the same time, we both said:“Calm your spirit and be at peace. Whatever you feel, just let it exist. Let it be.”
Sasha stopped. He opened his eyes and stared at me in awe. “You heard those words?”
I nodded, heart still pounding. Which of us was having these heart troubles? Him or me?
Sasha shook his head, rubbing his face. “Madness. But truly amazing nonetheless,” he said quietly.
“Yeah…” I responded. I didn’t know what else to say.
“It was you,” he said, not asked.
“I suppose so…”
Sasha continued.
“I returned to my brother to conclude our talk. I told him I wanted to stay a while, and he stayed with me. The song turned into something sweeter after a time. I went looking yet again but never found you. Of course I could not. You were nowhere near me.
Eventually we left. Pasha and I parted ways, and I returned to my home.
No matter what I did, I could not shake your voice from my mind that evening. It sent shivers down my spine. So I returned to the beach. There was nothing else for it; I would have remained awake all night agonizing over my travels the next day anyway. Why not do so surrounded by such mystical music?
I went to a quiet place, book and blanket in hand. The water was complete still, yet the sound of waves was everywhere. Intangible, lapping against the shore.”
I recalled when I had mentioned sitting at the beach watching waves lapping on the shore. He had paused then, as we stood in his living room, thinking of something. I now knew he had recalled this event and wondered at the similarities.
“The sunset was vibrant, strangely so. It was stunning, like a painting. No one else seemed to find the sight of note but me.
You were singing, but again in sorrow. I stayed out there, reading a book and meditating, until others went away from the beach. Until only I remained. Your faint song, the softest whispers of singing, became sweet again. So much singing, you did. By the gods so much singing. It was like a quiet concert.”
I covered my face. “I’m glad you caught them,” I said, laughing.
“There was only one song I caught well enough to hear the words. You sang it over and over. I did not sleep until you uttered nothing more, your voice fading away. I felt empty at the silence, but content in that, perhaps, my presence had calmed this siren, that perhaps her broken heart had somewhat mended. Unfortunately for me; the absence of your songs caused a melancholy to settle in my spirit. A longing. I came here looking for your voice. I questioned your love of voices because it shocked me, the similarities we continue to share.”
“Hmmm,” I vocalized, not unlike he so often did.
Sasha regarded me, shaking his head in wonder. “Repeating that event back, it is obvious that this woman was you. At the time, back when it happened, I regarded it as a very strange occurrence or perhaps my descent into madness,” he said.
“You most certainly are not mad,” I said.
“Indeed. I know very well at this point that your experience across the ocean happened at that time. You knew my words.”
“I remember them well. Just like a lot of things so far, we have these experiences, the aspects of ourselves that are too similar to be a coincidence. We are like mirrors.”
“Only one of us is larger.”
“Sasha!” I exclaimed.
He laughed at me, hugging me. Then he lay down onto the bed again.
“Speak to me of that same evening,” he said.
I sat up slightly, leaning on my elbow, looking into his eyes.
“I was at the beach too. Certainly the same night, the same week you appeared at school. I have this one particular spot on the beach where no one goes but me. I would make myself a wood fire and look at the smoke swirl into tendrils, embers scattering to the wind. I would sit there to watch storms roll in the distance, writing poetry or doing homework or what have you.”
Sasha nodded, acknowledging the picture I painted was the same as his Call. I nudged him, making him smile.
“But that day? I was having an awful time. Every year I dreaded the same thing, but I always escaped. This time, there was no more running. I was cornered, trapped. And the choice was before me. I stared across the ocean and cried. I said it as you heard. ‘I can’t do this. Please help me.’ I just wanted someone to get me out of that situation, but I wasn’t willing to ask for it again. I was so tired of disappointment.
So I’m sitting there in front of these hypnotic flames singing to myself, trying to shake off those bad spirits. Couldn’t even write a poem about my own despair.”
“Impossible. I refuse to believe such nonsense,” he said, chuckling.
“Shocking, I know,” I agreed, smiling. “That’s when I heard a thunderstorm on the horizon. At least there was that, I thought. My greatest comfort to cheer me.
I’m listening to that distant storm, but there were no clouds, no darkness, no strike of lightning. It puzzled me.
But the sky. Oh Sasha, that was the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The same wonderful night sky you saw. It was brighter than normal, like fire and roses and gold melding with the sea. I have never seen a more beautiful place for the Goddess to drift into slumber.
I stood up and looked around. Further down the beach people were still going into the water, chatting, lazing about, like nothing was happening. Like this gorgeous sky and this distant storm did not exist.
Then I heard this voice. It was faint. Super faint. But so deep—“ I patted his chest, now knowing it was him. “Your voice; you said those words to me such that my soul was contented.”
“Calm your spirit and be at peace. Whatever you feel, just let it exist. Let it be,” he repeated quietly. “I live by these words. I acknowledge the feelings and emotions, the pain and joy, that exist in me, that often loom before me. The negative ones will not simply vanish because I ignore them. Sometimes it is easy to face them. And sometimes it is so, so hard, Leila. So hard it feels impossible. But I try, still.”
“And your way of facing your emotions is the truth. I did as you suggested that night; the intense sorrow I felt was for a reason, for many reasons. And I just let all that sorrow unfold so I could face it. Your words were like a warm hug in the midst of my despair. Thank you.”
“You are always welcome,” he said, stroking my face. “Go on.”
“After that, I stayed out there all night. The storm never showed itself, but only grew louder. It’s like it rolled only for me. And it did, didn’t it?
I slept out there under the stars that night. Didn’t care about school. Didn’t care about anyone or anything. Your voice of peace washed away all my worries. So after that I just sang as the thunder peeled, and I did so all evening and into the night. I started singing to you specifically after that. Joyously. I broke out my best numbers,” I said. I covered my face, cracking up.
He laughed quietly. “Indeed; as I said, what I could discern was beautiful.”
I uncovered my face and smiled. “Thank you,” I said. I sighed, reaching my tale’s conclusion. “The next day I felt like I had come out of a deep meditation. Like the sorrow of yesterday did not exist. I had hoped to the Sun that your voice was the Answer to what troubled me. Then your voice stopped for a time. Until today.”

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•RESEARCH/THESIS •RRL •FEASIBILITY STUDY •CASE STUDY •CONCEPTUAL PAPER •TRANS / NOTES •ESSAY •REFLECTION PAPER •RESUME • INFOGRAPHIC • BROCHURE •REACTION PAPER •POSITION PAPER •REVISION •POEM •SPEECH • RESIGNATION LETTER • COVER LETTER • MODULES FROM GRADE 1 TO 3RD YEAR COLLEGE

(Note: ‘retail’ refers to the regular Neopets website, currently owned by NetDragon, previously owned by JumpStart - thank you u/fancytables)
BACKGROUND
Before I begin this post, it is important to talk about what Neopets is and why a classic version of it was created in the first place. Neopets is a virtual petsite where you can own pixel pets, converse with other players on the neoboards, play games, meet people through guilds (which are like clubs geared toward certain interests), and partake in daily activities. Because Neopets is now a 24-year-old site, many of its users have been around for a while and remember what Neopets was like pre-conversion.
In 2007, Viacom (the company that owned the domain at the time) decided to “convert” all pets in order to introduce customization–a new site feature where you could spend real money to dress up your pets. While pre-conversion Neopets had dynamic poses and character, post-conversion Neopets were static and rather awkward. Most species and color combinations were automatically converted, but owners of certain combinations were given the option to keep their original unconverted pet. This drove up the value of unconverteds (otherwise known as UCs), and created a fierce trading system on Neopets. In a sea of converted pets, everyone wanted an unconverted.
Players had the option to trade around and work their way up to getting one of these highly coveted pets–but starting from ground zero often meant working on a singular trade chain for years, if not decades. This was a daunting task for many. Soon enough, there was a robust black market for unconverted pets…and when I say robust, I mean, people who desperately wanted these “UC” pets were flooding the “black market” with thousands of US dollars per year.
Millions of players who had been there since the beginning of Neopets would continue to be discouraged by the site's direction for years to come. In 2020, it was announced that Adobe Flash would soon be discontinued. With the termination of Flash, all the beloved Neopets games that relied on it were lost. Three years ago, Neopets further dug its own grave by introducing NFTS. Needless to say, the active player base has dramatically decreased over the years.
NEOPETS CLASSIC IS DEBUTED
Enter Neopets Classic (NPC), a fansite made to model early 2000s Neopets when there were around 3 million active users. For privacy purposes, the name Kiko will refer to the site’s creator (all screenshots with him will be censored in YELLOW). Kiko began working on this project as a way to learn code in his offtime. He began posting screenshots of the progress he was making with NPC on Reddit as far back as 5 years ago (2019). To say Neopets fans were excited is an understatement. When the site eventually opened to the public in December 2020, tons of users rushed to make accounts and create the unconverted pets they had never imagined getting to own, along with names that are probably stuck on frozen accounts from 2003 or so on retail. Instead of Rose6920Neopets, it was possible for a user on Neopets Classic to actually make the pet “Rose”. In its early days, the site was incredibly nostalgic and fulfilling for many people.
Kiko opened a Patreon account where people could show their support through monthly donations ranging from $1 to $25. Each tier unlocked special rewards on NPC’s Discord server, but the most appealing was the ability to make an NPC account for $1. After the initial wave of sign-ups, the site closed regular sign-ups to manage the influx of users as there were easily 200 members already. The only way people could get accounts after this point was by donating, or to wait for sign-up links to be posted about every month or so to the Discord. After receiving an email from Patreon where they warned him of Neopets copyright issues, Kiko moved to Buy Me A Coffee (BMAC).
A few months into Neopets Classic, there was a surge of site bugs and issues that went unfixed and quickly piled up. Kiko was nowhere to be found for almost two months. There was no communication indicating when users could expect fixes to the issues they were facing in game. Not even the mods were able to tell the users when or even if he would be back. He came back eventually, with no word of apology or explanation for his absence. This left users quite upset at the lack of communication while he was MIA, and not knowing whether their ongoing donations were going to waste if the site never started working properly again.
Kiko’s prolonged absence opened a door for many cheaters to abuse the site. This included the use of various bots and scripts that could auto-refresh around the site and auto-buy items from shops. Additionally, several users funneled items and neopoints (the in-game Neopets currency) from their side accounts to their main accounts, which was against the rules. Upon his return, Kiko was made aware of the massive cheating issue and started issuing bans accordingly. He created a channel within the Discord titled “Wall of Shame”, where he mocked the users he froze and immortalized their “crimes.” Ironically, Kiko himself had quite a bit of experience with similar illegal behavior on retail Neopets. He had previously been a black market seller of “UC” pets for real money on retail - and Clraik, a forum-based website dedicated to sharing and engaging in Neopets cheats, did not hesitate to expose this in his ban message from their site. Interestingly, Kiko had previously been fairly involved in the Clraik community and even recruited his first Neopets Classic players from there. He eventually deleted the channel.
Kiko also shamed his own playerbase behind closed doors in BMAC-only channels, but the Wall of Shame wouldn't be the first time he did so publicly. During the Halloween event in 2021, players collected candy around the site that came in different varieties. To redeem prizes, you had to collect certain varieties of candies - and if you didn’t have those varieties, you could swap candies with other users to get what you needed. One user made an unpopular choice to ask for multiples of one kind of candy for less of another and received severe backlash from not only the community but Kiko himself. While some users agreed that the player was acting out of line and applauded Kiko’s condemnation of the user, many others were grossly uncomfortable with the site creator openly ridiculing a player who wasn’t breaking any known game rules. Kiko had started a dogpile where members of the community continued to speak against the user, who then felt bullied off the site. A few friends of his followed suit and quit playing.
ART CHAOS
On March 7th, 2022, an NPC artist (who will henceforth be referred to as Carmariller) asked Kiko for permission to add a commissioned pet to the site that had been commissioned by a user with Neopoints. Kiko said yes and gave her permission, noting that it wasn’t any different from a user paying for a commission, as long as the user was fine with it being on the site. Their stone Shoyru design was eventually added to the site. Later on, several other users pitched in together to pay for a commission of another pet design from Carmariller in hopes of it being added to the site. When the site’s main moderator (let’s call her Lupe) found out about this in a public channel, she made it clear that commissions for pets to be added to the site were not allowed anymore, claiming it was unfair for users who couldn’t pay to affect site art through neopoints. However, those who had commissioned the art were confused and upset that this decision was made in direct opposition to the precedent of the Stone Shoyru. Following Lupe’s claims of unfairness, several users chimed in to express that it was problematic that users had commissioned art to be added to the site. Carmariller took a lot of heat from this discourse, which caused them to take a break from NPC. This series of interactions will be important later on.
ISSUES WITH INCLUSIVENESS
During April 2022, it was announced that a spring Easter event would take place on NPC. In the suggestions channel of the Discord server, a user submitted a suggestion to incorporate small nods to other religions because all the events around the holiday season were Christian-centric. This opened the door for a few users to vehemently disagree, stating that religion had no place on Neopets, that the site could never be “100% inclusive”, and that someone will always be upset. What started off as an innocuous suggestion for more inclusive features on the site ended in a heated debate, with many users feeling hurt and angry by the seemingly xenophobic arguments being made against the suggested features. Users from marginalized groups began to feel unsafe in the server as users were allowed to freely speak out against suggestions to make the site and community more inclusive with no mod intervention. When Kiko eventually came online, he did little to comfort those marginalized voices when he wrote that he wasn’t interested in “pandering to other cultures”, and that “Christian holidays are secular in western societies”. A user suggested adding a menorah or sugar skulls to represent Jewish and Mexican holidays, respectively. He wrote that he wasn’t interested in adding these items “any more than he was interested in adding a crucifix” item to the site. Some users responded that a crucifix is a symbol of the entire Christianity movement, whereas a menorah would be a symbol of Hanukkah and wouldn’t be different from the features that already exist on the site to represent Christmas, such as the advent calendar and the Christmas paint for pets and petpets. To this, Kiko just responded with a screenshot of his Google search where he googled “is menorah a religious symbol”.
Users became even more upset with his response, which seemed tone-deaf and careless in light of the conversation. A Jewish user argued that the menorah is tied to a single Jewish holiday, whereas a crucifix embodies Christianity as a whole. (NOTE: this is noted in the screenshots provided in the link, but several of the screenshots were taken recently whereas some were taken the day of this incident. In the last screenshot, where it says that a Discord user is responding to a message that has been deleted, the original message entailed Kiko’s message where he sent screenshots of his Google searches).
Users grew more weary of Kiko as he wrote that he would introduce a slow-mode in the suggestions channel since the users “couldn’t behave themselves”. To many users, it felt as though Kiko had been punishing and scolding them for expressing their hurt, without reprimanding the users who argued against the implementation of inclusive features.
Kiko and the users who were against adding features to represent other religions and cultures besides Christianity wrote that they would not have been able to “get it right” anyway since Kiko and his moderators were all white. A user responded to this and wrote that those kinds of arguments were often used as an excuse by non-marginalized individuals to not try to be inclusive by seeking out advice from the groups that they were attempting to represent. To this, Kiko reacted with an eye-rolling emoji instead of responding to the user directly and having a conversation about his reasoning.
After this debacle, some of the Neopets Classic Discord moderators created a separate server to invite BIPOC and address their concerns. A number of players disagreed with this move, because they felt that they were being pushed out of the main server and forced to express their concerns elsewhere, but the change was pushed regardless. Notably, Kiko, Kiko’s sister (who had been invited on to help him with the site), and the main moderator Lupe were not in this server. At first, the moderators involved piled the server members with apologies and asked for advice on how to do better. The advice was forthcoming from BIPOC players who committed to the emotional labor necessary to help the team understand–but they never understood. It was very quickly evident to everyone in the server that the team had no intentions of promoting inclusiveness, or a safe space for BIPOC players.
One member expressed that they were deeply uncomfortable with Lupe because of her pattern of silencing BIPOC users. The moderator running the server (let’s call her Moehog) meant to address BIPOC concerns told this member, and I quote, “I’m not going to comment on that. You can view her as you wish.” Immediately, the other members of the server called Moehog out on her inappropriate response. Moehog did not apologize or take any action against Lupe. It is important to note that during these conversations which were supposed to be geared toward making NPC a more inclusive space, Moehog was responding to messages in the private NPC staff chat with approval about how a Black member of the community would rant about being painted as a “an angry Black woman” while having a “nasty personality”. Screenshots of this are included further down.
BANNED NAMES - AND THE START OF NPC'S DOWNFALL
On May 24th, 2022, a user reported the pet ‘Soviet’, claiming that it was an insensitive name that shouldn’t exist on a p​​et site given the fact that Russia had very recently invaded Ukraine. The NPC mod team forced a “name change” for the pet Soviet, where the user received a name change token so that they may change the new name to another untaken name. Users began reporting other names that could be deemed offensive, such as Bimbo, Twink, and the username ‘slut’. Other users immediately took issue with the removal of pet names that were reclaimed slurs, such as Bimbo, and began asking the moderators about it in the NPC Discord server. One user, a Black woman (we’ll call her Aisha), pointed out that pets as harmless as Bimbo were being removed yet the pet Minstrel was owned by a NPC moderator - in fact, it was owned by the main moderator, Lupe. (While the word minstrel may mean medieval singer or musician, it is also strongly associated with blackface as in American history it referred to a member of a band of typically white actors with blackened faces. Minstrels performed songs, dances, and formulaic comic routines based on stereotyped depictions of Black Americans.)
Lupe swiftly deleted Aisha’s message that called out her pet Minstrel and wrote a reply stating that the pet Minstrel was in the process of being name-changed, and that users should submit tickets for any issues they have with pet names. It was never made apparent why action was immediately taken with Soviet and Bimbo, but not Minstrel. Aisha wrote another post about how it felt like her voice was being silenced, especially as a Black woman speaking about the hypocrisy of the moderators deleting pet names while owning a pet with harsh racist connotations. Aisha was swiftly banned from the server. It didn’t take long for users to come to her defense and demand to know why she was banned from the server for expressing her feelings of discomfort. Another moderator (Maple) claimed that he had attempted to mute Aisha for ‘inflammatory speech’ but had accidentally banned her instead. This caused outrage in the community, as more and more users denounced the silencing of marginalized voices without addressing any of the harm that was done. You might be asking: where was Kiko during all of this?
Kiko had been gone for several weeks at this point. By now, the users were used to this. Kiko was often gone without word, and left it up to his moderators to handle any and all issues--really, it was often Lupe dealing with the public chat while the other moderators held more of a backseat position. He did, however, come out of the woodworks to write about how angry he was with the community for “causing drama”. Once again, he placed the blame in the playerbase and found no fault within the community moderators for inflicting harm to their players. Furthermore, he wrote that he was proceeding to shut down non-informational channels. Only BMAC supporters (i.e., people who were paying real life money) were allowed to converse and use the Discord server as normal. In his post, Kiko also wrote that the server was shutting down in order to find new moderators to help keep the peace within the community. During this time, on the evening of May 24th, screenshots from staff chat had been leaked where Kiko is seen claiming that the “argument for reclaimed slurs is dumb”, followed by a joke about how NPC supports bullying minorities and white supremacy. This led several users to feel uncomfortable, believing that Kiko was joking about something that still felt so raw and painful for them.
After most of the player base was suddenly unable to communicate in the main server, many users moved to the site’s neoboards. Although they were glitchy and had many broken links, it sufficed as everyone needed a way to talk about the mess that just occurred in the main NPC server. Remember Carmariller? People were still unsatisfied with how Carmariller was driven away from the site. Some users took to posting “JUSTICE FOR CARMARILLER” on the neoboards, but were swiftly frozen (in which you are never allowed to play NPC again) or temporarily banned/muted. Carmariller returned to the boards to reveal that she never knew commissions for site art weren't allowed as Kiko had previously given her permission to accept commissions from users to eventually add to the site (as shown in a previous screenshot). Kiko showed up to say that he only did that the one time. Carmariller wrote that he said it wasn’t a problem that one time, so she assumed it wouldn’t be a problem later. Kiko then asked Carmariller if she would take time off from work any day she wanted if her boss had previously given her a day off. This was enough for Carmariller to quit the site and never partake in the community ever again. That, however, wouldn't stop the site from continuing to use her art and pet designs that she only had given permission for before quitting the art team. Not too long after, the entire board was deleted by either Kiko or his staff.
KIKO'S ABSENCE
The shutdown of the main server for NPC occurred on May 24th, 2022. After Kiko wrote that long post, he disappeared for nearly three months. The main server became a ghost town, and hardly anyone ever posted there. Much of this is due to the fact that most of the playerbase couldn’t chat there, since they weren’t BMAC supporters. Even though Kiko had left and there was no news of change or progress on the site or in the community, the BMAC stayed open. This meant new users were continuing to donate $1 for accounts that they weren’t getting because Kiko was M.I.A. and unable to process their links. As familiar as prolonged disappearances of Kiko were to old players, several new people who had not come to expect this by now were anxious about where their money was going. There were frequent inquiries posted in the discord about when new users could expect to receive a sign-up link. Mixed messaging from the moderators in response made the situation all the more tense. Lupe made an announcement that Kiko and his sister will return but was unable to say when, and used privacy concerns as reasoning to not elaborate on why they had “to take some time away due to IRL, external matters.” This left many users genuinely concerned that something may have happened to him that pulled him away from the site that the mod didn’t want to share publicly. One artist even mentioned that Kiko tends to his grandfather who was sick at the time, leading users to worry as they began to wonder if everything was alright. Later, a user asked the mod Moehog if Kiko left because of the heated discourse surrounding pet names like Soviet and Minstrel. Moehog responded that the Kiko and his sibling were simply away on holiday, and just needed some relaxation time. Users were bewildered at the lack of simple communication prior either by the devs or the mod announcement to say that they were taking a short break and would be back. Donors in particular were frustrated that they could have saved their monetary contributions for an account had they known it would be some time before Kiko returned.
During Kiko’s long absence, the NPC moderators decide to promote a prominent art team member to moderator status. We’ll call them Chia. The first action Chia took as a moderator was to delete the Spanish-Chat channel, where Spanish and Portuguese NPC users previously talked about the game in… well… Spanish and Portuguese. Given the fact that much of the tension in the NPC community stemmed from issues regarding racism and xenophobia, many users felt like this was a terrible decision which went against the very thing they sought: inclusivity in the NPC community. Chia responded and wrote that their intention was to delete non-essential channels, and that it wasn’t uncommon in larger Discords to exclude non-English channels. Users were quick to note that this was a popular xenophobic sentiment in those very gaming communities.
Because over half of the playerbase was shut out of communicating in the main NPC server, a few individuals made a side server titled “NPC Peeps”. Many NPC users migrated to this server to keep up with the community while these harsh changes were implemented upon the playerbase. It is important to note that none of the NPC staff or moderators were allowed in this server, as it was created initially to aid NPC users in airing out their grievances without the fear of being punished in the community or on the site. Site artists were allowed but later removed.
Then, it came to light that Maple had been actively spying in the “NPC Peeps” server on a burner account, and taking unauthorized screenshots within a private venting channel to use against players. Many players were frozen on the site or banned from the main discord server at the whims of the moderator team. Reasons were never given for these bans, so many assumed it was simply for speaking negatively about NPC, even though these discussions took place in a separate server. The second server had been created as a safe space for all NPC players, especially BIPOC members, and many users felt as though this was a gross invasion of privacy that made them feel even more unsafe.
After Maple’s burner account was banned, he and other moderators and artists continued to attempt to get into the second server and spy on users. (A screenshot of a site artist proposing the idea of sending friends to spy in the NPC Peeps server with Lupe agreeing is provided here)
In the BIPOC server, members expressed their concerns about the unwelcome surveillance, but were again met with unsympathetic ears. Moehog informed the members that she planned to quit as a moderator, and that the BIPOC server would have to take their concerns elsewhere. Members of the server took the opportunity to once and for all express serious frustration with how their concerns had been handled, and how nothing had ever come of their concerns (Moehog had only told them she would pass on their recommendations to Kiko, and Kiko had never responded). Moehog then said that she was keeping the server open as a favor to them and because she didn’t “want their emotional labor to go to waste.” Another member who had applied to be a moderator months earlier expressed that, if they became a moderator, the first thing they would do would be to ask Maple to step down from his position. Immediately following that message, Moehog deleted the entire server.
PROMINENT MEMBERS LEAVE TO CREATE THEIR OWN SITE
All the discord server drama aside— if you asked any NPC user, you’d find that, from 2020-2022, there was little to actually do on the site: you could restock (which entails buying items from non-playable character shops and reselling them for a profit in your shop or on the trading posts), feed kadoaties, paint your pets with Neopoints you earn through Random Events or by restocking, or do fetch quests from non-player characters, where you must find the item they are asking for and they will give you Neopoints in return. A few long-time NPC users had previously offered their services to Kiko multiple times, constantly telling him that they are familiar with web development and could assist him in adding new features to the site such as games and the Battledome, but Kiko always refused.
So, in July 2022, these same members had become increasingly frustrated with NPC and began working on a new site called Grundo’s Cafe. Grundo’s Cafe was designed to resemble early 2000s Neopets, as well. The idea of an early 2000s Neopets fansite was not new by then, and several had popped up such as Virtu.pet and Moderneo. The creators of Grundo’s Cafe aimed to implement more than NPC already had to offer such as recreating flash games using HTML5, the Battledome, and the beloved Habitarium. On August 12th, Grundo’s Cafe had their Grand Opening, and allowed 100 slots for signups which quickly filled up as dedicated Neopets players were eager to try this new clone. Many former NPC users were excited to play a new site that had many features to offer that actually did represent early 2000s Neopets: functional neoboards, restocking, guilds, flash games, and games such as Sakhmet Solitaire, Dice-a-Roo, and Lenny Conundrum. A few of these were features that took over a year for NPC to provide, and many are features that NPC still does not have.
The next day, on August 13, 2022, all of the Grundo’s Cafe developers and Discord moderators were shocked to find their Neopets Classic accounts had been frozen. Their ban messages simply read ‘C/ping custom text and content from NPC is not allowed.’ Allegedly, the Neopets Classic staff suspected Grundo’s Cafe ripped their code and content and consequently froze their accounts. It was widely unclear, however, what content was thought to have been stolen from NPC as the HTML, content, and images used were from the original Neopets as might be expected from a clone site like NPC itself. There was also no way to dispute their account freezes, as the “contact our support staff” link was broken and led nowhere. The Discord server had also been locked down, requiring users to submit verification forms through Google Forms where a moderator would reach out to them via neomail on the site and give them a password that they had to in turn message to a moderator via Discord. The Grundo’s Cafe moderators in particular were confused and upset that they would be frozen if the reason was stealing website code and content, because their roles as moderators had nothing to do with working on the site development.
Long-time NPC players were horrified by the NPC staff’s actions for a while, but this was the final straw for many. Several users who had been playing since the first couple of months quit NPC and happily joined Grundo’s Cafe never to look back. Some friends of the Grundo’s Cafe staff took it one step further by going directly to the Neopets Classic Discord to air their disappointment. These messages were quickly deleted by the mods online at the time, and the five users involved in the conversation were permanently muted in the server and on the neoboards, and eventually frozen on the site. Several users were also frozen for expressing their discontent with the NPC staff. Users complained that the server felt like severe censorship as they couldn’t express any discontent with the site’s actions without it being deleted or their accounts being muted.
STAFF CHAT LEAKS
Long-time NPC players weren’t the only ones disgusted by the behavior of the NPC staff. One staff member took a huge risk to expose some controversial conversations from the NPC private staff chat which included Kiko, his sister, the mods, and artists. In these screenshots, staff members/moderators and artists are seen mocking Aisha, calling her a “nasty spiteful little bitch” and referring to the player base as “cunts”. They joked about making Aisha’s verification word to get access to discord “minstrel”. Although Kiko and the NPC staff accused the Grundo’s Cafe team of copying and pasting content, screenshots were also leaked of them snooping around to steal scripts and code from Grundo’s Cafe staff members. These scripts were initially created by the Grundo’s Cafe team when they were active users on NPC, and many of the playerbase depended on them. However, after being frozen on NPC, the Grundo’s Cafe team removed access to their scripts, leaving NPC users at a disadvantage. In the previously linked screenshots, staff members are seen discussing how to get those scripts back in order to add them to the NPC website and pass off as their own. They also accused the Grundo’s Cafe main developer of stealing the footer text from NPC, but a Reddit comment from Kiko himself would prove otherwise. Through the leak of these screenshots, it became swiftly apparent to users that the Grundo’s Cafe team was frozen out of pure jealousy or spitefulness at their quick success without any solid reason to back it up. Many of the players who had been loyal through the ups and downs of Neopets Classic over the past two years felt disgusted by the racist remarks made behind closed doors. Any messages regarding the staff chat leaks in the NPC server were deleted, and some users were muted or frozen for attempting to talk about it.
After August 2022, many users stopped playing NPC. Between other Neopets clones such as Grundo’s Cafe, Moderneo, and Virtu.pet, many people found that there was much to do on other sites compared to NPC. Many users also refused to be associated with a site run by individuals such as Kiko and his staff. The drop in active numbers was evident even to NPC users that remained active. On the site homepage, there is a counter of how many users are online at the moment, and there were often only 30-40 members online (whereas in the past, numbers would easily reach triple digits, especially on the weekends). NPC users grew frustrated with the lack of updates and small player base, claiming that it was now difficult to complete quests as no one was restocking and filling their shops with items. In October 2022, users expected a Halloween event, and staff members responded that it was coming, keeping it vague at best. On October 28th, it was announced that a Halloween event would be coming that day. However, the site broke the very same day. Users grew more and more frustrated as they just desired to play on a functional site where the developer actually had an interest in improving the site. A few days went by with radio silence as the site remained unplayable. Then, on November 3rd, Kiko wrote a very important announcement. He announced that, because of some issues with the server, the site had lost 5 months of data. Many users were shocked and devastated, as all their progress and hard work from the past 5 months had suddenly been erased. Several users wondered how Kiko had gone five months without backing up data onto any external site. Users who lost pets due to the rollback were required to message mods with proof of which pets they owned so that they could be replaced. Typically, Neopets Classic would do “pound releases” where previously stuck pets on frozen accounts would be released to the pound where any user could adopt them to their own account. However, as a result of the chaos from the rollback, mods used this rollback as their chance to take pets from frozen accounts for their own use, giving themself a secretive priority over which pets they wanted for themselves before they were released to the pound for the general public.
THE STATE OF NEOPETS CLASSIC TODAY
To this day, several Neopets fansites and projects exist, and many Neopets fans are members of multiple sites. The sites, such as Grundo’s Cafe, Virtu.pet, and Moderneo, remain friendly with each other, and oftentimes the developers even work together on each other’s sites in various ways. Grundo’s Cafe has even been referenced by the official Neopets team multiple times (example 1, example 2). All three sites have an active community.
The exception to this is Neopets Classic. Users are no longer able to check how many players are online, as either Kiko or his team have removed the feature. You can try and gauge activity with their latest news announcement which stated that they received zero poem submissions for Moehog Day (a pet day where Moehogs are celebrated on every Neopets site, often including new pet art and user-submitted poems).
Neopets Classic is the only Neopets fansite without any affiliates or relationships with other Neopets fansites, which begs the question of whether this can only be attributed to Kiko and his inexperienced mod & art team.

1. Device Identification Exercise:

• Provide excerpts from various texts and ask students to identify and annotate instances of specific literary devices.
  
• Discuss their findings as a class, exploring different interpretations and applications of the devices.
  

1. Creative Writing Prompts:

• Assign each student a specific literary device and ask them to craft a short story or poem that prominently features that device.
  
• Encourage creativity and exploration of the device's nuances in their narratives.
  

1. Literary Analysis Essays:

• Assign students a literary work (poem, speech, or prose) and ask them to write an essay analyzing the author's use of a chosen literary device.
  
• Emphasize the impact of the device on the overall theme and tone of the work.
  

1. Collaborative Storytelling:

• Divide the class into small groups and have each group create a collaborative story.
  
• Assign a different literary device to each group, instructing them to incorporate it seamlessly into their narrative.
  

1. Speech Writing and Delivery:

• Have students choose a social or political topic and write a persuasive speech using anaphora or epizeuxis to enhance their rhetorical impact.
  
• Organize a speech delivery session where students showcase their use of repetition for emphasis.
  

1. Literary Device Showcase:

• Assign each student or group a different literary device and ask them to prepare a presentation showcasing its historical origins, notable examples, and contemporary usage.
  
• Encourage multimedia elements such as visuals or short video clips to enhance engagement.
  

1. Rewriting Exercises:

• Provide sentences or paragraphs containing common expressions and ask students to rewrite them using more complex literary devices.
  
• Discuss the impact of the changes on tone, mood, and overall meaning.
  

1. Debate on Stylistic Choices:
   • Organize a debate where students defend or critique an author's use of a specific literary device in a given text.

• Encourage students to articulate how the device contributes to or detracts from the effectiveness of the work.

1. Literary Device Scavenger Hunt:

• Provide a list of literary devices and have students search for examples in books, articles, or online.
  
• Discuss their findings in class, exploring how different authors use the same device in diverse ways.
  

1. Themed Poetry Slam:

- Task students with creating a thematic poetry slam where each participant focuses on a different literary device. - Host a class poetry slam event where students perform their pieces and discuss their choices. 

1. Interactive Online Quizzes:

- Curate online quizzes or interactive activities that allow students to self-assess their understanding of literary devices. - Provide instant feedback to reinforce learning. 

1. Peer Review and Feedback:

- Implement peer review sessions where students exchange their creative writing assignments and provide constructive feedback on the integration of literary devices. - Encourage discussions on the effectiveness of different approaches. 

1. Literary Device Journal:

- Assign students a literary device to track in their personal reading over a set period. - Have them maintain a journal documenting instances of the device, their interpretations, and reflections on its impact. 

1. Literary Device Bingo:

- Create bingo cards with different literary devices - As students encounter instances of these devices in class readings or discussions, they mark off the corresponding squares on their bingo cards. 

1. Real-world Application Project:

- Challenge students to find examples of literary devices in advertisements, speeches, or news articles. - Present their findings, discussing how the devices are employed for persuasive or artistic purposes in the real world. 

English: for section 1 question a on paper 1 use pqe, point quote explain, nake one point use a quote to back it up and explain, leave extra space after each point incase you have extra time to spend on it,alternatively a kind commentor added fhe following:Can I add one to English, from an English teacher. Instead of PQE, use PEEL . Point, Evidence, Explain and Link (to the next paragraph/back to the question). Will boost C mark.
Question b of that same question make sure if you write the text of a speech the whole text is said speech and if you have to for example write the text of a speech from a famous person you never step out of character. Your opening line should be basically a rephrasing of the question eg:write an article for the local newspaper, you should say "I am writing for the x newspaper to tell you about...", even if its unrealistic they still look for this in regard to your purpose mark.
For the composing:make sure there are famous people you can talk about a lot, also just a few topics that youve got some bit of knowledge on e.g ai might be handy
personal essay: use anecdotes even if they're made up
Short story:I'm avoiding this personally but make sure you show don't tell and alsondont leave plot holes, from what I've heard people who do this already have things like settings, characters and storylines planned out before the exam
Opinion essay: chose for or against and be strongly for or against, if im not mistaken you can be neutral but it's a lot harder
For the single text your first quote shouldn't be from act 1 scene 1 or your texts equivalent,your answer shouldn't be a summary
For hamlet: have lots of quotes, back in as many points as possible with quotes, remember the word regicide and antic-disposition, if the question asks about Claudius' role as villain if must only be his direct wrong doings (laertes, elder hamlet) and not the ones he indirectly caused by making hamlet mad (ophelia, polonius etc).
Comparative:constantly compare your 3 texts,(this next tip only applies if parf of your comparative course is never let me go) MOST of the time if you are doing the question 1 which is split up into a and b where a is in relation to 1 text and b is 2, never let me go will be in part a as it is hard to compare to other texts, this obviously depends on the question but if in doubt do that
Unseen poetry:I'm absolutely useless at this but on my mock I completely misunderstood the poem and got 17/20, waffle with confidence, don't spend too long on it as 20 marks is sweet fa in your English paper and the difference between spending 20 mins and 25 mins is no more than 3 marks. As a kind commentary added(soz days are long cba tagging everybody) backup using any poetic technique you can
Poetry: have one poem you can talk for days about no matter what, they will more than likely come up. Have 3 more you understand to be able to answer a question, then your perfectly covered. If you want to be more confident you can learn 2 poems to perfect 50/50 but from here to Thursday time management is important
History: if your a slow writer like me learn a metric fuck tonne of good quotes they're the quickest way to pick up marks, here's a few if you want them
Oh little sputnik flying high/with made-in-moscow-beep/you show the world its a commie sky/and uncle Sam's asleep-mennen Williams,democratic governor of michigan
The United States would provide political, military and economic assistance to all democratic nations under threat from external and internal forces-the turman doctrine
We are kings men and well be with you to the end -james Craig (not precisely a long one but so many essays it could be used in)
I want dr king to know that I didn't come to selma to make his job difficult, I really did come thinking I could make it easier. If the white people realise what the alternative is, perhaps they will be more willing to here dr king-malcolm x
Also know the 3 document essays off by heart as one will defiently come up,somebody mentioned about knowing every case study off by heart and learning information rather than essays but that's more long term advice than last minute, still tho
Geography: from here to friday dedicate 10 minutes to aerial photography, it's 8 marks waiting to be claimed. Nows probably too late for flashcards but if it isn't fucking use them for srps
Maths: nows not too late to print off a mock or past paper, see what needs the most work and make sure you fully understand them
Irish: if your like me and haven't done a scratch there's still more than a week, predictions are your best friend, learn one essay, one poetry notes, one story notes and one play notes and let God decide how well he wants you to do
French:be able to write about the Olympics as if your fluent, its probably going to come up. Know your tenses and your subjunctive. Learn off a few proverbs they add marks to any essay. "Je suis tout à fait d'accord avec le declaration Ci dessus","il est neccesaire de pesser le pour et le contre", "n'oublions pas le proverbe" and "a Mon avis" fit into most opinion pieces, know them(get correct spelling aswel mine was affected by autocorrect). Also if your down to the wire learn diary phrased, even if you write a bad diary you will get marks for the phrases.
Somebody has pointed out its the 70 year anniversary of the d day bombings so bare that in mind too
Accounting: final accounts will come up,know 2/3, learn all your ratios and all the theory they will come up, know either budgeting or costing as one of each will come up, that leaves the second 100 marker, it will most likely be suspense as that comes up every second year but it could be a 60 marker, I wouldn't even bother worrying about anything else until ratios,final accounts, budget/costing and suspense are up to the grade your hoping for but if all that is sorted learn off maybe 3 other possible 100 markers, that any you have 4 which includes the 80% likely suspense and 2 will come up, the accounting exam is probably the easiest to predict, and for the love of God know your theory. Keep doing exam questions of your struggling, every time you correct one write down your mistakes and have the list of mistakes next to you when doing the next one, then tear it and make a new list of mistakes
Biology: If you know photosynthesis and respiration off from the back of the hand, you are good to go because there is a very high chance one or the other will be asked in some form (could even be a full 30-mark question if you are fortunate enough).
Business: Be 100% familiar with the ABQ strands (the comprehension can help you out a bit in finding the information for each question but you need to know the material that goes along with it from the heart). For Section 3: Defo know Strand 1 or 2 as that comes up as a question 1 or 2, Ratios as that can come up (caught me off guard when I did LC and made the difference between H1 and H2 for me unfortunately) and then would recommend preparing either strand 6 or 7 (or both if you wish for the final question you decide to attempt) Think if I recall you have to do one from Part A, one from Part B and then one other question from either part. Section A is an easy way to pick up marks so if you are struggling bank on Section A and B to get you going and make a decent stab at Section C and know section 1-3 inside out
DCG - KNOW DIHEDRAL ANGLE!! This can come up in Section A as a short Q, in Section B as it's own Q, and in Section C in Surface Geometry.
Only eliminate one topic from Section B! Anything can come up, you can only leave one thing out in the exam. So, your study should be the same.
This is all my experience, I will add any good advice for these subject or other subjects that are provided in the comments, all of these are for higher level except for maths, good luck,don't panic and think about the pint that's instore once this is all over

Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
• Subway, Samsung, Swarovski, and other PPL
  
• A Kim Tan Worthy Sweater^TM and more!
  

Share your love or frustration or rage or annoyance or amusement at seeing these things. You are not limited currently airing Kdramas or even Kdramas at all but please be mindful of spoilers.
Please remember to use spoiler tags when discussing major plot points or anything you think should be redacted. If you are using Markdown and not Fancy Pants Editor, the easiest way to create spoiler tags is to use > ! spoiler content ! < without spaces to get spoiler content. For more detailed guidance on spoiler tags and when to use them, check our Spoiler Tags Tutorial.
Just In Case Resources
FAQ and Netflix FAQ Glossary Latest On-Airs and On-Air Roster Rules and Policies Where To Watch aka Legal Sites Everything In Our Wiki aka Wiki Homepage Get Recommendations For Your Next Watch

This is so overdue as my surgery was 5 weeks ago yesterday but I gotta say the first three were really rough. Then infection & now a virus so it’s been a bit of a slog. However it’s successful and life changing and through it all I have had so much love I couldn’t believe all the post! Thank you ALL so much. I was so overwhelmed by life I couldn’t even open anything until around week three and then I was too emotional to cope! But the love, care, advice, fun things and beauty touched me so deeply. Thank you just isn’t enough. This is a special community and you are like family to me. I am so grateful to have you in my world. So, one surgery down, two to go. Later!!! On with the thank yous! These are too short and you all deserve an Oscar speech! Proper thank you’s will come! 💌
🥰 u/littlemermaidxx - I love Disney and especially sleeping beauty so Aurora was a perfect choice! Thank you for the stickers & loving wishes my friend.
🥰 u/grasshopper2231 - Such a beautiful envelope and adorable card you chose, along with the lovely get well message. Thank you!
🥰 u/ez330 - What a cute cat get well card. Whatever made you think I might like animals? Thank you. 😊
🥰 u/TyeDyeAmish - What a huge postcard!! I also have loved the Tattoo Talk! Been thinking of more I want! Thank you also for the fun stickers!!
🥰 u/mumbagoespainting - The card is stunningly gorgeous. You are super talented. I can’t believe you made this. Thank you for gifting me such a pretty card. The stickers are adorable! Florence is awesome! Music is my saving grace always too. I’ve been catching up with music docos! I still can’t get over the card. You talented soul. 💫
🥰 u/thecaledonianrose x 2 - Belated thanks for the Easter card and all those cute little Easter stickers! But especially for a beautiful card filled with well wishes. Thank you my friend. So very appreciated.
🥰 u/inkyfingerspgs - Absolutely loved (and needed) the Bear hugs & such thank you for such a supportive message.
🥰 u/neona65 - Your card is simply stunning! Gorgeous envelope & stickers too. Accompanied with such a lovely supportive message also. Thank you!
🥰 u/morenoodles - Thank you for the beautiful card and loving message. Now I know why there have been more sunny days! (Of course it’s raining today!) Thank you for sharing also. I’ll get back to you about that. I appreciated everything!
🥰 u/LibrarianTraining16 - Love the postcard and stickers! Your card got here before my surgery but I didn’t read it! My friend thank you for your support & love. Perfect music rec too! I love those films!!
🥰 u/t3ctim - The card is un”bee”lievabley adorable! You are super talented! They were all intact too! It was just adorable. Your words of strength were greatly appreciated also. Thank you!
🥰 u/Sufficient_Letter883 - Wow the envelope bursting with happy! Then all the stickers! Such a beautiful card. And the jokes! (Laughing with abdominal surgery was a challenge but it was totally perfect!) Loved the playlist! Loved all of it!! Thank you! You went to so much trouble.
🥰 u/amm565995 - A BOX!!! You sent a fricken box!! I ADORE your art! You are so talented. It’s like Van Gogh but made of paper! I have blue skies! Love the sentiment! I hung it on the wall to stare at straight away. And it’s winter here which I hate. A gazillion thank yous! Love it.
🥰 u/travel4me22 - What a bursting and stunning envelope! And you made the card! It’s so beautiful it’s just like you’d buy in the shops. You are insanely talented. Thanks for all the fun things to occupy me. And they have! So thoughtful. Thank you!!! 💫
🥰 u/aepeyc - Thank you for the lovely card with supportive message. You touched my heart.
🥰 u/relax455 - I am in awe of your talent! I absolutely adore the goats so much. Going to have to frame Hello Sunshine! Lovely get well message & great goat herd pun! Thank you for going to so much trouble! 💫
🥰 u/tigerlady13 - Beach Sister! Thank you for the beach healing postcard! I have made it to a local beach to breath in the sea air but that’s about it! I’m so jealous you have summer now! Hope you enjoy it! Thank you!!
🥰 u/hoolu123 - You got me with the dog postcard! Thank you so much for all the happy vibes! And Mr Bear (and donuts!) You are too kind!
🥰 u/imhereforthememes53 - I love turtles!! Love the quote from Rupi Kaur! Thank you for all the well wishes and pretty writing! So neat! And I love pink. Such care. Thank you!
🥰 u/ninajyang - Such a fun postcard with a lovely get well note! Thank you!
🥰 u/Pumpkin-Spice-Witch - Yay for the Hello Kitty card and triple yay for Neopet stickers! Somewhere I have a neopet plushie but not sure where that is. I have heard of Coachella. Didn’t know it was on YouTube! Will check it out and Raye is a new artist I haven’t heard of. Thank you my friend. You spoilt me!
🥰 u/synchrotronboson - Thank you for the Mt Rainier Postcard & hello from a fellow Swiftie! Although I am yet to listen to TTPD as I got the vinyl version and promised myself I’d sit and listen to it with the amazing booklet that comes with. I was handed your post while listening to Miss Americana! Thank you for your card & support!
🥰 u/35days - The Cat postcard is so adorable! Thank you. Beautiful washi & happy stickers. I adore the Tolkien quote so much! Thank you for all the healing wishes for smooth recovery. They are doing the job!
🥰 u/princecowboy - I love the card so much. I now need a version of my cat like that. I love how you can make your dog. And he’s a rescue. Our cat is a rescue! The best kind! I loved his story! That’s brilliant. Thank you!!
🥰 u/BucketResidence - Thank you for such a beautiful card, all the cute stickers & the loving well wishes.
🥰 u/Cassius1213 - I love Tarot!!! Thank you for the Tarot cart postcard from our Easter swap. It was so kind of you.
🥰 u/Melhen16 Thank you for the Get well Ocean card, cute stickers & I love that quote from Winnie the Pooh! Beautiful choice my friend. Thank you!
🥰 I also got a card from someone whose username wasn’t on there. It wished me a Speedy Recovery with a snail & stickers. from OR USA. If your real name starts with R, and this is you, please let me know so I can properly thank you! Thanks!
Thank you all! I am so grateful. Truly. 🥰

Im going to be a man about this, it’s over we’re all going to be major bag holder. I’m holding 8,000 shares at 1.25. This thing is cooked and staying stable at under 1.00 for a couple years. I will not be dumping my bag but I’m over it. I’m not wasting any more energy with the graphs and speeches and poems and unity and all that crap. Really is they railed us, they railed us hard. You’re going to say “bye hedgie we don’t nnned this negativity, you made you’re account 20 days ago, good paper hands, we don’t give up but you can see ya” blah blah blah we are in denial pretty bad I’m down 10k . Again I’m not dumping my bag and leaving but I I’m leaving the hope. Stay strong don’t dump your bag just don’t let it take over you. Keep living life and focus on making more money outside

(Just a rough post. Might edit this post later. Take it or leave it.)
-Creating a huge list of all kinds of desires, entertainment, things that you want to do in life, things that you like to do, or categories of things that exist in this world, etc, then regularly looking at it whenever i get overwhlemed or whatever and narrowing/striking them down out to the things that i value most. This helped me find my goals in life to work towards, gave me a direction, cleared the mental clouds.
Here is an example of my list-
Internet Devices/screens Apps Websites poems short stories Light novels Fiction novels/books Non-fiction/self-help books manga/comics cartoons anime Pretend play short films movies tv series YouTube/news/content/novelty/social connection Anything new or interesting Digital consumerism Tiktok social media Reddit Comedy Music news newspaper documentary magazines Search engine Impulsive searches information Perfectionistic research Perfectionistic self reflection Low priority tasks Sleep/nap Social Sports Daydreaming/thinking Walking/resting Self improvement Skill stacking Actual socializing Philosophy/selfhelp/problemsolving/physics Traveling Toys Food Sex/love Muscular body Freedom/comfort Video Games​ Senses - sight, sound, taste, speech, touch Physical movements​ Stimuli loneliness/solitude/boredom/silence/stillness expecting happiness, aversion Egoistic gains Autopiloted connection and engagement with thoughts, feelings, and consciousness. attachment to the delusion of sudden happiness as permanent Impermanence Amor fati expectations Formation seeing Desire to live & and die Control Happiness (don't seek happiness, life is not supposed to provide you happiness) Anxiety
Philosophies that help me strengthen my ascetic practices- Minimalism, Buddhism, Stoicism, Nihlism, antinatalism, efilism, pessimism.
Being a workaholic entrepreneur helps as well.
Being flexible, adaptable, and realising that you are a imperfect human being in an imperfect existence. Fit your goals and desires according to the situation.
Godspeed.

Here's a list of different forms of modern poetry, along with the title, poet, and a quote from a work that made the genre popular:

1. Spoken Word Poetry:
   
   • Title: "Holler If You Hear Me"
   • Poet: Saul Williams
   • Quote: "I exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias."
2. Instagram Poetry:
   
   • Title: "Milk and Honey"
   • Poet: Rupi Kaur
   • Quote: "you tell me to quiet down cause my opinions make me less beautiful but I was not made with a fire in my belly so I could be put out."
3. Hip-Hop Lyrics:
   
   • Title: "The Message"
   • Artist: Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five
   • Quote: "Don't push me 'cause I'm close to the edge. I'm trying not to lose my head."
4. Spine Poetry:
   
   • Title: "A Hummingbird in My House"
   • Poet: S.C. Wilson
   • Quote: "In my house, the air is filled with a hummingbird's song, sweet and gentle."
5. Lyrical Essays:
   
   • Title: "Citizen: An American Lyric"
   • Poet: Claudia Rankine
   • Quote: "Because white men can’t / police their imagination / black men are dying."
6. Instapoetry:
   
   • Title: "The Sun and Her Flowers"
   • Poet: Rupi Kaur
   • Quote: "how you love yourself is how you teach others to love you."
7. Twitter Poetry:
   
   • Title: Twitter poetry often exists as micro-poetry or haikus within the platform.
   • Poet: Various Twitter poets
   • Quote: "City lights whisper, hearts embrace the night, love blooms in shadows."
8. Song Lyrics (Rock):
   
   • Title: "Bohemian Rhapsody"
   • Artist: Queen
   • Quote: "Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango!"
9. Song Lyrics (Rap):
   
   • Title: "Lose Yourself"
   • Artist: Eminem
   • Quote: "You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime."
10. Free Verse Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Leaves of Grass"
    • Poet: Walt Whitman
    • Quote: "I celebrate myself, and sing myself."
11. Ecopoetry
    
    • Title: "The Wild Iris"
    • Poet: Louise Glück
    • Quote: "You who do not remember / passage from the other world / I tell you I could speak again: whatever / returns from oblivion returns / to find a voice..."
12. Afrofuturist Poetry
    
    • Title: "Space is the Place"
    • Poet: Sun Ra (also a jazz musician)
    • Quote: "Space is the place of the mind; space is the place of the thoughts that are positive."
13. Pop Culture Poetry
    
    • Title: "The Princess Saves Herself in This One"
    • Poet: Amanda Lovelace
    • Quote: "but if you only shine light / on your flaws, all your perfects / will dim."
14. Transgressive Poetry
    
    • Title: "Hustle"
    • Poet: David Lerner
    • Quote: "Life's a fast car on a wet road, with no brakes and bald tires."
15. Multimedia Poetry
    
    • Title: "Inanimate Alice"
    • Poet: Kate Pullinger and Chris Joseph
    • Quote: "Inanimate Alice, Episode 4: 'Hometown' is a work that appeals not only to readers and writers but also to gamers and cinephiles."
16. Instapoetry
    
    • Title: "Salt."
    • Poet: Nayyirah Waheed
    • Quote: "if the ocean can calm itself, so can you. we are both salt water mixed with air."
17. Digital Minimalist Poetry
    
    • Title: "The New Census: An Anthology of Digital Poetry"
    • Poet: Stephane Mallarmé (the digital interpretation)
    • Quote: "Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book."
18. Concrete Poetry
    
    • Title: "Easter Wings"
    • Poet: George Herbert
    • Quote: "With thee / O let me rise / As larks, harmoniously, / And sing this day thy victories."
19. Postcolonial Poetry
    
    • Title: "The God of Small Things"
    • Poet: Arundhati Roy
    • Quote: "Things can change in a day. All it takes is for something to happen that's not supposed to happen, and it sets off a chain of events that alters the course of everything."
20. Twitterature (Twitter Poetry)
    
    • Title: Various Tweets
    • Poet: Contemporary poets like Rupi Kaur, Warsan Shire, and others
    • Quote: "In the quietest hours of the night, I find solace in the echoes of your laughter. #moonlightwhispers"
21. Multimedia Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Hypertext Hotel"
    • Poet: Jodi Ann Stevenson
    • Quote: "In the digital corridors, every hyperlink is a door to a new verse."
22. Meme Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Internet Memes"
    • Poet: Various Internet Users
    • Quote: "Impact font wisdom, a generation's humor encapsulated in a single image."
23. Neo-Surrealist Poetry:
    
    • Title: "The Persistence of Memory"
    • Poet: Salvador Dalí (Visual Art)
    • Quote: "The only difference between me and a madman is that I am not mad."
24. Afrofuturist Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Parable of the Sower"
    • Poet: Octavia E. Butler
    • Quote: "All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you."
25. Virtual Reality Poetry:
    
    • Title: "VR Dreamscape"
    • Poet: VR Experience Designers
    • Quote: "In pixelated realms, dreams dance in virtual echoes."
26. Magnetic Poetry (Magnetic Words):
    
    • Title: Various Magnetic Poetry Kits
    • Poet: Various Magnetic Poets
    • Quote: "On fridges and desks, words collide to birth serendipitous verses."
27. Post-Internet Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Being and Time in the Internet Age"
    • Poet: Kenneth Goldsmith
    • Quote: "In the age of information, poetry is reclaimed from the detritus of the digital landscape."
28. Transcendentalist Poetry:
    
    • Title: "Walden"
    • Poet: Henry David Thoreau
    • Quote: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately."
29. Quantum Poetry:
    
    • Title: "The Dancing Wu Li Masters"
    • Poet: Gary Zukav (Science and Philosophy)
    • Quote: "The fact is, if you see it correctly, everything is dancing."
30. Asemic Writing Poetry:
    
    • Title: "The Asemic Poems"
    • Poet: Various Asemic Writers
    • Quote: "In the absence of recognizable text, the pen dances freely, creating abstract visual poetry."

as the title says, its gotta creepy vibe to it, the tv was reciting the poem "My Cat is Sad" by Spencer Madsen
the video starts out in someones garage, the cameraman doesnt say anything through out, and he opens the ladder to get to the attic and you hear muffled sound coming from up there, and when he climbs up the attic is dark but theres a crt tv on the floor with glitchy text subtitles, and a text to speech voice reciting the poem, but some times the voice is wobbly, it completes the whole poem and the video ends

I just wanted to come on here to gush about how much I appreciate his love for his work. I’m a new fan and knowing about how Taylor swift is dominating the music industry right now with her easter eggs and has a “lost album” and so much lore to her. And can’t help to notice brandon is our taylor swift of the book community. He is one of the most successful writers let alone of modern time but also to NOT have a movie/tv adaptation of his work is legendary! He also has his youtube channel making cool trailers of him writing (talking about the year of sanderson) Like this man loves and is dedicated to his work and I’m loving every second of it. And not to even mention his books!?! I’ve been reading elantris which is his “worst” novel but is still so good!! (not saying elantris is bad I just know he and his fans talk about it having issues tho those issues at least to me aren’t visible). Also he updates where he is in the process of whatever book he is writing which is unheard of for almost anything books and even most tv. And also has like almost 2-5 books come out each year!?!!!! Sorry for that long speech about how amazing sanderson is but I just had to get that out of my chest cause sadly no one else would want to hear me gush about sanderson 😂 understandable tho

**COPYRIGHT NOTICE** ALL MATERIAL HERE IS SUBJECT TO COPYRIGHT © 2024 by J.C. Van Horn
Hey guys, check out this western I wrote. Sort of like an episode from Buster Scruggs or a bonus RDR2 mission.
“It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got, and all he's ever gonna have.”
William Munny, Unforgiven (1992)
The shotgun had been cold for weeks, but he knew it would shoot. His horse was very close to the fire, and he thought it might singe itself as it stood sleeping, so he watched the horse. His toes were warm with whitecorn liquor. His boots smelled terrible. He had short, iron facial hair that could degrime a ship’s hull. Eyes polished steel purple in the firelight. He took a small notepad and a pencil from his shirt pocket, and put the pencil in his mouth. He felt the thin, oily pages of the little book, and began to read the things he’d written in his rippling cursive hand:
Nov 28 1868 Folks now dont argue as much as they used to Glad for it dont like shooting folk Last one dont know if he lived or died gone too quick Hit his shoulder he fell hard Alive when I rode off so aint hit his heart Lady with him said shed get help reckon that she did
Dec 3 1868 Missing a good woman Asleep on a beach something like San Diego ? Tan color arms with white hairs Feet in the water every day Find her after this
Dec 8 1868 Got $9 from man in Pueblo Not mine but mine now
Dec 11 1868 Whinnies a good nag Man in Pueblo told me shed fetch good money Might have sold but I still need a horse Maybe dont sell just ride somewhere warm ? Heard theres fine women in Houston Got to think more on it
Dec 12 1868 Deep in the Rockies Hope to leave this mean land soon Stage coming through with money and joolry (learn how to spell joolry) Hitch a ride and rob when we get south ? Ha I’m nothing nice Can smell my self Cant wash too cold Cant build big fire or any one sees When done take Whinnie down the mountain fence the loot Moods good but damn cold
Then the gunslinger took the pencil out of his mouth and wrote:
Dec 13 1868 Stage tomorrow writing to keep sharp Saw a marmut today Didnt shoot shop meats easier less fuss about it Marmut looked happy Lucky happy basturd Guns are clean Whinnie is happy Lots of snow so lots of water 1 bottle of shine 47 cigs 25 revolver 13 shells 3 can bean 1 can pea 1 pound meat $23
And he put the little book away. He had eaten a fistful of smoked meat and a can of peas an hour earlier, but he might have been hungry again. He decided he was, and repeated the meal. He slept facing East and when the sun rose it woke him, the light breaking through the trees to dress the mountain in pale rags. Whinnie was awake before the morning. Her cremello coat always winked the dominant color of the landscape, so in the desert, she was an ember alight in the outlands: now, the faintest mint blue. The gunslinger spoke to her in a soft spell, “Oooh, sweet sweet–” and fed her sweetgrass stuck with snow, “oooh, sweet girl.” His song of no particular shape or pattern, but one he sang to her often.
He walked alone to the place where he would attack the stagecoach. The party would come through about midday because it had been in Pueblo two days ago, and the driver had made arrangements for Trinidad for this very night, and Trinidad was half a day away. He chose a spot where the road went sharply up and left, and even under the best circumstances, the driver would need to bank gently to not overturn the carriage. He sat behind a tree and smoked, but he did not carry his liquor. He ate a gloveful of snow from the pile he had made while clearing a place to sit. He thought about the story his Pueblo informant, Jota, had told him. It had been on his mind since he’d heard it—a love story, he knew, but did not remember if the man gave it a name. He thought he should remark the story in his notepad that night by the fire. If things went well, and he remembered to do it, he thought that he would. Then he thought that if he were captured by anyone, lawmen or some other, he would have to burn the little book if he could, and if he could not, he’d pull it into the air and blast it with the shotgun. He would do this even if the men seizing his bounty might shoot him down for doing so.
He heard the padding of hooves coming up the pass. By his ear, he measured about six horses. He went to his knees and hugged the tree with one arm to steady himself as he keeked down the road. A hard-looking man rode in front of the party with his rifle drawn and eyes awake. The stagecoach behind him was wide and red, and the driver wore a yellow bowtie. A second rider followed closely behind. Jota had not mentioned the riders, but the gunslinger could not be surprised at the prudence to hire guns before traversing the mountains. He knew then that if he took action, either he, or the riders, or all, must perish. He made amends with the facts of the matter and resolved himself to shoot as he must. He would roll out from behind the tree and aim the shotgun from one knee and set his sights to the front rider’s throat. The natural rise of his aim would send the meat of the buckshot into the hard man’s face. Then he would cover quickly and recock his weapon before sighting the other rider, who may flee, or be so taken by the swiftness of the attack as to fall just as easily. Once the gun thunder had all faded, he would quell the driver and the passengers, collect his due, and let the stage go along in peace. The plodding and padding of the hooves was louder now and it was time.
The gunslinger rolled over and raised up onto one knee. He aimed at the front rider’s throat and pulled the trigger. The rider’s head disappeared into a frightful pink slurry. His corpse slung down painlessly as his horse reared up and screamed, then turned and fled back down the road. The terrible shrieks of women came from inside the coach. The gunslinger shucked the spent shell, retook position behind the tree, and lay flat once more. The driver halted the carriage as the second rider came around with his own shotgun drawn. The gunslinger peered around and sighted him, but the rider fired first. Huge flakes of wooden shrapnel exploded from the tree. The gunslinger ducked back and made himself thin behind the trunk. The raucous boom of that shot could not have come from anything less than an eight bore, a gauge larger than a man’s thumb. The rider fired a second thunderclap shot that shredded the ground-broken roots of the tree and sprayed moss into the air. The gunslinger stayed where he was and only listened for hints of the enemy’s movement. All in an instant, he heard the opponent’s gun snap-break open, two empty shells clink softly onto the road, two new slugs slide smoothly into their pipes, and the crisp clack of it all closing again. The enemy’s horse trotted nervously along the ridge in the thin space between the road and the steep, treelined edge. The rider dismounted and landed coolly on both feet. With one arm, he kept his weapon trained on the assailant in the brush, and with the other, he thwacked the horse’s croup to get it to move. And it did move, fleeing up the road and not stopping. With the path now clear, the driver seized his moment and whipped up the four horses carrying the coach. Then he whipped again, and a third time.
The gunslinger could not move. His enemy came towards him, unshaken, with fingers on both triggers. Twin bores of teeth-chilling metal. One quarter-second from oblivion. The rider focused the entire span of his mortal attention on the vision before him, so in that moment when the stagecoach came racing up the bend, he did not hear the frightful crash of the breaking wheels, nor the shrill of the driver’s scream, all coming like Hell behind him.
Then the mountain was peaceful. The gunslinger shouldered the shotgun and leapt up onto the road. He saw the man he’d shot—a body, trampled by hooves and wheels, but no face. He walked on. A few yards up the road, where the embankment dropped off sharply, the heft of the carriage and the fallen horses had cleared the smaller trees away, so the gunslinger could see the deep, open country beyond. Twenty yards down the slope, a caboodle of horse flesh and wood and iron was draped around an old blue spruce. All hung together like a pair of boots sharing a single bastard lace. There were the sounds of horses dying but nothing moved.
The gunslinger sat in the road and smoked. He listened until there was no more noise, which took the time of two cigarettes. Finally, he got to his feet, stepped to the edge of the slope, then sat down on his ass again. He pushed the heels of his boots into the ground and grabbed the stump of a fallen sapling. He slid down the bank in cautious spurts as his heels pressed shallow tracks into the ground, and his hands shuffled from one hold to the next. Finally, he stood on an embedded hillside rock positioned two yards above the wreckage. He looked into the broken stagecoach, searching for anything alive or shiny.
“Please. God, help me. Someone.” The voice was weak and girlish. “Help me.” The gunslinger closed his eyes and shook his wide head. The girl was sobbing now. “Mother. Oh my God, mother please. No.” Her cries were desperate, awful things that were the sounds of someone already dead, mourning themselves on the other side of infinity. The carriage groaned and shifted an inch towards the profoundness below.
“Miss!” the gunslinger shouted. “Miss! Hold still!”
“Who's that? Oh my God, mother!”
“Don’t move! Don’t even talk!”
“Please wake up, momma.”
“Stop movin’, and stop talkin’, or we will not be talkin’ much longer!” The gunslinger moved down and used the rock now as a handhold. He made a new foothold of the remains of a broken tree, and in this new position he felt secure. He was closer now, so he lowered his voice. “I’m goin’ to save you, ma’am. But I don’t know how close I can get- don’t say nothin’! And don’t move ‘til I say.” The girl’s jumpy breath stopped, then started again, and he knew she had understood him. The gunslinger reached his right leg out to test its length, but it was too short to meet the next strongpoint. He was as close as one could be without stepping onto the mangled side of the carriage itself. “Alright,” he said. “Climb out towards my voice. Move slowlike, with real light feet.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“Save yourself, little darling,” the gunslinger said. “That’s what your momma would say. Save yourself.” Silence spread across the mountain as the moments passed. Finally, a light clamor came from inside the coach, and the gunslinger saw a thin hand probing out of the rear window. “That’s it,” he said. “I can see you. Keep comin’ thataway. Slowlike.”
“Not slowlike,” the girl said as she moved. “Just slow.” Her words were mechanical, of an absent mind. Now half of her body was outside the carriage. She was thin and beautiful. She had a small, straightline gash on the crown of her head, as though a fifty cent piece had penetrated her skull. The thick split of skin spilled fresh blood into her hair.
“I’m here,” the gunslinger said. The girl looked up at him. Blood filtered through her hair and into her eyes, so she could not see the repentant look on the man’s face. He retested the security of his right foothold, then stretched his left leg down towards her.
“Agh!” she shouted, and looked down at herself.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It’s my neck. Or my arm, I don’t know. It hurts so bad.”
“Other hand. Reach up here.” She did as the gunslinger said and grasped his boot. “Take it off,” he said. “It won’t have you hangin’ on it.” The girl took the boot off and dropped it away. The gunslinger could smell his own stink. “The sock too,” he said. She stripped the sock off and let it fall. She reached back up and grabbed the top of his naked foot, the breadth of her hand scarcely wide enough to find its grip. “You got me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Hold it.” The gunslinger drove his knee up towards his chest. He grasped the handholds and his long, cruddy fingernails turned white. The girl leveraged her green silk shoes into the face of the hill and moiled her legs up, up, and up again. The gunslinger seized her arm and pulled her up into his chest. Her right clavicle was broken clean across. A dark blue bruise was climbing up her neck and down her breast. A silver necklace with a white diamond centerstone sat disarranged over her drooping shoulder.
The gunslinger began upon the hours of gradual climbing that waited for him above. Through it all, the stagecoach remained fastened to the mountain. It would have rested there until nature itself faded to sawdust…
He laid the girl on the ground beside the heap of his ultimate campfire. He went to the horse and dug out his last clean shirt from the saddle bag. Whinnie’s coat blushed the mountain dusk. She was hungry. She wanted to be brushed, and she wanted to be sung to as she was brushed, all for the pleasure of it. But there came no food. There was no brushing, nor any of her rider’s soft songs. She staggered and nickered restlessly in the absence of these attentions. The gunslinger took his knife and cut away the top half of his spare shirt. He sat the girl upright and wrapped her head twice around, from jaw to meridian. He knotted the shirt sleeves under her chin like tying a headscarf. He took off his outer jacket and put it over the girl’s shoulder, then tied the jacket also by its sleeves. He fashioned a sling from the bottom half of the shirt he had cut. He untied the coat, strapped the sling under the girl’s injured arm and over her good shoulder, then put the coat on her again. Finally, he tended the horse as dusk fell to night.
An hour passed and perhaps the girl did not blink but twenty times in that span. The gunslinger fed her sips of liquor from his hand. She took the drinks silently, seeming to be unaware she was taking them at all. The man gave her fifteen sips, and took as many drinks for himself, until only three fingers of liquor remained in the bottle. In the night, they were both drunk before the fire. “You killed my momma,” the girl said suddenly, and without moving. The tightness of the headwrap prevented the complete articulation of her mouth, so her words had dull edges, like things spoken after the dentist. “Hell take you for it.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Hell take your sorries. I’ll send you to the Devil myself.”
“Man sends himself to Satan. No one else.”
“You’ll soon see. Why are we still here? I’m an injured party.”
“My horse can’t see the road at night.”
“Yes it can.”
“She can’t. We have to wait ‘til mornin’.”
“Then what will you do with me?”
“I’ll take you where you’re goin’.”
“To Trinidad?”
“The same.”
“How did you know where to find us?” she asked. The gunslinger did not reply. “Did someone tip us off? Who was it? Was it someone in Pueblo? I know everyone in Pueblo.” But again, the man said nothing. “Was it that wagtail bitch Lily what works at the hotel?”
“No,” he said finally. “All no.”
“You tell me,” she said. “They killed my momma just as much as you.” Then the girl began sobbing at the newest remembrance of her loss. The gunslinger leaned against the saddle on the ground next to the fire. I gotta wake this night through, he thought. I don’t know what a grieving girl is capable of. It was true; he did not know, and his interests were not in finding the answer this way. He heard the cries that fell out of her but tried not to listen to them. After a few minutes, the girl let out a deep, heaving wail, and vomited on herself. The man took out the very last item of spare clothing he had: a half-dirty pair of long underwear bottoms. He cleaned her off as well as he could, and as he did, they spoke.
“There’s bounty men near Trinidad,” the girl said, very drunk. “If you don’t kill me, and I don’t die before we get there, I’m going to put your picture up.”
“They got my picture up already.”
“Then there’ll be another one.”
“Already got another one.”
“Then I’ll just kill you.”
“You’re a rich lady.”
“Not rich! We’re normal, decent people!”
“You can’t buy pretty necklaces and yellowbelly coach drivers with decency.”
“You don’t understand anything. You’re a greedy, no-good, mongrel of a man.”
“So you see.”
“I’ll tell you. Fortune holds no sway over me. But if I was a rich lady, like you say, I’d kill you still. And I’d kill you mean. I’d kill you like how a man would.”
“We neither know the other,” he said as he cleaned the last of the filth from her. “We have it good that way.” He slung the soiled garment into the snowy darkness beyond the reach of the firelight. The stiffness in the girl’s frame died away as she slumped down to battle another wave of mourning, then cried for a while into a dizzy, fathomless sleep. The gunslinger waited and smoked for nearly another hour, then took out his notepad and pencil:
Dec 14 1868 Stage was my blunder Saved a girl Killed her mother 3 other men Girls hurt bad gone to the doctors She said Im gone to Hell maybe I am Will make sure shes safe then she can send me there as she says Saw the necklacepiece but would not rob it If she handed it to me would not take it Im the man killed her mother Thinking now on Jotas love story
Good man rode with a bad gang Good man loved the saloon owners daughter She saw the bad gang and run home Good man went after her He was a very fine man Daughter heard him at her door saying he loved her She thought him a scowndrul come along with bad men He wagered she come out but she did not He knocked and begged But she stayed in the house Shed aloved him if shed come out but she did not Saloon owner came and shot the good man dead Bad gang came and shot the rest of em to Hell Buried em all in one grave
He looked up from his writing and saw the girl, still unmoving. Shame dissolved into him. He rested the notepad on the ground and set the pencil beside it. He closed his eyes. He thought he should write something more about the horrors of his deeds, or that he should write anything at all to keep himself awake, but soon his thoughts led him into a guilty, drunken sleep.
The girl had not been sleeping. She was waiting in the cold night with her eyes closed and her feet very close to the fire. She moved like half frozen straw unbending itself and put the palm of her good hand on the ground, then rolled over onto her knees. In this way, she shuffled very deliberately for a quarter of an hour before she finally closed the gap between herself and gunslinger. She knew the shotgun was beneath his head, under the saddle. Once she had shot him, she would stoke the fire until it was huge and warm, then she would read what the man had written in his little book, knowing she had avenged her mother. But then she thought. What if he wakes? Did he unload the gun? Is he the only man that can save me out here? And then she thought of the man’s notepad. What if I read something that makes me regret killing this man? Am I a killer at all? Even a killer of bad men? She forgot the shotgun and sat on her heels. She looked at the man. He was sleeping with his legs crossed and arms at his sides, his body angled up like a bent finger. She picked up the notepad and the pencil and took them back around the firepit, quicker this time, all the way to the place where she rested before. If he’s a bad man, I’ll kill him, she thought. But I won’t bother with the gun. I’ll smash the bottle on his head and kick the fire on him. She read the little book back to front until it was finished, then she sat awake with her eyes closed, thinking of her mother.
In the first light of day, the gunslinger readied the horse. He was anxious for having fallen asleep, but grateful the girl was there, and that they were both alive. He looked at the girl's face, frosted red in the new morning, and the thin strands of black hair over her eyes like strings from spiders of another world. The gunslinger poured a sip of liquor into his hand and bent down to the girl. He wafted his palm under her tiny nose. “I know you’re gonna to wake up hurtin’. Let’s just get it in ya.” His voice, a father waking his daughter to attend Easter Day church service. The girl didn’t need to hear him. She had not slept. She had taken some time in the night to experiment with ways she could maneuver her injured shoulder without stirring the pain. She found those ways to be very few, but in her experimenting, she became accustomed to the particular nature of the pain, and now it bothered her very little. She lay, a stack of wasted thews in the dirt, playing as though the night’s alcohol had her sick. The gunslinger sucked the liquor from his hand, then fed the girl four handfuls of snow. She knew he was seeing past her farce, but once committed to the performance, she thought she should not abandon it. For the last few minutes before they rode out of camp, she steadily lowered the drama in her acting by allowing her features to awaken one at a time. Soon, however, real exhaustion settled in behind her eyes.
Now they were both on the horse, the gunslinger with one hand at the girl’s side to see she did not fall. He sensed her balance with the thick muscles in his back, and there, he felt the hard diamond pendant of her necklace between them. The girl cried softly, in shorter and shorter spans, each separated from the last by about five minutes, and soon she fell into a perfect dream of when she was young. Her father building a homestead in Pueblo with aid from the Freemasons of lodge seventeen. Day fifty of the project. Men putting copper nails into slate shingles to form a roof. At night, a big canvas tent, a black iron stove, and her mother knitting something brown. Chicken soup on boil. Her father sitting on a crate, reading from a small blue book with a gold diamond emblem on the cover. His lips moved silently as he read over the same passage many times. “Father,” she asked him. “How will you ever remember so many words?”
“With patience and focus," he said in his kind, easy voice.
“Can I help you get more patience and more focus?” she asked in juvenile earnest. She wanted all the time to help her family. Being useful to them was the most important thing to her.
“Leave your father be, Caroline,” her mother said without pausing her knitting. “He must pass his test to repay the debt we owe to the men who’ve helped us. And he has only the days left in this month to prepare.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said. Her mother was going to say something more, to give the girl some menial, well-intended distraction to go out with, but before she could speak, the girl awoke in Trinidad, in the bronze light of early evening.
“Ma’am, we’ve made it to the doctor’s,” the gunslinger said as he dismounted, still keeping one hand at the girl’s side, then taking her by the waist to let her down. Her face turned sour as she relived the events of the day past, but she did not cry. The gunslinger led her into the doctor’s building. He waited outside and smoked as she was inspected. The sun drew down, and he heard the sounds of brass music and women singing somewhere in the town. He finished his third cigarette. I’m sick of smoking, he thought, then touched his jacket pocket for the notepad, but did not feel it there. His hands shook as his mind swelled with a haunted, spectral feeling, like a man who had forgotten to do something very important, now remembering exactly what it was he failed to do. His fractured lips hung open and his vacant eyes did not distinguish the sights before him. Blue spaces beneath his eyes where he stored his self contempt. In his mind, he felt only the screams of the women in the stagecoach. He knew the final farewell between the girl and her mother had been one of confusion and suffering, whereas the lives they shared must have been full of love and joy. But those lives would be no more. The life of the mother, forever extinguished. The life of the daughter, forever sickened. And his reflection of their lives, forever unpolished, truthfully, never having been drawn out.
The girl and the gunslinger stood in the orange mountain dusk. She wore the doctor’s spare medical coat with only her good arm inside its sleeve. A leather sling fondled her arm and kept it tucked under her small chest. White bandages wrapped neatly about her head. She looked at the soiled man and examined his corpus to record him precisely in her mind. He was a pitiful thing, dressed in black rags stained gray from sweat. The hairs on his cheeks were longer now, like bunches of white hypodermic needles. He stood teetering and slouching into himself like an exhausted horse. His lips were almost white. Every inch of him contributed to his foul smell. His eyes were fixed on the frozen mud street, as though there was something down there that he loved and needed. He was not a tall man, but now he seemed even smaller than she, a girl of just sixteen years. She closed her eyes and squeezed soft tears from them. And there they stood, neither looking at the other, but feeling one another’s presence as tightly as stitches. The girl wiped her face with the sleeve on her good arm.
“What’s your name, mister?” she asked. He did not reply nor seem to hear her question at all. “It’s a beautiful evening,” she said. The gunslinger looked west down the road.
“It is,” he said finally, then his gaze dropped to the mud again.
“I’m going to speak with the sheriff now,” she told him. Again, the gunslinger said nothing. She turned away and stood, breathing softly into the wind. After a minute, she faced him again. She took the notepad from her pocket, placed it in his down-turned hand, and closed his fingers around it. The doctor’s coat nearly fell from her shoulders. She reached back to pull it on again. The gunslinger looked at the notepad, then at the small, soft hand that had put it there.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The girl sprung her good arm forward and bashed the gunslinger on the nose. There was a splintery break as the nose bent and cowered away like a beat dog. This time, the coat did fall from her shoulders, and down into the street. When struck, the man did not stumble or sway, but only closed his eyes. The girl turned and walked, almost running, stamping over the fallen coat and crying out every tear she had left. The gunslinger’s body lost all connectedness. His knees drove holes through the topshell of frozen mud, then he fell forward onto his face. He mewled and wailed pathetically. His cries hacked and bubbled out of him like a boy weeping in a dream, like a man who had never cried before and was just teaching himself how. Tears, blood, and drivel soaked the place where his head lay, and soon there was mud all about his face and mouth, his mind drowning in the anguish of guilt.
“Miss, can you tell me what’s going on?” the sheriff asked the crying girl sitting in his office. He looked at her kindly, taking note of her injuries. He sat down next to her. “Where’s the son of a bitch that hurt you? You tell me, and my men and I will bring that bastard in to face the justice that’s coming to him.” The girl raised a finger to the sheriff. He waited patiently for her to compose herself. She took four deep, shaking breaths, then she spoke.
“My name is Caroline Bloomberg. My mother and I were on the road to Santa Fe to reunite with my father. Of course, we were robbed. I knew it would happen. I just knew it would. My momma… she’s gone. Everyone but me is gone. There was shooting. Loud, loud shots. The driver lost himself and took us right off the road.”
“I’m very sorry to hear this, ma’am.”
“We were so proud to be coming down here. Three months ago, my father went off to expand his business, and finally he wrote to tell us of his success. There was money to hire a stagecoach and men to guard us on the road. We could have brought the whole army, but my momma was raised to be frugal. She thought two riders and her old pistol would be enough to see us safely through.”
“Your mother sounds like a very strong woman. And your father, a good man.”
“They are. She was always strong. She always will be.”
“Did you get a look at the men who robbed you?”
“There was only one.”
“And he?” the sheriff asked. Behind him was a bulletin of bounty posters, and there was a picture of the gunslinger, wearing a clean face with bright eyes.
The girl looked for a while at the picture and at the other bounties posted. Finally, she shook her head. “My father also sent a secret allowance to the Masonic lodge in Pueblo, with instructions to deliver the money to me, so I could buy this.” She took the necklace out from under her shirt and showed it to the sheriff. “My father promised long ago that I should have it. Such a fool of a little girl. I could have hired the men we needed.” The sheriff nodded. He knew the scam—diamond brokers chatting up unsuspecting customers, then telling some local reprobate all about their business. The brokers bought the stolen jewelry back at a rate, and reset the gems into new hardware to disguise their crime. The sheriff thought not to mention these details to the girl, and he hoped she would never learn of the scheme at all.
“I have to ask, ma’am,” he said. “How was it that you were able to save yourself?”
“Just as you say,” she said. “I saved myself.”
Down the road, a crowd of drunkards and children gathered to watch the gunslinger as he seized in the muck. The tall doors of the barn next to the jailhouse flung open, and out came the police stableman to shoo the miscreants away and clear space for the cavalry. The sheriff lent his arm to the girl as they came outside and down the steps of the office building. Other officers filed out of the barn with lanterns fixed to their rifles, swinging their shines against the burgeoning dark. The sheriff helped the girl mount up on an unclaimed horse, then went to fetch his own. The stableman handed the sheriff his rifle and said something to him. The sheriff replied in a low voice that the girl could not hear, then he led a single line of mounted officers away down the frozen road. A moment later, they passed the crying man in the mud.
“Somebody get this drunk bastard out of the street,” the sheriff said. He could not have known the broken man below was in fact Theodore “Buckshot” Blake. His bounty, if seized, would have made the sheriff's career all the way to Lieutenant Colonel of the Colorado Rangers.
The girl now looked at this paltry man in the dirt. He was bent and turned so that she could not see his face. She remembered with satisfaction the feeling of his nose shattering against her hard little knuckles. She wondered if she was making a mistake by not handing the man over to the sheriff right then and there. She thought of the hanging that would ensue. Death might absolve the gunslinger’s soul, and she wanted so much to deprive him of that swift, honest conclusion. So the girl only looked away from the gunslinger, straightened her ladylike back, and rode with dignity, away and out of the town.
One of the drunkards came and kicked the gunslinger hard in the stomach; a brown-nosed effort to earn the good will of the sheriff. Then the gunslinger crawled. Despite his licks, his body was healthy. Yet, truly, it was a sick man that went skulking into the alleyway. Not a drunk, not a beggar, but a scoundrel. A repentant thing with a tattered notepad and only distant memories of love. He sat, leaning against the side of the doctor’s building, and opened the little book. On what he expected to be a clean page, there was written in a hand unlike his own:
Mister, you should thank God I’m not a killer. I could end your life now as you sleep. There is guilt and shame in the words I have read here. Even now your face looks as though it is full of shame. So I will not kill you. Knowing you are a man with a conscience, I will write some memories here so you may know just a small part of the pain you have put into the world.
My mother’s name was Gwyneth. The carriage driver’s name was Maximillian. The riders I did not know but from how they behaved I’m sure they were debaucherous men like yourself. Read those names and remember them. Is this the first time you have been confronted with such information? I hope that it is. I hope I am spoiling some cowardly tradition of yours.
The past days had been the best of my life before you took your action. I have never seen such wildlife as in the hills of Farista, or had such delicious stew as in the town lodge at Colorado City. Mother and I laughed and played bridge. She even allowed me one of her cigarettes each morning with our coffee.
Before your attack, we spoke of my father’s newfound wealth. My mother hoped money would not change the man she married. I assured her such a thing would be impossible. My father is a man of unimpeachable character. He builds great things from almost nothing, just as he built himself. I will see him again soon, but he will never again see his wife. They will never again do the things they did to bring me into this world. The honeymoon of their lives is over.
You will take me to Trinidad as you say. I know this is true because you hate yourself. You will help me so you might hate yourself less. Or maybe you will go on killing and hating as before, but there can be no doubt you will try. My mind is unclear now, but once I am sober I will decide what to do with you. If I am vengeful, you will suffer. If I am merciful, I imagine you will suffer the more.
Never yours, Caroline Jane Bloomberg, daughter of Gwyneth Hope Bloomberg
He put the little book down. She’s offered me a decision, he thought. A decision is more than a man like me deserves. Should I die to get away from my mistakes? Or should I live, and be with ’em forever? The gunslinger stood up and went to the place where he’d left Whinnie. He saw her coat glinting the last of the day’s light, and when she turned her noble head to nibble at his hands, the shine went away for a moment, but came back brighter on the other side. He stroked her flank and a few tan hairs stuck wet on his palm. “Oooh, sweet sweet,” he sang to her. “Oooh, sweet girl.” He took her by the halter and led her to the stables, where he sold the horse for one hundred dollars. Then he struck a second deal with the stableman to have a bath at his house for five of those dollars back…
Theodore Williams sat in a shady beach cabana with a glass of cherry wine. He watched his wife, Mary, dancing in the waves with her friends. Then the beach at night. Salt wind and talk of life’s fortunes. Splitting up to make love on the beach in pairs, some yards between each couple. The ocean, very loud. The waves, eerie, yet prophesied. Perhaps eerie because they are prophesied and each wave is a prophecy of death. Moonlight the only light in the twisted air. Theodore, a man disturbed by the taste of happiness and love, yearning for his natural end, unable to indulge what ought have been his greatest pleasure, but a man who, with each day that passed, was becoming closer to the thing he would have been. In the morning, he wrote:
Apr 1 1871 Mary wants me to write more The person this woman is She is beautiful The sand never all gets off her She reads poetry ‘Helen Hunt Jackson’ I have never done a poem I bite my hand when I think about doing it But I will write a poem for you my darling
BUCKSHOT BORDEREAU
On a lone farm in Kentucky A boy made friends with rocks Ma said to swears unlucky Pa said to clean your socks Eight teen hundred thirty seven That year was no good Took a flu on December eleven A bad day he understood Shotgun he heards the soil From sprouts a money tree Farmworks too much toil Hed rather eat for free She was down all underneath One evil by his hand She he saved to save him thus And show him his God’s plan
And he put the notepad and the pencil away.

Greetings from Castle Goring,
Lady C, did you hear the scathing rebuke of Meghan by the First Lady of Nigeria as being a trendsetter and as being part Nigerian? Do you think this was done as a bid to save face with the King or do you think she really was chastising Meghan because she said the beautiful woman of Nigeria should not be “parading around half naked.” Yes, this has been a hot topic in the last few days. Recall I already told you that Meghan’s conduct in Nigeria had gone down like a lead balloon. I understand most woman in Nigeria did not like Meghan’s conduct when she was in Nigeria. Meghan disrespects traditions. She sets out to undermine values. She likes causing trouble. This was a blessing in disguise. Lets see how many other countries welcome Meghan and Harry. I was told the ladies of Nigeria said she dressed inappropriately and showed too much skin. Traditional values require modesty. Meghan lit a match with the younger generation. They want to dress more provocatively. The First Lady of Nigeria was giving a speech on how they have to save the younger generation. That is why she brought up Meghan. The First Lady of Nigeria said, “We see the way they dress. We are not having the met gala. The nakedness is everywhere. And the men are well clothed. We do not accept nakedness in our culture. That is not beautiful at all. They do not want to emulate film stars from America. Why did Meghan come here looking for Africa? We do not want to lose who we are.” Meghan was the only person she mentioned. Meghan is the only person who was dressed semi-nude. You could interpret her comments to say that Meghan came to connect with her roots and she should be able to see the Nigerian woman clothed appropriately. In my opinion, she was clearly referring to two groups of women. The woman of Nigeria who dress appropriately and the other women who dress semi-clothed, which is what Meghan was doing. The First Lady of Nigeria is powerful in her own right. She is a Senator and also married to the President. She was clearly sending a message that you do not show up in Nigeria dressed like a B*tch in heat.
Lady C, I can’t help but believe the conspiracy theories about the Princess of Wales. The conspiracy theories are preposterous. They provide content for those who otherwise need to fill their pages. Remember all those conspiracy theories about Princess Charlene of Monacco? She was seen just last weekend and looked very well. I have insight into what Catherine is going through and what she wants. She wants to be left in peace while she battles for her health. We need to leave her with her dignity and self respect. She does not want pity. We need to give her break and give her the time she needs so she can return to work on her own terms. I have been told she has lost a lot of weight and has the terrible side effects of chemotherapy. They are trying to be positive and harmonious as possible. They have three children to consider as well. Meghan is trying to steal the spotlight, but Catherine is only focused on herself and her family. I will not predict how long she will be out.
Lady C, I think King Charles is spineless. He allowed his son and the wife to slither in and foist invisikids on us. If he can’t remove the titles, I am going to become a Republican. I have tried to point out that the King cannot strip Harry’s peerage. If the peerage and Harry’s princely rank cannot be stripped at the same time, it would invite a whole new set of problems. With all the problems going on in the government, I am glad we have a globally respected head of state.
Lady C, The King’s indifference to The Harkle’s BS is working. According to Sun Tzu in “Art of War,” “He will win when he knows when to fight and when not to fight.” This is right. The King will fight his battles only when he knows he will win.
Lady C, in Spare, Harry discussed having his guns fixed on his fathers car from a helicopter. Isn’t this treason? No. Charles wasn’t King yet and it is not treason to imagine a crime. That is stuff straight from Henry VIII time. What Harry really did was show us was a crazy, mad, druggie he is.
Lady C, you said something was going to happen at Easter. The comments you have been giving us are general and uncoordinated. The impression you were giving us is that it would be one event. I am sure we were all expecting some kind of announcement. Yes, I said H&M would get their comeuppance. Another viewer wrote in and said that, “6 years ago, they were globally respected and at the top. Today, they are despised in the UK, maligned around the world, and ostracized. Their charity Archewell is not taking in donations, and Meghan now wants to sell jam. The only thing they have that is positive is Invictus, and with Meghan’s involvement, that is now going down the drain.” Harry and Meghan are self-destructing before our very eyes. Despite the mainstream media turning a blind eye, look at the tear down by the First Lady of Nigeria. And if Meghan is not completely humiliated by this, then Meghan is not even a human being. The reason why people think M&H have not been getting their comeuppance is because there hasn’t been one big knockout. The groundwork has been laid. Some of the groundwork has been laid by my book to ask questions and clear up mysteries. If you want to have answers, I would demand them from the Royal Family. Let them know you demand certain answers. If I misled you to think H&M would receive a total eradication, then I apologize. If you want them eradicated, there must be a groundswell from the public, demanding answers. Call them out on each and every thing. Use your voice on social media. I try to provide you insight, but it is not realistic to expect a cataclysmic event.
Toodles Sinners