Pictures of tiled direplaces

ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.

Ok, so, I used to live in a different (southern) state during my childhood than the one I live in now (I live in the Northern US, originally born in this northern state as well). I lived in this other state from the ages of 6 until I was almost 16, and throughout the entirety of my elementary and middle school years up until the middle of 9th grade (which was at the high school, some start at 10th grade instead of 9th).
There were 2 main bullies that I dealt with starting in 1st grade/first school year after moving to this state, and as the years went on, these two girls (let's call them Marie & Clarisse) would get their friends in on bullying me. I wasn't popular by any means, but my mother always had me in sports and extracurricular activities with these girls, so I could never really escape them. It was just as bad outside of anything school related as Marie has two younger brothers that my brother was friends with, so I had to pretend to be the 'best of friends' with Marie from 1st grade up until about the end of 7th grade since our families drifted apart from being "close friends".
As far as typical bullying goes in elementary school, I dealt with constant name-calling and cruel "pranks", mostly aimed towards my weight, I wasn't fat, but I wasn't skinny either despite being in sports and was always active. However, those incidents extended to my stuff being stolen, like my notebooks I'd use for schoolwork, or my box of pencils/pens/etc., forcing me to constantly borrow from the few friends I actually had or from the teachers. I used to be in band (which started in 6th grade in that school district), and I played the clarinet, my stepdad had bought me a very nice/sturdy and somewhat expensive tote bag to put my clarinet, music stand, and music binders in for easier storage and to keep my hands free when transporting my 'equipment'. Us band kids were allowed to keep our instruments behind the curtains of the stage in the school's cafeteria (the stage was against the farthest wall from the kitchen/lunch lines), and out of the ~20 kids in band, only my expensive/sturdy tote bag was stolen within the last 2 days of 6th grade, of course suspects were Marie & Clarisse (I saw Clarisse using my tote bag that summer, as my now-smudged name had been written in permanent marker on the straps and one of the sides of the bag). I left it be because I didn't want any conflict, my stepdad bought me another one after finding out the original one was stolen in the first place.
Middle school wasn't much better as the name calling got extensively more graphic and consisted of slurs (like the F slur, as I'm proudly part of the LGBTQ+ community, specifically AgendeNon-binary), furthering the self-hurting thoughts that had started in 3rd grade. I had continuously tried to tell my mom and stepdad about it, only for my pleas for help to go unheard until one week during the winter season in 7th grade. I had gotten sick for 2 days and stayed home an extra day to recover, but during those three days, Marie, Clarisse and their friends had made an Instagram account, posting very unattractive pictures of fellow classmates (i.e. purposely taking pictures with very unflattering angles, poor lighting, etc) and blamed it on me since they put my address in the private information into that account. My mom had found the account, immediately asking about if I was the one behind it, she unfortunately didn't believe me until *after* she ripped my phone from me to look through it for "evidence" that I made the account. When I returned to school the following Thursday after recovering from the small cold, I was constantly bombarded by fellow students about the account since Marie & Clarisse were the ones that spread the obvious false rumor that I made it. By the end of the day, I had finally snapped, yelling "I didn't make that f-cking account. Why can't everyone just stop bothering me about it?" Of course, that earned plenty of attention from the teachers and students within earshot (and thanks to the tiled floors and walls, my yelling echoed throughout most of the first floor and partly into the second floor of my school), I ended up having to talk with the counselor about the whole ordeal because of my frustrated outburst, which resulted with very little help from the staff, but after a few weeks, people seemed to forget that the account even existed since it ended up deleted within a few days after my outburst.
That following school year, 8th grade, was even worse. Sure, the slurs, the other name-calling and thievery of my belongings continued (more so the slurs/name-calling), but by this year, I was almost constantly committing the self-hurting since my mother was of no help, my stepdad was sympathetic but always working and the therapist my mother found for me was basically a deadbeat with bullying situations (she didn't seem to understand or even want to actually help me with the bullying as she was more of a family therapist than anything else). For the district curriculum, we are required to take health class in 8th grade, and as we were going over the unit that encompassed depression, self-harm, and su!c!dal thoughts/actions, I constantly had to have another staff member in the back of the classroom to watch over me and take me out of the class if any of the course material triggered an episode. Thankfully the staff member was that was there for me was the school's police officer, let's call him Officer Lennox, he was like a protective older brother, especially after finding out about how consistently I was bullied. Near the end of the unit, we had to watch Ronan's Escape (it's on YouTube), and since I was going through my own version of Ronan's situation, I ended up breaking down sobbing in class, only to be laughed at by some of the boys that were close friends with Marie & Clarisse. Officer Lennox snapped at them as professionally as possible while helping me out of the classroom to go sit with the nurse to have some downtime to stop sobbing before I was allowed back to my classes.
Another situation, which is the worst of it in 8th grade, was this one girl, let's call her Ava. She thought it would be hilarious to eavesdrop into my conversations with my best friend (we'll refer to her as Raven since that was a nickname she used) throughout lunch and shared classes, only to take our conversations completely out of context in order to string up a lie that Raven and I were planning to unalive the principle. Of course, this wasn't true, the principle was an a-hole to everyone, and Raven & I would discuss that we greatly disliked him. Ava mostly got away with spreading this lie as her mom was a higher-up in the school district, forcing Raven and I to entirely change our class schedules so we weren't in any classes with Ava, as well as almost being expelled. Thanks to Officer Lennox sticking up for both of us, we only had to have in-school suspension for 3 days instead of being expelled. Sadly, Ava got very little repercussions from this, but Raven and I grew even closer as best friends after "The Incident" as we still refer to it as almost 10 years later.
Summer rolled through without a hitch, leading to 9th grade, the start of high school. I was given more freedom from my mother (she's a helicopter parent and abusive/narcissistic) to dress in clothing that I preferred in comparison to always wearing brightly colored athletic wear. I completely changed my appearance, chopped my hair from just above the small of my back to a punk pixie-styled cut, and started wearing graphic t-shirts, ripped jeans, combat boots, and leather jackets. On top of that, I started becoming more confrontational/combative towards my bullies, since they still wouldn't let up, I earned a "bad@ass/bad b!tch" reputation, made friends with other rebellious and misfit types of people in the grades above me, and just fully became more of "me" despite the disapproval from my mother of the amount of change I undergone.
Despite being 14 at the start of 9th grade, I began dating, specifically one fellow student that was a very close friend and felon, he went to jail/juvie throughout the 2nd half of 7th grade and all of 8th grade. He came to the high school 3 months after the year started, and our friendship-turned-relationship sparked right back up as if he never left. I had kept my dating life secret from my family, mostly my mother because I know how bad her reaction would've been if I told her. With him almost always by my side (excluding classes we didn't share), my brand-new appearance, and my quickly attained delinquent/rebellious reputation, most of my issues dissipated much quicker than before. In spite of that, Marie & Clarisse kept making their remarks, trying to drag down my new confidence and constantly break my felon boyfriend (let's call him Collin) and I up. They got more degrading and verbally abusive with these antics, I eventually was completely fed up with it all. In the middle of the school year, within a couple weeks after Yule (Christmas for the non-pagans) & New Years Break, Marie, Clarisse and their group of friends had stopped me in the hallway, purposely surrounding me (there was about 30 of them in total) on my way to class, continuing with their shtick as usual, I slipped the pocketknife out of my pocket, flicking it open as I finally gave in and threatened to unalive them and everyone they care for if they don't leave me the f-ck alone. They saw the opened knife and knew then & there that I was 100% serious, I turned on my heels, shoving through them only to notice the principal and school's police officer (not officer Lennox) staring at me with concerned expressions, they also noticed the knife as there was a glint from the blade due to the blindly bright lights in the hallway. Not a word was uttered as they walked away, never sending a call to my mother or stepdad about the weapon or the confrontation as they had seen my progression in attitude and the amount of f-cks I had (which was none). After that day, those girls never spoke to me again, would barely glance in my direction, would purposely take alternate routes to class if they saw me in the hallway (or would keep to the wall if they couldn't move quick enough), and if we shared any classes, they'd be on the opposite side of the room from me and would do everything they could to never be partnered/grouped with me in class projects.
Everything was smooth sailing from then on, and now I'm 22 (as of late April this year), happily living with my bio-dad, my brother and my 2-year-old kitty, Ziggy. My mother is out of the picture entirely as she refuses to change her mindset and parenting style. I'm still confrontational towards anyone that tries messing with me, especially if they're anti-LGBTQ+/racist/abusive/etc. And thanks to my continuation of my drastic change from 8th grade to 9th grade, I'm now considered both the protector and the therapist to my friends, always there for them because I grew up knowing what it was like to not have that kind of support. I hope this story of roughly half my life can provide some sort of comfort or proof that it does indeed get better, even if it doesn't seem like it in the moment.

Hello. I needed the subreddit’s help to determine if the scope of a project is considered complete and therefore if I owe the rest of the quote.
I had hired out a local tile place to install some tile. The quote reads as:
“We propose to furnish and install a tile floor to the powder room and hall in your home for the sum of one thousand two hundred sixty dollars, ($1,264.00). This price does include:
​Tile #02-013 P. Castello Miramare Grip ​Grout Stormy Grey ​Shim up the top tread of the steps which co to the garage”
I paid the first half deposit. The caveat of this project is the tiler had to remove to door to install the tile. Upon trying to replace the doors back, the tiler said he did not have the tool to shorten the door to make the doors fit with the new tile thickness. Therefore someone from the store would have to reach out to schedule a new date to fix the doors.
I reached out to the original estimator 4 days after the initial tilers left. And then about a week after the first email (with pictures included of the doors laying in the garage) and both emails have not been answered.
With the information provided, is the scope of the project/quote considered complete and therefore I am on the hook to pay the second half of the quote? Also, this is in PA.

Hey all,
I’ll try to keep this brief but would like some feedback from anyone in a similar situation.
My wife and I hired a contractor to demo and rebuild our shower. Long story short, it was supposed to take about one week and ended up taking over 7 weeks without it being completed. We got tired of his constant excuses and quality of work, and ended up firing him. Unfortunately he was paid in full.
Fast forward, my wife and I hired another contractor to finish the work our initial contractor didn’t do (about 10% remaining.) The contractor that we hired said it was so bad the best thing to do would be to demo his work, and start all over. It wasn’t just bad cosmetically, the tile work and glass door were installed incorrectly.
The cherry on top was when my wife and I found out he wasn’t licensed or insured even though that was one of the first questions we asked him. Hard lesson to learn but here we are.
Anyways, we plan on taking him to small claims court. It’s probably a long shot but any chance we could recoup the money we spent on his work (about $5k)? Any tips for trying to get the money back?
We have picture and text messages saved as well as the original contractors estimate, and the estimate from the new contractor showing the items that were installed incorrectly.
Thanks for any tips and recommendations.

I'm not trying to break any rules, so if this post is in the wrong place, my sincerest apologies.
As I'm sure a lot of you know, a lot of the 3D printer companies are outside of my country (the US). I bought two printers from company A, but both had QA issues and I decided to triple my budget and bought a printer from a, should I say, more reputable company.
Now the printer I received, when put together is so uneven, only 3 of the 8 feet actually touch the ground correctly (I've tried glass , wood, and tiles). I refuse to even try it because of their harsh policies and on top of that, there are wires that are crushed and are very close to being cut through / damaged going to one of the motors. This is either a QA, shipping issue, or from a design flaw. Plus there are minor scuffs and scratches all over that I'm not even mentioning.
I've submitted like 50 pictures plus videos to their support of me sliding paper under the feet and the damaged wiring. I've also showed almost every piece with a level to show how uneven things are.
I just want an exchange, not a new piece or part of the printer. It took a few days to get a response and at first they seemed like they were going to be helpful, but now their R&D team is 'looking' at it. It's been about a week now and I know they are either delaying this or want to try to find some excuse to blame me. Why is it so difficult to just get an exchange with these companies. They basically sent me a fire hazard that's not the close to being built correctly.
Since they are in another country, do I just take this up with my credit card company / Bank if they refuse to correct the situation? Or am I pretty much screwed? I also don't know what a realistic time frame should be before I make a big deal about it. I just find it insane how shady these companies can behave. Normally I buy through Amazon, but this company didn't sell there and since they had a better rep I decided to take a chance and buy straight through them... Now I'm stuck with about $1,000 with of equipment just sitting here collecting dust.

Narrator: "Up next is budding entrepreneur duo Vikram and Jessica, who are hoping to entice a dragon to invest in their sweet treats, but do they have what it takes?"
The two walk in, a table is already set up featuring a range of minimalist cardboard boxes with a poncy logo in a Serif font
Jessica: "Hello Dragons, I'm an insufferable trust fund baby with delusions of grandeur, and this here is my platonic best friend and perpetual cuckold Vikram, and together we are *Chocomunchabunchaholics*, a sustainable and environmentally friendly bespoke chocolate company that delivers overpriced organic half-melted dog-vomit in an envelope crammed through your letter box, all orchestrated through our handy AI-powered decentralised crypto app that's guaranteed to crash, render your phone unusable, and sell your private data to Russian hackers.
We started this business when I got cut off from dad's credit card after crashing the Rolls Royce. I needed money fast for my crippling addiction to black market botox, and when I met Vikram during my 12th consecutive gap year, I realised that we had an opportunity to transform the digital chocolate space with my family's connections to the Tory party, and Vikram's ability to slave over a stove for 18 hours straight without complaining.
We're looking for £400,000 for 0.1% of our business. Does anyone have any questions?"
Vikram: "I--"
Jessica: "You don't speak."
Vikram: "....."
Narrator: "It's a fascinating pitch from an entitled wasp and her emotionally deadened lackey, but do their finances paint as sweet a picture? Peter Jones wants a deeper look at the books"
Peter: "So how much do you sell your chocolate for?"
Jessica: "Well for our 70% vegan cacao kale blend, we sell it for £5.99 per molecule"
Peter: "And how many molecules are in a 30g bar?"
Jessica: "945,750 trillion."
Peter: "Right, so to buy one bar it would cost..."
Vikram: "The combined GDP of 1,452,575 United Kingdoms"
Jessica: "SILENCE COOK."
Vikram: "......."
Peter: "...... So one bar costs more money than there has ever been on Earth"
Jessica: "That's correct"
Peter: "And how much money have you made so far?"
Jessica: "Three"
Peter: "Million?"
Jessica: "Pence"
Peter: "......Okay, and is that your net or gross profit?"
Jessica: "I don't know what those words mean"
Peter: "I'm out."
Narrator: "Jessica's lack of business acumen and dire financial state has left a sour taste in Peter's mouth, but what does Steven Bartlett make of this?"
Steven: "So guys, what I'm struggling to understand is where I would fit into this if I invest. What value does a dragon bring to your business?"
Vikram: "We feel that we--"
Jessica glares
Vikram: "I'll go wait in the lift."
Jessica: "...... So to answer your question Steven, we think we'd really benefit from a bigger online presence, and since you're always regurgitating steaming heaps of trash into LinkedIn, we think we'd really benefit from your guidance"
Narrator: "Jessica's words have charmed the smarmy egotist, but Deborah Meaden has spotted a flaw in the product"
Deborah: "Hi Jessica, so I'm looking at your packaging, and I can see you've used the word "sustainable" thirty-five times, and I love sustainable things because they help greenwash my weekly jet trips to Antarctica where I mercilessly club seals for the sexual thrill, so sustainability is great, but some of these ingredients are anything but sustainable"
Jessica: "Which ingredients are you referring to?"
Deborah: "Enriched uranium, cobalt from the child labour mines of the DRC, ceramic tiles from a failed Starship launch, and octane 93 petrol."
Jessica: "So we're in a transitional period right now with our suppliers, and we're hoping to make our product merely toxic by 2025, instead of... you know... fatal."
Deborah: "I'm out."
Narrator: "It's death by chocolate as Deborah Meaden uncovers the truth behind the glowing incendiary confectionery, but what does Sara Davies make of it?"
Sara: "Can I just say I love your energy? Really love your energy, the packaging, the marketing, but there's a problem, and that is, how can I scale this business up when there's already 38,000 different sustainable chocolate delivery apps? I don't think I can invest so I'm very sorry, but I'm out."
Narrator: "The milk is beginning to curdle for Jessica and Vikram, but it's not over yet. They've managed to successfully stroke the ego of known oxygen-thief Steven Bartlett, and perhaps Touker Suleyman can offer a lifeline"
Touker: "I don't get out of bed for 0.1%, I'm out."
Narrator: "....Nevermind then, but it looks like Steven is ready to make an offer"
Steven: "Okay, I'm going to offer you..... all of the money, but I want 40% of the business."
Narrator: "It's the only offer on the table, but it's for 400 times the equity the pair originally wanted to give up."
Jessica: "Can I have a brief schizophrenic episode with your brick wall?"
Steven: "Feel free."
Vikram peeks out of the lift, mixing bowl in hand
Jessica: "KEEP STIRRING."
Vikram hides in the lift, a few minutes elapse while Jessica mumbles into the cement, then walks back
Jessica: "So Steven, thank you very much for the offer, but is there any chance you can come down to 0.12%?"
Steven: "No."
Jessica: "Then I thank you, but I'm going to have to decline your offer
Steven: "Best of luck Jessica"
Jessica gets in the lift
Jessica: "This was your fault you know."
Vikram: "I'm going back to Mumbai."

Hey all! 😊
So it’s Friday had a crapfest of a morning and in the afternoon I was setting a patterned tile… I’ve done it a million times even this exact same tile.
Almost near packing up for the day, look at the big picture (not much sq ft thank goodness 😅🤦🏽) I couldn’t believe myself… I noticed about 8-10 tiles broke the pattern…. This specific tile looks almost the same either direction but one little difference tells you if it’s up or sideways…
Immediately pop them out clean them up. It’s not a big deal but my anxiety goes through the roof and I beat myself up pretty bad…. 😓
How do others deal with mistakes big or small? (I’ve done both in my career)
I believe it’s beneficial because it keeps me motivated to get better and not do silly rookie things… but if anyone has any tips to unwind and relax maybe not be such a spaz about it… would be appreciated Haha 😆

I'm remodeling a second floor bathroom in a house built in the early 80s and doing the tiling myself. Under the existing tile it looks like roughly half inch of float, or maybe it is dry packed. It is old and cracking and hard to tell. Under that is a metal lath over a waterproofing paper, sitting on the 1x6 diagonal set plank subfloor that is throughout the house. Under the carpet there is particle board of some kind. I'll be pulling up the carpet and tiling both rooms with a seemless transition. I'm wondering what is the best base for the tile in this situation. Assuming I pull up the old float/lath/paper layers, exposing the plank subfloor, I've looked at 1/2" cement board, but it's not clear to me if I should set it to the plank with thinset or not, or just use screws. The picture shows gaps between the planks in the subfloor, I'd assume I want to be careful not to fill those if I did thinset. Being 1x6 dimensional planks the floor is not super strong, and I'm not sure of the floor joist spacing. On top of the cement board we already have bought some kerdi that I've seen how to properly attach to cement board, then mortar and tile over. I'm an expert Googler and YouTuber, but don't have experience with doing tile flooring on. Lots of guidance for tile over cement or plywood subfloors, but very little for planks. Any guidance on making a stable and waterproof base would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!