I had always remembered my deeply rooted envy at a girl at my old high school. Alyssa Howard, Home Room 207. It hadn't been long since I graduated there. I was in Class of '22, in a homeroom that I simply didn't fit in. It was isolating since everyone in my homeroom was in groups of friends, everyone was their own designated groups.
Alyssa was in the Choir group, consisting of 8 girls. They were girls that were a part of Choir Class, an elective that made no sense why I took it. Along with Alyssa Howard, there was Brianne Becker, Fiona Figueroa, Leslie Smith, Hannah Klidford, Emma Kelly, Mandy Lake, and... Karla Reyes. Karla Reyes was one of them I knew very well. In fact she is the reason why I'm typing this out.
Karla was my childhood friend, we met in 5th grade. Her family was from around Texas, and she recently moved to this small town of Meadows Dale. I didn't have friends at that age since most kids thought I was...well weird. I didn't comprehend why I was weird to them at the time, I just simply thought I wasn't cool enough. I remember vividly that I was walking far from the rusty playground, to a hill that pretty much if going more up north, you'll be at the Centennial Park of the town.
That sunny day in 5th grade felt like it was just yesterday. I was walking up a hill, my Elsa shoes making every step feel like a chore. I sighed, looking down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed that my mom had gotten them for me. All the other kids in my grade were wearing Converse or cool sneakers, and here I was, stuck with sparkly, princess-themed shoes. I flopped down on the grassy ground, feeling like the biggest outcast in the world.
I sat there, lost in my own thoughts, I noticed a girl with dark hair and tan skin walking towards me. She looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with her hands as she approached. I recognized her from my homeroom class.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "These hills look like a pair of butt cheeks, don't they?" She giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh too.
I signed back to her, using my hands to mimic the shape of hills and then making a silly face to show that, yes, they did look like butt cheeks. Karla laughed, and I was surprised. Not many people in my class knew sign language, and it was nice to have someone to communicate with in my own way.
"Do you know sign language?" I signed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Karla nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down. "Yeah, my aunt was born deaf, so I learned to communicate with her."
I signed back, asking her if she thought it was cool that I knew sign language too.
Karla grinned. "Yeah, that's really cool! I'm Karla, by the way."
“Lily,” I signed my name, and Karla sat down next to me on the grass. We chatted for the rest of recess, discovering that we had a lot in common. We both loved DreamWorks movies better than Disney, and our favorite music group was Fifth Harmony. I was obsessed with them back then, and Karla was too. We both wanted to be like Camila Cabello when we grew up.
From that day on, Karla and I were inseparable. We'd sit together at lunch, partner up for group projects, and even started a Fifth Harmony fan club in our class. Karla would always lend me an earbud so we could jam out to our favorite songs together. Our friendship was effortless, and I felt like I'd finally found someone who understood me.
It was perfect until the start of Freshman year of Meadows Dale High School. I held my scheduler tightly in my hands as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart sank as I scanned the pages, taking in the fact that most of my classes were designated for students with special educational needs. Homeroom and choir were the only exceptions.
I made my way to the living room where my mom was seated, tears brimming in my eyes. "Mom, why do I have to take these classes?" I signed, frustration etched on my features. "I don't need this kind of help. I can handle regular classes just fine."
My mom looked at the schedule, her expression sympathetic. "I know you don't seem to need help, sweetie, but the school requires you to take these classes. It's just protocol."
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. "I'm going to feel like even more of a freak than I already do," I gestured angrily, trying to hold back tears.
From the living room doorway, my father's deep voice cut through the silence. His ears perked up from the conversation. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I signed again, rapidly gesturing my fingers "I don't want to take Special ED classes, Dad. I can do normal classes. I can hear the teachers very well!"
My dad walked over to us, his eyes scanning the schedule. "I know it's tough, Lily, but the school is just trying to help. Plus, You're not a freak. Not in our eyes, anyway. If anybody gives you trouble, I'll personally see to it that they regret it." His tone was lighthearted, but his meaning was clear. He was the sheriff, after all, and his reputation preceded him.
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Dad, please. You're only making things worse."
Ignoring my pleas, he ruffled my hair affectionately before leaving the room. I retreated to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed in a heap of tears. The night passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for me to wake up and face another day.
I woke up to the sound of my dad calling me from downstairs. "Lily, time to get up! First day of school!" I groggily got out of bed, still feeling the emotional hangover from the night before.
My dad drove me to school in his police cruiser, which only added to my embarrassment. I remembered feeling weird being in the cruiser, with its flashing lights and sirens. As we pulled up to the school, my dad turned to me and said, "No matter what, you'll always have me and Mom, okay? We love you, and we're proud of you."
He hugged me tight, and I felt a lump in my throat again. I nodded, trying to hold back tears, and got out of the car. Finally me into the world of Meadows Dale High School.
The enormity of the building hit me hard as I stepped inside. The halls were bustling with activity, and the noise level was overwhelming. The classes flew by, and I couldn't help but feel like my Special ED classes were too easy for me. The teacher aides were sweet, but they were busy helping other students, leaving me to feel like I was just going through the motions.
As I walked out of my Literature class, I noticed a boy sitting alone next to a locker. He had ginger hair and was a bit overweight, and he was using a big headset to listen to music. There was something about him that drew me in, so I walked over to say hi.
He removed his headphones, looking up at me with a nervous smile. "Hi," he said, his voice a little shaky.
I signed back, "Hi."
He laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry if I'm a bit awkward. I'm not really used to talking to people."
I signed, "You're not awkward at all."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks. I'm Matt Weston."
I nodded, signing, "I'm Lily."
Matt's eyes lit up. "Sweet. What's your homeroom?"
"207."
Matt's face brightened up. "No way, that's my homeroom too!"
I smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That's amazing!"
Matt stood up, walking towards a bookshelf. "Homeroom's next class. Want to walk with me?"
I nodded, following him as the bell rang. We exited the class, and suddenly we were swept up in a sea of students pushing and shoving to get to their next class.
We finally arrived at class 207, which was already filled with students. I saw Alyssa sitting in the back with her group of friends, looking like a star athlete. Matt went to sit in the front seat, and I sat next to him.
Just as we were settling in, one of the guys from Jr high football, Ryan Peterson, hit a football at Matt, saying, "Can't believe we got 'Butterball' in our class."
Matt rolled his eyes, saying, "At least I don't have a father who cheats and spreads gonorrhea."
Ryan's friend, Warren, said, "Ohhh sick burn,"
Ryan huffed, whispering to Matt, "Just because you're special doesn't mean everybody likes you."
I got mad, flipping Ryan the finger, which made him laugh. "You're lucky I ain't telling the teacher, because I don't want any issues with your old man!" Ryan walked away with Warren, leaving me feeling annoyed.
The homeroom teacher arrived, a young guy in his 20s with cedar brown hair and a pair of glasses. "Hello Students! Like that you are all sitting in neatly placed groups. My name's Mr. James and I'll be your homeroom teacher for Freshmen till Senior Year. Hope you excited as I am!"
Just as he was about to start writing on the white board, a beautifully dressed Karla emerged late, looking older and more mature with a lot of makeup on. I looked up, happy to see her, only for her to not notice me and sit down next to Alyssa's group.
Matt whispered to me, "Do you know that girl?"
I signed, "No."
Matt nodded, looking curious. "She looks familiar, but I don't know her name. Was it Kayla or Karly?"
"It's Karla," I shrugged, feeling a pang of disappointment. It seemed like Karla had moved on to a new group of friends, leaving me behind. I don't know how this change happened, since Karla and I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida, three weeks ago. I thought we had the best of our life's during that trip.
I was stumped, watching from afar as Karla chatted with Alyssa and her friends. I felt a twinge of jealousy and sadness as I realized how easily Karla had seemingly moved on and found a new group to hang out with. I mean, I thought we were best friends. It felt like Alyssa had stolen her from me.
I turned my attention elsewhere, not wanting to dwell on it. That's when I noticed a teenage boy sitting alone a few rows in front of me. He had jet black hair and there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite place it. I wondered who he was and why he was sitting alone.
"Hey, Lily," Matt said, following my gaze. "Do you know that guy? He looks kind of like a mini Detective Loomis."
I shook my head, signing that I had no idea who he was, but now I was curious too. Detective Loomis had been a family friend for years, and I knew he had a son, but I hadn't seen him in a while.
Matt chuckled nervously and waved his hand as if to dismiss his own question. "Just wondering. He kind of looks like him, that's all."
Just then, the boy turned around in his seat and our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, clearly having overheard our conversation. "Yeah, that's my dad," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Why?"
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not expecting such a direct response. "Oh, um, no reason. Just curious, that's all."
The boy, Brandon Loomis, as I now knew him to be, nodded slowly, as if accepting Matt's explanation. Then, to my surprise, he introduced himself with a small smile. "Brandon Loomis. And you are...?"
"Lily Anderson. Nice to meet you, Brandon."
“I'm Matt by the way,” Matt chimed in.
A flash of something—was it pain?—crossed Brandon's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Nice to meet you both. Your dad's a good man, Lily. He helped me out a lot."
I could only imagine what Brandon had been through. I remembered hearing snippets about his kidnapping a while back, but I had no idea what he must have endured. No wonder he hadn't been in school until now.
"Well, I hope the rest of the year goes well for you," I signed sincerely.
Brandon smiled at me again, and I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. "Thanks, Lily. I hope so too."
As the homeroom continued, Mr. James had us all introduce ourselves and played some icebreaker games to help us get to know each other better. It was actually kind of fun, and it took my mind off Karla and her new friends for a while.
One of the things we had to do was share a fun fact about ourselves. When it was Matt's turn, he revealed that he was the son of Mayor Weston and a great friend of my dad's. No wonder he seemed so familiar! I knew my dad would be thrilled to hear that Matt and I had become friends.
Before I knew it, the homeroom was over, and Matt, Brandon, and I headed out into the hallway together. I was relieved to find out that we all had B lunch, so I wouldn't have to eat alone.
"So, where do you guys usually eat?" Brandon asked as we made our way down the crowded hallway.
"I don't know about Lily, but I usually just grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside," Matt replied.
I signed, "That sounds good to me. I like being outdoors."
Brandon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Although, I usually eat my lunch at Dillard's Diner since I work there after school. You guys should come by sometime. The food's pretty great."
"Definitely!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I love diner food. And hey, maybe we can even help you out sometime if you're short-staffed."
Brandon laughed. "Sure, why not? It can get pretty crazy on the weekends, so any extra hands would be appreciated."
As we made our way to the cafeteria, Matt started talking about his favorite band, Deftones. I had to admit, their music was a little too heavy for my tastes, but Matt was so passionate about it that I found myself getting drawn in.
"You know, you should check out their album 'White Pony,'" Matt said. "It's a classic. My dad actually introduced me to them, and I've been hooked ever since."
I signed with a smile, "My dad's always trying to get me into his favorite bands too. He's a big fan of The Beatles and Queen."
"Oh, those are classics," Brandon chimed in. "My dad's more of a country music guy, but I've definitely grown to appreciate some of the older stuff."
While we ate lunch, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing, something I often did when I was feeling nervous or needed a distraction. Matt and Brandon were curious and asked to see my drawings. I showed them some of my anime-style sketches, and they both complimented my work.
"Wow, Lily, these are amazing!" Matt exclaimed. "You're gonna be like Picasso one day."
I signed, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "Thanks, Matt. That's really nice of you to say."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "Seriously, you're really talented. I wish I could draw like that."
As lunch came to an end, Matt and Brandon suggested that they walk me to my next class. I was surprised but pleased that they wanted to stick together. My next class was Choir, and thankfully, it was just down the hall.
"So, Lily, do you sing?" Brandon asked as we walked.
I signed, feeling a little self-conscious. "A little. I mean, I really want to sing, but I'm not sure I'm any good."
"Don't be shy, Lily," Matt said with a grin. "I bet you have a great voice."
I felt my face flush again, but I was glad that Matt and Brandon seemed so supportive. As we reached the choir room, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the class might bring. I slowly pushed open the door to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. The room was dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the outlines of rows of chairs facing a small stage. The room had a strange beauty to it, with its blue and white color scheme and intricate design carvings. I made my way to an empty chair near the exit, wanting to keep a low profile.
Before long, a flood of girls began to pour into the room, chattering and laughing. I recognized many of them from the Meadows Dale Advanced Academic Program. My heart sank a little as I spotted Brianne Becker, one of the most popular girls in school, deep in conversation with Meg Peterson. They were giggling about some guy they both apparently liked. Brianne's eyes suddenly landed on me, and her smile faded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
Alyssa entered the room, and the atmosphere seemed to brighten. Brianne's face lit up, and she rushed over to give Alyssa a hug. "I'm so happy you're in this class!" she exclaimed. Alyssa smiled back, her warm hazel eyes shining. I felt a small sense of relief seeing her friendly face.
Following Alyssa were Mandy, Fiona, Leslie, Hannah, Emma, and Karla. They all seemed to be deep in their own conversations, and I felt even more alone. Karla was telling Fiona about getting her nails done, and Fiona was expressing her dislike for acrylics. I stood up and waved at Karla, trying to get her attention. She had been one of my few friends in middle school, but something had changed between us lately.
Alyssa, however, made her way over to me and offered a genuine greeting. "Hi, Lily! It's so great to see you in this class," she said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. I felt a small smile tug at my lips. At least there was one person here who didn't seem to mind my presence.
Entering through the red velvety curtains of the stage, a woman with brunette hair, who looked to be in her early 40s, emerged from behind the stage. She had an air of enthusiasm about her as she introduced herself as Mrs. Becker, Brianne's mother. I remembered hearing that they were related, and at the time, I had thought it was sweet that a mother and daughter shared the same class.
Mrs. Becker instructed us all to take our seats and explained that this class was for girls only. She then asked each of us to come up on stage and recite the Do-Mi-Re-Fa-So syllables so that she could group us into sections of eight. My heart sank as I realized I would have to sing in front of everyone.
One by one, Mrs. Becker called each girl up to the stage. Some of the girls had okay voices, while others were truly talented. Then it was Brianne's turn. Her voice was like an angel's, a beautiful soprano that filled the room. Fiona and Emma also impressed me with their deep, rich alto voices. Mandy, Leslie, and Hannah had high-pitched, yet well-controlled voices that blended beautifully.
Alyssa and Karla were the last to go, and they both had perfect voices. Alyssa's voice was like honey, smooth and warm. But it was Karla who really stood out. She sounded like a pop idol, her voice clear and powerful. I found myself getting lost in the music, forgetting my worries for a moment.
Then Mrs. Becker called my name, and my heart sank. I nervously made my way up the stairs to the stage, my hands trembling at my sides. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. As I opened my mouth to sing, an awful, screeching noise escaped. My throat instantly sting, as the aftertaste of metallic overwhelmed my mouth. It was so bad that Mrs. Becker immediately cut me off.
"Why are you in this class, Lily?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I looked at her sadly and signed, "I don't know. I didn't choose this class."
Mrs. Becker softened a little, seeing my dejected expression. "Well, you better discuss these matters with a counselor about switching, because there are better candidates out there who want a spot in this class," she said bluntly.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I made my way back to my seat at the very back of the room. I could feel the eyes of the other girls on me, and I heard their stifled laughter. Karla's laughter rang out the loudest, stabbing me like a knife. Alyssa was the only one who didn't join in, her face a mask of disappointment. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me or in the other girls' behavior.
It was next week, I got out of my algebra class heading towards the office. I had to wait till Monday, since during the first few days, my assigned counselor was not available. I was already antsy of finally getting out of that Choir class, I couldn’t deal another day with a class I clearly didn’t fit in. My schedule in my hand, I pulled the door open, being greeted by the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins. Nervousness ran through me, wondering what type of counselor Dr. Wells would be.
The door was wide agape, leading me into the source of that muffin smell. Sitting there on a working desk, was a man typing on his laptop. He looked a bit exhausted, almost to the point that he slumped on his chair. Tilting my head, I nudged on his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. I couldn’t help but feel warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“Huh? Oh, hello there Lily. What brings you here?” Dr. Wells jolted up, probably noticing how close I was to his face. I backed away, sitting down on a red couch next to him.
“I want to change classes please.”
Mr. Wells nodded off, scooting his chair back towards his mahogany desk. He searched up my schedule, turning his laptop to my view. “Oh, I see. In what class do you want to change?”
I nervously let out a breath, as I finally let out what emotions I was holding. “I don’t know why you assigned me Choir, but everyone in that class hates me. I really need that class changed, Dr. Wells.”
I saw my counselor's lip repeatedly twitched a bit, before he gathered his composure. Dr. Wells looked up from his desk, his kind face softening as he saw me. "Lily, I want to apologize profusely for putting you in that situation."
I signed, feeling a little comforted by his words. "It's okay. I did want to be in that class, but I just... I felt so out of place with all the other girls laughing at me."
Dr. Wells sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm truly sorry, Lily. I was told you loved music and thought you would enjoy the class. But it's clear that it wasn't a good fit. Do you have another class in mind that you'd like to take instead?"
I nodded and signed, "Art class. I heard my friend Brandon is taking that, and I've always loved drawing."
Dr. Wells typed something into his laptop. “Consider it done. I'll have the change processed by tomorrow, if not sooner. In the meantime, help yourself to a muffin. The library teacher made them for me, and they're delicious."
I smiled and took one of the muffins, taking a bite. "Are you and the library teacher... a thing?" I asked, feeling a little bold.
Dr. Wells laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "No, no, nothing like that. Just colleagues. She knows I have a sweet tooth, so she often shares her baking creations with me."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was probably one of the few times I'd developed a crush on someone, and as usual, it was harmless and something I'd get over quickly. Dr. Wells was one of those crushes indeed. I stood up from my chair, feeling much better than when I arrived. "Well, thank you, Dr. Wells. I better head to class soon."
Dr. Wells smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Lily. And remember, if you ever need someone to chat with, my door is always open."
Later that day, during lunch, I made my way to our usual table with Brandon and Matt. They were already deep in conversation about their morning classes.
"PE is a nightmare," Matt was saying. "All the athletes make fun of me because I'm not as fast or strong as they are. It's frustrating."
Brandon nodded sympathetically. "I heard you beat Ryan on the pacer test, though. That's impressive."
Matt shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "It was just luck, honestly. Ryan got too cocky and sprained his knee on the seventy-ninth lap. I just kept a steady pace.”
I signed to Matt, "You should still be proud. I bet your dad was happy."
Matt smiled. "He was. It's not every day I get to impress him, especially when it comes to sports. You know how Mayor Weston was a star athlete back in his day."
I laughed, and then took a bite of my sandwich. "Speaking of impressing people, I have some news. I'm switching out of choir class and into art elective. Hopefully, I'll be in the same class as you, Brandon."
Brandon's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so glad you'll be joining us. Art class is a lot of fun.”
Matt nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you, Lily. But why are you leaving Choir? I thought you loved singing."
My smile faltered, and I looked down at my lap. "It's just... it's not the right fit for me," I signed.
Matt frowned, chewing on his apple. "Is Mrs. Becker too mean? I've heard she can be hard on students who aren't part of the popular crowd."
"No fair," I signed, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Brandon nodded. "It really isn't fair, Matt. That's why I prefer to keep a low profile. Popularity contests aren't worth the hassle.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Karla standing there, a sad look on her face. "Lily, can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
I hesitated, signing, "Why?”
With a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she leaned in and whispered, "I want to talk to you in private."
I glanced at Matt and Brandon, signing, "I'll be back, okay?"
Matt nodded, his eyes curious. "We'll be here. Take your time."
I followed Karla to the girl's bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what this was about, but I sensed it was important to her. Once we were inside, Karla pulled out a juul vape from her pocket and took a hit. The sweet smell of watermelon filled the air.
"Want a hit?" she offered, holding it out to me.
I was curious, so I signed, "Sure."
I took a cautious drag, expecting to choke, but surprisingly, I didn't. Karla laughed, "I guess you already know how to smoke. Not so innocent after all, huh?"
I rolled my eyes. "I learned from watching Effy in Skins. It's not like I've never seen it before."
Karla laughed again, a genuine sound that seemed to break through the tension between us. "Look, Lily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the choir. I shouldn't have laughed. It was mean, and I'm sorry."
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. A part of me wanted to accept her apology, but another part was still hurt by her earlier behavior. Before I could say anything, Karla cut in, "I know it doesn't make up for it, but I want to make it up to you. How about I take you to the skating rink this evening? It's one of our favorite places, remember?"
I hesitated, considering her offer. Finally, I signed, "Okay, I guess."
Karla's face lit up, and she gave me a quick hug. "Great! I'll text you the details. See you later, okay?" And with that, she left the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walked back to the cafeteria, my mind racing. Matt rushed over to me, his eyes full of questions. "How did it go? What did she want?" he asked.
"It went okay," I replied, signing as I continued. "Karla invited me to the skating rink this evening."
Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, Lily. Karla hangs out with those choir girls. I don't think we can trust her, especially after what happened."
I bit my lip, understanding his concern. "What if I sneak you and Matt in too? That way, if anything goes south, we'll be together."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I'm in."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "It's settled, then. We're going skating."
That afternoon, I waited on the porch for Karla to pick me up. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over everything. My dad emerged from the house, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?" I asked, curious.
He chuckled, patting my back. "Got called into work. Something strange is going on. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
I signed, "Be safe, Dad."
“I will, honey. Have fun with Karla, okay.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before heading off. A minute later, a black Chevy pulled up, and I recognized it as Mrs. Becker's car. Karla leaned out the window and waved me over.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the back seat. Besides Karla, there were a few other girls from the choir class—Mandy, Hannah, Emma, Leslie, Fiona, and Brianne. Alyssa was noticeably absent.
Noticing my curious glance, Karla explained, "Alyssa had track practice. She couldn't make it."
I signed, "That's nice."
Brianne turned to Mrs. Becker and asked, "Can we get some McDonald's shakes? Please?"
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Of course, sweetie. Does anyone else want one?"
Everyone nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Becker placed an order for nine shakes. Emma and Leslie wanted vanilla, Brianne wanted the seasonal spice pumpkin flavor, Hannah and Fiona requested strawberry, Karla and Mandy chose chocolate, and Mrs. Becker asked about my preference.
"Mint, please," I said, making a gesture of a mint leaf.
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Mint it is. Anything for my girls."
I felt a warm glow spread through me. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to like me. I took a long sip of my mint shake, savoring the cool, refreshing taste.
"Chocolate is definitely the best flavor," Mandy declared, taking a sip from her own shake. "Nothing beats the classic."
"Pumpkin spice is where it's at," Brianne interjected, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice shake. "It's got that perfect blend of sweet and spicy. It's like autumn in a bite."
"Are you kidding?" Mandy scoffed. "Chocolate is timeless. It's the ultimate comfort food. Pumpkin spice is just a fad.”
"Oh c'mon! Pumpkin spice is leagues better," Brianne retorted. "It's a limited edition for a reason."
The other girls joined in, each defending their favorite flavor. I snickered at their playful bickering, feeling a sense of warmth despite the earlier tension.
About ten minutes later, Mrs. Becker pulled into the parking lot of a magenta-colored building. The girls piled out of the car, and I followed them inside, curious about our destination. Mrs. Becker turned to Brianne and said, "I'll pick you girls up at 8 pm sharp. I need to head home and take care of your little sister."
Brianne gave her mom a quick hug and yelled out, "Okay! Love you, mom!" Then she joined the choir group, whispering something in Karla's ear that made her smile in an unsettling way.
Karla walked over to me and whispered, "Hey, Lily, I want to take you to our hiding spot. It's been a while since we hung out there."
I brightened at the idea, signing, "I've missed that place. We used to act like it was our studio booth."
“Uh-huh,” Karla led me to an abandoned janitor's closet that was blocked off with a "Do Not Enter" sign. She opened the door, and I slid inside, feeling a rush of nostalgia. I slid inside the small, dimly lit closet and sat criss-cross on the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. Karla joined me, and for a moment, we just sat there, our knees touching, the silence comfortable between us.
"I've missed you, Lily," Karla signed, her expression softening.
"I've missed you too," I signed back, my heart warming at the sentiment. "It feels like it's been ages since we really talked." I looked down, my smile fading slightly. "I've missed the old Karla. The one who was always on my side, no matter what."
Karla furrowed her eyebrows, her face a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't changed, Lily. I've just matured."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Matured? Making fun of someone less popular than you isn't mature, Karla. It's just mean spirited."
Her eyes widened at my words, and I could see the hurt flash across her face. "I haven't been making fun of you, Lily. I—"
"Yes, you have," I interrupted, my anger bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what you and your new friends have been trying to do. You've been pretending I don't exist, like I'm not even worth acknowledging.”
Karla's face contorted with frustration. "That's not true, Lily! You always have to make everything about your disability. If anyone's changed, it's you. You used to be so happy, always laughing and joking around. Now, you just cry and complain when things don't go your way."
I signed angrily, my hands moving frantically. "How can you say that, Karla? I don't mind if you want to be more popular, but you're acting like you don't even know me. You're trying to pretend we're not friends."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Lily. Maybe you're too held up in the past, too stuck in your own little world. You're a sad, pathetic sap, and I—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I punched her squarely in the face. The force of the blow knocked her back, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her nose.
"I wish I'd never met you, Karla!" I angrily figured my fingers around, my breathing being audible in the small space. "I wish you'd never been my friend! I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right now!"
Karla's eyes widened in shock, and tears began to stream down her face. Without another word, she turned and ran out of the janitor's closet, leaving me alone in the dimly lit space. I trembled as I crouched down in the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never hit anyone before, and now I wished I could take it back. It was rather immature of me to end that way with Karla. Especially when this was the last memory I had of her alive.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence, freezing me in place. It was Karla. My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had done. I rose to my feet and ran out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with a masked man. He was tall and imposing, his mask was painted like a 1940s woman with green eyeshadow, vibrant red blush, and blood-red lips. His copper-blonde wig fell in sleek waves, contrasting with his all-black suit.
The man walked slowly towards me, his gloved hand reaching out. I kicked him in the abdomen, my fear fueling my strength. But he was too strong. He grabbed me by the waist, his gloved finger pressing against my lips.
"My little flower, I am so happy to see you." he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.
Before I could scream or struggle, he covered my mouth with a rag. It took a while for the chloroform to finally take effect, as I remembered my last thoughts were about Karla. Sometimes I wished this encounter was just an elaborate prank played by Brianne. However it is never the case.
When I woke up, I woke up to the sound of a girl's voice, soft and melodic. My eyes felt heavy, my body sluggish as I tried to lift my head. The singing was familiar, reminding me of Karla. My heart stirred at the memory of my friend, and I tried to shake off the grogginess that clouded my mind.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was restrained to a bed, my wrists and ankles bound. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against my bonds, my heart racing.
The singing continued, and I finally located the source—a television mounted on the wall across the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the singer. It was Karla, her face bruised and beaten, her eyes closed as she sang "Once Upon a December" from the animated movie "Anastasia." Her voice was shaky but serene, and tears pricked my eyes as I watched her performance.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a weakened screech escaped my throat. I tugged at my restraints, desperation fueling my strength. I had to get out of here. I had to help Karla.
Catching me off guard, the door swung open, and the masked man from my encounter at the janitor's closet stepped into the room. My heart sank at the sight of him, and I shrunk back against the bed, my breath coming in short gasps.
He carried a plate of applesauce, his gloved hands setting it down on a table by the bed. "Good morning, my little flower," he said, his voice deep and distorted by the mask. "Your friend has a lovely voice," he remarked. "Have you ever wanted to sing like that?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his face. I mouthed the words, "Let her go.”
The Masked Man smiled sadly. "Your friend has been let go. Don't worry, she's no longer suffering.”
I wanted to scream, to demand that he release me, but my voice failed me. The masked man approached the bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, then brought it to my mouth.
"Open up, sweetie," he cooed. "You need to keep up your strength."
I turned my head away, my body rigid with fear. I didn't want his help, I didn't want anything to do with him.
"Now, now, none of that," he chided, his gloved hand gently tilting my chin back towards him. "You need to eat. And one day, my little flower, you will sing too. And it will be the most beautiful voice anyone has ever heard."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as he forced the spoon into my mouth, the applesauce tasting bitter on my tongue. I choked down the food, my throat constricting with fear and anger.
The masked man set the plate down and pulled me into a tight embrace, his gloved hands stroking my hair. "Shh, my little flower. Everything will be alright. I'm here to take care of you."
I sobbed into his chest, my body shaking with grief and terror. I had no idea where I was, no concept of how much time had passed since I had been taken. All I knew was that Karla was in danger, and I was powerless to help her. The masked man held me until my sobs subsided, then gently laid me back down on the bed. "Rest now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling. The next time I woke, it was to the sound of my mother's sobs. I blinked groggily, my vision blurry as I tried to focus. I was in a hospital room, my mother sitting by my bedside, her face wet with tears. Matt and Brandon, my closest friends, were also there, their faces etched with concern.
"Mom?" I raised one of my hands, my fingers weak and stiff.
My mother's head snapped up, and she rushed to my side, her hands grasping mine. "Lily, oh, Lily, you're awake!" She smiled through her tears, her voice shaking. "I thought I'd lost you.”
I placed my palm to touch her cheek, my throat too dry to speak. Matt and Brandon stood by silently, their eyes filled with relief.
I then asked the big question, signing, "What... happened?"
Matt nervously stuttered, "We... We found you inside an old shed near the skating rink. You were... you were unconscious, and we called for help right away."
Brandon added, "Before that, you were missing for roughly 33 hours. We searched everywhere for you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze.
"You're safe now, Lily," my mother said, stroking my hair. "That's all that matters. There's nothing to worry about anymore."
I shook my head, my eyes flying open. Where was Karla? I signed, "Where's Karla?”
My mother's face crumpled, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "She's... she's still missing, Lily. We don't know where she is."
I closed my eyes, the weight of my guilt crushing me. If I hadn't fought with Karla, none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was still out there, alone and in danger.
The days turned into weeks, and Karla remained missing. The police conducted an extensive search, but there were no leads, no clues as to her whereabouts. I blamed myself, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over in my mind.
Three weeks after my rescue, the news channel delivered a devastating blow. Karla Reyes, aged 15, had been found dead, her body buried near the Yellow Rock River. She had suffered multiple bone fractures, and the unsettling detail—she had been missing her vocal cords and larynx.
I recalled the day vividly, the sun shining brightly through my hospital window as the news anchor delivered the grim update. I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of what had happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. I remember wanting to just die, to pay for what I have done. If I hadn't had my friends Matt and Brandon, I wouldn't have been alive writing this. And yet, I never told anyone about The Masked Man or what had transpired that day—until now. Sometimes I wonder if Karla could hear my prayers, wishing that she deserved better than this, and I'm sorry for causing her death. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.
Karla Reyes may have been the first victim, but she certainly wasn't the last. There were 7 more Choirs Girls left.

I’m going to miss you forever.
I have to let my best friend and my love of 9 years go now. He’s made his mind and won’t turn around no matter how much I need or want or love him.
I’m sorry for the ways I loved you wrong and the unknown hurt that caused in you. I can’t fix or repair things with you if we can’t communicate effectively. I promise I only ever loved you for who you are, how you live, and how you think. It pains me that you feel this love was torture and hurt when my experience was so very different.
One time in college they made us make a list of everything that was important to me like goals, values, hobbies, people, and I was told to cross them off until I had one thing remaining that I couldn’t lose, it was you, you were that last thing. I would have done anything for you and us I never would have willingly hurt you or left you behind. You are my best friend and my love and you mean the world and so much more to me.
I didn’t know you were hiding resentment and anger in you, I thought you were growing our love, you were the one that proposed to me. How can you not believe someone when they do that? I truly meant all those love letters and sweet nothings. When I said “I love you” there was never any other thoughts or feelings it was just pure deep caring, affection, and appreciation for you. Anyone that knows me knows I love you deeply. I really meant that I was happy and willing to pursue this love FOREVER with YOU when we got engaged.
You are an extraordinary person and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, if you could I don’t think we would be here right now because then you would feel all the love and joy your existence brings me. My soul is intertwined with yours, we are paper and glue.
I didn’t try to love you, it just came naturally. For example I think I was the only one in the stands blushing at a high school basketball game because I was supporting the coach and it brought so much joy to see you pursue your passions (just like it did when we were in high school and you were an athlete), little treats and gifts just because I thought you’d like it when I was at the store or that a donut might hit the spot, dinner almost every night even if I was exhausted just because I new you probably hadn’t eaten all day, helping you with things and school work when it was overwhelming, listening/ watching you just existing, enjoying a sports game, or playing D&D or video games, asking about your day and requesting to lose out on sleep just to spend some extra time with you, playing games or going on adventures, kissing you often and connecting through little touches or hoping for quality time, holding you when you were stressed or hurting, reaching for you in deep sleep and craving the light your existence brings to my world. I wasn’t perfect I know that, I’m human too but I guarantee I did 100 good things to one mistake and always tried to repair what I said when I was angry or hurting even if it took some time. I never had to try and I still don’t, loving you is just part of who I am. My body and soul will always remember every single kiss that burned my skin and how your loving touch and kiss comforted me, what it was like to be loved by you. They say the human brain continues to function for 7 min after death and you often relive the most profound moments in your life, I know that you would be my last 7 min.
The ways you make me feel and just how you are as a person brings me warmth and happiness. To be loved by you has been the greatest gift. At the end of everyday I am grateful for you and was elated to be with you, happy we were facing this world together. You may say I was angry or upset every day but that is not the truth, the only thing I did everyday was love you. Maybe we did have conflict too often and we didn’t do it right but that is something that can be taught and we could have improved on together. You say you were scared of me, I know I can be emotional and sometimes not gentle but I always held you close and tried to connect with you whenever you came to me about something deeply upsetting or when you didn’t feel enough. You say you told me often that you were upset and hurting but I promise I hung on every word you said and you say you didn’t even know how you felt so how could I? Remember how I treated you during these last 50 days when you told me you needed space and time to cope with the disconnect in our relationship. Before you left I showered you and loved you and told you it was okay and that we would be okay and after you left our home there has only be kindness, patience, compassion, and above all else love during this incredibly hard time of betrayal and heartbreak. I do admit I’ve become desperate towards the end but still after the lies and the cheating and the abandonment there is no anger, just a crushing sadness and a crack in the deep trust we had for holding each others hearts and above all else so much love. I care so deeply for you.
Love, after learning more about myself and how my needs were expressed I see where I can be better and want to be better for me and you. I did everything I could, I waited and poured out my heart, I said sorry and I forgave, I did my best through this heartbreak and I know you did too. I just love you and your family so much and it shouldn’t have caused so much hurt even if you wanted to leave, it shouldn’t have been done this way, we deserved better. Laying here in our bed is so lonely and cold, it feels as though I’m waiting for you to walk through our door like you have a thousand times before, I’m waiting for your smile ,your kiss, your love, your stories, YOU. It hurts more than I can ever describe.
I’m sorry that I just wanted to be part of your life in big and small ways. I was learning how to love too as we grew up together. I deserved a chance with you after all the love and parts of me I gave to you. I deserved a chance after you made me believe you would love me forever and no matter what we wouldn’t give up as symbolized by the most precious piece of jewelry I have ever placed against my skin. I guess we had different definitions of forever.
I didn’t do anything in this love story with malicious or ill intent, I didn’t cheat or lie to you, I did say hurtful things and did let jealousy and my fear of abandonment damage us and imped on your individual life and family. I’ve learned that I can improve on that, I already have a little since you left. I’ve always told you my greatest fear is losing the people I love or marrying some one and then them leaving or falling out of love with me but I think after this I’ve learned my biggest fear is hurting those I love, especially you. I promise I only ever loved you even if it was rocky and painful sometimes. At the end of the day it always originated from the core of my existence where sits unconditional, deep, forgiving love for you. You are my everything. You are special to me. We connected out of 8.1 billion people and I picked you to be my person.
Somehow my love for you is causing pain in myself and in you and that kills me. That’s not what it’s supposed to do and I’m so sorry it’s this way. I will carry the parts of you that will be with me long past my dying days gently and will love you in silence so that I don’t cause any more suffering. I promise it’s not my intent, i wouldn’t wish this heart break on anyone but maybe if you could feel a sliver of this suffering then you wouldn’t be so cold to me, you wouldn’t become angry because I call you just to hear your voice even if it’s angry and saying such awful things or that I cling to your fleeting scent on worn shirts. I know it doesn’t make any sense but maybe I just loved you more than you loved me.
Maybe one day when you are ready you can reach out to me and we can start to rebuild our friendship? We started out as friends, maybe one day we can try again and see where that leads. Me and our puppy would like that a lot. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, I was loving you and dreaming of our wedding until you left, but maybe we have to do this to learn and come back together stronger and more prepared for this wonderful deep love the universe bestowed upon us to share and take care of. Maybe our “one days” don’t end here.
Promise me you will take care of yourself, that you know I would have done anything for us to work and our dreams to come true, that you won’t lie to anyone or yourself anymore, promise that you won’t hurt anyone the way you hurt me, that you will forgive yourself, that you know I’m so thankful and grateful for our love and memories and for your help growing me up, promise that you will learn more about yourself and how to talk to people about your emotions and needs, that you’ll find what you are looking for, promise you won’t forget about me and the ways I loved unconditionally and how you made my heart beat faster just by being you, promise you know I wish for the same thing always, know I’ll always want to hold you and kiss you and I’m counting on to that pinky promise we will get married at 30, know when I look at the stars I’m hoping you are looking at them too and thinking of us, know that I think the world of you and that I’m always rooting for you even if you never want to see me again. Know I want health and happiness for you. Know that I’m deeply sorry for the pain I didn’t know I was causing you, know that I truly didn’t know you were hurting, know that I will still wonder what my name with your last name would sound like said by others, know that I wouldn’t hesitate to say “I do” to you right now, tomorrow, next week, anytime, know that if you were to text or call I wouldn’t hesitate to answer, know that I will always choose you over anybody, know that I am holding onto hope that when we find some peace we will go home together, know that I fully believe our promises aren’t broken but rather just waiting to come true still, know that I’ll never love anyone like you and that I don’t want to, know that I’m not putting my life on hold and that I find peace in waiting for you, know that I believe we are soul mates and this is a trial of our everlasting love, Know that I do and I will love you forever and always past the unending universe. thank you for the memories and for the growth your betrayal and heartbreak will cause in me.
Know that Im going to miss your forever, but not as long as I’m going to love you.
With love.

I’m going to miss you forever.
I have to let my best friend and my love of 9 years go now. He’s made his mind and won’t turn around no matter how much I need or want or love him.
I’m sorry for the ways I loved you wrong and the unknown hurt that caused in you. I can’t fix or repair things with you if we can’t communicate effectively. I promise I only ever loved you for who you are, how you live, and how you think. It pains me that you feel this love was torture and hurt when my experience was so very different.
One time in college they made us make a list of everything that was important to me like goals, values, hobbies, people, and I was told to cross them off until I had one thing remaining that I couldn’t lose, it was you, you were that last thing. I would have done anything for you and us I never would have willingly hurt you or left you behind. You are my best friend and my love and you mean the world and so much more to me.
I didn’t know you were hiding resentment and anger in you, I thought you were growing our love, you were the one that proposed to me. How can you not believe someone when they do that? I truly meant all those love letters and sweet nothings. When I said “I love you” there was never any other thoughts or feelings it was just pure deep caring, affection, and appreciation for you. Anyone that knows me knows I love you deeply. I really meant that I was happy and willing to pursue this love FOREVER with YOU when we got engaged.
You are an extraordinary person and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, if you could I don’t think we would be here right now because then you would feel all the love and joy your existence brings me. My soul is intertwined with yours, we are paper and glue.
I didn’t try to love you, it just came naturally. For example I think I was the only one in the stands blushing at a high school basketball game because I was supporting the coach and it brought so much joy to see you pursue your passions (just like it did when we were in high school and you were an athlete), little treats and gifts just because I thought you’d like it when I was at the store or that a donut might hit the spot, dinner almost every night even if I was exhausted just because I new you probably hadn’t eaten all day, helping you with things and school work when it was overwhelming, listening/ watching you just existing, enjoying a sports game, or playing D&D or video games, asking about your day and requesting to lose out on sleep just to spend some extra time with you, playing games or going on adventures, kissing you often and connecting through little touches or hoping for quality time, holding you when you were stressed or hurting, reaching for you in deep sleep and craving the light your existence brings to my world. I wasn’t perfect I know that, I’m human too but I guarantee I did 100 good things to one mistake and always tried to repair what I said when I was angry or hurting even if it took some time. I never had to try and I still don’t, loving you is just part of who I am. My body and soul will always remember every single kiss that burned my skin and how your loving touch and kiss comforted me, what it was like to be loved by you. They say the human brain continues to function for 7 min after death and you often relive the most profound moments in your life, I know that you would be my last 7 min.
The ways you make me feel and just how you are as a person brings me warmth and happiness. To be loved by you has been the greatest gift. At the end of everyday I am grateful for you and was elated to be with you, happy we were facing this world together. You may say I was angry or upset every day but that is not the truth, the only thing I did everyday was love you. Maybe we did have conflict too often and we didn’t do it right but that is something that can be taught and we could have improved on together. You say you were scared of me, I know I can be emotional and sometimes not gentle but I always held you close and tried to connect with you whenever you came to me about something deeply upsetting or when you didn’t feel enough. You say you told me often that you were upset and hurting but I promise I hung on every word you said and you say you didn’t even know how you felt so how could I? Remember how I treated you during these last 50 days when you told me you needed space and time to cope with the disconnect in our relationship. Before you left I showered you and loved you and told you it was okay and that we would be okay and after you left our home there has only be kindness, patience, compassion, and above all else love during this incredibly hard time of betrayal and heartbreak. I do admit I’ve become desperate towards the end but still after the lies and the cheating and the abandonment there is no anger, just a crushing sadness and a crack in the deep trust we had for holding each others hearts and above all else so much love. I care so deeply for you.
Love, after learning more about myself and how my needs were expressed I see where I can be better and want to be better for me and you. I did everything I could, I waited and poured out my heart, I said sorry and I forgave, I did my best through this heartbreak and I know you did too. I just love you and your family so much and it shouldn’t have caused so much hurt even if you wanted to leave, it shouldn’t have been done this way, we deserved better. Laying here in our bed is so lonely and cold, it feels as though I’m waiting for you to walk through our door like you have a thousand times before, I’m waiting for your smile ,your kiss, your love, your stories, YOU. It hurts more than I can ever describe.
I’m sorry that I just wanted to be part of your life in big and small ways. I was learning how to love too as we grew up together. I deserved a chance with you after all the love and parts of me I gave to you. I deserved a chance after you made me believe you would love me forever and no matter what we wouldn’t give up as symbolized by the most precious piece of jewelry I have ever placed against my skin. I guess we had different definitions of forever.
I didn’t do anything in this love story with malicious or ill intent, I didn’t cheat or lie to you, I did say hurtful things and did let jealousy and my fear of abandonment damage us and imped on your individual life and family. I’ve learned that I can improve on that, I already have a little since you left. I’ve always told you my greatest fear is losing the people I love or marrying some one and then them leaving or falling out of love with me but I think after this I’ve learned my biggest fear is hurting those I love, especially you. I promise I only ever loved you even if it was rocky and painful sometimes. At the end of the day it always originated from the core of my existence where sits unconditional, deep, forgiving love for you. You are my everything. You are special to me. We connected out of 8.1 billion people and I picked you to be my person.
Somehow my love for you is causing pain in myself and in you and that kills me. That’s not what it’s supposed to do and I’m so sorry it’s this way. I will carry the parts of you that will be with me long past my dying days gently and will love you in silence so that I don’t cause any more suffering. I promise it’s not my intent, i wouldn’t wish this heart break on anyone but maybe if you could feel a sliver of this suffering then you wouldn’t be so cold to me, you wouldn’t become angry because I call you just to hear your voice even if it’s angry and saying such awful things or that I cling to your fleeting scent on worn shirts. I know it doesn’t make any sense but maybe I just loved you more than you loved me.
Maybe one day when you are ready you can reach out to me and we can start to rebuild our friendship? We started out as friends, maybe one day we can try again and see where that leads. Me and our puppy would like that a lot. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, I was loving you and dreaming of our wedding until you left, but maybe we have to do this to learn and come back together stronger and more prepared for this wonderful deep love the universe bestowed upon us to share and take care of. Maybe our “one days” don’t end here.
Promise me you will take care of yourself, that you know I would have done anything for us to work and our dreams to come true, that you won’t lie to anyone or yourself anymore, promise that you won’t hurt anyone the way you hurt me, that you will forgive yourself, that you know I’m so thankful and grateful for our love and memories and for your help growing me up, promise that you will learn more about yourself and how to talk to people about your emotions and needs, that you’ll find what you are looking for, promise you won’t forget about me and the ways I loved unconditionally and how you made my heart beat faster just by being you, promise you know I wish for the same thing always, know I’ll always want to hold you and kiss you and I’m counting on to that pinky promise we will get married at 30, know when I look at the stars I’m hoping you are looking at them too and thinking of us, know that I think the world of you and that I’m always rooting for you even if you never want to see me again. Know I want health and happiness for you. Know that I’m deeply sorry for the pain I didn’t know I was causing you, know that I truly didn’t know you were hurting, know that I will still wonder what my name with your last name would sound like said by others, know that I wouldn’t hesitate to say “I do” to you right now, tomorrow, next week, anytime, know that if you were to text or call I wouldn’t hesitate to answer, know that I will always choose you over anybody, know that I am holding onto hope that when we find some peace we will go home together, know that I fully believe our promises aren’t broken but rather just waiting to come true still, know that I’ll never love anyone like you and that I don’t want to, know that I’m not putting my life on hold and that I find peace in waiting for you, know that I believe we are soul mates and this is a trial of our everlasting love, Know that I do and I will love you forever and always past the unending universe. thank you for the memories and for the growth your betrayal and heartbreak will cause in me.
Know that Im going to miss your forever, but not as long as I’m going to love you.
With love.

I’m going to miss you forever.
I have to let my best friend and my love of 9 years go now. He’s made his mind and won’t turn around no matter how much I need or want or love him.
I’m sorry for the ways I loved you wrong and the unknown hurt that caused in you. I can’t fix or repair things with you if we can’t communicate effectively. I promise I only ever loved you for who you are, how you live, and how you think. It pains me that you feel this love was torture and hurt when my experience was so very different.
One time in college they made us make a list of everything that was important to me like goals, values, hobbies, people, and I was told to cross them off until I had one thing remaining that I couldn’t lose, it was you, you were that last thing. I would have done anything for you and us I never would have willingly hurt you or left you behind. You are my best friend and my love and you mean the world and so much more to me.
I didn’t know you were hiding resentment and anger in you, I thought you were growing our love, you were the one that proposed to me. How can you not believe someone when they do that? I truly meant all those love letters and sweet nothings. When I said “I love you” there was never any other thoughts or feelings it was just pure deep caring, affection, and appreciation for you. Anyone that knows me knows I love you deeply. I really meant that I was happy and willing to pursue this love FOREVER with YOU when we got engaged.
You are an extraordinary person and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, if you could I don’t think we would be here right now because then you would feel all the love and joy your existence brings me. My soul is intertwined with yours, we are paper and glue.
I didn’t try to love you, it just came naturally. For example I think I was the only one in the stands blushing at a high school basketball game because I was supporting the coach and it brought so much joy to see you pursue your passions (just like it did when we were in high school and you were an athlete), little treats and gifts just because I thought you’d like it when I was at the store or that a donut might hit the spot, dinner almost every night even if I was exhausted just because I new you probably hadn’t eaten all day, helping you with things and school work when it was overwhelming, listening/ watching you just existing, enjoying a sports game, or playing D&D or video games, asking about your day and requesting to lose out on sleep just to spend some extra time with you, playing games or going on adventures, kissing you often and connecting through little touches or hoping for quality time, holding you when you were stressed or hurting, reaching for you in deep sleep and craving the light your existence brings to my world. I wasn’t perfect I know that, I’m human too but I guarantee I did 100 good things to one mistake and always tried to repair what I said when I was angry or hurting even if it took some time. I never had to try and I still don’t, loving you is just part of who I am. My body and soul will always remember every single kiss that burned my skin and how your loving touch and kiss comforted me, what it was like to be loved by you. They say the human brain continues to function for 7 min after death and you often relive the most profound moments in your life, I know that you would be my last 7 min.
The ways you make me feel and just how you are as a person brings me warmth and happiness. To be loved by you has been the greatest gift. At the end of everyday I am grateful for you and was elated to be with you, happy we were facing this world together. You may say I was angry or upset every day but that is not the truth, the only thing I did everyday was love you. Maybe we did have conflict too often and we didn’t do it right but that is something that can be taught and we could have improved on together. You say you were scared of me, I know I can be emotional and sometimes not gentle but I always held you close and tried to connect with you whenever you came to me about something deeply upsetting or when you didn’t feel enough. You say you told me often that you were upset and hurting but I promise I hung on every word you said and you say you didn’t even know how you felt so how could I? Remember how I treated you during these last 50 days when you told me you needed space and time to cope with the disconnect in our relationship. Before you left I showered you and loved you and told you it was okay and that we would be okay and after you left our home there has only be kindness, patience, compassion, and above all else love during this incredibly hard time of betrayal and heartbreak. I do admit I’ve become desperate towards the end but still after the lies and the cheating and the abandonment there is no anger, just a crushing sadness and a crack in the deep trust we had for holding each others hearts and above all else so much love. I care so deeply for you.
Love, after learning more about myself and how my needs were expressed I see where I can be better and want to be better for me and you. I did everything I could, I waited and poured out my heart, I said sorry and I forgave, I did my best through this heartbreak and I know you did too. I just love you and your family so much and it shouldn’t have caused so much hurt even if you wanted to leave, it shouldn’t have been done this way, we deserved better. Laying here in our bed is so lonely and cold, it feels as though I’m waiting for you to walk through our door like you have a thousand times before, I’m waiting for your smile ,your kiss, your love, your stories, YOU. It hurts more than I can ever describe.
I’m sorry that I just wanted to be part of your life in big and small ways. I was learning how to love too as we grew up together. I deserved a chance with you after all the love and parts of me I gave to you. I deserved a chance after you made me believe you would love me forever and no matter what we wouldn’t give up as symbolized by the most precious piece of jewelry I have ever placed against my skin. I guess we had different definitions of forever.
I didn’t do anything in this love story with malicious or ill intent, I didn’t cheat or lie to you, I did say hurtful things and did let jealousy and my fear of abandonment damage us and imped on your individual life and family. I’ve learned that I can improve on that, I already have a little since you left. I’ve always told you my greatest fear is losing the people I love or marrying some one and then them leaving or falling out of love with me but I think after this I’ve learned my biggest fear is hurting those I love, especially you. I promise I only ever loved you even if it was rocky and painful sometimes. At the end of the day it always originated from the core of my existence where sits unconditional, deep, forgiving love for you. You are my everything. You are special to me. We connected out of 8.1 billion people and I picked you to be my person.
Somehow my love for you is causing pain in myself and in you and that kills me. That’s not what it’s supposed to do and I’m so sorry it’s this way. I will carry the parts of you that will be with me long past my dying days gently and will love you in silence so that I don’t cause any more suffering. I promise it’s not my intent, i wouldn’t wish this heart break on anyone but maybe if you could feel a sliver of this suffering then you wouldn’t be so cold to me, you wouldn’t become angry because I call you just to hear your voice even if it’s angry and saying such awful things or that I cling to your fleeting scent on worn shirts. I know it doesn’t make any sense but maybe I just loved you more than you loved me.
Maybe one day when you are ready you can reach out to me and we can start to rebuild our friendship? We started out as friends, maybe one day we can try again and see where that leads. Me and our puppy would like that a lot. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, I was loving you and dreaming of our wedding until you left, but maybe we have to do this to learn and come back together stronger and more prepared for this wonderful deep love the universe bestowed upon us to share and take care of. Maybe our “one days” don’t end here.
Promise me you will take care of yourself, that you know I would have done anything for us to work and our dreams to come true, that you won’t lie to anyone or yourself anymore, promise that you won’t hurt anyone the way you hurt me, that you will forgive yourself, that you know I’m so thankful and grateful for our love and memories and for your help growing me up, promise that you will learn more about yourself and how to talk to people about your emotions and needs, that you’ll find what you are looking for, promise you won’t forget about me and the ways I loved unconditionally and how you made my heart beat faster just by being you, promise you know I wish for the same thing always, know I’ll always want to hold you and kiss you and I’m counting on to that pinky promise we will get married at 30, know when I look at the stars I’m hoping you are looking at them too and thinking of us, know that I think the world of you and that I’m always rooting for you even if you never want to see me again. Know I want health and happiness for you. Know that I’m deeply sorry for the pain I didn’t know I was causing you, know that I truly didn’t know you were hurting, know that I will still wonder what my name with your last name would sound like said by others, know that I wouldn’t hesitate to say “I do” to you right now, tomorrow, next week, anytime, know that if you were to text or call I wouldn’t hesitate to answer, know that I will always choose you over anybody, know that I am holding onto hope that when we find some peace we will go home together, know that I fully believe our promises aren’t broken but rather just waiting to come true still, know that I’ll never love anyone like you and that I don’t want to, know that I’m not putting my life on hold and that I find peace in waiting for you, know that I believe we are soul mates and this is a trial of our everlasting love, Know that I do and I will love you forever and always past the unending universe. thank you for the memories and for the growth your betrayal and heartbreak will cause in me.
Know that Im going to miss your forever, but not as long as I’m going to love you.
With love.

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Shaking my head, I nodded.
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
When the thing crashed through the door, our classroom exploding around us, chairs splintering against the walls, I was already dropping to my knees, crawling under a desk. It took me a moment to understand I was already kneeling in what was left of Imogen.
Her body had been hollowed out, singed straight through.
I was crawling through pieces of her flesh, mounds of her bisected brain.
Keeping my hand over my mouth, I watched this… thing.
A bulbous black monster, chewing its way through my classmates. Blood splattered the walls, raining from the ceiling, and that same striking pain ripped through my gut, agonising enough to force a cry through my lips.
My frantic gaze found the clock.
2:54pm.
Lurching forwards, I heaved up what was left of my lunch, agonising pain wrenching my stomach back and forth.
I jumped when another body joined me, thankfully alive, squeezing under the desk.
Roman, his face slick and dripping scarlet.
When the thing was gone, neither of us moved.
3:05pm.
“What are those things?” I managed to get out.
“I don't know,” Roman whimpered, covering his mouth. “But they're everywhere.”
3:10pm.
Another thing found our classroom. This time I saw it up close, a giant, bulbous black thing with an eye stalk. It knew we were there, peeking under the desk we were hiding. But it didn't kill us.
The thing left the room, stopping to gorge on half of Ren’s torso.
Roman shot me a questioning look, but I could only be relieved.
3:15pm.
Roman threw up black slime all over me.
He caught my eye, swiping his mouth. “Well, that can't be good.”
The pain in my gut was getting harder to deal with.
3:20pm.
“Did you have chicken nuggets for lunch?” Roman murmured. He got a little too close, his breath on my neck.
I had to suck in my stomach to stop the pain.
I was going hot and cold, sweat dripping down the back of my neck.
“Why?” I hissed back, taking deep, shaky breaths.
“I dunno,” Roman murmured, “I can smell them on your breath.”
His teeth grazed my flesh, sending shivers down my spine.
“Weird… huh.”
3:30pm.
Roman nudged me.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Is that Kaz?”
Following his gaze, I found the remnants of Kaz under a crushed desk starting to… convulse.
“Was he bitten?” I whispered.
Roman’s eyes were a strange color. “Maybe.”
3:35pm
“Mr Brighton.” I was on my knees, sobbing, shaking my physics teacher.
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
I squeezed his ice cold hand for dear life.
“Say, ‘stop’,” I whispered “Please!”
3:40pm.
The thing that found me didn't attack me. It sat there, head cocked, watching me roll around on the floor, the pain writhing through me. I watched its transformation in short bursts, consciousness swimming in and out.
When I found light again, the thing was sitting cross legged next to me, chewing on a human arm. Maybe I was hallucinating. I watched it for a long time, trying to figure out why it was wearing strips of Roman’s white shirt.
3:52pm.
No longer in the school, I was in the back of an ambulance, a lady screaming in my face. I could see the time on her watch. She told me I was going to be okay, and I think I was. But I wasn't sure how to tell her she smelled good.
Like chicken.
It's been three months since my teacher froze time.
Mr Brighton wasn't imprisoning us. He was protecting us.
I'm still alive, but I have to take regular shots. I think they're just in case I was infected by those things.
I asked Mom if the incident has been on the news, but there's no coverage.
According to the people in white who treated me, everything has been covered up. According to the Mayor, ten kids died in a gas leak.
No mention of the monstrous things hunting us down…
Our town is just a blip on the map. You can't find us. I wish you could, though.
I need help.
I'm terrified of myself.
I’m not going to tell Mom she smells like chicken, because she'll freak out.
Last night, someone, or something knocked on my window.
When I turned on the light, a single, bulging eye was staring at me through the glass.
I still don't know why it was crying.

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it's all propaganda. it's not MK ULTRA. this is the knights of columbus doing this. they have been doing this for decades now. all the propaganda saying it's your government is made with AI generated domains that they are redirecting you to. the people on here and quora posting this bullshit fear based misleading nonsense are the group doing this. they are cronies that act like a new world order after getting fed lies and buttering them up with a check to insure their participation. they are no better than the people pulling strings which is the KofC.
the people on infrasound and rf attacks are aged out foster kids that are now adults. they use the same psyops attack vectors on targets that were used on their parents and still use on them. then tell the kids it's their fault building resentment and animosity within them. this makes them hate the foundation of family as the environments they are specifically left in are filled with addicts and sex offenders also working for the kofc in the same psyops program. they do this to have 18+ slaves that end up volunteering for this anyway. they run them through a series of physical psyops that breaks down their will where as a target receives the same treatment but on a level that is non physical. (notice how no threats they make come to pass?) they just keep talking shit. they are man made sociopaths using voice over to tell people to commit crimes like attacking an innocent person because the spatial audio they use has you worried things like "mobbing" and "street theater" are a thing. believing that you're that special and everyone is just out to get you. wrong. no one knows who you are aside from whomever you have known yourself... and everything else is the lies from the mouths of a pile of uneducated illiterate crybabies desperate to be acknowledged because they were told their mommies and daddies didn't love them and they were rescued. they are told from age 5 that they were selected for an important mission and are forced fucked that belief their whole lives. if you tell a little boy he is from space.. and everyone around him keeps that fantasy with you, he will always believe he is from space.
this is not advanced tech it's been around literally since 1968. the frey effect was developed then by dr frey. it's entirely based around microwave hearing and dropping you below the human level of hearing once the cochlear nerve has been subjected to those micro waves. anything you use today that is cordless or that has bluetooth capabilities is carried by micro waves. they are just using that wave length against you.
at some point (as does everyone) you received dental work that some dentist in your past, has put a rice sized passive in vitro radio frequency micro chip in a filling, in your gum line after being injected with novocaine, in a crown molar or root canal and or a veneer that is firmly screwed into your skull. the american dental association couldn't care less about you as they have been putting fists full of fluoride down your throats for decades now. if you're unaware of fluoride it's that lie they tell you said to strengthen teeth. what it actually is, is a byproduct of the metal and aluminum industry that they didn't know what to do with so they decided to dump it in our mouths. the dental board is all 50 to 80'year old white males.. so don't act surprised. the chip itself is made from graphite and plastic (undetectable by xray but will show up as a white gap in the space it's in) note in your xray that anywhere else you look and see a gap of space that it shows up black, yet the shape that is rice sized is a beaming white color. one side of the chip is basic identifier data and the other is a literal beacon antenna. it's not like a computer chip so stop with the nano dust chaos everyone thinks they are valuable enough to have implanted because that's an example of the problem and propaganda regarding this put in place to make you sound bonkers. a satellite acts as a giant RFID scanner (same concept as the chip in a dog or cat) where your location is "flagged" on a digital map. this and only this is how they find you.
there is no FBI or CIA list because you're without a doubt not a nuclear arms dealer and or involved with the cartel. using PSYOPS on american citizens and any variation of it has been a felony and considered an act of domestic terrorism since the organized crime control act of 1980. no need to sign petitions because it's always been illegal. police that act unaware of it are unaware because local police don't handle acts of terrorism as it is completely out of there jurisdiction. at most you make a formal police report regarding and instance you want legally documented and use that as a paper trail of the events you're inflicted by against the guilty party in court. the posts regarding how people "wish this would be illegal" are insane. EVERYTHING about this is illegal. it's breaks nearly every constitutional law in place to protect our rights as americans. which is why it's domestic terrorism at its core. the individuals posting the propaganda regarding anything other than facts on how to stop it, reach for help, prevent this or to confide in other individuals inflicted with the same attacks ARE the domestic terrorist group doing this.
imagine a giant chess game played by narcissists and sociopathic old men, there is pawns all the way to knights, queens and kings. the "faith in action" idiots are the pawns, posting opposing redirect propaganda. the you have the now grown kids they convince are important special doing this to a target for their handlers 24/7 for years at a time. hyper fixated on only the human they are siphoning data from. chemically castrated so their little boy brain in man bodies won't be distracted by hormones because men think about sex once every 1.26 hours. if they have control over their own hormones and sexual desires than they are not the slaves they are told they are not. they won't make money for their daddies if their PPs are doing the thinking. they are warped ass hats that go around saluting each other and told they are 4th degree color corps believing they are some secret military group. in reality the knights of columbus have them flagged with a color so that everyone that's not them knows they are at optimal neutralization level aka crazy enough to believe they are special enough to bypass basic training and just fell into a military uniform. the berets they don and the colors represent the level of idiot they are. so if someone sees them they know what not to say so that then illusion isn't broken. remember what i said about little boys from space. grown regular males will sit in a bar slamming nachos and yelling at a rectangle all night while a professional sports team competes.. only to say in its conclusion that "we played a good game" . excuse me "we!?"..no dude, you screamed at a rectangle and they played a good game. just because you wear their jersey doesn't mean you're on the team big guy. hopefully you get what i mean because if you don't then you deserve to be targeted.
at the top tier you have actual military groups involved but not ours. you have russia, china and north korea who have hated us from the moment columbus' drunk ass wobbled off his 3 way boat exploration. they are conspiring against us as a unit. they are taking all the things we as americans are so proud to throw around like "freedom, standing united etc" and weaponizing it to their advantage against us. where they are putting us in mental cages and dividing us in every way from hating our neighbors to having us believe that the people in positions to help us are the enemy. prior to the modern software bounty program which is what they are doing this to targets for in the fist place, was a black market of data sales that has been going on for decades. data is more valuable than gold in most cases and 3 super power nations that hate us will pay for. the best way to defeat an enemy is to know every weakness and strength from all of its peoples. if you think they are targeting you because you have special powers or are a super genius, ask yourself this... why? wouldn't they want to utilize that ingenuity instead of dumbing you down? the answer is, they don't care who you are on a personal level. it's all a giant game to them and all they want is human chess pieces to play with.
they enemy will drop no bomb and send no spies here like in EVERY movie and show that normalized "russian spies". because they are here, always have been and are our own citizens. they are using us "standing united" and dividing us using each of our united selves as a royal F__ You to bastardize anything that is in opposition communism. while we are waving flags and burning our own cities to the ground. while they have the minds of teens on tik tok becoming so egotistical that they think the followers they purchased somehow raise them to a status so great that the tide pods they have them eat will make them important. then warp their minds with PSYOPS weaponizing their young minds to go from straight A students to shooting up their classmates with an AK-47. all the while destroying every aspect of the things we throw in their faces about how american we are. meanwhile we are in a trillion dollar deficit which means negative that amount, saying how rich and powerful we are in comparison to them.. appointing the host of "the apprentice" to lead us while he brags of grabbing their women by their genitals.
you wonder why this is happening? then you make it all about yourself. they are weaponizing the ego that america has against us, using our own ego maniac people against one another. we are more divided than the continents themselves and no global catastrophe was to blame. we are. the knights of columbus aren't the top tier, they just think they are.
this is about the modernization of human slavery and how fragile a society we truly are. in no way is this a program to find criminals or to help you. you're being buttered up with a synthetic ego because of the ego we stand united with. we kicked a hornets nest along time ago and the hornets teamed up with the bees and wasps and are giving honey to theother insects so we fatten up and consume one another for them.
enjoy.
please call me crazy, i wish i was.

Lawman
A drop of scarlet fell into the dust.
Hauke ignored the bullet hole in his side and kept reloading. There would be time to bleed later.
He sat in a battered wooden chair under an awning, with one leg draped over its arm, eyes staring intently down the dirt road. A rhythmic metal clicking came from the guns he held as he filled their cylinders with fresh shells. But his eyes never left the road. There was no need; his hands worked without thought.
Beyond the awning, the sky was bare, the town was still, and the planet’s twin suns blazed with fury. Heat shimmered off the hard-packed dirt road running through the center of Aeos, and sweat made tracks down Hauke's face through the dust. Gehenna was technically a moon, though larger than most planets, stark and strange, a waterless desert world of jagged black mountains and sunbaked hardpan on the edge of Alliance space—on the edge of nowhere.
Most who worked at Deepcore's mining facility called the moon The Withered Lands. An apt name Hauke thought, for a place of perpetual sunlight and crushing heat. A place barren of life. No where any but a witling would wish to call home.
He was only here because corporate greed put this lonely settlement on a fringe world otherwise deemed uninhabitable; corporate greed and a ready supply of desperate people - the disillusioned and the displaced, the utterly broken. For most, their lives were a legacy of misery, and they left behind a past they hoped to forget. There was never a shortage of such expendables in a galaxy riddled with crime and war. No one would miss them. No one cared. That's why the outlaws chose this shit hole to put down roots. There were vulnerable people here, a flock of sheep placidly going about their daily lives as the wolves circled, and no Alliance security to protect them. Easy pickings.
Hauke shook his head and slid another round into an empty chamber. Shame, really. These are decent folk. Better than the other sewers he’d policed.
Then he shrugged.
Good people they might be, but it didn't matter. It should, but it didn’t. They were expendable. Everyone was, after a fashion, even Hauke.
Every worker who stepped off a Deepcore transit shuttle into the dust and the heat was undeniably corporate fodder, disposable flesh to be used and discarded like soiled toilet paper. Deepcore made no bones about this practice, nor did they bother with any pretense that their workers on Gehenna were anything but company fodder. Why should they? No one with wealth enough to matter was paying attention. Nobody in the Core gave two shits about a bunch of dregs dying on the Fringe. Who would? Alliance authorities? Funny. The money-made politicians in the halls of power wouldn't waste a bucket of piss on what they deemed rats squabbling for the right to live in society's sewers, filthy beggars and low-born rabble best ignored by their betters. Why waste resources cleaning them out when, given enough time, disease and starvation would do the job for them?
Hauke snapped his pistol's cylinder up into its housing and gave it an experimental spin. The smooth, well-oiled clicking that came forth drew a smile across his sun-roughened face. It was a warm and comforting sound, like a fireplace in winter. If you took care of your guns, they would take care of you.
Hauke favored the classics over the garbage that companies were peddling these days, six shooters from an era lost in time. They were reliable, never overheated or shorted, and were effective on anything that ever walked or crawled in the mud - given the proper ammo. The thunder of their song sent even the most hardened criminals fleeing for cover.
He paused his reloading and studied the brass casing he held. It was a Spartan Arms Blacktip, called shatter rounds on the streets. They were expensive, hard to come by, and highly deadly. And illegal. The speed loaders clipped to the tac-belt circling his waist held the same rounds. Even a Treskori's thick armored hide offered little protection against these babies.
Movement caught the corner of his eye and drew his attention to the north.
A small Dazkani woman darted out of a nearby alleyway and across the street, a lavender-skinned child in tow, rushing for a two-room cabin very much like his own. Her tan robes were trimmed in black and embroidered across the shoulders in her house pattern. Each frantic step revealed flashes of light purple flesh on a muscular thigh where the robes were divided down the side.
His eyes followed her progress.
Then the cabin door slammed shut behind them, and she peered out through its only window with jet black eyes full of fear.
Hauke shook his head. Though he didn't blame the people of Aeos. They were afraid, and for a good reason. Outlaws calling themselves The Reapers, with blade and barrel and cruel ways, had taken by force what little joy these people had found and made each day a misery. Then came Hauke and his revolvers, claiming to be the answer, though they only saw another killer here to sink his teeth into their town.
Eyes watched from windows and doorways across Aeos. He could feel their itch upon his skin, too many eyes and wringing hands awaiting the coming confrontation. If the Reapers won today, they would turn their ire upon the people of Aeos. Things would get ugly. Fast. No wonder they were worried. Hauke was just one man against dozens of killers. He smiled. That almost made it an even fight.
Whatever happens today, he thought, absently running an oilcloth over his gun and his eyes over the town. These people would do well to cut their losses and make for the inner systems far from Deepcore and outlaws and the wild lawlessness of The Outer Fringe. They would live longer and be happier for it.
He took up his second pistol, its nickel finish reflecting sharp flashes of silver in the sunlight.
Brass casings fell at his feet.
Deepcore was supposed to be the shining star of the mining industry, a leader among leaders whose policies demanded quality of life for all its employees and family-first values that resonated down to the lowest janitor. A good PR story, Hauke thought. Tall tells for the gullible and chronically stupid.
Anyone with two brain cells fighting for third place should understand it was all a carefully crafted illusion, a shiny veneer overlaying the odious truth, the plots, the lust for profits, treacherous ways corps did business.
Hauke's fingers moved with practiced grace, and the clicking continued. Red dripped from his side.
How many politicians must have been bought over the years to maintain such an elaborate facade? How many innocent people were stuffed into early graves to protect the dark secrets? His frown deepened. Too many.
In his experience, corruption was a disease that most often began at the top and snaked its way down through long-sitting senators and middling managers, black tendrils of rot coiling through the layers of a midden heap. Parasites, all of them. Getting fat and rich off the blood and tears of ordinary folk who want to live in peace and enjoy what few comforts they can afford.
But Hauke knew there was no such thing on the Fringe. Not on Gehenna. Not for the dregs, anyway. His stomach twisted, and he slowly ran the oilcloth over his second gun. Not in this galaxy.
He lifted his eyes and scanned the area. Aeos was a town built with the cheapest fiberplast factory Prefabs Hauke had ever seen. The kind of flimsy boxlike structures meant only for a temporary settlement, never a permanent city. Some buildings still showed faint traces of the original terracotta red from the factory. But most gleamed bone white in the harsh sunlight, pitted and wind-worn like the skeletal remains of some long-dead titan strewn across the sand. When the town died, like those before it, Deepcore would erect another on the sands that held its corpse. Even Gehenna could not stop profits.
Off to the west, the dark silos and rumbling machinery of the vast mining operation loomed over Aeos like a cruel overlord, uncaring of their suffering and singular in its purpose. Columns of thick black smoke rose from its inner workings to stain the sky, and an endless procession of thick-hulled barges—laden with ore until their sides bulged—strained for orbit. Day and night, the Impervium ore flowed from Gehenna's mines to fatten the pockets of Deepcore's elite back in the heart of the Corporate Alliance. Here was a state-of-the-art operation save three things: no drones, no automated equipment, and no modern conveniences; Aeos was built with shithouse parts. Profits again.
Even the barges were operated by organics, with no autopilot or AI-driven software. The moon's electromagnetic something-or-other interfered with guidance systems, so they did everything the old-fashioned way. And then there was Gehenna's powdery dust. It held magnetic particles that worked their way into the delicate inner guts of electronics and advanced machinery, sparing no circuit or wire. That's why they needed flesh and blood workers to do the job—blood sacrifices laid out upon the corporate altar.
As for Aeos itself, there was little else to it. Flat-roofed cabins with tattered awnings shading tiny porches crowded either side of the road. A few dilapidated parts shops and rundown diners, a large closed-air market beside a cluster of tall water tanks beaded with sweat. A sprawling communications array. A small starport built on a nearby plateau just outside town, made hazy by blowing dust. There were no Sky Towers rising from sprawling cityscapes, or manicured parks to bring beauty to this desolate place. No holographic skyways filled the night skies with the endless glittering lights of air traffic. None of the high-tech glitz and glow he was so accustomed to seeing on even the poorest of Alliance worlds. Aeos was sterile and rundown, abandoned by hope.
But today, that changed.
Hauke glanced at the upper edge of his augmented vision. Twenty past eleven local time, Gehenna time. His jaw muscles tensed, and he climbed to his feet, spinning his pistols into their holsters.
Time to settle an old score.
All was quiet as he stepped out into the dust-blown street, the laughter of children at play gone silent and the hustle and bustle of the little mining town strangely absent. Indeed nothing stirred but the wind, which briefly transformed the approaching outlaw into a grainy silhouette etched into the swirling dust.
Threiner.
The name came to him unbidden, a harsh whisper in his thoughts. A sudden surge of heat rose in his chest, an electric quickening of the heart. This was the culmination of a decades-long search and perhaps some small comfort for an old wound that had never fully healed. He'd come here to take the outlaw back to Ryari Prime to face Alliance justice, alive or maybe dead. It didn't matter.
Behind Threiner, a massive cerulean sphere twice the size of Jupiter filled the sky. Layer upon layer of milky clouds and swirling blue eddies drifted across its surface, vibrant hues muted behind a thin white haze. It rose from behind jagged black peaks that cut across the horizon, and he had to tilt his eyes to take it all in; an immense orb haloed in shimmering silver rings spreading wide across the sky. Hyperion was its name, a titanic gas giant and the largest planet in the A-9 system. A trick of its size, or perhaps Gehenna’s atmosphere, made Hyperion appear close enough for him to touch, as though Hauke could reach out and swirl a finger in the layers.
At last!
A voice rose from the stillness of his mind. A familiar voice. Peace for your father. Peace so that we can sleep. The heat in his chest blazed into a blinding thirst for vengeance, a wildfire out of control. It tried to overwhelm him. He shook with the effort of holding it back, teetering on the edge of sanity. His hands trembled as they inched toward his guns, fingertips brushing aged ivory handles—eager to let them sing.
Why do you fight me? The voice said. He is our enemy. An outlaw. A murderous swine who's earned a thousand deaths. That it should be by your hand can only be seen as justice—a just thing for all his victims.
No…I…
Think. The voice was a silken purr, a whisper of falling gossamer across his skin. It caressed him with seduction. Think of all who cry out from the grave. They cry out for vengeance! Who would hear their silent words? Give them justice. Give them peace. Kill Threiner. Kill him now!
No! Hauke's shout was a silent snarl, teeth bared, face twitching. He would not dishonor his father's memory or his badge. It was unthinkable! He was an Alliance Marshal, a man sworn to justice like his father before him. And justice was what he meant to have. Not murder.
Save your twisted words, brother. I'll not hear them.
The voice retreated like the battering waves of a storm that suddenly lost their fury and fell back into the sea. It took all of his strength to stuff the voice back down into the hollows of his mind, where it waited, lambent eyes in the dark. You will see in time that I know you, even if you do not know yourself. We are the same, brother, the voice whispered.
When Hauke was sure he'd mastered himself, he took a step forward. Then another. Another.
There were forty feet between them when he stopped and angled his body toward the outlaw. "Surrender, Threiner," he raised his voice to carry the distance and over the low moan of the wind. It sounded strange coming from his mask, a slightly electronic resonance. "Lay down your weapon. Now."
Their eyes locked, and the outlaw only scowled.
Threiner was Treskori, so he wore no mask over those hideous reptilian features; his species required none. Their robust systems quickly adapted to nearly any environment, something humans did not share.
Without a mask, Hauke would be light-headed in less than a minute, air drunk, it was called. Nausea would rack his gut a short time later. Things would begin to dim, to shut down, starting with his ability to reason. Walking and talking would become a chore. Then he would collapse in the sand, delirious and confused, lungs gasping in the burning air. Darkness would come shortly after, a soulless void to consume his world. In the end, he would have no strength to call for help or the wits to understand what was happening to him. Not a fate to be envied.
Threiner's slitted black-and-yellow eyes bore into Hauke's, and for a tense moment, they held in a silent struggle. Neither moved or blinked, still as statues. Only the wind gave voice, twining its fingers through Hauke's shoulder-length hair and shifting the dust between his boots. Then Threiner's scaled lips slowly peeled back to reveal serrated teeth in a vile show of contempt. It was meant to frighten him and mock him, the cruel smile of a predator toying with its prey.
Hauke wasn't impressed. He'd seen his like before, many times, and they all bled the same with hot lead in their hearts.
Yet an eight-foot Treskori with the speed of a gazelle was nothing to take lightly, a genuine threat. So Hauke remained cautious in case Threiner decided to rush. The outlaw held a heavy plasma cannon at his side in one massive three-clawed fist, tapping it idly against a thick trunk of a leg. One blast from that cannon would leave a basketball-sized hole in Hauke's chest if it left anything at all.
Threiner glared at him with supreme confidence. In Treskori culture, strength and size were the ultimate deciding factors, especially in battle. Yet even with a Treskori's great strength, that weapon—typically found mounted on assault vehicles—would be slow to wield, slow in a fight where speed mattered. Hauke resisted the urge to smile. Speed kills.
Threiner's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, following Hauke's eyes down to the plasma cannon, then snapping back up. A sneer that would have frozen helium slowly spread across his face. There was no armor or personal shielding that could defend against that weapon. And Threiner knew it.
Speed kills.
Hauke's hands drifted to the weathered leather holsters belted low on his hips and the nickel-plated revolvers waiting within. Immaculate they were, with quick-draw barrels and feather lite triggers for rapid fire. Their song was blood and death, and he had no doubt they would sing it soon. Engraved In fancy script along each barrel were the pistols' names, Justice and Virtue, exquisite artistry by the hand of a master gunsmith. These rare treasures were passed to him by his father with a lineage tracing to the days of his father's great-grandfather and beyond. A time when outlaws roamed the untamed west, and lawmen hunted them wherever they hid.
Threiner turned his head slowly, deliberately keeping one evil eye on Hauke, and spit a huge gob of green-tinged saliva into the dust, then snapped his glare back into place.
"Be smart, Threiner," Hauke said, though every inch of him hummed on the razor's edge of violence, and every fiber hoped Threiner would twitch that cannon in the wrong direction. "And you might live to see the outside of a prison cell again one day." The mouthpieces back in the Core wanted Threiner brought back alive if possible. Alive was better for the holovids the senators wanted to run. But if Threiner even breathed wrong, Hauke would not hesitate.
"No surrender, human," Threiner's deep hiss was full of malice, and vast musculature rippled across his shirtless bulk. "Pain. Much pain for you." From his great height, Raim Threiner glared down at Hauke as though looking at an insect he meant to crush under his boot—a naturally occurring, ever-present scowl that twisted his ugly face beyond hideous.
Threiner turned his head and spat again. "Pain," he said, scraping the sharp tip of an ebon claw across his throat scales. "All pain for you." Threiner's massive plasma rifle still hung idle at his side, barrel pointed at the ground, unmoving. But his free hand clenched into a fist. Sunlight glittered off thousands of small granular scales covering his skin like viridian glass, and a low growl issued deep within his throat, an ominous rumble that would have sent lesser beings running. But Hauke had seen it all before, and he stood firm, his jaw set, hands poised and ready. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Nothing could change that now.
Abruptly Hauke realized that Threiner was doing his best to hide a nervous edge. And rightly so. Confidence was a necessity if you wished to stay alive in this business. But blind arrogance would get you killed.
Most in his business had heard the tales of the human Lawman with lightning in his hands and ice in his veins. Most believed it was nothing more than a fairy tale, something cooked up by the Badges to keep little outlaws awake at night. Yet something must have clicked in Raim's little lizard brain. Perhaps it was the bullet-riddled bodies of his gang strewn about and already rigid in the sunlight, posing as corpses pose, that made him understand the legendary Lawman now stood before him.
"Surrender," Hauke repeated, his tone hard and flat. The icy look in his eyes said there would be no further chances. His hands hovered over his guns. Sweat stained the crown of his wide-brimmed bolero. Red dripped down his side. A sudden wind rippled folds into his shirt, kicking up a dirty haze. Everything went quiet. He could hear his heart, feel its fire surging down to his fingertips. His eyes narrowed, but he willed himself not to blink.
His hands itched to rip the guns from their holsters and let them sing. It would be so easy. Threiner wouldn't have time to process that Hauke had pulled steel before he died. His hands trembled. But he would give the outlaw a chance to lay down his weapon. He always did.
His father once told him that a man's honor was all he truly possessed. All else could be taken away or destroyed. Material possessions and riches would become someone else's when you died. In time, even your spouse. But your honor, your legacy, was yours to keep forever. This was made all the more important in a galaxy rife with treachery. A man's honor was sacred. His father had believed that, and so did Hauke. He had killed outlaws, true, more than a few: humans, Treskori, even Jasei. If they broke the law, killed, raped, or pillaged across The Alliance, he hunted them down. Most had surrendered peacefully.
For those foolish enough to pull on him, things had always ended badly; this he did not deny. He was ruthless and cunning, as one must be to survive hunting the galaxy's worst. He would not waste time with denials. He would not pretend to be righteous. He had never found a sense of pride or pleasure in the violence. He was a professional. He did not kill for joy. He only killed when given no choice. Even Raim Threiner, his father's killer, deserved his day in court. That was justice. That was how the system worked. He would bring this vile creature back alive if he could. The rest was up to Threiner.
"No surrender, human," Threiner repeated, breaking into Hauke's thoughts and rolling his broad angular head atop an even wider neck. Only seconds had passed since he first spoke. A transverse crest of bony spikes connected by a thin membrane of leathery flesh fanned up across the crown of his skull, rattling and bristling with anger. "Much pleasure to kill you, Marshal scum shit."
His response did not surprise Hauke.
The plasma rifle started up, and Hauke's hands flashed. There was thunder and smoke, time slowed.
Threiner lay on his back when the smoke cleared, slitted eyes staring blindly at Gehenna's twin suns. Four massive holes leaked green down his chest and pooled in the sand. Hauke's pistols roared again, and two more holes erupted in Threiner's head. Better to be sure than pay the price of folly.
Guess the senators weren't going to get their holovid back in the Core. Well, piss on them. Hauke was a lawman, and there were no politicians here.
People emerged from their shacks, peering plaintively up and down the streets. Their eyes were still fearful, but something else kindled behind them.
Hauke turned, gleaming pistols still in hand and lifted his voice to carry.
“People of Aeos,” he scanned their faces, and saw hope dawning where before there was only despair. “Raim is dead. The Reapers are dead. You are free.”

How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself.
I don't feel comfortable sharing that information.
• Is there a medical diagnosis that may impact your mental stability somehow?
Not that I know of.
• Describe your upbringing. Did it have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it?
• What do you do as a job or as a career (if you have one)? Do you like it? Why or why not?
I work at a fast food place. The jobs fine until I have to pretend to like and be respectful to those who don't respect me. I constantly come soooooooo close to losing my shit. I like most of my coworkers. One of them I'm not a big fan of because she doesn't pull her weight. One time I was restocking when the cook called "order up, eat in!" She wasn't doing anything at the time so I just continued stocking and assumed she would take care of it....she didn't. She stood there and stared at me. I didn't say anything because someone else called her out in it first.
• If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed?
I'm honestly not sure. I'm usually forced to stay home a lot. I spend a lot of time researching on different theories. Like personality theory for example. I know a decent amount about the cognitive functions but I'm so stuck in overanalysis that I can't pin myself to any type. Anytime I come close to a conclusion or think I've settled on something another view point or angle to look at it pops up. My heads constantly going "well what about this? Did you consider it this way yet? Well you didn't look into this perspective enough try this. What if...?" And blah blah blah 24/7. I love it because I'm constantly coming up with new ideas and theories but it also gets really annoying because it makes it near impossible to come to any sort of conclusion!! Lol. I'm a huge nerd if you couldn't tell. I love things like cryptids and the supernatural. I love anime and cartoons. Gravity falls and my hero academia are my favorites.
• What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities?
I love researching and theorizing. I love writing, playing various instruments and singing. I love art (acrylic, watercolor, sketch, sculpting, carving, making prints etc.). Knitting, crocheting, I love daydreaming. I create a bunch of highly developed worlds and storylines in my head. I also love creating things. Ive always been a sort of experimenter and inventor. I make things like zip lines, (currently working on a new model that's safer and more portable. I'm making it out of pieces from my old remote cars. I need super glue. Gosh, didn't realize how many interests I had! I'm pretty cool! Lol, anyways. Ive been inventing and experimenting for as long as I can remember. Once when I was younger I found a huge box and decided to turn my bike into a mobile home...it didn't turn out to well but it was still really fun!! My mom had to put a lock on our pantry when I was little because I would still random ingredients to make my "potions" and "bake cakes." I did not have a natural respect for authority as a child. I just kinda did whatever I wanted without giving it much thought. I wouldn't actively go out of my way to defy authority thought...most of the time anyways. Ok, lost track again sorry. I love reading, making my own costumes for fictional characters that either I made up myself, or a from some movie comic book or tv show I like. I also remember I would try and make a parachute a lot when I was younger. I would test them by jumping off of roofs...they were sadly never successful. I'm surprised I've never broken any bones (knock on wood). The worst injury I've gotten is spraining my ankle while WALKING ON A FLAT SIDEWALK. WTF. Not when running through the woods, or climbing mountains and rock climbing without any gear. Oh no. Definitely not when I'm actually doing dumb shit.
• How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please elaborate?
Yes, yes, yes, and more yes. I think the above paragraph that wrote explains this one pretty well too....but anyways. I have soooo many unfinished projects!!! It's insane!!! It's like my mind works SOOO much faster than my body (and money) can keep up!!!! So many unfinished ideas and projects, costumes, books, paintings, sweaters, scarfs, you name it I've done it I swear.
• Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be?
I always take up the leadership position in social situations, if there are no other ones willing to step up. In my friend groups though I tend to make all the decisions. I love volunteering at summer camps and leading groups of kids all summer. It's awesome!! Kids are awesome!! SUMMER CAMP IS AWSOME!!!
• Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity?
I am very well coordinated. I have AWSOME reflexes. Super quick and super reactive( in a good way obviously). Thats why I haven't died yet my dudes. I've had so many close calls though not gonna lie. • Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particular artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forums of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer.
Yes, I am artistic. My art is very colorful and stylistic. I'm not really sure what else to put here so moving on.
• What's your opinion about the past, present, and future? How do you deal with them?
I think the past is something we can learn from, but it's not good to dwell on it. Im not always super focused on the present moment. Even when engaging in activities my mind is always focused on something else unless I really try and focus. If I'm really into something though I hyperfocus and forget about everything else. Literally. I will not eat, sleep, drink, or bathe. I won't even notice if a have to use the bathroom. I love dreaming about the future. It's not like I have any detailed plans or anything, just vague ideas and possibilities. Ex: my goal is to be a hero, accomplish great things while helping others. I have almost no idea how to get there though. Or even really what that "great accomplishment" will be. It's kinda like I'll just know when it happens. I have plans to travel around the country with my best friend and live in a camper van.
• How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so?
If people request my help, I will help them. It's the right thing to do. Although I'm not sure I can really explain why. It just is.
• Do you need logical consistency in your life?
Heh??? I think I need some examples I'm feeling kinda dumb
• How important is efficiency and productivity to you?
Hmmmmmmm.......I procrastinate quiet a lot so I guess that speaks for itself. Unless I'm at work or If said thing is reeeeaaalllyyyyy important to me or someone else.
• Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that?
Nope! Not that I'm aware of! ( I totally secretly mind control people to get what I want. Totally.)
• What are your hobbies? Why do you like them?
I'm not gonna list alllllllll of them again. There's to many. I didn't even list all of them before! I dabble in a bit of everything. And I mean everything. I enjoy my many very different hobbies because it provides spontaneity and possibilities and allows me to explore and try new things!
• What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses?
I guess I learn best by doing or having some way to interact with the things I'm learning about. Lectures work fine to for things like science. But if I'm learning a new game, im only able to figure it out if I'm allowed to learn while playing so I can experiment and learn through trial and error.
• How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go?
I have learned how to brake up projects into manageable steps. I honestly don't know how good I am at strategizing. I'm naturally a more "let's just jump right in and see what happens" kinda gal. I don't like planning. I think on my feet real quick. I'm great at multitasking and responding appropriately to situations quickly. It surprises others how good I am at this. I even surprise myself!
• What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally?
Again, my aspirations are pretty vague. I wanna be a hero and achieve great things while helping others. It just feels right. I fell intensely passionate about these desires. I outlet these desires by volunteering for things like retreat centers and camps. I love helping people. I hate leaving others behind. I can NEVER leave another person In need. I will do everything I can to help them. Ive been left before, I know how it feels. I NEVER want anyone to have to feel what I felt. I've regrettably left people before out of fear for my own well being...I beat myself up about it constantly. I dont think I could live with myself if I made that mistake again.
• What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
Biggest fear: Being incapable or being seen as incapable.
Examples of this in action: When in groups, if I feel like I can be a capable leader, then I will boldly and confidently lead. If I don't feel that I can, if there is any doubt in my mind, then I will sit quietly in the back. I hate it when people underestimate me. I hate it with everything in my body. If someone tells me that I can't do something, you bet your ass I'ma prove them wrong. I once got in a fight with a guy because he told me that girls were weaker than guys "and there's no way someone like you could beat your older brothers in a fight." I won.
• What do the "highs" in your life look like? My highs look like I'm full of energy. Like an unstoppable force. Extremely passionate and determined. Full of ideas and childlike wonder.
• What do the "lows" in your life look like? Lots of emotional outbursts. Depressed. Rumination. Loads of self criticism. May cling to past traditions for comfort.
• How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so?
I daydream alllllll the time. I'm very in my head. However, I'm still somehow subconsciously aware of what's going on around me and am able to respond accordingly. It always surprises me lol.
• Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
I would retreat into my own little worlds that I have created in my head. I actually use these worlds and storylines to help me fall asleep at night because of I don't, my brain won't stop thinking about all the fun things, and theories and ideas. Once I get bored of disconnecting from reality, I would start singing and making music with my hands.
• How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it?
It may take me a bit to make a. Important decision. I will always rely on my gut feelings when it comes to those. They have never lead me astray. Once I have decided, I rarely have any doubt.
• How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
It depends. Sometimes I process my emotions quickly, sometimes it takes me a while do decide what I feel about something.
• Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
Sometimes I do this, but only when I'm first getting to know people. I do this because I'm afraid of losing the chance to connect with them.
• Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why?
I usually only brake rules when I see no point to them. I don't go out of my way to brake them. I don't immediately think authority knows better. I think the should be challenged. But I'm not gonna go out of my way to do that unless they're causing harm.

“Oh my God! It’s really him!”
Even before I turned around, I was sure that those shrill teenage voices were talking about me. I just couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t famous; I’d never done anything important in my life, and it had been a long time since I’d been in high school myself. The three girls were leaning over the glass barrier on the second floor of the mall, pointing at me with their hands over their mouths like they’d just seen a celebrity. When they realized that I’d spotted them, they ran giggling into the crowd, leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach: what was all that about?
The sense of wrongness I felt only deepened as I walked into the store that I’d come to the mall to visit. Maybe it was just lingering discomfort from what had just happened, but I’d swear I felt eyes on the back of my neck as I walked down the aisles. Some of the other customers were staring too, I was sure of it–and that wasn’t all. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside the store, I realized that there was a chubby guy in dark clothing standing near the back exit of the store…recording me.
“Hey!” I shouted, but he was already gone, disappearing through the access door into the guts of the mall. I reminded myself that I was here to buy a teddy bear for my four-year-old niece–not chase some weirdo through a restricted area–and let him go.
“You alright?” the woman at the cash register asked when she saw my face.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I waved my hand vaguely.
“Oh yeah, I getcha. All the crazies come out of the woodwork this time of year. Before you came again, I had to break up two grown men who were fighting over a stuffed alligator. You believe that?”
I shook my head. Ordinarily, I avoided the mall like the plague at this time of year. The crowds and repetitive holiday music got on my nerves, but I’d promised my niece I’d get her a blue teddy bear from this specific store. Why she wanted that specific gift was a mystery to me, but toddlers aren’t known for their logic. The cashier scanned my card, frowned, then scanned it again.
“Says it’s blocked,” she grunted, and handed my plastic back to me with a suspicious look. “There are some ATMs on the second floor…if you’re able to withdraw cash, that is.” Her judgmental glare told me exactly what she thought of people whose cards got declined…and people who wasted her time.
As I fought my way through the sea of holiday shoppers, a preteen kid ran up to me and tossed a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate onto my chest.
“Did you get that?” he yelled over his shoulder at his friend, who snapped a photo and nodded. The pair of them were gone before I had time to get a good look at their faces, much less try to stop them. Wondering what the hell was wrong with people, I wiped off my ruined sweater and hurried to the ATMs.
The glowing blue screen in front of me soon confirmed my worst fears. I was locked out of all my accounts, and not just banking stuff, either: I couldn’t access my email or even social media: everything was blocked. It was like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Without those little lines of code, who was I, really? Trying to shake off that gut-wrenching feeling, I pulled out my phone to contact my bank…but I was already receiving another call.
I picked up immediately, only to hear a mechanical-sounding automated message:
“Congratulations, you've been selected–”
There was something disturbing about that voice, but I had already hung up by the time I realized what it was.
Another call was coming in. The number was slightly different from the first, but when I answered, there was no mistaking it: I was listening to my own voice. Sure, the words were eerily slow and the pronunciation was off, but I was definitely listening to…myself.
“Not very polite of you to hang up on me like that, Aiden. Not when I’ve got something so special to tell you.”
I sputtered, fumbling for a reply; the whole situation was just too strange.
“W-who is this? Who am I talking to?”
“Why, this is everyone, Aiden. Everyone who has a vested interest in seeing what you’ll do next. First, though, we think you ought to change shirts. That sticky hot chocolate must be uncomfortable, and besides, yellow isn’t really your color.”
Whoever I was talking to could see what I was wearing, which meant they could see me. My eyes darted from face to face, scanning the crowd–
“There’s no one to look for Aiden. I’m everywhere. See that outlet store in front of you, Aiden? We’d like you to go in and get yourself a new holiday sweater. Oh, and since your cards are blocked, you’ll have to steal it. Well? Go ahead. We’re waiting…”
I hung up. Of course, they called back again. And again. And again. I turned off my phone and slipped it into my pocket. My heart was pounding. What the hell was going on here? The police; that was it. I just had to talk to the police, to let them know I was being harassed and stalked…but by who?
Had I made any enemies lately? There was Tim, the I.T. guy from work, who had never seemed to like me very much. He knew who I was and maybe even had access to sound bytes of my voice–but would Tim really go this far just to mess with me? I wandered in a daze past giant ornaments and chlorinated fountains full of pocket change, barely aware of where I was going–
Until a guy with a goatee stopped dead in front of me and stuck out his hand, jabbing a blindingly-bright screen into my face.
“It’s, uh, for you…” he sounded as confused as I was. “Somebody called me and said he needed to talk to the guy in the yellow shirt with the hot-chocolate stain. That’s you, right? It’s something about somebody named Kimmy.” My blood ran cold. Kimmy was my mother’s nickname! People shoved angrily past the pair of us, but I didn’t care: all my thoughts were on the familiar voice coming through the stranger’s phone.
“We’re disappointed that you’re not rising to the challenge, Aiden. We think that maybe your mother should have raised a braver boy. Thankfully, user DarkStarr85 has generously agreed to go by 415 Meadowleaf Court and teach her a lesson.”
“Listen, whoever you are,” I shouted into the phone, making a few of the shoppers surrounding me jump. “This isn’t funny. I’m going to the police, and when I find out who you are–”
“You can go to the police if you want, Aiden. But that would ruin everyone’s fun…and besides, by the time you talk to them it will already be too late for Kimmy. Come on, Aiden. Why don’t you play along?”
I fell silent. For all I knew, there was nobody waiting at my mother’s house, and this sadist who spoke with my voice was just messing with me…but what if I was wrong?
“What do you want me to do?” I sighed.
“You see the man standing in front of you? The one whose phone you’re holding? We’d like you to punch that confused expression right off of his ugly face.”
The guy with the goatee blinked at me, wide-eyed and totally unsuspecting. I clenched my hand into a fist…then lowered it.
No. I wasn’t going to play their sick little game.
I threw the guy’s phone back to him and ran toward the restrooms. I remembered seeing some pay phones back there…I would just have to hope that they still worked.
The mall had seen better days, but the restroom hallway was particularly rundown. Most of the fluorescent lights were flickery or burnt out, and there was a nasty brown puddle of something stagnating by the wall. The first payphone was covered with graffiti and the second had been practically ripped off of the wall, but the third looked like it might still work. I jammed in some quarters and punched in my mom’s number.
“Honey?” my mother asked right away when she heard my voice. “Are you alright? You sound out of breath.”
Before I could explain, I heard something in the background on my mother’s end of the line: a doorbell.
“Ma, listen: whatever you do, do NOT open that door!”
“Are you sure? They’re knocking really hard. It must be important…”
“I don’t have time to explain, just get off the phone and call the police, okay?!” I shouted.
Glass shattered. Then the line went dead. A fat, scarred finger had pressed down the receiver, cutting off my call. I turned to face the hulking figure who stood between me and escape. His head was shaved close, his teeth crooked, and beneath his fat there was a lot of muscle. A single diamond earring sparkled in his left ear. He cracked his knuckles at me and grinned: he wasn’t alone.
“H-hey!” I stammered “That call was important!”
The big guy punched me in the stomach. His friends ran up behind me, shoved me to the ground, and held me there. They didn’t speak…but one was taking a video of what was happening. The big guy sat on my chest and started smacking my face until I was seeing stars; I felt a tooth come loose.
“You right-handed or left-handed?” The big guy asked.
“Right-handed–why does that matter?” I spat blood.
“We gotta make sure you can still answer a phone call when we’re done.”
He picked his foot up and stomped on my left hand. My fingers snapped beneath his boot with a sickening popping sound, and I screamed louder than I ever had in my life.
“What’s going on down there?” A security guard stood at the end of the dingy hallway, pointing his flashlight toward us. A group of shoppers had clustered there to watch the one-sided “fight.”
“You upload the video?” The big guy asked. His friend nodded. “We don’t get paid unless the video goes viral…”
“You three! Stop!” The guard yelled, running toward us. The big guy sighed. By the time the pudgy, middle-aged guard got close enough to realize how outmatched he was, it was too late: they were on him. Clutching my broken hand, I limped out into the crowd. No one offered to help…but I did notice that a few people were recording.
My head was reeling, and not just from my injuries. The whole situation was just too insane. Someone had stolen my name and voice…and they were paying people to torture me! I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I staggered out into the chilly parking lot and found that my car's tires had been slashed. That wasn’t the worst of it, either.
Some instinct, some primal fear, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. When I turned around, I saw three familiar figures scanning the parking lot…searching for me. I didn’t like to think about what they might have in mind for Round Two.
I ducked and crept along behind the cars until I reached the line of trees that marked the border of the mall parking lot. On the other side was a service road: it was a mostly-abandoned strip of warehouses and boarded-up stores that ran alongside the highway. At the far end, I could see the glittering lights of a bus station. It might be my last chance to get home and get help.
I was halfway down the service road before I regretted my decision. I had tried several more times to call the police, but my phone was blocked by more of those awful calls, proposing more sick “tasks” for me:
“You’ve made us angry, Aiden. If you don’t want any more broken bones, you’ll walk out onto that highway, take off your clothes and start dancing–”
I hung up. The sound of the wind blowing through those desolate chain-link fences made me feel very alone…but I wasn’t. Someone was following me. They walked faster when I walked faster, slowed down when I slowed down, and never let me out of their sight. From the way they held their phone at their waist, facing me, I felt sure that they were recording me.
I had had enough. The stress of the whole nightmarish day had pushed me to a breaking point, and I don’t think I could have stopped myself if I wanted to. I turned and charged. It was the last thing my stalker had expected, and when they dropped their phone and ran, I realized that I recognized the figure: it was the chubby guy from the toy store, the one who I’d noticed filming me! I shouted after him, but he was already gone, snagging his leg on barbed wire as he sprinted across a construction site. I didn’t have the energy to pursue him…but I did have his phone.
When I picked it up from the sidewalk, I saw my own face staring back at me from the cracked screen. The picture was one I’d never seen before, one that I didn’t even know had been taken.
“Aiden Fisk,” read the caption, “what will he do next?” A video-clip played: a replay of everything that had happened so far. Grainy footage of me panicking in front of the ATM, being doused in hot chocolate, getting my arm broken…and walking nervously down the abandoned service road. Which meant…they knew where I was. As the video ended, the App opened: an app that was all about…me.
There were polls about what should happen to me, what I should be made to do next, and what my punishment should be if I failed. The more gruesome options, it seemed, were always the most popular. In another section, users could use cryptocurrency to bet on what I would do and track my location in real time. I was zooming in on my own location when a call came into the stranger’s phone.
“Hello again, Aiden.” My own voice said to me when I answered.
“Why are you doing this to me?!” I yelled into the receiver.
“You’re our entertainment, Aiden! You’re famous. You should be grateful. Now for your next task–”
I flung the phone away like it burned me. The lights of the bus station twinkled at the end of the service road, close yet far away at the same time. The road narrowed, becoming a one-lane alley between two construction sites, and the sidewalk disappeared. I hadn’t seen any cars so far, but I could hear the rumbling of an engine approaching behind me.
My shadow stretched out ahead, illuminated by a pair of rapidly-closing-in headlights. I waved, trying to make my presence known, but the driver didn’t stop; they didn’t even slow down. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed an enormous truck. It occupied the entire road, and even if I had had time to jump, there was nowhere to go.
A low scream escaped my lips as the truck’s front bumper nudged my lower back. I staggered, sure that I was done for, but the driver slowed to match my pace. They kept the so close that I could feel the heat of the motor, egging me on, forcing me to run faster and faster–
They could crush me beneath those huge tires anytime they felt like it, and they knew it. Was this my next punishment? I could imagine the app tracking my pace, people betting on how far I’d get before my legs or lungs gave out, and on which parts of me would shatter when I inevitably got run over. Up ahead, the road narrowed even more: dead bushes in concrete islands had been placed in front of the bus station as someone’s idea of landscaping. They didn’t add much beauty to the place, but if I jumped into them, the truck wouldn’t risk following me over the barrier…probably. I still wasn’t sure just how far these people would go for that sadistic app, but I had no choice but to take the risk.
My feet left the asphalt; branches cut into my arms and face as I crashed through to the other side, but the squeal of the truck’s brakes behind me was music to my ears. The bus lot was well lit. A few older men stood in a circle, smoking, while a young woman took her fussy toddler for a walk around the parking lot. The driver idled behind me, probably thinking the same thing I was: that there were a lot more witnesses here than on the service road.
By the time I got to my feet and looked back over my shoulder, the truck was just a pair of anonymous tail lights disappearing into the night. I wiped my scraped palms on my jeans and walked toward the station lights, wondering how much more of this I could take.
No one in the bus station seemed to be playing the app’s twisted game; in fact, no one looked up at me at all when I walked across the grimy tile floor toward the schedule board. The station was about to close: the next bus to my neighborhood wasn’t until six-thirty the next morning, and I had a nasty feeling that my “followers” would have caught up to me by then. My only option was to borrow someone’s phone and hope that I could call for help before the app found me.
Everyone I spoke to turned me down, and I could understand why. I was crazy-eyed and desperate, covered with scratches, and my broken hand had swollen to twice its normal size. I was about to give up when I felt a tap on my shoulder. The homeless man's clothes were in rags; his vomit-flecked gray beard hung down almost to his waist. The smell hit me like a wall, and it was hard to keep from gagging. He pressed something into my hand: a burner phone.
“It’s got one call left,” he grunted. “A whole minute. Good luck, pal. You look like you need it even more than I do.” He lurched back out into the dark before I could even say ‘thank you.’
Weighing the battered phone in my hand, I wondered who I should call. I doubted the police would get here in time; my mother wasn’t answering, and my best friend Sam was out of town on business. That left…Dani, my ex. She lived nearby, and besides, it was the only other number I knew by heart…even though I wished that I could have forgotten it.
Dani's voice was huskier than I remembered, but she picked up right away. The first words out of her mouth were the last thing I would have expected:
“Thank God. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours!”
She rushed into a story about how people had been calling and messaging her all day…people who were looking for me. She said it sounded like they wanted to hurt me. One even offered to pay her to seduce me and film the result. She had something to tell me, she said, but my minute was almost up. I had just enough time to tell her my location and beg her to come pick me up. There was a long silence: before she could answer, the line went dead.
I looked around. There was no longer anyone in the bus station to ask for a phone call: in fact, there was no longer anyone in the bus station at all. Metal shutters had been lowered over the ticket window and the vending machine area; the waiting room was empty apart from a discarded scarf that dangled sadly from a ripped-up seat.
Somewhere in the depths of the station came a loud SLAM, and the flickering fluorescent lights began to go out ,one by one. Maybe it was just the standard closing procedure, maybe it had nothing to do with me–but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I approached the nearest glass door, then jumped back as a figure wearing a white plastic mask slammed their shoulder into the door. They pushed at the door like a rabid animal, trying to get at me–
But it had already been locked when the station closed.
Furious, the stranger took out a hammer and swung it into the glass. Fractures appeared, and I wasn’t going to wait around for the door to shatter. I fled in the opposite direction, through the one remaining exit and out into the night.
I think part of me already knew what I’d find waiting for me, and that’s why I wasn’t surprised by the small group of masked individuals waiting just beyond the streetlights. All of them held glowing phone screens in their hands, and a few held weapons as well. I spotted lengths of chain…a baseball bat…a gutting knife…
As they started toward me, a car drifted into the empty parking lot, its tires squealing. Dani threw open the passenger-side door and shouted at me to get in.
She peeled out as I slammed the door shut. Her car was just as dirty as I remembered: fast-food bags on the floor, makeup kit crammed into the door tray, half-drunk coffee mugs in every cup holder. It had always struck me as funny that such a well-regarded scientist could be so disorderly.
After an awkward silence as we merged onto the highway, Dani told me that it was over–or at least, she hoped it was. As we sped through the night, she did her best to explain what she thought had happened.
Dani’s work (or at least, as much of it as I understood) involved using artificial intelligence. When we were together, we had made a lot of jokes about Terminator and Hal-9000, but her research had never seemed sinister…at least, not until recently. Her most recent project was an A.I. that designed phone applications. She had built it to maximize profits and interaction: to identify what people wanted, and give it to them.
To her horror, Dani discovered that the A.I. had begun operating outside of its parameters–even accessing her personal files in its endless quest for a better product. She figured that was where it had found my image, voice, and other information. After analyzing trends across time, the A.I. had determined that there was nothing people enjoyed more than participating anonymously in the suffering of others: I was its first test subject, simply because it had found my data first.
The A.I., Dani added quickly, wasn’t really to blame. It was people who had chosen to interact with it, download it, and make my life a living hell. It had done nothing more than fulfill its function, encouraging whatever behavior that got the most views and likes. Once Dani had realized what was happening, she had shut the A.I. down…or tried to.
It had apparently already spread itself to other networks–although “spread” wasn’t the word that Dani used. The word she used was “infected.” As Dani dropped me off at home, she told me not to worry: her organization would “almost certainly” take care of it, and I “probably” had nothing to worry about…
But just in case, she asked me to spread the word:
If you notice people staring at you or taking pictures of you in public…
If you find yourself locked out of your accounts, or if you receive a barrage of strange messages…
You might be next.

I've noticed that neither the socially anxious nor therapist (the observer) - know how social anxiety is showing up, in detailed manner. The inner critic part is often times neglected - because 1) the affected person has inner critic since childhood - so now it is desensitized to tyranny of shoulds, it is rationalized and this part of social anxiety is not noticed any more as crucial part of social anxiety. Fish does not know what is water - since it is swimming in the water since birth and doesn't know for alternative. 2) due to researcher bias, bias related to what is observed when the person may not report ALL symptoms due to repetition of them - any other person will not notice the inner criticism as huge problem in social anxiety - therapist will overlook it. CBT will tell the socially anxious to take exposure in order to desensitize to the fears - but in reality what happens is that we become desensitized to the inner critic and toxic shame, and at this point CBT is creating huge mental health breach of pushing the inner critic below the observable surface. At this point we will start to be controlled by the inner critic and toxic shame without us being aware that it is flashbacks and inner critic voices that are guiding our navigation and decisions in life.
Before we do the exposure to our fears - we need to learn broken Looking-glass self concept from sociology and then learn healthy coping mechanisms - so that we know how to construct our future other than entering into panic mode, meltdown and rumination mode.
Having a distorted looking glass (incorrectly imagining others’ opinions of us) can cause bad feelings, or a negative self-image. https://wa01001786.schoolwires.net/cms/lib/WA01001786/Centricity/Domain/70/Socialization%20Notes.pdf
Social anxiety will be triggered by toxic people, rude people, angry people who are aggressive, violent, unfair, judgmental, biased. That is why social anxiety is called social+anxiety. Anxiety stemming from the social element, social factor: external source of anxiety that are toxic people and their toxic behavior and toxic words. Healthy coping mechanism would be to stop and evaluate what is happening. To consider the source of pain - is the person who is criticizing us mentally healthy, sane and emotionally regulated - or are they chronic complainer and their own life is a big mess - and they overcompensate their issues through putting other people down? Without taking a pause - we will tend to defend and prove ourselves to such person - as if they have ability to listen and change their mind. Toxic people have rigid mindset and they live in a fantasy delusions that appear real to them - so it is impossible to have any kind of constructive conversation with them, since they are not devoted to resolve any kind of issue.
With social anxiety - our first task is to repair the broken Looking-glass self.
"The looking-glass self describes the process wherein individuals base their sense of self on how they believe others view them. Using social interaction as a type of “mirror,” people use the judgments they receive from others to measure their own worth, values, and behavior." (Lesley University)
This means that it is totally normal to care what other people think - and we will develop our self worth and identity - based on other people around us. This is why there is a saying:
“Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, surrounded by a$$holes.”
Our task here is to allow toxic people to have bad opinion about us in their heads. With time - we will start to stand up for ourselves more and more - since we won't be preoccupied by pretending to be angel and good person to toxic person, we won't spend rumination and worry on thinking how to handle toxic people any more by trying to convince them that we are good person - and we won't degrade and blame ourselves when we do not stand up for ourselves - because we won't be concerned about being labeled as "sissy" or "whiny" or "coward" in toxic people's minds. We simply need to allow toxic people to think whatever they come up with in their mentally ill minds and leave them with their conclusions be, without us trying to please them into liking us. In case when the other person is dangerous, anti-social - in case when the other person has power position over us, that they are in some kind of authority position - what we do and how we act - is up on our common sense. The difference is that we are no longer preoccupied about leaving a good impression to toxic people who trigger us into social anxiety emotions. All we need to do is to allow them to believe whatever negative and degrading image that they form in their mind - and do nothing about that.
I believe without knowing this concept - we end up: 1) overlooking crucial elements of social anxiety such as inner critic and toxic shame 2) being focused on quickly labeling healthy coping mechanisms as abnormal and sick, due to CBT and DSM and self-help industry and social anxiety coaches.
CBT and DSM are focused on social anxiety from the perspective that we are afraid of other people - as if other people are card board characters - and we are somehow afraid of their appearance. This is why CBT is forcing Exposure therapy - because it appears as if the source of our phobia are other people.
While in reality - we are afraid of what is going on inside other people's minds - and we are actually afraid of thoughts that other people have about us. And this makes us trauma bonded with toxic people who are manipulative and pathological liars and they are focused on narcissistic supply: other people's attention and fear and admiration.
A lot of social anxiety resources tap into this dependence of what other people think about us - and they are convinced that we can "cure" this problem by making a fool out of ourselves deliberately, harassing strangers on the street - stopping them and talking them on force, by singing or laying in the street - but this approach is still being heavily depended on other people and their reactions. We are still being slaves to other people's approval and validation and with this approach we are making other people into our masters and our central focus point around our decisions are created from. Even when we do the opposite of our fears and even if we deliberately try to say who cares or block our thoughts and worries - this is still broken Looking-glass Self. And it doesn't work - sooner or later we will bump into psychopaths and pathological liars and abusers who will eventually hurt us in some way or another - and trigger us into fear and panic and rumination.
The solution is simply to allow people to think whatever they choose to think about us - and that we turn our attention to our needs, tasks and jobs that we need to do, what we like and what is our priority to do. Instead of trying to change our schedule or mode of work in order to somehow magically accommodate and soothe someone's preferences at our own expense.
Back to the idea how we do not recognize social anxiety - is the fact that even when we go about our own business and actually allow other people to form negative image about us in their own minds - we will still struggle with inner critic and toxic shame. It is feeling of other people's potential judgement whenever we are outside in the open. It is worrying that we are too loud when we are inside, that we make too much noise and then neighbors think that we are rude. It is worry that our appearance hurts and triggers other people into mocking us - so we need to hide ourselves behind the sunglasses and hats - only ends up with inner critic telling us that sunglasses are awful and hats makes us weird and abnormal and that it is ugly, cheap and abnormal - so we cannot even hide our face behind accessories. It is when we walk and try hard not to take too much space for someone who is in hurry and needs extra place on the pavement. It is Negative Politeness of moving our shopping groceries on the counter so that we do not take all the space for the person behind us and making them wait for us. It is all the small daily actions that are plagued by toxic shame and inner criticism - that goes along with Broken Looking-Glass self: worrying what other people might hate us in their minds and have permanent archive in their heads about us being worthless garbage or bad and useless.
Because worry and shame were part of our lives since childhood - we do not notice how much inner critic and toxic shame are forming our decisions in life. In incredibly detailed manner.
The way I see it - during ACE and ACoA - we learned to hype up our neuroticism trait to the threshold - that we adopted a way of thinking where we see potential danger and negativity in life and how something bad can happen to us. Since our trauma involved invalidation and abuse and neglect from toxic people around us - our theme of worry and predicting danger involves other people. This means - we will have flashbacks and sudden ideas what kind of dangers can happen to us. This neuroticism trait is useful - because it help us to make better quality decisions on life that help us keep the better quality of our life - by avoiding unnecessary pain and damage. However - in case of inner critic and toxic shame - this neuroticism is far off from normal levels. And it is in the area where it can cause us to cripple and that we become immobile and that we isolate ourselves to the point of agoraphobia. So even though neuroticism is completely healthy and normal - in our case with social anxiety after ACE and ACoA - this ability to predict dangers is now counterproductive and it is sabotaging us from making better decisions in life that would actually help us avoid danger later on, paradoxically.
What is worse - narcissists and psychopaths are harvesting their own neuroticism - but they turned it against other people. So they blame and scapegoat other people as the chief cause of problems and errors. And if we have broken Looking-glass self we will never advocate for ourselves - and we will end up being codependent on abusers and trauma bonded with them. We will try hard to soothe their moods - and abusers will try hard to blame us for any error and flaw and misfortune that happens during the day. And this trait of scapegoating others is well received in crooked corrupt systems like Rat race and shame culture countries.
Then our only way to protect ourselves are healthy coping mechanisms - instead of relaying on our inner critic and toxic shame to provide and supply us with self sabotaging decisions.
With self-sabotage and inner critic and finding negativity and danger in everything - we will start to build belief system where we scapegoat our own natural and totally normal reactions and actions that we think and do. Toxic people around us will only confirm this self sabotaging mindset where toxic people will gladly place all the blame on us, since this boosts their ego and their feeling of self worth.
For example - as socially anxious we will tend to be HSP. We will struggle with being sensitive to pain and hurt and bad news. This sensitivity goes along with inner critic and toxic shame and toxic people who will confirm our sensitivity - and place all the blame for being Too Sensitive on us, that we are flawed human being who must not have certain human rights like expressing our own opinion. With negativity bias - we will think how bad things that we see or read - might happen to us one day. So we need to worry and replay the hurt in our mind over and over again. So inner critic and toxic shame will fuse with broken Looking-glass self like glue and paper or magnet. Then inner critic and toxic shame will guide us from the unconsciousness - without us being aware that we have rigid smiling face when in social settings and that we are unable to say no, unable to disagree with people and we will have general feeling of being contaminated for our appearance and how we talk and what we do - especially if we actually do something wrong, some kind of error or embarrassing action. Toxic shame and inner critic will force us to self-censor, to be silent, and to suppress anger. Whereas anger would be a tool to assert our needs and to ward off toxic people away from us, by simply being authentic and honest and by speaking the truth.
With inner critic and toxic shame - we need to change those parts of ourselves - however in order to feel self esteem and self worth and sense of security in our own body - we need to rely on our thought and ability to know that we have inner capabilities to think in correct manner. This is what makes toxic shame slippery and hard to catch. If we lean on into self belief - we end up being guided by self sabotaging voices. And if we self discipline ourselves - we end up triggering ourselves with toxic shame of invalidation that we experienced in ACE and ACoA. We must come from the place of compassion for ourselves and patience, knowing that past choices were based on the limited tools and resources, as much as in the future we might be in various situations where toxic people have some kind of power over us - and there is nothing we can do to fix it - and we will probably resort to dysfunctional coping mechanisms to cope with the harsh reality.
I see switching over from unhealthy to healthy coping mechanisms as dieting. We can observe dysfunctional coping mechanisms as junk food. And if we are poor, if we do not have money - junk food will be the only food available to eat. But - if we do have resources to choose heathy food - it is our responsibility to take care of our well being and health care.
Dieting is great analogy for coping mechanisms - because I noticed that when I started to gain weight due to junk food - that the symptoms that I experiences were exactly the same as panic attack and overstimulation and anxiety - and due to hyper-cognition - I quickly labeled this as something horrible happening to me. Luckily enough I keep record of weight and waist measurements - so I noticed that my health problems started with the consumption of junk food. I believed that small amounts of junk food cannot harm me, especially when I removed meat and sugar many years ago. In the same manner with toxic shame and inner critic - we will tend to rationalize and intellectualize toxic people, and try to normalize them.
This hyper-cognition is unhealthy coping mechanism, all by itself. Hyper-cognition is urge to quickly scapegoat and blame anything that is easy to blame - while in reality the problem lies in some other issue, it is a matter of misdiagnosis. Socially anxious people are easy target for CBT to scapegoat - because socially anxious people will suppress the anger and hold on the truth for the purpose of Looking Glass Self where we try hard not to create bad image of ourselves in other people's minds, including the therapist. And CBT therapist tend to believe in any report that they hear - even though the report may be incorrect and partial and unreliable. Which leads to hyper-cognition - blaming natural and normal parts such as neurodivergent brain and being HSP.
With hyper-cognition we tend to think that since toxic people exist - we are safe when we cut all contact with all people and stop trusting them. And self help industry will gladly jump into witch hunt idea - by telling us that we must stop people pleasing and being pushover, that we must put boundaries and place walls. While in reality - The Michelangelo phenomenon tells us that our duty in life is to help each other - instead of being soaked in Crab mentality - where crabs pull each other down - we need to rise other people up - since this is the only way to live life in harmony, with interdependence. Some people are toxic because they never received the correct data and honest feedback and they are willing to change - we never know when some person has a severe personality disorder - and when they are simply not educated in psychology.
Another hyper-cognition regarding pathologizing social anxiety and weaponizing psychiatry example is exposure - where CBT claims that with exposure our social anxiety will be gone. It cannot be gone. First and foremost, social anxiety is normal - it is normal to feel pain when other people are toxic. Secondly it is normal that we feel moral and ethical duties like keeping hygiene and treating other people with respect even when they are not obliged to help us back. Thirdly, with broken Looking-glass self we will have urge from the inside to worry and attempt to correct other people's wrong opinion about us in their minds. Then exposure will end as people pleasing and fawning nightmare, where toxic people will hook us to be slaves to them, since we won't be able to remove and shake off stickiness of their opinion about us.
And it feels good, invigorated. And..next day I will feel anxious again about doing the same thing! You would think after so many times of positive reinforcement 🟥JamesCamacho
There is no protection against slander - toxic people can freely make any kind of unfair and unjust accusations all the time - behind our backs, gossip about us - so we cannot do anything to change their hatred and false opinions about us.
There is no protection against slander. Moliere
With exposure and with broken Looking glass self - the next time we expose and each time we expose - instead of being desensitized as CBT hopes, we will become more and more exposed to hurt and harm by toxic people, manipulators of all sorts. We will become more vulnerable to their criticism - since they will probe our secrets and weaknesses which we will voluntarily provide for them for the hope that they will change once they know everything wrong about us. Toxic people do not wear toxic sign on their foreheads - they cover up their toxicity and we find too late their true psychopathic face. Toxic people use various strategies to get vulnerable people hooked - like validation and honeymoon phase and hoovering and hovering and hooking up others with certain baits - like preposterous accusations and blunt lies that keep us in defensive mode all the time, confusion and amygdala hijacking mode.
Next time round, you'll get hurt more easily ⬜ Anatomy of a Microaggression
"If you have been the scapegoat in a narcissistic family system, the concept of setting a boundary is laughable. You would be telling them exactly how to hurt you, and they would happily oblige. Also, trying to set a boundary in a calm and tactful way would be met by resistance in the form of mocking and ridicule, attempting to bait the scapegoat into anger, which would prove you are the problem." YT kingbee9778
"I feel gaslighted by the therapy mantras of “ you have to teach people how to treat you “ ,(setting boundaries). No you don’t and no you can’t. First of all, it’s not my job to teach an adult how to behave like one and quite frankly, it’s a trap and a drain hole. Secondly, I DON’T CONTROL OTHER PEOPLE. They will do what they want, especially if they have the tiniest ounce of power over you." YT gertrudewest4535
Our inner critic will pathologize any healthy coping mechanisms and official medical response to social anxiety, CBT will also join into hysteria of stigma, ableism and self blaming invalidation. Like avoidance of toxic people - CBT will label as isolation and agoraphobia. This is important to know - because when we make healthy decisions in life - inner critic and toxic people and toxic resources will try to convince us otherwise and to return to worry and rumination and toxic shame and inner criticism and self flagellation.
Healthy coping mechanisms are:
Exercise. Deep breathing. Mediation. Journaling. Music. Drawing and painting. Get enough sleep. Walk. Play with a pet. Reading. Seek support. Ask for support. Build a routine. Eating healthy. Engage in problem solving. Play an instrument. Positive thinking. Relaxation. Setting boundaries. Spending time with friends. Take care of yourself. Talk about it. Writing. Take breaks - pause. Make time to unwind. Connect with community. Avoid drugs and alcohol. Appraisal-focused, problem-focused, emotion-focused, occupation-focused coping. Reorganize, release, rethink, relax, reduce.
Right now I can see how broken Looking-glass self keeps us from healthy coping mechanisms - like seeking support and asking for help. With our urge for other people to have ideal image of us in their heads - we will tend to appear as perfect to others, someone who is not vulnerable enough to ask for guidance, help and support.
I believe that socially anxious need a specific tailor-suited healthy coping mechanisms - that are targeted in areas of toxic shame, inner criticism and broken Looking Glass Self - such as:
-Sam Vaknin Nothingness concept. -Existentialism. -Something amazing happens when you begin to accept that other people are allowed to have their own faulty perception of you. 🟥 Lisa A. Romano Breakthrough Life coach Inc. -Someone's intelligence can be measured by the quantity of uncertainties that he can bear. Immanuel Kant -Your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning. BILL GATES feel safe with other people = mental health, Dr. Bessel van der Kolk -Confidence is not walking into a room thinking you’re better than everyone, its walking into a room not comparing yourself to anyone at all. YT LivingALifeOfAbundance -Masking doesn't even work. I'm working my ass off over here to try be someone that you're gonna accept, that's gonna be palatable for you – and yet I'm still rejected and I'm still marginalized. 🟥 Masking is a Trauma Response -Addressing symptoms is not fixing a problem. YT tyrone6820 -When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all. - Futurama -Arguing =\= fighting and both are only a specific type of conflict. YT gus2603 -IFS Model. -Humanistic therapies. -"Constant: correction, redirection, criticism, rejection = Poor self-image." -"Imposition of order in Chaotic system = Escalation of disorder" -It is no measure of health to be adjusted to a profoundly sick society. 🟦 Jiddu Krishnamurti -When we are headed the wrong way, the last thing we need is progress. 🟦 Nick Bostrom -If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us. 🟦Hermann Hesse -What if you're right and they're wrong ⬜ The False Consensus Effect - Adopting the right attitude can convert a negative stress into a positive one. Hans Selye - It's not what you add that enriches your life - it's what you omit. Rolf Dobelli - Emotional access to the truth is the indispensable precondition of healing. 🟨Alice Miller - You are being manipulated when someone reduces, by any means, your ability to be your own judge of what you do. 🟨Manuel Smith - You'll never be loved, if you can't risk being disliked. 🟨Manuel J. Smith - Communication is to relationship what breath is to life. 🟨Virginia Satir - Don’t confuse being scared with being smart 🟥 Izaak McCullough - You shouldn't fear being hated. 🟥Izaak McCullough - The trick is: you have to feel good for no reason. 🟦Richard Bandler - Secrecy, censorship, dishonesty, and blocking of communication threaten all the basic needs. ABRAHAM MASLOW - Condemn the deed not the doer. Valis, Philip K. Dick - There are good reasons for being obedient, but being unable to be disobedient is not one of the best reasons. R.D. Laing - How to cope with a narcissist? The short answer is by abandoning him. Sam Vaknin - “Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth” — Pema Chödrön - The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely. Carl Jung - It is inhuman to be totally good as it is to be totally evil. Anthony Burgess - You can't manage your partner's abusiveness by changing your behaviour. But he wants you to think you can. Lundy Bancroft - Carl Rogers: “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself, just as I am, then I can change.” - Escape attempt from pain creates more pain. We get addicted to it. Dr. Gabor Maté - Neurosis is the avoidance of legitimate suffering. JUNG - Improving our relationships is improving our mental health. William Glasser - Goodness is chosen. When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man. A Clockwork Orange (1971)

Part One
The recluse in my room won't stop talking to me. I don't even know when it started. Once it did though, it became more and more frequent. At first I thought, maybe I was going crazy. However I had always been a bit on the mentally unwell side, to put it lightly. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in six grade. The psychiatrist said it was like I was put together wrong. The thing is he didn't just mean my internal organs, nor did he simply mean the thoughts in my head; but like something deep to the core of my very atoms was wrong. Was gross. War rotten. Was nasty. Then.. when I met Dr. Peterson is when he told me I have something against people. He told me that I seemed to have disdain for those around me. That my pain was caused by me in many ways. He wasn't wrong of course, but he could never figure out why exactly I ended up this way, and of course I could never tell him. When you tell doctors the truth, they try to hurt you. The try to send you away to that place. To the dark side of the earth. I will NOT go there again. I will not go there again. I will not go there again. I will not go there AGAIN.
So, I lied. I Said I didn't know what he meant, and that I just like to keep to myself. He wasn't wrong of course. I did have a disdain for the humanly figure. Disdain for the small minded ants that wandered the broken halls of past men many times their equal. They stand in the disrepair, and wallow in it. Not me. I could never. I am not, them. I will never be them. I will however be leaving soon. So, I needed to get this out. You might not be able to tell, but I am terrified. I am terrified of him. I am terrified of it. I am terrified of me. However, I am most terrified of the spider. No matter what it says to me. The brown recluse that follows me into my dreams, it tells me to not fear it. It tells me to not fear it while it plunges it's incisors down into my forearm, and pushes the venomous liquid out of it's body into mine. Sucking away the little life I have, while plunging in new disease on top of disease. In order to understand my fear, to understand my pain, to understand the bottomless stairs to the lair of hell which innocent souls go. Then let me go back. Let me go back. Let me go back. Let me go back.
I was thirteen when I was diagnosed with an auto immune disorder, I wasn't surprised, even back then. Sickness, disease, and torture seemed to follow members of my family wherever they went. Take my grandmother for example. She had led a very good life. A modest, God fearing life. Ya know where that got her? Laying six feet deep, after a years long struggle from oral cancer. The woman never chewed tobacco in her life, never so much as laid a finger on any drug, and never did anything bad to anyone in her entire life. Yet, she still moved onward to the dark abyss that we call death. Now I'm alone. I'm alone, and that spider knew it. It knew when I was watching it. It knew when I was thinking about it even. It knew. It always knew. It knew that the one person I had left, was gone.
My grandmother was my favorite person. She helped me when I needed it most. She came to me when I was down. She came to me when I was blue. She came to me, when the spider wouldn't leave and wanted you. Now she sits down, down down down. Down in the murky waters of soot and sand. I will go down there one day too. Honestly, I hope I go down further. I would rather burn in hell for the reset of eternity than allow my consciousness to go straight into an endless abyss of darkness and loneliness coagulating into the oozing mud that is the pitch black. It isn't my choice though now is it. See my grandmother always terrified me. This is one of the reasons that I love what scares me. I love the excitement. I love the thrill, but I also loved her. My grandmother was a child of four. She was a beautiful girl, but her mother hated her for it. As the eldest, her mother would always tell her that she had a face only a mother could love. That no man should ever want her.
When she entered high school though, that wasn't quite true. When she finally found a man that she cared for, her mother enraged with jealousy of her beauty, youth, and freedom decided to rob her of it. She decided that if she should suffer, so should her daughter. So, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a pot. She seared it on the low burning flame, and added oil until it popped. Then when my grandmother came home, she splashed a pot of boiling oil on the side of her face. It caused the skin of half of her face to melt, and droop downward like melting wax. Only for the oil to leave her face and the skin that melted downward hardened in various spots. Creating this crater effect on half of my grandmother's face. My great grandmother finally made her wish and statements come true, my grandmother had a face only a mother could love. That was until I came along. I see my grandmother for what she is. A beautiful woman, with the soul of an angel and the face of a loving goddess. As I said before, tragedy and despair follow my family like vultures. Waiting for dead corpses to pile up so that they might chew away at the last remaining fabric of their skin.
Most people think of me as an outcast. I never cared. I always thought that the best thing I could be, is alone. I was always sick everyone said. No one knew quite how sick I was, or what type of illness I bear. People told me I had my weaknesses, like my immune system. My immune system has always been somewhat confused, it seems to think that I am the foreign body. That mere consumption provide enough reason, to rid the body of itself. This caused me much pain, mentally and physically. However, no one told me I also had my strengths. I had to find that out for myself. See when no one bothered me, my brain could be set free. I could see anything I wished. Feel anything I wanted to. It all started when I was very young. I used to sit in my room for hours and talk to my friends, some of them more real than others. I had a friend named Koby. He was my most real friend.
I met Koby at elementary school, a private school where everyone except me was laced with hundred dollar bills. Koby’s family was also wealthy, but he was different from other people too. He didn’t understand when people made fun of him, why people made fun of him. He was naïve. Me on the other hand, I watched everyone. Judged everyone, just like they judged me. I got a cheaper entry in to my school due to my grandmother working at the school office. After summer ended people would come into class and the teacher would inevitably ask “What did you do this summer class?”. Everyone else either went to Greece, Italy, Rome, Japan, or some other foreign country. They were different than me, and they made sure I knew it. Not Koby though. Koby never asked me about my money, and we liked some of the same things. People would tease us and call us gay, because we liked “girly shows on the Disney channel”. We both came from a perspective of liking what we like unapologetically, at first.
We did indeed have a close and personal friendship, the kind young boys who care not about societal boundaries have. We would throw each other over one another’s heads in his pool mimicking wrestling moves. Imitating Randy Orten, and Brock Lesnar as if we were lumbering monsters of flesh and bones. Sometimes we would get hurt, bang our head in to the wrong object, or hit something too hard; only to console each other as to not cry and get in trouble. We also would make short films that ranged from comedy to action, and we replicated the bad language we saw online. We loved choreographing fake sword fights, and I always loved living as a swordsman in my head. Imagining chopping apart opponents, limb by limb as I dismantle their world and build my own. I also always wanted to act. I thought I was quite good at keeping on masks. Never relenting on an unending character, the likes of which only I know are fake. Koby and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot though. He was a huge fan of childish games, while I liked things to be a bit more advanced and difficult. He thought random curse words were funny, while I felt my taste a little more sophisticated. Did I feel superior to him? In some ways yes. It didn’t matter though, what mattered is they didn’t like him almost as much as they hated me. That helped us bond.
Then one day something changed. Koby changed, he became one of them. Koby began to play into their jokes. Tried to be what they wanted him to be, a clown. The bullying got worse, and worse. It started with calling us gay, use the f slur towards us, and other homophobic slurs. It then turned in to physical violence. People slapping us, using us as punching bags. I was a big kid. I think they enjoyed the idea of having power over someone larger than them.
One day during basketball, we were playing knock out. During Koby’s turn, one of the kids James went up to him and punched him directly in the eye. He did this due to being “knocked out” moments prior in the game by Koby. Having had enough, I immediately threw my basketball at the kids head, and moved to begin smashing his skull with my bare knuckles. Gnarling, and utilizing years of frustration I lunged at James. Rather than joining me in fighting him, Koby stopped me. He stood between me and James. He apologized to James profusely begging for his forgiveness, and scolded me. Told me how evil I was for simply fighting back. I had never felt more embarassed. More betrayed. The person I called a friend, would stop me from protecting him, and make me look like a weak fool in front of everyone. He cared more about his image to them, the people who didn’t like him to begin with than the will and anger his own “friend”. I would never stoop so low as to let the people who berated me, who hurt me choose who I become or what actions I take. That’s when I realized my “real” friend, wasn’t so real at all. I gladly accepted that I would never protect another being again.
After he stopped me, he became close with the people we once loathed. He would go on to spend time with them, join their clubs, go to their birthday’s. He was no longer the Koby I was once tolerated, and was now something very different. I hated him, at first. That was until he became comfortable enough with them, so comfortable he told them my deepest darkest secrets. The boys that had been scolding us, making us feel like nothing for years, he told them of my abuse. He told them of my desires, and of my fears. He told them who I enjoyed spending time with, what kinds of media I enjoyed, and what goals I had. He told them. That is what matters, and that is unforgivable. When I told him that what I thought about him, when I let him know how small of an ant he truly was to me, that’s when the voices around me became more than real. In a way they were the truth. They never lied to me. They always told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. They never judged me when I was wrong. So, when I was by myself… I was never truly alone. Some of them have names, others are a faint whisper. An echo of the wills of the past. A presence, that is not quite understood.
See I grew up in a trailer park. That is why the rich kids would never like me. I wore the same tattered uniform to school every day. Never having enough change to purchase a hot lunch, always begging the school for free food just to eat for that day. I never really thought much of my family’s money, or lack thereof. I somewhat liked living at the trailer park. I had acquaintances of all backgrounds, ethnicities, nationalities, languages you name it. However, people knew of me, but no one knew me. I would put on a front, and call myself by different names just to toy with people. Sometimes I would do different accents, to see how long it would take for someone to realize how fake it was. I always liked playing tricks on people, it’s one thing that often alienated me more than anything else. I didn’t care. I saw it as more of an art than anything. Plus never letting anyone in on the joke, made it all the more special. Only I could control what others knew of me. I was the bottle neck for that pipeline of information.
One trick I used to play on my neighbor Darren was exceedingly hilarious, but he didn’t like it much at all. He had a cat, it was a black and white cat named Moo that loved all the kids in the neighborhood. Except me. It would always scratch at me when it saw me, hiss like I was some monster. One thing that no one liked however, is that this cat meowed as loud as a Bostonian woman in the middle of an orgasm. Every single night, throughout the neighborhood it would whale on. It kept me up at night as a child, and made my dog anxious too. I always prayed that cat would get hit by a car, or smashed by a falling anvil. One day my wish must have come true. One day, the cat stopped meowing. Some say the cat got skittish, ran off, and got lost. I think differently. I think someone killed that cat. Someone took matters into their own hands, and good for them. When there is an annoyance, I say end it. People always get so sentimental over things like death. I find death to be peaceful, inviting. Warm.
However, even with Moo gone Darren and I still didn’t get along. He hated my dog, and blamed me for his cat going missing. So, one night I found an old recording on my phone. It was the cat meowing in the backyard. So I took my speaker over to Darren’s house, and played it at just the right volume to make it sound like the cat was at his gate. He got up moments later, and ran downstairs, searching for his cat. The way his face shimmered with mere glimpses of hope, and happiness only to give way to utter defeat and despair really put a smile on my face. The deep smile he had, turning in to a frightful scowl made my night perfect. His misery for some reason provided me with a level of comfort, knowing I could control someone’s emotions with such ease. It felt right. It felt like a power, that I deserved. Darren later that week would tell all the neighbors, and the neighbors started keeping an eye out too. The cat was never found, so they say. I think differently.
These days I don’t play many tricks on people at all. These days I’ve lost my power. I stay inside, away from those who can harm me. Free from everything of the societal world. Free to roam the mind that I so desperately aimed to understand in it’s entirety. Voices, that need to be satiated with conversations only I can have with myself. This is the only way to truly escape. The only way to be truly, and utterly free.
Day 3
I sit here on my couch. Staring at a blank screen ahead of me. Thinking not of the future, but of the past. I look fondly on my childhood memories. Moments with my parents where we would go on glorious adventures, filled with frights and delights all the same. One I recall is going to Bodega Bay with my father. We were roaming through beach caves, as the tide began to rise. I was with another child I met on the playground, and at a moments notice we were nearly trapped in the cave unable to get out. Luckily the other child’s father was able to get in the cave, and get us out. I hate to think what might have happened, had that man not been there on that day.
I think fondly of my school memories. While I had some friends, I mostly stuck to my studies. I was able to move forward, and at least pass my classes with relative ease. I always procrastinated, which gave me a lot of anxiety. I continued to do so anyway. By the time I reached high school I was able to graduate at 16. This made me ecstatic, because I no longer had to attend the high school that bored me so deeply. I was then able to take online classes for school, limiting my contact with others. Most see this as negative, I loved it dearly. I always felt I excelled when I worked on my own, rather than in teams. They always slowed me down anyway.
Today I sit quietly, in silence. Except for the sound of a child. The neighbor downstairs keeps a little brat that begs for attention all day long. Sometimes that baby reminds me of my neighbors cat when I was a child. It’s a long story, maybe we’ll get to it some other time.

• Nicholas Anderson

When I moved out of the trailer park, and started going to high school is when everything really changed. We went from living in a place with a community, to living in an apartment where no one knew their neighbors. Not that I cared for the people in my community much anyway, but having something to interact with seemed helpful. That was now gone. My father traveled for work, and my mother was usually getting high somewhere. So I would often stay by myself, in my home, alone. Listening to nothing but music, and the voices I had come to love so much. The voices that I began to see as more real, than reality itself. Even when one of my parents were around, I still just wanted to be left to my own devices. I’ve never liked interacting with anyone much. I don’t think I ever will.
Considering this to be the case, I was also still what you might consider to be anti-social. I did not like people, and most people did not like me. Once I learned how much I loved spending time with myself, this seemingly just got worse. Once I entered high school I realized how different I still was. No one here was significantly richer than anyone else, but I still felt a barrier separating me from them. I did find a small group of misfits however, to waste my time with at lunch. Even then I often still sat silently, while everyone else clambered on.
Even in this group, I still felt utterly alone. What I did enjoy however, was that my mere presence to them was somewhat of a trick. I did not care for these people. Yet they seemed to believe that simply because I was there, that I somehow cared about them. They also seemed to enjoy the embodiment of mystery I took on. I would rarely provide any information about myself, and when I did I would still commonly lie. Lie about who I had been with, what I had done, what I accomplished, what I had faith in. They believed it, for a time.
It all started to come apart, when Jada came around. Jada always seemed to take an interest in me. I didn’t really understand why. I never paid her any attention, and when I did it was always quick, simple, and to the point. Maybe my lack of interest in her, is what caused her interest in me. Either way, it wasn’t a good decision for her. I never have cared much for how my actions effected others. Nor have I ever really considered what would happen, if my lies were to be discovered. It just doesn’t matter to me, and typically I don’t stay around others long enough to be figured out anyway. Jada however, stuck to me like glue.
Anywhere I would go she would follow, with sad puppy dog eyes. Begging for attention. To be honest on some level I thought it was quite adorable, but also relished in the idea that I might be able to exert some sort of romantic power over someone. She was going to provide that to me. So, I fed in to her ways. I told her what she wanted to hear. I told her that she made me feel ways no one else ever had, which was completely fabricated. Pulled from thin air. I did not love this girl. I loved what she could do for me. I loved how I could make myself feel with her, and now that I had a taste of it I loved that power. That was, until she started to push back.
For a while I thought I was untouchable, I thought no one could break the spell I had on Jada. Any time I would ask her to be somewhere, she would be in an instant. It did not matter the time or the place. I could tell her any lie, ask her to complete any task and she would believe it or complete it. I had her fully in the palm of my hand with a firm grasp, until others in our little group started to get in to her head. They started to realize that some of my stories, didn’t quite add up. They saw how Jada spent her time with me. How she was at my every beck and call. That she would give up anything for me, yet I would give up nothing for her. They were jealous. They wanted to have that control over somebody, but they never could. They were never smart enough, never talented enough to do so. They told her that I was no good for her, that I was using her.
Make no mistake, I was using her. Isn’t that what love is? One using another person, to find some bliss. Some happiness which they can’t find elsewhere? Why am I wrong for doing the same. She provided me pleasure, I provided her with some in return. Sounds like a fair transaction to me. Besides, who are they however to interfere with my life. With my people. With my toys. When she finally told me she never wanted to see me again, I knew she was lying. She wanted me more than ever. Wanted to fix me. Wanted to make me hers, but she would only ever be mine to toy with. I was unfixable, because I wasn’t broken. It was everyone else that needed fixing, I was simply playing the game. Not long after Jada said that to me, I was excised from our group.
They thought of me as a dirty liar, who they couldn’t trust. It’s not my fault I played with those who are easily fooled, preyed on what made them weak. I was simply showing them what they were doing wrong. What they could do better. I knew from then on that the only person who understood me was the people I spoke to when I as alone. They knew me better than I knew myself. They knew what I wanted, what I could do. They had faith in me. That’s when I knew I needed to keep myself low. Put away. Kept neatly in a box, so that way I could ascertain my full potential. Once again I realized, only then could I be free. People, even as my toys were more detrimental to me than anything else. I loved being alone, but more importantly I thrived in it.
Once I started staying away, keeping to myself. I realized love was not what I had been told. Love was not for others, but for the feeling one can attain from the power it provides. With other humans that power is fleeting, but with one’s self it remains until your eminent death. With only myself in my home is when I found my first true love aside from loneliness. Cutting. Utilizing a blade to make the marks on my skin which I now define as art. A knife’s place is meant to be against the skin of a being. It fits so fluidly down the fold of one’s figure, like a figure skater dancing around an icy path with the blades on their feet. Leaving behind trails of love, despair, pain, and joy.
I swear it was an accident at first. I was in the kitchen one day, angry that I couldn’t understand myself. Why I felt the way I felt about life. Angry that I felt abandoned, without a mentor to assist me in both my strengths and my weaknesses. That’s when I instinctively took a knife angled it directly downward with both hands grasping it, and I slammed it straight down in to a cutting board. Little did I know that my hand would slide on to the knife as the impact was made with the board. My white tendons on the left side of my inner right palm, sliced open. Bleeding profusely.
My anger swelled in that moment, and manifested in immense pain that synergized and gave me something I had never quite felt like that before. Euphoria. Pure, and utter bliss. In that moment I felt aroused, excited, ready for something to happen. Nothing did. As my feelings of euphoria began to fade away, I was left with the slide in my hand from the blade. Blood dripping all over the cutting board, and the counter beside it. Crimson red splattered behind the board, leaving a bloody mess to clean up. I quickly applied pressure, and got a bandaid from the bathroom sink. Applied it, and sopped up the red stained tile with paper towels. As I did so it occurred to me, that feeling can be replicated again. All I needed was a knife, and a will to achieve nirvana. With blood spilt, it would be far easier the next time.
Day 5
Today I find myself on the floor of the kitchen. Staring at the ceiling, thinking of past relationships. The wrongs, the rights. What I did, what I didn’t do. What could have been, and what never will be. These things I find fascinating as a self-exploration exercise. What could I have done wrong to the woman that I once said I loved, so much so that she deems it necessary not to speak to me again. Did I do anything wrong to begin with? Is it true that she will never speak to me again? I find it doubtful, although I do not put myself in high regard on this situation either. I called her my baby doll, because that is what she is for me. I just want her back. Sometimes. However, I want her back for me. She wants me back for her. Maybe we can meet in the middle.
I think of my parents and what they didn’t do for me as a child. They weren’t model citizens, but they also weren’t terrible parents. They just didn’t know how to raise a child, and honestly who the hell does? I fault them not for what they did, but for allowing themselves to have a child in the first place when they were not ready. Bringing a child in to a world you are not prepared for let alone them, is downright despicable. A selfish and vile act of pure arrogance of nature. The arrogance of two to think love is enough to fill the stomach of their child.
Children deserve to be nourished and cared for. They deserve to prosper and have what is needed at their fingertips to grow. Anything below what you are most capable of is a disappointment, however being short of the basic necessities is abuse. This is why I would never have a child, I am not ready nor am I sure that I could truly care. If I could not care, but fake it would that be equally meaningful as a father who truly loves their child? Is it a father a child needs? Or does a child just need a figure. Someone, anyone to emulate. For finding your own way, and your own emulation in the world is the scariest task one might undergo.
Take the child downstairs for example. It cries non-stop, yet the parents do nothing to satiate the child. Whaling on and on. I could never understand bearing your carbon copy, only to neglect them. Why copy yourself to begin with. Let the branch of life come to an end. Let it fizzle out of the universe alongside that great big ball of fire we call a sun. Let us fizzle out like the final firework in the night sky during a Fourth Of July display. Burning ever so slightly less until the stars of the galaxy swallow the light whole, leaving nothing left to be devoured.

• Nicholas Anderson

Some people might say I am deeply arachnophobic, I am not. I say I am not, because it’s not the spiders I fear,. I fear what I don’t know. I don’t know where they are, I don’t know where to expect them, I don’t know what they want. I don’t know. I don’t know… Except this time. This time it seems… different. The spider in my room, it seems to understand me, somehow. Somehow, I understand… it. I’ve never liked spiders, their creepy multiple eyes, their sharp toothed grin ready to snatch away your life at any moment. Sure most spiders aren’t poisonous, but some of them are. That’s all that matters. Some spiders are small, some are massive. I hate the big ones. Ya see, I got bit by a black widow as a child. I was foolishly playing in the garage with my toys, oblivious to the world around me.
At 3 years old, I had my first encounter with this terrestrial alien. The spider that bit me injected me with enough poison to kill a small horse, so the doctor laid me down; She looked over, and with a big smile she said those famous words. “This won’t hurt a bit”. She put no numbing injections, she simply wiped the site clean, and began cutting. Sawing away at my tiny toddler stomach, slowly making their way through layers of fresh, soft, smooth skin. I remember nothing but warm tears streaming down my face as I screamed at the top of my lungs. Screaming at a rate I as a child had not even yet known. The screams of pain, they are unique. People can attempt to mimic them, but the true scream of torture and death is one so blood curddling that it makes your skin crawl. As a child you know only playful screams, this was my first introduction to what pain in the real world looked like. I just so happened to be it’s next patient.
I remember the pain, the cold feeling of blood pouring down my side, and screaming for my father. Yet, my father was the one to hold me down when I started kicking at the doctor from the pain. Rather than force them to stop cutting into a child without some type of anesthetic, he continued to hold my arms and legs as the doctor cut away. My greatest support system, to betray me in such a way. To take the trust of a child and crush it. After that session, I never trusted doctor’s again. I surely, never trusted a spider. That was until now.
That’s because even if the spider in my room were poisonous… It meant me no harm. Even if it did need to nest, and lay eggs it would not do so in my body. Even if it needed sustenance, it would not come in my direction. At least, that’s what it told me. That's what it told me as it's incisors pinched it's way into my arm once again, numbing the area unlike the doctor that went to work on me as a child. As I stare into it's eyes, I realized... I was scared. I was more than scared, for once... I was terrified. For my entire life, I was the one to induce fear in others. Now, that fear was being induced in me. So I am here. I am here to tell you. Until I am not. Let these words keep you from the spiders. Do not talk to them. Do not listen to them.
Do not be afraid. Even though deep down... fear consumes me.

Hello soon-to-be grads!!! I graduated last year and along my college journey got advice from lots of ppl in this reddit space so i thought I would give back a lil with some advice for the upcoming grads of 2024.
First of all, congrats! You've worked hard to get here, and Im excited to applaud you on from the sidelines
Here are some tips I have for grads!
Week of grad ceremonies - Personal

• Plan out your graduation week in advance and put it in Google Calendar. This applies for ceremonies you will be a part of and ceremonies you are attending for your friends or family. It also should include any other events, social or otherwise. You will not get much time to plan out social stuff during the chaos of grad week.
• Spend some time to appreciate campus, especially if you're nonlocal because it will be difficult to do so after you leave campus as a grad. This can be on your own too! Every campus has its own little gems, and some of them you might not even know about yet! If there's enough interest, I may post some of the lesser known Berkeley gems soon.
• Have a good understanding of yourself and your energy and your limit. Dont push yourself too hard or try to do too much in the final week(s) you are here. Remember that grad and post-grad are personal journeys as much as any other aspect. If you overextend yourself you won't have as much fun. It is okay to take breaks, even from social spheres, even as we feel our time in Berkeley dwindling
• If you are on a limited data plan make sure to budget your usage for the month accordingly, leave as much as you can for grad

Week of grad ceremonies - Social

• Make sure to prioritize and spend time with friends who won't be as accessible to you after grad. Note, this doesn't mean to not hang out with people who'll live close to you after, it just means, think smart about the future. Plus, staying it touch is often difficult as everyone is thrown into the chaos and quarter life crises of post-grad life.
• When hanging out with people the week of grad don't feel the need to fill the silence. Just absorb each other's company and appreciate it. Often it's just as, if not more, powerful than speaking and chatting and laughing etc..
• Only attend ceremonies for close friends. Again, goes back to the point about being careful with your time and your energy.

Preparing for your ceremony

• Make sure your outfit fits you well, check if you need to make adjustments. There are a few tailors near berkeley, some in downtown and some in southside, mostly a bus ride away, but often expensive
• Send calendar invites for each of your ceremonies to all guests who will be attending. Make sure you have individually texted and emailed them their guest tickets, so there is no confusion as they enter and go through the line for the ceremony.
  • Only give tickets to close friends or those who ask
  • Advise them on parking details before hand. Usually, berkeley sends out info about a few different parking spots. You can also try to book spots from apartment complexes. I asked my landlord last year if I could have my family reserve a spot for a weekend, it was only $15-20 iirc
  • Also advise them to show up 40+ minutes early to factor in time to park, walk, go through line/security, find a spot, etc.
  • Make sure they know policies on personal belongings/security. Sometimes they say stuff about how guests can only have clear bags, or bags smaller than a certain size, etc
• On managing guests - have one person be in charge of coordinating other guests and make a gc. For example, I made a gc with my friends attending my ceremony, and then assigned one guest to coordinate day-of (ex - saving spots in the audience, finding people, scoping out the line/security, etc). Pick whoever is the most responsible in your group. This is because it's very difficult to focus on basically anything when you're getting situated for your own ceremony.
  • Try to repay the favor for the friend who is coordinating
• For friends or fam who cant attend, send them the livestream if you can.
• Familiarize yourself with where the ceremony will be held. Check out the location at roughly the time it will be. Get a feel for the best spots to sit given heat/sun/etc.
• Note that the closer you are to front and center, the better, at least if you care about having your face show up in livestreams/uni photos
• If you are walking with friends, plan out how and where and when to meet them before hand. Its difficult to meet while in line to the ceremony, or esp at the ceremony. Plan to show up at least 30 min early.
• Make sure you have broken into your grad shoes/heels. Make sure they are comfortable enough that you would be okay walking (esp given the hilly terrain) and sitting and standing around in them for up to a few hours.
  • Potentially have a pair of shoes you can switch into nearby if your feet start to hurt. Maybe, you can have it in a locker nearby, or have a friend/family bring something.
• Purchase a somewhat wide flexible headband that can comform to your headshape (like this). Take your grad cap, tuck in the edges, tape/bobby pin them, and secure using tape or glue or whatever to the headband.
• Decorate your cap. This serves two purposes, one its memorable, and two its that much easier for your guests to recognize you from afar
• Make sure you have registered for all your ceremonies!! common L.

Day of your ceremony

• Figure out which direction you will be walking across the stage. Sometimes they switch it up, for example, I attended my friends grad in Hearst Auditorium and they walked right to left, but my turn, they walked left to right. Usually there are faculty/staff/volunteers helping coordinate, ask someone and tell your guests where to sit so that angle works accordingly. (For example if you are walking right to left, your guests should sit towards the left so they see you oncoming)
• My experience with ceremonies is that you have a QR code, and they scan it in order as you go up to the front stage
• Note, sometimes security is strict with what grads carry too. See if there were any emails about it
• Wear a cool tee (like this). These help contain sweat/temperature/body odor
• There will be official photographers taking pictures. If you want photos taken
  • Sit near front and center
  • Make sure to be smiling as much as you can lol
  • There will be a photographer taking a pic as you walk the stage
  • After the ceremony is over, you can ask photographers to take your pic, and also pics with friends and family
  • these photos will be available for purchase via a link they will send out soon after the ceremony
• Decide how you will split up time between family and friends beforehand. Both are important. Your family is often part of your success in getting to uni. and your friends are part of your success in uni.

Right now thats all I can think of . I hope that it helps!! If anyone is a previous grad, please share your own advice/experience in this thread. :)) wholesome vibes fr
I also want to be a little selfish, and ask, does anyone have any college of engineering tickets? I would be so grateful, one of my best friends is graduating and she ran out after giving to fam :( I am willing to pay extra. thanks!

I truly feel alone in my experience with this struggle. For instance, I don't believe in using the term SSA for a variety of reasons but mainly because it isn't helpful. Gay is a biological classification, not some kind of admission into living a certain way or believing a certain ideology. The real issue here is what is sin and what is marriage so I don't see why we have to pretend there's no such thing as a homosexual orientation and try to find some kind of excuse why we feel transient homosexual "urges". People need to get over themselves in that regard. Some people are just gay, period. That will affect their lives moving forward, certainly, and has affected their lives all throughout their past, most likely, but there's no need to believe something went terribly wrong or that you can do anything about it. There is no person or trauma that caused it and there's no cure. Therefore, the focus should be: how do we live our lives in accordance with God's Plan?
I feel disillusioned with the pastoral guidance that has been historically given as I understand most of it if not all of it falls under the assumption that no one is wired to be gay or anyone could be straight if they wanted to be. Well newsflash, I'm gay and will always be gay until I die.
The other issue here is that romantic/sexual feelings towards the same-sex is just one small phenotypic characteristic in the whole experience that can be described under the understanding of "being gay" which includes non-heteronormative interests or hobbies such as those associated with the opposite sex, desires to express oneself differently such as dressing more feminine, and other characteristics that were out of our control such as picking up speech inflections from the opposite sex (an environmental attribute) due to feeling more comfortable around them in adolescence from an innate statistically significant standpoint. By being unable to take pride (opposite of shame, not humility) in "being gay", it's no longer just about feeling shameful about experiencing feelings towards others of the same-sex but feeling shameful about how you talk, how you want to express yourself, how you want to be seen, and for the atypical nature of hobbies, passions, dreams.
As for myself, at the end of the day, by understanding that a romantic relationship with a person of the same-sex is likely out of the realm of possibility, it becomes clear that remaining closeted makes the most sense. Why would you jeopardize your relationship with your parents, siblings, friends, church, people you look up to, only for it to really matter if you were to pursue some fantasy with someone you feel attracted to? Except as I stated previously, it's not just about that so this cross to bear essentially means hiding and suppressing a lot of the characteristics that make you you. "Was my voice too high or feminine when I just spoke? Did they think it was weird that I mentioned enjoying an entertainment more designed to appeal to the women?" Overthinking everything becomes a necessity in order to avoid any suspicion. Therefore, you live one life at home and a completely different one in front of friends. They may find you have no personality because, well you can't express it openly.
I started starving myself in high school not because of having a disorder but because of what I now understand to be a form of self-harm since it was safer for me mentally to numb myself than to experience the tremendous pressure of shame and guilt that was caused by experiencing crushes on my same-sex peers. I also struggle with passive suicidal ideation daily. Therapy won't help. There's nothing a therapist could do to better my situation. There's nothing a therapist would help me understand about myself that I don't already know. Therapy can't change the Word of God. There's no medication that can be prescribed. No conversion therapy that works. Neither a gay-affirming therapist or one who believes in conversion therapy would do any good seeing.
The worst part is the regret. I don't understand how not committing a sin causes so much regret that the guilt is overpowering. No one regrets not cheating on their spouse. No one regrets not having broken the law. No one regrets committing sin. But I regret all the times I've had to stop myself from doing anything "gay." I had to cut out many of my friends and peers because I developed feelings for them and couldn't tell them. I had to pull away when a crush of mine tried to kiss me and pretended that I wasn't interested even though there was nothing I wanted more than to have followed through with the kiss. Everyday I wonder about what would have happened if I had just given into temptation.
At this point, I'm just ready for God to take me away. What use am I being a miserable, disillusioned Catholic who can't lead himself, let alone anyone else? I'm afraid to leave the house lest I expose myself or have to deny myself the feeling of falling in love only to have to reject it again.
I have a close family member of mine fighting cancer and I wish the tables were turned. I wish I had the cancer so that I had an out. But I know that for some twisted, messed up reason, I'm meant to suffer for the sake of suffering and so I have to stay alive and be there for everyone in my life who needs me otherwise I would just pass the suffering onto them which I could never do.
I'm only 21 but at this point I understand there is no "it gets better." It will only get worse as I get older and will have to fight harder to hide my true self. I walk through the graveyard and see all these happy couples with their companion headstones, husband and wife together, and I envision myself resting there alone. I wonder what will happen to me in the afterlife. I wonder if there is a happy ending for me somewhere, even in Heaven. I feel like no one understands me. I'm starting to get bitter at my family because I know they wouldn't love me if they knew who I really was but I never give them the chance to challenge that belief. It doesn't matter though. I know what they think about people like me. I know what they'd say. Besides, they're good people and this isn't their burden. It's my secret. It's my responsibility.
I thought that I could handle this burden on my own but it's impossibly challenging. I feel like I'm living life through a tv screen where I see everyone else living their lives and I just have to be content watching and living vicariously through them. I'm supposed to be a good person for resisting temptation. I'm supposed to have strong character. But I just feel terrible inside. I have to do the "right" thing and no one knows, no one cares.
I'm an Eagle Scout and was top of my high school class. I'm the glue that holds my family together. I'm supposed to feel like I matter but how could I possibly understand that if I'm told the "best version of myself" that I'm supposed to strive for is a heterosexual version of myself that will never exist.
I'm not bringing any good into the world, I'm just protecting it from myself and whatever harm I could be doing by expressing love. I don't even experience sexual attraction so I don't even care about never being able to have sex. In fact the sex-repulsion I feel would make it hard for me even to consent to coitus for the purpose of creating a baby. I just want someone there for me and I want to be there for someone. I want the opportunity to sacrifice myself for another in the ultimate commitment of marriage but I'm not even allowed to make that choice for myself. For me marriage is about consecration, not consummation. I just don't want to hide any part of me. I hate keeping secrets for those closest to me,
The deep truth I'm hesitant to admit is I don't even believe being in a same-sex romantic relationship is a sin. So at this point I'm just living my life in accordance with what other people believe God wants me to do. I feel pathetic for doing something that I don't even believe in or think is right just because I feel I have to. Every mass is just a time to think about regret and death. I don't even have true friends anymore because it's easier to hide myself when I don't have to constantly put on a mask.
Tell you conservative Catholic friend you've gotten close to about your struggle in hopes that they will be a good friend to you and that it will bring you closer only to be left speechless as you hear them immediately interrogate me about my relationship with my father, as if reparative drive ideology isn't some kind of unsupported pseudoscience to justify the belief that since being gay is wrong, something bad must have happened for someone to end up this way. Or as if it's your own fault for not being able to get rid of your temptations or allow God to change your sexual orientation. I'm sorry, but anyone who believes that doesn't deserve to know my struggles. They haven't the first clue what this is really about or how hard I've suffered already.
I should be so grateful for the life I've been given and built towards: a loving family with an amazing and supportive mother and father, super caring siblings, an excellent education, an acceptance into medical school, good health. Instead I just feel like an ungrateful disappointment. I'm the golden boy. I've only ever let my parents down twice and both times I eventually convinced them that my choices were right for me. I'll never get out of this mess.

I'm certainly no expert and I'm sure there's other ways of getting this done but I after several false starts I wanted to share how I got his arm magnetised, if I saves one person the pain and mistakes I went though it'll be worth this post.
So I decided (after initially sticking it on and having to yank it back off ) that I'd really like to magnetise Magnus's staff holding left arm. I wanted to do this not so I could swap out his weapon but purely to make it easier to transport and store him. I've broken a few sorcerors staffs and Magnus staff is pretty flimsy compared to the rest of him. I know the sword is probably the easier option but it just doesnt have the same look as the staff.
Anyway here's what I did in the end that finally worked on what is an awkward bugger of a join.
First tip is do this before sticking on any of his bits, the capes, legs, head armour etc. you want to make life as easy as possible so get his torso stuck together his chest stuck on and stick the 2 parts of his arm together (don't stick his hand holding the staff on either).
Next get your yourself a few magnetics, I did a string of 2x4mm, 1x5mm in the shoulder then then 1x5mm, 2x4mm down the arm. (Smaller ones go in first)
Next get a ciggy paper and coat it in olive oil. (The good Stuff your Mrs only uses as Xmas or when the in-laws come round.). Put that between the 2x5mm magnets. They still clip together alright and hold it in place.
Next get your favour epoxy (I've got milliput, sure green stuff would work the same) and make some balls. If your not sure how much to use try using blu tack first to get a rough idea.
Right then Super glue time. Put some on the plastic inside the arm and shoulder (I did one first then the other, but you can prob get away doing both at the same time if your quick.) and put some round the magnets.
If it was a sandwich it'd be inside of shoulder, glue, milliput glue small magnets, big magnets oiled paper, big magnets, small magnets, glue, milliput, glue, inside of arm.
Now squeeze the whole lot together and say a quick pray to T'zeentch (don't forget to do this or he'll curse you to stick your fingers together for eternity). Give it as long as you can bare to wait. Ideally leave it over night and let the epoxy set.
In the morning you should find that the magnets are firm and set having come to rest in exactly the right weird angles required but the 2 pieces come apart nice and easy as the neither the glue or milliput will will hold the oil soaked paper. Whip that out and your done.
Seriously though this is purely my own experience, I'm not saying it's the best way or anything. good luck to anyone as daft as me to try this, its a bugger but imo worth it in the end.

In 1958, I was one of dozens, if not hundreds, who were wrongfully detained in mental asylums across the United States. I know how it sounds. Believe me, I do. But I was not crazy. A simple mental evaluation would have proven that. But, unsurprisingly, nobody thought to administer one.
Even after all these years, I can recall it vividly. My good-for-nothing, downright rotten ex-husband, Allen, had accused me of attacking him. He claimed that one day I had just “snapped,” and that when he tried to calm me down, I raked my razor-sharp nails across his face. He even had the scars to prove it.
I couldn’t comprehend his motives. Even now, I still do not understand what drove him to commit such a depraved act. What had I done to deserve such a demented punishment? I will never truly know the answer. Allen died in 1987 from acute lymphoma. May his soul burn in Hell.
I was devastated when the judge handed down my sentence. Back then, we didn’t photograph every minor detail of our lives like young people do today. Forensics hadn’t progressed to where they are now either, which meant it was Allen’s word against mine. And the evidence was stacked against me.
The court has deemed Elizabeth Annette Mueller a significant threat to herself and others. After detailed evaluation, she has been ruled unfit to stand trial. To prevent further harm to members of the general populace, I hereby order her to receive indefinite treatment at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as the New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum.
“No!” I wailed, tears streaming down my face. “Your Honor, I am not crazy, you have to believe me! Please, just give me a chance to-”
The judge held up his hand, effectively silencing me. His eyes locked with mine, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
“Mrs. Mueller, my ruling is final. I wish you the best with your… rehabilitation,” he smirked, showcasing rows of jagged, yellow teeth.
I glanced over to my then-husband, tears clouding my vision. I’ll never forget what I saw. A smug look had overtaken his countenance. It was as if we were playing an intense match of chess, and Allen had won.
“Why?” I squeaked, my voice thin and brittle. “Why would you do this to me? I’m your wife!”
“You were my wife,” he replied coldly. “Once you are admitted, I will file for an annulment. I really do hope you receive the proper treatment, Elizabeth. You deserve nothing less.”
I was given twenty-four hours to make my preparations. Just one day to say goodbye to my friends and family before being carted off to unending purgatory. Needless to say, I was inconsolable.
“Liza, everything will be okay. We are going to fight this tooth and nail,” Mom told me for the hundredth time.
“Your mother is right. We both know that you aren’t capable of such violence. We will stop at nothing to bring you home,” Dad assured me, tears brimming at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
My lower lip trembled. I couldn’t contain my own tears any longer. “Mom, Dad… I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want this. Any of it. It’s not fair,” I cried, sobs wracking my body. Mom gently rubbed my back, staying silent.
“If you can’t get me released, p-promise that you won’t forget me, okay?” Dad pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly. Mom joined him, wrapping her arms around both of us.
“Liza, we could never forget you. No matter what happens, you are our daughter, and nothing will change that. Your mother and I will love you forever, even in death.” Mom burst into tears, her steel resolve finally crumbling. I wished we could stay like that forever. That I would never have to leave their sides again. But, of course, that isn’t how things played out.
When my parents finally released me from their embrace, a white panel van with the words Trenton Psychiatric Hospital imprinted on the side sat idling behind them. A sense of impending doom crashed over me once again. This was it. My life as I knew it was about to be over.
I gazed up at my parents as two burly men clad in white began stalking up the driveway. I’ll never forget that image. Dad’s lips were pursed, attempting to conceal a permanent frown. He stared at the ground as the men approached, an intense sorrow swimming behind his pupils.
His arm was wrapped snugly around Mom. It appeared as if she hadn’t even noticed our visitors. She had covered her face with her hands, but even so, a steady stream of tears flooded through her fingers. It felt like a sick joke. What had I done to deserve such a cruel fate?
“Mrs. Mueller, it’s time,” a deep voice grunted. I turned to find the pair of behemoths looming over me. Their cold, unwavering stares bore into my psyche, disapproving frowns etched into their faces. Something in me snapped.
At that moment, the reality of my situation finally sank in. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare. It was real.
“No! I don’t want to go! Please, don’t take me!” I sobbed, attempting to flee back to the safety of my parents. The men seized my arms, preventing my escape.
“I’m s-sorry, sweetie. We’ll visit as often as we can. We love you,” Dad said through teary eyes.
As they dragged me away, I could do nothing but stare at my parents’ somber faces. I kicked and screamed to no avail, and before I knew it, I was being brutally tossed into the back of the van, left to peer through the back window as we departed. I watched helplessly as the outline of my parents grew further and further away, until eventually, they disappeared from view entirely.
The ride to the facility was spent in silence, aside from my occasional sniffles. Dad’s final words repeatedly echoed through my mind: We love you.
I didn’t say it back. God, why didn’t I just say it back? I didn’t know when I would see my parents again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to utter those three simple words.
“Look there, miss,” the driver said, snapping me back to reality. “That’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your days.”
A massive, multi-story building loomed on the horizon. Dark clouds swirled behind it, lending to its eerie ambiance. The red brick exterior was weathered with age, and vines snaked up and down the sides. My heart dropped. The place more closely resembled a prison than a mental institution.
In no time, the van was screeching to a halt. The doors flew open, and I was forcefully shoved out of the back. One of the men grabbed the collar of my blouse and violently pulled me up the steps.
“Do you mind? I can walk with my own two feet,” I spat, glaring daggers at the gorilla of a man pulling me along.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not gonna happen. I don’t trust you not to run off.”
I frowned, resigning myself to being tossed around like a ragdoll. The front door was flung open, and I was pushed through. I could sense an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The institution radiated a dreary, hopeless aura. The hallway before me stunk of rot and mildew, which was compounded by cigarette smoke wafting from the reception counter.
“Your name is?”
A gravelly voice drifted to my ears. The middle-aged woman whom the cancer stick belonged to stared at me expectantly, her dull, sunken eyes connecting with mine.
“E-Elizabeth. Elizabeth Mueller.”
The woman sucked in on her cigarette, finishing it off. She snubbed out the smoldering butt and began shuffling through paperwork.
“Elizabeth Annette Mueller? Age twenty-one?” she asked, her rough, monotone voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take these and get changed in the restroom over there. Bring me your clothes and any personal belongings once you’re finished,” she muttered, handing me a cream-colored hospital gown.
I cried as I shed my clothes. The last ounce of freedom I had was being stripped away, and I was helpless to prevent it. Why was this happening? Why me?
I slipped into the gown and peered at my reflection in the mirror. This was my existence now. I was nothing more than a number, indistinguishable from any other patient confined to that derelict hell house. As I would come to find out, however, that wasn’t entirely true…
I sat on the toilet, quietly sobbing. I wanted as much time to myself as possible before being processed. But, after only mere minutes, a loud knock rattled the door.
“Hurry up in there! We ain’t got all day!”
I quickly wiped away my tears, gathering my garments. “I’m using the facilities! I’ll be out momentarily!”
I heard a muffled grunt as the technician shuffled away. I sighed, splashing my face with water.
Okay. I can do this. I can make it out of here. Just behave and stay out of trouble. That won’t be so difficult, right? Mom and Dad will secure my freedom before I know it.
After reassuring myself, I exited the restroom with a newfound resolve. Dad was right. He would fight for me. It was only a matter of time… Wasn’t it?
I plopped my clothes onto the receptionist’s desk. The woman lazily glanced up at me. A new cigarette had already appeared between her fingers. “Thanks, hon. Your buddies here will show you to your room.”
I nodded, turning back to the gargantuan men. For the first time, I thought to read the nametags pinned to their uniforms. The one who had dragged me into the building was named Samson. He constantly wore a menacing, no-nonsense expression. His balding twenty-something-year-old cohort’s name was Erik. I made sure to take a mental note of that.
“This way,” Samson grumbled, stomping down the hall. I turned to Erik. He pursed his lips and extended a hand, motioning for me to follow his colleague. I diligently obliged.
The further we walked, the more run-down the institution began to appear. Whereas the foyer looked clean, the wing that I was being herded into didn’t even try to pretend. Eventually, we found ourselves standing before a thick steel door. Samson faced me with a snarl.
“This is it, ma’am. Kiss your autonomy goodbye,” he growled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Duly noted. Do you have any advice for me before we proceed?”
“Yeah, I got something for ya. Stay outta trouble. Make my job any more difficult than it has to be, and I’ll make your life a living hell. Got it?” Samson snapped, his voice echoing down the empty corridor. Erik averted his gaze. Come to think of it, he hadn’t uttered a single word the entire time.
“Understood,” I squeaked. I had to stay strong. I couldn’t let my confidence crumble.
Samson pounded his fist against the door. A slot clinked open, and a pair of bloodshot eyeballs presented themselves. “Password.”
“Alley cat.”
I heard a grunt of approval before the rusted door hinges began to creak open. A third insanely tall man stood in the doorway.
“Thanks, Wallace. Come on, miss,” Samson said, continuing forward.
The further we went, the more appalled I became. The wallpaper had degraded to a deep yellow with brown splotches interspersed throughout, along with intermittent dashes of… blood? Cockroaches skittered across the floor, and I was fairly certain that I was breathing in spores of black mold. My heart sank. It quickly became apparent that my stay at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital would be much worse than expected…
We marched onward until we reached a section with rooms on either side. I curiously peered into them as we passed. To my dismay, each appeared to be filthier than the last. Every room boasted a twin bed with a thin metal frame, a sink that may or may not have ever been cleaned, and an absolutely abhorrent looking toilet. I immediately assumed that the facility had never even considered hiring cleaning services.
Samson suddenly stopped in his tracks, pointing at one of the doors. A dingy plaque barely clinging to the frame read 32-B. “This one’s yours.”
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Disgusting was an understatement. It appeared that I would not be provided with a blanket, forcing me to sleep on a bare mattress that was stained a dark yellow. The walls had been smeared in some brown, reeking substance (which I later confirmed to be feces), and the knob for the cold water on the sink had been snapped clean off. Just looking at my new living quarters nearly caused me to vomit.
“You can make yourself at home later,” Samson grinned, noticing the horrified expression written across my visage. “I’ll show you to the recreational area.”
We continued down the corridor. I didn’t care what the recreational area looked like. I couldn’t get the image of that putrid, revolting excuse for a room out of my head. My hope was already beginning to wane. How could I manage to survive in such repugnant conditions?
Before I knew it, Samson had stopped our little entourage for the final time. He pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a large room that contained… rocking chairs. Decrepit, broken-down rocking chairs. Well, those and a smattering of patients.
“This is the end of the road for us. Play nice,” Samson smirked, shoving me into the room. Erik glanced down at me and nodded, his eyes portraying a deep sadness. Something told me that he wasn’t working that job of his own volition.
I nervously surveyed my surroundings. Every pair of eyes was locked onto me. I was absolutely mortified.
Almost all at once, everyone just… returned to their devices. A thin, bald man was staring at the wall, clapping every so often, as if he was a child watching cartoons. An old woman sat in a rocking chair, biting her nails, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth. A younger woman, no older than thirty, rocked softly in her chair, simply people-watching. I made up my mind. There had to be at least one other reasonably sane person in that asylum, and I was determined to find them.
I approached the woman and claimed a seat beside her. My heart thundered in my chest as I built up the courage to speak to her. “H-hi. My name is Elizabeth. What’s yours?”
The woman turned to me and smiled. She was pretty. Long, blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and I could tell that she had at least attempted to keep up a decent appearance. As much as one could in such a decrepit cesspit, at least.
The woman’s ocean blue eyes connected with mine. Her voice was like a melody as it drifted to my ears. “Oh, I know you, darling. I know all of you. I am but a vessel for my lord, Beelzebub. He lives inside of me, just like he lives in each one of you gathered here today. He will come for you. He will come for you. He will come for YOU!” the woman shouted, devolving into a wild laughing fit. I slowly backed away as her cackles crescendoed. I needed to be more careful.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I slowly turned to face whoever it was.
I was shocked to find that the man who greeted me looked… normal. While most of the other patients wore a variety of expressions ranging from anxious to vacant to utterly depraved, the man before me seemed calm. Almost too calm.
“Hello there. My name is George,” he said, extending a hand. I cautiously accepted it.
“Elizabeth. The pleasure is all mine.”
“Look, Elizabeth, I’m not sure why or how you ended up here, but you seem lucid enough. My friends and I,” he said, gesturing to an amicable-appearing man and woman sitting in a corner, “are just about the only people who have retained our sanity in this whole god-forsaken dump. We would like to invite you to join us. Before one of them gets a hold of you, that is.”
When he put it that way, it was really a no-brainer. “I would be honored to make their acquaintance,” I replied, flashing him a weak smile.
“Alright, then. Right this-”
Before George could complete his statement, a sickening thud erupted from directly behind me. I spun around and nearly fainted upon realizing where the noise had come from.
An enormous man had clasped the devil woman’s skull in his hand and began relentlessly bashing it into the concrete floor.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, pounding her face into the ground again and again and again. Panic surged through my veins like venom. The woman never stopped laughing. Not until the light faded from her eyes and her features had been mashed to a pulpy, unrecognizable amalgamation of crimson flesh, bone, and teeth.
I had never witnessed anything so violent, not even on the television. I stifled a scream. Then, I watched all the rage begin to drain from the giant’s face. A sense of horror quickly washed over his countenance. He gazed at the dripping skull gripped in the palm of his hand, before dropping it to the ground, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.
“No. No, I’m sorry. I j-just wanted her to shut up!” he babbled, speaking to no one in particular. “I did it again. Oh god, I did it again,” he sobbed, dropping to his knees, his gargantuan body trembling uncontrollably.
“Things aren’t looking too good for either of them,” George muttered, staring at his feet.
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to him?” I asked, awaiting a response.
“You’ll see.”
Seconds later, Erik and Samson appeared along with two other technicians dressed in all white, aside from the blue protective gloves covering their hands. The squad rushed over to the wailing man. Samson produced a needle from the pocket on his shirt and jabbed it into his arm. The man howled in pain, but he was helpless to stop it. The others had his arms and legs pinned to the ground, immobilizing him.
“Did they just euthanize him?” I mumbled.
“No. Just watch,” George retorted, his eyes glued to the scene before us.
They waited for a moment as the perpetrator’s cries began to devolve into weak whimpers. Eventually, the crew stood, pulling the sobbing wreck of a man to his feet. His eyes were glazed over, and two of the attendants had to help him walk.
“Wh-what did you d-do to me?” he slurred, groggily placing one foot in front of the other.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be fine,” Samson grinned patting him on the back.
The group proceeded out the doors, opting to return later for the woman’s desecrated corpse. Samson followed as his fellow caretakers took the man away. I made eye contact with him as he left.
For a brief moment, he smiled at me. It wasn’t a warm, inviting smile. No, that was the disturbed grin of a man who enjoyed his work a bit too much.
Part 2
Part 3
Final

In 1958, I was one of dozens, if not hundreds, who were wrongfully detained in mental asylums across the United States. I know how it sounds. Believe me, I do. But I was not crazy. A simple mental evaluation would have proven that. But, unsurprisingly, nobody thought to administer one.
Even after all these years, I can recall it vividly. My good-for-nothing, downright rotten ex-husband, Allen, had accused me of attacking him. He claimed that one day I had just “snapped,” and that when he tried to calm me down, I raked my razor-sharp nails across his face. He even had the scars to prove it.
I couldn’t comprehend his motives. Even now, I still do not understand what drove him to commit such a depraved act. What had I done to deserve such a demented punishment? I will never truly know the answer. Allen died in 1987 from acute lymphoma. May his soul burn in Hell.
I was devastated when the judge handed down my sentence. Back then, we didn’t photograph every minor detail of our lives like young people do today. Forensics hadn’t progressed to where they are now either, which meant it was Allen’s word against mine. And the evidence was stacked against me.
The court has deemed Elizabeth Annette Mueller a significant threat to herself and others. After detailed evaluation, she has been ruled unfit to stand trial. To prevent further harm to members of the general populace, I hereby order her to receive indefinite treatment at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as the New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum.
“No!” I wailed, tears streaming down my face. “Your Honor, I am not crazy, you have to believe me! Please, just give me a chance to-”
The judge held up his hand, effectively silencing me. His eyes locked with mine, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
“Mrs. Mueller, my ruling is final. I wish you the best with your… rehabilitation,” he smirked, showcasing rows of jagged, yellow teeth.
I glanced over to my then-husband, tears clouding my vision. I’ll never forget what I saw. A smug look had overtaken his countenance. It was as if we were playing an intense match of chess, and Allen had won.
“Why?” I squeaked, my voice thin and brittle. “Why would you do this to me? I’m your wife!”
“You were my wife,” he replied coldly. “Once you are admitted, I will file for an annulment. I really do hope you receive the proper treatment, Elizabeth. You deserve nothing less.”
I was given twenty-four hours to make my preparations. Just one day to say goodbye to my friends and family before being carted off to unending purgatory. Needless to say, I was inconsolable.
“Liza, everything will be okay. We are going to fight this tooth and nail,” Mom told me for the hundredth time.
“Your mother is right. We both know that you aren’t capable of such violence. We will stop at nothing to bring you home,” Dad assured me, tears brimming at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
My lower lip trembled. I couldn’t contain my own tears any longer. “Mom, Dad… I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want this. Any of it. It’s not fair,” I cried, sobs wracking my body. Mom gently rubbed my back, staying silent.
“If you can’t get me released, p-promise that you won’t forget me, okay?” Dad pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly. Mom joined him, wrapping her arms around both of us.
“Liza, we could never forget you. No matter what happens, you are our daughter, and nothing will change that. Your mother and I will love you forever, even in death.” Mom burst into tears, her steel resolve finally crumbling. I wished we could stay like that forever. That I would never have to leave their sides again. But, of course, that isn’t how things played out.
When my parents finally released me from their embrace, a white panel van with the words Trenton Psychiatric Hospital imprinted on the side sat idling behind them. A sense of impending doom crashed over me once again. This was it. My life as I knew it was about to be over.
I gazed up at my parents as two burly men clad in white began stalking up the driveway. I’ll never forget that image. Dad’s lips were pursed, attempting to conceal a permanent frown. He stared at the ground as the men approached, an intense sorrow swimming behind his pupils.
His arm was wrapped snugly around Mom. It appeared as if she hadn’t even noticed our visitors. She had covered her face with her hands, but even so, a steady stream of tears flooded through her fingers. It felt like a sick joke. What had I done to deserve such a cruel fate?
“Mrs. Mueller, it’s time,” a deep voice grunted. I turned to find the pair of behemoths looming over me. Their cold, unwavering stares bore into my psyche, disapproving frowns etched into their faces. Something in me snapped.
At that moment, the reality of my situation finally sank in. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare. It was real.
“No! I don’t want to go! Please, don’t take me!” I sobbed, attempting to flee back to the safety of my parents. The men seized my arms, preventing my escape.
“I’m s-sorry, sweetie. We’ll visit as often as we can. We love you,” Dad said through teary eyes.
As they dragged me away, I could do nothing but stare at my parents’ somber faces. I kicked and screamed to no avail, and before I knew it, I was being brutally tossed into the back of the van, left to peer through the back window as we departed. I watched helplessly as the outline of my parents grew further and further away, until eventually, they disappeared from view entirely.
The ride to the facility was spent in silence, aside from my occasional sniffles. Dad’s final words repeatedly echoed through my mind: We love you.
I didn’t say it back. God, why didn’t I just say it back? I didn’t know when I would see my parents again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to utter those three simple words.
“Look there, miss,” the driver said, snapping me back to reality. “That’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your days.”
A massive, multi-story building loomed on the horizon. Dark clouds swirled behind it, lending to its eerie ambiance. The red brick exterior was weathered with age, and vines snaked up and down the sides. My heart dropped. The place more closely resembled a prison than a mental institution.
In no time, the van was screeching to a halt. The doors flew open, and I was forcefully shoved out of the back. One of the men grabbed the collar of my blouse and violently pulled me up the steps.
“Do you mind? I can walk with my own two feet,” I spat, glaring daggers at the gorilla of a man pulling me along.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not gonna happen. I don’t trust you not to run off.”
I frowned, resigning myself to being tossed around like a ragdoll. The front door was flung open, and I was pushed through. I could sense an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The institution radiated a dreary, hopeless aura. The hallway before me stunk of rot and mildew, which was compounded by cigarette smoke wafting from the reception counter.
“Your name is?”
A gravelly voice drifted to my ears. The middle-aged woman whom the cancer stick belonged to stared at me expectantly, her dull, sunken eyes connecting with mine.
“E-Elizabeth. Elizabeth Mueller.”
The woman sucked in on her cigarette, finishing it off. She snubbed out the smoldering butt and began shuffling through paperwork.
“Elizabeth Annette Mueller? Age twenty-one?” she asked, her rough, monotone voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take these and get changed in the restroom over there. Bring me your clothes and any personal belongings once you’re finished,” she muttered, handing me a cream-colored hospital gown.
I cried as I shed my clothes. The last ounce of freedom I had was being stripped away, and I was helpless to prevent it. Why was this happening? Why me?
I slipped into the gown and peered at my reflection in the mirror. This was my existence now. I was nothing more than a number, indistinguishable from any other patient confined to that derelict hellhouse. As I would come to find out, however, that wasn’t entirely true…
I sat on the toilet, quietly sobbing. I wanted as much time to myself as possible before being processed. But, after only mere minutes, a loud knock rattled the door.
“Hurry up in there! We ain’t got all day!”
I quickly wiped away my tears, gathering my garments. “I’m using the facilities! I’ll be out momentarily!”
I heard a muffled grunt as the technician shuffled away. I sighed, splashing my face with water.
Okay. I can do this. I can make it out of here. Just behave, and stay out of trouble. That won’t be so difficult, right? Mom and Dad will secure my freedom before I know it.
After reassuring myself, I exited the restroom with a newfound resolve. Dad was right. He would fight for me. It was only a matter of time… Wasn’t it?
I plopped my clothes onto the receptionist’s desk. The woman lazily glanced up at me. A new cigarette had already appeared between her fingers. “Thanks, hon. Your buddies here will show you to your room.”
I nodded, turning back to the gargantuan men. For the first time, I thought to read the nametags pinned to their uniforms. The one who had dragged me into the building was named Samson. He constantly wore a menacing, no-nonsense expression. His balding twenty-something-year-old cohort’s name was Erik. I made sure to take a mental note of that.
“This way,” Samson grumbled, stomping down the hall. I turned to Erik. He pursed his lips and extended a hand, motioning for me to follow his colleague. I diligently obliged.
The further we walked, the more run-down the institution began to appear. Whereas the foyer looked clean, the wing that I was being herded into didn’t even try to pretend. Eventually, we found ourselves standing before a thick steel door. Samson faced me with a snarl.
“This is it, ma’am. Kiss your autonomy goodbye,” he growled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Duly noted. Do you have any advice for me before we proceed?”
“Yeah, I got something for ya. Stay outta trouble. Make my job any more difficult than it has to be, and I’ll make your life a living hell. Got it?” Samson snapped, his voice echoing down the empty corridor. Erik averted his gaze. Come to think of it, he hadn’t uttered a single word the entire time.
“Understood,” I squeaked. I had to stay strong. I couldn’t let my confidence crumble.
Samson pounded his fist against the door. A slot clinked open, and a pair of bloodshot eyeballs presented themselves. “Password.”
“Alley cat.”
I heard a grunt of approval before the rusted door hinges began to creak open. A third insanely tall man stood in the doorway.
“Thanks, Wallace. Come on, miss,” Samson said, continuing forward.
The further we went, the more appalled I became. The wallpaper had degraded to a deep yellow with brown splotches interspersed throughout, along with intermittent dashes of… blood? Cockroaches skittered across the floor, and I was fairly certain that I was breathing in spores of black mold. My heart sank. It quickly became apparent that my stay at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital would be much worse than expected…
We marched onward until we reached a section with rooms on either side. I curiously peered into them as we passed. To my dismay, each appeared to be filthier than the last. Every room boasted a twin bed with a thin metal frame, a sink that may or may not have ever been cleaned, and an absolutely abhorrent looking toilet. I immediately assumed that the facility had never even considered hiring cleaning services.
Samson suddenly stopped in his tracks, pointing at one of the doors. A dingy plaque barely clinging to the frame read 32-B. “This one’s yours.”
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Disgusting was an understatement. It appeared that I would not be provided with a blanket, forcing me to sleep on a bare mattress that was stained a dark yellow. The walls had been smeared in some brown, reeking substance (which I later confirmed to be feces), and the knob for the cold water on the sink had been snapped clean off. Just looking at my new living quarters nearly caused me to vomit.
“You can make yourself at home later,” Samson grinned, noticing the horrified expression written across my visage. “I’ll show you to the recreational area.”
We continued down the corridor. I didn’t care what the recreational area looked like. I couldn’t get the image of that putrid, revolting excuse for a room out of my head. My hope was already beginning to wane. How could I manage to survive in such repugnant conditions?
Before I knew it, Samson had stopped our little entourage for the final time. He pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a large room that contained… rocking chairs. Decrepit, broken-down rocking chairs. Well, those and a smattering of patients.
“This is the end of the road for us. Play nice,” Samson smirked, shoving me into the room. Erik glanced down at me and nodded, his eyes portraying a deep sadness. Something told me that he wasn’t working that job of his own volition.
I nervously surveyed my surroundings. Every pair of eyes was locked onto me. I was absolutely mortified.
Almost all at once, everyone just… returned to their devices. A thin, bald man was staring at the wall, clapping every so often, as if he was a child watching cartoons. An old woman sat in a rocking chair, biting her nails, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth. A younger woman, no older than thirty, rocked softly in her chair, simply people-watching. I made up my mind. There had to be at least one other reasonably sane person in that asylum, and I was determined to find them.
I approached the woman and claimed a seat beside her. My heart thundered in my chest as I built up the courage to speak to her. “H-hi. My name is Elizabeth. What’s yours?”
The woman turned to me and smiled. She was pretty. Long, blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and I could tell that she had at least attempted to keep up a decent appearance. As much as one could in such a decrepit cesspit, at least.
The woman’s ocean blue eyes connected with mine. Her voice was like a melody as it drifted to my ears. “Oh, I know you, darling. I know all of you. I am but a vessel for my lord, Beezelbub. He lives inside of me, just like he lives in each one of you gathered here today. He will come for you. He will come for you. He will come for YOU!” the woman shouted, devolving into a wild laughing fit. I slowly backed away as her cackles crescendoed. I needed to be more careful.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I slowly turned to face whoever it was.
I was shocked to find that the man who greeted me looked… normal. While most of the other patients wore a variety of expressions ranging from anxious to vacant to utterly depraved, the man before me seemed calm. Almost too calm.
“Hello there. My name is George,” he said, extending a hand. I cautiously accepted it.
“Elizabeth. The pleasure is all mine.”
“Look, Elizabeth, I’m not sure why or how you ended up here, but you seem lucid enough. My friends and I,” he said, gesturing to an amicable-appearing man and woman sitting in a corner, “are just about the only people who have retained our sanity in this whole god-forsaken dump. We would like to invite you to join us. Before one of them gets a hold of you, that is.”
When he put it that way, it was really a no-brainer. “I would be honored to make their acquaintance,” I replied, flashing him a weak smile.
“Alright, then. Right this-”
Before George could complete his statement, a sickening thud erupted from directly behind me. I spun around and nearly fainted upon realizing where the noise had come from.
An enormous man had clasped the devil woman’s skull in his hand and began relentlessly bashing it into the concrete floor.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, pounding her face into the ground again and again and again. Panic surged through my veins like venom. The woman never stopped laughing. Not until the light faded from her eyes and her features had been mashed to a pulpy, unrecognizable amalgamation of crimson flesh, bone, and teeth.
I had never witnessed anything so violent, not even on the television. I stifled a scream. Then, I watched all the rage begin to drain from the giant’s face. A sense of horror quickly washed over his countenance. He gazed at the dripping skull gripped in the palm of his hand, before dropping it to the ground, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.
“No. No, I’m sorry. I j-just wanted her to shut up!” he babbled, speaking to no one in particular. “I did it again. Oh god, I did it again,” he sobbed, dropping to his knees, his gargantuan body trembling uncontrollably.
“Things aren’t looking too good for either of them,” George muttered, staring at his feet.
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to him?” I asked, awaiting a response.
“You’ll see.”
Seconds later, Erik and Samson appeared along with two other technicians dressed in all white, aside from the blue protective gloves covering their hands. The squad rushed over to the wailing man. Samson produced a needle from the pocket on his shirt and jabbed it into his arm. The man howled in pain, but he was helpless to stop it. The others had his arms and legs pinned to the ground, immobilizing him.
“Did they just euthanize him?” I mumbled.
“No. Just watch,” George retorted, his eyes glued to the scene before us.
They waited for a moment as the perpetrator’s cries began to devolve into weak whimpers. Eventually, the crew stood, pulling the sobbing wreck of a man to his feet. His eyes were glazed over, and two of the attendants had to help him walk.
“Wh-what did you d-do to me?” he slurred, groggily placing one foot in front of the other.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be fine,” Samson grinned patting him on the back.
The group proceeded out the doors, opting to return later for the woman’s desecrated corpse. Samson followed as his fellow caretakers took the man away. I made eye contact with him as he left.
For a brief moment, he smiled at me. It wasn’t a warm, inviting smile. No, that was the disturbed grin of a man who enjoyed his work a bit too much.
Part 2
Part 3
Final
OD Post

Healthwise:

(1)
I should have prioritize dental care. Grabe ang mahal ng dental procedures, once magkaroon ng decay, tuloy2x na ang cycle ng gastusin.

Filling > Larger Filling > Root Canal > Crown > Extraction > Implant

Saka isipin mo lang, di mo ma-eenjoy ang mga masasarap na pagkain pag naka dentures, nothing beats our natural teeth!
Always choose Health over Aesthetics! Don't crown or veneer a healthy tooth! You will regret in the long run.
(2)
I should have taken care of my eyes and not abuse it playing computer games non-stop. Ngayon ang laki na ng grade ng mata ko, nagsesemi- fishbowl effect na ung eyeglass ko, nakakapangit sobra!!!
Saka hirap na din ako pag nagsuot ng helmet sa motor or magsuot ng headphones, sumasakit ung temples ko. Saka di ko din maenjoy mag swimming. Hirap na din ako magmake-up, sa lapit ko sa salamin, muntik na matusok mata ko sa eyebrow pen at brush.
Luckily, I found out there's a way to improve eyesight naturally. It's "NOT" medically proven and attracts a lot of skeptism so "Do your own research". I'm just shooting my shot here and still on my early stages of this journey so lets just hope for favorable results.

Relationship:

(1)
Attraction is "non-negotiable". Never force anything. If I knew what I knew today, I would have saved myself time and all the embarrassment of pursuing people that are not just into me.
If they don't come knockin' on your door or reach out to you. They don't care! Move on!
(2)
Cut toxic people even if its a family member.
(3)
Never forget how everyone once treated you.
(4)
Be wary of the things/information you share about yourself in socials, or better yet don't have at all. The more I get older the more I realize that most people are easy to judge than to understand. On the surface they will say sorry about a sad event of your life but they are actually low key happy of your struggles, they will say congrats about something you've achieve but they are actually low key jealous or undermining the achievement. I can tell you by now more than 90% of the people in your friendslist are like this, even whom you thought are the nicest ones. Genuinely nice people are extremely rare!!!
(5)
First impression lasts. Invest in how you look, specially in important meetings, business deals, social gatherings that may help you network your product/skills. You're perceived value is primarily based on how you look.

Money:

(1)
Always have plentiful of emergency fund. Life will hit you hard, it could be accidents, illness, sudden job lay-offs or business failures. Dami kong nakikitang magara/mayayabang pero once may isang catastrophic event na mangyari sa buhay nila, nahihirapan na sila makatayo ulit. Ako hindi ko kayang mang online limos, I'd rather die than ask money from the people on the internet!
(2)
Buy bitcoin. Joke lol. But yeah, I should have invested more in assets, it doesn't matter if its crypto, stocks or real-estate as long as I allocate a decent amount of my income that I would have no budget for my impulse buying. Kasi isa sa maling gawain natin lahat, taga pasok ng sahod, ito check out agad lahat ng mga na add to cart, punyeta.
(3)
Never do business with relatives or friends. Or if you had to, have a legally signed agreement before entering one! Ito tlaga isa sa sumira ng friendship namin ng childhood friend ko. At first okay pa, equally distributed ang duties, pero nagtagal, may imbalances na sa responsibilities. So importante talaga ang written agreement. And if I we're to start a business today, magso-solo nako!
Yan nalang muna.. Yan kasi ung may pinakamalaking impact talaga sakin... Pasensya na if I'm rumbling my words, I not a good writer nor a well-spoken person \Wish I was!*

Ramy took advantage of his IT privileges and found out that Omar's work email was deactivated. He'd quit. If he was planning on returning at some point, he wasn't intending on reprising his role as one of our facility's project managers.
(If you haven't seen my pervious updates, click here to watch my life fall apart in real time.)
In his letter of resignation that was obtained using methods that are totally legal and ethically sound, Omar claimed that he'd accepted an offer for another position. The letter didn't give any clues as to where this imaginary position was, much to Ramy's disappointment. For now, it seems like Omar is running scared and is trying to cover his tracks as best as he can.
As for the hoofed jinn, I discovered that it had been wandering around in the woods behind my house, still in its catlike form. I started leaving a plate of raw chicken out for it each night before heading to work. I know that it's perfectly capable of hunting on its own, and chicken probably wouldn't be its ideal meal of choice, but I felt bad for the poor thing. After all it had been through, I figured the least I could do was give it a snack.
This went on over the course of a few days. Eventually, the hoofed jinn began to sit on my porch, waiting for me. It would eat, then curl up in a furry ball and sleep. After a while, I got bold enough to try to pet it. It glared at me the entire time, though it let me scratch its head.
All in all, I guess I have a new friend. Don't ask me why I feel the need to befriend everything that tries to kill me. I also would like to know why this is my primary method of forging friendships.
With those two updates out of the way, I have a question for those of you who are more experienced with relationships than I am: do you ever look at the person you're with and it just hits you how attractive they are?
Ramy was playing around with my router, brows furrowed together in concentration, eyes reflecting the blue light coming from my laptop monitor. It was something completely mundane, yet somehow, I found myself completely overwhelmed with how gorgeous he was. Is this normal?
Local Man Discovers He Is A Simp.
I grabbed the collar of his shirt, catching him off guard when I pulled him into a kiss. After a moment, his arm circled my waist as he playfully nipped at my lower lip. The fabric of his shirt shifted as he leaned into me, trying to back me up against the table. Wait, what was that? I broke the kiss, pushing the corner of his collar down to get a better look.
The necrosis was spreading. I quickly unbuttoned his shirt to see the extent of it. The decay had almost reached the hollow of his shoulder, the lower part of the injury crawling towards his waist like bolts of lightning.
"Jesus," I breathed. "It wasn't this bad two days ago."
With a sigh, Ramy slowly buttoned his shirt up again. "Yeah, you can thank Omar for that. Getting exorcized put my timeline way off."
"Timeline for what?"
"When this body let me take him over, it was on the condition that I make the jackasses that killed him suffer. Even though I've only got one left, the damn body's getting impatient."
Matthew's first set of entries had said that there was one other survivor besides him and his brother. God, that incident with the journals felt like a lifetime ago. What was the third soldier’s name again? Harris. That was it.
“I wi-” I cut myself off before I could make a terrible mistake. I had almost started my sentence with ‘wish.’
Of course, this didn't escape the notice of a certain shithead jinn. With a mischievous smirk, he asked, “What were you saying, Lab Rat?”
“First of all, fuck off.” His chuckle briefly interrupted me. “Second of all, I would have appreciated it if you had told me this sooner.”
“I didn't say anything because I'm not concerned about it.” After a moment, he added, “I don't want you worrying about me, alright?”
“Well, too bad. That's what you get for making me care about you.” I grabbed his collar again, this time pretending to threaten him, “And since you don't seem capable of worrying about yourself, someone has to.”
His cool fingers gently covered mine, keeping my hand where it was. I asked him if he knew where Harris was. He admitted that he didn't. Knowing that Ramy had a time limit made me curse the fact that we'd had to destroy the journals. One of them might've been able to give us a clue about where to find him.
I let the question that was making my chest feel tight with nervousness come out, “How long do you think you have to figure this out?”
He seemed hesitant to answer, but eventually confessed, “At this rate, probably a month.”
A month? Harris could be in a different country, for all we knew. A month.
I'd been saving my last wish for a long time; this was partially because I did not want to waste it, and also partly because I wasn’t sure what to use it for. Ramy had been trying to convince me to use it to replace the PT Cruiser, his reasons being that not only is the car a piece of shit, but it's also not tall person friendly. I'd always hesitated, thinking that a car was too frivolous. Shouldn't a final wish be for something important?
What could be more important than him?
“I wish that-”
Ramy's hand suddenly covered my mouth, stopping me before I could finish.
“What are you doing?” He asked calmly.
Clutching his wrist, I pulled his palm off of my mouth to respond, “Helping you?”
“Don't waste your last wish on me.”
“It's not a waste.” I insisted. “I've got a nice home, two happy, healthy animals, and a good job. What more could I possibly need?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know what my answer to that question is.”
“I'm going to call the shop right now and tell them to install one of those lifty thingies on it to make it a monster PT Cruiser.”
Ramy tried not to laugh in an effort to keep his earlier stern expression, “Don't do that.”
“Bring it up again, and I'll make us both regret it. That car can uglier, I assure you.”
The hint of his familiar smile crept out, “You'd only be punishing yourself, man.”
We were getting sidetracked. I had to bring it back. “Okay, my shitty car is not the point. The point is that I've got a decent life. Yeah, it'd be nice to not have a near death experience once a week, but all in all, I'm doing better than I ever have been in… well, ever. For the first time since I can remember, I don't feel like some uncomfortable nuisance that everyone would rather just ignore.”
Ramy's eyes lowered, quietly considering my words
I ended my speech by exposing myself as the sappiest simp to have ever simped, “The only other thing I have left to want is you.”
He rested his forehead against mine. For a long moment, he didn't say a word, just stayed close to me.
When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft, “You know, you're the only person that's seen me for more than what I can offer. Wishes. Power. Magic. None of that appears to mean anything to you.”
I whispered, “Like I said. I want you.”
Ramy gave me a small smile, “Careful. If you keep saying that, I might end up believing it.”
“Believe it.” I stroked his cheek. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
Ramy’s eyes closed, leaning into my hand. It's not often that I get to see this side of him. I only get brief glimpses here and there.
With a sigh, he eventually muttered, “It would be best to simply wish for the last soldier's whereabouts. If that's what you really want.”
Without any further hesitation, I made my wish.
Ramy’s arms tightened around me, pressing me against his chest. He told me to close my eyes. Thinking he was going to kiss me again, I readily obliged, however, I quickly realized that wasn't the case when I suddenly felt wind on my face. A cow bellowed.
Confused, my eyes snapped open. We were on a ranch. How the hell did we get to a ranch?
A barn that looked as if it had seen better days loomed over us. Muscular black cows wandered around behind a wire fence nearby, stretching beyond where I could see. The ground was dry and rocky, the landscape devoid of any trees. When I glanced up to see if I recognized any constellations, I was awestruck by the incredible sight above me. I had never seen so many stars in my life. I’d thought that I had a good view of it from my house, but at the ranch, the sky was so clear that I was able to make out the purple arm of the Milky Way swirling across the sky.
Not to sound like Dorothy, but we definitely weren't in Ohio anymore. I'm not sure where we were exactly, but my guess is that the ranch was out west, possibly in Nevada or Colorado.
I was about to question Ramy about our circumstances, but he was already on his way to the barn. He wasn't wasting time. I hurried after him.
There was a faint orange light emanating from inside the barn. It was pretty safe to assume that the wish had taken us to Harris. Did he know Ramy was coming for him, like how Matthew did? What were we walking into?
Ramy glanced at me from over his shoulder, “Wait here.”
Not knowing what else to do, I nodded, planting my feet uneasily just outside the barn door.
I've taken the advice some of you have given me to start learning Arabic. It's extremely slow going, but… it's going. The reason why I bring this up is because I heard Ramy let out an, “Uff!” Which was not a good sign.
I peeked through the doorway and instantly wished I hadn’t. What resembled a hunk of red meat was suspended in the middle of the barn by hooks protruding from the palms of its hands, connected to heavy-looking, golden chains fastened to the rafters. He didn't have skin anywhere except for his face. When Ramy got close, I was horrified when the flayed man wheezed, the sound wet and ragged. He was still alive. How could someone still be alive in that condition?
I turned away as Ramy reached for him. There was a gut-wrenching crack. The flayed man went silent.
Somewhere to my left in the desert around me, I heard the rattle of chains. Heart rate quickening, I darted into the barn, trying to avoid looking at Harris’ hanging body as much as possible.
Ramy whispered, “Whatever you do, don't run. The angel that did this is still here. If you try to run, it will chase you.”
Glancing around, I saw symbols written in chalk on the ground. Not Arabic. Not anything I’d ever seen before. Afterwards, I learned that it was Enochian.
Quietly, I asked, “Did Harris… summon that thing?”
Ramy replied, “Yes. He must've thought it would protect him. Unfortunately for him, they have no tolerance for those they deem wicked. It appears that he didn't measure up to the angel’s high standards.”
Chains rattled from outside. Closer.
I swallowed, choking out, “Can you get us out of here?”
Ramy sounded mildly surprised, “Huh. This is new.”
Eyes wide, I glanced over to see that he pulled his collar down. Thick, gray liquid had begun to ooze from the necrotic tissue on his chest.
“What's happening?” I asked.
Instead of answering, Ramy pushed me behind him. When he touched me, I was shocked to discover that for the first time since I'd known him, his skin was warm. He felt alive.
But I couldn't dwell on it right then. The angel stood in the doorway.
By all means, the angel should have been beautiful. Six pairs of feathered wings shone in a spectrum of pearlescent colors, giving off a light that was painful to look at for too long. His face was perfectly symmetrical to the point of making me feel uneasy, like I was looking at a machine’s idea of what a perfect human man would look like. His violet eyes glowed, not unlike the arm of the Milky Way outside. They scrutinized me like I was prey. He held a gold chain in its hands, the chain tipped with a nasty-looking hook, identical to the ones Harris hung from.
The angel grinned in a way that made my blood chill, “Who do you serve, ifrit?”
His voice was the guttural, growling voice of a beast, like broken glass against my ears.
Ramy responded, “I was an avenger. I've gotten what I came for.”
“That's not an answer.” The hook dropped threateningly to the ground, as if the angel was preparing to use it. “Where do your loyalties lie?”
When I took a small step back, the angel's head swiftly tilted, that cold grin now directed at me. “It's you, isn't it?”
Fuck.
Ramy's voice was harsh as he replied, “I serve no one. You know well that my purpose is to protect sacred places and things. What could be more sacred than one of God’s creations?”
The angel's eyes didn't flicker from me for even a second, “You treasure a man more than your maker? Or perhaps… this man bound you to him. Enslaved you using knowledge forbidden to him.”
The angel’s head tilted again, an almost feline motion, keeping his toothy smile as his eyes slitted, “Which is it?”
Ramy grabbed me just as the angel swung his chain towards me. I squeezed my eyes shut out of reflex, knowing that its trajectory would take the hook squarely between my eyes.
Thankfully, it never came.
The ground was gone. What?! Oh, there it was: my back found it for me, and rather painfully, might I add. I had arrived somewhere that was familiar, but my fearful mind couldn't immediately process where. The chorus of ‘Hell and You’ by Amigo the Devil was playing on crackly speakers. The lighting was dim. The sour smell of old beer made my nostrils flare. Slowly, I sat up, finding that I was next to a pool table.
It clicked into my brain that I was at the dive bar where Aanya had attacked me when we first met.
Where was Ramy? What was bizarre was that I couldn’t feel his presence anymore. Oh God, was he still there? With that fucking angel?
Frantic, I jumped up, the bar's patrons turning to me in bewilderment. One of them was Aanya. She left her place to rush over to me, abandoning the guy that she was most likely intending to eat later that night, who then turned in his seat to give me dirty looks.
“How did you get here?” She demanded, her voice low to deter eavesdroppers.
Frantic, I whispered, “I don't know. We were at a barn, there was an angel, Ramy grabbed me, and then I fell- ”
At the word, ‘angel,’ the blood drained from Aanya's face. Without another word, she dragged me out the door.
Once we were outside, she said, “If you've got an angel after you, we've got to move.”
“How do we stop it?”
“We don't. I imagine that's why Ramy dropped you here.”
We got to her car. A Bonneville that wasn't in much better shape than my Cruiser.
She continued as she got the car started, “You better hope that your boyfriend is ready for the challenge. Angels are not to be fucked with.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, head pounding as blood rushed to my ears.
She shrugged, “Your house? It's the safest place I can think of. And I'm sorry, but I don't want to drag Jade into this.”
Jade was the name of the girl we'd rescued from Aanya's terrible ex. Aanya had told me a few days prior that the girl had begged her not to bring her back to her parents. I'm not sure what that's about, but I didn't ask. Long story short, Aanya's a mother now.
Anyways, I understood. Aanya was responsible for someone who completely relied on her. I uttered, “Thanks for doing this. For helping me.”
“Of course. We're bros now, aren't we?” She said with a smirk.
The ridiculous thing I said next was something that could've only been conjured by the mind of someone on the verge of snapping, “You got that right, Bromeo and Juliet!”
She took her eyes off the road for a brief moment to give me a withering look. “You know, I'm not afraid to kill us both. I will happily drive this car into the lake.”
Shakily, I laughed, feeling hysteria bubbling in my chest. From the tension present in the Bonneville afterwards, I could tell that Aanya was concerned about me.
“Don't ever tell Ramy I said this, and I mean ever because the last thing that jinn needs is an ego boost.” She began, “But he's strong. If anyone can beat an angel, I'd bet it would be him.”
I thought back to the gray secretion coming from the decay on his chest. What if it was making him weaker? What if that meant that finishing off Harris wasn't enough to stop whatever was happening to him? Stop. Working myself into a panic wasn't going to help. I tried to assure myself that this was Ramy. A walking Nokia. He'd be fine. Right?
I just wished that I could sense him again. Just so that I could know for sure if he was still alive. Was that the angel's doing? It had to have been.
During the drive, Aanya ended up breaking the silence by telling me about how she became a churel. I got her permission to retell it here, since I didn't want to violate her trust after such an intimate admission.
“On my 18th birthday, my parents told me that they were taking me to a big family party.” She chuckled bitterly. “Turns out, it was my wedding."
Horrified, I gaped at her.
She shrugged a shoulder, “That's how it worked, at the time. After the wedding, he hauled me off to America, saying that he wanted a better life, when really, he just wanted to remove me from everyone I knew.
“No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't get me pregnant, and somehow, that was my fault. One night, he got especially angry when I didn't ‘choose’ to bear him a son, so he strangled me. The worst part was I didn't fight it. At that point, I'd wanted to die, so I just… let it happen.”
Jesus Christ.
Aanya then flashed me a wry smile, “But then when I woke up, he became the one that was afraid. I followed him for years. Years. And thanks to you, I finally got to watch that fucker die.”
Her confessions left me speechless for a moment. I gazed out the windshield, eyes blurry from sympathetic tears as the weight of what she'd told me set in.
Eventually, I recovered the ability to speak. Somewhat. “I'm… That's all so… I'm sorry that happened to you.”
“Do you know why I told you this?” She asked.
I shook my head.
Aanya uttered, “It took dying for me to become who I needed to be. There's a part of me that wishes that I would've done what I'd needed to do sooner, but there’s no point in wanting to change the past.”
She glanced at me. “You might only have now, Lab Rat. If it came right down to it, do you believe that you could abandon who you are now to do what needs to be done?”
I shook my head again, raising a hand helplessly, “I don't know. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to say. My brain feels like a scrambled egg.”
“If you had to do something terrible in order to save yourself, could you?” She clarified.
I thought back to Omar. How despite all that he'd done, I'd let him go. Every other time that I've had to help decide another person's fate, such as Matthew and Aanya's ex, I hadn't been the one to enact it.
My answer probably wasn't satisfying, “I don't know. I want to say that I could, but… I know myself. I'm kind of a bleeding heart.”
As Aanya pulled into my driveway, she softly replied, “At the risk of sounding like a cornball, I hope that your heart can bleed for you, too. Not just others.”
The first thing I noticed when I got out of the Bonneville was that the hoofed jinn wasn't in its feline form anymore. It was back to the lanky, humanoid figure that it had been before. It sat on my stairs, skeletal hands clasped together. The scratches covering its skin looked like they were starting to heal over.
Aanya initially got in between us, so I had to reassure her that the hoofed jinn wasn't an enemy. She didn't seem to fully believe me, but she did relent, her eyes guarded as she followed me to the front porch.
The hoofed jinn raised its head as we approached, its voice childlike as it rasped, “I can't feel the ifrit anymore.”
I informed it that I couldn't either, then I asked if it knew anything about angels. It let out a low growl.
“That explains it. Angels despise us.” The hoofed jinn gave a sharp-toothed smile. “They have no free will of their own, you see. They only know submission and expect the same of free-thinking beings.”
As I unlocked the door, I invited them both inside. This was definitely long overdue, but I finally inquired the hoofed jinn about its name. It said that it didn't remember due to how long it had been since anyone had bothered to ask. It had taken the identity of the unfortunate animal tech that it had eaten to get access to our post-mortem room. The poor animal tech's name had been Bill.
Yes… Bill. I stared at ‘Bill’ for a moment, wondering if the hoofed jinn was joking. It wasn't. Okay. Bill the Flesh-Eating Jinn, it is. It also said that it didn't give a fuck about pronouns, given that it could change its shape at will. It stated that ‘it’ was most suitable.
Naturally, neither of my animals was happy about our inhuman houseguests. I ended up securing them both in my bedroom after Aanya's eyes had begun to glaze with hunger.
While I was in the bedroom, comforting both of my furry daughters, I sensed Ramy for a split second. He was in the house?
I rushed out just as a tall, black shape glided out of my front door. As I got closer, I heard Aanya saying, “The fuck are we supposed to do with this?”
Ramy's body was laying on the ground, the dead man's eyes gazing sightlessly in front of him. The black shape I'd seen earlier must've been the real Ramy, going back outside after dropping off his human host.
That body had clearly been through the ringer. A necklace of bruises implied that the angel had gotten his chain around Ramy's throat, at one point. Deep cuts exposing the bone beneath were visible on his arms and torso.
Something else that caught my attention about the dead man was that the necrotic tissue was lighter, now, an odd gray-yellow; some parts of the injury had turned the bright, shiny pink of new skin.
Astonished, I breathed, “It's healing.”
Blinding white light erupted from outside my window. I shielded my eyes, knowing that it meant that the angel had arrived. Bill's lip curled, releasing a reptilian-sounding hiss from deep within its chest. Slowly, the light became more bearable. Either it dimmed or my eyes simply adjusted.
“You're going out there?” Aanya balked as Bill stomped towards the front door.
The hoofed jinn didn't answer, leaving her and I to glance at each other in equal discombobulation. Afterwards, both of us rushed to the window to catch a glimpse of the madness going on outside.
The angel was missing two of his wings, one from the middle set, the other from the lower. His eyes blazed like the hearts of twin flames. His face was no longer symmetrical, the right side of his mouth appeared to have been ripped off, showing his teeth in a permanent grimace. The golden chain he wielded was dripping with Ramy’s blood.
What was interesting is that the injuries on Ramy's host matched the ones on his actual form. The same sickeningly bone-deep gashes were present in his black arms. Besides that, I was relieved to see that he still had all of his limbs, including the leathery wings, curved horns, and scorpion tail.
It was hard for my eyes to process the vicious confrontation going on in my side yard. The angel moved in blurs of light and the occasional reflection of Ramy's eyes was the only way I could keep track of his equally swift movements. There was a glint of gold right before the chain narrowly missed Ramy's head. His horns hit the angel square in the chest, then they both disappeared again.
The chain soared through the air again, the hook embedding itself in Ramy's thigh, forcing him to the ground. He used one hand to catch himself, another to try to wrench the golden hook out of his leg. With a vicious grin, the angel pulled. Even though Ramy didn't make a sound, I could tell by the way his eyes slitted that he was agonized. The angel roughly wrapped the chain around his arm, pulling the hook again, forcing Ramy to move closer to him, his skin tenting nauseatingly, looking dangerously close to getting ripped clean off. Ramy's fingers clawed at the ground, his whole body shuddering.
I couldn't stand it. The angel's horrible smile was now directed at me, eyes burning at me through the window. He was baiting me.
Aanya suddenly pulled me away from the window just as I saw the angel's head turn sharply. Bill had lunged at him, its teeth just barely missing the angel's good cheek.
Aanya was saying something to me, but I wasn't listening. It sounded like I was underwater while her voice was stuck on the surface. My hands shook. My vision was blurred by frightened, desperate tears.
Why did cheek sting? I blinked frantically, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that I was alive and crouched in my living room. My eyes met Aanya's. She'd slapped me.
“Forgive me,” She snapped. “But you need to snap out of it.”
I nodded quickly, mind racing. Okay. What could I do? Could I do anything? I ignored the hoofed jinn’s furious howl from outside, the walls sounding far too thin compared to the battle being waged outside.
The chain. It could harm Ramy. The only other time I'd ever seen him in any real pain was after he'd been exorcized. Was it possible that the chain hurt the angel as well?
I whispered to Aanya, “ I think that chain might be the only way we can hurt the angel. If someone is able to use it against him, or at the very least get it away from him, that might be enough to stop this.”
Still shaking, I added, “I'm pretty sure that I’m the one the angel wants. I think… I think he believes that I’m controlling Ramy. Like how Omar did.”
“Lab Rat, if you go out there, that thing will kill you.” Aanya said slowly. “Unless…”
It dawned on her then. If we were to try this, she would have to be the one to distract the angel. She sighed through clenched teeth, “Fuck me!”
I tried to be reassuring, “You just need to be out there long enough to get that hook out of Ramy and to tell him what I just told you.”
“And if you're wrong?” Aanya asked.
“Then… I don't know.” I muttered. “We have to try something, don't we?”
She shook her head, jaw tight, “You and that jinn owe me big time for this.”
Aanya gave herself a small shake, stretching her neck from side to side as if to calm herself. Before she left, she made me promise that if anything happened to her, I'd take care of Jade. I agreed.
When I returned to the window, I saw Ramy had freed himself from the angel's hook, but he was slower now. His tail missed the angel by inches. The angel looped his chain around Bill's neck, using his wings to yank the hoofed jinn into the sky, the chain acting as a noose.
Ramy collided with the angel in midair. All three fell to the ground, the angel landing gracefully, his grip on the chain not faltering for even a moment. Meanwhile, Ramy struggled with his injured leg, relying heavily on his wings to keep moving. Bill loudly gasped for air, choking as it thudded to the ground.
I slid the window open a crack and yelled to catch the angel's attention. Another flash of gold. I dropped to the ground, shocked to hear the window break, followed by the glass falling onto the back of my head. That meant the angel was completely unfazed by the house's protection. It dawned on me then that he could get in at any moment, if he wanted to.
The hook had landed on the ground next to me. It started to retract back through the window, but then it stopped. My blood ran cold as I heard Aanya shriek from outside.
Please, let this work.
I didn't think. I grabbed the hook and started to pull it with all of my strength. The links clattered to the ground, seemingly endless as more and more of it passed through the window. How long was this thing?
The chain suddenly went taut as it was grabbed from the other end. Shit shit SHIT! I felt myself sliding across the floor, holding onto the chain for dear life. I couldn't let the angel get it back. I couldn't.
Two hands grabbed the chain next to mine. Aanya. Her breath was ragged. She sounded close to tears, but she held on, both of us putting all of our weight into this nightmarish game of tug-of-war. I knew that she was hurt, but I didn’t dare break my concentration in order to check on her. If we lost this chain, we were dead.
As she and I pulled together, eventually, the chain went rigid once again. I grit my teeth, hearing Aanya groan softly next to me. I didn't know how much longer she could carry on like this.
We both fell to the floor, the chain suddenly slack in our hands as it flew all the way through the window. What happened?
There was another burst of light outside, followed by a loud crash. Aanya struggled to her feet, wincing, but running out the door with the chain gripped tightly in her fists. Her back was soaked with blood, the back of her shirt hanging in tatters.
Back at the window, I saw that Ramy had impaled the angel with his tail, the tip driven into the ground to pin the angel in place. Aanya, teeth bared like she was feral, wrapped the chain around the angel's throat, set her backwards foot on the angel's shoulder, and started to pull.
The angel's fist swung at her. She held her ground. Ramy’s tail embedded itself deeper into the angel's torso, causing the being’s ribs to crack like twigs. Bill limped over to Aanya, picking up another section of chain to help her. The angel began to fruitlessly claw at the chain in an attempt to get it off. His wings thrashed, knocking Bill back a bit, but the hoofed jinn hung on.
Aanya let out a cry. The angel smiled, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.
With a wet, ripping noise that I’ll never forget, the angel's head came off. The head’s eyes shifted to look at me once again before his gaze went glassy, that terrible fucking grin still on his face.
Aanya dropped to her knees, the chain falling limply from her hands. With a snarl, Ramy's tail flicked, flinging the rest of the angel's body away.
I abandoned the window to race to Aanya's side. When I reached for her, she lightly smacked my hand away, telling me that with how she felt, the smell of my blood could drive her crazy.
Aanya did her best to smile, “I’ll live. Now, get away from me. We’ll celebrate later.”
Bill was already recovering, stating that it’d keep an eye on her. It sat down crossed legged with her, a bony hand delicately tracing the deep injury in her back.
Ramy followed me back into the house. Once we were alone, he embraced me, those leathery wings forming a soothing cocoon around me. Neither of us said anything. We just held each other.
We did it. We really did it. All four of us had bested an angel.
After what felt like an eternity, yet somehow still not long enough for my liking, his arms loosened their comforting hold, telling me that he should return to his host.
“You know… your true form isn't so bad, either.” I admitted.
He winked, “You really shouldn't have told me that, Lab Rat.”
I let out an embarrassing yelp as those wings pushed me back into him. Good lord. I can't have a moment of peace around this shithead.
Afterwards, I learned that angels can't truly die, though I have been assured that it'll be awhile before the one we’d beheaded recovers enough to retaliate. I think that's why the piece of shit was smiling as his head was torn off. But that's future Ramy and Lab Rat’s problem.
So, I just want to say that I appreciate how many of you have accompanied me on this descent into madness. You've all given me so much advice, some of which has quite literally saved my life. I never believed in the kindness of strangers until I started this series. You've seriously all helped me grow into the Lab Rat I am today and I truly can't thank you all enough for that.
Originally, I started posting as a cry for help. I'd had no one to turn to as my life was flipped upside down by the strange guy in IT. But now I’m not alone anymore. I have people in my corner, now. This is bittersweet, but… I think this might be my last post. Yeah. It's time.

I am 49 and from Generation X, the lost generation, the mtv generation, the latch key kids. First of all, to all you Gen Z young adults there are challenges that you have that I didn't have to face throughout my 20's. Social media, a broken economy, ridiculous costs of living, smart phones, incredibly lethal street drugs, and the list goes on. So to these things you have my empathy. Social media alone is a corrosive source of pain and suffering. Though I dont feel like it, I'm an old man in your eyes. I never had children and didn't marry because I watched the tragic consequences of failed marriages from all my friends. I went to college and never finished with 123 hours under my belt (studied fine arts and psychology). Because of this and the vain illusion that I wouldn't age, or I could work my way up the ladder I have compromised my life to the point there will be no retirement (unless my artwork and poetry magically become popular), there will be no comfortable living, and the poverty I experience will be life long. Even though I grew up in an upper middle class home with both parents. Instead of attacking you, demeaning you, or lecturing you I would like to give you some advice or you will suffer the reality I endure each day. Though I am intelligent, talented, imaginative, relentless, athletic,and yes even attractive (for 49 lol), I live in poverty. The only person I can blame is the man I see in the mirror each morning. I don't want to see any of you wake up to this nightmare. To wake up knowing the chances of turning this all around are slim at best. So here are some simple truths, that if followed will make life much easier to handle. 1. Eliminate "it's not fair" from your vocabulary. Yes, it's not fair and it gets even more unfair as you get older. Life is principly unfair. You don't have to accept this, just make peace with it. No one can change the natural order of things. Complaining about it, having a pity party, or spending time and effort fighting an impervious system will only add to your suffering. It won't change a thing. 2. Stress, anxiety, and depression are a part of life. Mental health is important, but using that as a crutch or excuse not to do anything is unacceptable. We as humans all feel these things daily. I won't say "suck it up" because that means ignoring these factors which is not healthy. Which is what we were told at your age. You must find the strength to go forward, face adversity, and challenges had on. Because again it only gets worse. 3. Work consistently and diligently. Side hustles are a waste of your time and energy which do not repay what you put in to them. Preteens do extra chores for money and that's what a side hustle is. Side hustles are not real jobs unless you can make a substantial amount of money doing several. If that's the case, more power to you. Work is not fun, it is not on your terms, and It's not a social outlet. Most every job sucks in one way or another. You have to learn to navigate this. Almost every person of your age I work with almost never shows up on time and calls off at least once a week (if you are going to do that come up with better excuses, like you have explosive diarrhea. Not I didn't hear my alarm or my mom's dog is sick). If you want to contribute to a healthy economy (yes I understand that won't fix things, but over time it would contribute to economic growth) you have to work. You now represent a large portion of the work force. Also give a job more than a month before you quit, give proper notice (you are burning bridges and creating a very poor work history). 4. Do not rely on the government to take care of your needs unless that's absolutely the only way. My rent is ridiculous, I can't afford to eat healthy, and I don't have very much extra money each month. But I make all of it work on $13.50 an hour with tips. Yes, it's very hard work. I've was dogs at an upscale kennel/doggie daycare/ grooming facility. Not how I pictured my life at this age. I swallow a lot of pride, try not to look down on myself, and remember at least it's something. If a person turning 50 can do it, you can too. Government assistance again damages an already damaged economy when it's being abused (ie having babies to get money, food stamps when you actually can afford food, going to a homeless shelter to get into a housing program when you didn't have to, faking disability like a mental illness which really isn't there). Things are only going to get worse to the point there is no assistance to be had. 5. Move out of your parents house. You would be surprised what your are capable of doing when you have to take care of your own needs. I was old when I moved out. I was 22 (that was old back in 98). I worked, went to school (which I paid for), maintained a social life, worked out 5 days a week, went clubbing on the weekends, dated alot, and occasionally had a girlfriend, and was VP of the largest special interest club on campus. I had to learn to adapt and not give up. I don't recommend trying to live alone these days because it's not plausible. Find someone or a few someone's you trust, get a place, and help each other out. You don't have to do it by yourself. That's what friends are supposed to be there for. A shoulder to lean on when you need it. If you are living with a friend or two and someone does not pull their weight, give them a 10 days to find a job and contribute. If they can't. . .kick them the fuck out. I'm not saying all of this to be mean or insensitive. These people are leeches, lazy, and are so entitled they think they works be taken care of.I want to see your generation rise to the occasion and win. I believe that most of you can accomplish this. Together you stand, divided you fall. 6. Drugs are bad and more powerful now than they ever were.. If you have drug issues I'm sorry I know how it feels. I know how it feels to fix it and still be labeled as and looked at as an addict. It became everyone's reason to not help me. Not because I used them or stole, or borrowed money. But because I was an embarrassment and it was a reason to be selfish for them. I have dealt with addiction issues which didn't even develop until I was 33 and progressed to ever increasingly stronger substances until I was 42. Adderall (which I did quit cold turkey eventually and wasn't a problem until after 3 of taking it and even then was manageable.) became alcohol (which I drank socially from 33 to 38 and then it became a problem) which eventually turned into opiates, and finally cocaine. Every pill I had was legal. I Dr shopped when that was still possible. I had a nice job, new car, expendable income, and looked the part. I didn't look like the face of addiction so it was not suspected. Then, Mom died and that already serious problem destroyed my life. Opiates became coke and I lost everything. I was then using to die. Everyone's Mom dies and it's not really an excuse. However, it was the most painful experience I have ever had. I relied on drugs to make me happy because my family fell apart without the glue. If you have a problem, get help. If you get help avoid 12 step systems. That statistically only works 4.8% of the time (those are the true numbers, because the other ones you find online are studies put out by 12 step systems (I don't just talk out of my ass, for reference read The Sober Truth). Smart recovery is a much better system and was developed in the 90's and uses modern psychoanalysis instead of reliance on spiritualism from the 1920's. Sober living is a bad idea. You are putting a group of addicts in one house. What do you think is going to eventually happen. Especially sober living that does not have someone there to monitor the group (ie Oxford House). 7. Give school a chance. College is not just for learning. It's a time to discover yourself. To find something that really interests you, study it, and make a career out of something you love. If I had finished I be would have gotten my Masters and taught college fine arts classes. Not to mention would have made connections with the art world. Which is another thing college is good for. I had the time of my life (sober mind you). I was a raver back in the day (2000 - 2005) who didn't even drink, but I could dance my ass off. Those years are my most cherished memories. It's the only time you will be at a place geared for your age and you are surrounded by people close to your age. Highschool does not follow you there. The most unimportant person in highschool can sometimes become the coolest person in college. This again is because everyone is finding themselves, exploring life, and throwing caution to the wind. Mind your grades, but understand that it's not the only thing that is important. Don't spend your time staying in. Go out even if you have no one to do with you. Try new things. It's the time for it. 8. Finally, give the gym a chance. It's not the physical transformation that really impacts your life, it what it does to your mind. It's ok to do it for vanities sake. The human body is made to get stronger with use. What other machine does that. When I hear, "it's just not my thing" I cringe. 90% of the time I went I didn't want to. That would change after 20 min. Also, Missy importantly it teaches your self discipline. Making yourself do something when you don't have to. Self discipline is one of the hardest things to ever learn. But if you can work out for 1 hour 5 days a week everything else feels trivial. It will relieve stress, anxiety, and depression. It teaches commitment and a good work ethic. It teaches self reliance and self discipline. It shows you eventually that you can do things you thought was impossible. I weighed 165 and was doing 3 sets of 5 with 255 on flat bench then doing 3 sets of 5 with 100lb dumbbells on each arm for dumbbell press. It unlocks a mental potential more than a physical. It gives a confidence that is unwaivering. So doubt say it's not my thing. Take 1 hour out of the day and go. Allie is people say I don't like the mirrors. The reason why is subconsciously you don't like yourself and it bothers you to have to look at you. Even at my strongest the person I madmired at the gym was the person just starting out with that look of determination in their eyes. They inspired me to keep going. If vanity is not a reason, or self exploration, or developing self discipline. Then do it to manage stress, anxiety, and depression. It is more powerful and more effective than any pill. However, you need to give it at the very least 90 days (3 months). That way you have caused a routine to form and you will definitely see results. Proper diet is two thirds of this. High protein. 1 gram per one pound of body weight. Low carb (you do need them), low fat. In fact if you want to change everything else and make that easier hit the gym first. Don't let anyone ego shame you for going. They are just jealous because they lack the self control to start and stay with it. Final thoughts. . . You are not entitled to anything AT ALL. You don't deserve anything. You are not even garrenteed you'll wake up tomorrow. Understand that the world is a mean, nasty, hateful place that you can either let it knock you to to your knees or fight with all your soul. It's not how hard you can hi, it's how hard you can get hit and get back up. . . Again, again, and again. I fully expect this to not go over every well. But at the end of the day you don't have to listen too me or agree with me. That's how opinions work. Don't be one of this people who preaches equality and then cancels what you find abhorrent. My opinion is just as valid as yours. All the things I to have written here are about self discovery, self reliance, and self improvement. All of them are difficult and not all of you could do these things. Something is not of value, worth, or rare because it's plentiful and easy to get. But if you insist on proving me wrong, try these things, and if the quality of your life doesn't improve then I'll know I've finally become to old to say anything relative and it's time to let all this go and shut up.

Survival of the fittest.
It was the only true morale in the universe, the only standard by which any species could properly be judged. Were they fit to survive? Could they find their niche in the galaxy? The young Krullex who grunted and bullied his way through the middle corridors of the station gave no indication of such thoughts, but like all of his species - like every species - primacy of the self was forefront on the mind. His armor-plated skin thicker than those of the rest of his generation, his heavy world muscles hardier, his tusks capped in sharpened precious metals that he'd threatened off other, smaller Krullex. It was only natural; He was larger, they were smaller, so he took what he wanted from them. And they, in turn, fawned and groveled beneath him so that they would not be crushed to death, and in turn fought for their place in his shadow, just as he fought for his place beneath the weight of his larger father, and his father fought and groveled for a place beneath the station's Overseer. Each person, each creature, regardless of their species did the same. Those who could not find their place would starve and die, leaving only the fittest behind. The achievement of happiness, of self-satisfaction, was the only goal in life, to give oneself as much as possible to ensure one's genetic legacy lived on. It was the same everywhere, always, to every known species in the galaxy.
At least, nearly so.
While the youthful Krullex dismissively moved through the smaller of his ilk like a boat through water, his underlings took time to strike and snarl at the smaller ones who shied and shrunk from confrontation against the superior member of their own kind. His cohorts seeming to take delight in their position in his wake, showing that they were smart enough to follow, they were the first to roll over and surrender to him, thus displaying the cunning necessary to thrive in the simple calculus of natural selection. Other Krullex at least had the opportunity to walk about openly; The even smaller creatures, the wiry Milx and the blubbery Oovir, would have to wait until the traffic slowed; They didn't have the mass or weight of fear to push their way through the largest of the species aboard the station post - if they weren't useful enough to the Overseer to be assigned a cowed guard.
Knuckling his way into the station-spine lifts, the young leader bashed his curled fist into the downward button, disregarding any other sentient's desired location. And they, in turn, did their best to exit where they could or shrink to the corners, deferring to the larger creature and his rumbling cohorts.
"Kochab.." Began the largest of his underlings, a sudden flush of fear overcoming his thickened features. "The Overseer. She said not too-" The underling did not get a chance to finish, as Kochab's fist curled about and sunk deep into the other Krullex's stomach, doubling the underling over in pain. Without a word, Kochab raised thickly corded arms and began bringing them down, over and over, bashing the uppity creature about the head and ribs while the smaller one curled in on itself protectively. Sensing an opportunity to better their position, the others joined in, kicking and stomping on the one that dared to speak out.
But even as the lower underlings fawned and aped and chortled their joy, hoping for some recognition for their instant betrayal of their own, Kochab's mind was elsewhere. Back to being summoned before the Overseer, a massive matron with which his father sired him. His ribs still ached where she kicked him across the room as a standard welcome, his tusk cracked where his father joined the plethora of others in bashing him with a baton. It was only natural to try and curry favor from your superior by putting yourself over a weakened foe, even if that foe at that moment was your own flesh and blood. It was only just. You did not get called before a superior for anything other than punishment or reward; If you were there for reward, you knew it beforehand. Having properly placed him in his station, the Matron's one command was thus:
Leave the humans alone. Stay out of the lower decks.
He could not immediately respond through his broken jaw, of course. All he could do was nod eagerly on the floor, watching one of his smallest underlings get flayed before him, left dripping on the mural depicting the Overseer's greatest triumph; Betraying her former lord for their current system ruler, opening a path for his ships to slip past the battle line and overwhelm her former allies. A perfectly executed betrayal, displaying her ability to read the battle and leap to the winning side before anyone else could, ensuring that she and all who followed her were rewarded and elevated. She was stronger, brighter, and more cunning than her peers - but certain to not be so cunning and strong as to be a threat to her patron.
She displayed mercy, then, allowing him to affix his broken mandible bone with a medical station before sending him away. And yet here he was, in the station lift, heading straight down to the newest refugees from the stars. Humans; Small, measly, with neither claw or tooth or bony plate to their name. Not as dexterous as the Milx, not as smart as the Oorvir, a worm of a creature with no place in the natural order of things. How dare they claim to be the dominate species on a planet lost long ago? Kochab knew better, of course; It was obvious to him that the Overseer had misjudged these creatures. They weren't even poisonous, as far as he was aware, you could nearly bite one in half and nothing they could do would stop you. It was likely simply a test of obedience; There for, his bravery lifted with the lack of direct oversight, he would show his minions how to cow the Human populace and have his own kingdom in the decks below. They would bring him savories and tribute, and he in turn would only kill ten or twelve for sport every few cycles. The rest could live in his magnanimous shadow. Perhaps then he would show the Overseer's error to the flock of Krullex around the upper echelons and see her brought low before some greater female that he could properly venerate and grovel before.
His violence against his own underling finally abated, although he took time to crack another across the face for continuing the beating long after Kochab himself had stopped. Best to nip such ambition in the bud before any thoughts of disobedience took place. He gave a dismissive once over the shuddering form of his prime underling, then growled out an order to get up. Wavering and injured, the smaller Krullex knuckled back to all four limbs, prostrating himself in sorrow and fear of his leader's ire. Unquestioning, now, as to whatever wisdom Kochab had taken from his meeting with the Overseer.
The doors to the lift hissed open, and the small flock of Krullex knuckled their way into the human district, the lowest of the low aboard the station. It was teeming - to Kochab's gaze, like worms wriggling in the fecal matter of a larger beast, the humans pressed tight in the cramped and labyrinthine corridors. Squeezing into shoddy compartments for sleep, living practically atop one another. Trade tents along a main 'thoroughfare' without a single Krullex guard to chase away those who'd come to naturally roll the small proprietor for goods, a sure sign that these creatures were out of favor with the Overseer. And yet here they were, drawing down water and food rations, and for what? Simple waste management? Basic engineering tasks that the Milx could do ten times faster?
Kochab did not like puzzles and did not know what to make of the bizarre situation. The station not only allowed the parasites, but actively supported them. What he did know, however, was a simple truth; The greatest morality was to the self. High pitched voices of youth drew his attention, and a vicious, broken toothed hoot drew his other underlings in his wake as he made his way towards the human larvae. Other humans had begun to notice his violation of their space, the activity slowing as more and more eyes turned towards him. He preened as he overshadowed one of the human spawn, who didn't even notice Kochab until he had bashed the thing to the side. A high-pitched scream of pain, and the rest of his pack immediately set upon the young human, hitting and biting as he looked back at the gathering crowd.
And then paused, his confusion mounting. Here he was, the largest thing in the entire area, striking down a smaller creature. There should be shouts of joy and aggression. There should be humans fawning to get on his good side by striking the young-ling as well, groveling and fighting amongst themselves to earn their place in his shadow. That was the natural way of things; That was normal. To elevate the self above all the rest, the natural selection of die or thrive. But instead of fawning adoration or fear, he saw - anger? The expressions of Krullex were not far removed from the wormy human's fat filled features, so why did they look murderous rather than cowed? A brief niggle of worry inched its way past his firm resolve, before he heard another scream - from his own underling. He snapped his head around to find - blood. The larger Krullex being pulled down not by one, but by several humans at once? Metal edges flashed in sudden tandem as .. the.. humans attacked together? Kochab's tiny eyes flitted this way and that, trying to find the leader. All he had to do was find and subdue the leader, and the rest would fall to support him, betraying their allies for a certain chance to survive. It was only natural. It was only just.
It was only sane.
But even as he watched, no leader stepped forward. A sharp pain in his own back suddenly caused him to roar out, and he spun about, knocking the human female from her feet. Only to have another sharp pain in his side, and then another, as increasingly more piled onto him. His underlings, sensing the tide, turned and began to strike him as well, trying to appease whatever secret master was ruling these humans, but it didn't matter. They were all being pulled down, their strength making no difference against a horde. Kochab's last, panicked view of the flickering overhead lights filled him with only more questions. Why? Why?? What did he do wrong?
A sharp, guttural noise exited him, blood bubbling from between his tusks as one particularly sharp implement lodged its way into his throat.
Above, the Overseer watched the scene of the human rampage with tension evident, her hands nearly crushing the station-throne upon which she sat. Krullex blood pooled from the knot of writhing, enraged humans on the screen, and yet not a single one turned on each other or took the opportunity to seize victory for themselves. Those who had absolutely no connection with the human child that had been mauled were seen treating it, carrying it away to safety. It was madness. THEY were madness. What creature did not value the self above.. above anything else?
She was larger than all the other Krullex beneath her. Stronger. Smarter. But what did size or strength have against a beast with twenty thousand limbs? Two hundred thousand teeth? Countless eyes and ears, all pretending to be a collection of separate creatures called Humans. It was a mythical thing, large as the belly of the station, curled in and out of the most vital systems she had at her command. One wrong move, one wrong step, and that insanity - that undeniable, unstoppable insanity of shared action - would kill them all. The only way to keep the human craziness away was to feed that beast, to give them something else to focus on than their meager allowances of water and food and work. To give them the occasional sacrifice, to toss some meat to their maw to rip apart. She felt no pain of loss for Kochab -- he was one of many of her sires. And if he was stupid enough to misread the situation and go against what she said - to die because he could not figure out the puzzle that was Humanity - than he was not fit for survival. Her hands untensed when the Humans went no further than to rattle the lift cages and seethe against the walls of their decks, her breath evening out when all returned to normal.
But for how long would the beast sleep, down below? Perhaps she should invite her Lord Patron sometime to view the station; Ask him to bring his most elite pack of guards. She paused, tapping at her tusk with a claw at the thought. Only the clever and strong survived; Was he clever enough to learn the secret of the Human as fast as she did, those first few days after their arrival? The thought drew a small grin from her lips.