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Suzanne thought it was absolutely brilliant of me to put books on a flash drive for Sun. She explained that Sun wasn’t as sophant (her word, not mine) as she might seem, more of a repository of information, but she was fairly intelligent. It was how she was able to connect Andrew being in pain to the fact that I was friends with Andrew, and that I would want to know that he was in trouble. Apparently some of Sun’s species had given some ‘wisdom’ to others in the past and it had made its way into mythology.
The key fact was that she was not smart enough to protect herself and her kind from the clever, organized poachers. With that information in mind, it was fascinating for me to think of how Sun took in and organized what she learned. It was almost as if she was a walking, talking library.
On the topic of tours, my first one went wonderfully, and I’m almost hoping Suzanne lets me do more of them. I know not all the tourists are going to be as awesome as these people were, but Suzanne gave me a lot of slack when it comes to dealing with them. She actually said that being a smartass is not grounds for dismissal, and that if I’m sarcastic or facetious to guests who are being ‘daft’ and they complain, she really doesn’t care. Is this the perfect job for me or what?
There were four guests in this party, two adults who were sisters and two children of one of the women, brothers aged thirteen and seventeen. The tour was a birthday gift for the older of the boys from his aunt, since apparently he was passionate about animal protection and conservation.
When they arrived at the front gate, I was sitting at Andrew’s desk, going over the booklet of information one last time. When the visitors pressed the button that sounded the alert buzzer, I tucked away in a drawer and let them in. I did have a cheat sheet with information about the animals on my phone just in case, a brief notation of each of them and which enclosure they were in, but I really didn’t need to use it.
Exiting through the front door, I saw them walk up the path toward me. “Hi, I’m Ripley,” I said, holding out a hand toward the woman closest to me.
She shook it firmly. “I’m Denise. This is my sister Carla and my nephews, Wesley and Jason,” she said, motioning to each of them in turn.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” I said to Wesley, giving him a smile. “You’re interested in animal conversation?”
“Back where we live, yeah,” he said, nodding. “The animals that you’ve got here are incredible. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Well, I can’t wait to show them to you,” I said. “Right this way.”
I led them on the path around the building, toward enclosure one. Despite the horrific memories of the animal killing Stanley’s friends, I knew it was just an animal, and I had to push past my feelings on what had happened. Keeping a small smile on my face, I motioned to the enclosure. “Fiercely territorial and amazing hunters, despite their large size, they’re arboreal and known to dart from tree to tree with barely a sound. This is one of only about two thousand left in existence.”
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty six at last count,” spoke Wesley, his eyes on the trees.
I blinked, surprised and impressed. “Well that was fantastic. Do you plan on stealing my job when you graduate?”
Wesley looked at me with a grin. “Nah, everyone knows Suzanne only offers humans this gig. And I want to help animals like this one get off the endangered species list. The zoos are great for awareness and fundraising, but then the money has to go somewhere. I want to be doing the real work.”
“That’s really great,” I told him. “I wish you all the best in that career path.” At that, we saw the animal climb down from the tree, wandering a few yards from the tree line. This was because 90% of the time, when humans were at their enclosure and making noise, whether it was speaking to each other or calling out to the animal, it was someone bringing them prey to eat. Or, in my case, enrichment toys to play with.
“Whoa,” Wesley whispered.
“How close can we get?” spoke up Jason.
“The warding starts at the fence,” I told him with a small gesture. “So, just there.”
Both boys wandered closer and I glanced at their parents. It seemed that Suzanne’s zoo had a serious reputation for high quality invisible walls, because they didn’t look worried in the slightest about the boys being hurt or killed.
“They prefer dense forest as their home and have been known to make their nests in trees up to twenty meter in the air,” I continued. “And when hunting, they’ve been seen dropping eight meters straight down. They have incredibly dense yet flexible musculature, which allows them to tackle their prey without injuring themselves.”
There was more information about the animal that I continued to rattle off, though Wesley chimed in at certain points with the info I was about to convey. That was highly entertaining and very cool. When I’d been in school, I’d never met anyone who had my level of passion about endangered animals. I wondered if things were better where these folks came from, but realized that considering there were so few of these animals left, I guessed not.
The animal paced a little bit, seemingly waiting to see if we were the kind of humans that came bearing food, before deciding we weren’t and climbing back up into the trees as easily as I would climb some stairs.
As we moved onto enclosure two, Jason spoke up. “Are there any animals here we can touch or feed or something?”
I sighed inwardly before slowing to a stop. “Well, can you show me your hands?” Jason looked bemused, holding out his hands. “I mean…they both look like they’re in great shape. You can stand to lose one.”
The two women chuckled and Wesley smirked as Jason shoved his hands into his pockets. “Very funny.”
Grinning, I started walking again. “The animals here are all carnivores and all predators. You get to see them, but that’s it.”
“Alright.”
When we reached enclosure two, I started on my next spiel. “We’ve got three reanimated dead in this enclosure,” I spoke. They were just coming out from the trees as we arrived, presumably having heard our approach. “Marissa, Connor, and Bradley. They were donated by families who knew where they would be exhibited. Their next of kin, whoever they are, can’t stand the idea of putting them down. But we need to make sure they don’t have access to corpses, because one of them plus one corpse equals two of them.”
“They eat flesh though, don’t they?” Wesley asked.
I nodded. “Oh, yeah, but it’s from bodies that have already been dismembered. There’s no chance of them being affected by the transformation because it’s all parts.”
“Oh, got it.”
The creatures with blueish-white skin had superhuman strength, which is why they qualified for the security of Suzanne’s zoo. They also were likely the source of any Earth tales of people being brought back to life as zombies, specifically draugr, according to my research. They smelled like rotting flesh, so even as I kept talking about them and giving a background to the people they used to be, we were quick to move on once Wesley had gotten a good, long look at them.
“Enclosure four’s animal is a vampiric spirit. He’s a small, hairy humanoid creature with pointed ears. He wears a hat, and if he somehow loses it, he freaks out,” I said.
“They eat horses,” Wesley noted. “Also anything that gives them the chance to sit on it, usually catching them by surprise while they’re sleeping.”
The creature came out from the brush, giving us a suspicious look. He wasn’t in his humanoid form though; for some reason, he’d chosen to shapeshift to a dog.
I nodded. “Yep, indeed. Once the prey is dead, then he’ll eat it, and he has a voracious appetite. We have two wolves and two bears in the forest, which is one of the reasons I’ve got some self-defense items,” I said, patting my belt where my pepper spray (rated for bear) and my taser. “But the wards keep them out of this area of the zoo, so it’s really not much of a worry. It’s also a known shapeshifter, preferring the form of a dog, as you can see, as well as a cat, a snake, or even white butterflies, though the last one is rare.”
“The white butterflies are supposed to be a sign of good luck,” Wesley said, glancing to me. “Too bad we got the dog.”
“Yeah, otherwise you might be able to talk your mom into getting scratch-offs on your way home, huh?”
Wesley smirked at me.
The next enclosure was Spike, and he was waiting for us, dripping wet from having just emerged from the lake. I gave the introductory information about him, which included his propensity for eating animal eyes, nails, and teeth. “Recently, I’ve given him some enrichment activities, and I learned he likes artichokes, pecans, and hazelnuts,” I said, taking a bag out from my cargo shorts. “Wesley, do you want to toss this bag into the enclosure?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded excitedly. He took a look into the paper bag before wrapping down the top to make sure nothing would fly out. Then he chucked it underhand past the fence. It landed a few yards from Spike, who waddled over to it quickly and tearing the bag open, spilling out the prizes inside. As the animal ate the pecans and hazelnuts, Wesley asked, “How’d you figure out he likes those?”
“It’s not all about taste,” I told him. “It’s mainly the difficulty of getting them out of the shells. He’s used to having to work for the parts of his prey he likes the most, so this mimics that activity, and he enjoys the process. I tried a bunch of different foods to find a few he liked.”
“Cool,” Wesley murmured, staring at him.
We watched Spike eat until he’d finished and then he went back into the woods, leaving us to move onto enclosure five. Japanese camellia were plentiful here, a type of pink flower, and that was because they grew anywhere near one of his species made their den. “This girl spends most of her time in the lake also,” I said, as the creature made its way toward the fence separating us from it. “But as you can see, she’s just as curious as the rest about what we’re doing here and whether we have food for her. She eats fish mostly, but she also regularly gets live prey.”
This creature was a spider-like monster, having six legs with long claws on each, and the head of an ox with two sharp horns. She was capable of shapeshifting to look like a human, but I guessed that she wasn’t fond of it, since I hadn’t yet seen her in that form.
“She prefers the easy way of catching prey, so to speak, by hiding in the lake and pouncing when something comes for a drink of water,” I explained. “Apparently humans are some of her favorite prey. She has an advantage of being able to spit poison, which often hits her prey in the eyes. But it’s usually used in defense rather than offense, since it secretes a limited amount.”
“What kind of animal would even go after something like this?” Jason asked, staring at her.
“Never discount one of its own species when you’re thinking about what might attack an animal,” I replied. “There are places that are breeding all of the animals here, but competition for mates is common. That means an advantage in a fight, like poison or venom, can make or break who the winner is.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“It can’t spit past the warding, right?” Carla suddenly asked.
“Oh, no,” I assured her. “We’re fine. The wards wouldn’t let anything cross over.” She nodded, appeased.
The animal in enclosure six was the ginormous seal-hippo, Fiona, and she was looking at us as if she was imagining sprinkling us with herbs and spices and stuffing us in an oven. “This girl is one animal I’m going to work on enrichment activities for next,” I told them. “She prefers to feed on crayfish, though she’s happy to eat any humans that wander into her territory. She’ll even make a sound like a baby crying to reel us in. I’ve heard it a bunch of times.”
“Can you get her to make the sound?” Jason asked, perking up.
I grinned. “Not on command, sorry.”
“What enrichment are you thinking of trying?” Wesley asked.
“Possibly food placed in puzzle feeders,” I told him, “since she has claws that are pretty dexterous. Maybe a piñata made out of newspaper with flour inside, or a scarecrow that mimics a human.”
“Awesome,” he muttered.
After a little more educational tidbits, we moved onto Yui’s enclosure. “What is that?” Wesley asked, smiling.
“I got Yui the closest thing I could to a ping-pong ball,” I replied. “She quite likes it.”
“That’s so funny,” he said as she came out of the trees in her spider form. “I mean, the idea of her being a bloodthirsty hunter who seduces men to their deaths and eats them alive, but then on the other hand, she likes playing with something like this.”
“It is a little funny,” I agreed. “But when it comes down to it, all the animals here enjoy activities besides hunting.”
“She can shapeshift to look human, right?” asked Jason, trying to be casual about knowing something factual like his nerdy brother.
I nodded. “She looks like a woman from a region of Earth called Japan. And she’ll use strategies like holding out a hand to shake to get you closer. She tried that on me when I first got here but, as you can see,” I said, holding up my hands and waving them, “I didn’t fall for it.”
The boys both laughed as they got closer to the fence, watching her slowly pace near the trees.
Next was Sun, but she didn’t make an appearance as I spoke about her species. “Well…unfortunately we can’t guarantee that every animal comes out to say hi,” I sighed. “But…oh wait, here she is.”
The green lion with several horns and many eyes along her flank came out from the forest. “Hello,” she spoke.
“Hi, Sun,” I replied. “We have visitors.”
“What’s that?” Wesley asked suddenly, pointing at the small plastic bag that was still where I’d left it.
“Oh! That is Sun’s enrichment,” I said with a smile. “I put dozens of books on a flash drive and found that she can read them just like she’d read a shelf of books.”
Wesley’s eyes widened. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve read about anyone trying that before. That’s really cool.”
“The books are new and interesting,” Sun spoke, drawing our attention. “I’m grateful for them.”
I nodded to her. “You’re quite welcome.”
The next animal, unfortunately, wasn’t there, and we waited around for ten minutes as we discussed him. He was large and reptile-like with red eyes, with its hind legs and tail making him look vaguely like a kangaroo. Then, enclosure ten was a terrifyingly disturbing creature, the not-a-centaur with no skin, that I’d only seen a few times while walking my route. It gave a good demonstration of its ferocity, showing its sharp teeth and snapping at us a few times.
“I’m thinking of trying salt licks and other horse enrichment like a big bouncy ball,” I told Wesley, whose eyebrows went up at that. “Maybe give him more things to forage like scattered grains or a box filled with pinecones and seeds. Foraging is a huge part of a horse’s life in the wild, and humans have to do a lot of activities like that to keep pet horses busy. Of course, he also loves the little salt-water lake that was built for him.”
We spent some time looking at the animal before moving past our last stop, the empty enclosure of the animal was stolen. Carla glanced at me with a sad smile, knowing what had happened, it seemed. I gave her a nod as we continued on our way, walking into the office. “So, I hope everyone enjoyed themselves!” I said with a smile.
“That was the coolest birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” Wesley said, looking to Denise. “Thanks so much, seriously.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said with a nod. “I’d never been here before, and knew I’d find it fascinating. Thank you for the educational aspect,” Denise said, glancing at me. “I learned quite a lot.”
“Happy to hear it,” I said, returning the nod.
As I escorted the guests out of the zoo and locked the door behind them, I reflected on how much I’d changed. The first time I’d seen Yui’s tarantula form, I’d nearly passed out from fear. Now here I was, walking tourists around like it was no big deal. Humans really can adapt to anything, it seems.
That afternoon, Suzanne had texted me that she was coming by after my shift, and I met her in Andrew’s office, shutting the door to the security room behind me. “How’s Andrew?” I asked first thing.
“He’s doing well,” she said with a wide smile. “Back on non-hospital food. He’s allowed to order food on his phone, and to hear it from him, that’s the best news he’d received in a long time.”
I chuckled. “I guess some clichés are true for a reason.”
“Indeed.” She took a breath. “All right. Ripley…I would like to discuss something with you.”
My face went slack at the serious tone in her voice. “I’m not… Am I being fired?”
“What? No!” she exclaimed. Then she chuckled softly. “No, it’s nothing like that. Just, here, let’s have a seat.” Suzanne walked over to the couch and sat at one end, and I took the other. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept from you, that I wanted to keep from you until you found your sea legs here.”
“Well…I have,” I said with a nod. “So, what is it?”
Suzanne took a breath. “I knew your mother.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before making their way to my ears. It was a perfectly logical sentence, and yet it didn’t make any sense. “What?” I finally managed.
“When you graduated college, I decided to move the zoo from Italy to within driving distance of your home,” she said softly. “Near enough to your town that you’d see the advert. We ignored any other applicants and I hoped you’d apply. Actually, I expected you’d apply. Not just for the money, but considering the field you wanted to go into. As soon as I’d found out your major, I knew.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do you know Patricia?”
“She owned the zoo before I did,” Susan explained. “Fourteen years ago…she was working to track an injured animal that we could bring into the zoo and she was killed by poachers.”
My heart calcified in my chest and a lump lodged in my throat. As my breaths became shaky, I stared at her in shock. “She…she’s really dead?”
“You suspected?” she asked softly.
“It…” I swallowed hard. “We had her declared legally dead after…I don’t know, seven years I think. My dad wanted to go after her for child support, but the police said…they said they couldn’t find…” Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them back before I met Suzanne’s gaze. “She owned the zoo?”
Suzanne nodded. “It was her baby, you’d say. When Patricia passed, I inherited it, which we’d discussed beforehand, a legal just-in-case that I never expected her to need. I’m under the impression that you were told she went to Africa for her photography career, but she was in fact going to remote areas back in my home world almost every time.”
“But I-I saw the photos,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me she put on a show of getting pictures that someone else took for us to see every time she visited? Did my dad even know?”
“I suppose that’s an accurate way to put it, putting on a show. And no, your father was never told. It’s not the way of things to tell humans unless it’s necessary. I won’t bore you with the details, but us and humans, we’re distant relatives, so we can still have children. But it wasn’t planned. Your mother fell in love with your father despite herself; she hadn’t meant to find love. Then she became pregnant with you and…well, the rest is history.”
“I think she had a different definition of love than the one I have,” I said tightly. “You’d think she’d have put her survival as more of a priority. Put being with the man she ‘loved’ as a priority. Her kids needed her. I needed her. She signed up when she became a mom. She could’ve screwed up all the time but she couldn’t even manage that one job: be there. When I was in the hospital, I kept thinking, ‘Where is she?’ and now you’re telling me that she put these animals above being there for her kids, and this whole time she’s been dead.”
“The hospital?” she asked, furrowing her brows.
“Never mind,” I said tersely, averting my gaze.
Suzanne hesitated before she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss, and not just for her death, Ripley,” she told me. “Patricia was…well, a ‘free spirit’ would be putting it gently. She always assumed the world would be there for her whenever she needed it.”
Staring at her for a long moment, I shook my head. “Why? Why come here and hire me?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” she said, smiling. “Your mother was so passionate about this place and once I found out your college major, I figured you would be as well.”
“Did you know that I hate her?” At that, Suzanne’s expression froze on the edge of shock. “She…she left us,” I whispered. “Didn’t tell us who she was or what she really did for a living and gave us no closure. And even when she was here, it was just visiting. Her real home was her work. She could give me all the presents she wanted, but even when she was here, half the time she was still on her computer doing work. It’s not like that stereotype of never making it to my tennis practice or something; it’s that it always felt like she was only partially here, even when I was sitting next to her. I don’t even know if I appreciate her turning me into a wildlife fanatic because it…it…makes me feel like I’m close to her in a way that’s just infuriating. She loved the animals more than she loved us.”
“Oh, Ripley-”
“Don’t,” I said, shoving myself to my feet. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said quietly. I pursed my lips. “I was going to say that I’m sorry that was the case. Your mother was…flawed, just like any other person. She had two loves in this world: her family and her work. And often, her work overcame her, her zeal for environmentalism getting in the way of being a good mum. She left your father trying to fill the role of two parents, holding your family together. You and your brother and your father, you all deserved better than that.”
My lower lip quivered but I bit down on it hard. It would’ve been a lot easier for me if she’d been speaking from a place of clueless reassurance about all this. But everything she said was making sense and that meant I didn’t have someone in front of me to be angry with.
“Why didn’t you tell me when Andrew hired me?” I sighed, sitting back down on the couch.
“Well, like I said, I wanted you to find your sea legs,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t want the truth affecting whether or not you wanted to work here, whether you wanted to stay here after finding out about what the animals are. It would’ve complicated things, the emotions you’ll have to work through now that you know the truth. Whether or not you decide to give another tour, you also know what they’re like. That’s the benchmark I wanted you to reach before you found out about who you are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who I-” My face went slack. “Wait.”
Suzanne nodded slowly. “You’re only half human. Your brother too.”
The room seemed to tilt on an axis for a moment. “That means I’m also half…what?”
“We call ourselves Eldritch, these days,” she replied.
My eyes bugged out. “What?” I exclaimed. “So you’re all, like, gods or something?”
Suzanne burst out laughing. “Oh no, goodness, no,” she chuckled. “It’s just a word. We live in a very different world from this one, and a few generations ago we discovered the word and it made its way into our lexicon. But it does mean you can see all the animals. Indeed you did, on the tour you gave.”
“Wait, no, I had the glasses that…” I stopped. “Did those glasses do anything?”
She gave a sly smile and shook her head. “Not a thing. You made incredibly quick progress, and then when it came time for the tour, all you needed was to expect to see the animals, and you did.”
Genetics. That’s what Andrew had said during our interview, that part of how many animals you could see was determined by genetics. I guess having a mother who was originally from the other dimension gave me all the genes I needed to see everything here. “Could I…visit your world?” I asked tentatively. “You said that my mom took photos of the animals there. Could I…” My voice trailed off, not even sure if or how I wanted to finish that sentence.
“Those who are half human, especially those who are raised on Earth, don’t come visit,” she said gently. “I could show you some photos of other animals, and I could loan you as many books as you’d like, but it’s simply not a place where you’d be safe.”
“Oh,” I said, leaning into the couch cushion as I pictured the animals in the zoo. “Yeah, actually that…makes sense.” I paused. “So, what now?”
“It’s up to you,” she said. “I wanted to wait until I was sure you were comfortable with your position here, and then put the ball in your court. And so it is. What do you want to do now?”
What did I want to do? It wasn’t that difficult a question, just a deep, serious one.
I wanted to thrive, as the animals did. This is my enrichment now, working at an incredible, wonderful, terrifying zoo. The experience so far hasn’t been perfect, and I know there are risks, but life isn’t about staying safe. It’s about learning new things and making a difference in the world. And, if you’re lucky, having a job that’s something really special.
​
THE END
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What if Common fruits were mythical?
Rocket
Missile:
Mythical Natural type
Moves:
1 M
[Z] Rocket Fist
The user fires a powerful explosive firework, exploding in a colorful explosion on impact with either another player or the ground (or within 10 seconds), dealing good AoE damage.
120 M
[X] Missile Barrage
The user waves their hand in the air, causing 20 missiles to fall down where the mouse is, dealing big damage and stunning all victims for 2 seconds.
250 M
[C] Collision Course
The user leaps into the air before dashing down where the mouse is, exploding and dealing massive damage.
300 M
[F] Missile Surf
The user summons a giant missile and starts riding it at rapid speeds. Upon contact with a surface, it explodes, dealing damage.
Spin
Wind:
Mythical Elemental type
Moves:
0 M
[Z] High Speed Winds
The user creates large air slashes in front of them, dealing AoE damage to all enemies within.
150 M
[X] Tornado Feet
The user rotates rapidly and follows the cursor, dealing constant damage to enemies in range and stunning them while the move is held, which uses constant energy.
230 M
[C] Cross Wind
The user unleashes a barrage of short ranged air slashes in front of them for 3 seconds, dealing constant damage.
60 M
[V] Tornado Technique
The user transforms into a tornado, spinning their arms rapidly, allowing flight and dealing damage to anyone within the tornado.
Chop
Blade:
Mythical Natural type
Passives:
Body Separation
Same as Chop.
Sharp Fingers
Sword damage is buffed 20%.
Moves:
0 M
[Z] Takedown
The user separates their arms from their body, launching it forwards, knocking the enemy into the grounds and dragging them along for a second, dealing constant damage to all enemies hit.
100 M
[X] Sonic Kick
The users arms and legs detach and spin around rapidly in a large radius, dealing big constant damage and stunning enemies the first time they are hit during the move for half a second.
200 M
[C] Speed Punch
The user attacks their opponents with a barrage of five floating fists, lasting longer if held. Knocks the opponent back once the attack is over.
300 M
[F] Windmill Flight
The user spins their arms and legs around rapidly, taking flight very quickly, following the mouse. While in this form, they can still use fruit moves.
Spring
Coil:
Mythical Natural type
Moves:
0 M
[Z] Bounce Punch
The user shoots both their arms out with springs, pushing enemies along dealing damage on contact for a quarter second.
100 M
[X] Air Spring
The user dashes towards the cursor with a long range, dealing good damage if it hits an enemy and does AoE damage.
180 M
[C] Bound Leap
The user charges up for a third of a second before leaping into the air, creating a shockwave down below while does AoE damage and sends all effected enemies flying in different directions. Sends the user as high as 4 double jumps.
285 M
[V] Final Spring Tackle
The user slices back and forth with spring limbs, teleporting around the enemy, dealing constant damage and stunning the enemy. At the end of the 1 second long ordeal, does a similar move to Bound Leap.
25 M
[F] Coil Vault
Summons a giant spring around the users body, causing them to bounce between buildings. If no obstructions are in the way, it bounces towards the mouse, flying through the air until it gets to the position the mouse was.
Bomb
Nuke:
Mythical Natural type
Passives:
Explosion-Made:
Cannonballs and other fruits moves which create an explosion are ineffective on Nuke users.
Moves:
0 M
[Z] Target Locked
The user charges a bomb on the enemy closest to the cursor. When Z is let go, an explosion happens which size depends on the length held, maxing out at 2 seconds, doing AoE damage. Has a medium radius.
80 M
[X] Nuclear Tackle
Dashes forwards a long radius, propelled by a large explosion, which deals AoE damage to all near. If the dash hits an enemy, it creates another explosion, which is even larger and deals more AoE damage.
160 M
[C] Buried Nukes
The user creates a minefield whose radius is based off of how long the move is held. The minefield radius can go for very long before maxing out after 3 seconds held. If the bombs are hit by an enemy, it creates a mini nuclear explosion dealing small AoE damage and knocking the enemy back. When the move hold is finished, also causes the user to explode, dealing AoE damage.
240 M
[V] Nuclear Bomb
The user charges up a nuclear blast, consuming their health and energy in the process rapidly. The longer hold, the bigger and more damaging the nuclear blast is. Once the hold is finished, the user releases a giant nuclear mushroom shaped explosion which covers the more area than any other attack in the game if held fully, dealing massive damage and knocking the enemy back very far.
40 M
[F] Bomb Bounce
The user explodes their feet, propelling them into the air with the height of about 7 double jumps.
Smoke
Steam: Mythical Elemental type
Passives:
Elemental Immunity
Moves:
0 M
[Z] Singing Slap
The user turns their hand into hot steam, slapping the enemy for damage and dealing burning damage for 10 seconds.
100 M
[X] Steam Made
The user turns into a steam cloud and dashes forwards, shooting 3 smoke clouds behind them in the process which deal damage. At the end of the dash, releases a burst of steam which slashes enemies and stuns them for half a second.
200 M
[C] Steam Wave
The user summons four steam walls which travel outwards for 5 seconds, dealing damage and burning damage for 5 seconds to all affected.
300 M
[F] Transform
The user transforms into a steam spirit, letting them fly around quickly, dealing burning damage to anyone near them. While transformed, they slowly use energy. While transformed the user can only use fruit moves, which do more damage.
Spike
Torture:
Mythical Beast type
Passives:
Bleed:
All damage done by this fruit causes “Bleeding”, which prevents regeneration. Each hit gives the enemy 1 second of Bleeding, which cannot be added to until the 1 second runs out.
Torture Meter:
The torture meter fills up based on how much damage you’ve done in combos, and slowly goes down either when no damage is being done, or rapidly goes down when transformed. You need a full meter to transform.
M1
Sharp Nails
The user fires nails out of the fur during transformation, dealing damage and knocking enemies slightly back.
Moves:
0 M
[Z] Field of Torture
The user summons a field of small and large spikes, each of which deal damage when touched. The radius gets bigger depending on how long this move is held, maxing out at 2.5 seconds. The field lasts for 30 seconds, or when the user dies.
100 M
[X] Spiky Self
The user coats themselves in spikes, which negates 10% of all damage. Additionally, all damage taken is reflected 20% back at the inflicter, though you still take the damage.
180 M
[C] Ball of Torture
The user turns into a ball of small spikes and saw blades and rushes forwards, which can be used as transportation while C is held. Also, carries enemies with it, dealing constant damage. At the end when C is let go, explodes and releases spikes in the ground, dealing damage.
240 M
[V] Torturous Pain
Summons four rows of spikes with mini spikes on them out from the user, each in different directions. If a spike hits an enemy, the mini spikes get lodged into the enemy, giving constant Bleeding and constant damage until they go away after 5 seconds.
320 M
[F] Transform
The user transforms into a giant Hedgehog with large spikes if the Torture meter is full, and gains the M1 ability. In this form, Spiky Self now causes sharp bursts of pain around the user, dealing AoE damage. While in this form, 30% of all damage taken is reflected back at the inflicted, and all attack damage are increased. Move speed is doubled, and cooldowns are slightly shorter. Ends once the Torture Meter is up.

The article will show analogies between Domain-Driven Design and mathematical modeling

Mathematical modeling

Students are introduced to mathematical modeling in a school. Roughly speaking, it is the translation of a problem from informal human language into the language of mathematics for subsequent solution.
(1)
John and Bob ate three apples at dinner. John ate twice as many as Bob. How much did each eat?
(2)
Let x be the number of apples that John ate Let y is the number of apples that Bob ate.
Then:
(3)
x + y = 3 x = 2 * y
Solving the system of linear equations:
x = 2, y = 1
(1) - problem statement in the domain area
(2) - mathematical modeling
(3) - mathematical model
Another example from the world of physics - we need to calculate how much fuel is needed to fly to the Moon and back. There are Newton's Laws of motion of celestial bodies, there are data on fuel, the vehicle, the mass of the Earth, the Moon, the Sun, the calculated trajectory and other information.
The whole power of the mathematical apparatus is the absence of semantics. It doesn't care whether it's counting apples or the trajectory of a rocket. It is a formalized system that operates with soulless symbols according to established rules. Arithmetic has its own rules, algebra has its own rules, Euclidean geometry has its own rules.
The achievements of the natural sciences depend on how accurately and completely they construct mathematical models for their problems. If the mass of the moon is not specified, it will be impossible to give an answer to the above problem. On the other hand, if the proposed trajectory is mathematically unattainable, physicists will have to change it.
A mathematical model is a general projection of the problem to be solved from the physics side and the math side into some "common" space.

Domain-driven design

This methodology was proposed 20 years ago by Eric Evans in his famous “big blue book”: Domain-Driven Design: Tackling Complexity in the Heart of Software
For many, DDD is when if you are, for example, making an online store, you must have Product, ShoppingCart, etc. classes, i.e., entities in the code must correspond to business entities. This is not really about DDD.
The main goal that Eric Evans set when creating his methodology was to enable you to create a program architecture in such a way that you can satisfy the client's requirements with maximum probability and build a clear, maintainable and extensible system. Get a quality and successful program product.

Comparison of design methods

DDD is mainly aimed at complex non-typical tasks with vague/varying requirements, to minimize the risks of spending a lot of time and money and not getting something usable in the end.
In cascade development (waterfall), the client gives clear requirements to the business analyst, the system architecture is built according to them, and programmers make code according to it.
In agile development (agile, XP, iterative) the client gives general requirements, a prototype of the system architecture is built on them, programmers make code on it, the system is shown to the client, corrections are made, the next version is released, etc. in a circle.
In case of DDD the joint work between domain area specialists and programmers goes all the time of development. The link between them is the domain model and ubiquitous language. For the first few chapters of the book, Eric Evans talks only about them and their importance.
The main point of the domain model is to be a constant projection of the problem being solved from the client side and the developer side into some common space. Everything in the domain model should be reflected in the program architecture. And vice versa - if a programmer discovers that some business rule cannot be applied or it is better to do it differently, he is obliged to open a discussion about it and initiate changes in the domain model, without making attempts to simply code it in “the right way”.
The domain model itself lacks semantics, it is written using UML diagrams and formal documentation. Semantics is given to it by a ubiquitous language in which the whole team (including the client) communicates. Each term of the domain model must be understood equally by all participants.

Parallels

Analogy to the space flight example above: - math model = domain model - physics = ubiquitous language - mathematical apparatus = software development - mathematical modeling = domain model development process
From this we can draw the corollary that just as in the first case, mathematicians' deviation from the supplied mathematical model will easily lead to wrong/unnecessary results, so in the second case, developers' deviation from the domain model can lead to failure in the end.

In his book, Eric Evans gives the following real-life example. Internet Explorer used to save “Favorites” as files with names corresponding to page names. When the user tried to specify his name, he sometimes got an error “Invalid file name”, although it was not obvious what files had to do with it. This was because the developers were using their own model and the client wanted something different.

Summary

Thus, there is a strong idea of mathematical modeling behind DDD

I say "apparently" because... well... you'll see.
This happened decades ago now, back in primary school. I only remembered it because I was recently catching up with old friends from back then, and we got to laughing over old stories and then someone mentioned, "The wildest was when you organised that whole protest against our teacher."
"The time I did what?"
The consensus was I did, indeed, organise the entire class to rebel against our teacher that resulted in her being deposed and our class getting a "substitute" for the rest of the year. I almost fell out of my chair hearing this story from their mouths. It wasn't that I didn't remember it, of course I did--that year was awful. It was just that it existed very differently in my memory.
Two important pieces of background knowledge to understand here:

1. I went to a very very small, very very rural school. How small? Each classroom was composed of the entire year level, and the largest had at most 30 kids in them. My class/year level was on the smallest in the entire school, with a piddling 14 kids in it altogether. While we still had our cliques and factions, our small size caused our class to be very tight knit and protective of each other. How rural? The school building itself was incredibly small, but one thing we were not short on was gigantic empty fields surrounding us on all sides. Great for sports, great for (it turns out) student protests.
2. I was, at the time, undiagnosed autistic. I mean I still am autistic, I'm just formally diagnosed now. But back then I was just seen as being a very quirky kid. One of the ways this quirkiness manifested was that I really had trouble adapting to the rules and structure of grade school and how it differed from what I was used to. At home if I wanted to pee, I just went to the toilet. Now I have to put my hand up? Now I have to ask permission to piss? Then I went home and put my hand up to ask my mom for permission to pee and she told me I didn't need to! Madness! Chaos! I don't care what the rules are, please just be consistent!

But one of the main parts of my brain and the way it works is that sometimes my brain, separate from my will, would just make a decision about a course of action and I would very calmly commit to it come hell or high water. Like, it is vitally important that I stay true to this course of action. I can't explain it. It's like I set a rule for myself and if something disrupts that, I just shut down and stop functioning.
So when the school said, "Okay, when this bell rings during recess/lunch, that means you have to leave the playground and go back to class", I was a confused child already struggling with all these completely nonsensical limitations and guidelines imposed on me. So when that bell rang, I got that calm little voice in my head that said, "Hmm, no, I'm good out here actually. I don't think I will go back into class." So I would just continue to sit out on the playground, playing with my plastic spider toys or sitting on the swing. Teachers would realise what was going on and come out to get me and tell me I have to go back to class, and I would just very calmly hear them out and then smile at them and politely as possible tell them, "No thank you, I want to stay out here."
They really didn't know what to do with me. I wasn't getting upset, I wasn't throwing a tantrum, I wasn't yelling, I wasn't being rude in any way. I was incredibly docile and would let them explain things to me with endless patience and then just politely refute them and go back to what I was doing, like this was just a very normal and reasonable negotiation between two equal parties. I have memories of sitting on the swing while three very confused and flustered adult staff huddled around me trying to bribe me with candy to go back to class. It would take a whole lesson block to lure me back to the classroom, and then at lunch the whole thing would start over again. It took me three years at school to finally accept the status quo thanks to a religious nutter I got for a teacher, and finally went back to class when the bell rang (was never happy about it though).
I eventually settled into school life. Excelled at subjects I liked, at least passed subjects I didn't, followed the rules, was seen as intelligent and obedient and was often liked by my teachers. Until my final year, when we got the teacher I can only rudely monniker Mrs Bigmouth.
Mrs Bigmouth should not have been a teacher. She had a trigger temper and would explode into long, verbally abusive tirades against us if we ever did anything she felt was disrespectful behaviour. What was disrespectful behaviour? Damned if I know. It changed day by day, depending on mood. You could disrespect her to her face one day and she'd laugh and say you have such razor wit, and politely ask a question the next and she'd scream at you for ten nonstop minutes then give you a week of DT for talking back. The absolute peak moment of her boiling temper came when she threw a dictionary at a girl's head because she was whispering to me in class. When I tell you it missed her by half an inch...
But believe it or not, this wasn't what made her such an awful teacher. It was so hard to get teachers at rural schools back then, there was almost nothing you could do to get fired, so we had experience with teachers with nightmare tempers. What made her such an issue was her big mouth. She used us, her trapped audience, as free therapy. She would infodump, traumadump, about her very personal, very private life to us. All day. She'd be two words into a spelling list and launch into an extended story session about her marital issues with her husband. We'd be heads down doing fractions and, unprompted, she'd declare to the class that her adult daughter no longer talks to her and then diatribe to us about it until the bell rang. She had money issues, a contentious relationship with her parents, her marriage was on the rocks. She once pulled me aside after school and spoke with me, at length, about how she was thinking of having another child to try to repair her marriage. I was like, okay lady, I'm 11, about to miss my bus, and my house is a 4 hour walk on foot from here.
We weren't learning. We'd hadn't had a complete lesson since the first week of the school year. We were behind on the cirriculum and frustrated. One kid had brought a stopwatch into school and would time lessons vs her monologues and kept detailed lists, and we would come to school each morning and do betting pools on them. What subject would she interrupt, what would she talk about, and how long would it go.
But all that still wasn't the breaking point if you can believe it. No! Still not! The problem was it wasn't just her own private life she couldn't keep her mouth shut about. It was everyone else's. Because parents would make the reasonable assumption that she should be told things as our class teacher that would be important to know, and that she would understand these things were said in confidence. Instead she would veer randomly off in the middle of talking to us about her horrible weekend to let us know whatever private or traumatic thing was going on in a classmate's life that she had been made aware of. That was awful. That was what made that year hell. It wasn't even about when my secrets were shared with the entire class against my consent. It was watching the faces of my small, lovely, supportive class of 11 year old children go pale and scrunch up with held-back tears as things they never wanted to share were announced like morning news. God we hated her.
Then one day that voice came. The one I hadn't heard in years. The bell ring to go back into class and that voice said, "But I don't want to be in that classroom. I'm not even being taught there." So I just... didn't. I didn't go back to class. I just sat in the playground in a daze eating grass (don't eat grass, it's not good for your teeth). Despite how small my class was, I don't think Mrs Bigmouth even noticed I wasn't there. Others did though. Come lunch and everyone came out, my friends asked me where I was and I said, "Oh, I didn't go back to class."
"Why didn't you go back to class?"
"Why would I go back to class?"
Lightbulb moment for my schoolmates. Yeah, why would they go back to class? What was the point? From a practical standpoint, they weren't learning. From an emotional standpoint, it was horrible to be there. A friend who had had her family's dirty laundry aired to the entire class just last week, things even she didn't know because her parents tried to keep it from her, asked if she could sit with me rather than go back to class. I just stared at her, vacant and confused.
"Sure? I mean, I'm just eating grass though."
Over the next few days, two kids turned into four, turned into ten, turned into the whole class. The whole class was doing a sit-out protest on the field rather than go back to class. Of course Mrs Bigmouth tried to do something about it. She'd come out, screaming at us and threatening us with DT and internal suspension, but six months of that behaviour had totally vaccinated us against her. I'd become the de facto leader and spokesperson of the protest by merit of being the first to sit out and also because I was well known to not give a shit (autistic brain: I actually just frequently had trouble reading and reacting with the correct social behaviour but it gave me a cool and aloof bad boy mystique I guess). I gave her the exact same treatment from back in grade one. I would let her scream, let her holler, let her threaten, let her spittle rain down on me, and then I would give her a sweet and innocent smile and nod in acknowledgement and say, "No thank you, we're going to remain out here." And thirteen pairs of eyes would stare at her in total silence. No one, not even the most gobbermouthed little shite in the class, would volunteer a word. The unspoken agreement was all negotiations were my responsibility.
The thing about angry people is that they feed off conflict. They get you angry so they can respond with even more anger and it nourishes them. She had no absolutely no plan of action on how to deal with me patiently hearing her out then refuting her in the gentlest of terms.
Another thing that ended up helping down the line is that we made an attempt to conduct our own classes. I mean, they sucked and we didn't learn much because we were kids with no supervision, but it was really cute in retrospect. We'd have groups of people assigned to subjects, with some people bringing in words they found in a dictionary for spelling lists and others bringing in old 6th grade homework from older siblings. The heart was there and it served a purpose, if not educational.
"Okay, but how did no one else notice this was happening? Surely people would notice 14 kids sitting on the lawn, not in class?"
Rural school. Big. Empty. Fields. Even screaming at us, the most other classrooms would hear would be muffled voices, and everyone was used to hearing her yelling at us or taking us out onto the field abruptly to make us do laps as group punishment. Plus the way the school buildings were arranged was that it was actually all in one straight line of adjacent rooms, and ours happened to be at the very end of the building. No windows faced the field we all sat in except that of our own classroom. It was just a very lucky arrangement of coincidences and preconceived notions, at least for a couple weeks. I couldn't tell you the exact number, this was so long ago and as a kid I definitely had a more stretched idea of time. Minutes felt like hours, especially during that year. But there was definitely at least two weekends that passed by since the "sit-out protest" started.
Eventually someone cottoned on to what was happening, or maybe Mrs Bigmouth humbled herself and finally confessed to her boss that she had lost control of a bunch of 11-year-olds, so we were called into the principal's office to sort this out. As the representative of our class, I was of course chosen to attend the meeting, flanked by the girl who'd had the dictionary thrown at her head and my friend who was the first to sit out with me. Since I understood that this meeting was one where we were probably going to be yelled at for doing the wrong thing, a thing I had ample experience of, I felt like the easiest way to mitigate things (especially since I felt guilty for being the instigator) was to explain in a very rational and logical way the series of events that led up to our bad behaviour. As well, for my entire life my mother had always taught me that it was no good complaining about things unless you were also willing to think of solutions. "I'm hungry!" - "Well, what's a solution to that problem?" - "Uh, make myself a sandwich?" - "Great! Let's do that together!"
So what did I do? Of course, to make things as clean and concise as possible, I interviewed my class one by one to hear each individual story of why they didn't feel comfortable going to class anymore, itemised them under categories (Verbal Aggression; Interruptions of Lessons; Oversharing Student Life) for easier discussion because my little quirky brain loved itemising things, and then as a kind of olive branch came up with solutions (we wanted to finish lessons unhindered, we wanted our personal privacy to be respected, we wanted to be able to catch our bus on time rather than being held back with unfair DT or long "chats"). So many things sort of came together in this beautiful, wholly accidental way. We had months of records of timed rants and monologues, noted down to the millisecond thanks to that kid's stopwatch. We had records of us trying to teach ourselves during the protests, showing this wasn't us just not wanting to go to class but due to us feeling as though we did not have a class to go to. When the principal heard all this, her jaw it the floor. A lot of it was stuff she knew, peripherally, but things had just never been laid out so neatly before. Some of it was stuff we'd complained to parents about, but it was one kid coming home and telling one parent one time, weeks ago. There was no real sense, up until now, the sheer scope of her behaviour. She didn't even answer us. She just said, "Okay, I need to call your parents."
We got the rest of the week off school. That weekend, every parent of every student came to a meeting between them, Mrs Bigmouth, and the principal. Stories were swapped. My exercise book with my tidy little lists and the records of the betting pool and monologue times were confiscated and brought into the meeting. I don't know what went down, but when my mother came home she just told me that Mrs Bigmouth would not be our problem for the rest of the school year, and more importantly, that she was incredibly proud of me and that I did the right thing. Rarely in my childhood had my inability to integrate into normal society led me to doing the right thing, so I just remember crying and hugging and feeling vindicated about, I don't know, just existing or something.
So yeah. From the outside perspective here is what it looked like: I, the ringleader with a history of dismissing school rules, organised a sit-out strike amongst my class. I kept the protest peaceful and non-disruptive to other classes. When negotiations with the principal were finally arranged, as the representative I compiled a clear list of greivances, with evidence, and a list of reasonable demands. I mean, holy crap, yes, yes I clearly organised a student protest.
The actual results of it are mixed. We got a revolving door of substitute teachers of varying quality for the rest of the school year, occasionally being bundled into other classrooms entirely when they couldn't find someone. It wasn't a great learning environment and we continued to struggle a lot, but it was better than before. Mrs Bigmouth was not actually fired but put on leave for the rest of the school year, then returned and was put in charge of a different year level (which happened to be the class of the younger sister of a guy in my class: according to him, she was quiet as a church mouse that entire year so I hope at least she learned her lesson, or at least finally got divorced and went to actual therapy). The entire ordeal caused our already small and close class to become really really supportive and like family to each other and we all remain in touch until this day. And we became fierce about standing up for ourselves.
I kind of learned to parse the difference between when it was appropriate to go along with set societal rules even if I don't understand them, and when those rules were just straight up unreasonable and nobody should be required to follow them. I did, years alter, lead an actual (very small) strike at work but intentionally that time. My mother was proud of me then too. :)

This could be a bit ranty and long. So I had chemo for 6 months, Apr-Sept 2022. I didn't notice numb feet or hands for awhile. I lost 40lbs on chemo and gained it back and then some as I got better, thank you medical marijuana munchies and depression making it hard to move much and generally emotionally overeating.
So anyhow, a few weeks ago I started working out regularly with a local running/walking club 3x a week. Figured I'll start with the walking group and work my way up. I noticed after 10min my feet are numb bricks and it pisses me off. Is it my shoes? Delayed neuropathy from chemo? Neuropathy from being a bigger gal? My sugars have been normal and none of my doctors ever mentioned diabetes so maybe I can rule that one out. What psychs me out is it's only after a few minutes of walking, it's all numb all the time, and I don't notice numbness when sitting or other times. Not experiencing any pain or tingling. Just numbness. I want to blame myself for being extra heavy, even though other bigger girls in the group don't complain of the numb feet. So I'm trying hard not to be down on myself but it's difficult.
I've tried two different shoes from my local running store. Then I started using a few Try Before Your Buy options on Amazon after doing more research for my gait - I'm a supinator and tend to walk with a forefoot strike. Fell down a rabbit hole of active neutral shoes. I've tried so many shoes. My first choice no matter the sock left chafing on my outer sole. Switched to a new shoe and the burning chafing feeling went away but then my feet were just pure numb. Switched to different lacing patterns. Nope, still numbness after a few minutes.
The most suggested Max cushioned shoes - Ghost Max and Fresh Foam 1080v13 - feel good when standing or even walking around the running shoe store or house or whatever. Then once moving a longer distance outside the feet go numb again.
Driving myself crazy wondering if it's the cancer chemo side effects coming back to bite me. Or is it my weight and the numbness would get better if I lose even just those 40lbs again (god knows I am trying). Or am I tying my shoes too tight. I said to my therapist - is it me or the cancer? That's what's bothering me. It's a problem and I don't know how to fix it.
I tripped over my feet once last week but didn't fall down. Only my walking partner was aware. This morning, I first tripped over a crack - ok that could be written off as clumsy. Then as our walking group heads out before the runners, I tripped on the edge of the trail in front of the entire running pack behind us (sounds like a pack of wild animals and I was trying to get to the right enough in time and my feet didn't get the memo to act normal and they kind of tripped over each other). Then everyone asked if I was ok and told me to not walk on the very edge of the trail (and a few times I'm reminded to move more to the center and I'm wondering why I can't walk in a straight line even wtf feet). My coach asked if I was ok and insinuated I might be embarrassed and I'm like God no I don't mind that I tripped in front of the whole of this club, I've been through way worse. I'm more pissed off at my numb feet and possible neuropathy and not being sure which doctor I should contact to ask about it since I have too many doctors now (then talked about cancer since two of the ladies were new and didn't know and I don't mind talking about it).
I'd think it was more shoes if I didn't test so many pairs. And then I started noticing more things with my hands. Like if I'm laying down with my phone up, my hands go numb. Like my arm isn't pinched in a way that should make my hands go numb. My hands often go numb while driving. I can write that off as gripping the wheel too tight and not realizing. But the biggest thing is dropping things more often recently. I've always been clumsy. But with the numb feet I notice more since I'm walking more, if I drop something like a plastic water bottle now I'm starting to connect dots I don't want to connect.
I figured talking with my cancer therapist might help me process my anger last week, but I'm even angrier today with the tripping in front of people. But I'm not due to see my medical onc or surgeon onc until October. Should I message one of them? Is there a test to confirm neuropathy or just my thoughts? Because like most of us I play the game is this cancer or am I just getting older and so I'm not sure? (Or a variation like, Am I unfit or is this just the wrong shoe? lol). Is there treatment if it is a delayed chemo response? A prescribed cream or pill or something? Or if any active runners/walkers here, any tips?

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

I don’t really know where the story of my alcoholism begins, though I only admitted I was an alcoholic about one month ago, and as of the time I’m writing this, I’ve only been sober for about 30 hours.
I never remember drinking in any meaningful capacity until I enlisted into the Marine Corps at 18, directly following high school. I’d rather not go into much detail about my service, but I remember many times partying with fellow Marines on the weekends or on leave and getting absolutely shitfaced, but it was never a regular occurrence, and I never drove drunk, got caught by my superiors, or ever really thought about anything other than the horrible hangovers I would get.
After getting medically retired, and moving back home, this is where I believe it slowly began. I started processing the unaddressed traumas of not only military service, but as I reconnected with family for the first real time in adulthood, I began to realize how my family had adversely affected my formative years, and how the mental, verbal, and sometimes physical abuse began to come up to the surface of my daily reality.
But even still, I was a cigarette smoker and would very seldom do things like smoke weed. Drank socially and rarely to excess.
Between 2012-2014, I believe, is where things began to start escalating, though still slowly. I had a horrible relationship end horribly. Got fired from my first job. Had to drop out of school. I was quickly going broke (due to said lost job). I got fortunate in mid 2014 to land a cool healthcare job. I worked nights. I began to notice I would come home every morning and drink 2-3 VERY stout martinis. And it got worse on my off days. That is until I discovered bourbon.
I loved everything about it. The history. The process of making it. The diversity. The taste. I found myself going out more and more to bars, distilleries, etc. Buying, collecting, building a network of friends who also enjoyed bourbon. Talking about bourbon to fellow coworkers.
In 2017, following multiple break-ups/get back togethers with my girlfriend at the time, I found out she was pregnant, and I had just started working for a very busy EMS system while also in school. The relationship was not stable, and shortly thereafter, I had the final falling out with my family after their despicable behavior in the final months of pregnancy and when my girlfriend delivered my beautiful daughter.
Due to an absolute shit work schedule (24 hour shifts), a hectic school schedule (typically 2 school days and at least two clinical days), an unstable relationship, and new parenthood, I believe this to be the turning point. I remember not wanting to come home. I remember wanting, needing to drink. I remember my anxiety and depression beginning to unfold rapidly. But somehow, it still never reached a critical mass. When my daughter was 3 months old, I broke off the relationship, we moved to our own places, and decided to coparent.
As time moved forward, I began collecting and consuming more bourbon. At first, I was very good about not drinking much or anything at all on my days with my kid. I started working a lot of overtime, sometimes working 2.5 shifts (60 hours) straight, because money I guess. But this added stress on my body and mind and the constant exposure to the ugliest of illness and injury, trauma and despair drove my need to drink, my anxiety and my depression even further.
I began driving tipsy. Getting in stupid arguments with my next partner and leaving to go on a bourbon “hunt.” I began working more because I was spending insane amounts of money on allocated bourbons. And I would be surprised and somehow prideful that I’d put down a half bottle of rare, high proof bourbon the night before, but ignoring the fact I couldn’t remember shit about that night until my partner reminded me of how much of an asshole I’d been.
That relationship eventually ended. In truth we weren’t good for each other for many reasons on both sides, but on my side, my drinking got way out of hand. I drove tipsy or drunk regularly. We got in an argument one time downtown and I left her there because she didn’t want to be in the car of a drunk driver. My drinking, among other things, caused me to become emotionally abusive and an emotional roller coaster.
After it ended, I found a new version of myself after a long period of severe depression and anxiety and got back in to many of the passions I’d neglected for years. But I still drank. Heavily.
I left EMS to work in the ER for better hours, pay, more professional support, etc. It was a godsend. Or so I thought.
Then I met my new partner, my current one. We’ve been together for over 3 years. We both struggle with depression and anxiety. But I’m the only one who still struggles with alcoholism. And as it has gotten worse as each new relationship begins and ends, I’ve found that in this one it’s reached the absolute critical mass.
I’ve gotten so drunk that I had a massive panic attack and held a gun to my head. Thankfully my former best friends were also there to talk me down (I say former because I recently had a bender where I kicked them out of my life).
I’ve gotten so drunk that I’ve continued to drive drunk, and that has resulted in my flattening a tire on my car, and backing into a parked care at a Mexican restaurant. The latter generated a county sheriffs deputy to come out for a police report and I somehow did not get a DUI.
But I continued.
Countless drunken fights. Countless times of us fighting and me kicking her out of my house, for her to drive 35 mins back to her house and for us not to talk for a few days.
And then the past month.
I drank so much over a few days that I was suicidal, so much so that my partner couldn’t get through to me, it turned mildly physical (from what she said, me grabbing her arm, which I’d never in my life done before), and ended up leaving my house and calling crisis, and because I was also making threats and am a gun owner, it generated a SWAT response in my neighborhood. Somehow SOMEHOW, I was never pulled out of my house and taken to get committed.
I stopped drinking entirely after that. Went through moderate alcohol withdrawal for three days. And then started drinking again after six days following a very mild disagreement with my partner that set off my anxiety. And, me being the idiot I am, didn’t realize that drinking would make it worse.
I managed to not drink liquor for roughly two weeks following that argument, but drank beer instead. Never really got drunk or even tipsy, but was still drinking. I was “cutting back.”
Then this past Monday, another bender lasting 48 hours. Back in the bourbon. Started by a mild argument that escalated, and quite frankly almost ended us due to a breach of trust (I was at fault). She needed to take a day to process and I got pissed and went out and bought $130 worth of bourbon and finished a 1.75 liter bottle of 101 proof bourbon in 24 hours. She came over, we fought, she left. She came back over, we fought, tried to leave and I physically wouldn’t let her, she left, she came back.
I ended up stopping, but not until I began having quite literally the worst pain, located in my lower abdomen, that I’ve ever experienced in my life. She forced me to go to the ER we both work at. I wasn’t acting drunk, but people, my coworkers knew. I wasn’t admitted because my abdominopelvic workup was negative. But at least now I understand why people get addicted to opiates. And after the truckload of IV Dilaudid (hydromorphone) I received, and the horrible constipation that has followed, I don’t ever want any of that shit again.
And now, today, I don’t ever want alcohol again.
I’m so tired of not remembering. Of having intimate moments with my partner and not remembering them. Of missing sunrises because I can’t get up before 2 pm. Of being fooled that I’m drinking to cure my anxiety and depression when, in fact, it makes it so much worse. I’m 35…I don’t want dementia when I’m 50 because I’ve damaged my brain so much. I’m tired of the person that alcohol makes me.
I had myself convinced for so long that I was a happy drunk, a fun drunk. And maybe I was in the past. But I was still an alcoholic. And while I may always be, I don’t have to be addicted to it anymore.
I have a long road ahead, and I hope to not fall down again. I realize I may, due to the stressors of life and parenthood and relationships and my job. But I can choose to not stop at the liquor store before I go in to work tonight so I can drink tomorrow morning after my ER shift. I can choose to not drink when my partner and I go out to eat Monday evening for our weekly Mexican food. I can choose each day to be sober.
And I’m gonna try.
—-If you read this entire post (long I know) I hope you realize the two things I’ve realized in my very brief period of not drinking:
That, one, alcoholism is such an insidious, sneaky evildoer that tricks you into believing you’re not guilty while also tricking you into using it to calm your depression and anxiety, even though it exacerbates them. It shifts the blame and convinces you that it isn’t the problem, much like a partner or employer might gaslight you.
And, two, that me telling my partner I’m an alcoholic and trying every day to stay clean, while only being in the second day has been simultaneously the most defeating and hopeful feeling I’ve felt in a very long time.
My second day. I hope for many more.

I vividly remember the day (or "night" in my case, to be specific) that old english switched it up and went to being in plastic bottles. I'm a person that typically "goes with the flow", but sighs and rants in my own mind, yet when doing my usual routine of getting off a begrudingly 14h shift and making the commute to Loaf n' Jug in my lamborfeeties before trecking home; I was perplexed and pretty irate enough to discover that Old English went from being in glass bottles to plastic. That night, in my adult life, I actually made a slight scene. Fortunately, there were only a couple of patrons in the store at that time, but still, to this day I feel embarassed for the charade, despite being a regular at that small town Loaf n' Jug; in that moment of exhaustion, confusion, and irritation, I had blasted out (not a complete shout, but by no means was it an inside voice) "what the f*** is this plastic bs?!?!? I wish I could have a fair warning to put on make-up, so I could at least look decent before I got completely f***** tonight." The cashier laughed a bit, due to my outburst but instantly took to my dismay and told me that he too was surprised about not only how long their shelves were out of stock of the product, but that when their shipment came in, that it was in plastic bottles.
On one hand, I understood that it most certainly was a cost effective tact to switch to plastic, yet the "quality" (regardless of it being a cheap malt liquor) of the product would be complete trash, and for being a cheap malt liquor, the taste, feel, and "save for later" factor would go down the drain. Despite the change, I did pick up the beverage, but not as often as I did before. Fast forward to now. I had made somewhat of another scene, only this time being a scene of excitement and pure joy upon finishing a long and crummy day. The liquor store I currently frequent had run out of OE for approximately two weeks, but when it became available, to my surprise and excitement, it was in glass bottles again. When I rolled up to the drive-thru, the clerk ducked inside the store only to briefly strut to my vehicle with a s*** eating grin and say "I got a surprise for you, and it's on me , bruh"... lt was BACK IN GLASS!!
i truly was overjoyed, yet I am still curious as to "why." Is it cause of numerous complaints, something going on with the plastic business, or what? I briefly tried to "google degree" this question, yet I have found nothing; so why is it that OE is back in GLASS?
TL;DR: OE (40 oz of Old English) went to plastic bottles, and after several years, it has now gone back to being bottled in glass. Why is that?
Edit: Grammer corrections.

Here is a picture of me. I'm looking to connect with someone to develop a serious long term monogamous relationship. I'm open to a LDR to anyone in the USA/Canada as long as we eventually meet. I'm located in Northwestern Illinois.
A bit about me:

• Hopeless romantic and have a huge heart
• Incredibly kind, caring, empathetic, loving, affectionate, and loyal
• Love languages include: words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch
• Loves being silly and goofy
• I'm financially independent, pay my bills, own a car and a house, etc.
• I know how to cook and bake.
• Homeowner
• I don't really want children
• Slim/average build, white, 5'6", brown hair, blue/grey eyes
• Loves video games
• Interested in nerdy things like documentaries, technology, PC building/gaming, aviation, rockets, history, Star Wars, LOTR, Pokemon, and astronomy.
• Enjoy going to concerts. I enjoy going out to do other things and traveling but in moderation. I'm not the travel the whole world type. I do go camping with my family several times a year though. I also traveled to Carbondale, IL for the total solar eclipse.
• Avid movie and TV show watcher
• Enjoy DIY projects. I've started remodeling my house
• Want to get into photography. Mainly for plane spotting and astrophotography
• Doesn't drink/doesn't smoke/doesn't do drugs
• I don't use social media
• Non-religious (I don't mind if you are religious)
• Loves cats and dogs but prefer cats. I used to have 2 cats but they passed away a couple years ago.
• Career in IT

About you:

• 20-40ish
• Located in the USA/Canada
• Also doesn't want children
• I would prefer someone not obsessed with politics
• Likes to communicate throughout the day
• Have time for a relationship
• Looking for something real and not just "seeing what's out there."
• Can hold a conversation.

Send me a message with a bit about yourself and a picture of yourself if you are interested!

Hello everyone! I wanted to write and share something constructive for this space, that hopefully goes beyond snarking specific names and personalities and helps those who have been harmed in one way or another find a bit of understanding around what happened to them and why.
I've shared pieces of my story here before but the gist is: I am not from the coaching world. I'm from the general spirituality world - from a spiritual modality that has an aspect of divine feminine and divine masculine that has always interested me, but few others in the community. I learned about this whole specific mess listening to love & light confessionals, and went deep into the rabbit hole. The perversion of understanding of masculine/feminine energy dynamics was horrifying but also enlightening. I'm big on learning how NOT to be from people who give me the major ick. This is why I've done a lot of deep diving in general on cults, gurus, and manipulative spirituality in general - and there's a lot to take away if you can go in with this mindset. I'm also hella autistic and love infiltrating niche internet subgroups whose experiences are much different than mine so I can - again - learn from the experieneces of others, and gain more empathy and understanding of the vast human experience.
I was a very forward facing person for the nonprofit I volunteered for for over 4 years. There was no "guru" that I supplicated, however there was a person formally in charge who abused their power and the willingness of others to help the organization, and was known to be cruel in private, when it suited them. I didn't see this person as above me - in fact in a lot of ways they were quite pitiful and needed a lot of help/support in their role - which is what I did, willingly and for practically free. At one point, the entire org sat down and did a call in of this person, however, they were able to push everyone that they couldn't control out of the way and rewrote the story with themselves as the victim (we all know this one). The final falling out happened at the end of 2019, so luckily for them Covid gave them some time to figure out how to run their events without me (they hired a paid staff).
Anyway, I gave many many hundreds of hours to this cause, and then the person in charge was able to take advantage of me and then push me out of the community I had served very seriously for 6 years with rumors that I had been trying to steal money. This is so far beyond the truth, and everyone involved directly knows this, but no one came to dispell the rumor. So, I've been heartbroken by supposedly "spiritual" leaders of a community, that's for sure. In fact listening to Katya was part of the cult deprogramming that me and a group who had left together went through (this group also used, abused, and betrayed me but that's another story!)
So, this isn't going to be about me, I just wanted to share my background. This is about what the divine feminine and the divine masculine "REALLY" are. This may get a bit woo in here but I can't imagine anyone here is afraid of woo. In fact it's the mystery of the spiritual experience that allows these people to cause so much harm. So let me try to remove some of that mystery.
The creation is polarized, in many ways. One of those ways is masculine/feminine. The masculine force is the will, the conscious mind, and that which puts the infinity of possible experience into order. It in and of itself is quite fallible. The feminine force is the subconscious mind - all that is - and the untapped potential of this reservoir. The masculine reaches for the feminine, and if the will (masculine) is properly configured, the unmanifest creation (feminine) will give him something in return. The masculine NEEDS the feminine but the feminine doesn't really NEED the masculine, however it does desire the masculine's attention being focused it its direction (instead of random mundane wordly experiences). And the feminine wants the masculine's attention consistently, lest the feminine will not be consistent at all in its response. This attention can be forceful or gentle, but it must be consistent.
Every human has a balance of masculine/feminine energy in them, and while women are socially conditioned to tend towards feminine expression and men towards masculine, biological sex really has very very little to do with it. There are of course, positive feminine expressions and negative, and positive male expressions and negative. What these polarity goons do is mostly focus on a mix of positive/negative masculine expression for the man, 0 female expression, and then only positive feminine expression for the woman with maybe, possibly, a bit of positive masculine expression (only during working hours when you're in seperate offices, and only if you're paying the bills, ofc)
Typically, we are attracted to partners who "balance" out our spiritual energy - so the "polarization" in a relationship can be anywhere from hyper masc/hyper femme to barely masc/barely femme - and again, this is NOT a hard and fast rule and has almost NOTHING to do with sex other than a general (mostly cultural) bias. The hyper femme/hyper masc scenario can definitely be more, well, exciting and dramatic than a relationship between two people who have very little polarized charge in that way between them. But that's likely why few of these polarity gurus have any experience in longevity of relationships - they are fueling their "twin flame" relationship with manufactured drama and trauma bonding. In reality, in a relationship, you are supposed to grow together and be more willing to meet each other where you are at in the moment, instead of demanding they be a near perfect idealized form before you offer them any attention/respect.
The reason these male teachers push polarity doctrine is literally because of their own wounding of the expression of the masculine/feminine. Men (especially USian men) have been taught that expressing any aspect of their feminine selves is repulsive and weak and probably gay. So, their solution to their own inability to be vulnerable is to attack women - for being "too masculine" - aka some balanced expression of both, normal! They want their women to be 100% pure unformed childlike energy with no will of their own, just a will that can be given to the man. They want them to embody this feminine space as close to 100% of the time so that they are forced into their masculine 100% of the time. Girlies, if you are in your masculine, this makes them feel more in their feminine and - gosh that's just icky and disgusting. You don't want your man to get a boner for you when you're in the masculine - that might make him GAY! In the very least it's totally beta to be attracted to a masculine woman and basically gay anyway. No thanks!
I'm sorry to be facetious, but this is in general a lot of the subconscious and even sometimes conscious thought processes behind these hyper polarity relationships. These are not evolved, embodied people. These are people who are still very invested in the old fashioned human status quo that has served them for a long time. We had the thread a few weeks back with the Desire on Fire lady (ugh her name escapes me) talking about how her husband had to "put her in her place" for being "too masculine" and how he really just "didnt want her" when she was in her masculine, when she was literally just running her business. Masculine wounding almost ALWAYS shows up as men being jealous of women being better at them in their own field - or really successful publicly at all - and this is why women STILL have a hard time breaking into male dominated spaces. We are systemically kept out because men die inside when they feel inferior to women. They were told this wasn't supposed to happen!!!! In fact, the person who spiritually abused me was a man - I see now how he "kept" me as a pet because of my high standing in the community. But this meant I was still firmly below him in certain ways - a much more comfortable place for me to be, someone who challenged him on his "expertise".
This polarity movement is taking a true spiritual concept and distorting it just to set women back. They don't want you to have an opinion or agency - other than "me want money" and "me want sex". They want you to play on Instagram all day and recruit ladies for them to sexually assault at your joint "retreats". They want you to only feel valued if you're made up and dressed up and "desired" by men. None of this internalized self worth stuff, only external male validation is allowed. Ladies, if any of you reading this are with some sort of this type of man, please, I beg you, choose the bear. This is the type of man who leaves you as soon as your body culminates too many signs of being aged. They are entitlted to a specific cartoon image of what they think a "woman" is, and sadly this culture has made young women INCREDIBLY easy to manipulate, so finding another partner is often quite easy for older men. It's all by design.
Here's another spiritual truth that is often obscured: One of the polarities of divinity is the left hand path and the right hand path. The left hand path is the path of control, wealth, using others, egocentrism, etc. The right hand path is about acceptance, generosity, helping others, and sacrifice. The middle path is a path with little to no power - it's the path of comfort, the path most people are on.
When one walks the middle path - i.e. has not really begun to truly develop their spiritual side - they do not yet have spiritual discernment. What happens when they come across someone who has been using spiritual principles to "build their wealth/power" is that they see someone with a spiritual light - and this isn't super common on social media. When we're hungry for it, we're like a moth to the flame. That's why they always know they'll be another mark. The problem then is when we don't have discernment, we cannot tell which "hand" the light is coming from, and often it's very easy to confuse the left hand for the right and vice versa. For instance, I am giving up a large part of my day to write this purely to help others in this community - Carly or MAL or someone might stumble upon this and see it as "evil". But that's because they see the light, but to them it's against their light, so I'm the evil one. But all I'm trying to offer is freedom of mind, and they're mad because they want your bag, and this is dependent on you being confused and them keeping a crumb of clarity behind a paywall. 💰
Now, some of these girlies are walking the "left hand path" a lot better than the others. I dont know many coaches beyond those talked about here, but I would say someone like MAL has a pretty firm grasp on who she is - a scam artist, a liar, and a user. She's always making up stories and whatnot - she's a pathological liar. She will do anything to get her way. This is pretty serious when you've been behaving this way for years and years. Her image is very rigid and polished, and despite showing up unprepared and offering word salad to her paying persons, her "outer circle" (social media feed etc) is much more curated than most of the other coaches I've seen. She's at the top of the pyramid so she has a huge amount of control and influence. If she cracks someday, we'll see it, and usually people struggle to return to the top once they falter. I'm sure she's already showing some signs of paranoia, which is the first sign a high control person is starting to become unhinged.
Then there are the messier girlies, like Carly, and Karen who has recently been more thoroughly exposed here. These ladies show up very vulnerable to social media, and often are struggling with illness - as someone has said here before, Carly's early coaching gigs were about health and dealing with chronic illness, until she realized that space wasn't sexy or profitable. I'm not saying this is the root of all illness, but transient illness can be a sign of a spiritual mismatch in intentions/action - especially with these people who claim to be "healers" or adjacent to that space. You have to walk your talk, or your body begins to show your hypocrisy. There is a part of these ladies who feel they are truly "helping the planet" and get confused internally when the reaction of their "offers" isn't for people to fall down at their feet worshipping them. This is why they say stuff like "wealth is a mindset!" and other magical thinking - most of them have lived privileged lives and have never been "out" of abundance. They think their "luck" is a carefully curated vibration that they can rub off on others. And like, while I believe that being in the vibrations of someone who is more spiritually mature can help "elevate" someone - these people are playing with spiritual practices and, while seeing some results, truly have no clue what they are talking about and dealing with. People who truly understand manifestation, whether left or right hand, are not busting their ass all day on Instagram trying to recruit lukewarm clients for peanuts. Carly tries SO HARD to sell that all of her work is "easy" and she can "take a walk in the middle of the day!" and not work while she's bleeding and whatnot. But girl, you're hustling and thirsty all over Insta all day every day - this is not abundance, this is not wealth and gratitude, it's giving "big empty black hole in my soul that will never be filled except with more money" energy, babe.
Then there are the girlies like xogingy and The Content Queen whose whole brand seems to be just being a mess all over the place. This sells because it makes people think "well I'm messy maybe I can be messy and rich/successful" but the mess for these girls is much more embraced and embodied than with the prim types like Carly and Karen, who want to be pure luxe and sexy and divine feminine perfection. But the luxe and sexy types are really doing the recruiting for their sexual in-person retreats (or clothing optional zooms) because they're just mega horny all the time (which - btw - is another sign of spiritual imbalance)
And that's the thing - being horny all of the time means your energy body is JACKED. It's not a sign of a free flow of creative energy to crave sex all of the time. Of course a major aspect of this is the sexual magic - yes, there is magic in sex, and I think it's where these folks get most of their magic, because they follow left hand sexual magic practice exclusively (control BDSM). They do play rapes (and borderline real rapes and, in some cases, actual real rapes on their clients/partners), orgasm denial, humiliation, pain rituals - all stuff that truly, objectively, isn't good for the soul. And notice how it's almost always one sided - the male being in total control of the female - though, Carly's substack did have a story about how they did a "role reversal" where she raped/humiliated him and that was um, something I read. 😳 But generally it's the women's job to always be turned on and "dripping wet" and whatnot, so that when her masculine partner gets a boner she's ready for him to slide it in. And then that's always the best sex, the sex that you "surrender" to.... On the contrary, sex between "right hand" practitioners tends to leave both partners feeling quite satisfied and sated - heck, even if only one happens to orgasm! Whereas control oriented sex often has orgasm denial which intentionally leaves the person craving more.
All this is to say, no one should feel guilty for being duped, or conned, or confused, even still. Almost all of these people have weaponized spiritual concepts in some ways and are wielding them with the intention to separate you from your money. They actually do have something that works. But they will NEVER sell you the whole story. And the fact is, this experience likely did happen to you because your soul was aching for some sort of uplevel - or initiation. It's just that initiation rarely looks like getting what we want. MAL et al makes it look like initiation is giving a rich lady 5 figures, popping a bottle of champagne, and roleplaying as that rich lady to which you just gave all that money (or at least, roleplaying as her social media feed). But if you're truly in it for the soul, your experience is going to help you uncover your soul. And part of uncovering our souls at this point in time seems to be having some serious spiritual trauma. And I know some people here probably only did this as "playing around" and not serious and unfortunately, playing with spirituality can be can be dangerous in and of itself. These is not to victim blame at all. It just is the nature of the spiritual path that it may growl and bite at you to test your growth. It's not just a sexy pleasure party 24/7, unless you want to step on a LOT of people to get there.
Anyway, this is very long and I'm not sure it's going to even fit into a reddit post at this point. But I just wanted to share some of the spiritual insights I've had over the years (been on my spiritual journey for over a decade at this point). I don't know it all, but I do know that I live with a general peace of mind that I wish I could sell in a coaching package or voxer group. But I can't/won't do that. So I'll keep to my lifelong duty of making longwinded, mega autistic posts on internet forums that might help a few people orient to a less painful or confused frame of mind, free of charge.
But on that note, before I finish, I'll offer my general spiritual advice: Firstly, take a short time every day to do some sort of sitting/meditation. Learning how to quiet the mind is a skill, and it's the first skill required to learn discernment. Once we can quiet the mind, we can start to learn which thoughts are our own and which thoughts we have absorbed from others - and if you haven't begun this process yet, you may be surprised to find out that the vast majority of your thoughts are actually just society, family, teachers, social media, advertising, etc etc, repeating in your mind and taking up valuable real estate. This is the real hurdle to "manifestation" - clearing away all the false desires that get in the way of our true desires. Subsequently, learning about chakras and tuning into my energy body has also given me a good base for insight and clarity that comes from within my own body.
Secondly, just try to think of others before yourself more often than not. Don't justify manipulating people for your own benefit. Oneness means you treat others how you want to be treated - in a gentle, and nurturing way. When we harm others, especially from a spiritual place, we perpetuate harm, and therefore accept that potential harmful treatment of ourselves. Treating others sincerely with reverence and respect, and setting boundaries so that we don't allow people to treat us with disrespect, is how we generate a reality that treats us with reverence and respect by default. A lot easier said than done, but it is possible.
Love and light to you all.

In hindsight, I should have known something was wrong with The Caeles Academy of Acting.
Maybe the fact that it doesn't exist to the outside world.
This place prided itself on famous alumni it didn't actually name, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to work with the best in the business.
It's what I wanted.
More than anything.
After enduring four years of high school with barely a semblance of a drama club (we met every month, and our teacher was an alcoholic), and countless failed auditions, I was ready to take my acting career seriously. I had one year.
According to my parents, I had one year to make a living from my passion.
If it didn't work out, I would be on the first plane back to Connecticut.
It's not like they didn't trust me. I think they were just scared I wouldn't be able to financially support myself. So, I got a job right out of high school and slipped a year. Drama schools are expensive, and college’s are cut-throat on who they take on. I found Caeles Academy by accident–or, I guess it found me?
After researching cheap drama classes, auditions, academy’s, literally anything to progress my career, an ad popped up.
Not exactly flashy.
Just a date, a time, and a promise that they only take the best. I ignored it, but throughout the week, I started getting more ads. Just the words, “IMPRESS US - - JOIN CAELES ACADEMY NOW.”
Followed by, “BE WITH THE BEST, AND BE THE BEST. JOIN THE S CLASS NOW.”
When I googled the academy, nothing came up.
It didn't exist, at least on Google.
So, I gave up, clicking on the ad, which sent me straight to an application form.
I filled in my details as more of a joke. But I wasn't expecting to get an email back. Again, it was a time, a date, and that exact same tagline: “Impress us.”
However, Caeles Academy was different from what I imagined.
I was expecting a university building, or at least some modern structure.
Judging from their marketing and ads, I figured they could at least afford decent premises. Though I was mistaken. When I stepped out of the Uber, I found myself staring at what looked like an abandoned office tower, a red-brick monolith in the middle of nowhere.
Which was crazy, because I swore a girl wearing a bikini had strode through the doors, with nothing but her phone, and a coffee tucked under her elbow.
According to the text sent from the academy, the auditioning rooms were on the third floor.
Tipping my head back, the checkerboard of broken windows didn't exactly instil confidence.
Neither did the clunky set of automatic doors that took a while to open.
It was a summer's day, and the heat was already baking through my dress, sweat sticky on the back of my neck.
I wanted to make a good impression, but the heels were a little over the top.
Though I had also seen a girl casually walk in wearing a two piece bikini.
“Well?”
Freddie’s voice made me jump. I forgot I was on the phone to him.
After being excited the whole car-ride, already high on five coffees, I was silent.
If I perceived the ‘academy’ from an objective standpoint, it definitely looked like the perfect place to be brutally murdered. But my own personal opinion was it was.. okay.
“What's it like?”
I pretended not to see a rat scuttling under an old candy wrapper.
“It's… fine.”
“Just fine?”
I could hear the smirk in my friend’s tone. He couldn't wait to tell me it was a scam, and had been reminding me all week I was essentially willingly selling myself to the black market. I was stubborn, so, fine sounded better than my initial first impression.
Which was to turn around, walk away, and completely block the place from my memory.
Unfortunately, at that moment, I valued my pride over my awareness.
“It's… okay.” I said, trying to find positives. I was staring at a looming grey building with shattered windows and a resident rat living near the door.
I had a hard time figuring out how the girl from earlier had just casually strode inside, barefoot too. I glanced down at the ground, immediately regretting it.
Like there weren't bits of chewing gum and grime stuck to the concrete.
“Huh.” Freddie said, his tone creeping into teasing territory. “You're really selling it.”
“It just looks like a building,” I muttered, my gaze glued to the rat, who looked a little too comfortable.
Maybe it was a pet.
I was getting progressively more infuriated the more I stared down this place. Judging from the decades old writing ingrained into the door, it used to be a dentist surgery. “What do you want me to say?” I wasn't even trying to hide the scorn from my voice. “It's a building that looks like an academy.”
“Can you send a picture?” Freddie asked, “Ooh, wait, I'll face-time you.”
“That's, uh, that’s not really necessary–”
I was cut off, suddenly, when a guy threw himself through the automatic doors, palms first. He took two stumbled steps forwards, one back.
Lifting his head, half lidded eyes found the sky, before he dropped to his knees, heaving pinkish liquid.
I could see him trying to hold it in, slamming his hands over his mouth, only for it to splurge through his fingers, showering the ground in greyish pink froth.
Like he'd downed a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Inching towards him, I realized it was Pepto Bismol.
The stink made my own stomach churn.
“Missy?”
I found my voice. “Uh, can I call you back later?”
Before my friend could answer, I ended the call, slipping my phone in my pocket.
The guy was still heaving, coughing up globules of pink.
“Are you okay?”
The sound of my heels click-clacking on concrete made me cringe. The guy noticed, flinching away. Closer, and I could see his scraggly blonde hair.
He was handsome.
Without the bile spewing down his chin.
Early twenties, wearing a fitted white shirt now covered in streaks of bright pink. Part of me wanted to make a half-hearted joke, but getting even closer, so close I could smell his pepto-breath, I noticed he was trembling, his hands clenched into fists.
When I attempted to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder, he twisted around, so fast my morning coffee slithered its way back up my throat.
His eyes were wide, almost feral, studying me like a wild animal.
I noticed the whites of his pupils were red, like he'd burst a blood vessel.
Theatre kids were intense, though I had never met THIS kind of intense.
“Are you… going in there?” The guy’s voice was a child-like whimper I wasn't expecting.
It looked like he was slowly regaining clarity, staring down at his filthy shirt, his hands stained bright pink.
I nodded, uncertainly, offering him my water. “Yeah. Did you audition?”
He shoved it away, slapping himself in the face. “I… I don't know.”
“You… don’t know?”
Suddenly, it was like something had contorted in his expression, a switch being pulled. I wasn't expecting him to twist around so fast. The guy slowly cocked his head, his lips breaking into a grin. His eyes, however, stayed the same.
“Of course I've auditioned.” He said, with a laugh.
“It was the best experience of my life!" His mouth formed an almost mocking frown.
“Unfortunately, I didn't make the cut. Which is a real shame. I'm sure Caeles would have benefited from my talents.”
What was weird, is that his mouth was moving, but he wasn't even looking at me, frenzied eyes caught in an oblivion I couldn't see.
When he did look at me, his expression crumpled all over again.
Pepto jumped to his feet, brushing himself down.
I couldn't take his over the top smile seriously, when his eyes were screaming, hollowed out caverns silently begging me to listen.
This guy was fucking crazy.
“Wait.” Pepto whispered, when I turned to walk away.
He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen before shoving it in my face.
I HAD SO MUCH FUN AT THE CAELES ACADEMY AUDITIONS :)
When I could only stare at him in confusion, Pepto’s gaze flicked to his phone, swiping bile from his lips.
His eyes went cartoon wide, like he couldn't believe what he himself was typing.
“That… that's not what I was trying to say!” He tried retyping it, but the guy was just writing strings of emoji hearts.
I didn't know what to say. I had dealt with rejection before, but I had never gone this far. Pepto was having a full on mental breakdown, his body shuddering, teeth chattering, blinking eyes and lips parting as if to speak, but choking on his words. When he started clawing out his hair, I took the opportunity to make a quick getaway.
Before I could make it to the doors, though, Pepto jumped in front of me, waving his phone directly in my face.
“Just…” he pointed at the screen. “It won't let me…” Growing frustrated with himself, he let out a wet sounding sob, clawing his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck, it won't let me…it won't let me type! It's not letting me type!”
By now, he had tufts of hair stuck between his fingernails. I don't know why his first reaction was to immediately try ripping his hair out.
A quick glance at my own phone reminded me of my audition that was in five minutes.
Meanwhile, I was dealing with what I was pretty sure was delusion, denial, or a mixture of both.
I was considering pushing past him, when Pepto’s phone screen hit me in the face. Again.
This time, though, there was coherent writing.
“FIND LUKE.”
“Luke?” I said. “Who's that?”
“Luke!” The guy was bouncing on the heels of his feet. “He's my…” Pepto drifted off, his eyes going vacant, as if I could physically see his brain being plucked from his skull. Pepto dropped his phone, and I grabbed it before it could hit the ground. His hands went to his curls, clawing, scratching, until he was drawing blood across his forehead.
“I… I don't know! I can't… I can't remember. Luke. He was my… he was my… I don't know, I can't… I can't–”
I stumbled back when he let out a shriek, scratching at his face.
“Fuck!” He whimpered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Pepto grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, his fingers digging into my skin.
“I don't know who he is.” He gritted out, pink froth pooling from his lips.
Pepto broke out into a sob. “I don't… I don't know who he is, but you can find him, right? You can… you can find…”
Again, he trailed off mid sentence, his hands going limp around my shoulders.
I managed to side step him, swallowing a cry.
“Yeah, I'll, um, I'll find him for you.”
Pepto backed away, suddenly, stumbling over himself.
His gaze found mine, vacant, like a baby deer.
“Find who?”
I didn't wait around to answer him, pushing through the doors and stepping inside.
The interior was unsurprisingly even worse than the exterior.
The elevator was broken, so I had to run up three flights of stairs.
I expected at least an attempt at an academy, even in the dregs of an old dentist surgery.
What I got, though, was a never ending staircase, obnoxious photos of teeth greeting me on every level.
The third floor was… less clinical.
I strode directly into a waiting room filled with college aged students, either sitting on plastic chairs, or standing around, rehearsing.
The room itself was cosy enough, a navy carpet and a TV playing a random Twitch stream.
Situated in the middle was a desk with a bored looking woman behind it.
Her smile was fake. I could understand her pain. She was stuck in a room with theatre kids all day.
“Sign here.” She prodded a sheet of paper.
I was convinced her voice was AI.
While I was scribbling my details, I took a moment to notice the stark difference from the kids entering the room, to the ones leaving. The kids entering wore wide, confident smiles and were social butterflies, chatting amongst themselves.
The kids leaving reminded me of pod people.
They left the room silent, in an orderly line with dazed smiles on their faces, like they weren't sure where they were.
I watched one guy walk directly into the wall instead of taking a left toward the exit, and a girl straight up just toppled down the stairs.
The kids waiting with me named them rejects.
I wasn't convinced until I glimpsed an empty bottle of Pepto Bismol sitting on the floor by the window.
Thinking back to Pepto, that made a lot of sense.
I was still dazedly staring at the bottle, when my name was called.
Jumping to my feet, I did my best to calm myself down, straightening my ponytail. Pepto had really screwed with my head. I could barely even remember the lines I had been rehearsing for a week straight.
I was muttering my lines to myself, when I stepped through the door.
The door that apparently turned you into a pod-person on the way out.
For a moment, I thought I was blinded by stage lights.
It was so bright.
The glow bathing me was clinical, stabbing into my eyes.
When I blinked, I found myself standing in front of three shadows sitting in front of me.
Their chairs were made of leather, far different from the plastic ones in the waiting room.
So, they did have filthy cash.
I was looking at one man, and two women.
They were… average?
I expected them to be more glitzier, but they were just regular people.
The man was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, a stiff looking brunette wearing a suit and tie, one leg crossed over the other. His eyes were narrowed slightly, lips curved into the start of a smile. Like I amused him.
The women were polar opposites.
One of them was my Mom’s age, grey hair and floral clothing. She took a sip of water, her gaze burning into me.
Google told me not to be intimidated by their stares, but it was impossible.
These people were carving holes into my skull.
Sitting next to her, a younger girl who seemed to own the color red.
Her hair simmered, blood red, while she herself was sculpted in a dress, perfect cherry lips spread in a wide smile.
With a little too many teeth.
They studied my face like I was already theirs, drinking in every inch of me.
Freddie said I had to find a weakness in their expression and use it to my advantage.
If I could find the prick of a genuine smile, I could become their favorite.
“Hi!” I said. My caffeine intake was starting to take effect.
I didn't realize I was bouncing up and down until I caught myself.
Red’s smile stretched wider.
Maybe they liked my eagerness.
“My name is Misa.” I introduced myself, staying casual, keeping my arms by my sides. “I'm twenty one years old–”
I choked on my next words when Red spoke up. “Impress us, Misa,” Her voice was a smooth, almost seductive rasp, and I felt myself fall into it, enveloped in sugar that was too sweet, and yet I couldn't stop myself. She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze challenging me to do something different. To make her want me.
“Show us something we have never seen before.” She stood up, cat-like eyes narrowing, “Show us how desperate you are to join this prestigious class.”
I nodded, and began.
I had planned a whole monologue, practised it over and over again, forcing Freddie to judge me with a none biassed opinion.
I was three lines in, when Red started laughing.
“Stop.”
I did, my cheeks heating up.
She clapped loudly. Obnoxiously.
“Sweetie, oh, stop, you're adorable!”
She leaned forward, like I was something that entertained her, jostling her heeled foot. “We don't take amateurs. I think you need to go back to school.”
This woman was definitely a psychopath.
Empty eyes sparkling with a gleam that definitely enjoyed humiliating candidates, and a twisted smile that was a little too wide. Red made me want to crawl into the ground.
She made me want to turn around, leave the room, and quit my dream. I was aware of my own fury, my embarrassment turning my cheeks crimson. I matched her.
Maybe that's what she wanted all along. To wear the color of her victims.
Taking a shaky step back, I started to nod, started to agree, my mouth choking with the words, “You're right. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
I had never received proper constructive criticism from a professional standpoint.
Which meant I really did suck.
But I didn't move. I didn't want to move, and Red continued laughing, her companions sitting in silence.
The man rolled his eyes with a loud, exaggerated sigh.
Like I was boring.
The older woman pulled out her phone.
“Misa, you are…cute.” Red said. “But you're not quite what we are looking for.”
I wasn't sure I could admit it right there, but she made me feel things.
Like I was ignited.
Like I was going to prove this crazy bitch wrong.
I found my voice, strong and confident, despite my hammering heart.
“Give me another chance.”
Red’s lips curled. “So cute, Misa. Oh, sugar bear, It would be better if you left the room. Unless you want to embarrass yourself further! In that case, be my guest!”
She turned her attention to her nails, nudging the guy.
“Dinner?” She hummed. “I'm thinking of Italian. You are quite the wine connoisseur, Nicholas. Why don't you introduce me to your favorite?”
“Hey.” I blurted.
They ignored me, getting a little too close.
I don't know why I continued, reading my lines, screaming them, so I would be heard. I read them perfectly, and tweaked the genre from drama to romance, and then to horror. I became three different characters, a high school girl struggling with cancer, a final girl, and a woman going through a divorce.
I was fucking perfect.
But they weren't listening to me, caught up in their own conversation.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
By now, I was on my knees, my fingers ripping into my hair. I was seeing red.
“We want originality, Misa,” Red said, sucking her teeth.
Her voice crawling into my skull was enough.
She still wanted me.
The thought polluted the back of my mind, taking a strangling hold. She still wanted me. When I lifted my head, Red wasn't looking at me, her gaze on the table grains. “Show us something new.”
I got to my feet, panting, my breath in my throat.
I became a screaming, strangled mess, a woman who lost her baby.
Red’s interest was piqued. Only slightly. Through my fraying vision, she slowly turned in her chair. “Again.” She clapped her hands, “Come on, Misa! We want new! We want never been fucking done before! Are you deaf?”
I couldn't stop the sobs escaping my mouth.
They lost interest again, right in the middle of my reading.
“Why can't you look at me?” I found myself spluttering.
When the man pulled out a bottle of water, I yanked off my heel and lobbed it at his face.
“Look at me!”
He did. Slowly. His gaze found me, for perhaps the first time.
Not as an amateur, but as a potential candidate.
Around the twentieth attempt, I started to laugh. Never been done before? I could feel my fingernails already in my scalp, clawing chunks of my hair out.
Reality contorted, and I felt myself drop to my knees. I was still laughing, spluttering, sobbing. I could still hear her in my head. Never Been Done Before. I started slowly, dragging my fingernails down my face until I felt the harsh sting.
“Again.” Red said, and her voice led me to stare down at my hands, at pinkish flesh glued to my bones, fleshy mounds that I had never realized was so thin.
So easy to tear. I didn't even feel it.
Only the sudden, unbridled euphoria of biting into my own skin, locking in my jaw, and ripping into myself.
When I tore it from the bone, warmth filled my mouth, and I was choking, guzzling down my own flesh, mulling it in my mouth and swallowing.
I can't remember how I got so deep, and why I didn't stop.
Why I didn't fucking scream.
But it didn't matter.
Red was standing up. She was clapping, her lips spread into a grin.
Her applause filled me with stars.
So, I ripped my hair from my scalp, a hysterical giggle escaping my lips.
She loved me.
I could see her jumping up and down, clapping.
Louder, and louder.
Her applause controlled me, twisting and contorting me into hers.
I didn't even think. I wanted to impress her, and doing this was doing just that.
My fingers were delving into my right eye socket, clawing my eye out. It didn't even hurt. Not with her thundering applause that was deafening, beautiful, an orchestra in my ears.
When I was semi conscious, my eye was crushed in my hand, but my vision was still mine, almost too clear. I could see streaks of red blurred between my lashes. My hair was caught between my fingers. But I wanted to do more.
When I stumbled to my feet, Red’s smile was so beautiful.
The man, however, looked horrified.
“Someone grab one of the successes,” Red’s voice was a shrill giggle, “Bring him in!” she clapped her hands together, and I spat out a fleshy thing. “I want to see them together! I want to see the future in front of us!”
Footsteps coming towards me in slow, shuddery thumps. I looked up, and a shadow was dancing around me.
When I slowly rose to my feet, I half realized I’d bitten my toe off. The shadow had a face, a boy who was younger than me. I think he used to have hair, but half of it was gone, half of it was still stuck between his fists. When I found his eyes, I found twin caverns instead.
Eyes that were still physically there, and yet there was no life.
No spark.
I was staring at a dead body, a flesh puppet who had lost his strings.
When he grabbed my hands, pulling me into a waltz, I caught a smear of scarlet trickling down the back of his neck. When I followed it upwards, his head was covered, slick, dripping with red.
Like me, he matched her too.
And he was beautiful, she told me, her push, her thunderous applause, guiding me into a waltz.
His feet moved, perfecting every step, and my foggy mind couldn't understand why. He matched my every move, the two of us floating across the floor.
My feet knew the steps before my mind.
How could he dance? I thought, dizzily.
How could he dance, when smeared scarlet followed his twisting, and turning and pirouetting feet?
Because underneath that swimming clinical light, the back of the boy’s head had been carved away, a perfectly sculpted cavern where his brain should have been. I could see the severed stem, where it had cleanly plucked out.
His fingers cradled in mine were wet. Swimming in blood.
His own blood.
Spinning round and around, I imagined myself as a princess.
I saw an 18th century ballroom lit up around us. Glittering smiles and glasses of champagne, long, flowing ball gowns.
I blinked, and my head was tipped back, gliding in blood once again.
When he pulled me to his chest, I stumbled, and a name came to light.
Luke.
I had found him.
Our finishing spin left me hard to breathe.
My body was broken, ripped into, and yet somehow not.
By the time we were finished, the two of us bowing, my mind was full of fog.
Cotton candy.
“Congratulations!” Red’s smile was inhuman, stretching right off of her face.
“You're in the S class!”
I was led through a door that wasn't the one I entered from. Inside the room were a dozen or so students, kneeling on the floor. They were missing parts of themselves, like unfinished puzzle pieces.
I dropped onto my knees next to a girl without a head. I could only see her torso, but I knew she was smiling.
Looming over us, was the goddess Athena drenched in blood that was still wet.
Dripping, pooling from every crevice of her dress.
Looking closer, this statue was moving.
Something sickly crept into my mouth.
Her right eye was human, a twitching eyeball sandwiched inside the stone.
It didn't match her. It was wrong, horrifying, like a painting, a real human eye struggling to focus on us.
And then, my own gaze found the statues head, where a real human brain had been forced inside perfect white, pink, greyish mush dripping down the sculpted, slender neck.
I could see where it had been pushed, pulverised through the stone.
The statue’s singular eye found me.
Its dancing pupil jumped up and down.
Before it blinked.
Next to me, Luke was on his knees, as if in prayer.
I can't remember leaving the room.
I just remember running.
Back down the stairs, stumbling, staggering over myself.
I was screaming by the time I reached the doors.
They opened, as usual.
But I couldn't get through. I tried, but I was slamming into something I couldn't see.
Pepto was still waiting outside. The sky was dark.
When he saw me, he stumbled over, slamming his hands into the glass.
I couldn't even understand myself. I was just fucking screaming.
Pepto held up his phone.
“DID YOU FIND HIM?”
I shook my head.
“No.” I lied.
I can't tell him the truth. I don't even know what it is.
“I can't get out!”
Pepto nodded slowly, typing something and showing me his phone.
I'm getting you both out of there. I think I know how I can get inside.
It's been 3 days, and Pepto is yet to return.
I’ve tried multiple times to cry out for the H word. But it won't let me type it.
Please H me. I need to get out of this place.
Fuck. Get me OUT OF HERE.
Classes start tomorrow.

Need advice pls, Also TW possibly ahead. Had a real Shit day today.

Started off aight. Had a dream I was spiderman, and this time didn’t run outta my web fluid mid-swing 🤣😭

I had a shower was all good but after that. Shit only went down hill. (In the shit way) So I showered, and got ready to go get my T shot. Because I’m due today. (This was on Monday and it’s now Thursday 😭) So I got ready all except my shoes and grabbing the actual box of T to take with me. Went to look for the box. It’s gone.

(For context my mum had been in my room, had admitted to “cleaning up the floor a little and taking out the rubbish”)

Right so ideally id like to assume my mum hasn’t taken it. Because I’d like to assume my mum wouldn’t push her opinions of my decisions on me like that. So I’m just gonna say it was on the floor and she put it in the medicine cabinet or in the bathroom with my other ointments n meds n stuff (or where my morning meds are next to the bench.) Not in any of those places. Right so I thought right I’ll call mum. Coz she’d probably just moved it and hadn’t known that id put it in a very specific location for a very SPECIFIC REASON. Call her. “Nah idk I havnt seen it” Right. Then I’m just fuckin blind coz I’m rushing and looking for it. It’s gotta be here somewhere. Aggressive loud and panicked rummaging Bout 20 mins goes past. (Queue the bin/recycling truck noises this will be useful later I promise) I call her again. “Mum can you please promise me you didn’t see it and that you didn’t take it.” “deadname stop calling me I’m at work. I’ll talk to you later” Right she didn’t promise. She was either actually stressed at work or was trying to get me to stop talking about it. So I go looking in the places she used to hide my phone / iPad / DS / Computer / whatever when she took things off me. Not anywhere. Right now I think back to the last time I saw it or something similar and brushed my eyes over it. Last I KNOW I saw it. It was in the chemist warehouse (Australian chemist place) bag on the floor beside my bed. Right well she cleared the floor. So I’ll go look in all the places she stuffed shit in while I wasn’t here. Not in the backpack, not on the top bunk of my bed, not under my bed. Not in any drawers. Ok well my appointment to get my injection is in 30 mins and I’ve been searching for 30mind stressed asf coz I needa get on the bus. So let’s see if I can move that appointment. Moved the appointment back 2 hours. Right now I got 2.5h to find it. Now I have a very thorough look for it in my room in all the places that have been TOUCHED recently. Incase I’m just stupid and put it there to HIDE it. Coz doggy brain (and trauma) say “hide precious thing so nobody take. Coz precious thing good and need to keep safe.” Ok. I look in those places. Not there. Right well she cleared out the RUBBISH and a plastic chemist warehouse bag with a box and a receipt could be “rubbish” right well I took out the recycling yesturday and saw a blue and white somethin in the recycling maybe it’s in the recycling bin. …. •-• the bins 2 houses up. Has already been. Fook me dead. Right well literally EVERY OPTION of me getting the box I collected last week at the pharmacy hasn’t worked. Aight well what’re my options? Call the hospital see if they can get me an emergency script. Nope they said call ur GP. I call my GP, ask them what to do coz I havnt had my T shot, and they have literal proof coz I booked the injection with them. Had havnt had it…..

so I call em up. They said “yeah come in we’ll see what we can do” they get me a script. I’m brilliant I could KISS the gp rn :D!!

Get to the chemist. They make me wait 45mins. “Sorry we gotta call the dr coz he didn’t put the interval of how often you take this” Aight sure I’ll just wait. … Sorry you already have a script for this, and you picked it up the other day, so we can’t give it to you. Aight. Well I literally got the second proscription, so that I could get a new bottle… because I’ve LOST / HAD IT TAKEN FROM ME / IT HAD BEEN THROWN AWAY BY ACCIDENT That’s why u got the second proscription paper thingy. “Yeah nah I can’t do that” “Tf you mean nu-uh.” “Well we called ur GP on the script.

Told him (coz why wouldn’t you) you picked it up the other day and he said not to dispense it”

Dawggggg I literally came into the fucking medical centre told y’all the situation and u gave me the script not even 20 mother fucking minutes ago. Aight can I take my script back? Yeah. Aight well I still have the bit of paper of me needing my T. (Mind you, he didn’t put the fucking concession on it. So would’ve costed me 150$ instead of S E V E N which is how much u usually pay.) I call the medical centre I was literally JUST AT 20 mins ago “hey yeah he just told the chemist NOT to give it to me after I literally just left to come get it.” “Aight brb I’ll go talk to him” … “Yeah nah sorry can’t do anything…” “Aight well what am I gonna do then?”

“Idk hangs up”

WELL FUCK ME SIDEWAYS (don’t actually but it’s too late coz my days already FUCKED ME SO WHY NOT JOIN IN )

Aight well what are my other options. I’ll ring my endo see if he can call the pharmacy and tell them to gimme my fuckin boy juice. Aight he’s not in today. Right well reception sent him an email. He’s on leave for another fuckin 3 weeks. Right. Only other option. Is to go to another pharmacy. And try use this script which chemist warehouse already scribbled all over.!!!! See if they’ll give it to me. Priceline (another pharmacy) doesn’t have any. Right try the other one. They’re confused as to why they’d scribbled on it and DIDNT give it to me. I explain my situation. They said “also btw how much you usually pay for this..?” “Like 7 bucks..” “He hasn’t put the concession on this. And he can’t cos he’s not a specialist. And I’d have to ring him to ask if I can give this to you.” “Right then nvm I’ll try something else. Coz he’s just gonna tell you not to give it to me :)” Ok well I’m fucked now. It’s not at home. They won’t give it to me. I’ve tried every pharmacy in the area and they’ve all told me to get fucked. Right idk what else to do so I’ll go to safe haven (where mentally ill people go when they’re having / about to have a crisis. And need help coz they’re feeling unstable.) I go there. Chat to the chick there she suggested I try the gender centre or 20ten or whatever. Call the gender centre. They gimme a list of numbers to try. Tried all of em. One calls me back and says to call MY endo’s place coz SURELY he’s not the only endo there. So I do. They shut THREE MINUTES AGO. (4.03pm) :))) Aight guess that’s all I can fuckin DO FOR TODAY :))) So now I’m sitting here (bbq sauce in my tiddies) / ref And idk what to do.
OH and coz the day wasn’t COOKED enough.

The buses I signed by waving for a solid 8 seconds. Both changed lanes (to make the next turn in the route) AND DROVE PAST ME!!!!! So I WALKED to safe haven!!!!

Anyways. It’s Now Thursday I have some more info. Still have the problem UNSOLVED.

Called the endo. They said they’d see if they can get the other endo to call the chemist.

Mum didn’t chuck it out on purpose but thinks I could’ve been thrown away by accident when she was cleaning (it has to have been coz it’s not in my room or any-bloody-where else.

Ive called the endo up multiple times. I’ve called my GP and he just said “you could’ve sold it so we can’t get you another one” BUT WHY WOULD I SELL IT?! W h Y?!! And it has MY NAME ON IT. NOBODYS GONNA GIVE SOMEONE AN INJECTION THAT DOESNT HAVE THEIR NAME ON IT🤌🏻 bro the fuck just gimme my boy juice 😭😭😭

So I’ve had a pretty fucked week stressing over this so I’d appreciate any ideas anyone has on how I can get my T 😭

I live in Australia so we gotta abide by those laws with giving meds n shit but if u know a way around it… or somethin pls comment at lmk I really needed this like a hole in the head 😭😭😭

So, I've heard, bad time to get into Custodes. But I've been wanting to get back into 40k for a while and it's the army I've had an itch to build. So, I grabbed the Auric Champions box, a combat patrol, and an extra blade champion I managed to grab at a discount, plus the new Codex. I do have a 3d printer for anything that would be FW, but I prefer plastics when available, so I can do sagitarum or a Telemon or whatever, plus I can buy more plastics if needed.
So how would you build it all out? List-building was never my strong suit. Not super competitive, but I'd like a list that could at least have a good time with friendly games. And if it means anything, I have an eye for also using them with OPR, both rulesets.
What do you recommend (besides another army, lol).

You guys know what an alpine coaster is? They are like a small roller coaster you find in the mountains. They are also called summer toboggans or mountain coasters and I think there’s some long German compound word they are called in parts of Europe. They are like a roller coaster, but with much smaller one or two person sleds you just sit on instead of multi-person cars you ride in, and instead of being built with like a scaffolding or a framework the tracks are just on the ground, using the elevation of the mountain. Basically it’s a coaster track on the side of a mountain where you ride a sled down.
They are pretty fun. Or at least I used to think so. They are more “personal” than roller coasters and although you get nowhere near the speed on them that you do on a good traditional roller coaster and they can’t do corkscrews or loops or anything like that the openness and simplicity of the ride gives an impression of a much greater speed. You’re just sitting there with nothing but a little plastic sled and the track between you and the ground as it goes zooming by. It’s like the difference between how fast a go-cart feels compared to how fast a sports car feels. You know the sports car goes faster but the open, simpleness of a go-cart feels a different kind of fast. There’s plenty of POV Youtube videos if you want to get the basic idea of what they are.
I used to love alpine coasters. Used to.
My family used to go to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge and up and down the Smokey Mountains for vacations when I was a kid and they are common in that area and I’d always rode them every chance I got.
But as with so many things after I grew up and went to college they just became part of my childhood that slipped away. They aren’t exactly common once you get away from the mountains.
Until one cool spring afternoon in 2004. I was in my final year at college and I was driving back to campus in Tennessee after a short visit to my folks in North Carolina. It was only like a 4 or 5 hour drive via the most efficient route and I had no need to be back at campus early so instead of taking the freeway all the way I got off and took part of my trip through the mountains. The scenery was nicer and I admit I liked pushing my Camaro just a little faster than I should through the twisty mountain roads.
Just after lunchtime happened upon one of those little by-the-highway tourist towns deep somewhere in the Smoky Mountains near the Carolina/Tennessee border. Nothing fancy, a gas station/truck stop, a diner, a couple of places selling tourist merch nestled deep in the mountains. I pulled into the gas station. My tank was getting low and I needed to stretch my legs, maybe grab something to eat. It was still early and I only had another couple of hours. I could kill an hour or so and still make it back to campus at a decent hour.
I pulled into the gas station and was filling my tank when I happened to glance across the road and… well I’ll be damned. There it was. “The Blue Ridge Alpine Coaster.” Nestled on the side of the mountain was a building, a mockup of a red barn, where a single railed track that led up into the mountains, where it soon got lost in the greenery. Wooden hand painted standees of cartoon character bears dressed in stereotypical “Hillbilly” getup stood around, some of them holding signs showing the ride hours and ticket costs and other info. I had to admit, as silly as it was, it made me smile.I finished pumping my gas and, well, nostalgia is a helluva thing. I decided then and there I could waste a little time riding an Alpine Coaster again after all these years before getting back on the road.
I parked my car in a corner of the truck stop's parking lot, put my phone in the center console, this being the days before smart phones when people didn’t keep their phones with them 24/7 and I didn’t want my old Nokia brick phone to fall out during the ride, locked my car and walked across the mountain highway to the Alpine Coaster building.
Getting closer, the place was less inviting. The half hearted attempt at a whimsical faux-Americana kitsch was far less effective when it brushed up against the actual decaying, run down wooden building. Hell calling it a building was generous. It was a wood frame holding up a long roof that covered the area where you got on the sleds. The wood boards creaked under my footsteps.
The only real enclosed structure was a shack that held, what I assumed, was a ticket booth. A door on the side had both a single occupancy bathroom with an out of order sign on it. An old Pepsi machine buzzed and glowed next to it.
Still the place looked alive. Ahead of me a bored looking attendant was helping a mother and her young son into one of the sleds while in a bored monotone repeating the safety brief. A few people were waiting in line at the ticket booth. Up in the mountains the playful shouts of people on the ride echoed down. Fond memories of my own childhood rides flooded my mind.10 minutes and 15 dollars later I was settling into the hard plastic seat of a bright red sled sat atop a simple aluminum rail.
I couldn’t help but grin as the sled slowly climbed the track up the mountains, making click-clack ratcheting sounds that hit my nostalgia centers hard. I felt good. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of pine.Higher and higher in the mountains we went. I don’t know if this is my mind trying to make sense of it after the fact but when I remember these moments, the last good moments, I sometimes think I remember a very slight, very subtle pit of fear in my stomach. I honestly don’t know if I felt it at the time or not or it’s just how my mind tries to make sense of it looking back at.
But either way mostly I was enjoying myself. I smiled. I was a kid again. I could hear riders in front of me let out that initial yell of terrified glee you get at the first drop of any good ride.
It peaked. I glanced around. I could see for miles, rolling hills and mountains. I the sled tipped over and zoomed down the mountain and I let out the same happy yell I heard from the other passengers.The ride zoomed down the mountain, catching speed. The mountain forest floor zoomed past, only a few feet under me. Trees zoomed past. I gave out a happy whoop as the ride banked hard around a curve and then looped back under itself.Another dip, another curve. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the G-forces pulling me every which way.
There was no one exact single moment where things started to go “wrong.” The ride kept going. And going. At this point the first creeping thought entered my head.
The ride… was still going.
It just started to hit me… this ride was going on for a really long time. I had taken a dozen rides on various coasters of this type before that day and they topped out at about 5 minutes or so, and that was the long ones. Longer than a traditional roller coaster but not that long. This one had been going on for what felt like 10, maybe even 15 minutes.
I looked back over my shoulder and could only see trees, moving too fast to really get a bearing on where I was at in relation to anything.
I wasn't exactly really worried yet. Okay so I had found a particularly long alpine coaster. At the time I wasn’t 100% wasn't sure they didn’t exist or anything like that. I was a little… unnerved but nothing was happening that was impossible. Yet.
I was trying to talk myself back into just enjoying the ride and stop overthinking it, and halfway succeeded, when out of nowhere I suddenly banked hard, the track jutting out almost over a sheer cliffside. I gripped the sled more tightly as I was whipped around. The ride then dipped hard and picked up speed, barreling down the side of the mountain.
I was pushed back against the seat by the force of the drop. Jesus I didn’t remember them being this rough. I was feeling slightly nauseous. And where had this elevation drop come from I wondered? I was still in the foothills and I didn’t remember seeing anything but gentle rolling hills and light drops from looking at the ride’s route earlier. How the ride had managed such a long, steep drop in this area I didn’t know. . For the first time I hoped that the ride would be over soon. I had no idea then how much I would want that same hope to be true so much more as time went on.
With a whiplash motion I was whipped forward and then back as the ride leveled out on flat ground again, but by this point I was going fast, too fast. My neck hurt from the mild whiplash and I felt sour in my throat and for a moment the contents of my stomach threatened to come back up. For the first, but hardly the last time the ride felt unsafe. Alpine Coasters are tame affairs, much slower and gentler than full on roller coasters but this thing was throwing me around like no thrill ride I had ever been on.
I looked around. I mean I wasn’t that deep into the woods. I should have been able to see a glimpse of something; the highway, the gas station, the tourist shops, the Alpine Coaster office, something, anything. But nothing. Just trees.
I forced back some panic for the first time. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The ride zoomed along. I counted to 60. I counted to 60 again. And again. Okay this was getting uncomfortably harder and harder to explain.
Suddenly I noticed that up ahead the track seemed to just end, for one brief, terrible moment I thought the track just ended but I was wrong. Almost without warning the track dipped in an almost vertical drop. I almost screamed as I plummeted for 20, maybe 30 seconds before flattening out again.
By this point the voice in my head that was telling me something was wrong was louder and I could no longer tell myself it was wrong. This ride could not have been this long. I tried to make sense of it, wondering if somehow I had gotten diverted onto some kind of maintenance track or, hell for one brief irrational moment even entertaining the idea that I had wound up on an actual train track somehow. But that was absurd. The rail below me was not a train track, it was still just the simple, aluminum rail of an alpine coaster and there had been no diversions or junctions in the track. I was still on the ride, as insane as that was starting to feel. Had the ride somehow looped? Again after having the thought I immediately dismissed it as crazy. There’s no way I could have missed the ride building where I got on. And what kind of ride loops over and over?
The sled zoomed through the forest, oddly never seeming to lose speed despite the relatively flat grade of the track. I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car and not wearing a watch. I don’t know exactly how long I had been on the ride at that point but it felt like I had been on the ride for a half hour, maybe more. But time is a funny thing when you’re in a situation you’ve never been in. Could have been more, could have been less, at that point.
My pride finally failed me. I started to scream for help. I screamed out that the ride was broken, to stop it, that I needed help. I did that for about ten minutes or so I think. The ride kept going. Mostly flat, level track with occasional mild dips and turns. But the simple length of the ride grew more and more unnerving and unexplainable.
I thought about just bailing out. But the ride, impossibly, was still not slowing down and chunks of mountain rock and thick tree trunks were all around me. Bailing out without risking smashing into a rock or a tree seemed impossible.
The ride kept going.
Up ahead the forest was clearing out some, I could see the forest brightening, more sunlight making it through the canopy.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The trees stopped and I had just enough time to take in a flat, open area of rock maybe 40, 50 yards at most before another sheer cliff. The tracks twisted and turned and then shot straight down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a moment, a very short moment, I had a clear view for miles and the landscape was, to be blunt, totally impossible. Any possibility that I had just stumbled on some incredibly long ride was blasted out of my head. Barren, volcanic looking rock stretched for miles. Jagged, black rocky outcroppings as far as the eye could see. I was in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. They don’t look like that.
I had a few moments for the terror of that view to settle in before the cart plunged into another horrifying drop. I gripped the handles of the cheap plastic sled until my knuckles turned white. The drop felt completely vertical, like I was falling at terminal velocity. I screamed. My stomach dropped and turned. I imagined the sled coming away from the track and me just plummeting screaming to my death on the rocks below. But somehow the ride still functioned. I closed my eyes tightly and just waited for whatever was going to happen. Eventually after several what felt like a full minute of steep plunging the track again leveled out, and I opened my eyes to see myself moving at breakneck speed over that black, rocky landscape.
Now that I was moving on a more or less flat horizontal track again I took a few deep breaths. I looked over the edge of the track. Nothing but that black, jagged rock, almost looking like obsidian, zooming past. I had no idea how fast the sled was moving now. Fast. Faster than a gravity powered sled should be moving. And the track was higher off the ground now. Alpine slides usually stick pretty close to the ground, but I was 20 feet or so in the air, the track suspended in the air, a simple metal tube tower like a power pylon every few yards.
Without any immediate threat and the sled moving fast but steadily and level I was able to think about my situation again, for all the good that did me. Ahead of me the track just continued to the horizon, nothing but the same rocky landscape as far as I could see. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and looked back behind me and it looked the same. Even the mountains were but distant specs on the horizon behind me.
This was insane. There’s not a giant seemingly endless field of black jagged rock in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. There’s no cliff faces tall and steep enough for a multi-minute vertical drop. And alpine coasters were small affairs, not major engineering projects that span miles with pylons and vertical tracks. It made no sense.
Sadly it wasn’t going to start making any more sense anytime soon.
The ride kept going.
I was on this rocky landscape for several hours. I feel comfortable saying this because I could actually notice the sun getting lower in the sky. And the sled wasn’t slowing down despite the grade of the track being flat. I was getting cramped from sitting and stretched my legs and twisted my back as best I could. Didn’t do much help. My eyes were starting to get irritated from the constant wind in them. Worst of all it was starting to get chilly. I only had on a light jacket, a windbreaker, just something to keep the breeze off me, no real insulation. I was cold, my joints were stiff, I was hungry and thirsty. My eyes watered and my throat was so dry it was sore.
But none of that was as bad as just how little sense this all made. There’s nothing like this place anywhere near the Smoky Mountains. This was like some volcanic rock landscape. The more I thought about it the less sense it made.
The ride kept going.
My mind didn’t even try to process this. Whatever I was experiencing simply couldn’t be possible. I was crazy. I was dreaming. The CIA had kidnapped me and dosed me with some new version of LSD and I was in a straightjacket in a padded room at Area 51.
The sled kept zooming along as the sky turned to dusk. Soon the bridge disappeared from my view and I continued on along the endless, rocky, featureless landscape.
I sat back against the sled, mentally and physically numb. I was exhausted. I was thirsty. I was cramping up. I was hungry. I had to pee. I held it for as long as I could, then had no choice but just wet myself. I cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat there.
The ride kept going.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon my throat felt like sandpaper. I dug around in my jacket pockets hoping to find a stick of gum or piece of candy. Nothing. I checked again, having nothing else to do. Under a crumpled store receipt in the inner pocket of my jacket was a single old, forgotten cough drop. I unwrapped it from the paper and popped it in my mouth. Saliva flooded back into my mouth and I was overwhelmed by the methanol and medicine taste. It was something at least, although I knew it would be a brief and temporary fix at best.
I felt my eyes get heavy. It was getting colder. That mountain cold. That deep cold the mountains have even into the early spring when the sun goes down. That kind that just pulls the heat right out of you. I shivered. A terrible, horrible certainty came to me. I would ride until I passed out from exhaustion or the hypothermia set in. My body would tumble off the sled to fall and skip across the rocky ground like a stone skipping across a lake, my bones breaking as I tumbled until my body finally came to a stop. If I was lucky I would be killed and not have to lie for days, broken and bruised, on the ground until death took me.
The ride kept going. The ride kept going. The fucking ride kept going.
“Fuck you” I said to the ride, my voice a horse whisper. I pulled my jacket closer around me, for all the good it did. The cold wind was slowly but surely pulling my body heat away. My shivering got worse, crossing the line from a simple normal shiver into those deep, almost violent full body ones.. I wasn’t anything you could call an experienced outdoorsman, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t a good sign.
It was getting dark. There was a full moon at least so I wasn’t totally in the dark.
About then I noticed something. The landscape, what little I could see in the fading light, was changing. It was smoothing out, becoming less rocky and craggy. Up ahead an odd, shimmering light was starting to appear on the ground.
I was over it before I even realized what it was. The tracks were going over a smooth surface.
Water. It was a lake. The odd lights I had seen were the moon, reflected in ripples on the lake.
Within minutes I was out of the view of the land. After the nearly endless rocky landscape and everything else I had seen, it scared me how little I was shocked. I didn’t like how mentally numb I was getting. I leaned over. There was enough moonlight to see the water, 15 or 20 feet below the track. The pylons holding up the track went into the water, the light wasn’t good enough to even make a guess at how far they went down or how deep the water was.I leaned back in the sled. My eyes were red and bloodshot from the constant wind. I closed them. This was a mistake.I jerked awake. I don’t know if I dozed off for a split second or an hour. My weight had shifted and I caught myself as my center of gravity was in danger of sending me off the sled and into the water.
I screamed in anger. A deep primal scream. I hurt so bad. My joints felt like they were full of glass. My limbs were full of pins and needles. I glanced over at the water. For the first time on the very edges of my brain a tiny voice started to speak up, telling me that I could be all over if I just jumped. I shut the voice up, but it scared me still.
I sat there as the ride went on. It felt like hours. Eventually the lake ended in a rocky shore line. The damned ride. There was no safe place to bail out. If the ride slowed down, it was high in the air, if it moved toward the ground it sped up. Sharp rocks, big trees, nothing you could safely bail out into.
I kept having to force myself awake. I kept dozing off. Once I felt myself falling asleep and drove a vicious uppercut into my own nose to stave it off.
I seriously started to think about how much longer I could hang on. The voice came back again. This time I didn’t shut it up. I wasn’t admitting it to myself yet, but I was starting to think about the best way to land that would end it quickly if I needed to.
Something was ahead. The track seemed to dip into the ground. I was too tired, too beaten to even get scared. I was just resigned to whatever happened at this point.
With little warning the track took my sled into a tunnel in the ground. Everything went completely pitch black. After several moments even the dim moonlight was gone.
This was the worst part. The creepy forest, the immense rocky landscape, the eerie lake… those were bad. But this was just nothing. Nothing to look at, nothing to hear, nothing for reference or sense of where I was going. The walls of the tunnel felt like they were inches from me in every direction. The air felt thick, like there wasn’t enough oxygen.
With every moment I was in that tunnel I lost a little more hope. After a long, long time I made a decision. When I got out of this tunnel, I would jump. I didn’t care anymore. Hopefully there would be a spot where I could be certain the fall would instantly kill me. I was done. The ride had beaten me. I sat there, waiting for a chance to end this on my terms. That was all I had left.
Eventually up ahead, a tiny speck of light appeared. I gathered my strength, ready to end it. I sat up, getting my legs under me so I could jump as soon as we were clear. The sled burst out of the tunnel. The dim light of the full moon was enough to be momentarily blinding after the pitch black of the tunnel.. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust.
I was back in a normal looking Appalachian forest. Rolling hills, green trees. The air smelled of pine again. I heard an owl hoot off somewhere.
Slowly I lowered myself back into a setting position, in shock. At first I refused to believe it but the ride was slowing down. I held still, making sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, but no, the cheap plastic sled that had been my world for what felt like an eternity was slowing down.
Up ahead, a structure was visible, peeking out from among the trees in the dim lighting as the sled moved down the track.
It was the Alpine Slide building. The crappy fake red barn where I had boarded this cursed ride so long ago. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure it was either my mind or the cursed ride playing tricks with me. But the building stayed there.
It grew closer and closer. The track leveled completely out. The sled slowed down more. Before I had the time to really come to terms with it I arrived back at the building.
The sled slowed to a stop, gently pumping against another sled parked on the track. I sat there for a few moments, gasping in great big gulping fear breaths, trying to assure myself the ride didn’t have one last trick of its sleeve.
I looked around. The place was empty, deserted. The overhead lights were still on and the old Pepsi machine still glowed and buzzed, but the ticket booth was dark and empty, a metal gate pulled down over the ticket window.
Suddenly it hit me that I was free and I practically leapt out of the sled and onto the platform. I immediately collapsed. My legs were jelly and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up again and doubled over, dry heaving. Have you ever been out on a boat for a day and have that weird reverse motion sickness when you’re back on solid land? It was like that times a hundred. My inner ear was literally pounding, all the motion had really done a number on it.
I laid there for a few moments and eventually forced myself to stand up on my two wobbling legs. I looked around, a horrible certainty creeping into my mind that there would be no exit, no way off the platform but to my relief an exit turnstyle, one of those full height ones, was set into the fence that surrounded the ride property.
I went through it and found myself back on the main road. The truckstop was still there, still open but far less busy. My car sat in the same corner of the parking lot I had left it.
I allowed myself one look back, just one quick one. The metal skeleton of the Alpine Slide track sat there, dark and quiet but otherwise normal.
I stumbled-ran back to my car, dug the keys out of my pocket, and collapsed inside. When the door shut I let out a primal scream, the tons of fear and confusion and anger all fusing into a single, raw emotion. I screamed again and again.
After a few moments I felt like I was emotionally at least back to a place where I could act, although I wasn’t sure yet what to do next. Not really knowing what to do I cranked the car. The A/C had been on low when I shut off the car and it came roaring back to life and cold air blowing on me almost sent me back into a full on panic attack. I fumbled with the climate controls until the air stopped blowing directly on me, then calmed down enough to turn the heat on, helping to get the chill out of my bones. There was a half full bottle of water in the center console cup holder and I grabbed it and chugged it. Nothing ever tasted as good before or sense as that few ounces of water.
That was when I noticed the clock on the radio head unit. It was 4:17 in the morning. It had been about one, one thirty or so in the afternoon when I got on the accursed ride.
Over 15 hours. I had been on the goddamn ride for over 15 hours. Over half a day.
I just sat there. Warming up. Calming down. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I can’t even describe how my head felt. I probably had at least a minor case of hypothermia. I thought about going into the gas station and asking for help but what would I even say, and more than anything I just wanted to get away from this place. And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to be nowhere near that damn ride.
I put the Camaro in gear and pulled into the street and in panic I immediately slammed on the brakes. I was lucky there was no traffic on the road at that moment. The feeling of accelerating to just normal surface street speeds made me sick to my stomach. I gathered myself and very slowly accelerated the car I usually treated with a very heavy foot up to 30 miles an hour. Every time I tried to accelerate at a pace faster than “Old Lady Going to Church, Uphill” I would have a panic attack. I was okay once I was up to speed, but accelerating freaked me out after being on that ride.
I drove about 30 minutes, putting some arbitrary amount of distance between myself and the coaster. Eventually I made it back to where the twisty mountain road met back up with a major road that would eventually meet back up with the highway. After a few more minutes of driving I saw the onramp for the highway. There was one of those big truckstop travel plazas and pulled in, parking right up at the door. I smelled like pee and I can only imagine how I looked, but I didn’t care.
I kept a couple of emergency 20s in the back of my wallet and spent it on the biggest bottle of water the store had, an overpriced bottle of eye drops, and a huge travel mug of coffee. The clerk looked at me as if he was expecting me to either drop dead or rob him the entire time.
Back in my car I downed the coffee. I put a few eye drops in each of my eyes and sat there as the caffeine took effect until I felt like I could make it back to my apartment. The sun was just coming up when I finally pulled out of the truck stop and got on the freeway. I slowly, very slowly, accelerated up to highway speed, put the Camaro in cruise control, and let the miles start to drift away. I turned on the radio, I needed to hear human voices. Every time my mind went back to what had just happened I turned the radio up louder, eventually drowning it out with painful levels of rock music. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. Yes looking back I know I was just in denial. I finally made it back to the crappy little apartment I had off campus, a little two story walk up studio. I let myself in and collapsed on the cheap couch. I was asleep before I even had the time to decide whether or not to do anything else. I woke up later that afternoon. I took a shower and ate a meal and didn’t think about the ride. I washed the pee stained filthy clothes I had been wearing and didn’t think about the ride. I went back to class and didn’t think about the ride. Every time I thought about the ride I forced it out of my head. I’m sure this wasn’t the most mentally healthy thing to do but what can you say?
I didn’t forget about it, don’t be silly. This isn’t the kind of thing you forget. One day while looking up something else in the university’s library my curiosity got the better of me and I looked up the Alpine Slide. No website but a few Google Map and Yelp mentions. None of them mentioned anything weird, certainly nothing even remotely like what I experienced. Near as I can tell it closed sometimes in the winter of 2012.
Life went on. I mean, that’s what it does. The next day was a little better. And the day after that a little better. And the day after that a little better still. I met a nice girl. Graduated. Got married. Got a nice house in the suburbs. Got a dog. Had a daughter. Spent a lot of time happy and not thinking about being trapped on an endless alpine coaster.And that was my life for many, many years after that.
Until a few weeks back when as a very different person I found myself driving a boring and safe mid sized family SUV through those same mountains. My wife Carol, 5 months pregnant, sat in the passenger seat, our 6 year old daughter Emily in a booster seat in the back, and Max our mixed breed mutt next to her. It had been a nice pleasant trip, driving back from visiting her folks.
I hadn’t thought about that fucking ride in so long I barely registered that I was in the same general area until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that little mountain tourist trap town was only a few minutes down the road. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel hard. Carol was looking out the window at the scenery and Emily was deep into some kid’s Youtube video on an iPad. I forced myself to keep my breath steady as we rounded the corner.The town was still there, sorta. Time had not been kind to it. The gas station was still there, at some point it had been bought out by Shell. The tourist trap shops were still there. One of them was now a vape shop. The diner was closed, the building looking like it sat unused for a long time.
But of course that’s not what I cared about. A looked over at the site where the Alpine Coaster once stood. It was gone. The kitschy fake barn was gone. The site was just a bare concrete slab with a chainlink fence around it. Faded “no trespassing” and “for sale” signs hung off the fence. A pile of old, decaying lumber that might have once long ago been part of the structure covered part of the old lot. No sign of the track remained outside of some old concrete support posts dotting the side of the mountain.
I exhaled out a breath I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in. Soon the little town disappeared in my rear view mirror.
About a half hour later we stopped for gas. I pulled up to a gas pump across from a massive motorhome. Max stuck his head out the window and started barking at a little white dog, a toy breed of some kind, in the window of the motorhome. Carol and Emily immediately headed into the store to restock on snacks while I fueled up.
I stood there, a half smile on my lips as Max barked and wagged his tail in an attempt to attract the attention of the other dog while I filled up the tank, said dog doing an admirable job of ignoring him.
Right about the time I finished fueling up and cleaning the bugs off the windshield Carol returned from inside the store, Emily in tow, arms filled with two full sized bags of Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and what looked to be a half dozen individually wrapped pickles.
I raised an eyebrow at the collection of food but knew better than to question a pregnant woman's snack choices.
“Should we take Max for a quick walk?” Carol asked. The travel plaza had a nice little gated dog walking area off to the side.
“Yeah probably not a bad idea, he’s been cooped up in the car for a few hours.” I said. Max, upon hearing his name and the word “walk” , forgot about the other dog and upgraded from wagging his tail to wagging his entire body while making whining sounds and staring right at me.
About this time I became half aware that the big motor home next to us was pulling away. I didn’t think much of it, outside of doing a quick automatic mental check to make sure Emily was well clear of the moving vehicle, but she was safely between me and our SUV, well out of the way.
But that was when Emily looked behind me and cheerfully yelled “Daddy look a roller coaster! Can I ride the coaster?”
It’s cliche as fuck I know but my blood went cold.
I turned around slowly, certain in my knowledge that terrible old decrepit Alpine Coaster would be there, having just popped into existence to trap me again.
That.. is not what I saw. Sure enough there was a coaster there, one I hadn’t noticed earlier because it had mostly been blocked by the motor home, but there it was. It was even an Alpine Coaster.
But it was not the same coaster I had encountered those years ago. That was immediately obvious. It was a small but modern and newish looking setup with neon lights and a bunch of people. There was an actual building where you bought tickets and a little snack stand.
“Daddy! Can we go on the coaster!” Emily asked again.
My mouth made motions but no words came out. I glanced over at Carol, hoping she’d say we didn’t have time but to my horror she smiled and said “You know what? That does sound like fun. Daddy will take you while I take Max for a walk.”
My mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of it. But Emily was already dragging me across the parking lot to the entrance.
I patted my pocket, making sure my phone was in it. Every fiber of my being was screaming to run away. I slept walked through the line and the ticket booth while Emily bounced happily.
We got into a two seat plastic sled. This one was actually a lot nicer than the one my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. It had two nice cushioned seats, big grab handles, even a nice rollbar.
The sled started up the track. I fought back the panic. I swerved my head around, keeping the building in my view. I was terrified of losing sight of it. We made it to the top and Emily did a happy squeal as we started down the side of the mountain.
My heart raced. Any second, any second my mind told me we’d lose sight of the building and then the ride would never end. The ride sped down the mountain. My mind tortured me with thoughts of not only going through it again, but seeing Emily go through it. The ride went around a big, banking turn. Emily kept shouting happily. How long before Carol reported us missing I wondered? Could I keep Emily calm? What if it lasted even longer this time? What if this time it never ended?
And then we were back at the start of the ride. The same attendant who had helped us into the sled was helping Emily out. I stepped out. The attendant gave me a brief look but said nothing. I guess I looked a little wild eyed.
I was fine. Emily was fine. It had been a perfectly normal, fun ride.
“That was fun Daddy! Thank you!” Emily said. I forced a smile back. “It was fun.” I responded, hoping like I sounded like I meant it.
I took Emily’s hand and we walked back to the car. Max saw us coming and barked happily. Carol looked up from the pint of Ben and Jerry’s she had somehow acquired and added to her snack collection while we were gone and smiled at us.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“It was so fun Mommy!” Emily said.
Carol smiled down at her, but then looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay?” Carol could read my face a lot better than the attendant could. “You’re pale.”
I smiled and this time the smile felt real. “Ya know what. Yeah, I think I am okay.”
Carol looked a little puzzled, but didn’t press it. We loaded Emily back in her booster seat, stopped Max from trying desperately to eat half a discarded gas station hot dog off the ground and got him back in the car. Carol and her small collection of snack food took her place in the passenger seat and I got in the driver's seat.I smiled. I cranked the car. I put it in gear. I pulled out of the gas station and back on the road, this time accelerating just a little faster than I had in years.

Hello all, I’m looking at buying a new camera to upgrade from my 30d; I’m looking at the 50d and 60d since I’m already in the canon ecosystem and have a limited budget; the main reason I ask is build quality, I’ve heard that the 60d is a plastic body, unlike my 30d which I like how solid it feels. I’ve also held a 40d, 5d Mkiii and also like how nice those are (they’re both nicer than the 30d)
I do mostly car photography so I’ve been running into having difficulty getting the angles I want since the 30d doesn’t have live-view and thus I have to use the viewfinder; so both fill that, but I feel like the swivel screen of the 60d might help even more than the fixed of the 50d, but not sure to what extent, I’d be interested to hear from anyone who has a swiveling screen.
Another reason I want to upgrade is because I want a higher res/sharper camera; the 30d is decent enough, but I’ve considered starting to print photos of peoples’ cars, so I want a good image; is the image quality an appreciable difference between the 50d and 60d?
I’ve considered buying the 50d and then upgrading to a 70d or newer in a few years as well, but I’m not sure if that’s very wise.
Any opinion on both the 50d and 60d is welcome, and if anyone can compare one of the 3 camera mentioned (30d, 50d, 60d) I would really appreciate it.

I have gotten by far 3 grand mal seizure that started first a year ago then September and then October and only one Nocturnal. Today in the morning it felt like I was having a “esophagus cramp” like the feeling that from my heart up vibrates like if you have a plastic bottle filled with liquid and hit it at a corner were the bottle start to vibrate which is exactly how my body feels like, I can’t really talk and I have to flop my arms and hands like a idiot struggling to make me awake and sometimes have to do weird noises were it almost also feel like that my body is trying to avoid any oxygen to make me pass out and flop like a fish. And I would rate this like 8,5/10 since it is really scary were I have to constantly punch away my epileptic demon inside my brain because I know then that could be at anytime were the whole floppy fish show begins (TC Grand Mal Seizure)
I know that this happens every time before all of my grand mal TC were I do bunch of floppy moves and bunch of metallic scream. But I wonder what seizure could it possibly be? Because I sometimes have the same thing but only in like 10 second or less were it isn’t really that extreme were I can talk and get air but the only thing that’s happens is the vibration feeling and the esophagus thing but minor like a scale 4-6/10 were I have to move my arms/hands and sometimes have to hum a little bit while the other it feels like I have to fight for my life or else it is game over.
So I would appreciate if you have a similar feeling and what seizure it is so summary I’ll write my symptoms on the “light” which a get quite often (almost every day) if it even is a seizure overall. And then the life or death one.
Light one: A little bit dizzy/a weak vibrating feeling from my upper torso up til the head. Can hear what people say but don’t understand what they mean. During while they talk I also do hear the same person while they’re talking say a bunch of random words (which they don’t say in the non epileptic world I am in). Can’t literally not read at all for about a minuet or so like I literally CANNOT read a single word I see.
This happens for like 10sec or even some times a millisecond when it almost feels like a hiccup of all that above but I “recover” easily and fast like 3-5sec
The extreme one:
I get the same dizziness that quickly change into the vibration I get (like the same vibrating feeling when you hit that specific spot of your knee were it vibrates and hurt like hell but without the pain). Then the esophagus comes in but it gets stronger and it feels like my throat are closing together. (During that time I can quickly do something to alert my surrounding that the bomb can explode at anytime) I cannot speak at that time so I have to sign by either making noise like: “ehm” etc or use my hands. When the surrounding is close to me as possible I have to make the weird noises(sometimes) and try to focus on my breath and try to be as alert as possible and stay awake. At that time is the post struggling part since I ca loose the fight at any point
This takes about 30-1 minute I think since I’m not aware about time nor words at all. Were I try to block out all noises I can hear to concentrate to breath and try to stay awake
So basically the light one feels like a downfall from a roller coaster while the “big” one feels like you’re jumping from a cliff as high as mt Everest and hope that you chose the right para shoot and not the unusable one.
Would be glad to hear if you have any thoughts on what type of seizure I experience/have. I think maybe focal but I’m not quite sure since I haven’t heard from anyone here on how they are experiencing their seizure and how they know it is “that” type of seizure they have. It would really calm me down if somebody do know most likely on what type of seizure I experience/have experienced.
And could you guys give some tips on what to do during those day to make my brain rest (since sleeping can be hard sometimes). It could be something that you do to relax that also can help me. I hade these huge ones two times today, during the morning and one a few minutes before bed. Give some tips. Stay safe and take care everybody<3

I NEED TO BE HURT PLEASE
TEAR ME APART AND BUILD ME ANEW, MAKE ME FEEL SOMETHING, LET ME FINALLY LEARN HOW TO CRY AGAIN RATHER THAN BOTTLE IT IN
RIP MY MIND, TEAR MY SKIN, HURT ME PLEASE SO I CAN FEEL SOMETHING DIFFERENT RATHER THAN THIS
PLEASE PAINT ME IN YOUR IMAGE SO I CAN BE THE WORST OR BEST I CAN BE, PLEASE LET ME BE WORSE SO YOU CAN FINALLY SEE ME
HURT ME PLEASE, JUST DESTROY ME TEAR EACH BIT RUTHLESSLY AND LEAVE ME WORTH NOTHING BUT SEE ME AS SOMETHING ELSE
I HAVE A MOUTH BUT I CANNOT SCREAM I HAVE EYES BUT I CANNOT CRY I HAVE A VOICE BUT I CANNOT SPEAK I HAVE HANDS BUT I CANNOT HOLD I HAVE A HEART THAT CAN'T STOP SPILLING FOR ONE'S IT SHOULDN'T
BUILD ME ANEW OR SOMETHING PLEASE

Hi there, so I have quit sugar several times, the last time was when I did the Whole 30 from nov 2022 to April 2023. I noticed that I started to get too thin and was losing muscle. I began watching YT videos on strength training and body building content where they strongly advocate eating sugars (often process sugars like cereal) post work out to "get bigger" and replenish your glycogen stores post workout. This led me down a dark path with sugar and by October 2023 I was back to overeating sugar. I steadily binged on sugar from Oct 2023 to current, with today being day two of no added sugar. I would eat chocolate candies at the office, eat several granola bars (fig bars), then stopped at the grocery store and get pastries for dinner. I stopped eating most fruits, veg, and protein and would just eat sugar all day. I know how bad this is.
I have a history of alcoholism and I quit drinking in 2018 when I found out I was accepted into Master's program and was getting my life together. What currently prevents me from drinking is knowing that if I pick up the bottle, I would lose everything. I wouldn't be able to work and support myself and my drinking would absolutely culminate in my losing my license and everything I have worked so hard for. I know this mentality doesn't work for everyone, but it works for me, I follow the "only one drop" recovery model and yes I know some view this as a self fulfilling prophecy, however it works for me. With sugar, it's doesn't have the same gravity and it can be easy to justify. If I pick up a hersey's kiss it likely won't culminate in me losing everything, therefore I need help thinking of what I have to lose if I relapse on sugar. I think about being so grumpy and depressed that it's hard to function and I could eventually start missing work, I think of diabetes, heart disease, losing limbs, I think of how I isolate when I feel self conscious, fat and bloated, I think of money wasted on sugar, how sick and sad I feel after sugar, but I feel like I am missing something. What are your whys for quitting and sustaining your sobriety? Is there something I am missing?

Back in 2016, I was working at a roadside diner west of St. Cloud, Minnesota. Neat little place, had a bit of a 60’s vibe to it, but without the hairdo. On the slow hours of the day, or whenever we just had locals around, I’d be humming along with the chefs playing radio out of the kitchen. It wasn’t an exciting time, but it was nice to have a workplace that felt like a second home.
A couple of weekends a month, we had an all-night crew to serve passing truckers. You usually never had to do more than one shift though, and we got to make own schedules. Our boss was pretty hands-off. It was during one of those shifts, at the first week of early summer, that my life took a turn for the worse – and I didn’t even realize it.

We were used to having the occasional odd customer during those hours of the day. When this guy walked in, I didn’t know what to think. He was about 6’2, bald, and pale as chalk. He wore this worn-out t-shirt that looked like it’d been on fire. With every step, he dragged his feet, and collapsed in one of our booths, seemingly exhausted.
I looked back at the chef, and he just shrugged. Guy wasn’t hurting anyone, but he didn’t look like he was all there. But a job’s a job, so I went up to him.
“You alright there?” I asked.
He looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, then sunk his head back down, gently shaking it.
“Nah,” he said. “I, uh… I don’t think I am.”
He had this voice on the knife’s edge between a hysterical laugh and a howling cry. He was trembling.
“You need me to call someone?”
“Call?”
“Yeah, call someone.”
“How?”

I didn’t understand the question. I figured he was coming down from some kind of binge, and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I asked the chef to get me a side of bacon to keep the guy calm while I called the police.
As I slid the plate over to him, he sunk his face into his hands, sobbing.
“T-thank you,” he cried. “I-I’m… please…”
I sat down across from him, instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. He let me. Even at a light touch, I could feel the scars on his palm and fingertips. Whatever’d happened to him, it must’ve been awful.
“I can’t go back,” he sniffled. “Don’t make me go back. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s okay,” I smiled. “You’re safe here.”
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you keep him out?”
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I nodded. “Just eat up. It’s okay.”

His fingers trembled as he tentatively bit off a piece of bacon. His teeth were black, and he flinched.
“I need time,” he said. “I need time to run.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ve called for help.”
“I just… I just need time.”
We just sat there for a while. He calmed his breathing but kept staring out the window. I could tell he was looking for something – or someone. All I could see was a road and a handful of moths. We sat there for some time, in silence, as he carefully nibbled on the slices of maple bacon.
As two police officers entered the diner, he got up from his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of scrunched-up trash. A couple of singles, a plastic card, dirt, and something resembling animal bones. He tried to straighten out the bills, pushing them into my hands along with the laminated card.
“Just… I need time. I’ll come back. Please.”
I didn’t understand. I just nodded and accepted it. Seconds later, the officers asked him to step outside and explain the situation. I got busy taking orders from a couple of passing truckers, watching glimpses of the scene through the window. A couple of minutes later, the strange man was taken away.

My shift ended at sunrise. I dragged myself to my car with a yawn, shuffling around my pockets for the keys. I hadn’t thought much about the items he’d handed me, but I took a closer look. I’d thrown away the animal bones and dirt, but there were a couple of dollar bills and that laminated card left. I checked the card first.
It looked like some kind of bookmark. On one side it was completely white, and on the other side there were dried blue flower petals arranged in a spiral. Kinda reminded me of a sunflower. And finally, there were the dollar bills.
I didn’t pay much attention to these at first. Just a couple of singles. But after a closer look, I noticed something unusual. There was a man on the bill that I didn’t recognize. It took me a couple of google searches to realize that this man was Walter Mondale – the man who’d lost to Ronald Reagan’s second run for president back in ’84. Why was this man on a one-dollar bill?

Before heading to bed, I put the items down on my nightstand. In a moment of silent wonder, I looked out the window. What had that man been looking for? What’d he been running from?
There was nothing out there.
Just a couple of moths.

Waking up the next morning, I had a full day off. I spent it cleaning my apartment, watching movies, having dinner with a couple of friends, and ending the night with a couple of drinks at the pub down on the corner. No binge or anything, just got a bit boozy. I was still gonna be in bed by midnight.
I took the scenic route home; a long walk. All the way down main street, past the lake. I took a shortcut through the park by the final stretch, speeding up a bit. That place was trouble.
As I hurried by the fountain, I spotted someone in the distance. A shrouded figure at the edge of the streetlights. I stopped to observe for a second, but as I did, the lights flickered. Coming back on, the figure was gone.
I chalked it up to imagination. I was a bit drunk, after all. Besides – it was small, like a child. What the hell would a kid be doing out at this hour?

A couple of days passed. I didn’t notice anything unusual, but I kept coming back to that distressing feeling of missing something important. Looking back at it now, I just feel dumb. He was there all along. Outside the supermarket. In the parking lot. Off the highway. Hell, he was outside my window at night sometimes, but just too short for me to spot.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
It wasn’t until one morning when I was driving to work that I got a clear view of him. I was crossing a four-way street, taking a sharp left turn, when I had to throw myself on the breaks. There was a kid in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him that clearly before. He was probably around 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of light blue canvas pants. Short black hair, dark eyes, and no shoes. That particular detail stuck with me. No shoes? Why?
I almost lost control, but I was lucky. There wasn’t much traffic, and I managed to stop further down the road. There were black lines in the pavement from my screeching tires swerving back and forth. Regaining my composure, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The kid was gone.

But that was just the start.
I’d spot him every now and then. Looking out the window at work. At the gas station. A passing face in the crowd when shopping for groceries. Every now and then, something would pull on my attention, forcing me to whip my head around, looking for the source of that ill feeling crawling up my spine. Sometimes I saw him. And even worse – sometimes I didn’t.
I remember lying awake at night, hearing moths tap against my window. There was nothing else. Nothing outside. I patrolled my apartment six times, checking every window. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. I was growing paranoid.
And yet, in the morning, my front door was unlocked, and slightly open.

It all came to a head one afternoon when I was out on my smoke break. I’d barely slept for the past three nights, and you could kinda tell I was having a bad day. As I stood there, leaning against the side door of the diner, I see the kid again. This time just across the road, maybe 50 feet or so away. I’d had enough. This had to end.
I was furious. I stormed forward, calling him out with every slur and curse I could think of. I was psyching myself up. I was in the right, and I refused to be harassed anymore – kid or not. Didn’t matter. I crossed the road, barely dodging a speeding jeep, and met him face-to-face.
“What the hell do you want?!” I’d yell. “Why are you following me?!”
He was completely expressionless. He didn’t even flinch, no matter how much I pointed or screamed. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me, like a porcelain doll head on a swivel.

I wasn’t thinking about the bystanders though. A couple of middle-aged men stepped up, asking in no kind terms what the hell was wrong with me. I was held back and restrained. Someone called the police. Someone else called my manager – I’d forgotten to take off my apron, so they could see the diner logo. A couple of people filmed it. One of the videos got like 120k views in a day before it fell off the map. I still see it as a react gif sometimes.
It was a disaster. After a couple of officers came by to talk to me, he’d just disappeared into thin air. The officers took me down to the station – not to detain me, but to get me away from the heated crowd. That car ride downtown sobered me up to what the hell was going on. I was being stalked by this kid, but there wasn’t a living soul out there that would believe me.
Well, maybe one.
Maybe.

I was asked a couple of questions and released within about half an hour. They told me to go home and sleep this whole thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t have a job to go back to anyway, according to the (many) texts I’d gotten. I had all the goddamn time in the world.
I was just about to leave when something came to mind. The two officers who’d picked me up were still waiting by their car when I turned back to them.
“Sorry, you picked up the guy I called in about at the diner, right?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“You got any idea what happened to him?”
The two looked at one another for a moment, shrugged, and turned to me.
“Didn’t have any ID and gave a fake name. I think they took him to psych.”
“Psych?”
“Well, he was saying some, uh… strange things. There were interviews with a, uh…”
The two quieted down and flashed me a smile.
“There’s not that much we can say.”

Coming home, I decided to get to the root of this. It didn’t take me that long to find the place where the guy’d been taken; there aren’t a lot of mental health facilities in this part of the country. Especially facilities that accept involuntary subjects.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the strange dollar bills he’d given me, resting neatly on my nightstand. They were so detailed. A bit old, sure, but that only made them seem more genuine. What the hell was he doing with a handful of clearly fake dollar bills? Like, what’s the purpose? There had to be a purpose.
That unnerved me.

I managed to arrange a meeting. It wasn’t easy, and I think a lot of it boiled down to the police having no idea what could make this guy talk. For some reason, he kept providing them with false information. Maybe a familiar face, for one reason or another, might make him talk.
Just a couple of days later, I was putting my items in a metal bowl on the second floor at a mental health institute in the next town over. I asked one of the nurses if I could keep one of my dollar bills. Apparently, that was okay.
I was shuffled through a couple of locked doors and escorted to an off-white side-room. No décor, no locks. The guy was already there.

He’d been dressed down into these neutral eggshell-white garbs. It was strange seeing him in a lit-up room like this. I didn’t know what to expect.
Getting a closer look at him, he was probably in his 50’s. It’d been hard to tell earlier. I couldn’t get over just how pale he was; it was almost a complete lack of pigment. It looked sickly. His thin arms didn’t help – he looked malnourished. And yet, he was smiling.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello to you too,” I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
I sat down across from him and took out the dollar bill he’d given me.
“I wanted to ask you about this.”
“For the bacon,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not enough?”
“No, it’s…”
I took a moment to compose myself. I had too many questions.

He sighed, took the bill, and looked it over. Looking back at me, I could tell there was something painful stirring in his mind. His smile slowly faded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I try to forget sometimes. It’s easier than making sense of it.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” I nodded. “Like… your name. Where you’re from.”
“Those things are pretty far from simple.”
He was looking straight through me; his eyes sinking back to deeper, more uncomfortable thoughts.

His name was Samuel, and he was born around these parts in back in the 1970’s. He’d worked as a telecommunications specialist out of St. Cloud back in the 90's. He had a wife, three children, and a four-bedroom house.
“But it… that was all before, see?” he explained. “Then it all just…”
“Just what?” I asked. “What happened?”
He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth, looking for the right words to come out. Nothing happened. He shook his head, trying again.
“It started with the street preachers,” he said. “Hundreds of them, marching on every city. All saying the same doomsday shit as always. World was dying. All coming to an end.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Then there were storms,” he continued without skipping a beat. “Some would last for weeks. Others longer. Entire cities would be flooded or torn apart. Earthquakes causing monster waves along the east coast, sending shockwaves all the way to mainland Europe. Then, Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Lights out.”

Samuel was painting this apocalyptic vision of a world undone. Catastrophe after catastrophe. Hooded people marching the streets, screaming for the mercy of a mad god. But there was more to it.
“Then things stopped making sense. It’s as if the rules changed,” he continued. “Roads would stop leading home. Trees would change color. People turned twisted and corrupted. Like… one of our neighbors couldn’t eat anything but gunpowder. There was a woman just down the street who tried to kill anyone wearing glasses. It was… pandemonium.”
I didn’t say anything. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, but he was trying his best to keep his rambling coherent.
“The plants died. Trees too. The only thing that could grow in that environment were these twisted blue things that popped up out of nowhere. But people… people are what got twisted the most.”
He told me of these towering 7-foot-tall humanoid creatures that roamed the forests. Black as night – not even reflecting light. Arms reaching all the way to their knees. Elongated, inhuman things that all used to be someone he knew.

“The doomsayers all said the same thing,” he continued. “That God was a scared little boy, and that he was dying. Everything that was happening was just an expression of that ceaseless, bottomless, existential grief.”
Samuel looked back and forth, finally burying his face in his hands.
“It all broke down. Roads stopped leading anywhere. No power. No water. Julie changed. Ollie changed. Tobie made himself a mask and wandered off into the woods. Ira just… disappeared. And for… years? Has it been years? It’s just been me.”
“But you’re here, now,” I said. “And what you’re describing, it… it didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” he insisted. “Just not… here. But here.”
He tapped his finger on the single dollar bill.
“Somewhere, somehow, I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I slipped through something broken, and now I’m here. And… and he’s coming to bring me back. He doesn’t want anyone to leave.”
“Who?”
“Just! Just…” he chuckled. “Just a sad little boy who’s been told he’s going to die.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with him for a while, holding his hand.

Before I left, Samuel got up from his chair. He looked at me, forcing himself to smile.
“If I go back, I’ll try not to… to be like them. I’ll try. And… and I’ll be the one to say something.”
He let out a painful little laugh, shaking his head.
“Maybe just a… hello.”

I left that day with more questions than answers. I couldn’t picture the world he’d lived through. Then again, how could it be true? None of it had happened. But what was he gaining from lying about it?
That was the last time I saw Samuel. A few days later, he went missing, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. I didn’t know what to think of it. There was nothing on the cameras – no one entering or leaving the building. No quick escapes, no clever plans. He’d just walked into his room and disappeared. Nothing left but a couple of moths fluttering about.
And for a while, that was it. That was the end of the story. I got busy looking for a new job, and all the little items given to me by Samuel was put away into a little box in my glove compartment. Life soldiered on, and no matter how many questions I had, there was no one around to answer them. Even the strange kid that’d been following me was, seemingly, gone.

A couple of months later, I was driving home from a friend’s place. I stopped at a four-way street, waiting for a couple of trucks to pass, when there was a knock on the passenger side window. I almost choked on my own spit. Scared me half to death.
Looking out, I could see that kid again. I hadn’t seen him for some time, and I quickly bounced between curiosity and downright anger.
“What do you want?” I yelled out.
There was no response. Instead, the door just opened. It’d been locked. As he opened the door, he pointed to the glove box.
“You want his things?” I asked. “Is that it?”
He nodded. I wanted to lash out, but there was something telling me I shouldn’t. Instead, I reached over, opened the glove compartment, and pointed to the box.
“Just take it and leave me alone,” I said. “Get it over with.”

He reached in and grabbed the box. So much effort for a couple of mementos. I turned my head back to face the road. The kid backed out. But of course, I had to get the last word in.
“Not even a thank you, huh?”
That made him pause. He looked at me, tilting his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a moth fluttered out. Then another. And another.
Then – darkness.

What happened next is hard to describe. My memory of it is fragmented. It’s like trying to watch a buffering video, where long stretches of it are just nothing – but you know something was supposed to happen in-between.
Blink. I was sitting in my car. There was a dark blue sky. No clouds, no stars. Figures in the distance. An open field with blue flowers bending to a howling wind. A powerful stench of ammonia stinging my nostrils. Something to my immediate left, ripping the car door straight off the hinges.
Blink. Running. Ruins of a town. It seemed familiar, but there was barely anything left. My leg was bleeding. I was being followed. No matter where I turned, or where I ran, I seemed to end up at the same intersection.
Blink. A three-story building, brimming with life. Glimpses of arm-long antennae through the broken windows. Clickety-clack of bursting wings tapping against crumbling concrete. A loud warning shriek as something rubs its legs together; a call for prey.
Blink. Hiding in a tipped-over trash container. The rain has stopped in mid-air. Raindrops held in indefinite suspension. I suck water drops out of the air to quench my thirst. My hands are shaking from the blood loss.

Countless little images. Some in order, some not. I have no idea how much time passed. In the moment, it must’ve been much longer than I can remember. Days. Weeks, even. There’s no way to tell.
Blink. Walking through a barren field. It feels like walking through a dead forest, but there are no trees. Only those willingly impaled and wailing.
Blink. An abandoned booth by a broken highway. A sign offers phone calls, in exchange for “real teeth”. There are six sizes of pliers hanging on a wall within. All are bloodied – even the small ones.
Blink. The church that had burned down the night before had reappeared. The people inside, too. They couldn’t leave. Tonight, they would burn again.

Somewhere in this nightmarish puzzle-pieced fragment of nothing, there was a constant drive in me to get away. To get out. I knew that if I’d gotten there, I could get back home again. I just had no idea how. Maybe finding the kid. Asking. Begging. Something.
The last fragment of memory from that space was being cornered in a cellar. They were banging on the door. I’d tipped over a wardrobe to keep them out, but they weren’t going to stop. They were never going to stop. I couldn’t let them kill me again – not like that.
One of the Changed ones were coming. I don’t know what that means, or how I know the name, but I knew of it. There was a mirror, and I could see the signs. It stepped out. Seven feet tall, black as night. Elongated arms and neck. Barely a body at all – just a void space vaguely shaped like the remnants of a person.
Except this one felt… familiar. It was the first one to speak.
“H E L L O.”

Blink. Running. A cold hand. If I squeezed too hard, my fingers went straight through it. I had to keep up. He was showing me something.
Blink. They were flooding over the school bus, tipping it by their sheer numbers. Eruptions from the sewer grates. They were famished.
Blink. An open field. Sunflowers facing me, no matter where I turn. It’s not far.
Blink. I look back, as I’m pushed over the edge. He looks just like the rest of them. They aren’t angered by his betrayal.
They feel nothing, as I fall.

In February of 2017, I was found by the side of the road. I’d been gone for months. My car was too. I came back with nothing but the clothes on my back and countless scars. I’ve been told that I didn’t make any sense at first; I was just rambling nonsense. Or maybe it just sounded like nonsense to these people.
Over time, I forgot more and more of these fragmented images. And the less I remember, the more I can move on. Still, I’ve written them down over time, and they paint an ugly, insane picture of what I’d been going through. Some of which I, myself, have a hard time believing. Then again, I know myself well enough to see that there’s no point in lying.

I haven’t seen Samuel, or that strange kid ever since. I think this is all over, for now. There’s nothing left for me to give.
But even now, years later, I still wake up to that feeling at night. That there’s something wrong, or that I’m forgetting something. That there’s something near that I’m looking straight through, or past.
And every now and then, I hear the flutter of a moth’s wing, tapping against my bedroom window.
And I think I know what it wants.
It wants me to go back.