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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 241: Until Now
The doors to the Hartzwiese Adventurer’s Guild opened.
Before, the sound of raucous laughter could be heard flooding the street outside, filling the quiet of a spring night with all the debauchery the local drunkards had to offer.
Despite the halls of adventurers not being formal drinking establishments, those within were ready to compete in boisterousness with all the taverns, inns and pubs of the town combined. And also win. Handily.
And yet–
The moment the doors parted and I stepped within, a hush as quiet as any grave fell over its inhabitants.
A woman balancing with her derrière upon the head of another became still, the alcohol in her cup the only movement as it dribbled onto a stunned face below her.
A man slurping from the communal cauldron stared wordlessly, the stew pouring in, and then out of his mouth as the muscles of his throat forgot the means to swallow.
A bartender asleep upon a row of kegs quietly rose, the sudden din of silence waking him where the sound of debauchery and those drinking from the taps beside him had failed.
Here, there, and everywhere, eyes widened as the sudden silence was filled with the sounds of my footsteps as I strolled past, my loyal handmaiden and my brother’s attendant in my wake.
And also–
Mreow.
Mrewowow.
Meww.
Cats.
Tabby cats.
Calico cats.
Ragdoll cats.
Cats with twirly whiskers. Cats with puffy faces. Cats with slightly rounded ears.
Behind me, skipping around my legs while taking turns to sit upon my shoulders and very occasionally my head, were a legion of cats of various shapes, sizes and colours.
But no matter the springiness of their whiskers, the shine of their coat or the liveliness of their tails, one thing to bring them all together was the anarchy they caused.
This was no neat line of ducklings following after their mother.
This was a barbarian horde.
With no sense of organisation other than a shared drive to claim everything as their own, they immediately skipped amidst the stunned adventurers, scavenging for all the copious scraps while still turning their noses away from the alcohol forming sticky traps upon the floor.
Saying nothing, I allowed their demanding cries to fill up the hall as I swept forwards, pausing before a wall plastered from end to end with faded notices and requests long gone unanswered.
One by one, I systemically tore every request featuring a crudely drawn image of a cat, gathering into my arms a pile of parchment large enough to reach my chin.
Then, I made my way to the wooden desk.
A receptionist waited with a smile at the ready.
“Greetings! Welcome to the Hartzwiese branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. I see you’ve removed several notices from the–”
Poomph.
Silenced but unperturbed, this latest clone watched as I dropped the stack of requests onto her desk, before promptly topping off the stack with a copper ring.
“Do what must be done,” I said, my voice defiant. “I am ready.”
The receptionist answered me with a smile more permanent than the wall the notices were torn from.
A moment later–
“[Identify].”
A green hue appeared in her clasped palms as she assessed the ring.
“Juliette. B-rank. Your registered branch is Reitzlake.”
The sound of several cups clattered against the floor.
“Welcome again to Hartzwiese. I see from your commission history that you have an extraordinary amount of completions for recovering lost cats. May I assume the significant number of cats now roaming the branch hall relate to the notices removed from the wall?”
I pursed my quivering lips.
“Maybe.”
“Wonderful. And how many cats is it that you’ve rescued?”
“... Lots.”
“I see. Please give me a moment while I confirm the requirements of our commissions.”
The receptionist swiftly retrieved a stack of parchment from a drawer.
As she flicked through, her eyes simultaneously went to every cat roaming, napping and clawing in the hall. A skill not even monstrous overseers from the abyss with their dozens of eyestalks could match. But that’s only to be expected.
Wherever these receptionists were found, it was from a level deeper than any monster dared roam.
Eventually, she gave a nod.
“Thank you for waiting. There appears to be an excess of cats in relation to the number of commissions we have available. We’ll endeavour to ensure that every cat is rehomed at the earliest opportunity through our partner agencies and charities. But unfortunately, I can only provide official acknowledgement for cats rescued through a formal commission.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that patience was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.
“Fine. And how many commissions does that end up being, then? … 10? 15?”
The receptionist flicked through her bundle of parchments once more.
“94.”
“... Excuse me?”
“I can confirm the successful completion of 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions. Congratulations. This is a new record, breaking what appears to be one earlier set by yourself. A remarkable achievement befitting a B-rank member of the guild.”
The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered.
I thought that would be the worst of it.
But then–
She slowly brought her hands together … and started applauding.
It was the leak which broke the dam.
At once, she was joined by all who were present to witness this crowning moment of regret.
I turned around in time to see a riot in motion.
“W-Wooooooooooo!!!!”
“In … Incredible …”
“A new record … I … I heard it was broken in Trierport … to think I’d witness it broken again!”
“A B-rank adventurer … ?! Where … Where did she come from … ?!”
There was no polite, respectful applause here.
It was the wild cheering of a crowd at a tournament. The whooping cries of theatregoers calling for an encore. The acclaim of my father as he elbowed others to delight in the poetry I’d written when I was 6 and thus now regularly attempted to burn.
Everywhere I turned, I saw and heard the acclaim mixed with shouts of horror as mugs of alcohol were spilled on purpose and by accident. The layabouts stomped on the floor, doing their best to murder decorum under the strain of unbridled emotion.
Only a few falling teardrops formed any hint of more dignified revelry, the glimmer of admiration running down cheeks as sniffles were hidden amidst the raucous cheering.
And then I bore witness to the most morbid sight.
Like a tidal wave of soiled clothes and snotty faces, they suddenly came as one, hands reaching out for me with dripping mugs still in their grips. Horror struck at my soul. And unlike a farmer who’d scarpered into the night, I had nobody who could heal a wound caused by hooligans accepting me as their own.
“A-Amazing!! Take my drink! Take anyone’s drink!!”
“So many cats rescued … even my allergies can’t believe it!”
“My gods, it’s a legend! An adventurer among adventurers!”
This.
This right here.
This was the lowest point of my life … were I not an unparalleled genius.
“Oho … ohoho …”
At once, the wave halted.
Faces which were lit up in unabashed delight turned to looks of mild confusion against the tinkling music of my laughter.
They needed to cycle through the expressions until they reached horror and shame.
“Ohhohohohohohoho!!”
… For I was no drunkard seeking to join their ranks!
No … I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!
And that meant every action I took, every word I spoke, and every cat I saved was for a reason beyond the hopes and dreams these hoodlums had of wanton debauchery and rusting swords!
Indeed!
A lesser princess than I may slink away into the night, cowed by the utter shame, humiliation and disgrace of completing so many F-ranked requests that I somehow broke a record I’d only just set!
But I was made of greater things!
Of schemes and subterfuges so deep that it would take too long to explain! The plots I weaved were a silken web more intricate than any cogs which made up Coppelia as she doubled up, desperately trying to stop herself from succumbing to more pain from laughter!
And that meant with every cat request now denied to these louts … they would finally do some work!
“Ohoho … ohohohohoho!! Behold and be afraid! Witness before you the coming of a new dawn, here to lift you from your days of boundless reverie! Unfurl the shutters and gaze upon a radiance so pure it brands your dallying minds! The scorching sun has come to test the snail’s back, and all that your bleary eyes see is a great salt lake to devour you whole! Shrivel as you cling upon the sweat which drips upon your brow, for that is the proof you’re yet alive!”
A sudden silence met my proclamation of their coming ordeal.
And then–
“Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“I don’t understand! But what a speech!”
“If she can do it, so can we!”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.
“Ohhhohohohohohohoho … !”
Here it was!
Operation: Gainful Employment!
An entirely new strategy, as bold as it was uncharted!
By removing what was surely the vast majority of missing cat quests available to the adventurers of this town, they would have no choice, utterly none whatsoever, but to engage in actual work! The type of work adventurers openly advertised themselves as doing!
Monster subjugation! Crime prevention! Fetching artifacts from hidden dungeons and then succumbing to their wounds at the entrance while the Royal Treasury pocketed the treasure!
Yes, this was clearly a highly experimental tactic.
But what was I, if not a bastion of creativity?
At the very least, I utterly refused to accept the status quo! An organisation dedicated exclusively to rescuing lost cats or elbowing into my kingdom’s sovereign affairs was no good to me!
Thus … I could not cower like some towngirl nauseous from the smell of their revelry.
Instead, I would squeeze the Adventurer’s Guild dry until the day I replaced them with an army of trained poodles. Until that joyous day, I could never tear my eyes away when they waited to be robbed.
To do so was more than a dereliction of duty …
Why, I’d be an accomplice to their drunken escapades!
My vow remained unchanged. For my goal, I would brave any indignity. The ring I was hoping the receptionist would forget to return was proof of that.
And thus–
I stood tall as a summer reed, proud in the knowledge that I had no need to feel even an inkling of embarrassment over completing 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions! …
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”
“S-Stop at once! You are not to laugh!”
“Pffffttt~”
“C-Coppelia!!”
Clearly not seeing the angel of self-sacrifice who I was, Coppelia held one hand tightly around her mouth. Even so, she failed to stop either the sound of her amusement or the tears falling from her eyes.
My only salvation was that it came at significant cost to her. Even now, she careened between laughter and painful regret.
I decided to offer both her and myself mercy.
Turning to the receptionist, I found a modest pouch already waiting upon the wooden desk. As well as a copper ring waiting beside it.
“Thank you for your service to the Adventurer’s Guild,” said the receptionist, her professional smile undaunted by the commotion. “Your total remuneration is 102 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns and 9 copper crowns. I’ve taken the liberty to compile all your separate payments together.”
I took the pouch and ignored the ring.
The receptionist pushed the ring forwards.
A long moment later, I collected it, uncertain what a receptionist would do if I tossed it into the communal cauldron, but knowing it would somehow still end up on my finger regardless.
With my head held high, I bravely ignored the chorus of voices unknowingly cheering for their own hardship as I swept past. Renewed tears and applause filled the hall. A few cats attempted to follow me. I stopped to shoo them away.
And then I was outside, the door closing behind me.
“... Goodness, that was quite the sight,” said Renise with a bemused smile. “It reminded me somewhat of the inns of Reitzlake’s docks. I wonder if all the halls of adventurers are like that, or merely those which you frequent?”
“Please don’t insinuate I’m responsible for the debauchery which occurs wherever the Adventurer’s Guild is concerned. That’s something I can claim no credit for.”
“You say that … but to me, it seems that you caused quite a stir. That really is a remarkable number of cats you rescued, after all. Even I can tell that 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions–”
“Miss Renise.”
The maid’s smile wavered against whatever fatigued expression I was making.
A moment later, it fell away entirely as she switched to her role as my brother’s attendant and the leader of whatever scoundrels he’d charged her with herding.
“... Yes, I suppose there’s time for idle conversation later. There’s a guardhouse nearby. We should report on all that’s happened tonight.”
I gave a nod of agreement.
Hopefully, the baroness hadn’t woken from her stupor yet. But if she had, I was certain the single portrait of myself I’d returned to the wall of her gallery to smile down at her gagged and bound state would calm her nerves.
Renise hummed towards the direction of Hartzwiese’s centre, before returning her attention to me.
“If you wish to keep your identity incognito, I can see guards sent to where they’re needed using my own authority, and arrange for the appropriate seizure of the goods and crowns we’ve discovered.”
I beamed at once.
My, so prudent! It’s little wonder she was chosen by Roland!
“A judicious offer. And one I’ll accept gladly, providing the burden isn’t too severe.”
“This is merely an administrative task, and little burden compared to what both yourself and Miss Coppelia regularly perform. In any event, it is only efficient. I expect I’ll be spending a significant amount of time at the baroness’s farmstead. It is quite extensive. If possible, I would like to make use of it for Rose House. I imagine having such a facility close to the Granholtz border would have its uses.”
I nodded, already forgetting the barn’s existence.
“I encourage you to use your discretion as required. My brother has put his trust in you, and so I both expect and know that you shall not disappoint in furthering the kingdom’s prosperity.”
The young woman smiled. One filled with appreciation, but also lacking ambition.
Good.
An excellent combination as far as retainers were concerned.
“Thank you. Although I worry you place too much trust in my abilities. In truth, those like Baroness Arisa would have made for a greater asset to the kingdom. Her resourcefulness must be acknowledged.”
“It is not resourcefulness my kingdom requires. It is loyalty. And hers is a pit so empty it drains others.”
“That’s true. But at least we were able to acquire some useful things from her nonetheless.”
Renise pulled out a tiny vial from the belt around her thigh.
A golden liquid was stored within, glimmering with an unnatural light.
“These were in her chamber,” she said, her eyes lacking emotion as she surveyed the bright liquid. “When we met, she actually attempted to purchase my loyalty with this.”
“A suspect vial. How quaint. And what miracle did she promise?”
“One that would wake my parents from their curse of eternal slumber.”
“... And is it?”
“I don’t believe so, no. This is one of many identical vials I found in her chamber’s desk drawer. All prominently labelled with instructions to only drink as required to stave off the effects of bloating.”
Renise returned the vial to her belt with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“It’s still useful,” she admitted. “But just not for what I require.”
I gave a simple nod as my reply.
Nothing else needed to be said.
She hoped to see her parents wake from their prison of dormancy. An understandable wish. And one I wasn’t required to supplement with the comment that no pair named the Smuggler King and the Smuggler Queen were likely to receive as light a sentence as their daughter.
I could not speak on behalf of Roland. Although I imagined that as a kind man, he would prefer not to pass judgements which were total. But as the Crown Prince, he did not have the luxury of kindness.
It would take much to change their fate.
But perhaps that’s why Renise was here, still proving true, and not accepting stomach ailment potions from a baroness.
A moment of silence followed.
Renise gave a short sigh. And that was that.
She set her eyes on the task ahead–at least until whatever words she’d parted her mouth to say were interrupted by Coppelia’s humming instead.
“Sooooooooooooooo … you just want to wake up two people eternally sleeping, right?”
A small smile met her optimistic voice.
“If a cure were readily available, I’m certain I would have found it by now. I believe one might be possible, but it would take skill and ingredients beyond any apothecary I know of.”
“Well, sure, you could go that way. But what about going straight to the source instead?”
“The source?”
“Sure. They’re asleep, right? So just ask the one in charge of where they are now.”
“I’m … not quite sure I follow?”
Coppelia clapped her hands together and beamed.
“The Spring Court is the realm of dreams. Chances are, they must have shown their faces around a few times by now. If you ask the Spring Queen nicely, she might do you a favour.”
“The Spring Queen? … The fae?”
“Mmh~ luckily, we have someone with connections here!”
Renise was startled out of her reply.
It was nothing compared to me. The one being pointed at.
“Coppelia!” I said, truly aghast at the suggestion. “The fae are not to be taken lightly. Why, I still have nightmares about my conversation with the Winter Queen! I learned a side to royalty that day which I shall never forget … and I’m quite poorer for it!”
“You met … the Winter Queen?” asked Renise, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Unfortunately, yes, but I had zero intention of meeting her, and I’ve just as little intention of meeting any other fae as well. Including the Spring Queen.”
I waved away the coming query to declare what was just as important as my lack of enthusiasm.
“Besides, I’ve not the foggiest idea how I would even hope to use these supposed connections I have.”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Coppelia, her casual disregard for what counted as ‘easy’ more terrifying than any lout I’d met today. “The hard part is getting them to do what you want. But meeting them? The fae are creatures of stories. If the time is right, they’ll speak to you–one way or another.”
“Then they must book an appointment. One which I can formally reject.”
“I mean, I don’t think you have much choice. You didn’t last time, right?”
“The last time, I was sat beside the Winter Queen’s crown. I see no fae artifacts to hook me away. And that means utterly no scenario in which I could be abducted without my express–”
I suddenly stopped, clasping my hands around my mouth.
A moment later, I raised my arms in a martial art I’d just invented, turning repeatedly on the spot.
Renise blinked at me.
“Excuse me, but what are–”
“Shhshhshh!!”
I paused, gazing intently around at the quiet, dark streets of Hartzwiese, all the while ignoring Coppelia’s giggling at my near miss.
That … That was close!
“O-Oho … oho … I almost invited something terrible. Truly, it’s perhaps best not to needlessly voice things which Fae Queens and their deviant brand of magic could use …”
Coppelia nodded at me, as proud as she was clearly disappointed.
“You’re lucky. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d have snagged you right there and then.”
“No. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d wait until–”
Click.
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I noticed it on febuary still here until now.
Before noticing it , I had experience sudden forehead pressure, Nose bridge pressure, random toothache that last for seconds. Facial pain cheeksbone & chin. & Right Ear pain.
Then after noticing my lump on neck.
I sudden experience on & off Left ear pain/ earache
Sudden Vibration inside my legs, It feels like Blood Rushing Feeling, Then Days Later It spreads on my hands. My legs and Hands are Shaking everyday now. Whenever I do an activity, Or even holding a phone. hands slightly shaking. Legs too.
On & Off Left Neck Tightness muscle like pulled muscle
Sudden Left Thigh Pain & Right Thigh Pain
Right Ear ringing Sometimes
I had chronic allergies/sinus so i've been suffering from sneezing a lot everyday & runny nose/stuffy nose everyday. Sometimes when i sniff, my mucus/snot will go to my throat
Btw im anemic too i have low iron. i have history of anemia in my family.
And ofcourse im dumb for googling my lump it's SAYS ITS A BIG C Since IT's on my Left side :(
I'm have extreme health anxiety.
Ofcourse when i found a lump in my neck. I had sudden breakdown, I cried all night, I panic.

I’ve noticed this sub in particular has had a very ahistorical and reactionary position on the concept of “patriotism” that I think needs rectified. I’m open to hear everyone’s positions and disagreements on the matter, but I don’t often see the “pro patriotism” position even coherently mentioned so I’d figure I’d give it a shot.
First off, I think it’s important to understand that when socialists say they support “patriotism”, they are talking about proletarian patriotism, which is intrinsically connected to internationalism and is even argue a central component to Marxism Leninism. It is a patriotism that focuses on the betterment of their conditions for its people, for people to come together to help each other, and to promote the idea that everyone should participate and help each other promote and perpetuate these principles. It isn’t nationalism, it isn’t hyper militaristic pro imperialist patriotism, in essence it doesn’t take a class collaborative form. It doesn’t promote the nation above all, nor that class collaboration in the form of developing pro-imperialist positions should be advocated for in order to maintain the nation. It does not uphold some mystical nation as a concept that must be protected.
I think that the idea that America has some uniquely (exceptional) impure history that makes patriotism an unusable tactic to be the same as buying into American Exceptionalism. In fact I think it is an essential tactic that we must utilize, otherwise we give up so much concessions and ground to fascists.(read the Dimitrov quote I give below on the subject.)
I also believe that people often forget that patriotism was utilized by essentially every Marxist Leninist figure throughout all of history. Here are just a few quotes:
“On their own part, the progressive forces in the mass organizations have made considerable appeal to American patriotism and traditions for constructive ends. But this appeal has usually been weak, spasmodic, and ineffective. The workers, farmers, professionals, have not understood how to bring forth in their agitation the basically constructive role they have played historically in building American democracy. ​ In this respect the revolutionary movement has been especially weak. From the foundation of the Socialist Labor Party in the 1870’s, down through the life of the Socialist Party and the IWW, and during the early years of the Communist Party, there was a dominant tendency to ignore and to scorn American tradition and love of country. This arose out of a narrow, sectarian conception of internationalism, and it did much to weaken the position of the revolutionaries in the organizations of the patriotically minded toiling masses. Here again, a better study of Marx and Lenin would have prevented this grievous error. Only during the past few years, notably since the Seventh World Congress of the Communist International and through the writings of Comrade Browder, is real progress being made by our Party in correcting this costly mistake and in basing itself upon a correct Leninist line.
The cultivation of the democratic, revolutionary American traditions among the mass organizations is one of the most important tasks in the building of the democratic front. We must not permit the reactionaries to steal and distort the national traditions and aspirations of the people. The great democratic masses must be taught by constant reference to American history that it was their struggles in the past that built our republic, that the democratic front movement of today is the continuation of all the fights for liberty in the history of our own country; that in the achievement of the current demands of the masses lies the fruition of all that is progressive and glorious in American history; that socialism is the climax toward which the entire historic struggle of the democratic American people inevitably tends.” - William Z Foster.
“Is a sense of national pride alien to us, Great-Russian class-conscious proletarians? Certainly not! We love our language and our country, and we are doing our very utmost to raise her toiling masses (i.e., nine-tenths of her population) to the level of a democratic and socialist consciousness. To us it is most painful to see and feel the outrages, the oppression and the humiliation our fair country suffers at the hands of the tsar’s butchers, the nobles and the capitalists. We take pride in the resistance to these outrages put up from our midst, from the Great Russians; in that midst having produced Radishchev,[3] the Decembrists[4] and the revolutionary commoners of the seventies[5]; in the Great-Russian working class having created, in 1905, a mighty revolutionary party of the masses; and in the Great-Russian peasantry having begun to turn towards democracy and set about overthrowing the clergy and the landed proprietors.
We remember that Chernyshevsky, the Great-Russian democrat, who dedicated his life to the cause of revolution, said half a century ago: “A wretched nation, a nation of slaves, from top to bottom—all slaves."[6] The overt and covert Great-Russian slaves (slaves with regard to the tsarist monarchy) do not like to recall these words. Yet, in our opinion, these were words of genuine love for our country, a love distressed by the absence of a revolutionary spirit in the masses of the Great-Russian people. There was none of that spirit at the time. There is little of it now, but it already exists. We are full of national pride because the Great-Russian nation, too, has created a revolutionary class, because it, too, has proved capable of providing mankind with great models of the struggle for freedom and socialism, and not only with great pogroms, rows of gallows, dungeons, great famines and great servility to priests, tsars, landowners and capitalists.
We are full of a sense of national pride, and for that very reason we particularly hate our slavish past (when the landed nobility led the peasants into war to stifle the freedom of Hungary, Poland, Persia and China), and our slavish present, when these selfsame landed proprietors, aided by the capitalists, are loading us into a war in order to throttle Poland and the Ukraine, crush the democratic movement in Persia and China, and strengthen the gang of Romanovs, Bobrinskys and Purishkeviches, who are a disgrace to our Great-Russian national dignity. Nobody is to be blamed for being born a slave; but a slave who not only eschews a striving for freedom but justifies and eulogises his slavery (e.g., calls the throttling of Poland and the Ukraine, etc., a “defence of the fatherland” of the Great Russians)—such a slave is a lickspittle and a boor, who arouses a legitimate feeling of indignation, contempt, and loathing.
No nation can be free if it oppresses other nations,” said Marx and Engels, the greatest representatives of consistent nineteenth century democracy, who became the teachers of the revolutionary proletariat. And, full of a sense of national pride, we Great-Russian workers want, come what may, a free and independent, a democratic, republican and proud Great Russia, one that will base its relations with its neighbours on the human principle of equality, and not on the feudalist principle of privilege, which is so degrading to a great nation. Just because we want that, we say: it is impossible, in the twentieth century and in Europe (even in the far east of Europe), to “defend the fatherland” otherwise than by using every revolutionary means to combat the monarchy, the landowners and the capitalists of one’s own fatherland, i.e., the worst enemies of our country.” - Lenin
“Can a Communist who is also an internationalist at the same time be a patriot? We hold not only that he can, but that he must.” - Mao
“Communists are the most patriotic Americans I have ever met, and you all are the non-patriots.” ( towards the HUAC) - Paul Robeson.
“Under no circumstances must we underrate fascism's power of ideological infection. On the contrary, we for our part must develop an extensive ideological struggle based on clear, popular arguments and a correct, well thought out approach to the peculiarities of the national psychology of the masses of the people. The fascists are rummaging through the entire history of every nation so as to be able to pose as the heirs and continuators of all that was exalted and heroic in its past, while all that was degrading or offensive to the national sentiments of the people they make use of as weapons against the enemies of fascism. Hundreds of books are being published in Germany with only one aim -- to falsify the history of the German people and give it a fascist complexion. The new-baked National Socialist historians try to depict the history of Germany as if for the past two thousand years, by virtue of some historical law, a certain line of development had run through it like a red thread, leading to the appearance on the historical scene of a national 'savior', a 'Messiah' of the German people, a certain 'Corporal' of Austrian extraction. In these books the greatest figures of the German people of the past are represented as having been fascists, while the great peasant movements are set down as the direct precursors of the fascist movement. Mussolini does his utmost to make capital for himself out of the heroic figure of Garibaldi. The French fascists bring to the fore as their heroine Joan of Arc. The American fascists appeal to the traditions of the American War of Independence, the traditions of Washington and Lincoln. The Bulgarian fascists make use of the national-liberation movement of the seventies and its heroes beloved by the people, Vassil Levsky, Stephan Karaj and others. Communists who suppose that all this has nothing to do with the cause of the working class, who do nothing to enlighten the masses on the past of their people in a historically correct fashion, in a genuinely Marxist-Leninist spirit, who do nothing to link up the present struggle with the people's revolutionary traditions and past -- voluntarily hand over to the fascist falsifiers all that is valuable in the historical past of the nation, so that the fascists may fool the masses.” - Dimitrov.
"Marxism-Leninism is ultimately deeply internationalist, and at the same time, deeply patriotic." -Fidel Castro
"Patriotism is not an empty concept. Education in patriotism cannot be conducted simply by erecting the slogan, 'Let us arm ourselves with the spirit of socialist patriotism! educating people in the spirit of patriotism must begin with fostering the idea of caring for every tree planted on the roadside, for the chairs and the desks in the school.
You have to begin with what is within the grasp of the younger generation, things that relate to their lives, and then gradually move on to educating them to defend consciously the interests of the country and the people. There is no doubt that a person who has formed the habit of cherishing common property from childhood on will grow up to be a valuable patriot."- Kim Il-sung
"From the commencement of the titanic American strife, the workingmen of Europe felt instinctively that the star-spangled banner carried the destiny of their class. The contest for the territories which opened the dire epopee, was it not to decide whether the virgin soil of immense tracts should be wedded to the labor of the emigrant or prostituted by the tramp of the slave driver?" -Karl Marx
"The history of modern, civilized America opened with one of those great, really liberating, really revolutionary wars of which there have been so few compared to the vast number of wars of conquest which, like the present imperialist war, were caused by squabbles among kings, landowners or capitalists over the division of usurped lands or ill-gotten gains.
That was the war the American people waged against the British robbers who oppressed America and held her in colonial slavery, in the same way as these "civilized" bloodsuckers are still oppressing and holding in colonial slavery hundreds of millions of people in India, Egypt, and all parts of the world." -Vladimir Lenin
"We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with the destiny of America. Before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson scratched across the pages of history the majestic word of the Declaration of Independence, we were here." -Martin Luther King Jr
“Us on the Left are second to no one in our patriotism.” - Michael Parenti

As the title states, she was so much more than a pet to me. She was my soul cat and her death has absolutely wrecked me. She was diagnosed with CHF last October and we’ve spent the last 6 months fighting it. Shes had a couple scares, namely a pretty severe sudden pleural effusion episode that left her hospitalized after a vet visit that freaked her out. But when she’s at home, you wouldn’t know she was sick. I know cats hide illness very well, but from my eyes, she was doing very well on her meds.
She was scheduled for a routine recheck with an echocardiogram, and she was given sedatives since her last experience went south. She took them well and seemed very relaxed and out of it in the car ride there. The vet tech took her upstairs while I spoke to another tech about how she’s been since her last visit. Then within minutes, the first tech comes sprinting back down the stairs telling me she’s being rushed to the emergency department next door. I follow her in a fog and get briefed rather quickly that she suffered a severe plural effusion almost as soon as she was taken from the carrier. I went back and forth with her specialist for 20 minutes before I was called back by the emergency cardiologist, telling me that she wasn’t looking good.
What I saw is hard to put into words. My baby was lying in an oxygen chamber, completely unable to lift her head, chest heaving with breath she couldn’t catch, eyes wide and utterly terrified. Without getting into too many details, it was decided that the most humane thing to do was to put her down right there in the bright emergency room after I was only able to hold her for a few seconds (I didn’t want her to suffer without the oxygen). She died in fear and pain, and I cannot forgive myself for that.
She deserved so much better than that. I’d planned for so much better than that. What I’m struggling with is my own naivety. I was told she would likely only get 6 months, but she seemed to be doing well so I went into complete denial. I also have a young toddler so distraction is at an all time high. I thought she would be the one to beat the odds. Looking back I can see how thin she’d gotten despite eating well, how I should have been checking her breath count more often, especially before I handed her off to the vet. If I had, maybe she could have passed peacefully in my arms, instead of gasping and drowning in her own fluid. Maybe I would have seen that she was stressed and not just loopy from the sedative as I thought. Maybe I should have demanded they let me take her to a private room with an oxygen tank in tow so she could have at least passed with me holding her instead of lying in a bright and scary place with me over her. Just so many what if’s that I fear will never leave me.
Her life was beautiful, she lived a happy 13 years, but the ending was so terrible that I can’t help but imagine what she must have thought in her final moments. The betrayal she must have felt for me being the one to bring her there.
I don’t know what to do with these thoughts and this pain. I want out of my own mind.

I have anxiety , but I take meds for it. I know that my anxiety and panic attacks lead to believe the worst, I was in and out the hospital thinking something was wrong, it’s my left arm would hurt and I’d have chest pain or my right arm would feel weird or numb. Which had me panic constantly, I still at times struggle with it. I know taking the medication has helped a lot to keep me calm, but has anyone else dealt with kind of stuff?

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?

Swoop has shared the following message on her YouTube page's community tab:
"Finally Opening Up" (link)

TW: DV, illness, MH Tldr: Recent physical as\ault and medical trauma*
Hey friends. This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever shared, but dealing with this privately for so long, while trying to put on a “brave” face has been destroying me, and fear of oversharing has left me feeling painfully disconnected from all of you, the community whom I cherish so deeply. But everything has come to a head recently, when I was violently physically assaulted, battered, and threatened by a person who has abused me in the past.
Most of you know that I am a survivor of r*pe and ab*se as a child and adult, being slowly on the journey of trying to process both publicly and privately. I’m imperfect in this journey, but trying. In addition, for most of my life, I have been living with chronic illness, spinal injuries, and chronic pain from trauma as well as fibromyalgia. And for the past 2+ years I have been living in a nightmare.
I have been living with widespread partial and total limb numbness, tingling, and electric shocks in both my arms, hands, legs, and feet, as well as deep spasms. At times it’s excruciating and would intensify without warning. It has left me with extended periods where I can’t feel parts of my body at all, while other times my body is on fire. A team of doctors had put on the “MS Protocol” meaning, my doctor, who has Multiple Sclerosis, has been evaluating me for MS. At this time I have not been officially diagnosed, while being told they cannot rule it out, and to expect a long process.
In addition, after endless MRIs and painful procedures, my doctor found white spots within my spine. I was told they have only seen this once before, where what appeared to be lesions were tumors, and they have me regularly testing for cancer, indefinitely. I do not have answers yet. This has caused a depression and level of anxiety that has felt too much to handle, so I’ve buried it deep and kept it private, even from many close to me.
On top of this, I was recently physically battered by a person who has abused me previously. I was trying to escape being cornered in a room when I was attacked from behind and tried to defend myself but it wasn’t enough. As a result, I am struggling with an immense amount of physical trauma, and mentally I’m just a shell of myself. I’m so embarrassed that after telling so many “it’s not your fault” - I still can’t tell myself.
I am neurodivergent, and get stuck in “brain loops” where I spiral into self harm and feelings of uncontrollable dread and worthlessness. I’ve tried my best to combat the loops by throwing myself in my work, even when I could hardly feel my own hands, and am left feeling massive guilt if my work feels incomplete, sloppy, out of touch or disconnected. I tried taking on projects that became too triggering, and had to walk away, riddled with shame that I might be letting anyone down for not covering a story. Everything about what I’m going through has shifted my perception of stories and how I cover them, trying to introduce more perspectives (you may or may not have noticed) and I hope to continue to develop and find more eloquent and inclusive ways to do so. Petty has always been my coping mechanism to mask my pain, but now I wish to focus more on perspective.
I have sat down countless times to film a video about my trauma, and may try to post one, the way I used to with our community. I have been keeping things private out of fear that people would think I’m “trauma dumping” or asking for sympathy. I’ve realized: that is an irrational fear and trauma response, because, like so many other survivors, I have been conditioned to feel guilty for sharing, or like I’m just looking for attention. If that’s how someone interprets me, that’s ok. But holding this has only made the darkness deeper. I no longer want to be an example of suffering in silence, in hopes someone else might feel seen.
I am also working to take some time away to find healing. I have a number of previous videos already in production from a while ago, and contractual obligations I can’t cancel, so I’ll likely have someone upload them for me, so that I can try to breathe for once, and you’re not without the content you generously spend your time with. I don’t know how much time I will or won’t take, but it’s a start. Thank you for your openness to hearing my story. I’m broken, but still here.
I feel like I’ve been fighting for my life, and this is not a battle I want to lose.
Love you all, Swoop

Sorry about format, as I'm on mobile. I'd get some snacks and a drink, cause this is gonna be a decent sized one. This is pretty much about my entire life. Also, I have mental health and sometimes add too many details to things. I kinda over share, so apologise if that happens. Me(F) my mom(F) sister(F)
My entire life, I have felt less than when it comes to my mom. It's pretty obvious my sister is the favorite child. Ever since she was born, I was put on a back burner. Then my brother was born, and it got even worse. (My brother is an amazing man, so I don't fault him for anything at all. He's pretty much my unofficial child. I will die for him.) When I was 3, my bio dad died. I did get checks every month for survivors checks, but when I turned 18, I never saw any of it. I understand that she needed it for me while I was a minor, but once I turned 18, it was supposed to actually go to me. I was still in my last year of high school, so it didn't stop til I graduated. If I would have gotten those checks, I would be way farther in life. My mom got with my siblings dad when I was around 4 or 5. That's where the abuse came in. She got pregnant with my sister, and pretty much made me the clown. My sister's dad was a Dr*g addict, and would go on binges, leaving me home alone to watch my siblings, while Mom was at work. I was 6 at this point. Granted, she did call the police and he got charged with 3 counts of child endangerment. (My brother was born at this point). Then, she stayed with him, even though he left us like that. When I was 9 was when I found out about my dad. She wasn't even going to tell me about him, but she had to, cause my grandma filed for grandparents rights. Mom didn't even tell me. Siblings dad is the one to sit me down. That's when my mental health started to really show. I was 9 and finding out the man that I called dad, wasn't actually my dad, and my real dad is never meet cause he's dead. My soul broke that day. Fast forward a few months and I get a puppy for my birthday. It pooped in the house, and G(siblings dad) was so irate, he left the puppy outside in the middle of the night, during the winter... He killed my dog. It was maybe 15° F that night. I woke up the next morning to mom telling me the dog ate paint off the wall ... She did, but the bite marks were there from a week prior. I was 9, not stupid. I saw through her lies. Fast forward again. They end up separating. He had gotten upset, then kidnapped my siblings taking them to a completely different state. He finally came back, and was in jail for 6 months. After he got out .. she got back with him. The final straw happened a few years later. When I was probably 8-10 can't remember exactly how old, I was having issues with my math homework. I have major dyslexia with numbers(can't remember the actual name) and math was my worst subject because of that. I was frustrated cause I just couldn't understand the math homework, so I crumpled the paper. (I was a kid. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I did.) She got up, and started to hit me. She was smacking my arms, and had me pinned down to the couch. I turned my head and she hit my nose hard enough for it to gush blood. (Granted I could flick my nose and it'd bleed, but I digress). Then, I had "played" with a belt with her and G, and one of them(can't remember who) was hitting me with another one. I didn't understand at the time, but we was all smacking each other with belts, tryna hit the others the hardest. (My lord I just realized how bad that actually was.) I went to school the next day, and had a few welts on my arms. Went to the nurse for some ice, and got asked who did it. I explained what happened, and cps got called. I didn't know, but I got home and got screamed at by G. He was in my face, so close I could smell his breath and feel his spittle hitting my face. Then my mom said it wasn't them, but my sister who scratched me. (It wasn't a scratch. It was a welt clearly from a belt.) There's probably more, but my brain made me forget to protect my sanity. Fast forward, she is finally away from him. Then she gets with my now step dad. I was 12 at the time. He was an okay guy. He has 5 kids. Well, of course I was the built in babysitter. I am the oldest out of all 8 of us kids. I wasn't allowed to hang out with friends as much as I should have been growing up, cause I was always the one to be the second parent to them. That's when my mental health started to get severe. I started self harming at 13. It would get so bad. Nothing of significance really happened between then til I was 16. (That I can remember. Thanks brain for protecting me.) I get into highschool. Freshman year. I'm finally able to start hanging out with friends more often. I end up having sex(I was coerced, wanted to wait til I was on bc, but I finally gave in. Shouldn't have, but it's whatever. I'm over it now.) Wasn't on birth control and didn't wear a condom. Had a scare I may have been pregnant. Mom finds out, gets a test and takes me to my grandma's to take it. She berates me in front of my grandparent and my aunt and cousins. Thankfully it was negative. Fast forward to when I was 16. Got my first job. Finally I'm old enough to make my own money. Well, I can't even spend my checks the way I wanted to. Majority of them went to her. I gave her prob 85 percent of my checks. I wanted to save for a car. Couldn't. (Not that it mattered. Didn't get my license til I was 23... I'm 27 now.) Kept getting my temps, only to never practice. Yet, when my sister is 18, she takes her out to drive and helps her get her license. But, whatever. Finally I graduate, and all I get is a gift card(I'm thankful of course. I'm not stingy, I just have envy from all the things my sister got, that I didn't.) Sister got a full blown party. Every single person I have been romantically with, she would put in my head that they aren't good enough. So much so, I thought I would never be with someone who genuinely loved me. (I have that now, so shout out to my amazing fiance.) I'm still cutting on a daily basis at this point. Cut from the ages of 12 to 20. I'd still be, if I wasn't with my fiance. (I was didn't sewer slide myself and actually did it right this time, anyway. Tried 5 times. Thankfully I failed each time.) I have bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression and ADHD. Not once did she take me to get health. She always dismissed me when I would try and talk to her about it, so I just kept to myself. It took my fiance's mom to take me and get me the help I needed. I barely graduated cause I just didn't care in 9th and 10th grade. I felt like I wasn't going to live past high school anyway, so why should I care? 11th grade comes up and working had actually given me motivation to keep going. (Plus I started smoking the devil's lettuce, so I was feeling better mentally.) Turn 18 and I move out. Ended up losing my job I had then, and go down a spiral. I got addicted to alcohol and pills for a couple of weeks. Not enough for withdrawals, but it was still bad. Thankfully I woke up one day and realized what I was doing. (I'll give her this, I called and she immediately came to get me so I could get out of that situation.) Fast forward more, I move out again, but just down the street. I'm now 19 and start dating my now fiance. We have been together 8 years and I barely talk to her anymore. Esp this past year. I don't really message her first anymore. I've gone 6 or more months without talking to her. Shoot, without talking to anyone in my family. Fiance's parents get me the mental health I needed. Get diagnosed with depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. I've told Mom I have bipolar since I was 16 and she just dismissed me, saying it's my hormones. (Jokes on her) About 4 years in, she starts telling me I need to find someone else to be with. He isn't good enough for me. (Yeah, like the rest weren't. No one is good enough for her.) It gets to the point I had to tell her and my sister both to stop, or I was gonna cut them out of my life completely. (Should have, looking back, but we learn.) They stop for a while. Sister is now showing her true colors. She's a narcissist and gaslighter, just like her father. She cannot own up to her mistakes, what so ever. She gets into an accident, not her fault. She gets into a fight she started, not her fault. Can't hold down a job, not yet fault. (I've had trouble holding down a job as well, but I'm getting better. I finally got diagnosed with ADHD and am in meds, so I'm not feeling impulsive as bad. Id switch jobs pretty frequently, due to the better sounding one. It's still affecting me to this day, but I'm seeing a change in my mind. Just gotta push through a bit more. Not blaming it on my ADHD, but the disease doesn't make it easier.) Mom has gotten sister a job with her at every single job she's had the past 4 years. Sister ruins it for mom, cause sister can't stand mom not paying attention to her, or doing everything for sister. Sister has bad anxiety, and uses it as an excuse to keep mom working. Sister wants all the pay of being a manager, without actually doing the manager duties. Sister always tells me I need to dress better. Says i "need to look more presentable and not like a slob". I wear skinny jeans and a Tshirt usually. Frequently, I'll wear sweats if I'm just going to moms and not going out. I like being comfy. Constantly criticizing me for every single thing I do. Finally mom says she realizes how bad she has treated me throughout my life. I forgave her a long time ago. Gets to the point mom says she wouldn't have anything to do with sister, if she wasn't her kid. Thought things were gonna change. Clearly not. Mom and sister both get another new job, the same job. Again. It's like nothing has changed since that conversation. Still barely talk to her, and everything. Last time I hung out with them, it was for only 3 hours. THREE HOURS. yet, I had anxiety and panic attacks from that small amount of time, for the next 3 days... I can't do this anymore, but I feel SO freaking guilty for even considering this. I love my mom and sister. I want them in my life, but I can't keep feeling like this. My mental health is always needing to be restarted after being around them. It's like I go back to that 12 year old me and want to self harm all over again. I'm now almost 10 years clean from it. There is no longer any scars, and I'm happier now. I just can't help but to feel I should just suck it up and "get over it". I know this is rediculously long, so if you've read this far, thank you. I just need some other people's perspective that isn't biased and I feel you guys are the best chance for that. I'm really struggling on what to do and feel so guilty for even typing this stuff out. My worst fear is disappointing her, yet I do every day. I also really hate confrontation. I'll do whatever it takes to avoid it, but I just can't anymore. I've always wondered how life would be if my dad was alive. I don't remember him, but I can still say I miss him. I miss the opportunities that I didn't get growing up.
Thank you guys. I'll take whatever you guys throw at me. I just want to see if my feelings are valid or not. This is literally causing me pain. I need help.

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 just stumbled upon this as I was doing my Reddit research for wtf is wrong with me. A few weeks ago, my left upper outer arm started to feel like pins and needles. Around a week ago the feeling is now in both arms and feels as though it’s like rubbed raw. It’s a little painful, but not super painful. More like uncomfortable. The back of my ams is also a little numb. It’s gotten pretty concerning but I have a history of ear surgeries that have temporarily impacted my facial nerves, wondering if this could have some sort of correlation? I’m either seeing fibro or heart attack according to Reddit 😳

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
“Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
“Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
“6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.

Hi everyone,
I had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted 10 days ago, and I am now experiencing what I believe is a sinus perforation. I do not have any pain, but I can feel a communication of air between the upper left extraction site and my nose, and when I use the provided irrigation syringe in that spot, the water comes out of my nose. How big of an issue is this? Will it require surgery? I have a follow up appointment scheduled with my surgeon in a few days, but I am anxious in the meantime. I am also supposed to leave to study abroad a week from tomorrow. Will I still be able to go?
To answer the requirements for the forum, I do not drink, smoke, or use any recreational drugs.
Thank you in advance for your help.
Concerned, -Grace

The wiry black tree stood out that snowy January morning like an abysmal blot. Devoid of leaves to indicate life, it managed to stain the cloudy white sky with its presence. It looked down on me as I filled my bright red percolator with grounds and water, a dark always in my peripheral, though I rarely looked directly at it. Its shadowy tendrils followed me for the whole day, through the long rows of dispassionate wood tables and cold white plastic chairs, the cramps in my forearm when I wrote too quickly, and teachers calling out time for students. As soon as another student looked down on their paper, or a teacher turned away, the shadows advanced, licking my face, drowning out my surroundings. The voices of the teachers, the sight of the paper under my pencil, the pain of the hangnails and ripped cuticles on my finger—all faded away. By the time exams had finished, I had been lulled into a haze, a stupor that lured me into deceitful sleep.

Your reflection refracts a million times in between the mirror’s cracks, each piece of glass portraying some dream of you, or, maybe, some memory. Two candles light up the room, one red and one white. Each conveys different light, and each flicker illuminates our skin uniquely. I look at you in the mirror’s shards, each contour of your face accentuated slightly differently. More white light there and shifting shadows hitting at new angles. The red and white candlelight dances on you, caressing your painted white face and red lips a little bit differently in each image. I open my lips to speak. “Do you realize I love the way you look me in my eyes?” As I turn to look at you, I see your eyes are black and your body is rigid. I feel myself falling, slipping away from you. I rush to kiss you before you disappear, but your face falls apart as our lips meet; your skin sloughs and flakes off, and your eyes are still black, like two drops of ink in water, and I can’t hold all of you together. My head jerks out of water. Bright rose petals are scattered on its surface, and dim candles lit on white marble surround me. It seems like I’m in a bathtub. I wipe my face, but warm, thick liquid covers my arms, and I look down to see partially coagulated blood on my hands. It disperses when I rub it off, but as more blood falls, I realize that it’s dripping from my neck. My throat’s cut; raw and filled with some rough, frayed substance. The sharp, smoky smell of sage wafts up to me. Blood from my throat and hands spreads in the bath, and after just moments, all of the water in the bath is tinted red. I move closer to inspect the candles, and I realize that they’re part of a shrine. At its center is a mask; covered in black and white paint, with light peering through its eye and mouth holes. When I reach to examine it, I feel a sharp burning on my back. A candle has melted onto me. I try to wipe it off, but it burns my hand when I touch it. Another candle melts, and another, and another. Red and white wax fills the tub, steaming as the hot wax meets the cool, rose-colored water. At first, the water cools it, but as more pours into the tub, the water begins to heat. I snap up, but sharp, thin claws pull me down. Four emaciated figures are dragging me further down into the boiling water. I open my eyes underwater, and for a brief moment, before the sizzling water sears my eyes closed, I’m able to make out a face—black hair and pale skin, with red cuts all over. I flail and resist, and eventually, I gasp, but as I try to breathe in, boiling water fills my throat and I die. Dancers whirl across the room, encircling the center, rotating this way and the other. My friend tells me I should ask you to dance, but I brush it off. It’s not worth it; I was never much of a dancer. So I just sit there and watch as you and your friends talk, laugh, dance, sing and take pictures. When I’m around you, I see myself through you. Each time you laugh, I want to laugh, and when you smile, I can’t hold mine back. I find myself picking petals from roses when I’m around you too long. We’re so beautiful; your new white dress, and my teary red eyes. I look at you and whisper. “Let's touch the sky, I’ma, I’ma change your life”. For an instant, I see you looking back. You pause, no longer talking to your friends, like we’re frozen together as the crowd buzzes around us. Your eyes get big and your mouth opens like you’re about to say something. Then you turn away, and the crowd consumes you and leaves me behind, and finally, I wake up in a cold sweat. The shadows in the room lengthened, wrapping themselves around me, smothering me and my deferred hopes and indiscretion. The moonlight filled the room, and the trees stared at me, with harsh branch faces chastising me, and I pulled the blanket around me, closer and closer, enveloping as much as it could. For a moment, the whole world turned red and white—red like my face as heat rose from my throat to right behind my cheekbones and eyes, pushing itself higher and higher, threatening to burst out of my skull, and white like the cloudy winter tones that had characterized the sky for weeks at this point. 

After that, everything faded to gray. My red cheeks cooled, and my eyes became sullen, and the white snow that my window peered onto was dirty and impure. I remember when you told me that at the beginning of the book, he’s gray, and then he’s colorful, and then, at the end of the book, he’s gray again. Sometimes you sound like my biographer. But there’s one thing you missed. We never stopped seeing the color, it just became safer for us to hide from the oversaturated reds and whites that burn our eyes, the sounds that sound too loud, and the pretty girls with pale skin and black hair who only kiss us in our nightmares. I stay up the rest of the night with my lights on to beat back any shadowy tendrils that come my way, biting my fingertips and white cuticles until they’re red, bleeding and raw, until I return to my playlist, ready to walk into school tomorrow and pretend I’m alive.

It says in the directions on the box of nicotine patches to alternate the spot you put it, but the only place I can get it to stick good is on the upper side of my left arm. I’ve tried my back, chest, hips, and forearms but they always fall off. Is there any harm in continually putting the patch in the same spot? I’m worried that the constant irritation could lead to cancer after years, is this possible?

I am a first time mom with a 6 week old baby who is exclusively breastfeeding. My husband and I are immigrants, so we don't have any family support in the country we are currently residing in, so when we found out I was pregnant, I asked my mum if she would be able to come help us with the house and baby for a couple months. She agreed and she is now currently staying with us until the end of June to help out.
Since the arrival of our little girl, I have been trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. Every day seems like a struggle that I don't even know where to begin articulating my thoughts.
I am currently struggling with mastitis and vasospasms. It hurts so much to breastfeed, and it really doesn't help that baby's latch is not the best. We always try to get a good initial latch, then she starts wiggling and turning her head from side to side, pulling my nipples and sliding off the big mouthful of breast. And when I try to break off the latch and relatch her, she screams and cries. Honestly, breastfeeding has taken a lot of my emotional and physical toll and constantly feel like I am a terrible mother because I can't seem to figure out breastfeeding.
At the peak of my mastitis, I was crying every time she would latch on. My husband and mum doesn't seem to understand the pain that I am in. My husband would be dismissive about the pain - at one of my crying/nursing sessions, he made the comment "how can this be more painful than childbirth? surely if you could go through pushing her out, this can't be as painful". My mum isn't much help with this either. She would constantly give me unsolicited advice that is counterproductive of actually helping my mastitis. She would tell me to "keep pumping until the mastitis clogs come out" and "stop nursing on that side if it hurts so much". I know that she has good intentions because she doesn't want to see me in pain, but after telling her time and time again that her advice is unwanted and unhelpful, she continues to make little remarks like this that I would just hide away in a room to nurse baby so no one could make comments about my pain or crying. This has left me feeling lonely and misunderstood.
It also doesn't help that my husband and mum don't get along very well. I am not expecting them to be the best of friends or anything like that, but I honestly thought the two of them would at least empathize and keep it together instead of putting me in the middle of all the time. My husband thinks that my mum is constantly obsessing over baby - she would run to our room every time she hears her cry and hold her and soothe her until baby is asleep. She is always holding her and very hesitant to pass her to my husband because she thinks that he isn't doing the "right things" to help soothe baby. When I confront my mum about this, she goes on about how my husband is doing things wrong when soothing the baby and how he doesn't know how to take care of baby properly.
The two of them even butt heads at things completely unrelated about baby - one perfect example is cooking dinner. My husband eats a lot as he doesn't eat much during work, so when he comes home from work, he would eat a massive dinner and then some. My mum would help us cook dinner as I am usually nursing or having a nap when she's cooking. My husband would say that she's not cooking enough or she doesn't know how to cook for a family (she's been a single mom since I was around 5 years old). When I pass this comment on to my mum, she would then say that if she cooked too much, food would go to waste if we didn't finish it all and she also said that she could see in my husband's face that he didn't like her cooking so she's not very motivated to cook for us anymore. So now I am put in a position where I have to cut down on my nap and cook for the family right after nursing baby. This leaves me extra tired in during the night feeds, and I would find myself sleeping in during the day - which then pisses my husband off because I am not awake to eat breakfast with him in the morning. When I explain to him that I'm tired because I don't get to nap as much during the day as I am now cooking dinner for the family, he retaliated by saying "isn't this why your mum is here? to help us with things like this?"
The cherry on top of this disaster sundae is that when baby is inconsolably crying, both my mum and husband would immediately turn to me and ask "what's wrong with her? why is she crying?" like I'm supposed to be some magical baby translator. This question really pisses me off. Why can't they try and figure out why she's crying themselves? And almost 90% of the time both my husband and mum would put the baby in my arms and tell me she's hungry when she literally just had a big feed. No. She's not hungry, she's tired. And the both of you have kept her up for too long and she's now cranky. She'll suckle on my painful, sore nipples for comfort and then fall asleep.
I honestly don't even know how to continue like this. I have tried talking to both my husband and mum but they seem to be very set in their own ways. My husband refuses to talk it out with my mum as he thinks he might lose his temper, and my mum is too passive and a pushover to actually say anything to him.
I am at my wit's end. Please help me navigate this.

my candidas albicas is one of the worst yeast infections. i stopped eating sugar. insert fungal cream once a week as prescribed. had sore swollen random lymph nodes. one behind my neck , one on my thigh, two on my arm. left earache. pain in left armpit. doctors don't have a clue. i believe it's from my candidas. i think i'm getting better cause pain and swelling has stopped. but i still have some burning on v a g. burning left arm has stopped. i get the feeling from going to gyno doc and MDs. they don't really know a lot about yeast. it affects everyone differently. you wouldn't believe how many gynos i went to in the beginning , that sent me home with nothing. one told me it was all in my head. that's not that uncommon to hear. my vag was a little swollen and he didn't see it. another doctor did. that's when things got rolling.

40y Female A month or so of joint pains started initially in right upper ribs then spread (back, ribs, pelvis and legs)…. then 2 weeks ago intermittent diarrhea and feeling of rectal pressure like I need to move my bowels all the time but can’t! Horrible. Anyone else present this way?