7th grade taks writing samples

Please be kind, this is a very rough first draft but I’m pretty much learning to write all over again as this was a hobby I dropped after high school. I would honestly just like some feedback on stuff I need to work on.
The premise so far is still kind of simple as I’m still trying to figure out the rest of the plot and it’s more so just writing practice for now.
So far it’s a fantasy about a man who is a royal taste tester for the princess. When the princess ends up getting poisoned but he doesn’t die suspicions arise and he has to flee.
Sample

Hey, all. I’m reporting back after my 35th reunion. I decided to say fuck it and wore comfortable clothes and no makeup, which is 100% everyday me. I decided not to pretend to be someone I was not. I ended up having a great time and everyone looked as old (or older!) Everyone was uniformly lovely and friendly and it was like we were simultaneously teens and middle aged but in the best way. I also finally rid myself of an irrational crush I’ve had on someone since 7th grade! So that was nice closure.
Original post here: https://www.reddit.com/GenXWomen/s/wDGoZMZ1SK.

Hi everyone, I am 20M in my third year of college. This is my second post on this platform and my only post talking about my experience, so I don’t know if it will reach people at all. However, I lose nothing by trying. I’ll start by giving some context about myself. My intent is to know if people relate to my experiences to some extent and what they have done, if anything, to become better.
I can consciously ascertain that I’ve had an introverted nature ever since I was in 3rd grade. This became more apparent over the years, but when young, not being able to participate in class by answering questions even though I knew the answers (some strange invisible force wouldn’t allow it), and not turning in my homework because it involved standing up, walking , and placing it in the turn-it-in pile with the rest (the same strange force acted upon me, but this time because I didn’t want to be seen by my classmates even though they were all doing the same thing) would be the usual. I was lucky enough to be “adopted” by my current group of friends when I was in 7th grade. Else, my HS life and regular life would have been bound to be much lonelier.
I have always attributed my lack of communication skills to my introversion, but I’ve been able to identify some characteristics in my behavior that make me believe I have some degree of social anxiety. Rather, I am almost certain.
• Although I’ve been able to get better over the years, and even more now that I live alone, talking with people in customer service, retail, cashiers, etc. is something I dread. Early in my life, I would be able to get my message across, but weirdly phrased due to my nervousness. Even today, if there is some kind of self-checkout, or I can order my food online even though I am in the restaurant, I will most certainly do that instead of talking directly with someone. Same goes for phone calls, I detest the idea of making them and receiving them, but I’ve had to adjust. Today, when talking with people in customer service, I limit myself to provide the necessary verbal information that is needed to conduct whatever business we’re involved in (such as paying for groceries) and if asked unrelated questions, will answer in the most concise manner, leaving no room for conversation. It happens smoothly though.
• I am not able to maintain eye contact with people for a lot of time when talking with them and will tend to have my sight directed elsewhere (90% of the time). This does not apply to immediate family, but most certainly applies to extended family (even if close), friends, acquaintances, and evidently strangers.
• I am unable to start relationships with new people and this is mostly due to the fact that I don’t talk to people. In my 3 years of college, I’ve made about 8 acquaintances due to obligatory groups for class projects. Out of those 8, about 3 will nod at me (and I’ll nod back to them) when we see each other in public. I have no communication (in-class or messages) with any of them. I have no friends and will most likely end up graduating college with no friends made at all. No connections. I spend my days in my apartment, doing homework and wasting time (watching TikTok or doing other unproductive stuff). Note that I do not live in the same country as my group of friends, so I am, in practical terms, friendless. It is not that I want to be like this, but whenever someone new approaches me, my mind blanks and I always come up with concise responses to whatever they tell me. Again, leaving no room for conversation. Just today I was taking my dog to the vet, so I stepped into the elevator (I live on the 5th floor of the building). A girl had called the elevator from the 4th floor, so it stopped so she could jump in. Our “conversation” went something along the lines of this:
Random Girl: Hi Me: Hi Random Girl: Aww your dog is so cute, what is their breed? Me: Havanese Random Girl: Aww a little Havanese, so cute. I really want a dog. Me: … silence, while directing my eyes towards my dog which I had in my arms to avoid eye contact with girl Me: … now starts watching the elevator button panel Elevator reaches first floor after maybe 30 seconds of silence Me: Have a good one. leaves Random Girl: Have a good one. also leaves
That is my most recent example, but all of my spontaneous interactions look like that. And it is not that I didn’t want to talk to the girl, but my mind just goes blank, and thus my mouth shuts.
I am sure there are many other things I could talk about here, but I won’t as this post would become too long and what I want to know is your experiences, and if possible, hear some advice from anyone who can and wants to give it. It goes without saying that I live a lonely life and am not very happy because of it. I long for connection with other people. People with whom to laugh, cry, eat, etc. I have also never been involved romantically with anyone, but I understand stuff like that won’t happen with me being this way. I guess my petition to you is to provide me with advice on how to get better in this aspect of life. To be utterly honest with you, I am desperate, and I am tired of my life being this way.

Hi guys, it's my first post on Reddit! I'm Lydia V. Simms, an author who's been writing since the age of six. I hate to be that annoying person who's self-obsessed, but I just want members of this subreddit to check out my series. I created a Christian fiction series called Broken & Betrayed and it's available on Amazon. Please click here to see the series. It's a trilogy series but the third book hasn't been released yet. (I'm stressing out as I try to do schoolwork and manuscript editing.) I published the first book, Broken & Betrayed I: A Shocking Heartbreak, in September of 2023, and then in January of 2024, I published Broken & Betrayed II: Chaos. The third book, Traitors, should be released in 2024 or 2025. I'm trying to be quick but it's hard because I'm homeschooled and I'm trying to finish off the tenth grade.
Anyway, I'd appreciate it if someone checked out the books, read them, and reviewed them. I want to get a "career boost", and the best way for me to do so is by getting critics and other readers to tell me what they like and don't like and give me recommendations so I can become a better writer. You can follow me on Amazon, review my books on Goodreads and Bookbub, and follow me on social media if you'd like.
Thank you so much for reading this post! I value your support! 😊😇🥰

I really love law and I know I want to be a lawyer. I am in an IB highschool grade 11 and I want to know what I need to do to be a lawyer. Here is some info on me.
I have been in student government 3 times
Won multiple local and global writing competitions
I am a student coach for sailing
I want to be a lawyer - primarily for the money and status but also because I like winning and debating
I am smart - top 3 in a class of around 36
I like reading books ever since I was a child
I also love sports.
I set goals for my self both short term and long term but sometimes have trouble reaching them(I get distracted)
I really want to be sucessful in my last years of school and in college. I am really starting to think about completely isolating myself from everybody except my mom and just studying and focusing. I'll stil exercise and play sports but in terms of friends I am seriously considering isolation. Although all of my friends drink and party and have sex and stuff I already don't do that, I rarely ever see them out of school.
I want to make a lot of money
My family is not wealthy
I go to a wealthy school with wealthy kids
I usually get asked questions by this kids in my class and asked to help them understand topics
Some want to see my answers and copy off of me. I let them because they might me useful to me in the future
They are jealous of me and not my true friends because everytime I do something copy me.
I deleted all social media to focus on my school work some more
I am a good public speaker and I don't mind speaking in front of crowds(in fact I love it, it makes me feel powerful)
I can lead but usually don't either because it is too much work or i'm to lazy

Ace Your Essays with Personalized Assistance from a Skilled Writer!
Hey there, fellow Redditors! Are you drowning in a sea of essays and need a lifeline? Look no further because I'm here to help! If you're seeking professional essay writing assistance, you've come to the right place. Let me introduce myself – I am an experienced writer offering personalized essay writing services.
Here's why you should consider working with me:
Tailored Approach: As an individual writer, I take pride in offering a personalized approach to every project. I understand that each essay is unique, and I will carefully analyze your requirements to craft a custom essay that perfectly aligns with your needs and expectations.
Top-Quality Writing: With my years of experience, I have honed my skills in various subjects and writing styles. Whether you need a persuasive argument, a research-based analysis, or a creative piece, I have the expertise to deliver high-quality writing that stands out.
Plagiarism-Free Guarantee: Originality is my utmost priority. I guarantee that all essays are crafted from scratch, ensuring that they are 100% unique and free from plagiarism. I adhere to strict ethical standards and will never compromise on the integrity of your work.
Timely Delivery: I understand the importance of meeting deadlines. You can count on me to deliver your essays on time, allowing you to submit your work with confidence and without any last-minute panic.
Confidentiality Assured: Your privacy matters to me. I handle all client information with the utmost care and guarantee complete confidentiality. Your personal details and the content of your essays will remain strictly confidential.
Flexible and Transparent Communication: Throughout the writing process, I will maintain open lines of communication, ensuring that we are on the same page. You can expect prompt responses to your queries, regular updates on the progress of your essay, and the opportunity to provide feedback at every stage.
Budget-Friendly Pricing: As an independent writer, I understand the financial constraints students and professionals face. That's why I offer competitive and affordable pricing options. You can get top-quality essays without breaking the bank.
Don't let essay writing be a burden. Let me be your partner in academic success!
To discuss your essay requirements or get a quote, feel free to reach out to me via WhatsApp - +1 (475) 666-3803 . I'm here to answer any questions you may have and guide you through the process.
Remember, your academic success is my priority. Together, we can ace those essays and achieve the grades you deserve!
Looking forward to working with you, Kate Smit!!

I (24f) am intelligent emotionally and in certain areas that I find interesting. Mainly psychology, English and creative writing, biology, sport and fitness. I am literate and thrived in my English classes. I am academically smart and got good grades at college with the result of extreme burnout. I am good socially however I am a little shy and awkward until comfortable but good at masking. However, I can do such ditzy/blonde things. I can't do tasks unless given to me written down or shown. Things that people see as obvious are not obvious to me. I often get told I'm 'away with the fairies' and people act like I'm stupid and clumsy. I have a terrible memory too, unsure if this is related. When people ask me simple questions about things I know sometimes I just cant think to answer and it's so frustrating. I have so much going on in my mind, constantly analysing behaviours of people, self reflecting and I'm extremely self aware trying to improve flaws. I am not dumb but just come across as that sometimes. Does anyone else have this problem?

I grew up in Fort Collins during the 80s and went to a little school called Waverly Elementary, way out north on Highway 15.
My 6th grade class was the last to graduate from Waverly because the school was shut down that year (1992) and all the kids were relocated to Wellington or CLP.
Nobody wanted this to happen. Everyone was so fearful that it would ruin our little community north of town. 5th grade me even went so far as to write a letter to Bill Cosby (yes, THAT Bill Cosby - I had heard that he made something like $6m in 1991 so surely he could afford to save our school!), but alas, nobody could stop the inexorable march of budget cuts.
We cried and complained and protested just like everybody is doing today about the latest PSD closures, but eventually it came to pass and life went on. This was way before public education had become so politicized. Houses were still dirt cheap and people were still having plenty of kids.
I would argue that this happened during the peak of affordability, hopefulness for the future, and societal optimism. If it could happen then, it certainly can happen now, and it will continue to happen into the future and will likely even accelerate.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't work to prevent closures and fight for alternatives, but if the hammer does eventually drop, just know that it has already dropped many times before.
Just some perspective for people who didn't grow up here!

Bit of a longer post, sorry bout that, but I felt it was time, perhaps once again, to point out the flaws and limitations in the CDC’s stats on sexual violence, specifically as they relate to the National Intimate Partner Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS), which is the source of all the fun stats on sexual violence that get thrown around by the 451 percenters. Who are the 451 percenters? Those the folks who believe and spread the lies bout sexual violence being endemic to society. Everyone’s a sexual predator! All 451 percent of women are violated, and all 451 percent of men are violators.
TL;DR: An analysis and rebuttal to the CDC and NISVS’s statistics on sexual violence. The CDC uses NISVS to generate the stats on punny sexual violence that make wild claims, like one third of all women, etc… the 451 percenters’ claims bout punny sexual violence. They use a ‘yes means yes’ method of determining what counts as punny sexual violence, which is aesthetics based. Elevating aesthetical concerns to ethically obligatory concerns is fascistic, and a grave moral fallacy. ‘Yes means yes’ is also puritanical, meaning it overly moralizes sexuality. Putting puritanical fascists in charge of determining how many punny sexual offenses are happening is like putting the KKK in charge of determining how many jews are sexual predators. “All 451 percent of them, obviously!”
Body Of The Post
‘Yes means yes’ is an aesthetical ethical concern, ‘Do I want it or not’. This is what the National Intimate Partner Violence Survey (NISVS) and the CDC use and reflect in their stats on sexual violence. Vibes. They are the ‘emmitt till got what he deserved’ crowd. Whistling at a lady is a criminalizable offense to these folks, a ‘punny sexual violence’.
‘No means no’ is an ethically obligatory concern, ‘Did I refuse it or not’. This is what the criminal stats on sexual violence use and reflect in their stats on sexual violence. Hard data. They are the ‘emmit till did nothing wrong’ crowd. Whistling at a lady is at most tasteless, emmitt till could do far better.
‘Wanting’ or ‘Not Wanting’ something does not consent make. I can want to fuck someone, but not consent to do so. I could not want to fuck someone, but nonetheless consent to do so. The former perhaps because I think it is a bad idea to fuck ‘em even tho I want to. The latter, perhaps because I think it is a good idea to fuck ‘em even tho I don’t want to.
The ‘yes means yes’ folks, the CDC & NISVS stats on sexual violence all mistake ‘wanting’ and ‘not wanting’ for ‘consenting’ and ‘not consenting’; these are not the same things. This is deliberate on their part too. They believe that ‘yes means yes’ is what ought to constitute a determination of sexual violence. Regardless of how y’all view that, it is a deeply controversial notion, and not necessarily reflective of what most people think of when they think of sexual violence.
‘Unwanted’ essentially means ‘I don’t like it’. It is a complaint bout the aesthetical qualities of the sexual encounter, not its consensualism. If this is at all unclear, the simplest method to understand why this is so is to note two unrelated aspects.
One is racism. People regularly ‘feel fearful’ of men for no reason at all, but they also feel fearful of men because of racism all the time. That fear factor ™ is what makes the encounter ‘coercion’ or ‘unwanted’. The person literally does nothing wrong, *just exists* and the other person freaks out.
Note in the quoted sections at the end of this post how much of the stats rely on fear and feelings to generate their numbers.
Two is the person came on too strong or in an undesirable way. The person flirts in a normal and perfectly fine way, but the other person freaks out. Think bout it people, for the love of god think bout it. ‘Coming on too strong’ and ‘an undesirable flirtation’ are being counted as ‘punny sexual violence’ in these stats.
It’s entirely puritanical, and entirely a concern bout aesthetics.
There are other sorts of coercive methods, but the point here is that the terms ‘unwanted’ and ‘coercion’ only really cash out as ‘I don’t like it for some reason or another’ in the CDC’s and NISVS’s stats.
When you see that lady spouting off bout her fears of mexican rapists, she’s reflected in these stats folks. They’re just surveys. People who lock their car doors in ‘bad neighborhoods’ are reflected in those stats.
These all translate to ‘I felt threatened’ (big black boy vibes) or ‘felt pressured’ (scary white guy vibes), or ‘felt in danger’ (native american coming to get you vibes), or ‘felt uncertain if you wanted it’ (arab terrorist vibes) or 'felt like I was being manipulated' (angry asian martial artists vibes) . Doesn’t have to be racism at play here either, women can be irrationally fearful of any man. Vibes.
The actions themselves are not criminalizable.
Non p-hacked stats try to avoid these kinds of obvious ambiguities in the language used to generate the 451 percenters’ stats. These folks however lean into the lies and deceptions, and deliberately use language designed to deceive people reading the stats into thinking that people have been harmed. They take language that means literally ‘I like or don’t like it’ and translate that to mean ‘I was sexually harassed, sexually assaulted, or even raped’.
This is how they inflate the numbers, so we get to the 451 percenters’ wacky ass beliefs; ‘451 percent of women will suffer egregious sexual violence to them at least fifty times in their lives’. All this means is vibes. 451 percent of women get some bad vibes bout some dudes.
You can hear it echoed in the bear or man discourse. Why do women choose the bear? Vibes and irrational fears. ‘We choose the bear because we don’t feel safe!’ translates directly to ‘Emmitt till whistled at me, and he’s a big black boy, that’s scary’ and ‘the mexican rapists are swarming over the border to get me’.
These are the stats that people point to when they try to justify their misandristic hot ass takes. They are self-referential to that same fear based aesthetic the stats are. The stats are reflective of peoples’ irrational fears, and people use those stats to justify their irrational fears, and people spread those fear based stats thereby spreading their unjustified fears. It’s a circle rub.
To criminalize these kinds of things is to be fascistic (treating aesthetics as if they were of obligatory concern), to believe that they are morally reprehensible is to be a puritan (overly moralizing sexuality).
The folks deriving these stats translate ‘unwanted’ (aesthetical ethics) to ‘sexual assault’, ‘sexual harassment’, or ‘rape’ (obligatory ethics), then lump everything together as ‘punny sexual violence’ to get the big numbers used to scare people and terrorize men. That’s called fascism.
“[T]here remains a likelihood of underreporting due to the sensitive nature of SV”.
This justification means that they do not trust people to report SV, ‘don’t believe women when they say they haven’t suffered any SV, manipulate the questions so they say yes to something they don’t think is SV, or which simply isn’t SV, and we’ll just call it SV of this or that sort. Later we’ll propagandize people so they too come to believe our puritanical misandristic hot ass takes.’
There is no lie nor hyperbole in what I am saying here. That is the rationale and the method. If you bone up on your academic lit in the topic, this is, well not verbatim what they say, I am lambasting them here, but this is the crux of what their argument and justifications are, and they explicitly hold that they ought be propagandizing people to their puritanical beliefs.
They push the fascistic (aesthetical ethical) and puritanical (overly moralized sexual ethics) discourse into the public by presenting stats that merely reflect fears and pretend that they are reflective of sexual violence. People then come to believe that those kinds of fear based concerns are actually sexual violence. An ‘unwanted flirtation’ becomes in their minds and only in their minds a sexual violence.
Emmitt till got lynched for whistling at a lady. They only disagree bout the racism, but he definitely deserved to be punished in some way like all men do for whistling at someone they think is hot af. Puritanism.
All just vibes, all but aesthetics, and all fascistically raised to a level of ethically obligatory concern.
“Just as SV is not limited to physically forced penetration, its perpetrators are not limited to strangers. Indeed, perpetrators of SV are more likely to be someone known to the victim. Sexual violence is a problem embedded in our society and includes unwanted acts perpetrated by persons very well known (e.g., family members, intimate partners, and friends), generally known (e.g., acquaintances), not known well or just known by sight (e.g., someone in your neighborhood, person just met) and unknown to the victim (e.g., strangers). “
Be afraid of everyone, any man out there could be your next rapist! That’s right ladies and gents, you’ve been raped several times already, you just didn’t know it. But don’t worry, the statisticians know better. They asked you an unrelated question you said yes to since you were too dumb to know that you were raped, and counted it as rape. Then they informed you that you ought be afraid of everyone in your community, lest they also rape you, unbeknownst to you of course. But again, don’t worry, the statistician will count those too.
As a measure of fear the 451 percenters capture, well or worse who knows, all the racism, sexism, bigotry, and various phobias in the society, and how those fears are transferred onto masculine bodies as imaginary perpetrators of punny sexual offenses. None of it is real, there are not 451 percent of sexual violences happening, 451 percent of men are not sexual predators, and 451 percent of women are not victims of sexual violence.
‘Safety culture’ mostly reflects irrational fears.
Ask the kkk how many black people are rapists, you’re gonna get a high number. Ask puritans how many people are punny sexual offenders, you’re going to get a very high number. Such is the most tame interpretation of what is going on. The 451 percenters are puritans, they’ve overly moralized sexuality, counting offenses to their sensibility rather than criminal actions.
Puritans informing you how ‘vile and wicked’ your sexual ways are; advocating to make their puritanical beliefs bout punny sexual offenses into legally enforceable laws. These are the same kinds of concerns bout a someone dressing too provocatively, such is a ‘punny sexual violation’ to the sensibilities of others.
The less tame version of this is that it is exactly what fascists do. Lie to people especially bout punny sexual offenses in order to ratchet up the fear levels in the population, so they run to them to solve the ‘problem’.
Could be both tho.
Either way, their misandry murders little boys. They celebrate terrorizing men, and rejoice in lynching folks. They’re despicable people.
Solutions?
Ruthlessly love them. Write them love poems, show them kindness and generosity of spirit, but give them not a dime in money, nor ever relent to their irrational fears. Extol their beauty and virtues, make love with them, utterly ruthlessly. Be overtly sexual bout it, in this give them no quarter, bring to an end their puritanism by giving them no plausible cause to be thus. No one under the duress of loves’ enticements and sexual pleasures be puritans. Be relentless, show them masculine sexuality; give them nothing to complain bout, but give them masculine sexuality. Don’t fall for their puritanism, be the boys of summer.
Respect a ‘no means no’ ethic as a code of obligatory actions. Use aesthetical ethics towards good sex with mutual respect given; don’t ever take that as a one way thing. Do not conflate the aesthetics of good sex, 'enthusiastic yeses’ with those of the ethics of obligation ‘no means no’. Don’t be puritans, don’t be fascists, be sex positivists.
Call out the stats when folks bring them up, refer people to these points, feel free to refer people to this post and/or the attached video. ‘But the CDC said’ is not a valid argument; they have put puritans in charge of determining punny sexual offenses. They find punny sexual offenses everywhere they look.
If you’re super coolio, start advocating against the CDC’s use of NISVS to determine what constitutes sexual violence. It doesn’t match with criminal data’s methods, it doesn’t utilize the metrics of ‘no means no’ which are the proper metrics to use, instead it utilizes what amounts to peculiar beliefs bout the aesthetics of sex as a means of measure for punny sexual offenses.
They are spreading a puritanical belief system bout punny sexual offenses, nothing more, and they are causing public health problems by spreading their lies. They are not counting sexual offenses, they are not a criminal justice system, they aren’t technically even in the business of understanding sexual violence. They are the Center For Disease Control, not the ‘center for social engineering sexual practices control’.
Original video on the topic, with some additional resources for understanding these issues in the description.
The Rest Of This Post Is References To The CDC, NISVS, And Crime Data Reports, Along With Some Quotes Thereof With Short Specific Retorts Highlighting The Relevant Info In The Quotes As It Pertains To The Post. This Is But A Small Sample Of How They Use Language Of Aesthetics To Make Their Ethical Claims, And How Their Language Is Misandristic.
sv_surveillance_definitionsl-2009-a.pdf (cdc.gov)
Fast Facts: Preventing Sexual Violence Violence Prevention Injury Center CDC
Key Terms & FAQs National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS)Funded
Programs Violence Prevention Injury Center CDC
Some key quotes from this, Bolded text hereafter are coded for ‘yes means yes’ methods of understanding sexual violence, and sometimes misandristic language. Italicized text are quotes from the sources:
“Rape is defined as any completed or attempted unwanted [unwanted is an aesthetic criteria, not a consent criteria which is ‘a no was stated’ attempted while a real thing allows for further insertion of scary vibes to pad the stats, e.g. the blackness of the lover] ...includes times when the victim was drunk, high*, drugged, or passed out and unable to consent.* [puritanical belief bout drinking and drugs, e.g. one cannot consent if drunk or high. Note that it is separate from being drugged or passed out and unable to consent, and that criminally speaking being drunk or high is not indicative of a lack of capacity to consent, also note this is de facto applied to women only].
“Sexual coercion is defined as unwanted sexual penetration that occurs after a person is pressured in a nonphysical way. In NISVS, sexual coercion refers to unwanted vaginal, oral, or anal sex after being pressured in ways that include being worn down by someone who repeatedly asked for sex or showed they were unhappy; feeling pressured by being lied to, being told promises that were untrue, having someone threaten to end a relationship or spread rumors; and sexual pressure due to someone using their influence or authority.”
Unwanted is an aesthetic category, not a consent category. ‘Sexual coercion’ is not a criminal offense either. It is a puritanical belief bout sexuality that is based on a sex negative view, e.g. that sex is a bad unless and until magical words are said to make it into a good. Calling it ‘sexual violence’ is just lying. Coercion is defined misandristically to only be bout penetration, which precludes all the ways that women use sex and sexuality to manipulate, use, abuse, and harm people; note that there are essentially zero surveys done that include some ‘feminine coded coercive behavior’ into these stats. That is by design. Including not incidentally the way that women have historically and currently used irrational fears over their sexuality to terrorize men and get people murdered.
“Unwanted sexual contact is defined as unwanted sexual experiences involving touch but not sexual penetration, such as being kissed in a sexual way, or having sexual body parts fondled, groped, or grabbed.”
Unwanted is aesthetics, not consent. Also this literally describes flirting. I know they want to try and capture some other sort of notion, grossy mcgrosser pinning someone down and groping them, but all this describes here, and all the stats can possibly reflect, is flirting.
“Non-contact unwanted sexual experiences is defined as those unwanted experiences that do not involve any touching or penetration, including someone exposing their sexual body parts, flashing, or masturbating in front of the victim, someone making a victim show his or her body parts, someone making a victim look at or participate in sexual photos or movies*, or* someone harassing the victim in a public place in a way that made the victim feel unsafe.”
This category is quite broad and puritanical in its disposition, as it assumes there is something wrong with seeing naked images unless and until expressed verbal consent is given, and undoubtedly ignores the en masse flood of naked images of women online to which basically every guy is exposed to. Compare again to people who claim that women ought not be allowed to show their ankles as it causes a ‘harm’ to those who are ‘forced’ to see it. Exact same shite. Aesthetical concerns of wanted or unwantedness, and also notice the expressly stated vibes check ‘victim feel unsafe’. Look out for the black boys, they make them feel unsafe!
Crime/Law Enforcement Stats (UCR Program) — FBI
Quick Facts on Sexual Abuse Offenses (ussc.gov)
It’s worth mentioning that statistically speaking, if one uses the stats derived from crime data as opposed to statisticians making numbers up, the percentages of men who do sexual violence, depending a bit on how you count it, are: 0.0516% or .478% or .0957%. Although the video goes over this all in pretty good depth, just do a little sniff test here; are .478% of the male population sexually violating a third of all women, 55.5 million women?

in this post, i will be sharing my revaluation result experience, this can be a long post. i write this to reach anyone who needs guidance on revaluation process and how does it turn out to be.
when i was in my fourth semester, i wanted to consider my result for revaluation, since i got less than expected. i got a B+, and i was expecting an O.
Usually, people go for reval for passing an ER, but my case was different since i wanted grade improvement. so like anyone would, i googles/ searched for experiences, and honestly i couldn't find much, at max i found a quora answer, which was extremely negative. i went to my admin, even they suggested that marks may decrease.
finally, after enough fear mongering, i went for revaluation. i waited for every list, and i got my result after 8 months of application, and i can very happily tell u that it improved to an A+, which i am very much satisfied with.
so, if you are sailing in the same boat, and asking questions like 'is it worth it?', 'what if my marks decrease?' etc; i would just say one thing, if you know it in your gut that you deserve more 100% and have the financial privilege (since i personally feel 1k is a handsome amount, for a result which may decrease or remain the same), go ahead for it, you may benefit from it for sure.
i am just sharing my experience bc when i wanted somebody to tell me this, i couldn't find no one, hence i make this post, i hope anyone who needs this post, finds it! all the best to anyone considering, hope you manifest good marks.

Timeshare presentations: When you get off the plane, so many hotels are going to asking for you to sit for a timeshare presentation. The timeshare resort that you are apart of is going to tell you to not accept any invitations. But accept one. 20-50$ is typically a holding place for your appointment. Let’s talk about the art of negotiating the deal though. Most offer at least 150$-250$ for sitting through the presentation and they inform you that the presentation is going to be 60-90 minutes. This is very important. Here’s what i did…
I negotiated 200$, a taxi ride to and from the appointment, and a cab ride to Costco. And breakfast.
During the appointment, Keep a stop watch. Don’t buy anything. Take a look at the rooms, and boom 90 minutes will past so quickly. No matter what you get offered, there is always a cheaper one, and if you keep saying no they will offer you a sampler that typically includes a free trip for 10% of whatever they asked you first. If initially offer is 40,000$ then the sample is about $4000. Same for 20,000$, to 2000$ sampler. Depending on the hotel you accept at. At the 90 minutes mark, be really straightforward and leave. lol, that’s the easiest way to do it.
Cab rides: It’s either uber or calling a cab. On the Uber app, getting to Costco from Cabo azul is going to be cheapish. Getting back from Costco is going to be almost double.
Food: Walmart and Costco prolly the easiest places to get groceries for things that you are used to. Walmart delivery is here, so though I went to Costco first, I did do the Walmart delivery. Deliveries are not allowed to bring it to your room or even to come in from the gate, so after you make your order from Walmart, there’s a additional instruction section where you can put to leave it at the gate, include your room number so that they guys at the gate will bring it up to you. Make sure you write it in Spanish, and if you don’t know Spanish, use google translate.

Hello Readers
Here is this week's collation of WritingPrompts responses!
As always, if you see anything you would like to see me expand upon, or have questions on why I went that direction, please let me know!
6th May: With the last of her power the witch cursed the knight so everything they say is twisted the worst way possible. So the knight decided to simply never talk.
7th May: You and your team have everything you had to defeat the enemy. With their dying breath(s), they tell you that there are two more even stronger than them! And they’ll arrive in 6 months tops.
8th May: "Heroes always want to uphold order while villains want to create chaos. I however want to create perfect order out of total chaos."
9th May: It's been days since the world has found out not only that you have superpowers, but the ability to give others superpowers as well. You are constantly getting calls from religious leaders, governments, celebrities and activists trying to get your to give them or the world superpowers.
10th May: “We’re sorry, we didn’t know she was your daughter!” “And that’s your justification? You’re sorry because the vulnerable little girl you kidnapped was the wrong little girl? Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it was any other little girl?”
11th May: Your Paladin companion died, and you, a Changeling, have worn their shape since and continued their mission. The Order your friend belonged to knows who you are and politely rejected you, but does not stop you. No one else knows.
12th May: You are an Eldritch being as old as the universe but you want to befriend the humans and see the world from their perspective, enjoy the little things.

Hello Readers
Here is this week's collation of WritingPrompts responses!
As always, if you see anything you would like to see me expand upon, or have questions on why I went that direction, please let me know!
6th May: With the last of her power the witch cursed the knight so everything they say is twisted the worst way possible. So the knight decided to simply never talk.
7th May: You and your team have everything you had to defeat the enemy. With their dying breath(s), they tell you that there are two more even stronger than them! And they’ll arrive in 6 months tops.
8th May: "Heroes always want to uphold order while villains want to create chaos. I however want to create perfect order out of total chaos."
9th May: It's been days since the world has found out not only that you have superpowers, but the ability to give others superpowers as well. You are constantly getting calls from religious leaders, governments, celebrities and activists trying to get your to give them or the world superpowers.
10th May: “We’re sorry, we didn’t know she was your daughter!” “And that’s your justification? You’re sorry because the vulnerable little girl you kidnapped was the wrong little girl? Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it was any other little girl?”
11th May: Your Paladin companion died, and you, a Changeling, have worn their shape since and continued their mission. The Order your friend belonged to knows who you are and politely rejected you, but does not stop you. No one else knows.
12th May: You are an Eldritch being as old as the universe but you want to befriend the humans and see the world from their perspective, enjoy the little things.

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*