Dry scratchy chest and throat

Click this link to read Chapter 1.
It all started when…
Chapter 2: Of Boosters and Boomsticks
Wooden crates, about 2 feet taller than me and wide enough to fit two dead bodies, sat lined up outside, leaning against the back of the warehouse. All of them had been stamped “This End Up” with a large arrow pointing said direction, all in black charring. Below the arrow, in red paint, the word “EXPLOSIVE” had been stenciled.
“Ahhh, one of my favorite words!” I says as I teasingly knocked on the crate loud enough for Hoskins to hear, “Explosive.”
Hoskins was the inventory clerk, a short and stout man with a surly dispassion. He had an accent I found hard to place but, since he’s too dead for me to ask these days, I’m just gonna’ say he came from somewhere around the Australian plateau. Maybe New Zealand or Tasmania, someplace like that…I don’t know. Wish I did.
Anyways —
“Bloody ‘ell, mate! You’re chancin’ a right trip straight to the barbie!” he says.
“Yeah,” I says with a coy smile, “You love it when I tease you.” I stretched my arms out, a little proud of myself for riling him up so easily.
“Yeah, mate. You and that boobie.” He pointed to my shirt.
Sure enough, a hole in the right side of my shirt had risen up and, while I stretched, one of the girls was sayin’ ‘Hello!’ to Hoskins, who just grinned to himself as he looked away to the wooden crate. Lettin’ my stance relax back to oh-naturel, I straightened my shirt and jacket, and set to helpin’ the guy ease one of the crate’s lids open. From inside the crate, strands and bundles of hay began to fall out, and Hoskins kicked it all off to the side.
“Diesel, I got this lid,” he grunted as he took all the weight. “Make sure none of that hay blows away.”
“Why?” I asked, completely clueless to the situation. “You afraid the mustangs will go after it or something? I mean they know the field’s mined, don’t they?” Now you might be thinking ‘Mustangs? Like the horses?’ and I could see why you’d be thinking that but, no, the mustangs I’m talking about were the rabble rousing punks that were always trying to raid us.
He stopped and thought about it as though it were the first time it had crossed his mind, “There is that, ya’ bet. They’d give anything for this stuff.”
“But?” I pressed as I knelt down to scoop up the falling hay.
Still just standing there, thinking, he looked right at me and said, “I suppose it’s time for ya’ be brought in on certain things.”
“What kind of ‘certain things’?” I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him with a fist full of hay.
“Well,” he thought some more. “The sergeant thought it okay for ya’ to come out here with me and grab this stuff, so…”
“So…what?”
The wind picked up and hit the crates lid just right, I saw it teeter and, as I stood to keep from getting’ squashed, Hoskins just about lost his mind at all the hay getting’ blown out. Inside the crate, loosening from their place as the hay filtered out, long rods with explosives tied to their tips began to slip and topple. Hoskins let go of the lid to grab for the rods, I sidestepped the lid, and it came thudding down in a flurry of dust a dried-grasses. A large puffy cloud of hay fell out and waltzed around and dispersed and skipped away, and splayed itself out all over the Test Yard…and the minefield beyond. Hoskins stood there grumblin to himself, half apologizing for nearly crushin’ me, and more-so cursin’ at the mess. And, sure enough, one of the mustangs zoomed up over the ridge and down to the razor-wire and, then, decided to hop out of his dune buggy to chase down some of that good-ol hay. I nudged Hoskins in the side to watch and, when the blast of dirt and dust cleared with no sign of the punk to be seen, I handed him the tuft of hay.
“So, what is it you wanted to tell me about the hay?”
He told me all about the hay and, let me tell you what, it was a mouthful. “Rekindlite,” they called it, and by ‘they’ I mean the Firestarters, according to Hoskins that is. And, that it’s as good as gold to the Firestarters. He went on to tell me how they ground it up as fine as it could get, and that they used the powered dust as a fuel for the rocket boosters they so loved to use. All that said, it was a secretly valuable resource when it came to trading things between the factions, so, I understood why it was to be keep secret.
Anyways, I’m startin’ to ramble so, please, allow me to just get back to the story.
There I was, back in the garage workin’ on the Snaggeltooth with most everyone, Hoskins takin’ the parts list of what we pulled from the yard over to the sergeant’s bunk.
“Yeah!” I says to the others, “He just ran right after that stuff like there was no tomorrow and, BAM! No more Mustang…” the crew laughed here and there through the garage. “They even had the decency to park their rig right out front.” I cranked away on the ratchet, tightening one of the explosive rods to the undercarriage when, and this was some crazy crap, when Kenny (poor kid…rest his soul…good kid…shame) I guess no one had taken the time to explain to him exactly what he was handling. And, I have to admit to really only seeing it all outta’ the corner of my eye because, yeah, it happened so damn fast.
“I’ll save you, Nikki!” Kenny blurted out as he pulled a rod from the crate, hoisted it under his arm like he was Prince Valiant, or Sir Lancelot, swung it around and, BAM! I don’t know what he hit but he hit something.
Thrown to the ground with a ringing in my ears, a blind spot in the corner of one eye and the concrete floor all jammed up in the other, and with the wind knocked from my lungs. Aw crap! Is what I thought, “mbmmbmmpoo,” is what escaped my lips.
Kenny was just a scorched smear on the concrete with pieces of himself and the wooden crate scattered everywhere.
We all lost a little sleep that night. Kenny was just a teen that wandered up out of the dunes one day…knockin’ on the door of our garage just lookin’ for a place to belong.
Did he belong here? I thought to myself layin’ there on that saggy couch. I thought he did. “Should have watched out for him more…” I whispered into the crook of the couch as I rolled over.
Like I said, sleep was lost thinkin’ about it all. We had a plan set for the next day, and Kenny was set to fill up a barrel of fuel down at Fang’s station just before dawn. Now, that task fell to me, won’t be a big deal, I thought as I tossed and turned and, finally, drifted away.
My eyes opened up to the ashen grey of daybreak, and my heart just about jumped out of my chest, “Aw crap!” And, I’m pretty sure I woke up anyone else still asleep, but I didn’t stick around to find out. I grabbed the starter module for the Snaggeltooth, hopped into the rig (which I know for a fact woke everyone up), and got my sad ass down to Fang’s station. “Thank God they put the barrel in the back last night…” and they did. Thank God!

I (20M, 5'5", 122 lbs) had 16g of MuscleBlaze's Raw Whey Protein before sleep and woke up with a mild sore throat the next morning. I didn't think much of it and continued to take 5g of creatine monohydrate. Nothing happened immediately, so I took another dose of 5g after 4 hours.
After a few hours, I felt fullness or pressure in my ears and a scratchy, sore feeling at the back of my throat. It was mild. When I slept that night, I experienced headaches, body weakness, and fluctuating sensations of cold and heat. When I woke up, I felt fine except for a mild throat pain. I proceeded to take another 5g of creatine.
Later that day, I started having mild pain in my throat again when swallowing. I also felt pain when I touched the right side of my neck area under my ear.
Context: When I eat anything that has butter, ghee, mayonnaise, or certain oils like palm oil, I sneeze 10-12 times almost continuously the next day. This has been happening for the past 4 years. Sometimes, this also happens with bananas.

• Can Whey protein & Creatine cause these allergic reaction or is this a viral infection?
• Should I stop taking these supplements immediately or should I wait until I recover with the sore throat fully and try again?
• How can I cope with these allergic reactions?
• Are there any alternatives to these supplements?

Previous
So, if you’re just joining us, I work at a haunted zoo now. Since I’ve gotten some rest, it feels like I’ve got my head on straight, at least, so I’d like to continue where I left off.
I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers to. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
Previous

Female, 19 years old, 5'7, 125 pounds
I've had phlegm constantly down my throat for about a year and a half now. I usually get phlegm after I get sick, but this one remained after I healed. I'm aggressively hacking it up more than 15 or so times a day, especially in the morning when it gets all dry and like... orange. And it builds up in two different places, meaning I sometimes have to reach up with my finger behind my uvula to get whatever is left.
I have gone to two doctors, one of which was my primary care and the other an ENT, and tried multiple things:
Allergy meds, Mucinex (two types), Sinus spray (prescribed and off the counter), Like three different antibiotics, and Acid reflux meds
The ENT doctor basically had me pay 400 dollars to stick two little cameras down my throat and in my nose so that she could tell me "I dunno!" and at this point, I am unwilling to keep spending money (that I don't have much freedom to spend anyway since I'm 19 and work part time).
Does anyone have any ideas as to what this is?

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

I am not sure if that is common, my so called crashing has a very visible sign, every time after exertion I have shortness of breath with strong nausea and sometimes I just suddenly dry heave uncontrollably(loudly, my throat hurts), then my body starts trembling and body temperature rises, also cold hands and feet.

Age: 20 Female Weight: around 78kg ? Not taking any medication
Last week I had a sinus infection (or it’s what it felt like. I was sneezing, my sinuses were hurting and i overall felt sick. Never went to the doctor because I don’t have insurance currently)
About a few days later, I started feeling better, and I was, until yesterday.
I woke up yesterday morning coughing and had been coughing most of the day. Still sneezing, but not as bad.
I woke up this morning to a scratchy throat, very hoarse voice, and I’m coughing. My voice is almost gone. Not sure if it’s laryngitis, mucus, or postnatal drip. Never had this happen before. I’ve felt pretty lazy the last few days but not super achy.

I've been riding the Ancient Fruit wine bandwagon, and it's still good - ancient fruit growing every 7 days, kegging it, then selling it.
I do starfruit for casking - that's my 'summer crop' most years.
But I'm starting to really appreciate pineapple power in the new update, for a couple of reasons.
The strength of pinapples - even before 1.6 - is that they'll grow in garden pots. They're not as good as ancient fruit, but you can plant them in your house and in sheds, and in a bunch of 'non-farmable' tiles e.g. on ginger island (like on grass).
1.6 has made that IMO a little better for two reasons.
Iridium Scythe now means you can pack with more density. Scythe lets you harvest 2 deep, so you can get more pineapples in a single shed (or room in your house). The wiki tells me sheds can now hold 167 plants, where before the limit was 137.
And the other is the dehydrator for throughput.
167 pineapples need 167 kegs. But only 5 dehydrators.
This is a place - IMO - where hoppers become valuable. Faster cycling machines get a bit irritating to restock. But load 5 hoppers -> 5 dehydrators, and you can just collect your dried pineapple each day. The production of a shed (and the 5 machines) will generate you 33 dried pinapple a week - 2300 without Artisan, and 3320 with. (75,900 or 106260 respectively).
And OK, that's not quite as much as a shed full of kegs, where 137 * 1650 = 226k (315k with artisan), but it's also self contained, not needing 'input' from valuable greenhouse or ginger island tiles (I mean, you can't really measure a greenhouse tile + a shed tile comparatively here, but it does mean twice as many raw tiles).
And in terms of effort? Well, sweeping the space with a scythe and loading 5 hoppers seems a bunch easier to me than loading 100+ barrels. You do, however, need to collect daily, which might be a downside, but that's why I like the hoppers - you can grab and just stuff it a chest or the produce sale bin, and not have to bother reloading it. (Hopper feeding a hundred kegs wouldn't be nearly so sensible IMO).

[this is a gypsum-bound codex, the written portion concerns the history of the dwarven village Scarletswords. Overall, the prose is amateurish at best]
She was a necromancer from Dartmarrow, servant of Jerac, and a mother of five. Her needs were never met, she always had more gods than we had shrines, she was always hungry for the food and drink she couldn't have.
No one knows why she left Dartmarrow, and joined the rinky-dink outpost Scarletswords, but she earned her keep when our numbers were barely above a couple dozen....that's a lie, she did very little for us. She was always tired, slow to recover, and without any relief, save for when she would cry upon the shoulder of Ikzet, our expedition leader, or someone else in a similar position of power.
She eventually was placed into a squad, a solo squad. She was an experienced swordsdwarf, albeit rusty, which was why she was placed on training regiments to sharpen her skills back up. Her training was solo, as was her squadron, precisely because of the unknown factors of her venture into dark magics.
None of us had seen anything of the sort before, we knew little of the tales, but we knew enough to be frightful. She understood that, she didn't resent it, but it did weigh upon her. Why did she come here? Perhaps, Swordscarlet was her escape, the creations of necromancers are often times painful accidents, was that the same for her children?
There's no point in speculating upon it, for she died in her best attempt at defending us. Those goblin "poets" and "traders" whom we caught onto much too late led a army 40 strong, they watched and waited until we stretched ourselves thin with hubris, all our squads sent out upon missions of extermination for goblin encampments, small enough for easy slaughter, easy glory.
We were defenseless, except for her. As the goblins awaited our parley, beating their shields, and giggling amongst themselves, we prayed, and we readied ourselves. She prayed at the shrines of each of her gods, she was in a trance. Our messengers returned, as did our forces.
There are no words to describe it in truth, all I can say, is that I was not a hero. I finished one limping goblin off, with a sword I picked up from one of our fallen soldiers. My fellow dwarves were heroes that day, and I will not allow anyone to say that Ulib wasn't either, inspite of what happened.
She joined our forces as they rushed the goblin horde, for every two goblins we felled, we lost one soldier, at that rate, our casualties would've been far lower. But she was afraid, and she made a mistake. In a pit surrounded by fallen goblins, with more approaching upon the hill above her, she raised them, as mad and malignant corpses.
Her undead charged the goblin horde, as our forces approached to clean up, they were betrayed; for she had no control over her own summons. Soon, her murder-lusting summons turned claws and blades to her. Her stabbings at the chest of the zombie did little to slow it, as it lashed her throat and her face, the bits of it left flying off in an arc.
She stumbled away from the battlefield, and collapsed. Our numbers were 94 strong before the invasion, and by my count as of the summer of 294, we are down to 73. The migrants whom have arrived in the time since then have told us of much worse battles, of outposts being utterly sacked by goblin invasions, and by undead forces.
I am not foolish enough to think our loses extraordinary, or unprecedented in it's tragedy, however, I am just foolish enough to believe myself capable and worthy of recording their memory. Those who are reading this will know barely enough of what losses we suffered, and worse yet, they will not know of the joys we created.

I have had 3 horrible bouts of illness in 6 months and I’m wondering if it’s actually just asthma and allergy exacerbation. It starts with a dry cough that turns to a wet one with yellow mucus and then when my chest clears it goes into my nose before I feel better. No fevers and my doctor won’t even test for me anything anymore. She’s really not interested in helping me. I think they are tired of me calling and saying I’m sick again but I need a note if I miss more than 3 days and these bouts have lasted me 1-2 weeks each time. They won’t even see me for an appointment anymore. Even the triage nurse told me I need to see a pulmonologist again and I’m not getting sick. Triage nurse said my doctor would call so I can come in and talk about my asthma and get a referral but when they called they said go to urgent care and hope you feel better. Is this really just my asthma getting worse? It’s not even a cold? They keep telling me that I have a lung disease and this is just the reality of it and to feel better soon.
She has me on qvar BID two puffs. Always have a rescue inhaler and nebulizer at home.

I'm British 34F, 156cm and maintain around 16% body fat. Eat a high protein and fibre diet, avoid eating UPF. No other medical conditions, never been to hospital before and usually slather white tiger balm or patches on my forehead for headaches.
I moved from Japan to SE Asia temporarily for work. After being here for 2.5 months I was getting the worst headaches of my life when my wisdom teeth started coming through. The headaches were concentrated above my left eye and blurred my vision in my left eye.
I went to a dentist within an English speaking hospital who said my wisdom teeth were fine but they recommended I went to the onsite pharmacy due to the headaches. They gave me 8/500mg co-codamol (effervescent tablets) and wrote 'Max 3 per day' on the packet in English.
I took 1 a day for the first 4 days, none of the 5th and 6th days and then took 1 a day for the following 4 days. 8 within 10 days.
The morning after I took the last tablet I woke up with jaundice - eye whites, face, chest, abdomen and arms. I also had diarrhoea, sore throat, lots of spots on my lower face, a different type of headache that felt more like swelling on the top of my head, feeling dizzy whenever I sat up/down and very fatigued.
I went to a different hospital and paid for a blood, kidney and liver test and was told it came back on the high side of normal. They said the dose I took wasn't consistent with my symptoms and I may be sensitive to paracetamol and may have Gilbert's syndrome. They said to come back if the jaundice worsened or I started feeling pain in my abdomen - thankfully neither happened.
It's now 8 days since I took the last tablet and I still have a hint of jaundice, it has gone down though and my skin is usually very cool toned. I still feel extremely tired, I usually exercise most days (rowing and weights) but at the moment my thighs and calfs feel exhausted after walking up 3 flights of stairs.
Do I need to do anything else/seek more medical attention? Will this damage my liver in the longterm? I'm here for another 6 weeks. Excuse the throwaway, a bit too personal for my main.

Hi all, I sometimes smoke flower that makes me sneeze and my throat itchy. It doesn't happen often but enough for me to notice. I also sometime's get a red dry eye, not the eye ball, but the eye-lid skin. I assume it could be from the smoke itself? I smoke inside. I also do have season allergies, maybe that's something to factor in? I'm aware of "terps", are there terps that people are more allergic to than others...? Lol thanks for the comments!

i all, I'm worried about my symptoms and I wanted to see if anybody experienced these. I have a GI appointment setup about 10 days away but my mind is beginning to race.
Until.the last week I had been waking up.with bad dry mouth for about 6 weeks and now that seems to have gone away.
I also now feel like I have a burn on both sides of my belly button and now I think I have constipation. To top ot off I have had a lingering cough for about 7 weeks and as of Saturday I have a hard pea sized bump on my chest on my chest here.
https://preview.redd.it/i04wvrkm2s1d1.png?width=874&format=png&auto=webp&s=02c46f1957975bf5991e853ee28696c5f4a6e628
My belly button and below were pretty much on fire yesterday, and I I decided to go into the ER. They ended up doing blood work, X-ray, and CAT..
Blood work has no elevated levels for white blood cells, x-ray shows no masses, and CAt showed no cancer as well as nothing "surgical." Whatever that means. .
The doctor last night thought the bump was a lymph node on my clavicle and to get a follow-up. The doctor mentioned that the CAT did show fatty liver disease.
I'm going to see a derm today to get their opinion about the bump. It's still there same size. This morning when I went to use the rest room it was a bit warm and I think I saw a little bit of blood, but i'm not sure.
https://preview.redd.it/hdc4htqc3s1d1.png?width=270&format=png&auto=webp&s=d36e2350f3cdf01ecac12845e6887efeb290ed7b

Hello and prynhawn da (Welsh for good afternoon)! After a long grey winter and spring, summer seems to have found my corner of the world and it’s got me in a great mood. I’ve been enjoying a long weekend this weekend with a mix of spending some in the local countryside and heading into Cardiff to go to the theatre last night. I hope you’re having a fun weekend too!
And while the alone time is fantastic and I’m more than happy in my own company, it would also be nice to have someone with whom I can share those sorts of experiences. Getting out and into the world and making memories that can be talked about and enjoyed together. If that sounds good then there’s more about me below.
I’m an open-minded guy willing to try new things and love exploring new places. I’m excited to travel to South America later in the year and am aiming to go to every continent at least one, I’ve covered the Northern hemisphere but this is my first time going below the equator! At home, I like all the usual things, films, reading, tv and music, have eclectic tastes in all of them and I’m up for giving recommendations and excited to hear your favourites too. I’m also learning Welsh, doing a bit of writing from time to time (should do more), enjoy cooking and getting out in the countryside for some casual photography.
Personality wise, I’m non-judgemental, passionate, with a dry sense of humour and enough of an ego to hopefully be endearing. I definitely wear my heart on my sleeve and am open about how I feel. While there’s not much I expect in a partner, openness definitely is, so if you’re one to play your card close to your chest or keep people at arm’s length, we’re probably not compatible.
On the subject of being open, I’m more than happy to see where things take us. I don’t have any specific relationship goals in mind, so up for discussing and figuring out what works.
Diolch for reading and I look forward to hearing from you.

“Will you look at that,” Captain Yontan marveled from the observation deck. They had arrived in the Solar System at long last, the old bastion of knowledge mankind had abandoned many millennia ago.
“Such a basic tech, yet so beautiful, so… poetic,” Lezlybe uttered, gazing at the constant flux of Sunfire Conduit pulled from the sun to one, two, three relays, and finally to the surface of Pluto, where its energy was being harnessed inside a crater. “And you’re certain that’s where the Ultimate Knowledge is stored?”
“Yes,” Yontan nodded. “Every clue leads to Pluto. Can you imagine? The Ultimate Knowledge, lost for millennia, on this planet out of all places.”
“Ready to descend at your command, captain,” announced Ghenna.
Yontan turned to his crew and smiled. It was the first time they had seen him do that in months. “Hover around the south-south-eastern quadrant of the crater. That’s where the entrance is supposed to be.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Lezlybe’s turned to face the captain, her long black hair swirling around with her.
“Wouldn’t that energy burn us on approach?”
“It might be basic tech, but not that basic, Lez,” said Yontan. “It’s safe up to a distance of 100 meters. Don’t underestimate the intelligence of our ancestors because they built this thing in the distant past. They were as smart as us. Smarter even, in certain aspects, I’m sure.”
“Found the entrance, captain,” said Ghenna. It was a pale peach colored door built on the craterside.
“Land near it, wherever it’s stable.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The ship touched down next to the Hollis Crater. Yontan and four others suited up and left the craft. Before heading for the door, the team stopped to gaze at the Sunfire Conduit from their position. It went up, up, up as far as the eye could see.
Jmerr was awestruck.
“I can’t believe we’re able to look at it with basic sun visors. Do you think our ancestors purposefully designed it like that?”
“Of course,” said Yontan, mesmerized by the spiraling blaze swooshing down the crater. “Aesthetics have always been important, especially since it used to be connected to three planets, two dwarf planets, and eight moons. Many renown painters have depicted the Conduits in their art. Although no physical portraits survived, their works have been well documented over hundreds of books.”
Lezlybe approached Jmerr and put her hand over his shoulder.
“I kind of wish we could hear its thunderous sound. I imagine it’d be a satisfying swoosh, kind of like a blowtorch.”
“You’d be deaf before you’d hear a thing,” laughed Yontan. “We’re speaking of extremely powerful jets coming from a star, after all. I can’t wait to see why they’re pulling so much energy on such a small planet. It’s totally excessive in my view.”
“Maybe it’s not,” said Lezlybe. “Especially if the Ultimate Knowledge is behind this door.”
The team approached the door, a small black panel to its side. Yontan placed a round device on top and, seconds later, it retracted into the ground.
“A Grampus?” frowned Jmerr, even though no one could see his face behind the visor. “Why do you use this old AI?”
“Because I don’t know the code,” explained Yontan as they stepped inside a long hall. “So I brought this device with me to crack the password. Don’t forget that this here is also old tech. Newer devices could break something.” He glanced over his shoulder at the wide-open entryway with the ship not too far behind. “But it looks like the Grampus broke it anyway since it doesn’t slide shut.”
At the end of the wide turquoise hall, another door was easily popped open with Yontan’s device. This time, however, the heavy door closed shut when the last person stepped in.
“I hope we’re not trapped in this small room,” gulped Lezlybe.
“Don’t worry, we can ask someone on board to cut it open if needed,” said Yontan. “After all we –”
PSHHHHHHHH
A burst of gas sprayed them from all sides, followed by a shower of heavy liquid. A few moments after it stopped, the door in front of them opened, and a gentle male voice greeted them.
“Welcome to U.K. ONE. The current air pressure is at 101.3 kilopascals, with a temperature of 22.4 degrees Celsius and a humidity level set at 60% RH.”
The voice then proceeded to inform them about the room’s condition among other sets of data.
“I see. We were inside a basic decompression chamber,” muttered Jmerr.
The tallest crewmate, Lessandre, popped his helmet off and took a deep breath.
“Ah, historical fresh air,” he boomed, looking around the oval room. “It brings a tear to my eye.”
“What are you doing?” Yontan shouted. “We don’t know what particles or microorganisms could linger in here.”
“Relax, captain. Tyche analyzed the air and told me it’s fine. Why don’t you all retract your visors and experience this multimillennial-old air? You’ll never have the chance to do that again, you know.”
Yontan checked with his own version of his AI, Tyche, and everything seemed to be fine, so he retracted the visor of his helmet as well, just in time to scratch an itch on his beard. The rest of the crew followed, except for Jmerr.
“Come on, Jmerr. It’s a unique experience, my friend,” beamed Lessandre, tapping on his shoulder.
Jmerr scowled at Lessandre. “I refuse to take unnecessary risks.”
“As you wish,” Lessandre grinned, loudly sniffing the air. “Ahhh. The air in here is exceptionally… how to describe it?”
“Dusty?” Lezlybe chimed in. “I think the auto-clean on the filter stopped working long ago.”
Yontan was ignoring his crew, inspecting the walls of this oval room for clues. But the room was pretty much empty, outside of the air conditioning holes and lights flickering on the ceiling.
“I know there’s another door on the other side of the crater, but that one’s the entrance to the accumulator and workspaces,” he muttered to himself, caressing the wall in the hopes of finding a button or a gap of sorts.
“Is that place also turquoise?” asked Lessandre. “I really hate this color. Reminds me too much of my ex.”
Lezlybe rolled her eyes.
“Then why don’t we go there?” asked Ghenna, who had closed her visor since she didn’t like the smell.
“Because,” began Yontan absent-mindedly while brushing his hands over the wall, “every document points to this place. We’ll check the other site if we don’t find anything here. Now if only I – aha! A button. This might be it.”
Yontan pushed it with his finger. Instead of clicking, like any other button would, his index finger sank completely in. He immediately withdrew it, fearing something might cut his finger off. But the button came back, except it was now white and protruded out of the wall. Yontan hesitantly pressed it.
An oval pedestal emerged from the middle of the floor, gradually rising until it reached chest height. The left side slid open with melodious clicks, and out came a small table with a round black object on it with a sky-blue center. Before they had the time to guess what it was, a hologram rose from it, displaying the head of an old balding man with a lazy eye.
“Greetings, future humans,” said the feeble voice. “And welcome to K.U. ONE. What is your purpose here?”
Yontan glanced at his crew, who gave him a nod and shrugs. He cleared his throat and spoke clearly, “We’ve come here to gain access to the Ultimate Knowledge, which is said to contain the answers to our purpose within the universe.”
“I see. And you are one, two, five. Oh! That is good news, good news indeed. I’ve been waiting for you. Well, not me per se, since I’m long dead, I suppose,” the hologram laughed, “but my digital image. And five? Oh, proof that nothing happens at random.”
Yontan was slightly taken aback.
“Wait. You’re not a simple recording?”
“No, no. I’m enhanced with artificial intelligence. It speaks as I would speak, saying what I asked it to say – with a bit of panache. Now, move to the other side of the pedestal. It will pop open and contain a box.”
The other side popped open, displaying a silver box embossed with gold on the edges. It was beautiful. Lessandre grabbed it and tried to pry it open.
“Tut-tut! You need the key to open the box. I’ll hand it over only of you accept to eat its contents.”
“Eat it?” Yontan uttered in excitement. “Will it alter our brains? Give us the knowledge we yearn for?”
“Not quite. But it is a necessary step.”
“I won’t touch it,” Jmerr stated firmly. “I don’t trust this man. Whatever’s inside, it’s been in there for thousands of years. There’s no way it’s still edible.”
“Oh but it is,” grinned the man. “What do you think the Sunfire Conduit is used for?”
“What?” uttered Lezlybe. “The power of the sun used for… food?”
“Of course, there’s more to it. But a lot of energy is necessary to cool it down to near zero kelvin and keep it that way until it’s very slowly reheated to the ideal temperature for you to savor.
“Now, will you eat its contents or not?”
“Why don’t we bring it back to the ship and study it?” suggested Jmerr.
“The moment you leave the room with the box, its contents will be destroyed, and so will the key to Ultimate Knowledge.”
Yontan exchanged a glance with his crew. Lessandre gave him thumbs up, Ghenna nodded and Lezlybe shrugged. Jmerr was the only one to firmly shake his head.
“Fine, we’ll eat its contents,” said Yontan, upon which Jmerr put his hands up in the air in frustration.
A key appeared from the front of the pedestal. Yonan used it to open the box Lessandre was holding. Five dark-brown spherical objects were neatly placed within fitting molds, resembling the five dots on a die.
“Behold the Five Orbs of Knowledge,” the hologram said solemnly. “I recommend one for each of you.”
Jmerr crossed his arms. “There’s no way I’m touching this.”
“What if someone eats two?” asked Yontan, eyeing Jmerr.
“It would sadden me, even though it might be beneficial to grasp the Ultimate Knowledge.”
Without hesitation, Lessandre popped the middle one in his mouth. Every other crewmate was staring at him. A few bites in, he suddenly froze, eyes wide open. His gaze slowly shifted from Yontan, to Lezlybe, to Ghenna – whose visor was now lowered – and finally stopped on Jmerr.
“Awl eash ‘em bofh,” he rapidly chewed, popping a second one in. “Awl eash ‘em owl ihf you guysh downt.”
Yontan’s hand was shaking as he picked his Orb. Lezlybe and Ghenna also chose one.
“On the count of three,” gulped Yontan, as he noticed the horrified look on Jmerr. “One… two… three!”
The shell of the Orb had a slight crunch, with a rather soft, creamy inner core, gently melting on their tongue. Sweet with a zest of bitterness. Each bite, each movement of their tongue was another moment they savored, dreading the end of this unique flavor. It was an explosion of exoticism, a sensory overload inside their mouth; the richness of the Orb filled their taste buds and souls alike with pure bliss.
Then there was the aroma, dissolving the dusty odor of the room with its arboraceous perfume. It reminded them of Terrestrial woods, now planted across various planets in the Milky Way. Comforting, ancient, nostalgic, and so raw at heart.
Fortunately, this jolly adventure didn’t end after they swallowed it, no, each residue, sticking to the various corners of their mouths, lingered like a fleeting memory soon to disappear forever. Yet it was still there, to grasp with the palm of their hands. But when they tried to, it became vapor, dwindling, yet etched in their brains with such strength it would be impossible to ever forget this moment. Ever.
Their minds were still floating on a cloud of ecstasy when Yontan stared at Lessandre.
“You ate two,” he breathed. “And you,” he turned to Jmerr, “you have no idea what you’ve just missed. It’s… indescribably delectable.” Yontan faced the hologram. “Please, give us one more, for Jmerr. He has to try this… Orb.”
The hologram grinned widely, creasing the old man’s entire face.
“These were the last five. There are no more.”
“WHAT?” everyone shouted at once.
“Th– that’s it? No more?” Yontan’s shoulder slumped. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve taken it back to the ship and try to recreate it.”
“It’s impossible without the recipe.”
“A recipe? Give it to us, I don’t care about Ultimate Knowledge anymore,” Lessandre laughed.
“But you had two,” Lezlybe scowled.
“And I want more,” he chuckled. “I’ve never felt better in my life. Even two were far too few!”
“Yes, hand us the recipe so we can share it with the rest of the crew,” pleaded Yontan.
The hologram seemed more and more pleased with itself.
“Even if I gave you the recipe you couldn’t make it when the main ingredient’s missing.”
“What’s the main ingredient?” Ghenna asked.
“Cacao. And these were chocolate truffles, which I made myself utilizing the very last cacao beans to ever exist. I’m sorry. You’ll never eat chocolate ever again.”
Jmerr seemed disappointed upon hearing it, especially after seeing how everyone reacted to it.
“B – but… why?” Yontan asked. “Why offer us a delicious treat only to punch us in the gut right after?”
The hologram smiled. “Think. What is your purpose here?”
“To acquire Ultimate Knowledge… But I fail to understand…”
“If my clock is correct, 3622 years have passed since the last human – which is myself – set wheels in this room. 3622 years of technological advancement, of accumulated mastery of various sciences and understanding of the universe. Yet you believe Ultimate Knowledge is to be found in the past?”
The crewmembers looked at each other, dumbfounded.
“So… it doesn’t exist?” suggested Lezlybe. “We’ve come this far for nothing…”
“Haven’t you just experienced the ultimate delicacy of humankind? Therein lies everything you need to know.”
“It’s not about the knowledge,” began Yontan, “but about the experience we savor?”
“Exactly!” Clapping hands appeared in front of the hologram’s face. “Instead of looking for something that may not be, learn to cherish the transient nature of existence through every experience you encounter. Who knows what happens once you’re dead? Constant hesitation leads to a life of lost opportunities. One of you has learned this lesson the hard way, I’m afraid. However, the tall man over there has greatly benefited from this lesson. Balance in all things!”
“No data is ever lost,” snorted Jmerr scornfully. “Death is simply the temporary loss of information until it’s retrieved.”
“The no-hiding theorem,” smiled the hologram. “Of course. But you wouldn’t be here if you could completely determine the state of the entire universe. Thus, my rhetoric stays valid. For as long as this is beyond our grasp – likely until humanity’s extinction – you ought to cherish every experience and lose your fear of consequences within reason.”
The room went silent, the subtle taste of chocolate still lingering in their mouths like the fading words of an old love letter.
“What do we do now, captain?” Ghenna asked shyly.
“Take your new-found knowledge and share it with others,” the hologram said before Yontan could open his mouth.
“So… there really is nothing else here?”
“Nothing at all.”
The hologram fluttered for a moment.
“Were these really the last pieces of chocolate?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you eat them yourself?”
“Because sharing is the quintessential attribute of humanity. And I’m glad to have contributed my part, even though it took several millennia.”
“So why use all that energy from the sun?” asked Lezlybe.
“It’s twofold,” said the hologram. “Partially to keep this chocolate in pristine state, as I said before. You’ll understand the second reason soon enough. Let’s say it’s a parting gift, for that man who hasn’t eaten his Orb.”
“I don’t understand.” Yontan was running his fingers through his hair. “You speak of sharing, yet we won’t be able to share this exquisite experience. There’s no chocolate left.”
“Share the wisdom you’ve acquired. Or perhaps you shall find something unique to share with others as I did. Even the stories of your adv–”
The man disappeared for a few seconds.
“–entures – Ah? We’ve been cut. Soon I shall be free, just like your minds. Swiftly return to your ships, and sail t–”
It flickered again and stopped for nearly ten seconds.
“–he vast empty space to… wherever your heart leads you. Farewell. Fare well indeed.”
The hologram zoomed out to show an old man sitting on a wheelchair, waving both hands. It flickered one last time before completely fading out with a hum.
Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke from everyone’s earpiece.
“Captain, is everything all right?” asked one of the crew left on the ship in a panic.
“Why? Did the entrance crumble down?”
“No, Sir. It’s the Conduit. You need to see this for yourself.”
The crew put on their visors and hurried out of the room, through the hallway, out on the freezing surface of Pluto. They gasped upon staring up.
“The Conduit!” Ghenna uttered.
It was oscillating, slowly shrinking until the last flames swooshed back and forth from the relay to the crater, and then, it retracted entirely.
“It’s… it’s gone…” sighed Yontan.
“The parting gift,” Jmerr sobbed. “He knew. He knew someone might not try out the chocolate truffle, and he purposefully shut down the entire system.”
Lessandre turned to Jmerr. “Consider this your incredible experience. We must be the only humans to ever see this happen in real time.”
“But we can reconnect it, unlike the chocolate, can’t we?” said Lizlybe.
Yontan shook his head. “Do you know of the ancient pyramids in the northern African continent?”
“Yeah…” she hesitated. “Vaguely.”
“Do you know why they’ve never been rebuilt?”
Lezlybe shrugged.
“Because there’s nothing to gain in doing so.” He pointed his finger at the vast expanse above him. “We’ve never rebuilt the ancient pyramids – not due to complexity, but due to loss of time and resources involved without any actual benefit. I’m afraid this is the last time anyone has admired this old tech at work.”
Upon their return on the ship, they told the rest of the crew what inside the U.K. ONE.
“So the Ultimate Knowledge doesn’t exist?” one of the crewmember asked.
Yontan took one last glance at the crater as the ship took off.
“I believe it does,” he beamed, looking at the bemused faces of his crew. “Not here.” He gently tapped his temple. “But here.” His hand rested on his chest. “And there.” His arms were wide open, as if trying to embrace his whole crew at once. “Acquired wisdom is the Ultimate Knowledge. And the ability to share experiences with others is our greatest gift.”

i have a girlfriend, we got together last year and this march was our 1st year being together. we were in high school then, now i moved to another country. we're doing ldr.idk when im going to see her again, we used to be so close, she was my first love and i was the first for her. we used to talk a lot, i've never been close to someone like this, including my parents. when i was a kid i used to be alone, no one would talk to me, when i found her i felt something that i never did. i prayed for her to never leave when she left. when her parents found out they told me to leave, now she talks to me without her parents knowing about it. recently her texts are getting dry, i have to ask for everything. she doesnt talk all day, when she goes to sleep she just sends a picture of her, says i love you with some emojis and sleeps. its just that she doesnt talk to me all day, i just cant be the same person i used to be before that, i have attachment issues, and i feel like she doesnt understand that, ive tried explaining but she apologizes every time and never changes it. whenever she goes offline she doesnt say anything and comes back after an hour or two. i have literal breakdowns in that hour, i keep crying i cant control it, i have parents but i dont show it to them. i say that im using the restroom but all i do is cry, and when she comes back its already night for her and its the same thing again, it happens all day and i cant keep doing this. she cries when i ask her to leave me. i cant keep doing this, i dont want to make her cry, i love her. i cant sleep or do anything in peace. i have so much ahead of me, i have good grades, i go to a good college, i have loving parents, but i cant do this relationship thing im so clingy i cant even have my food, its like i ran away from a hospital where they treat patients with mental disorder. i hate being like this all day. i tried everything to not think about anything, but its been a week since i said that and i still cry everyday. i felt like if i had it off my chest it would be somehow better. idk if ill make it to next morning, but i hate doing this everyday.

My dad just turned 60 and lives alone. I’m 28 and moved out last August after living with my dad for 4 years while I went to school. He had retired earlier that year before I moved in and began living in my grandpas second house in a secluded area.
I liked living there because of the location. It was quiet and I had lots of hiking trails, but living with my dad was kind of hell on earth. I couldn’t move out due to being in school and cost of living, so I basically had to live there and be my dad’s caretaker. He’s also a complete slob. There would be dirty, cracked socks all over the floor, sliced cheese packages all over, the carpets would get caked with cigarette ash from his shoes..etc.
I would pick up food for my dad and cooked often to make sure he ate something. I’d have to monitor the oven to make sure he didn’t leave the gas partially on. There were times when I’d have to dig the ATV out of the woods when he’d get drunk and go off the trail.
Anyways, you get the picture. I took it upon myself to manage someone else’s life. I moved out into an apartment last August and felt tremendous guilt. It was really hard to imagine him being all alone but with the support of my sister I realized it wasn’t my problem. I confided in her all of the messed up things I had been through while living there that I had kept a secret because I felt stuck(couldn’t move out).
I convinced my dad to get an apartment nearby so that he wasn’t all alone 2.5 hours away in the woods. He did and even then he basically isolated himself and I would be the only one calling to make plans for lunch. He ended his lease last month saying getting that apartment was “the worst mistake he’s made all year” because he barely got to see my sister, nephew and I.
Now he’s been back up there permanently for 3 weeks. I have some time off work so I went up yesterday planning on staying the night but when I walked through the door my chest sank. He was gone but the door was unlocked. The entire house reeked of cigarettes(he’s never smoked in the house before), the kitchen countertops were covered in trash. A trash can buzzing with flies was in front of the porch. I saw his dog sleeping on the couch and I thought she was dead. I shook her about 8 times and she woke up and just stared straight ahead. Her water dish was bone dry. I went into the garage where he smokes and drinks and the entire garage floor was covered in cigarette butts and cartons and trash. I called him and he was at the doctors because he recently injured his back. I said with a shaking voice “do you want to come back and stay with me tonight?” He said he’ll talk with me later.
I called him again and asked when he was coming back and he said “you’re not planning on leaving right away, are you??” I said this house is really dirty, dad. He said…I know. I’ll talk to you when I get home. Okay.
He gets back and I clean up the house. He recently injured his back so he couldn’t help. He just seemed off, broken. Wasn’t talkative at all. It was like the isolation killed something in him.
I stayed for an hour and a half and left. I couldn’t stay the night there. It stunk. I recently bought my first home that has 4 bedrooms and a basement but this is my home, I can’t have him here smoking and drinking. He also has terrible hygiene and my car still has a smell to it from yesterday. Plus this is MY space. I finally got away from living in that environment and I know if I invited him to stay here it would go downhill so fast. My sister doesn’t help with anything so all of this has fallen on me.
What do I do?

Has anyone experienced these symptoms
So for the past month I've been suffering for I'm guessing a bad flare up in my stomach. I was taking 40mg of omeprazole and a few months ago was feeling great, eating the food I loved so I made the dumb mistake to stopped taking them cold turkey. Well a month ago I had the worst acid dump and wreaked havoc in my stomach and esophagus. I had this happen a year ago and I stopped eating and lost 20lbs. Now I feel like I'm going down the same rabbit hole.
They symptoms are feeling like a roll of dough in the top middle of my abdomen. Pretty much my stomach area. I still have the burning sensation in my esophagus and tongue. I constantly have esophagus spasms that are driving me nuts. Keeps me up all night and gives me anxiety. Also when I eat something and when the good goes down my esophagus and right when it hits the sphincter it feels like it gets stuck for a second and then feels like it scraps it while going down into my stomach. I'm beginning to lose weight again. I do feel like I have an hemorrhoid so now having trouble passing stools. I'm in constant fight or flight mode. Body fatigue, feeling symptoms of dehydration, brain fog, when I get excited my heart rate begins to race and I feel like lava running through my vains, my throat feels tight at times and stings that comes and goes, the constant belching, can't sleep at night due to a rush of tightness that rushes in the middle of my chest that comes and goes like every 2 minutes 🥺.
I suffer from health anxiety so the first thought is stomach or esophageal cancer but from I'm getting told from people that has experienced this that it could possibly be gastritis, peptic ulcer, esophagitis at times my stomach feels inflamed when I drink water. Even when I talk I get short of breath 😟
I force myself to ear but before I do I start to get nauseated but then when I do eat I eat all my food as if I was hungry. Anxiety?? Just wanting to see some of yalls thoughts
A year ago I've gotten blood work, xrays, ultrasounds, barium swallow, stool samples, and a CT scan and all have come back negative for cancer so why can't I trust the results. If it's an ulcer how long does it take to heal and does it give you flu like symptoms when it flares up?

So... I am talking excruciatingly homo erotic but not an actual full blown sex act. I thought about this weirdly from the hottest place you've jerked it post.
So let me preface this story that I've had exactly one wet dream in my life and it was when I was 19. It was finals week of my first semester of college and had the weirdest dream that I was fucking a guy on a hill while reading sheet music off his chest. I am not a musician or a top so no idea where my mind was. But anyway it being finals week I had an 8am final and was super not accustomed to having to wake up that early so I asked my straight roommate to wake me up. So, I end up waking up to the sounds of my own moaning but also realize my roommate has his hand on my side gently rocking me awake. I wake up super embarrassed about the moaning and just say thanks and lay there. That is when I realized my dick is beyond hard and my shorts are COVERED in still warm jizz. I'm covered by blankets but have no idea how I am gonna wake up with a hardon, strip naked, dry off and get dressed without him noticing. Our makeshift kitchen area (a coffee pot, mini fridge and assorted non perishables piled one of two desks) is right at the head of my bed. The space to get food was also my designated changing area. And I see my roommate with his morning wood making a small tent in his shorts (normal for him) fixing a bowl of cereal. He had never seen me hard and especially hard and naked. And yes this has the makings of something sexy happening but nothing did. When he went to his bed to eat I sprung and swung around fast dropped my shorts and did my best to dry myself and stuffed my boner in my jeans and sat back down waiting to go flaccid. But yeah technically nothing gay happened but in the moment I was so turned on.

I'm a 17-year-old male from Mumbai, and I hate myself. My ego was sky-high, and I finally got humbled hard today. I decided to prepare for JEE immediately after my 10th examination, for which I worked very hard (I got 92% in my SSC examination). I dove in headfirst for my JEE preparation and joined a coaching center near my house. It was the worst decision I ever made. The faculty were irresponsible, the teachers were terrible, and the weekly tests weren't even according to the JEE pattern, with multiple errors in the questions. Unfortunately, I was too busy flexing my 10th board marks to realize this. Saying I was overconfident would be an understatement. I genuinely thought I would get into IITB. Time went by, and I wasted my first year (11th grade). I paid attention during lectures and made class notes, but I didn't revise them after coming home and didn't practice enough questions.
My second year started, and one day I realized that I was wasting the most important year of my life. From that day, everything changed for me. I deactivated my Instagram account (which was my only and major distraction), completely cut myself off from the outside world, and literally stopped talking to my friends. I didn't leave my house at all! I was studying 24/7. My mother used to feed me breakfast, lunch, and dinner while I studied. Six months went by like this, and by October, I was scoring the highest in my coaching. This just fed my ego. My parents told me to register for MHCET, VITEEE, and other entrance examinations, but I brushed them off, saying, "These are too easy for me. I won't give an exam with a lower difficulty than JEE." By the end of November, I was completely burnt out. COMPLETELY! I couldn't even get myself to look at the pile of books in my room. I was repelled by them. It was the weirdest feeling ever. I used to study for 16+ hours a day, and then I couldn't even sit to study for 20 minutes.
The first attempt was less than 40 days away. Before I knew it, time flew by, and it was the night before my first attempt. I knew deep down that I was going to mess it up. I tried to revise whatever I could—short notes, books, test analyses all lying around me while I looked like a pale corpse. What was I even thinking? There was no way I could revise more than 90 chapters in just a few hours. I gave up at 3 a.m. and cried myself to sleep. My shift was in the evening. After my exam, I told my mother I messed up in math and not to ask anything about it until the results came out. I was exhausted—not for just a day or week, but for months. Fast-forwarding a month later, the results came out. As expected, they were absolutely garbage. 80.5 percentile... hmm. I felt my throat going dry, my mother saying, "You should've worked harder." I was miserable, but there was no time to contemplate. The HSC board exam was less than a month away. I had no will to study at all but fought through it somehow. Looking back now, I feel that preparing for boards right after JEE was much more difficult than JEE itself. A month of sleepless nights went by, and the days of the board exams arrived. The papers themselves were easier than what I had expected—or so I thought. I came home every day after the paper saying, "I'll definitely get above 90 in this."
I had registered for JEE's second attempt as well, but even the thought of giving JEE again scared me. It has been three months after the boards now, and I'm at the lowest point of my life. I have no friends at all since I cut them off completely. I rot in my room each day. These three months have been hell. I'm incredibly lonely. To make matters worse, the HSC board scorecard dropped today, and I got 74.8%. Absolutely embarrassing. For months, actually a year, I made an impression of myself as being smart, intelligent, and studious. I'm ashamed to show my face to my family members. I can't show my face to my friends. I'm a failure. I can't take BITSAT and many other exams since they have a 75% criterion. I didn't register for CET, thinking it would be "too easy" for me. Even my father, who was okay with me scoring less in JEE, is really mad at me. He refrained me from taking a drop year. Even if I took a drop year, what would I do? All my dreams and ambitions of going to a good college are slowly fading away. I totally deserve this for being unrealistic and cocky. I hope karma takes pity on me.