New Flash everyone: the guy who hangs out with Daniel Greene(a pro-fairy rights socialist), is loved by redditors, and got a Hugo award is… woke. Who would have ever seen that coming? But, thanks to Jon Del Arroz making a video about it on May 18th, I am here to repeat the news back to you so there is an easily accessible source as to HOW he’s woke. Everything was revealed back in January 2023, but I want people to understand the implications and narrative that he’s presenting when he says his concerns about fairy rights. By the end of this, you will realize that people calling themselves Christian does not cause them to be immune to wokeness.
In fact, with how Christianity has influenced wokeness into existence, it’s likely a lot of "Christians" are what we can call “first wave wokeness”.
For context, Brandon Sanderson is a Mormon, part of the Latter-Day Saints (LDS). Mormonism is almost exclusively a US issue, and I’ve also noticed that there are a lot of youtubers who tend to be Mormon women(probably because they have other women in the house to do the chores). These people are great with money, big in business, and their church is anti-fairy. A lot of problems the fairy-rights activists have are with Mormon churches, which is strange for Europeans to witness with how open a lot of their churches are, outside of the US. Protestant, evangelical, unitarian, the national church of Denmark, it’s a big list.
But in 2008, Brandon wrote an essay about his Mormon beliefs on how Dumbledore from Harry Potter liked to have wands stirred around in his brown cauldron. His quote:

How does this relate to Dumbledore? I'm not trying to present him as an antagonist or a villain. All I'm saying is that if you believe in the truth of your message, then you shouldn't care if someone decent, respected, and intelligent is depicted as believing differently from yourself. Decent, respected, and intelligent people can be wrong--and you can still respect them. It's okay. That doesn't threaten our points, since we (theoretically) believe that they are eternal and stronger than any argument we could make.

Back in this time, Brandon had only been an author for 3 years, but he won an award for his first published book, Elantris. He was being careful with his words, and his take is considered liberal. He was trying to defend the backlash JK Rowling received for her (poor) choice of virtue signaling and tried to mend this defense with his own religion. Mentioning his religious views is what got him canceled back then, which he later apologized for in 2011:

I cannot be deaf to the pleas of \[fairy\] couples who want important things, such as hospital visitation rights, shared insurance, and custody rights. At the same time, I accept and sustain the leaders of the LDS church. I believe that a prophet of God has said that widespread legislation to approve \[fairy\] marriage will bring pain and suffering to all involved.

He was not backing down from his religion yet. His goal post moved to the legal ramifications of the US, which are separate from his church(remember, church and state, supposed to be separate in the US), but he was still saying his religion wanted him to oppose people calling it a marriage and having it in churches. This was a second “cancellation” that didn’t go very far, mostly because he was able to use religion as an excuse for his take, with the Christian Cake Packed With Fudge Scandal not happening yet(2018).
Fast forward to 2023, after he hangs out with a bunch of woke youtubers, and we get a new quote from Brandon:

The church’s first prophet, Joseph Smith, famously taught, “I teach them correct principles and they govern themselves.” My current beliefs are where I’ve arrived on my journey, as I attempt to show the love that Jesus Christ taught. I look forward to seeing further changes in the church, and I work to make sure I am helping from within it to create a place that is welcoming of \[fairy\] people and ideas. I would love, for example, to see the church recognize \[fairy\] marriage among its members. Both temporally and eternally. I would support ordaining \[tinkerbell\] men to the priesthood. (And would support the ordination of women, though that is another issue.)

That’s interesting. It seems like he made a complete 180 on his stance, claims that he’s always believed this new stance, blames Jesus for this new stance, and then doubles down on this new stance by adding female ordination(becoming a priest and higher) and even Tinkerbells. As time went on, he decided that his religion was totally wrong about fairies, and this 13 year difference means way more than the nearly 200 years Mormonism has been around. I believe a fellow Mormon, Shadversity, would love to have a discussion about how any of this makes sense, but I’m starting to feel that he’s the same way. Who knows if Ethan Van Sciver understands Mormonism as well as Brandon Sanderson does, with how easy it is to manipulate prophecies and reinterpret scripture.
But that’s been the point for a while, right?
Wokeness is here to restructure both historical evidence and even religions, in order to shift cultures and social institutions to obey this progressive change. Words are changed in the dictionary, social “norms” are changed to be updated for a “modern audience”, and postmodernists like Foucault were able to trick college kids into thinking the Greeks were all pixie fairies. Once a critical theorist gets their hands on something with power, their goal is not to keep it as it is. It is to keep it for themselves. This is why you will hear these people say everything is subjective, which is secret code for “Look at me: I’m the captain of reality now.”
But wait, it gets better! Brandon Sanderson continued with:

Back in 2007, I was mostly known only in my community, not to the world at large. The essay, then, was directed at my local community, and was more controversial among them (for being too liberal) than it was controversial to the world at large for being \[fairy\]phobic. That might surprise you, if you’ve read the excerpts that often float around the internet. This was mostly me trying to encourage other members of the church to be more open and welcoming of \[fairy\] characters and ideas.
That said, the essay does display the casual bigotry common to people who (like myself) have lived lives where we haven’t had to deal with some of the issues common to the lives of people suffering discrimination. Many of the assertions (such as my view on \[fairy\] marriage) do not reflect my current stance. After writing it, and interacting with those who found it objectionable–even painful–I came to understand them and their experiences better. Though they did not owe me that honor, they gave it freely.

You see, he's honored to hear about the life of a bug chaser.
Brandon cares deeply about the pain he caused to his wallet… I mean the fairies who saw his essay. He was an award winning author back then, he didn’t know it would be a global thing. It was supposed to be only seen by people in Utah, that’s it. This is what we call: bullshit. The woke rely heavily on gaslighting and pretending they’re ignorant of everything, while telling others that they need to learn and understand EVERYTHING about a subject before they are even able to mention it.
He was already big on reddit, he knew all about his fandom, and he knew about his publisher, Tor. The only thing that really changed is that now he is unable to stick to being liberal and he has to present himself as progressive. Why? Well, the new Amazon deal happened recently, and he’s the writer of the series The Wheel of Time. As if Rings of Power wasn’t evidence enough of how Amazon mistreats their properties, Brandon was forced to erase his own past, like Agent J in Men in Black, burning his own hands in the process.
I’m not surprised that he’s woke or even that Christians are falling to this woke inquisition. When I said first wave wokeness, I would like to clarify why it’s the catalyst for all of this stupidity. Wokeness is not of Christian values, but instead a parasite upon Christianity, in the same way Gnosticism and Satanism would be. When Christianity started to allow new sects, and a lot of these were considered valid, the crazy sex cults of the 60s opened the floodgates for a bunch of crazy reinterpretations. It’s the same way as how there are still circles of Christianity that go for flat earth theory or say that dinosaurs don’t exist, with these people usually at the forefront of the home-schooling movement.
It’s not that home-schooling is bad by itself, it’s that bad people use it to then have the good people using it be wrongfully grouped into the same area, in the same way gun-ownership does. This type of bastardization has always been a problem in the US, due to the lack of authority over what makes something categorized as such a thing, thanks to liberalism allowing the freedom to constantly change things. As time went on, this liberalism changed into progressivism, with the key difference being that liberalism is an allowance of change while progressivism is an enforced change. The liberalism of the 1800s allowed the Confederates to claim Christianity approved of their enslavement of black people, by blaming the story of Ham and using scripture to claim it was okay to enslave certain people for generations. We always see this strange cherry-picking of scripture from fake Christians, and this problem has expanded into the Vatican itself with the current and following generations of Popes.
A lot of times, we’ll hear news about how Christians are under attack, a bakery is targeted to expose discrimination, or even where people claim they were banned from twitch for being Christian. But what they get wrong is that they are in the same circle as liberal and progressive Christianity, their openness created this weakness to tourism, and most Christian circles have been taken over in the US since before the 60s. The south has a culture of being liberal, Mormons have a culture of being liberal, protestants are very liberal, all because the US began as a liberal culture in the form of classical liberalism. The libertarian argument is always used by these liberal groups, that changes into the progressive enforcement, and over the years these liberal people get infected by the virus.
Add money to the mix, and we have ourselves an endless chain of liberal minded people falling to wokeness. The “redemption” narrative, along with original sin, from Christianity is currently its main weakness. The appeal to ignorance is another weakness, with people playing skeptic as a snake slithers through the grass. Christianity isn’t the problem by itself, it’s the naivety that comes from blind faith, which then expands into a contradictory blind faith that people are good inside, only to later wonder why everything is changing for the worse when evil people are put in charge. Fantasy stories have been under attack by the woke for quite a while, long before they tried to appropriate Tolkien with Rings of Power.
The fantasy that is controlled by the woke is an extension to their attack on religion, because to them a fantasy story is no different than a bible. Mythological presentation, symbolic themes, a dream-like world to present morals to follow; the entire thing has been used by Brandon to then have him later claim that he’s always had fairy characters since the beginning. Sure, his religion says fairies are bad, but then he virtue signals by claiming he’s always made fiction about how they’re good. He would never say this if the publishing world made sense and if publishers were the way they were in the 1950s. That is because he would never have to choose between religion and money back then, with money always mattering more to the typical materialist.
I’m sure people will say that I’m being hard on Christians, or that I’m evil for saying this, or even that I am a satanist for noticing. These people would only be angry at the truth being said, which is the opposite of what Christianity teaches. Fantasy writers, like Brandon, have a lot of supporters, with this support merging between the woke and Mormons. So many feel that they need to make sense of their fandom, so they claim their religion is wokeness, converting it into blind Satanism. This is far from the truth and we need to condemn those who focus solely on radical subjectivity.
Especially if they blame God for their stupid takes, like how Brandon does now.

I (25F) from London met a guy from Porto, Portugal through Instagram in 2022. We both traveled to Malta at different times, and he found me through a tagged picture. He liked a bunch of my photos and eventually DM'd me with compliments after I followed him back.
Initially, I didn't think it would amount to anything serious, but after months of consistent interaction on Instagram, I started getting to know him. We talked about the potential of dating, considering that London isn't far from Porto by flight compared to other parts of the UK, like my hometown in Scotland.
We spoke every day, and he flew to London to visit me in February. I even started learning Portuguese. Our dates went great, and we felt chemistry in person. Although English isn't his first language, he communicated well but sometimes struggled to express himself fully in conversations, which was easier for him over text.
We began dating exclusively, and he mentioned wanting to make me his girlfriend at the right time. However, he lost his job towards the end of 2022, which was tough. Despite his situation, he still wanted to meet in London, and we planned for me to visit him in Porto in May 2023. Unfortunately, things went wrong. He was still unemployed and often late picking me up, leaving me to spend two days alone. One of those days, he took his roommate’s grandma to the hospital. I paid for some of our meals, but I sensed he felt pressured.
Sadly, on the second day, I found out my close aunt had died unexpectedly, which I told him about, and I was understandably down. Despite that, I tried to make an effort. However, as the days went by, he started picking me up late, and we spent less time together. Porto was beautiful, but I traveled there to spend time with him.
I'm not confrontational and hate awkward situations. After speaking to friends and family, I messaged him before our last day together, expressing that I felt we hadn't spent enough time together. He responded that just because I was on holiday, it didn’t mean everyone else was. This hurt me, and I dropped it. Our last date felt awkward, and I avoided a goodbye kiss. I felt horrible that night, unsure if I should talk more about it.
Back in the UK, I was annoyed and waited for him to contact me. I sent voice notes expressing my unhappiness and the need for better communication if we were to continue our relationship. He didn't respond, and after a week, I sent another message about him ignoring me. He then unfriended me on Facebook. I was heartbroken and blocked him to move on. I eventually unblocked him earlier this year but never really got over him.
Recently, he liked a lot of my pictures but didn't say anything. I’ve been thinking about our situation and realize that communication was hard, compounded by the language barrier and long-distance dating. For a long time, I questioned whether his intentions were even genuine. It’s affected my confidence in getting back into the dating pool.
I'm not sure if I want to get back together, but I do want to speak to him. I’ve followed him on Instagram, and he followed back, liking more pictures.
Should I wait for him to break the ice, or should I reach out?
Any advice would be appreciated

Christians. Satan has you right where he wants you
He's got you convinced that you only have to profess that you love God. (1 John 5;2-3)
He's got you convinced that you are saved by grace through faith "alone" (Ephesians 2:5, 8-10) (James 2:24)
He's got you convinced that the Ten Commandments are good... but we don't need to keep the Sabbath holy anymore. (Genesis 2:1-3) (Exodus 20:8) (Exodus 31;13,16-17) (Deut. 5-12) (Isaiah 58-13)
He's got you convinced as he did Eve, "Did YHWH really say 81 times in the scriptures to obey his commandments?" (pretty much the whole bible)
He's got you convinced that you can enter the kingdom by just saying "Lord Lord" (Matthew 7:21-23)
He's got you convinced that the Pharisees to the Torah that was given to Moses ( Matthew 15:1-9) (Mark 7:1-9)
He's got you convinced that YHWHs holy, just, and good Torah is a curse (Duet. 27:3,26) (Proverbs 6:23, 29;18) (Isaiah 30:9) (Psalm 119)
He's got you convinced that only the Mosiac covenant is done away with, but all the others still stand (Genesis 12:1-3) (Jeremiah 32:40) (2 Samuel 7:8-29) (Matthew 5:17) (Revelation 21:1-4)
He's got you convinced that "now that Yeshua has come and gone, YHWH doesn't care what you eat and celebrate and how you live your life (Leviticus 11) (Leviticus 23) (1 John 2:3-6) (Revelation 22:14)
He's got you convinced that if you obey the commandments, then Yeshua's sacrifice was not enough for you (Leviticus 11) (Leviticus 23) (1 John 2:3-6) (Revelation 22:14)
He's got you convinced that all those before Yeshua were saved by their works of the Torah (Acts 15:10-11)
He's got you convinced that it is impossible to keep YHWH's commandments (Deut. 30:11, 14) (Jeremiah 31:31-33) ( Ezekiel 36:24-27) (1 John 5:3)
He's got you convinced that obedience is not required to validate faith (James 2:21-24)
He's got you convinced that the gospel message in the Old Testament is different than what is in the New (Deut. 18:15) ( Isaiah 2:3) (Galatians 3:8)
He's got you convinced that you are not twisting Paul's words to your own destruction (Romans 3:31, 7:25) (Acts 25:7-8) (2 Peter 3:15-16)
He's got you convinced that YHWH will not reject you if you reject his torah (Psalm 119:118)
He's got you convinced that you don't have to obey for YHWH to hear your prayers (Proverbs 28:9)
He's got you convinced that the torah was nailed to the cross and destroyed forever ( psalm 119:142) (Matthew 5:17-20)
And he's got you convinced that Isreal and the church are two separate entities of YHWH's chosen people (Exodus 19:6) (Romans 9:6) (Romans 11:16-24) (1 Peter 2:9)
Please read the scriptures mentioned before arguing.
Have a good day

[ Notice: Not my article. Link: https://4womaninthewilderness.blogspot.com/2012/08/here-is-answer-to-comment-that-was-left.html ]
~COMMENT:~ Hello Pearl! I can only thank Jah that i found you! After seventeen years as a JW, i found myself so disturbed and distraught (i.e., sighing and groaning) over what was going on that i just couldn't bring myself to attend the meetings anymore. Prior to my departure, i discerned that much of the Society's liturature was laced with poison so i completely stopped reading any of it and began studying the scriptures only. What a difference that made! While i secretly never agreed with some of the Governing Body's official doctrines, policies and procedures (i viewed them as unscriptural, even idolatrous in some cases), when i realized that they couldn't possibly be the "faithful and discreet slave" (that is a future designation and only Jah/Jesus appoint these individuals, not themselves), I got the last bit of courage needed to finally leave and begin searching. Eventually i found your blog and now check it nearly everyday for any new information. A very close friend of mine who has also left after nearly twenty years as a JW (she just couldn't deal with it emotionally/mentally anymore) also reads your blogs and is as electrified as I am to be finally experiencing the true meaning of the "light getting brighter"!
So here's my question: How do we sound the warning that you mentioned? Since it's likely that no one on the inside will listen, what good will it do? Besides, you said yourself that a Christian is not obligated to sow seed among thorns. So while I have the desire to help others get out of symbolic Jerusalem, I do not know how to go about it nor do i see any point in it. Simply mentioning that i was no longer attending meetings (besides making a brief comment about the hypocrisy in the congregation) was enough for one person --someone i considered a good friend previously--to immediately cease all association with me. Thus, even hinting at the idea that the Organization is not all that its cracked up to be will send 99.9% of 'em running with their thumbs in their ears! Please advise. Thank You!
~REPLY:~ I also, am greatly relieved to hear that you have found the truth, which I myself am so grateful to YHVH's spirit for. There are those who read it and recognize none of the truth of the cited scriptures...and then there are expressions like yours, which reveal eyes and ears that are open, and a consciousness of their spiritual poverty (Matt.5:3). This need is keen during this spiritual famine and drought (Amos 8:11; Rev.6:6; 18:8; 12:14)...yet the spiritual pestilence that strikes others with blindness and an inability to hear, keeps them sick and unaware of their dire need (Matt.13:15; Rev.3:17; 6:8). The senseless are the ~great~ ~majority~ (Matt.7:13,14; Luke 13:23,24; Matt.24:22; Ps.94:17,5,8,12,13,14,16,18,20,22,23,20, 21; Rev.20:9,7,8,9; 13:15; 11:7; 6:9,11). So to hear that my labors, (and that of other faithful) are reaching some, is of great refreshment, and relief to my grief (Matt.10:42).
The Bible reads; "But God also rescued Lot out of Sodom because he was a righteous man who was sick of the shameful immorality of the wicked people around him. Yes, Lot was a righteous man who was tormented in his soul by the wickedness he saw and heard day after day. So you see, the Lord knows how to rescue godly people from their trials, even while keeping the wicked under punishment until the day of final judgment." 2Pet. 2:7-9 (Eze.9:4)
"The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him." 2Chron. 16:9 A
We see from these three scriptures that Yhwh will not abandon those whose heart is exclusively devoted to Him. He delivers them by His strength (2Chron. 16:9). His Spirit can bring them to the truth (John 6:44; 14:6) as He does for each faithful anointed one, as well as all those who may accept the "fine fruit" the faithful witnesses offer (Matt.10:40,41,42; Matt.7:20; Rev.11:3,4).
Regarding your question, Yhwh has begun to make me aware of what I must do, as well as how to do it. You are right that God's "Land" must be warned (Jer.25:30,29; Rev.2:20; 13:14). It is true that Satan has erected a wall around God's people. It would seem impossible to penetrate that wall with the judgment message. Remember the wall of Jericho? That prophecy will be fulfilled in its grandest meaning, in our very day (Josh.6:8,13; Rev.8:6). I am going to ask everyone whose heart inclines him to obey Eze.33:7,8 to be a part of the upcoming universal witness. For, it is the final one to be given. I am talking to another anointed one about how Holy Spirit is guiding this final warning. I will most certainly post all the details, as we become certain of how to do this in harmony with Yhvh's approval. The wall of Jericho fell, partly due to the blowing of the 7 horns of the priests (Joshua 6:8). This final wall of false teachings, which holds captive God's Called Ones, falls by the same means, as symbolized in Revelation (Rev.8:6). "Whether they hear, or whether they refrain" the warning must be given (Eze.2:5). This warning will be the main tool used to harvest the remaining wheat of anointed, upon which the arrival of the Kingdom awaits (Rev.14:14,15,16; 6:11). It is a very important activity, and I hope everyone possible will offer themselves to support it. The lives of those whom we regard as our "brothers and sisters", as well as the anointed who are still asleep and in chains, hangs in the balance. In fact it would be good to consider all of Ezekiel chapter 2, because it brings up the very "thorns" you mention.
Eze.2:1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10: And he said to me, “Son of man, stand on your feet, and I will speak with you.” And as he spoke to me, the Spirit entered into me and set me on my feet, and I heard him speaking to me. And he said to me, “Son of man, I send you to the people of Israel, to nations of rebels, who have rebelled against me. They and their fathers have transgressed against me to this very day. The descendants also are impudent and stubborn: I send you to them, and you shall say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord God.’ And whether they hear or refuse to hear (for they are a rebellious house) they will know that a prophet has been among them. And you, son of man, be not afraid of them, nor be afraid of their words, ~though briers and thorns are with you and you sit on scorpions.~ (Rev.9:3; Eze.2:6) Be not afraid of their words, nor be dismayed at their looks, for they are a rebellious house. And ~you shall speak my words to them, whether they hear or refuse to hear~, for they are a rebellious house. But you, son of man, hear what I say to you. Be not rebellious like that rebellious house; open your mouth and eat what I give you.” And when I looked, behold, a hand was stretched out to me, and behold, a scroll of a book was in it. And he spread it before me. And it had writing on the front and on the back, and there were written on it words of lamentation and mourning and woe." (Rev.8:13; 20:12)
So while we are not obligated to cast pearls before swine; we need to discern who those swine, dogs, "~thorns~" and "scorpions" are. https://4womaninthewilderness.blogspot.com/2013/06/dogs.html YHVH tells us in Rev.9:3,5,7.These are the ones bearing what seems like "crowns" of authority, an army that goes forth as multitudinous as a locust swarm. Their target? The "unsealed men", anointed previous to their being sealed. Why unsealed? Because they are obviously still under the domination of these "Locust/Scorpions" instead of Yhvh. Only by being set loose (Rev.9:14) from this smoke-like river of Satan's sons and their lies (Rev.12:15; 9:11; John 8:44; 2Thess. 2:3,9; Rev.12:3,9; 13:1,14,6); can these chosen ones become sealed as loyal to Yhvh (Rev.20:4). Yet we see from Eze.2 that a witness still has to be given to the "rebellious house". ~This is the light,~ although these empowered Locust/Scorpions exist, we may not conclude that all "Jehovah's Witnesses" are these "thorns". Only the elders are depicted as having counterfeit crowns of authority. These ones are the "thorns" and "scorpions". Yhvh tells us that they are beyond conversion to truth, by the "breastplates of iron" which they wear (Rev.9:9). While the entire "house"/"land"/"fold" of God's people are blinded by these insect vessels of darkness (Rev.9:2,3; Jer.25:29,30; Rev.12:16) and it causes them to leave loyalty to Yhvh; not all are those insects of authority/elders. We can not condone the idolatry of "Jehovah's Witnesses", nor continue to remain in company with them (Psalm 26:4; 1Cor. 5:11; Rev.18:4). But Ezekiel chapter 2 is clear, we must witness to them this final warning.
Jesus clearly showed me that the great majority will not heed the warning, not because we did not reach them with it, but due to their own hardened hearts, they stand as judged. Yhvh abandons them to their own desire. (Luke 17:28-37 LINK; 2Thess. 2:11; Ps.94:23) I hope you can see why this warning needs to be given. It saves us individually from blood-guilt. It establishes Yhvh's justice in condemning the wicked (who were first given warning). It saves those who can hear. It seals the rest of those who prove faithful, as well as the unfaithful "ten kings" who side with the Beast. All extremely important events of prophecy! I hope all who possibly can, will help. As I said, I will post details as they are established.
Your comments about the reaction of those marked by the Beast, help to illuminate the true identity of the Organization within prophecy. There is no other authority and power on earth, that has this control over people's minds and actions, as does this Wild Beast of Rev.13:8,15,16. We are seeing the fulfillment of that prophesied displaced loyalty and worship of the Wild Beast, right before our own eyes! God's Kingdom draws near!
https://4womaninthewilderness.blogspot.com/2013/05/warning-letter.html
Pearl's letter and Obadiah's letter

“It was a special day, during the year 0, in the Roman occupied lands of Palestine, as I was with a very important task”
Gabriel started to narrate her story, reminiscing those days she mentioned.
““_Give this message, to a girl named Mary, in Bethlehem:You will bear the Son of God, and He shall be God in form of man_” as Lord YHWH ordered me, and as I walked down the streets, I began to hear a voice, of a rather young girl, going person to person, asking for something, before she came up to me, and asked me:”_Miss, do you perhaps know of a man looking for a bride? I am looking for a man to marry_”, and when I asked of her name, she was the one and only Mary, so I was taken aback, given how young she was, but I had to send her off, as I was not prepared for this”
Gabriel kept going, not taking her gaze off from Mary.
“I met her some time later at a well, and I asked her for how long she has been asking for a husband, and she’s been searching for 3 days, and this was the 4th, and had begun to lose hope in finding a man, despite praying each night. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel bad, so that night, now that I was sure that was the Mary Lord YHWH appointed me, I entered her mind in her sleep, and gave the this message in her dreams:”_Mary of Bethlehem, for 4 days you’ve prayed to find a man, and tomorrow, you will, as you will be the mother of The Savior, Jesus Christ. Tomorrow, you will find your man before sundown_” and the next morning, she gave those incredible news to her parents, who were very joyous and honored that Lord YHWH heard their pleas”
Gabriel had a huge smile on her face, Göll also smiling from the story.
“What happened after? She met her husband Joseph right?”
Gabriel immediately answers Göll’s question.
“Yep, she did, in the same well she met me, as he heard of her wish, and decided that if no one else was going to marry her, he will, Mary was very happy to hear that, and decided to spend the rest of the day until sundown to be with him, as they then both began to learn more of each other, Joseph revealing he is a carpenter, which coincidentally had helped Mary’s parents, but that day, when Joseph and Mary went to her house, they found the entire house had been ransacked, the parents unharmed, and both thanked our Lord for the safety of Mary, who then gave her the news that the Roman Emperor had found out about the existence of hidden Christians, and sent soldiers to eradicate them, before Joseph stepped up, promising to protect Mary if her father gave him her hand, which they happily did”
As Gabriel was talking and Göll was listening, Brunhilde was still focused on analyzing any trick that Mary was using against Lucifer.
“And so, Mary and Joseph embarked on a long travel, where they met with a caravan heading to Nazareth, where under the guise of rags and wrinkles, I decided to join in, to keep an eye from Mary, before I once again entered her dreams, announcing that the birth of Jesus will be a virgin one, and that she must say this to everyone to avoid confusion, but as the caravan traveled, Mary had began to suffer the symptoms of pregnancy, Joseph taking extra care for her, before they were stopped not too far from Nazareth due to a storm, before Mary decided that they were close enough where she and Joseph could make it there by themselves, and once the storm settled, she and Joseph thanked the caravan, and made it to the city of Nazareth, meeting a group of farmers before Mary began to go into labour, the farmers helping Joseph hurry Mary into their staple, lying her carefully on a pile of cloth and straw, and as Mary started to give birth, a bright star shined above, when Lord YHWH sent the 3 other Archangels to tell 3 kings to follow the star, and give their gifts to the son, as he shall bring salvation from sins”
Göll was amazed at the story, before Gabriel kept on going for the final snippet.
“And thus, began the birth of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, which Mary and Joseph, together, helped raise, and bore witness to his various parables and miracles, and both sadly wept at the time of his crucifixion and his rebirth, but even after he was gone, Mary kept on spreading the word of God, redeeming sinners and aiding with local issues, and one day, years after the death of Jesus. I was allowed to show myself in my full glory, for I had one last task for Mary:helping her ascend to the kingdom of Heaven before her death, a feat yet not done by neither man nor woman today, and as she ascended, Lord YHWH gave her among the biggest honors a human could ever have:the titles of Holiest saint, greatest woman, and the one most important title, the one of the Queen of Heaven:_Regina Caeli_”
As soon as Gabriel finished narrating, Brunhilde was still puzzled.
“Queen of Heaven? So she’s a much bigger deal than I thought”
Göll said, amazed at Gabriel’s story of Mary, Gabriel looking at the fight.
“Yeah, but I’m confident she’ll net humanity a well needed win”
{Intermission:Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit}
[these intermissions are meant to be like extra chapters with either interaction with audience members, or are the introduction of them]
As Mary was walking to the arena doors, she was greeted by a familiar voice and footsteps nearby.
“May God be with you, my dear”
And as Mary turns around, she can see her dear husband Joseph, accompanied by Jesus and his 6 other siblings:James, Joses, Simon, Jude, Judith and Miriam.
“Joseph? My kids, what are you doing here?”
Mary asked them, resting her thurible around her neck and waist as Joseph went to hug her, alongside the rest of the family.
“Just wanted to see you one last time before we went back to the audience seats, dear Mother”
Jude told Mary, as she embraces the hug”
“Thank you my son, worry not about the fight, I’m sure our Lord won’t let me die against his greatest oppressor, for I am his Holiest Saint”
Mary smiled, before she saw Gabriel approach them, her family also noticing her.
“Been some time, Mary of Bethlehem”
Mary was about to bow, but Gabriel stopped her.
“I was just passing by, I was headed to the medbay to help our Raphael, but I am glad to see you safe, although I never would’ve thought you’d step up instead of Joan” “It is my duty as the Queen of Heaven to eradicate sin and bring salvation”
Mary responded to Gabriel, before she looked at the door to the arena behind her.
“We’ll keep cheering you on, Mom”
Judith said happily, Jesus and Joseph nodding as Gabriel then accompanied them back to the audience seats, Mary looking at the arena entrance, taking out her bible and beginning to pray as Heimdall began to announce her entrance.

Hi! I found this group years ago, and obsessively read new posts every day for a couple of years. Decided on my own to go NC via ghosting, got ambushed at my apartment, and officially stipulated the terms of NC to my uBPDmom and my dad. It's been a few years. A couple of deaths happened, but I maintained NC. I have no intention of making the NC permanent, but I also have no desire to speak to them. I needed this group for a few years, then one day I didn't. I had to read posts multiple times a day, then I'd check in once a month. I used to desperately search for scraps of information on BPD so I could understand, then I was looking for others I could help and support. Then I realized a year had passed and I hadn't been to /raisedbyborderlines. I was happy you were here for me in case something upsetting happened. And even happier that I didn't need to lean on the support any more. My previous account was saved to my phone, and I have a new phone now. This is a new account for the recent BPD drama that tried to rattle me. (I'm sorry, Mods, I do not remember my old account name...)
Cat tax: https://gamerant.com/baldurs-gate-3-cutest-cats-bg3/
Backstory:
uBPDmom I am NC with occasionally breaks NC with sparse text messages. Usually during holidays and my birthday. Sometimes it's manic "why won't you talk to me please just tell me what i did wrong". Guilt and pity aside... I ignore these. It's been over 5 years.
When my grandpa died I was NC with my parents. One day I got a bunch of mystery texts that I ignored. (Can't remember specifics. They probably said, "call me") Then I had missed calls from uBPDmom. I again ignored because of NC. Then grandma called and said, "it's serious. You should get here." and I flew across the country to see grandpa before he died. I didn't talk to my parents while I was there, but I did speak to my older sister. My dad caught me off guard and hugged me, but the next time I saw him I was expecting it and said no. I managed to stay away at a hotel room (which I'm grateful for because I needed to be alone) and when I was around people I focused on spending quality time with grandma.
Two years after that, when my grandma died, I got cryptic text messages. They said "call your grandma" and my phone had missed calls from uBPDmom and missed calls from a blocked number. uBPDmom actually called my husband (Huge deal. They don't like my husband) and said to him, "have [my name] call her grandma." She refused to specify further, even though he asked. Grandma played it cool when I reached out via text. She said she was recovering from pneumonia in the hospital. She's fine. It's not my job to worry. She lived a full life with no regrets. She has plans with friends. I believed her. A few days later a distant cousin messages me on Facebook telling me she's been trying to get a hold of me about grandma but my family members blocked her attempts to reach me. Did I know anything about what's been happening with grandma? I texted my older sister and asked what was going on. She texted back, "Grandma died this morning." But grandma didn't die suddenly. She was hooked up to oxygen and decided she didn't want to go back home. She chose to end her life in a legal and humane way at the care of hospital staff. My dad and uncle flew from out of state to help her settle her affairs. (They might have been there for weeks, plural. Not sure. I wasn't there)
They knew what her decision was for over a week, and never told me. I don't begrudge my grandma her choice. I'm actually impressed. Grandma clearly didn't want me to worry, and she got to go out on her own terms. What a legend. I'm glad she's at peace. I'm not mad at her. I'm mad at my parents and my older sibling. I thought, "Sure they're terrible, but if something important like death happens, they'll tell me. Or make sure I know." I was so stupid... They knew for a week and aside from uBPDmom's cryptic messages, no one told me. If you're going to break the NC rules, why not tell me the actual news? My cousin only reached out because she thought it was suspicious my family would go quiet when she asked about me. When she asked how I was taking the news, they changed the subject. Their caginess made her mad, so she asked for my phone number so she could talk to me herself. My parents and sister refused to give her my number. (I am not NC with my sister, btw) Cousin contacted me a different way, but lived in a different time zone. I didn't see it in time to say a final goodbye to grandma. One where I knew we were saying goodbye.
Nowstory:
That's the back story. Here's what brought me back to /raisedbyborderlines after a few years of not needing to post in this support group. Yesterday, I received cryptic text messages from uBPDmom. (Sensing a pattern from my backstory?) A few minutes later I had a missed call. She left a voicemail that simply said I needed to call her. I ignored this too. My husband tells me that he missed a call from uBPDmom. Uh oh. They hate him.
Husband and I talked. Someone else could be dead or dying. Someone could be getting married. Either way, what did I want to do? I told him my decision, and at my request he texted uBPDmom requesting specifics for the phone call. She texted back that she wanted me to call her. He asked what it was regarding. She said, "family news." He texted back that I wasn't up for a phone call but he would pass along a message. She texted back, "tell her I tried."
... and that's where I'm at.

Hello, I have a question about unlocking this new customization. I was recently leveling a new character with my gf and as we were playing we saw an elf with red eyes and grayish skin. We didn't know that was even a thing (we didn't play much of shadowlands). Anyways we messaged them and they basically said we had to complete the entire shadowlands quest line to unlock the quest from Calia Menethil. I load up a ranger to start and finish the quests in shadowlands and I finished the main one, I got to see Sylvanas say goodbye and such, then did the Venthyr quest line and now am almost finished with the Maw quest line, yet still no quest from Calia. Do I have to finish the Maw quest line? We are a little confused on what is needed to unlock the questline. If thay doesn't work we were considering just doing a class trial as a hunter (for the ranger transmog) and skipping to choose our covenant and then doing it there IF that works since others have said to try that.

Hello everyone.
I'm not a complete Linux newbie, however I'm willing to learn. I will explain all my issue to avoid XY problem
I'm use Arch with Hyprland, and I'm trying to make Hyprland starting directly at boot without any greeter, following fellow user csdvrx idea https://www.reddit.com/hyprland/comments/127m3ef/starting_hyprland_directy_from_systemd_a_guide_to/
Howerver I'm running into issue. So here's the thing.
I have a getty@tty1.service that seems to work

[Unit] Description=Start hyprland After=sysinit.target After=initrd-switch-root.service Wants=systemd-udev-trigger.service After=systemd-udev-trigger.service Wants=seatd.service After=seatd.service Wants=systemd-logind.service After=systemd-logind.service ConditionPathExists=/home/mactavish OnFailure=emergency.target [Service] Type=simple ExecStartPre=+/ussbin/rm -f /run/nologin ExecStart=-/sbin/agetty -o '-p -f -- \\u' --noclear --autologin mactavish %I $TERM StandardOutput=null StandardError=journal [Install] WantedBy=graphical.target WantedBy=initrd-switch-root.service 

At this point, everything seems to work.
In my ~/.profile file, I start hyprland.sh, wich is another script in /home that should start Hyprland

sh hyprland.sh && echo "goodbye, now logging out" && exit 0 \ echo "$? hyperland.sh failed" && tty grep tty1 \ && echo "refusing autologin without hyprland on tty1" && exit 0 \ echo "not on tt1, letting in" 

And here is this hyprland.sh script

#!/bin/sh [ ! -f /run/udev/data/+drm:card0-eDP-1 ] \ && sudo systemctl restart systemd-udev-trigger > /dev/null sudo systemctl status iwdgrep Active..active \ sudo systemctl start iwd & while [ ! -f /run/udev/data/+drm:card0-eDP-1 ] ; do echo "waiting for drm" && sleep 0.2 ; done export USER=mactavish [ -z $TERM ] && export TERM=linux [ -z $LOGNAME ] && export LOGNAME=$USER [ -z $HOME ] && export HOME=/home/$USER [ -z $LANG ] && export LANG=C.UTF-8 [ -z $PATH ] && export PATH=/uslocal/sbin:/uslocal/bin:/usbin:/usbin/site_perl:/usbin/vendor_perl:/usbin/core_perl [ -z $XDG_SEAT ] && export XDG_SEAT=seat0 [ -z $XDG_SESSION_TYPE ] && export XDG_SESSION_TYPE=tty [ -z $XDG_SESSION_CLASS ] && export XDG_SESSION_CLASS=user [ -z $XDG_VTNR ] && export XDG_VTNR=1 [ -z $XDG_RUNTIME_DIR ] && export XDG_RUNTIME_DIR=/run/use1000 [ -z $DBUS_SESSION_BUS_ADDRESS ] && export DBUS_SESSION_BUS_ADDRESS=unix:path=/run/use1000/bus [ ! -f /run/udev/data/+drm:card0-eDP-1 ] \ && echo "Hyprland needs drm, bailing out" && exit -1 exec Hyprland > .hyprland.log.txt 2> .hyprland.err.txt 

But it doesn't work
The problem here is during startup, well, first it doesn't want to autologin and asks me for my password (with username autofilled) but anyway I'll keep things as it is (if you have any idea why it doesn't fill in the password and autologin, please feel free to help).
But the real problem is once I'm logged, I get the message waiting for drm every 0.2s, because the while [ ! -f /run/udev/data/+drm:card0-eDP-1 ] at line 8 of hyprland.sh is true.
So if I understand correctly, this +drm:card0-eDP-1 file doesnt exist
I'm not an absolute beginner in Linux, but at the moment I have no knowledge of how video cards and drivers work, nor of how Windows Manager and DE handle all this.
Hyprland needs this DRM file, but I can't work out which of these scripts is wrong, because I've made virtually no changes, apart from the username, to the original script in the reddit link up there. And the guy seems to get it working
What could be the problem? Thank you in advance for your help.

iOS 16 and previous let you disable #images in the iMessage app and you could prevent redownload with screen time. That feature was removed in following updates. Can’t remove. Can’t disable. Can’t even take it out of the sidebar in iMessage. The history can be deleted and it only tracks the most 3 recent searches anyway.
Anyone know any possible way to deal with this? It’s a work iPhone so I can’t get rid of it, can’t put the canopy filter on it which we use for our personal tech because MDM restrictions. Can’t use screen time to limit his iMessage to 1 minute a day because it’s his work phone and he needs to text customers. He of course says he will stop using #images completely and just won’t communicate with gifs going forward. Obviously I have no way to monitor this aside from seeing if the “recently used” gifs change.
Sigh.
P.S. he is doing a lot for recovery. CSAT weekly, 2 SA meetings weekly, 1 pure desire meeting weekly, Bible study, PBSE podcasts, sponsor, just presented step 4 to his sponsor, etc. He’s been accountable to his groups but recently hid his use of #images on his work phone for the last 2 weeks from me. No M/O, which is how he kept up the facade of calling himself “sober” (by SA anon definition). I don’t consider it sober, but apparently my opinion doesn’t define his sobriety 🙃 He did try to turn his chips in, but SA gave them back to him and told him to think about it for a week. I’ve laid a hard boundary that if he doesn’t move his definition of sobriety to include intentionally searching content to list over that I will no longer work on our marriage. Current consequence for this recent event: sleeping separately, no physical intimacy.

I can't get over the thought of what I should have done differently. Last weekend my boyfriend came to the same festival where I was with his friends. I noticed on the first night that something about him seemed "off." I left the scene, and later my friend told me he had said, "I want to kill myself, don't tell my girlfriend." We had a little argument, after which he yelled in my face that he wanted to kill himself. He then ran away and a couple of hours later sent me a picture from the emergency room bed with the caption, "Sorry, I tried to kill myself. Enjoy life."
I was shocked because there had been no signs of this. He had been depressed since last fall, and it affected me as well. I was in shock and said I couldn't handle this anymore. After that, we exchanged messages throughout the night, and then he sent pictures from a highway telling me he is not going to live without me. He said he was about to jump in front of a truck. I talked him out of it and said that if he promised to get help, I definitely wanted to stay with him. He promised never to do this again and wanted to get himself better. We said we loved each other so much, and he promised to be sober the next festival day. After that police took him to first aid station which he left almost immediately, because he’s friends had called 911.
The next day, we talked about it a little. However, due to my shock, I couldn't talk much, but we agreed to discuss it later. At some point, I noticed he was buying alcoholic drinks. I got angry with him because he had promised to stay sober. I said, ”you can't drink any alcohol in this state, so why are you doing this?” He mumbled something like, "in this situation, there is no other option." We argued and yelled at each other. He has normally been the calmest person in the world and hates violence, but when he yelled right in my face, I was really scared he would attack me. There was so much hate in his eyes that I feel like I couldn’t recognize that person anymore.
At some point during the argument, he yelled, "Thanks to you. Now I'm going to kill myself" and ran off. I immediately went to find his friends to get help with the situation. A moment later, he sent me a picture from the train tracks. The caption read, "Goodbye." I tried to persuade him to leave, but he insisted he wouldn't, that he had nothing, and that he was mentally ill. At this point, I called emergency services, and when I tried to call him immediately after that, his phone was off.
The police called me an hour after the situation and said that my boyfriend had already passed away just before I called emergency services. I'm completely shattered because I blame myself for this. Why didn't I force him to leave the festival? Why didn't I take him to the emergency room for the third time? This questioning is the worst thing about the whole situation. On the other hand, I try to be compassionate; he never expressed how bad his situation had gotten. Still, I will never get over this.

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https://preview.redd.it/bdqnpbvnns1d1.jpg?width=563&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c5457882f63c62344f9882d10f1d37fa860a3634

Previous Part
The first sound I heard that morning was foot steps outside my tepee.
“Get up! Shaoni wants you all in town.”
The gruff but familiar voice of my driver from three days ago shouted at me. It had to be some sick sense of humor on Shaoni’s part, sending this guy to come get me for things again and again. Honestly, even I was starting to feel bad for him. Bianca stabbed his friend I knocked him off that stage yesterday with one of the war clubs. I speak from experience when I say those things HURT.
“Alright alright, just give me a second to get dressed!”
I yelled back to the man as I rushed to get around inside. At least he had the common courtesy to stay outside. A minute or two later I stepped out to see everyone else gathered around the man. Brooke, Katrina, John, and Robert all stood there, just staring at me.
“Mornin’ sleeping beauty”
Robert finally said after what seemed like forever, nearly choking on laugher at his own joke.
“I thought you were never going to wake up. Did you not hear Shaoni last night? We were supposed to be up 6 sharp.”
He explained after his laughing fit. Apparently I had missed that bit of Shaoni’s whole presentation last night. Katrina grabbed a pair of keys out of her pocket and started walking away.
“Come on, we’ve got to get into town and finish this whole thing.”
She called back to us just a little too eagerly.
“She’s letting us drive? I thought she didn’t want us heading back to town without some kind of supervision.”
I questioned as we all walked toward the same beat up red pickup that had brought me here.
“I guess she decided to make an exception.”
Katrina replied, not even bothering to look at me.
“Besides I don’t think running is much of an option at this point.”
She continued, pointing up towards the sky. A storm was brewing there, a killer one by the looks of it. The odd thing was it didn’t seem to want to break, it was just stuck in that state right before it starts raining cats and dogs. The dark, angry clouds tapered off in the sky the further they got from town, Shaoni’s doing, it had to be.
The five of us would just about fit in the truck, not comfortably but we would fit.
“Oh hell no! I’m not dealing with you up here!”
“Why not?! You know you love it.”
Brooke and Katrina argued as he tried to take the passenger seat next to her.
“No you go in the back or I’m driving us straight into a tree, I can’t put up with you anymore.”
Katrina yelled at Brooke, tensing up and getting ready for a fight.
“Would you guys just knock it off! Just sit in the back Brooke, I’ll take the passenger seat.”
I scolded both of them, I was done with their little arguments, it was starting to get under my skin. An evil grin crossed Brooke’s face as he turned to me
“What’s up with you two? You’ve been all buddy buddy with him since we all beat the shit out of each other with wooden sticks. He didn’t get to you first did he? Hmmmm?”
Brooke prodded with a wink.
Katrina Immediately punched him in the face before I even had a chance to respond.
“Ey that’s a good right hook! Give em’ another one, come on come on!”
A heavily accented voice cut in from below my feet. Rocco had managed to slip in without any of us noticing. When Brooke lay eyes on him he just about jumped straight into the truck bed. Apparently whatever Rocco did to him yesterday had left quite the impression.
“I’m not even gonna ask, just shut up and take a seat.”
Katrina told Rocco, slamming her door shut as I took a seat next to her and Rocco hopped in the back. Robert and John pretty much made themselves flat to their doors as Rocco took a seat in between them in the back. Brooke rode in the bed, shooting nervous glances at Rocco every now and then.
Katrina drove like a bat out of hell through the woods and back into town. I’m not sure if she was in that much of a hurry to get all this over with or if she just hoped her crazy driving would throw Brooke overboard. Given where we were headed and how close we would probably be to Bianca, I can’t say I wasn’t hoping the same thing.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Save-A-Lot I’d gotten groceries from my first day here. The storm over head was raging but oddly enough It still wasn’t raining or anything like that. The wind was picking up and the sky looked absolutely sinister but other than that everything seemed fine in the town.
Before Katrina’s combat boots had even touched the ground she was already giving orders.
“Alright listen up, We’re working as a team this time wether you all like it or not. I want us to split up and see what we can find. Anything out of place, anything that seems suspicious, I want you to make a note of it. We have to figure out who the victim is going to be and who’s doing the killing. We have nothing to go on either so nothing is to small here. Lets all take a look around town and meet back here in two hours. That’s two hours sharp Keith!”
Katrina barked, taking charge of the situation and leveling one quick jab at me before turning on her heels and heading out into the town.
As everyone else hurried off in different directions I took a second to think. If I was looking for someone where would I go? Where in town would I most likely go no matter what? That line of thought is what led me to the front door of the Eagle’s Roost. Cliche I know, but a bar was a good a place as any to start, even if it was 8 in the morning. Maybe someone new had stopped by and Tuck would know something about it.
The door was unlocked as usual so I let myself in, if Tuck didn’t want guests I’m sure he’d lock it.
“Hey, Tuck? You in here?”
I called into the bar as I noticed the usually roaring stone fireplace had fallen silent.
“Tuck’s not here right now sweet heart, but I can take a message if you’d give me a moment.”
“Oh, ok take your time then.”
I answered before realizing the motherly southern voice couldn’t possibly belong to Tuck.
“Wait who are you?!”
I chirped as I rushed up to the bar and peered back into the kitchen where Tuck usually was. In his place was a dark skinned woman that looked a little older than Tuck. She wore a pink checkered shirt under an apron that read, “Kiss the cook”.
“My, I haven’t seen you around. I’m Richelle, Tucker’s wife.”
She answered. Her southern accent was smooth and calm. The exact opposite of Tuck’s brutal hillbilly speak that he tried to hide.
“Did he not mention me? He doesn’t like to introduce me to the new comers, always worrying about me that one.”
“No, I think he mentioned you helped keep this place running when I first met him.”
“He must like you then, most people round here don’t even know he’s married. Anyways what can I help you with sugar?”
Her motherly voice did wonders for my stress. I could see why Tuck married her, with just a few words I’m sure she could set anyone at ease.
“I was wondering if anyone new came into town or passed through here. Maybe someone out of place, something like that? Oh, and where’s Tuck?”
“Well I can help with both those things. There was a man here, got off a bus last night all alone and came right in. I don’t know what it was but I just had a bad feeling about him, made me shiver.”
She gave a little shiver at that, to demonstrate I guess?
“As for Tuck he’s been staying with those scientists and…. and I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
She explained, a look of embarrassment crossing her face as she finished.
Before I had a chance to respond I heard the door slam open behind me. I swore I heard someone shriek my name. All I saw before someone knocked me over the stool I’d been standing next to was a blur of black hair flying toward me, and bright glowing blue eyes.
Bianca wrapped me in a bear hug on the floor.
“What happened to you, are you hurt, how are you back!?”
She fired questions at me as fast as she could.
“Bianca, crushing my… can you just, ease up a bit.”
I pleaded as she squeezed me harder than a boa constrictor.
“Sorry! I just didn’t think I’d see you…”
She squeaked, trailing off suddenly. A single tear making its way down her face as she blushed slightly and released me. In that moment I realized Bianca, who had stabbed a guy not to long ago for grabbing her hand, just bear hugged me. I’m not sure what I felt about that but at the moment, I was just happy to see her and even happier that she was happy to see me.
“Shaoni let us back into town for the last of the trials. We’re supposed to stop a murder in town.”
“A murder?! Is that what you were asking about? Is that man a murderer? My, what is going on in this town.”
Richelle shrieked, reminding Bianca and I that we weren’t alone in here. I felt the hot blood rush to my face as I looked up to see Bianca blushing as well, even redder than before.
“So, did you end up finding anything out about Shaoni?”
I asked Bianca as we took a seat at the bar, getting straight down to business as Richelle started stress cleaning in the kitchen.
I was a bit surprised by what she said. I never expected Shaoni to be THE Thunderbird or a descendent of them. I was still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing.
“So she went into hiding here then? That cave we stumbled into that was connected to the mines. Was that her… nest?”
I thought out loud, hoping Bianca would have some kind of answer.
“I guess, that’s what Frank and Stein have been calling it too. Speaking of Frank and Stein we should probably go see them. We were planning to break you out today, guess we were a little late on that huh.”
Bianca said, getting up from her seat at the bar. I’m not sure reuniting with Frank, Stein, and the rest of them was the best idea. At the moment I didn’t have a whole lot of other options though. I got up and followed Bianca out the door, heading back to her house to call off their rescue mission.
“Good luck darlin’!”
Richelle called after us, I felt sure we could use all the luck we could get.
“How the hell’d ya get back here son?!”
Tuck asked as soon as Bianca and I walked through the front door. Rocco had already found his way back and had apparently been filling everyone in on what had been happening. Stein was unloading some sort of pistol with a long thin barrel on the kitchen table.
“I’m glad I won’t have to use this at least. It’s been… many years since I’ve had to take this out of storage.”
Stein explained to no one in particular while staring at the gun. No doubt it brought back memories of his time with the German military. Frank walked out of the basement at that moment and nodded to me.
“Glad to have you back Keith.”
He said, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s great to see you all but I can’t stay too long, I’ve got to go back.”
“WHAT?!”
Everyone yelled in unison, even Rocco.
“It’s the last trial and Shaoni is overseeing it personally. You see that storm outside? That’s all her, if I don’t go back she’ll know and I’m sure there will be consequences. Besides Brooke is here too, I don’t want to give him any reason to go looking for me and bump into Bianca.”
I explained to everyone, not enough to wipe the shock off all their faces but at least Stein seemed to understand. Just the mention of Brookes name made Bianca freeze up. Only for a second but I could see this tension pass over her whole body and her eyes suddenly glowed blue and widened with fear. I was paying so much attention to how she’d react to that name that I almost didn’t feel her reach out and squeeze my hand from her place at my side. She sighed quietly before her eyes returned to normal but she still kept my hand in hers.
“You can’t go back! We only just got you back!”
Bianca protested, but my mind was made up.
“I need to see this through and besides someone’s life is at stake. I should try and stop that at least.”
Bianca couldn’t argue with that, neither could anyone else. I could tell Tuck and her wanted to but they didn’t. All Tuck did was quietly nod his head and grunt. I could tell Bianca was running through every possible argument in her head to try and make me stay but wasn’t coming up with anything. Bianca let go of my hand and asked,
“Can I at least come with you? To help stop the murder I mean.”
She looked into my eyes like a puppy, begging me to say yes.
In any normal circumstance I would’ve given in immediately to that, especially coming from someone who looked like her. This time though, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t take the chance that Brooke would see her and something bad would happen.
“You can’t Bianca, I don’t want anything happening to you especially with… him out there. I think Shaoni offered to help him find you if he showed up for these trials or something like that. Either way I’m pretty sure he’s here for you.”
I told her as gently as I could. I could see her recoil at the idea that Brooke might be here just for her. She was scared, maybe more scared than she’d ever been that there was even a small chance of Brooke getting his hands on her again.
“I… no, no your right.”
I didn’t expect her to give in so easily but it was a welcome surprise.
“I hope you know what yer doin son.”
Tuck told me as I got ready to head back out. Frank and Stein cornered me before I could leave as well.
“Take this.”
Frank said, thrusting what looked like a jury rigged walkie talkie into my hands.
“If you need anything call us on that. We’ll help however we can, and don’t expect us to sit around quietly when you go back. We fully intend get you out still, no reason to let a perfectly good plan go to waste.”
I thanked them for the walkie talkie. I was glad they were still looking out for me even if I doubted they could do much against whatever was to come, it was good to have people in your corner. Bianca was waiting for me when I got to the door.
“At least I get to say goodbye this time.”
She said with a little smirk. She’d been acting different since I got back, much more… personable?
“Yeah I guess so. What’s been up with you? You’ve been acting… different.”
I asked her, a little nervous for some reason.
“You helped me… a lot actually. Your the first person who’s really cared about me in years.”
“That’s not true, look at Frank and Stein.”
I responded, missing the point of what she was saying.
“No, not like that. I mean your a friend, a good friend… no that’s not, ugh.”
She said, shaking her head and looking a little embarrassed. Then she did something I really didn’t expect, she leaned over and kissed me.
“Just… make sure you come back ok? For me.”
She added as she pushed me out the door, starting to turn lobster red. My head was spinning but there was a bug dumb smile on my face, I’m sure of that. Filled with all the confidence that brought me, I headed back to the Save-A-Lot to see what everyone else had turned up on the impending murder.
As I walked back lighting began to crack across the sky. The lightning took all kinds of unnatural shapes. I swore one time it almost looked like a pair of eyes, watching me from the sky.
“Alright everyone, I want reports!”
Katrina shouted like a drill instructor, bring the group of us gathered around the hood of the truck to attention.
“The elderly cashier inside, she was… disquieted. More so than I would expect of someone in this strange town.”
John spoke, saying the first words I’d ever heard from him in a wise sage-like voice.
“I looked around for some kinda police station but this shit hole town doesn’t have one. How the hell am I supposed to report a murder if there’s no police!”
Brooke complained to the crowd.
“So, you accomplished absolutely nothing, I kinda figured that.”
Katrina scoffed at him.
“Yeah there hasn’t been a police station here as long as I remember. We never needed one, everyone either moved on to fast or stuck around and just wanted to be left alone, never caused any problems. Still, it’s a little strange come to think of it, would’ve figured the government would make us have some kind of police.”
Robert informed us before giving his own report.
“I looked around a bit myself, didn’t come across much on account of there not being all that many people to talk to in this town. Those old scientist types in the big white house never answered the door when I knocked and I couldn’t find their daughter.”
To my horror Brooke’s eyes lit up and he was suddenly razor focused on what Robert had to say.
“I did see some guy I’d never seen in town before walking around. Didn’t want to talk much though, he just turned around and walked the other way as soon as he caught sight of me.”
Robert finished with a shrug. Brooke seemed less interested after he heard nothing else about the daughter Robert mentioned. Did he know Robert was taking about Bianca?
“Wait that strange guy, was he wearing an old hat? Some kind of bowler I think, looked really out of place.”
Katrina asked suddenly, her eyes lighting up.
“Yeah now that you mention it I think he did.”
Robert answered after thinking for a second.
“Damn it! He saw me and ran when I was searching around town myself. So next order of business we find that guy. Keith! Did you see anything else?”
Katrina asked, whirling around to face me.
“I stopped by the bar and the bartender there told me someone new came into town a few days ago. Apparently she had a bad feeling about him. Maybe its the same guy you two saw?”
I proposed, pointing to Robert and Katrina. Katrina paced around for a bit, thinking I guess. She finally came to a rest again at the front of the truck, apparently she’d come up with another plan.
“Alright, I want that guy in the bowler hat found so we’re breaking into teams of two.”
“Uh, isn’t there five of us, that won’t work.”
Brooke interjected, earning him a look of pure murder from Katrina.
“Keep that up and I’ll find that raccoon, you can pair up with him!”
She yelled completely over Brooke’s attitude.
“I’ll go alone, Robert, John, you two are together same with you Keith and asshole.”
“I have a name you know!”
Brooke complained, getting yet another look from Katrina. If he kept that up I had a pretty good idea of exactly who the murderer and victim would be.
“Alright alright Jesus lady cool your jets!”
He said, putting his hands up in surrender as Katrina took a threatening step towards him.
A few minutes later Brooke and I had broken off from the other three having all agreed to meet up back at the truck in another hour. Brooke had insisted we go to the bar and search for the guy but I had a feeling there was more to it than that. He proved me right when he ducked into an alley and pushed me up against the side of a building right on main street. Usually that would be instantly seen by someone but here wasn’t like anywhere else. There was no one around to help me out or even see what was going on.
“I know we’re supposed to be looking for a murderer but I’ve got other things in mind. That daughter Robert was talking about, you know something about her don’t you.”
Brooke questioned with a growl, arm against my throat holding me uncomfortably tight against the building.
“Daughter? What are you talking about?”
I choked out, deciding to play dumb. He didn’t like this to much and pushed me even harder against the wall.
“That raccoon mentioned her name the other day when the fuckin thing attacked me and it seems pretty buddy buddy with you! Bianca! ring any bells!”
I felt my face grow red at the mention of her name as I thought back to the way she kissed me at the door. That reaction betrayed me and the beginnings of a twisted smile appeared in Brooke’s eyes.
“Oh yeah, you know her don’t you? Know what she can do to I bet. Did she tell you about me, how she threw away everything I could’ve given her.”
He hissed at me, venom dripping off every word.
“At first I didn’t care but then I heard stories of this whore who could wrap you around her finger like nothing else. She’d do whatever you wanted but you’d also pay whatever she asked, do whatever she asked. Imagine my surprise when I started looking into it and it turned out to be my little escaped bird.”
Brooke continued, grinning like a mad man. He was obsessed with her, it didn’t take a genius to see that. But I was in no position to argue with him, I could barley speak with the pressure on my neck from his arm.
“They called her a succubus, the crazy ones at least. Turns out they were right though, there was something off about her from the first day I met her but I had no idea she was something exotic like that. See I make a habit of collecting things, rare things, and she’s the rarest I’ve ever been able to find. I was so close to having her at one point but she just had to break away. When I met Shaoni late one night researching the supernatural she agreed to look into her for me on one condition. I agree to show up in this town in the ass end of nowhere and participate in some trials for her. Easiest deal I ever made, now I’m this close to getting my hands on her again. Imagine what she could do for me, what I could get with her powers.”
Brooke finished his monologue, finally letting me go.
“Now you’re going to show me where she is and I’m going to get the hell out of here. Get going!”
He shouted at me, drawing a pocket knife from his white suit jacket.
My first reaction was to look around and search for a way out. I couldn’t fight him, that was clear. I really didn’t want to get stabbed either. My eyes darted around trying to find anything that could get me out of this. Then I found exactly what I was looking for on the other side of the street.
Katrina had found the man in the bowler and he was running back toward the Save-A-Lot like Usain Bolt himself.
“Katrina, HELP!”
Brooke whipped his head around, trying to catch sight of her before she did anything. Katrina wasted no time though. She took one look at him, pulled the gun from its holster on her waist, and fired. The crack of the bullet made me run on pure instinct and Brooke dropped to the ground. It hadn’t hit him unfortunately, but it had bought me enough time to run.
“Argh that bitch! I’ll find her myself!”
Brooke shouted before getting back to his feet and running the other direction. The guy Katrina had been chasing used the distraction to make some distance on her. He was nearly to the corner that turned towards the Save-A-Lot. I took off after him as Katrina did the same, ripping the walkie talkie from my pocket as I ran.
“Stein get Bianca out of there! Head out to the mine, maybe there aren’t to many people there now, just get her out of town! Brooke is here and he’s looking for her I’ll meet you once this is all over ok.”
I think Stein said something back but I didn’t catch it. The adrenaline spike of getting shot at and chasing this guy who was likely a soon to be murderer made it hard to hear.
We weren’t as fast as we hoped but we were just fast enough to see the consequences of that. As Katrina and I got into the parking lot the guy was already inside, pointing a gun of his own at the elderly cashier that gave me a hard time about my ID. I made out the movements of her lips just before he pulled the trigger. It looked like she said “Oh, you’re the one she sent then.” Just before he killed her.
I stopped dead when I saw the body drop, I’d never seen someone die before. In Imalone people had died but I’d been knocked out for most of it. Seeing it up close though, it made my stomach drop. I fell to my knees and threw up on the spot, the blood, god the blood splatter behind her it was horrible.
Katrina didn’t stop after the shot, if anything she charged in even faster. The gun was still in her hand and she held it up in front of her, using the weight of the gun to smash through the glass doors with the bottom of the grip. The shards of glass rained down on the murderer who surprisingly, seemed just as stunned as I was by the corpse. Katrina dropped her shoulder and charged into him, hitting him so hard they both fell to the ground. She was back on her feet quick as lighting, flipping the guy over onto his front and putting a knee on his back in between his shoulder blades. Katrina locked his arm behind his back and said something I couldn’t hear. At that point I kinda spaced out. The only other thing I remember before getting in the truck was Katrina leading the man out of the store with his hands zip tied behind him. The few people who were in the store had come out and were starting to pick over the scene as we shot out onto the road back to the mine.
I noticed one of us was missing when we came to a stop.
“Where’s Brooke?”
“I wasn’t waiting for him, not after whatever he pulled in town. He can find his own way back.”
Katrina answered me while pushing the man she’d apprehended out of the truck and toward the entrance to the mine.
“Are you doing ok? You looked a little white on the way out here, like you saw a ghost.”
Robert asked me as we got out and followed behind Katrina.
“Sure sure I just… never saw someone die like that you know.”
I said, never so sure that I wasn’t ok. Robert gave me a knowing nod as we made our way down to the coliseum.
Shaoni and Katrina were waiting for us already. Brooke was there too, beaten and bloody against the wall. It looked like someone had dragged him back here against his will, probably Shaoni if I had to guess.
“I can’t say I’m pleased with what went on in town but in the end you did discover the murderer, even if it was too late. Now it’s time for the second part of this trial. I want to hear your judgements, what should this man’s punishment be?”
Shaoni greeted us, ignoring everything that had gone on before like it didn’t even matter. Something about that made my blood boil.
“Katrina, you first. What should this man’s punishment be?”
“P please.. you said.”
The man muttered before Shaoni slapped him hard across the face.
“You will be silent!”
She ordered, the room suddenly becoming electric with her temper. Katrina stepped up in front of Shaoni and gave her judgment.
“He took a life, he should be killed as well. It’s the only way to be sure he doesn’t do something like that again.”
Shaoni nodded at that and pointed to me.
“You next Keith, what should we do with him?”
I was filled with a rage I’d never felt before as I looked at the whole situation. Shaoni was meant to be a spirt of justice, or so I thought. Yet she let that woman die. Worse still, after what the woman said I believed Shaoni may have arranged the whole thing, murderer, victim, and all. That’s not justice, that’s playing god, using her power and influence to mess with people like pieces on a chessboard and for what? Just so she could “test” a few people who’d caught her eye?
“You deserve punishment Shaoni. That man is innocent, you put him up to it didn’t you? Him, the victim, all of it! It’s all just some kind of game to you isn’t it?! You keep claiming you represent justice but from what I’ve heard you’ve had a problem with that. This is something else though, where is the justice in this Shaoni, where! I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been through over the years Justice, but this isn’t right. If it was up to me this man should be let go so he doesn’t have you whispering in his ear and you should go back to sleep like you had been years ago.”
I shouted at her, not caring what she would do to me. It felt good though, to finally let her have it, especially after all she’d put me through.
I learned Shaoni’s real name from Bianca but hearing it seemed to make her shrink. The second I said it I had her full attention.
“No! You don’t understand Keith! These people were terrible, guilty of their own crimes. I found them both and offered them a deal. Submit to my judgment or do something for me and face the judgment of another. They got their punishments, I’m no monster!”
She roared back, the beginning of tears brimming in her eyes.
“Guilty or not you used them like pawns Justice! None of this is right, there’s no justice in it, no right and wrong. It’s just a game to you! Don’t you see this is wrong!”
I yelled at her again.
“DON’T YOU USE THAT NAME!”
She thundered back.
“Would you prefer Vengeance?!”
I added, shattering her.
The mention of that name brought Shaoni to tears and she lost her temper. She threw her hand out toward the man still zip tied on the ground in an act of anger. The tattoos on her arms glowed with a blue, ghostly light. The energy grew until a bolt of lightning arced from the tattoos, filling the room with the scent of ozone. The bolt hit the man in the head, searing the skin of his face black in an instant as his body went still.
“You don’t understand, all those years, all those mistakes. Do you know what that…!”
Shaoni started to scream to me again, but she was cut off by the sound of vehicles above us and the cracks of gunfire.
I looked around in surprise, still in shock after the brutal death of the murderer in front of me. I saw Katrina holding her own walkie talkie and smiling.
“Looks like my ride is here, time to end this little charade. Keith, I’d suggest running if I where you. Shaoni, I’d say its been fun but you’re the whole reason they sent me out here in the first place. You’ve been way too much trouble but for what its worth, good luck.”
Katrina hissed at the two of us. Robert, John, and I were stunned, even Shaoni herself seemed shocked back to reality by whatever was happening. With her piece said, Katrina turned and walked out of the mine, towards the growing sounds of shouting and gunfire coming from outside.

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.

It’s time. I know I won’t hear from you again unless I initiate contact. Thank you for that, message received. I know I have asked you to do something that you don’t want to do, to decide what you want and communicate it to me. I’m sorry for that. I know you will put it off and try to ignore it as you no longer owe me anything. So the easiest thing is just to move on.
I’m fairly dense and need time to come to my own conclusion, and that I have. I would love nothing more than to have you in my life, but I cannot step back. Maybe in time, but probably not.
I will forever cherish our time together and all that you shared with me. I wish we could try again with new boundaries and expectations, but I will always want more. And, just like every relationship I have ever had, what I want just doesn’t matter to anyone. It’s always the last considered and the first sacrificed.
Now, it’s time for me to start putting myself first. I know what I want, to build an incredible friendship that builds into someone I can spend the rest of my life with. Maybe marriage, maybe not, that part is not important to me. I am only looking for someone that I can share my life with, have constant companionship and be close to.
Three times now, you have pushed me away. Now, I’m walking before you can do it again. 3:1, I’m sorry I ruined your perfect score.
It’s time I let you go. Let go of the hope, the closeness, the companionship, and the friendship. From here on out, we will be strangers. If we pass in the street, I won’t wave. I won’t acknowledge. I won’t react. But I will see you, and remember.
As hard as this is for me, it has to happen. It has to be this way. For me to heal.
GoodByE

Sorry for the format, I'm gay, confused and on mobile.
I basically started giving myself exposure therapy, and started opening up to actual irl dating, going out, and experiencing life at 24! years old!!
On a night out, I met this cutie and flirted a bit, danced a bit, drank, I got a couple cheek kisses, got each other's socials and, when my friends and I went to leave they gave me a cutie little forehead kiss on my way out!! They were so respectful to my shyness and waited for me to be comfortable but also hyping me up through the night.
I later hit them up online and we had a very brief convo setting up boundaries and basically agreed that flirting and banter is ok. They even said they felt butterflies when I asked if they're comfortable with my attempt at flirting. This was about a MONTH ago, a long time for sapphics. I haven't seen them since cause life got busy.
We don't talk all the time but we do chat. They sometimes reply to my stories and compliment my photos. Sometimes when we're texting, I send sort of goodbye messages like "be careful, have fun, get home safe" messages when they're out with family/friends, but instead of ending the conversation they ask stuff to continue the conversation, like asking me about my day or they ask if I already ate dinner, etc.
They have a full time work, and go out a lot. There were times when I didn't really get any replies at all, for DAYS, but they did post. I don't mind not getting replies. But it gets confusing because they send good morning texts sometimes, or random updates about their life without prompting (I find it so cute!!)
I wanna ask them out. Not even on a date-date, just for a casual hang out to get to know them better but I don't really know if I should or shouldn't. I'm at a gray area cause I don't really know if this is still flirting or if they're just being friendly.
I just don't know. I feel like I started this whole "life" thing too late and I don't know how to read the vibe. Am I being socially anxious and delulu or are they just a really busy, friendly, extrovert.
And yes, in true sapphic manner we have already briefly talked about exes, trauma dumped, and shared hobbies. Ugh I don't know how to talk to girls.

Mattana Ministry Welcomes You To: Weekly Bible Study: 21 May 2024 Theme: Bible Basics Explained/Faith (2) Scripture: Heb.11:3 & Gen.1:1-4 Message: Creation
We’re back in Hebrews 11, and in verse 3 we run directly into a sticky point in the world of faith: science. Specifically, creation. Let’s read at verse 3:
“By faith, we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible” (Hebrews 11:3). So our chapter on faith begins with our understanding of creation. So what about evidence for creation?
Consider quickly the beginning of the universe in light of the basic laws of science. We know the universe had a beginning from simple number theory. If we start counting at negative infinity, it’s impossible to arrive at two thousand something. So there must be a start. At some point, time began.
And at some point space came into being. And matter. And energy.
Let’s apply the laws of science.
Conservation of Mass: Matter can neither be created nor destroyed.
So where did all the matter come from? There is no scientific law nor test or observation that can validate anything creating something. The Big Bang theory offers no scientific explanation for nothing becoming something. It had to happen. Had to. And yet it violates the conservation of mass. Unless there is something outside this universe that created the mass from nothing. Next law of science.
Conservation of Energy: Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.
Again, energy could not have existed for eternity past, so it must have a beginning. The Big Bang offers no scientific explanation for nothing creating energy. It had to happen. And yet it violates the Conversation of Energy. Unless something outside the universe created the energy from nothing. And one more scientific law: entropy.
The Second Law of Thermodynamics tells us that order cannot come from disorder in a closed system.
All things naturally move toward disorder. Now the universe has a phenomenal amount of order in it. So where did it come from? If the universe is a closed system, then the scientific laws insist that something outside of the universe must have added it.
So to be an atheist and still believe the laws of science, then we must believe that the major scientific laws were broken at some point by nothing. For the atheist, nothing created time, space, matter, energy, and order.
Now science does not lead us to that conclusion. That conclusion violates scientific law. So believing it requires faith. That is faith in nothing.
But what if we trusted the scientific laws? Well, they all tell us that time, space, matter, energy, and order must come from something. They cannot create themselves. However, there is nothing in the known universe that can create them. So it would require something outside the known universe to create them.
Now consider Genesis 1:1.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1). Beginning - that’s time.
God - something outside the universe.
Created - that word in Hebrew means to make something from nothing.
The heavens - space.
And the earth - matter.
So God, outside the universe, created time, space, and matter. What happened next? God said, “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3). That’s energy.
And the very next thing, He “separated the light from the darkness” (Genesis 1:4). That’s order.
Time, space, matter, energy, order. How is it that Genesis 1, written well over 3,000 years ago, gives a direct explanation for the problems brought up by the laws of science, some of them formulated in the last two hundred years? That’s pretty amazing.
When it comes to faith, we should all recognize our options here: the universe as we know it either came from nothing or something. The laws of science tell us nothing cannot make something. So option 1 is to put our faith in nothing. It breaks the laws of science, and there is no atheist solution for this apart from sheer faith. But we can choose to believe it on faith. Option 2 is to put our faith in a Creator. No laws of science are broken, but it still does take faith.
So back to Hebrews 11:
“By faith, we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible” (Hebrews 11:3). Many of us believe that. But not everyone agrees.
MM
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The twin suns of the alien planet were high in the sky outside your window. Birds with four wings chirped and flitted between shoulder high blades of purple grass. Outside your kitchen window a brook babbled quietly between enormous trees twice the size of the giant sequoias of Earth. In the distance you could hear a few of your fellow colonists chatting cheerily. The BUZZ of your communicator interrupted the moment. It read:

Congratulations! The Colonial Supercomputer has located a suitable mate for you. He will arrive in fourteen (14) standard days. His information is as follows:

Category	Specifications
Name	Dr. Paul Stevens
Age	29
Education	PhDs in Astronomy, Astrometrics, and Physics
Height	6'6
Weight	195
Flaccid Length	6.9''
Average Seminal Emission (Volume)	testing error
Average Seminal Emission (Frequency)	3.2 Per Standard Rotation

Paul enjoys nature, good food, a good book, and everything to do with the stars. Please prepare for your mate's arrival. Contact the Colonial Authority if you have any questions.

A picture of a ruggedly handsome man with wavy, dirty blond hair, green eyes, and just a bit of stubble followed the message. His eyes were warm and friendly, as was his soft smile.
Aboard the colonial transport starship, Ares, Paul and a few hundred other male colonists had woken from cryosleep just a few weeks ago. It had taken Paul a few days to adjust, but the anti-atrophy system that had been developed a few years ago was really working wonders. He felt stronger than ever. He was playing Spaceball with his friends in the gym when he got the notification.
"Here! Pass!" His friend Tom shouted. Paul threw him the ball. Tom dodged by one opponent, turned as he was blocked by another, and then through the ball back to Paul who was now in full sprint. Paul caught the ball in midair and immediately threw it at full speed toward the goal. The BUZZ of the goal sounded almost at the same time as Paul's communicator. Paul wiped sweat from his forehead as he high fived Tom and looked down at his communicator. His heart skipped three beats. He had been matched. His heart pounded more and more as he read your profile. His jaw visibly dropped when he got to your photo.
"Hey man! What's up?" Mark, another friend, walked up to Paul and clapped him on the back as he looked over Paul's shoulder. He immediate saw what was 'up' and he let out a dramatic. "Damn... son! Good for you!"
The rest of the guys ran up to peep over Paul's shoulder. Various comments filtered through. "She is fucking gorgeous," "Holy fucking shit dude," and "You lucky bastard," were some of them.
Finally the guys got back to the game, but Paul's mind never left the profile on his phone or the photo. His head was in the clouds and amongst the stars the rest of the day as he showered after the game, ate dinner, and worked half-heartedly on his usually consuming research.
Paul and the other three guys that he shared quarters with finally went to bed. He took one more glance at your profile as the lights went out and he tucked himself into his twin-sized bunk cut out from the wall. He drifted off peacefully to sleep to the gentle hum of the engines. He dreamed of the woman in his match message, his future mate. At around 2:00 a.m., the bulge between his legs swelled as he dreamed. The soft fabric of his pajama pants shifted and rose, and rose, and rose... Soon his bedsheets were a mountain in the darkness of the bed quarters. And Paul dreamed even more vividly of his mate. The bulging mountain tensed and shuddered visibly. And then again. And again even more powerfully. A moment later, wetness soaked his pajama bottoms and then the bedsheets over them. The wetness flowed and spread. More, and more and more, until it oozed to cover a large portion of the lower half of the bed. As it finished, the outline of a raging hard penis was clearly shown by the soaked bedsheet and pajamas that clung to it so tightly the thick veins would have been visible if there were a little more light in the dark room. Paul simply smiled in his sleep and rolled over. He would have to change, shower, and wash his sheets in the morning. He would also have to endure some playful teasing from his roommates. But Paul was the happiest man in the universe.
Two weeks later.
It was another beautiful day on the alien planet. It was the day Paul and the other male passengers of the Ares arrived. Paul waved goodbye to his friends as he followed the map on his datapad to your home. He passed an elk like creature with antlers almost the size of its body that was grazing between the huge trees. Paul's jaw almost never left the grown as his eyes passed from one alien wonder to the next. Finally he arrived outside your front door, his heart racing. He knocked twice. His deep voice followed. "Hello. It's Paul, Paul Stevens."
Hello! I thought it would be fun to set a smutty, romantic romp on an alien world.
I was also toying with the idea of our characters being somehow genetically enhanced to make them sexy as fuck, which explains Paul's absurd statistics early in the prompt. I am happy to discuss that though. Perhaps they are just hot from centuries of natural selection. Perhaps they were engineered from birth to be perfect space colonists, or perhaps they were given genetic treatment while in cryostasis on the journey, or we can totally ignore the issue and just have them be hot for hotness sake! I do like the idea of our characters being very attractive though. I also have to say I am a HUGE fan of big boobs and big booties.
I know I wrote your part in second person, and mine in third person. I am happy to write my character in either first or third person. I am also happy to write the parts of third party characters that flit in and out of our story, and I would be happy if you also share the burden!
Another idea that might be fun to explore is if additional "mates" are added to our "family" at some point. Not sure on this, happy to hear your thoughts if you are interested.
Some other kinks and interests that may work for the story: detailed writing, creative writing partners, fit characters, big tits, big butts, big cock, lots of cum, passionate fucking, outdoor sex, group sex (when it fits the story), voyeurism, exhibitionism, playful competition and comparison, and I am sure much more!
Limits: noncon, violence, poop, animals, underage, anything else gross or illegal.
Let me know your ideas, or feel free to just jump write in where I left off and answer the door!
I prefer to write by PM, by chat and discord also work. Hope to hear from you soon!

Two years ago, I took a part-time job that still haunts me to this day. I decided to finally write about my experience, hoping it might help me process everything. I was a college student, and like a lot of you, I needed a part-time job to help cover tuition and other expenses. After a long search, I found what seemed like the perfect job. It was a caregiver position, working from 5 PM to 9 PM, taking care of elderly people. The job was pretty straightforward, make sure they took their meds, had their meals, and just hang out with them for a few hours.
I got assigned to take care of this 85-year-old lady. Let's call her Mrs. Eleanor to keep things anonymous. She lived alone in this quaint little house on the edge of town. The place was old but well-kept, with a charming, slightly overgrown garden that probably hadn't seen a gardener in a few years. She had a small poodle named Max who was always by her side, following her around everywhere she went.
From the start, the house felt... off. There were no family pictures anywhere. I mean, you'd think at her age, she'd have photos of kids, grandkids, maybe an old lover or something. But no, nothing. It was weird. The walls were bare except for a few generic paintings. I asked her about it once, just casually during a conversation, but she brushed it off and changed the subject real quick. She had this look in her eyes, a mix of sadness and something I couldn’t quite place. I didn't push it because I didn't want to lose the job, but it definitely made me curious.
My daily routine was simple enough. I'd get there around 5 PM, cook dinner, make sure she took her meds, and just keep her company for a few hours. Max, the poodle, was a friendly little guy, always happy to see me, wagging his tail and jumping around despite his age. Mrs. Eleanor, though, was polite but pretty reserved. She didn’t talk much about her past or family, which just added to the mystery. Our conversations were always pretty basic, like talking about the weather or what was on the news.
Every evening, as I cleaned up after dinner, I'd hear Mrs. Eleanor singing a lullaby. It was the same soft, melodic tune every night, echoing through the quiet house. While the song was gentle, it really creeped me out. It felt so out of place in the otherwise silent house. She sang it every night, like clockwork, and it always made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sometimes, I would find myself pausing my cleaning just to listen. The whole situation was unsettling. The house, the lack of family photos, the nightly lullaby, it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was a deeper, darker story behind those melodies. It was like the house held secrets that it wasn’t ready to share, and I was just an outsider peeking in.
As the weeks went by, my curiosity grew stronger. Why was she singing this lullaby every night? Who was it for? The routine stayed the same, but the sense of unease kept building. I had been given strict instructions by my employer not to go into Mrs. Eleanor's room. It was one of the non-negotiable rules of the job, probably to respect her privacy and maintain professional boundaries. One evening, while I was cleaning the dishes, I noticed that the door to Mrs. Eleanor's small office was slightly opened. She had always kept it closed and had told me it was just a mess she didn't want me to fuss around with. But that evening, the door was invitingly open. Hearing her close the bathroom door upstairs, I decided to take the chance and peek inside the office.
The room looked straight out of the 1960s. Blue walls, a small single bed, and a wooden desk cluttered with old papers. There was a small closet to the left that caught my eye. The whole setup struck me as odd. This room, which looked like it belonged to a young boy, was in the home of an elderly woman living alone. There were no pictures, no personal belongings, nothing to explain why this room was here. I couldn't explore more because I heard footsteps right above me, making my heart race. Panicking, I quickly closed the door and hurried back to the kitchen. The rest of the evening went by uneventfully. I gave her the necessary pills, made sure she was comfortable, and left for the night. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that room. Why would she have a boy's room in her house if she had no children? The thought gnawed at me, creating a whirlwind of questions.
The next day, my curiosity got the better of me. I decided to do some research on Mrs. Eleanor. I spent hours online, searching for any information about her. But nothing came up. No social media profiles, no news articles, nothing. Not a single piece of information about her life.
It was baffling and left me with more questions than answers. I returned to work after the weekend, determined to find out more. That evening, as usual, I prepared dinner and ensured Mrs. Eleanor took her medication. Then I waited for her to go to the bathroom. The moment I heard the bathroom door close, I quickly made my way to the office. The room was just as I had left it, with that same lingering, musty smell hanging in the air. This time, I opened the closet. Inside, I found small boxes, stacked neatly but covered in a thin layer of dust. My heart pounded as I opened one to find baby clothes, tiny socks, pants, and sweaters, all meant for a baby boy. They were neatly folded and seemed well-preserved, despite their apparent age. But why would Mrs. Eleanor have these?
The discovery left me with more questions than answers. I went back to making dinner, trying to process what I had found. My mind was racing with possibilities, but none of them made any sense. Was it possible she had a child once? If so, where was he now? That night, as usual, Mrs. Eleanor began singing her lullaby. Normally, this song would send shivers down my spine, creeping me out every time. But this night was different. Instead of fear, I felt a surge of curiosity that I couldn’t ignore. I went upstairs quietly and with each step up, the lullaby grew louder. The door to her bedroom was almost closed but had a small gap, just enough for me to peek through. She always left a gap, saying it was to let Max come and go as he pleased. I peered through the gap and was shocked by what I saw.
There, Mrs. Eleanor was sitting in a rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth. She was holding Max in her arms, cradling him like a baby, and singing softly to him. Next to her was a small wooden cradle, old and worn, as if it hadn't been used in years. She continued her lullaby, her voice soft and melodic, but now it felt more sad than creepy. Her gentle rocking, the way she cradled Max, and the soft melody of the lullaby created an image that was hard to shake. I slowly backed away from the door, not wanting to intrude any further. I went back downstairs, my mind spinning from what I had just seen.
This made me think and start connecting all the dots. Was she pretending her dog was a baby? A baby she never had? I could be wrong, but that would make sense, right? The boy’s room, the baby clothes, no pictures, no husband, no children, just her and her dog, whom she pretended was her own son.
There are many possibilities. Maybe she lost her child during a miscarriage, or the son died somehow. It’s heartbreaking to think about, but I had no way of knowing for sure since there was nothing about her online. I even asked my boss about Mrs. Eleanor, trying to get some information about her past. My boss didn’t know much either, just that Mrs. Eleanor had always been a bit reserved and private. She mentioned that Mrs. Eleanor had experienced some tragic losses and that she was now quite lonely, with some health issues typical for her age, but nothing specific.
I worked out the rest of the week, but everything felt so creepy and intense. The quiet dinners together, the silence in the house, the haunting lullaby, it all felt like I was living in some kind of ghost story. Each night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about what I had seen. The pieces seemed to fit together, but they painted a picture that was too tragic and eerie for me to handle. Even during the day, I found myself distracted, replaying conversations with Mrs. Eleanor in my mind, looking for clues I might have missed. I thought about asking her directly but quickly dismissed the idea. It felt too intrusive, and honestly, I was scared of what I might uncover. There was a part of me that didn't want to know the full story because the fragments I had were already too much.
I noticed more details that added to the unsettling atmosphere. The way Mrs. Eleanor would sometimes pause mid-sentence as if lost in a distant memory, or how she would stroke Max's fur with a faraway look in her eyes. The house itself seemed to hold its breath.
I made my decision, I sent a text message to my boss saying I couldn’t continue with the job and that I was quitting immediately. I didn’t even say goodbye to Mrs. Eleanor. It felt wrong and I knew it was rude, but I just couldn’t bring myself to face her again. The thought of another day in that house, surrounded by haunting memories and unanswered questions, was too much for me to handle.
I felt a mix of guilt and relief. Guilt for leaving without a proper goodbye, for abandoning Mrs. Eleanor when she clearly needed someone. But also relief, knowing that I wouldn’t have to endure another evening of lullabies and unsettling silences. I knew I was being cowardly, but I just couldn’t do it. The experience had taken a toll on me, and I needed to get out. The whole experience was something I couldn’t shake off easily. It made me think a lot about the hidden struggles people face and the ways they cope with their pain. Mrs. Eleanor's story, whatever the full truth was, taught me that sometimes, the past can cast a long shadow over the present.
So, that's my story. It was a job I thought would be simple, but it ended up being one of the most emotionally intense experiences of my life.