On the 6th of June, I will be giving my FR exam. I am not 100% confident in it as I am still weak in certain areas. I only did the exam kit once. I am still on my second revision of the exam.
As for my situation, on Sunday, I had a stomach ache and thankfully the stomach ache has been dealt with. But the problem is I have a bad headache which has been going on since Sunday night, and I think I have a fever due to the fact that I shiver when my body is not covered by a blanket.
I have at least 16 days left till we give the FR exam. I haven't studied since Sunday. I still have a headache, I am taking my medicines and taking all the rest that I need. I hope I get better tomorrow, so I can continue studying.
In that case, how can I prepare for the FR exam with 2 weeks left.

Whats up my dudes, we are back at it with another chapter for you all. We are getting the swing of things and have another chapter or two to start the main plot fully, we are just getting to know our leads for now. I hope you enjoy
Lets get this bread
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The movement from the nightclub to Stitch’s clinic was grueling. Typically lugging a passed-out HVI or some other sod halfway across the city's district would not be a challenge. With his cybernetics, Conor was in decent enough shape and could sprint ten kilometers in full battle rattle without breaking a sweat, but Conor had pushed himself and didn’t need to wax a few Voodal in his way.
Conor had heard that Kurlatra were dense, but his assumptions about how heavy they were came nowhere close to the reality of picking one up.
Whatever this woman's name was, she likely weighed north of eighty kilograms. It was a shock because she was a meter and a half tall at most. For Urka’s sake, Conor only weighed one hundred and fifty kilograms despite being two meters tall and filled to the brim with wires.
He thought a bit about the woman's build and realized why she must weigh so much. She had hips and legs that could crush a man's skull. Along with a pair of tits just big enough that they would overflow from your hands.
Conner was made all the more well aware of those traits as he adjusted her to ensure he would not drop the little lass. Her fatty chest and plump thighs would try to swallow his hip each time he did. No sentient this small had any right being heavier than his entire breacher kit, explosives, anti-rifle armor, and all.
If not for Brakul expecting this rosey scag to be delivered to Stitch’s place, Conor would have lugged her to his safe house, which was far closer. But no, he had another job and order to follow.
The only shining light on this impromptu extraction was that the Voodal did not follow him. He had been worried about that last ganger he had shot; they had only eaten one round through the midchest. At the time, it looked like it might not have been a heart shot, and since he was picking this bimbo up at the time, he did not have a chance to ensure they were put down permanently.
Conor took a deep breath as he rounded the corner into a dirty alleyway, leaving the bustling thoroughfare behind. Thankfully, the residents of Heavalun knew better than to mess with him or anyone else who regularly did mercenary work, especially when they were carrying a body—alive or not.
Those who stopped his type tended not to live long, so he was ignored other than a few passing glances.
After traveling a few meters into the alleyway, Conor stopped and tucked behind a dumpster. His feet squelched in a puddle of rank trash water leaking from the impromptu cover. While Conor was reasonably sure no one had followed him, a quick double-check was always good for his skin.
Conor did not want to bring trouble to Stitch’s place. He did not have the slightest idea where he would find another techy who could synthesize the cocktail of stimulants Stitch made to keep his broken body held together. Pissing the tech head off was not high on his priority list.
Over the next ten minutes, the only thing his thermal vision picked up between him and the main road was a few Zlit rats scurrying atop discarded food. Their fleshy tendrils groped the garbage and pulled it into maws of razor-sharp teeth.
The sight of them sent a shiver down his spine. Those foul little mammals were high on his list of hated creatures, having been bitten by them more than once since he was a kid slinking around the gutters of Heavalun.
Pushing those memories away, Conor traveled deeper and rounded a blind corner. The sounds of the crowd's chatter entirely vanished as he entered the backstreet where Stitch’s clinic was nestled.
The rest of the journey was only a few hundred meters and only required Conor to sidestep some used needles and shit; He also had to kick one homeless bum who tried to grab the girl out of the cover of his jacket. Usually, he would have just shot the piece of hreck shit, but with his hands full, a swift boot to the jaw got the message across.
With the bum limping away, broken jaw clutched in pain, Conor hammered on the metal door; its frame and the neon sign to its side quivered under his brute strength. Then began the worst part of dealing with Stitch, waiting for the asshole to open the door.
Conor waited until ten minutes had passed and received no answer. Then he punched the door harder, his metal hand denting the surface. Several seconds later, a heavily synthesized voice echoed out of the speakers hidden around the area—speakers that Conor had never been able to locate, no matter how fervently he tried.
“What do you want, Conor?” Stitch questioned. “Did you break more of your wiring?”
Conor sighed heavily, knowing Stitch had this entire block wired with multispectrum cameras and could see him a kilometer out. If this were a visit for his wiring, Stitch would know. The man was just being paranoid and wanted Conor to state his business.
“I got a girl I need you to check up on,” Conor said, pushing his jacket slightly open and letting the girl's ref scales shine.
“What another hooker pass out on a bad trip?” Stitch chuckled cruelly. “This is the fourth this month; you are getting soft merc.”
Rolling his eyes, Conor could admit he was softer than most of the other mercenaries and gangsters in the city's neutral sections. Having seen his fair share of how bad this city can be, Conor did his best not to fuck over those who were just down on bad times and were not trying to cause him issues.
Life was arduous enough for them. So he gave back by lugging hookers and junkies to the nearest tech head and paying for their treatment or the closest Zential clinic. The Zentials were more than willing to treat the downtrodden for free, unlike the other medical services in Heavalun—stitch included.
He considered it his way of giving back and maybe finding Urka's good grace. Perhaps the god might forgive him for being a general piece of hreck shit if he continued to until he did. But he would not know until he finally kicked the bucket.
His intervention was a drop of clean water in the ocean of venom in this city. The other locals were more than willing to pick those he aided clean in minutes. They might as well be a swarm of bealit beatles eating carrion with how ravenous they were.
“It ain’t that. Just open the damn door,” Conor growled, punching the door again.
“Hold on, you greased-up cyborg,” Stitch frantically complained, worried that Conor would break his door again.
Conor smirked, glad the strange form of tolerance he and Stitch had built over the years was still strong. At this point, it was their modus operandi. Neither hated the other; no, they respected one another's role in this shithole.
Both toles put them in harm's way and brought them respect and infamy.
However, Conor found the way the denizens of Heavalun treated them funny. If you asked the average COS or GU citizen, who was more brutal: a mercenary with a pension for hyper-violence and little regard for collateral damage—-or a skeletal Itelv doctor who regularly performs life-saving surgery? They would choose Conor ten out of ten times. They did not know Stitch like Conor, Brakul, or most of the people in this city section.
They would tell you the truth of the good doctor.
They would weave you a tale of a greedy, crit-pinching asshole and that Stitch was the type of man who would stitch up for pay but would just as quickly harvest your organs for sale, or Urka forbid he would stick some experimental tech inside you and wait for your inevitable death to retrieve his property.
The door at long last opened with a vile hiss, and a gangly grey-skinned hand forced it open.
Stitch was just about as tall as Conor. But his thin grey limbs made him look one stiff breeze away from taking flight, with only his heavy artificial spider-like legs keeping him firmly on the planet.
Draped over his pencil-thin neck was a once-white apron. After years of use, it was stained with blood, oil, and hydraulic fluid.
“If she ain't one of your precious hookers, put her on the table. I will get my tool ready,” Stitch hissed, jamming his thumb over a shoulder.
“I ain’t selling this one to you either. Girlie got tagged by visage, and I need yah to treat her,” Conor replied, pushing past and laying the blonde on the recovery bed.
“You said she ain’t some hooker,” Stitch complained following, having gotten tired of Conor no longer bringing him fresh meat to sell.
Once Conor turned around and was about to explain the situation, Stitch pressed a bony finger into Conor's chest. “I told you, I'm selling the next one. She is it,”
“Can it doc. She is a client,” Conor replied. “Or are you going to explain to Brakul why you cut her up?”
Stitch clicked his tongue but did not try to move closer. His glassy, verdant eyes pulled Conor and the girl apart as he weighed the pros and cons of allying with Conor and Brakul another time.
“What is in it for me?” Stitch questioned, tapping a finger on a scalpel attached to his tool belt.
Conor sighed, realizing he should have expected this question, but he was not the broker of deals. That was Brakul’s schtick, and he was running late.
“You can take her jewelry and any credsticks you find on her. Alright?” Conor replied, knowing Brakul likely would have made a similar deal.
Stitch nodded and slinked closer to the woman. He lifted the necklace from her chest and carefully examined the jewels with a prudish eye any good businessman should have. After Stitch activated his magnified eyes, his cornea glowed gold, letting him see the atoms of the shiny trinket.
The doctor grinned cruelly, letting his crystalline teeth show proudly. The sight was unsettling and made Conor grip his pistol, fearing the doctor would flip his shit and decide it was not enough payment and try to cut the girl up.
But he did not start to slice her skin open. Instead, he sniggered nearly uncontrollably for a few moments, then spoke. “Yes, yes, yes. This will do just fine,” He sneered.
Conor was unsure what the jewels were, but they must be worth far more than he initially thought. For Urka's sake, Stitch was drooling on the necklace and the passed-out girl's chest.
“Good. So you will take care of her?” Conor questioned, needing to hear an assured answer.
Quickly slipping the jewelry into his pocket, Stitch looked back at Conor, his demeanor having done a complete one-eighty. “Of course, I always have room for paying customers.”
“Oh sweet, Conor, you handled the deal,” Brakul said, having just stepped in through the doors.
Why Brakul was allowed unfettered access to Stitch’s clinic and Conor was not something Conor had wondered for years but had accepted it as something to do with their role in the duo.
“Yeah, and he will watch the client. But we had yet to lay out the finer details,” Conor explained.
“Ah, no issue, I can take it from here,” Brakul replied.
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so what did you think? a decent chapter or total trash? either way I wanna know. I will see you all in the comments. please don't forget to comment and updoot.
your baker
-Pirate
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PART 1:

 Every town has their own version of “The Boogeyman”. A monster, cryptid, phantom, whatever you want to call it, it’s all essentially the same thing- just a scary story they tell kids in an attempt to get them to behave. An urban legend is just a life lesson disguised as a horror story after all. For us folk living up in the tiny and once prosperous gold-mining town of Trillium, ours was known simply as The Locust Man. Now, let me start by saying, I realize how ridiculous that name must sound to you. “The Locust Man”?? Pftt…What’s he do, besides get stuck in the grill of someone’s pick-up truck. Destroy some crops? Oooh, he sounds real scary... yeah, I know. But yet, as I sit here today 20 years after the fact - a grown woman who’s wiser, stronger, and even more grounded in reality than she was at 12, I still hesitate to even write down that name. 

As a young child I had always thought it to be a little weird that our town was called Trillium, considering I had never seen a single one growing there. If you don’t know, a trillium is a small flower, usually white but they come in other color varieties as well, with three pedals and a bright yellow center. They sort of look like if you took a lily and tore off every other pedal playing “He loves me, he loves me not”. In school, about 2nd grade or so, we were taught everything about this elusive flower I’d never seen in real life, and told how proud our town was to be named after it. Trillium, Colorado was established in 1922 - A new town born in the wake of a great tragedy which befell the town that had previously sat in the same location. For us, and those that came before us, the trillium was supposed to be a symbol of hope. Knowing all that I know now, that sentiment almost makes me want to laugh - in a morbid way.

 Growing up in a small, mostly isolated town, there really wasn’t much for a kid to do. You’d have to drive 45 minutes to get to the closest mall and movie theater. The high school kids would usually all hang out at the roller rink downtown or at the old run-down burger joint called Slim’s that sat across it. But at that age, I wasn’t allowed to go hang out there by myself yet and for me, going with my parents tagging along wasn’t an option I was open to. My neighborhood was on a long dead end road leading up to a large patch of woods that separated the main part of town from the abandoned mine. The old trail the miners used was still accessible up until a point, and so me and the other kids from my street would hang out in those woods all the time. We had a “secret spot” which was, what we thought at the time, about half way through the woods, 10 steps away from a small shallow creek that pretty much ran the length of the area. Rain Creek, we called it. There was a small clearing there, and we had created our own little clubhouse using old milk crates as supports, half- broken wooden pallets as walls, along with some old lawn chairs one of the neighbors was throwing out one day. I made my contribution by bringing a tarp we had in our basement that served as the roof of our establishment. Our parents didn’t love the idea of five 10 to 12 year olds running around in the woods by ourselves, but as long as we stayed within earshot and made it back before the streetlights came on, they probably figured it was safer than us being across town galavanting unsupervised. 

It was me, Lacey, Devin, Mikey and Michelle. We were all best friends - pretty much inseparable, except the boys weren’t invited to the girls’ sleepovers and vise versa. Everyday after school, we’d get dropped off by the bus at the very beginning of our road, and it was a running joke between the Rain Street Gang (as we liked to call ourselves) for all of us to try and run off the bus as quickly as possible, while me, Lacey and Devin would all yell in unison ‘Last two home are some rotten eggs!!’, as Mikey and Michelle tried to push past us to get a head start. The aforementioned two were siblings, and lived in the very last house on our row right next to the woods, so they’d always get home last, regardless of their efforts. Although, the year that Mikey got a pair of Heelys for Christmas he finally got his edge over the rest of us, leaving Michelle to be the lone “rotten egg” until the next summer when one of his wheels broke off. The whole point of it all was just to get home and get our chores and homework done as fast as possible, so we could meet up at Mikey and Michelle’s house with enough daylight left to make our trek into the woods and back - together as a group. All five of us had made a pact to never visit the clubhouse without all members present, although us girls always had a sneaking suspicion that the boys thought themselves exempt from that rule. They, after all, were the ones that had discovered the spot in the first place, and not to mention, did most of the physical labor of dragging our provisions out there. Me and Lacey initially only heard about the spot a day after the boys found it; Michelle had walked into Mikey’s room in the middle of him and Devin talking about it, and immediately relayed the message to us. Michelle wasn’t necessarily more loyal to the girls than the boys, she was just the youngest among us and honestly couldn’t resist blurting out any mildly relevant information she thought she might have, in an effort to be included. But in that regard, if the boys had ever gone out there on their own, they would’ve had to be extremely sneaky about it, because Michelle’s number one objective in life was to gather any piece of intel she could. It was a seemingly normal Saturday morning when we learned our suspicions about the boys may have been warranted.
I had slept over at Lacey’s house the night before. We had just woken up and were still sitting on her bed discussing our possible plans for the day, when Michelle busted through the door with a look on her face that immediately told us she had finally gotten a hold of some juicy information, before she could even open her mouth to stutter out, “You-you-you guyssss, guess w-w-what!?!” Lacey gestured the nail file that was in her hand toward her, raising her eyebrows bluntly as Michelle tried to catch her breath. “So… Devin came to sleep over last night, annnnnd I was pretending to go to the bathroom so I could spy on them. Seeeeee, I was supposed to be sleeping but I -“ “Ughh come on Michelle, get to it! What’d you hear?” Lacey snapped “Ughh okay okay. So, I heard the boys talking, anddddd…. they’re planning to go explore the old mine today!!” “Alright Michelle! Good spying!” I chuckled, trying to encourage her after Lacey’s impatience. Lacey rolls her eyes, then immediately stands up. She takes the scrunchie off her wrist, ties her long blonde hair into a messy bun, and simply said, “Let’s go.” “Lacey..” I said “What??” She responds as if she hadn’t registered the tone of my voice at all. As I opened my mouth to begin explaining all the logical and practical reasons why even if the boys were stupid enough to go play around somewhere dangerous, we shouldn’t be, Michelle exclaims, “That’s where the Locust Man lives!!” I close my mouth in defeat, as I know Lacey will take this nonsense as a challenge, and because of that, no amount of my warnings concerning actual dangers would have any effect on her decision. Lacey dismisses her comment as she attempts to shove her foot into one of her new pink sneakers that she refuses to admit are too small for her. “Pshhh, don’t be such a baby Michelle, he’s not real, you do know that right?” Michelle crinkled her face and yelled back, “Yes he is Lacey! He is!! And th-th- that’s where he lives, and he eats kids that go there!” Lacey laughs at her and says “Oh yeah? You still believe in Santa clause too? What about the tooth fairy?” Michelle looked down at her shoes, and although she could admittedly be annoying, I found myself feeling bad for her. “Come on Lacey, she’s just scared.” Lacey shot me a look like she was expecting me to burst into laughter, but I just gave her a smirk and a shrug, and she rolled her eyes and said “Get dressed.”

 We walked in silence toward the end of the road, though the reasons for all three differed drastically. Lacey’s was determination and resolve, mine was comtemptousness and defeat, and Michelle’s was just fear. I found myself half-way hoping the boys had left already, but as we approached the driveway we caught them just as they were about to step off the porch. 

“Hey!!” Lacey yelled, in her trademark cheerleader cadence. “Where do you boys think you’re going without us?”. Mikey let a groan and rolled his eyes, while Devin said through a coy smile, “Well, we were actually just heading out to go to find you girls.” “Liar.” Lacey snapped, quickly wiping the grin off Devin’s face. “Michelle already blabbed- we know where you two are going and we’re coming too.” The boys looked at each other, then Mikey shot Michelle an angry look as she tried to shrink herself behind me, and said, “Fine, whatever, but no cry baby snitches allowed!!” Michelle then proceeded to prove both of his accusations correct by yelling back, “I am not a cry baby!! I’m telling mom if you don’t let me come with you!!” At that point I finally spoke up. “Alright, listen.” I said sternly, then once I had their attention I lowered my voice a bit to say, “Just for the record, I think us going to that grody old mine is a dumb idea and a big waste of time, but if one of us goes, we all go. That’s the deal, so make your decisions.” Lacey folded her arms in solidarity beside me, and with that we all had an unspoken understanding. So, with the boys out ahead leading the way, we headed toward the tree line.

 As we entered the woods, I felt a sense of dread wash over me - but to be fair, as a preteen emo kid who had already reached an adult level of cynicism, I felt a certain level of dread towards almost everything in life. So take my premonition with a grain of salt, but for some reason, this felt… different. I remember the woods being abnormally quiet that day. It took some time for me to even notice, but as soon as I did, I interrupted the mindless chatter going on to say, 

“Where are all the freakin’ birds?” Everyone turned to look at me as if I’d completely lost my mind. “Uhhh… What are you talking about?” Devin asked me. I pointed up toward the treetops. “Listen…. ” They all looked up, then looked around at each other in confusion. “Every time we’ve ever been in these woods, there’s always birds chirping back and forth. We’ve been walking almost 5 minutes now and I haven’t heard a single bird, have you guys?” “Damn, yeah, that is weird.” Mikey agreed. “They probably all just migrated!!” Devin goofily offered. “That’s stupid Devin, it’s spring. If anything, there should be more birds here, not less you moron.” Lacie argued. Devin flipped Lacie off, which was the best rebuttal he could usually come up with, and then turned toward me and said, “Okay whatever, what’s your point exactly?” “Just that - “ I looked over to Mikey, then back at Devin. “It’s weird.” I didn’t want to say what I was actually thinking. That the woods being too quiet was never a good thing. That when birds aren’t chirping, it could mean there’s a predator nearby. Besides, I was pretty confident that the boys, having both been in the scouts, knew what I knew, so saying it out loud would only serve to annoy Lacie and further frighten Michelle. Mikey broke his gaze that had been fixed on me, and while scanning our surroundings he said, “Let’s stop by the clubhouse on the way.” With a nod from me, we continued. When we arrived at our pit stop, Lacey hobbled over to the closest lawn chair and plopped herself down in it. “Ughhh, my feet are killing me!!” “I wonder why.” I mutter under my breath. “Excuse me, what was that?” “Just saying. Those shoes are gonna be the death of you Lace, you can barely walk in them.” “Pshhh, shut up. They just need to be broken-in okay? You’re just jealous cuz you’re still wearing your dirty old Vans from last year.” “Oooh yeah, you got me there. I am so sad I don’t have a pair of ugly pink Sketchers that don’t fit me.” She stuck her tongue out at me and we both laughed. I was just about the only person who could go toe to toe with Lacey’s sass. It’s part of the reason we ended up being best friends, besides being neighbors. In regard to style, personality and interests, we were almost polar opposites. But when it came to humor we were equals. And more importantly, we both had a mutual understanding when it came to our differences- I was me and she was her, and neither of us felt the need to try and make the other one be more like us. Besides, I was the only person who had ever really stood up to Lacey and didn’t take any of her crap, so I think she respected that. While that exchange had been going on, Michelle had started picking tiny pink flowers, and the boys were rummaging in the clubhouse for something. I yelled in their direction, “Hey! Big Mike and Dirty D!!” Me and Lacey giggled and she mouthed the word “big” with air quotation marks. They didn’t respond, so I walked over to the entryway and looked in. They were standing with their backs to me while looking down at an open metal box, and Mikey was reaching to grab whatever was in it. As he stood back up, I could see what it was. “What the fuck Mikey, seriously?” Hearing me cuss, Lacey and Michelle crowded in behind me. “Chill, it’s just a BB gun.” “I know it’s a BB gun Michael, what are you doing with it, and why is it here?” I was livid at the thought that he might be coming out here and shooting at animals just to be a shithead. I expected something like that from a goober like Devin, but not Mikey. Michelle butted in, “I’m telling mom!!!” “Nice try, dad knows I have it.” He looked at me and softened his tone. “It’s for protection, just in case we come across a black bear, or some weirdo creep out here. Seriously… it’s just to scare off something, not hurt it.” He knew how I felt about killing animals, especially for no good reason. A lot of people out here are poor and hunt for food, which I could accept as a reality. But hurting animals just for fun is psycho behavior, so I was relieved to hear him dispel my fear; I really didn’t want to have to hate him. “Do you even know how to shoot that thing?” Lacey asked. “Yeah, my dad showed me.” Devin clapped his hands together, making us all jump and himself laugh. “Well alright then, let’s get going!” I turned to Michelle, still holding the flowers. “You okay?” She nodded. “If you want me to walk back with you, I can.” I was slightly hoping she’d say yes so I’d have an excuse to get out of this excursion, but she just shook her head and forced a smile. I knew she was scared, but she was just too curious. Maybe I was too.

 We walked for what felt like half an hour. The trees had gotten more dense and the path narrowed from the overgrowth. Still no birdsong. I kept scanning the area in search of any sign of life other than us. Looking for movement of creatures scurrying away, listening for the sound of rustling as we passed, hoping for a squirrel, a lizard, even a bug. Nothing. 

“How much further is this damn thing?” Lacey groaned. Mikey answered without even turning around. “We should be coming up on it any time now.” “You said that like 10 minutes ago.” “Yeah, and now we’re like 10 minutes closer to it. And hey guess what, you insisted on inviting yourself - so suck it up buttercup.” “Hahahaha!” Devin laughed like a maniac at Mikey’s quip, while Lacey folded her arms and for once in her life didn’t have a snappy comeback. This time however, I did. “Well we really only came along to make sure you idiots didn’t kill yourselves.” “Oh, so you girls came out here with us to be our protectors, huh?” Devin laughed. “Ehh, more like babysitters.” Needless to say, I was flipped off for that statement. We rounded the next bend and suddenly all came to an abrupt stop one after another, starting with Mikey. Devin positioned himself beside him and let out a disappointed groan. “Shit Mikey!” A huge tree had fallen and was blocking the trail completely. There was no way we could climb over it because of all the leaves and branches - we’d have to go around it, which meant leaving the safety of the trail and crossing Rain Creek twice to get back to it. “Seriously???” Lacey exclaimed. “Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t be going.” I shrugged. Mikey didn’t seem fazed by the obstruction at all. In fact, he seemed more confident. More calm. More sure of his intended mission. “It’s fine, we’ll just go around.” Michelle, who had been mostly quiet this whole time, finally broke her fear induced silence. “We are NOT supposed to leave the tr-tr-trail Michael! We could get lost!” “We aren’t gonna get lost Michelle, I have a compass. Plus, it’s literally just a few paces that way, then we cross the creek and circle back once we pass the tree and we’re right back on the trail.” “Oh you have got to be kidding me” Lacey said, “I’m not treading through that nasty water!” “Yeah Mikey, what about Lacey’s brand new shoes??” I laughed, and she playfully slapped me in the arm. Mikey’s patience was wearing thin with us. “Look, we already walked this far - if we turn back now, we’ve wasted the whole day for nothing. If you girls wanna be lame and turn around, then go for it - but me and Dev are going.” That’s all Lacey needed. A challenge to accept; someone to prove wrong. “I’ll show you lame.” She pushed past the boys and lead the way into the thick brush towards Rain Creek. It wasn’t very wide across, and there were lots of fallen limbs and large rocks spread throughout it. The current was barely that of a trickle, and the depth was no more than knee deep for us. It was definitely doable - just an inconvenience. And of course, one more ominous obstacle lying directly in our path. Another hint from the universe telling us to turn around. We didn’t listen. Lacey placed one foot on the closest limb and pushed down a few times to test its sturdiness. “I got this.” She stepped out onto it with both feet, then shimmied sideways until she was close enough to the large exposed rock in the middle of the creek, and hopped onto it. She turned around with a full grin and said, “Coming?” Mikey made his way across the limb as Lacey hopped onto a different limb which led her to the other side of the creek. Devin followed, then me, and then it was Michelle’s turn. “I’m scared to fall in!” Of course she is, I should have made her go before me. “It’s okay Michelle, it’s easy!” I reassured her. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Come on Chelle, we’re leaving you!” Mikey yelled, already walking away. “Nooo!! I’m coming! Wait!” She made it across, but instead of just walking like everyone else did, she got down on her hands and knees and gripped the limb as if it were the only thing in between her and a 50 foot drop to the ground, which was funny to see but prolonged the whole process further. After all, we were about to have to do all of this again. Next go round went a lot smoother. The creek was more shallow here, and there were a whole lot more stepping rocks and debris built up. Having just crossed successfully a few minutes ago, we were all more confident in our abilities, including Michelle - who this time we made go first. “Just walk across like it’s a bridge! You got this!!”, we all cheered for her, and then clapped when she made it to the other side. Before we knew it we were back on the trail, and it wasn’t long after that we finally arrived at our intended destination.

 We all stopped and stared at it for a minute, carefully examining the dilapidated exterior of the place that had brought both prosperity and destruction upon our town. Mikey bent down, picked up a rock and threw it into the entrance. We heard it bounce a few times before it stopped. 

“Just to make sure nothing’s in there.” he turned around to clarify. “Did anyone think to bring a flashlight?” I asked. “It’s dark as hell in there.” I was hoping for just one more reason not to go. Devin reached into his cargo shorts pocket and pulled out a small keychain-sized flashlight, smiling with the satisfaction of finally being useful. “Okay, Mikey’ll hold the gun, I’ll shine the light and you girls follow behind us. Let’s go.” Mikey shifted the BB gun from its position of resting on his shoulder, to holding the barrel in his left hand and the butt in his right; trying his best to emulate a soldier’s stance. Something his dad had taught him I’m sure. We ducked down a bit to enter. “How far in we going?” Lacey asked. “Until we see something cool.” Mikey answered. I turned around to check on Michelle, still hovering in the doorway. “You coming?” I could see in her eyes that fear had finally gotten the better of her, and curiosity had taken a backseat. With wide eyes she shook her head. “The-the Locust Man lives in there.”, she tried to whisper. “I knew you were gonna be a baby about this!” Mikey yelled. I crouched down and put my hand on her shoulder. Against my better judgment, I say “How bout you just wait here for us and pick some more flowers. We won’t be long, there’s nothing in there, I promise. Just.. don’t move from this spot and we’ll be right back, okay?” I could feel her unease, but she seemed to accept my reassurance nonetheless. “Okay.” I smiled, then stood up and looked down at my watch to check the time. 12:46 PM. I turned and headed into the darkness, trying to catch up with everyone else. I didn’t feel good about leaving Michelle, but I didn’t feel good about letting the rest of them go in there alone either. And if I’m being honest, maybe a little part of me wanted to see what was in there too. When I caught up to Lacey she asked, “Where’s Michelle?” “Stayed behind at the entrance, she was too scared. I told her to pick flowers and wait there for us.” “Pshh, figures.” “Yeah. How’s your feet?” “At this point, numb actually.” It was so dark in there that even Devin’s rinky dink flashlight was illuminating the area enough for me to start taking a closer look at my surroundings. I looked around at the rock walls, they were covered in what looked like orange mold and green algae. There was a slight breeze coming in from the entrance, but the whole place just had a staleness to it. The boys stopped and turned around as we arrived at the first curve. “So ladies, what do you think? Cool huh?” Devin asked excitedly. “Smells like a fart in here.” I said.

 The most dangerous thing about exploring an old mine wasn’t getting lost in the maze of tunnels, or tripping on the rusted tracks and slamming your head against the wall - it was something simply referred to as bad air. Pockets of still air that have dangerously low levels of oxygen, the old men in town would call it “black damp”. There was also something produced from the old chemicals they once used called “stink damp”, which smelled like rotten eggs. Both were lethal. 

“I wonder if there’s dead bodies in here!” “Uh, Dev… we’re gonna be the dead bodies in here if we go in too far. I wasn’t just making a joke, you know that rotten egg smell can mean bad air.” Mikey interjected. “The entrance isn’t far behind us, there’s still enough fresh air coming in. We won’t go in too far, let’s just get to the end of this tunnel where it splits off and look around a bit, then we’ll turn around.” The fork in the tunnel really wasn’t that much further, and even though I knew once we rounded this curve I wouldn’t be able to see the entrance behind me anymore, I decided what the hell. Maybe a hundred more steps, then we can finally turn around and this whole dumb situation would be closer to being over with. When we got there, we looked down the length of the connecting tunnels each way. Everything looked unusually identical in its deterioration. I could see how someone could easily get disoriented and lost down here. “Hellooooo…” Mikey yelled to the left, his voice echoing through the corridor. Devin turned to the opposite direction and called out, “Hey yo, Locust Man!! You in here?” We all giggled, which made me think about Michelle, still waiting at the entrance for us, alone in the woods. I looked down at my watch. 12:46 PM. “Hey what the f-“ My cuss word was interrupted by a loud bang that came from the passageway Devin had just been hollering into. We all froze. I didn’t have time to process that my watch had stopped right as we entered the tunnel, or that Michelle had been left alone for who knows how long now, or that we had just heard what sounded like a support beam crashing to the ground, because next came a horrifying screeching buzzing sound. It sounded distant at first, but was quickly increasing in volume. We silently looked around at each other and backed away stunned at what we were hearing. Mikey never took his eyes off the tunnel though, and slowly he began to raise the BB gun to firing position. Without even thinking, I grabbed the barrel and pushed it downward. He quickly tore his eyes away from his target to look at me. I shook my head and managed to barely choke out the word, “Explosion.” He nodded and I let go. I looked down at the gun in his hands, and seeing his finger had already been on the trigger, I realized how lucky it was that I didn’t make him shoot himself in the foot. All of a sudden, the noise stopped. “What the hell was that?” Lacey asked. “I don’t know, nothing good.” I said. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here before this whole place caves in on us or something.” Another loud bang erupted from the right, extremely close to us. “Shit!!!” We all turned around and ran as fast as we could back toward the entrance. Devin tried to push past me, but as he did my elbow knocked the flashlight out of his hand. “My flashlight!!!” “Leave it!” Mikey shouted “The turn is right here, we won’t need it!” We rounded the corner, and using what little light there was illuminating from the entrance to guide us back, we ran like our lives depended on it. And they may have- none of us dared to look back, not like we would have been able to see anything anyway. When we finally made it out, we were all completely out of breath. I felt like I was going to throw up. I have to admit though, once we had made it back to safety I felt a rush of adrenaline like I had just had a near death experience. That feeling quickly faded into sheer panic when I looked around and realized Michelle was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, where’s Michelle?” Mikey asked me. “I told her to stay right here, she can’t be very far… Michelle!!!!” We all called her name, as loud as we could. No answer, no sign of her anywhere. “Alright look, she probably went off a little further looking for flowers to pick.” I tried to rationalize. “Let’s just split off in 4 directions and walk in a straight line while calling for her. She’s bound to hear one of us.” Everyone agreed, and even though I appeared outwardly as the level-headed calm person you need to take control in an emergency, inside I was petrified that something had happened to her, and that it would be my fault. I took the east, and headed out. It didn’t take too long before I passed a large tree and saw her sitting down behind it, looking at something on the ground. “Michelle! Oh thank god!! Didn’t you hear us calling for you??” She didn’t answer me, or even turn around. “Michelle, didn’t I tell you to stay by the entrance and not move?!?” My relief was quickly turning into annoyance as she continued to ignore me. I walked up closer to see what she was looking at, and my mouth dropped in awe of what she had found. It was a single white trillium.

 They say it takes 8 years for a trillium plant to produce a flower, and conditions have to be just right for it to bloom. That’s what makes them so special and rare. I stared down at it almost in a trance, like I was seeing a mythical creature. Michelle slowly reached out her hand towards it and I snapped out of it. 

“No!!” I grabbed her by the arm and she finally turned around to look at me. “If you pick the flower, the plant will die.” She ripped her arm away from my grasp and whined, “But I want to show my mom!” We heard Mikey calling from the north and I cupped my hands over my mouth to yell back, “I found her, she’s over here!!” I looked back at her. “No Michelle, come on, you can just tell her about it when we get back home.” I had enough, I was beyond ready to go and we still had at least another 45 minutes of walking to even get back to the clubhouse; an hour if Michelle kept up her crap. I grabbed her arm again and pulled her up to a standing position, looking back at the trillium as I walked her away. Mikey caught up to us, breathless but trying to hide his concern. “You little shit, we should have left you out here! What the hell were you doing?” I let go of her arm and she walked toward Mikey. “She was trying to pick a flower over there.” “It was a trillium!!” Michelle said, with the biggest smile on her face. “Wait, really?” He looked at me in disbelief. Before I could respond, a blood curdling scream echoed through the forest, coming from the west. It was Lacey. My heart dropped into my stomach and once again, every molecule in my body went into full blown panic mode. This time, I couldn’t contain my composure. “Laceyyyyyy!!!!!” A panicked shriek erupted from my lungs and I took off running. Mikey grabbed Michelle and sprinted after us. The trees became a blur; I didn’t even feel all the scratches and scrapes. Had she come across a coyote? A mountain lion? A bear? I didn’t even stop to think about the danger I might be about to come in contact with, I just ran. And then I found her. She was lying on the ground, holding her left foot. “Lacey!!” I said, trying to choke back the tears that were building up. “I think I twisted my ankle!!” “Oh god damn it, you bitch.” I struggled to catch my breath. “I thought you were dead.” “I might as well be, I have cheerleading practice on Monday!” Mikey and Michelle caught up to us. “What happened?” He asked “She’s being a drama queen, she just rolled her ankle.” I was angry. “Can you get up?” He asked her. She was able to stand, but as soon as she tried to put any pressure on her foot at all, she screamed in pain. We spotted Devin running over from the south as he was yelling out, “Hey yo, everyone alive and accounted for?” “Yeah, Lacey hurt her ankle.” Mikey yelled back. As he approached he looked concerned. “Can you walk on it?” He asked her. “No.” Without hesitation he replied, “Well alright then, looks like you’re gonna have to piggyback it all the way back home.” He lowered himself enough to where she could hop up onto his back, and we headed back toward the trail. Even though my nerves had begun to settle a bit, I knew we were still far from being out of the woods, in more ways than one.

So I'm currently pregnant with my 2nd child and I'm 7 +1 weeks according to my baby tracker app.
We lost our first child Jack at 20 weeks. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and HELLP. But also my placenta was full of clots and baby wasn't growing how he should have been so we were made to induce and when that didn't work due to my cervix being swollen, I had to have a D&E procedure under general anesthesia. My epidural earlier that morning hadn't worked properly and I could still feel the right hand side of my body a bit.
Rewind slightly from that though, when I was in the process of being induced it was taking a long time so they broke my water, during one of my cervical exams after that the OB on shift at the time told the nurses (whilst still in the room) that they could feel body parts stuck in there. This OB was kinda rough and didn't have a great bedside manner considering what I was going through and then she said that, in earshot and it really upset me. Then she appeared to do nothing about it. Later that day I was out on a pitocin drip and throughout the night contractions started to happen and I was running a fever. They gave me antibiotics and convinced me to have an epidural because the hydromorphone and fentanyl was barely touching the pain. (I have hyper mobility and I'm a redhead which I believe can both affect how those kinds of drugs work).
My family had to fight for information the whole time I was there, even after my procedure. So when I still wasn't able to deliver they spoke to my nurse and sheanaged to get a different doctor to come in and talk to us who offered us the d&e procedure finally.
I get out of the procedure which was done by the new (to us) doctor that had offered it and the mfm doctor that had given us the awful news. They told me I lost a litre of blood but I'm lucky to still have my uterus. They also told me during my recovery that my white blood cell count was the highest they'd ever seen in their careers and when I was starting to heal from that they made it clear I'm lucky to be alive.
I don't know if I am remembering everything in the right order but that's essentially my experience.
Fast forward back to now. All I can think about is all of that, and the loss of our son. I was six weeks on the anniversary of his death.
Ive had bleeding already, a couple of clots but not enough bleeding to go to the ER. I'm terrified we're going to be told that we've already lost this baby. But if we aren't, I'm terrified that we're going to lose it anyway, in similar circumstances as last time.
We've decided not to tell anyone I'm pregnant this time. When my husband is at work I feel very alone with this but when he's home he's very supportive. I've felt awful, so much nausea and sickness/dry heaving etc and I feel unbelievably fatigued a lot. I'm really not coping very well. My first ob appointment isn't until the 29th and it just feels so far away still.
I guess I just needed to say all of this out loud to someone that's not my husband who is doing his damnedest to not be negative or show any fear himself with everything I'm already carrying.

Years ago, when I was first learning about the Towers, I stumbled across the concept of “Tower cultures”. The theory goes that any culture that “controls” a tower through vaguely-defined means collectively asserts some influence over Time in the region, dragging the societies in the area towards whatever that culture considers ideal and slowing (though not completely stopping) cultural and technological development. In High Rock and Hammerfell, places without active towers, the Direnni and nedes fuse into bretons and the Ra’gada split into redguard Crowns, Forebears, and Alik’r; in Valenwood and Elsweyr, for all the changes they go through, the bosmer and Khajiit identities remain more or less stable. Names in Cyrodiil remain staticly Roman for the whole of the Third Era, but after the Oblivion Crisis leads to White-Gold’s deactivation, Italian names (i.e. Vittoria Vici) grow more common. The developing Chimer-Dwemer culture of Resdayn locks into Tribunal-led Morrowind when they tap the Heart of Lorkhan and gain control of Red Mountain; thousands of years later, Morrowind undergoes the first major political and theological reshuffling since then the moment the Tribunal collapses. Summurset maintains an aristocracy-dominated monarchy since before recorded history until Crystal-Like-Law falls, after which they promptly transform into a pseudo-fascist theocracy. The Nords turn Snow-Throat into a sacred monastery and maintain a social and political system far older than any other human culture in Tamriel.
Trouble is, when I went to double-check and brush up on my lore recently, a brief search turned up nothing about Tower cultures. I found a few references to how important Towers tend to be to the societies around them and one source (Aurbic Enigma 4: The Elden Tree) that hints at something similar, but nothing as concrete as what I expressed above. Hell, the only result I found for the phase “Tower culture” was one post I made here. Is this an established thing I missed while searching or have under the wrong name, and if so, is there somewhere I can go to learn more?

I have five issues these days that I feel are really important to me. For reference, I’m a white American man in my 30s. I live in a major coastal metro area, I have a postgraduate degree, and a full-time job. I am married with no kids yet, and I am not a homeowner, although that’s very in the cards in the future.
So here are the five things that my ideology revolves around these days:

1. The economy. Simple as. I’m pretty pragmatic economically but I need inflation down, incomes up, I need that baby to sing. I am not into class warfare, and I am not against capitalism. I just want people to be able to work hard, make their way in life, and be able to afford what they need and want.
   
2. American identity. I feel strongly that America is a nation, in a traditional sense. I feel that we are a people with a shared culture, history, language, etc. Not everyone in America is an American, and that’s fine, I wish them no ill will, but I put my people first just like they do. It’s not racially based, it’s cultural; people can become an American, but they have to assimilate, and they can bring stuff from home with them (spirituals, pizza, karate, whatever) as long as it doesn’t threaten the culture as it exists, and as long as they understand that every American gets to have it now. I believe in the melting pot and I believe in Americanism. As far as what this means policy-wise, it mostly means that I’m an assimilationist, and I think we should seriously slow or pause immigration to assimilate people and then clamp down on the process. I also can’t stand wokeness or America hate in schools, so there’s education aspects too.
   
3. Strong leadership. We need a decisive leader and a strong executive; I’m a unitary executive guy. We need strong leadership on the world stage.
   
4. The administrative state. Part of supporting a strong executive is that we need it to cut, not bulk; government should be small and hard, like a bullet, firm and swift and incontrovertible. We need to liquidate the deep state, retire all government employees, and let them apply back for their jobs if they can be down with the pro-America program.
   
5. Health and wellness. There is, for lack of a better term, hormonal warfare being waged on the American people by huge corporations and our corrupt government. Testosterone and sperm motility are down, PCOS and other hormonal issues for women are up, we’re on SSRIs and birth control and all these drugs that big pharma is shoving down our throats—we need to turn it around or we’re cooked. We need healthy, strong, virile Americans who can have families and raise them well. We need sunshine, clean water, nutritious food; we will not sleep in the pods and eat the bugs.
   

So what is all of this, together? Sometimes it seems right wing, but I have no love for Republicans; I was raised in a blue collar conservative family but I’ve voted Democrat by entire adult life. Now I’m confused though.

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.

I'm a 73-year old male. Three weeks ago, I developed a sore throat, followed by inflamed gums, as well as sores on the roof of my mouth and tongue. The pain was intense, and prevented me from eating solid food for nearly a week.
I had a slight fever in the evening, and experienced deep fatigue in the afternoon. Even moderate exercise exhausted me.
I went to urgent care two weeks ago, and was diagnosed with a viral infection. I was prescribed a two-day course of valacyclovir. The lesions in my mouth improved very gradually but did not go away completely. Concerned that my fatigue hadn't lifted, last week I saw my primary care physician. He agreed that I had a viral infection, specifically HSV-1. He said that my symptoms should probably resolve themselves in a couple more weeks.
Today, the symptoms in my mouth have not completely resolved, but I’m able to eat normally and brush my teeth very carefully, though one area of my gums still bleeds.
I am most concerned about the deep fatigue I am experiencing, which has not improved.
This detail may not be helpful, but I should mention that although I am vaxed and boosted, I did contract Covid 8 weeks ago. I got better, but two weeks later I experienced some of the same symptoms I have now, though not the mouth sores, and the fatigue was not as severe.
I seemed to improve for a few weeks, and then I started experiencing this current bout of the symptoms.
I have read that many people suffering from Long Covid experience many of the symptoms I have experienced, including mouth sores. I would appreciate any insights on what my symptoms indicate, and if they could be due to Long Covid.

Previous Part
At some Point Bianca and I both fell back asleep. It was all I could do at this point, getting whisked away back to those mines seemed inevitable so I might as well sleep. The morning did not go well, largely due to Bianca, who threw me off the couch with a scream when she woke up.
“What’re you doing!”
Bianca squeaked, hand darting towards her pants pocket where her dagger would usually be. I woke up very quickly somewhere between the couch and the floor. I was fully awake by the time I was pushing myself back to me feet, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender.
“What’s going on?! You’re fine you just fell asleep on my couch!”
“Why were you… why was I?”
“Hey, calm down alright. We had a few drinks last night and I guess we both fell asleep on the couch together, that’s all that happened.”
I explained, leaving out the part where she pulled me back when I tried to go to my own room earlier.
“Yeah… yeah ok. Ugh my head is killing me.”
Bianca groaned, taking a breath or two then putting her head in her hands. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was probably hungover so I just went to the kitchen to make something for her.
I decided on toast and some bananas, it was always a go to for me after a long night. In hindsight I probably should’ve seen her reaction coming. Look at what she did in the caves because that guy grabbed her, it can’t be that much better waking up on someones shoulder and not quite remembering it. The whole thing did give me second thoughts though. If she was such a live wire did I really want her stressing out over the trials and whatever that would bring? I suppose it was too late for that though, she’d already moved herself into my house so she could keep watch, for all the good that did seeing as Shaoni waltzed right in last night.
I still had a lot on my mind when the smell of burning toast sobered me up. I swore and ran over to salvage what I could of the blackening toast.
“What’s burning in here?”
Bianca asked a little worry creeping into her voice. She still had her head clasped firmly between her hands as she walked into the kitchen.
“Breakfast”
I replied flatly, holding my arms out to either side gesturing to the mild chaos I was causing. Bianca gave me an questioning, “thanks” and grabbed the plate I had made for her while I tried to think of what to do next. Like it or not, Shaoni had people coming to pick me up and take me back out to those caves today. I had to come up with some kind of game plan and right now, it seemed letting Frank and Stein know was the best idea.
Bianca stayed back at my place nursing her hangover when I left to visit the mad scientist duo. I had no problem with that, in fact it was probably best because I’m sure she would’ve insisted on going with me if she heard I planed to take Shaoni’s “invitation”. I wasn’t sure if Shaoni would let me take Bianca with me and personally I’d rather not push her buttons and try to negotiate bringing a plus one.
“Have you seen Bianca at all?”
Frank asked hurriedly as I came in. I was afraid of this, She hadn’t told them anything and just disappeared.
“Yeah, she pretty much moved the contents of her room to my couch yesterday. Something about keeping an eye on me, she’s fine though, I wouldn’t worry.”
I answered, a little worried myself that I’d catch hell from them if they knew she was currently working her way through her first hangover on that same couch. Frank seemed to calm down at that and finally got to asking the important questions like why was I back in the house… again.
“So let us get this straight, you just plan to go right to Shaoni?”
Frank and Stein said together in disbelief as the three of us sat at the kitchen table.
“It’s not like I really have a choice in the matter, besides I can’t really fight her if she wants me to go somewhere. If I try a stunt like that things go from bad to worse for me.”
They both shook their heads in solemn agreement, recognizing I was right.
“Anyways, I had a thought on the way over here, Thunderbirds are something from native American legend right? Well, if we’ve found a real one wouldn’t she have ties to a tribe or something in the area? She was sleeping here when they woke her up in the mine, maybe there was a reason for that, maybe she was close to home?”
I explained, hoping g they’d catch on to what I was asking.
“What exactly are you getting at then Keith?”
Frank questioned, furrowing his brow with an intrigued look on his face. Stein just remained silent but I could tell he was thinking, maybe even coming to the same conclusion as I had.
“What I’m thinking, is we check reservations in the area. Maybe they know something about the creature from their legends that just so happened to be sleeping nearby. I know it’s a stretch but maybe we could learn something useful. I’d go myself but I’m not going to have the chance. You guys though, you guys could take Bianca and Rocco with you and ask around.”
I explained, hoping I was onto something. I was pulling at straws but it was the best idea I had at a moments notice. Plus it would get Bianca out of town for a little while when I was figuring out what exactly Shaoni’s trails would mean for me.
“Keith that’s… no that actually makes sense let me check some maps.”
Stein agreed, walking away and into the basement. He came back a few minutes later with a map in his hand.
“There’s a Seneca reservation not to far from here, maybe 30 miles. That’s not the only one but I have a friend there from years ago, someone I helped. There’s a good chance he’d be willing to return the favor.”
“Great, then I’ll count on you. I’ll let Bianca know, I’m sure she won’t be happy about it but I’ll feel better if she’s with all of you.”
I walked out in a rush to get back home, almost stepping on Rocco on my way to the door. He made a frightening chittering hissing sound at me as he leapt out of my path. I briefly wondered where he was going and what he was up to, probably better I didn’t know though. As I got onto the bike and headed back towards home I hoped I’d be able to talk Bianca into going along with this plan. I was sure she’d rather come with me but after this morning I wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure she wants to help and I know she means well but she’s jumpy and snaps at the littlest things. I didn’t want her to make things worse by accident or get hurt because she froze up again. My mind was made up as I drew nearer to my house but as it turned out I’d never have the chance to talk to Bianca. As soon as I rounded the corner I saw the rusty pick up waiting in front of my house, I’d arrived just in time to meet Shaoni’s “helpers”.
The men looked normal, just like the people in the cave. Come to think of it they could very well be those same people. I waved them over as I came to a stop in-front of the house.
“Can I just go in and grab a few things?”
I asked the three men sheepishly as I walked up.
“No, your late as it is, we’ve got to get going.”
A scruffy looking man with a gruff voice said from the drivers seat. Two men got out from the back of the truck and grabbed my arms, pulling me into the back seat. They weren’t rough with me but they were very firm. Like they wanted to hurt me but were ordered not to so they just made a show of force. After I was loaded into the back I saw the reason for their demeanor. One of the men, the one in the front passenger seat, was wrapped in bandages. The bandages covered his abdomen and snaked up around the back of his neck. It was pretty obvious to me that this was the man Bianca had stabbed. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say these four were probably the same ones we had encountered in the cave. As I turned and looked out the window I saw Bianca’s face peaking out of it. She looked angry and scared, like she knew exactly what was happening but she didn’t move. Bianca just sat there, watching me be taken away and I cursed myself for not being just a little bit faster on the ride back.
We took a way out of town I’d never seen before, turning away from the road leading to the dirt path we had biked down on our expedition into the forest. Instead we drove back through town, past Bianca’s house and the Eagle’s Roost before hanging a right onto a road I’d never been down. Eventually the road made its way into the forest and ended at a wooden sign warning that the road was impassable ahead. The driver stopped the truck and got out as another man emerged from the woods, holding up his hand and opening it to reveal the eagle tattoo I’d become so familiar with. The driver rolled up his sleeve and showed his own similar tattoo. Without a word he got back into the truck and the other man moved the sign off the road. It didn’t fill me with confidence to see the entrance to this place watched in such a way. It would make sense to have it hidden but being so brazenly out in the open meant they didn't really care who saw it. Not that anyone would think anything other than that the road was impassable but still. The truck eventually pulled off the road and into the woods, following a newly made track that lead to the entrance of the old mine that we escaped from just 2 days ago.
“I think you know your way in.”
The driver growled at me, parking the truck and signaling me to step out.
“Your just letting me walk myself in? Couldn’t I just run?”
“You could but do you think you could outrun her?”
He asked threateningly, pointing up at the sky. I knew exactly who he was talking about and no, I didn’t like my chances of running from Shaoni.
“She gave us all orders to leave any runners to her.”
At that moment I decided it may be good idea to be on my best behavior.
“Yeah that’s what I thought.”
The driver barked back at me as I obediently walked towards the entrance.
Walking into the mine I realized it had undergone a huge transformation in a very short time. The walls were now host to several torches that lit the pathway back down to the coliseum. It felt like I was walking into the dark ages as I made my way down into this pit by torchlight. Although I had to admit it was homey in an “evil layer” kind off way. The coliseum was lit up with torchlight as well but its not what drew my attention. Where the awful metal structure met the stone roof of the cave I looked into a brewing storm. Lightning flashed across the roof but there was no sound of thunder. Raindrops shown in the shadows cast by the lightning but I felt none of them on my skin. I had to admit, it was a pretty impressive trick. Paintings adorned the walls, all of them seeming to be tribal in nature. Many seemed to be various depictions of the thunderbird.
“Well at least she doesn’t have an ego”
I chuckled to myself as I walked into the center off the coliseum.
There were four other people waiting in the center of the floor. A clean shaven, well dressed man relaxed against the wall of the arena. He had perfectly trimmed slicked back blonde hair and a chiseled face. His rippling muscles seemed to be for vanity rather than strength. Just by looking at him I could tell I wasn’t going to like him. The only one of the bunch I knew, Robert, stood on the far side of the coliseum, watching me approach. He looked about the same as he had from the brief glance I got at the Eagle’s Roost. Balding white hair and a unkempt beard hung off his sagging face. Despite his age he carried himself with purpose, like he deserved to be there and wanted everyone else to know it. Then there was the blonde bombshell that was making her way towards the chiseled blonde guy. She seemed incredibly confident in herself but none of it was a show. Her confidence came from a place that made her absolutely sure of it. The final person stood in the corner and seemed to be talking to himself. He was a middle aged man of native American descent with a mess of black hair atop his head. He carried a look in his eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond his years.
I walked past all of them and took a seat on the floor, trying my hardest to ignore them. The effort was ultimately wasted as the muscular blonde guy walked over and held out a hand.
“Hey, my names Brooke, you are?”
My blood turned to ice as he said that, it couldn’t be the same Brooke Bianca told me about, could it? I stared dumbly at him for a moment before I responded.
“I’m… uh… Keith. Any idea what we’re doing here?”
“No clue, only know that the thunderbird wanted us here so we came. Hopefully she makes good on her promise, to me at least.”
His voice sounded like the “to cool for you” bully from any 80’s movie, it was almost annoying to listen to him.
“So you’ve met everyone else I take it?”
“Yeah, the weird guy in the corner is John, we don’t know much about him but apparently him and that Robert guy, the old one with the beard, worked for the thunderbird. Katrina, that beauty over there is a wild card, no-one seems to know anything about her but she looks like she’s hot shit and well, just plain hot.”
As Brooke gave me the run down of everyone in the room I quietly wondered to myself if Shaoni had given everyone the same offer as me. The way Brooke had said it, “promise”… that wasn’t how I would’ve phrased it. Maybe Shaoni cut everyone here a unique deal.
“…Anyways, I’m gonna go see if I can’t figure out that bombshell’s deal, I’ll see ya later Keith.”
Apparently Brooke had been talking to me the whole time but I only tuned in for the tail end of it as he walked off toward Katrina. I wondered where exactly Shaoni was, I had expected her to be here already but, as it turned out I wouldn’t have to wait long.
A thunderous boom cracked out above our heads and we all looked up at once, but the sound was coming from outside. I heard the flap of wings as Shaoni came in for a landing somewhere above our heads. It went so silent we could’ve heard a mosquito cough, then Shaoni stepped into the room. Not from either entrance but from a balcony above us I hadn’t seen before. She was wearing the same thing she had been when I ran into her in the cave, once again looking like a hardened, tattooed Pocahontas.
“Welcome everyone! I take it you’ve gotten to know each other?”
She thundered down to us as we all shot to attention.
“I’ve gathered you here to give a gift to one of you, but you must prove yourselves deserving. I’ve told some of you what I intended to do here and others may be hearing it for the first time. So for those of you who are gathering here for the first time pay attention. There will be three trials held here, one to test your morals, one to test your strength, and one to test your judgement.”
At this point Brooke spoke up in the way only a spoiled little shit like him could.
“You made me a promise! You never said anything about trials! I got all the way out here to this shitty little backwater and now your telling me I’ve got to compete to earn what you owe me?! Sorry, but I’m going to need more than that.”
Shaoni looked like she could’ve ended him right there. She was the judge and jury here, if Brooke wasn’t careful she’d become the executioner too.
“What you asked me for is in this town, that’s all I will say on the matter.”
Shaoni responded with less venom than I had expected judging by her expression. She didn’t actually seem to care that she had to tell him something to shut him up. It was the insult of being interrupted that struck a nerve. I was a little concerned by what she said, if he was looking for something that was in town and Bianca was there… could he be looking for her? “…Today though, just enjoy the company of one another. You’re all welcome to stay here at the camp I’ve had prepared for you outside. If you wish to return to town you may but you will be watched. No-one is to leave town until the trials are completed.”
Shaoni finished, I hadn’t really been listening to her welcome speech. She said everything I cared about when she told us what the trials where going to test for, after that I kind of tuned out. Shaoni disappeared in a flash, just like she had back at my house the day before and with that the five of us were alone again. I left, heading back outside to see this camp she mentioned. The others talked with each other but I really had no desire to. That didn’t stop Robert from running to catch up with me, wheezing when he got there.
“Hey you’re the one who ran out of the bar the other night! She’s said a lot about you, I’d almost think she had a favorite.”
Robert huffed out between breaths, punching me in the arm in a friendly but wholly unwelcome way.
“I’ve heard you know nothing about the supernatural, I’d be happy to tell you what I’ve seen working with Shaoni.”
Robert offered, fishing for any reason to hold a conversation with me.
“No, that’s alright really, I’ll manage. What do you guys do anyways, working for her I mean? I get the sense she could really run this whole operation on her own if she wanted.”
“She probably could do this alone. Most of the time we don’t work directly with her, this is a special case for those of us she’s got helping with the trials. There’s maybe 50 of us total and not just here, I mean 50 of us overall. She’s very selective with the followers she keeps so there isn’t many of us. We tend to sit around up-holding her ideals till she asks something of us through dreams, like the ones that brought you here.”
Robert explained, confusing me a little bit. I found it hard to believe a crew of 50 people got everything here done. I guess it wasn’t to outlandish when put in perspective though. If you told me Shaoni got all this done herself I probably would’ve believed you so 50 people organized by her, yeah I could see that.
“Wait, so you guys barley ever actually work with her, and what are her ideals exactly?”
“Have you heard the legends of the thunderbird? A lot of it depicts the thunderbird as a spirit of justice that fights evil spirits from the underworld, that’s really watered down but you get the point. I’ve never seen her do anything like that but she does uphold a certain sense of justice and that’s what she expects of us. Sure, she seems really intimidating but she wants to right wrongs that no one else will, it makes her a little harsh but she has to be. We just do that same thing when we aren’t getting orders right from her. Maybe you think she’s in the wrong here because she pulled you into this but we really want to help, sometimes there’s a price for that.”
Robert lectured, you could tell he really believed in what he was saying though. He may have been older but when he was telling me about the thunderbird and what she stood for he was filled with vigor again. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, I wanted all these people working for her to be some kind of weird cult like in Imalone. The more I heard the more I doubted that. They were people who followed her for a reason, not just because she gave them some kind of power. In reality I think what she really gave them was purpose. That sort of thing is more than enough for most people to follow someone.
When I broke away from Robert and got outside I found a huge camp had been set up while we were in the cave. Tepees of various sizes had been constructed all around the entrance to the old mine and one big canvas tent had a huge table running through it filled with food. For 50 people these followers of the thunderbird sure worked fast. I hadn’t decided if I wanted to go back to town yet. I hoped Frank and Stein had convinced Bianca to go with them, at least then they could get some answers while I was stuck here. If they were gone though what reason did I have to go back? As long as I was out here surrounded by people who work with Shaoni maybe I could get some answers of my own. I wasn’t really sure what information about Shaoni would do for us but she was a mystery to me. Everyone was here for a reason, I agreed to take on a burden, Brooke was here because of some promise Shaoni made, and I’m sure the rest had similar stories. Shaoni gained nothing from any of that though, besides this burden I had agreed to take. I’m not sure why, but it felt like figuring out what She stood to gain from this was important. If I could do that maybe I could put the pieces to this puzzle together. Two people had pointed out I knew nothing about the supernatural as well, Shaoni and Robert. That didn’t seem to matter to much to me but if all the others here had some experience in it maybe it should. It seemed like we were all on a level playing field though, Brooke hadn’t heard about the trials and neither had I. Robert and that strange John guy probably had some idea but they worked with Shaoni, I would expect them to know. Katrina, the blonde was probably just as surprised as Brooke, if I had to guess. None of us knew exactly what the trials would test for, so why did everyone keep brining up not knowing about the supernatural like it put me at a disadvantage?
“Why indeed.”
A familiar voice said, sending lightning through my veins and breaking my train of thought. I just about tossed the turkey leg I’d been eating directly at the source of the noise.
“Shaoni, you have got to stop doing that.”
I said, crawling back into my skin after she scared me out of it. Shaoni still looked just as she had when she addressed us earlier, adorned in her animal skins and feathers. It took me a second but it finally clicked that she had said something strange when she sat down next to me.
“Hang on a minute, can you read my mind? Was I thinking out loud or something?”
“No, you just looked lost in thought and I figured I’d chime in.”
“Oh, alright… why?”
I squeaked out, abruptly realizing that this was Shaoni, the thunderbird who was sitting next to me. There was a second there where I wasn’t as intimidated by her as I normally was but it had passed quickly.
“I wanted to know how your doing, I know all this can’t be easy to take in.”
“I’m doing fine, I think I’m adjusting pretty well but I did want to ask you some questions.”
An amused look ran across Shaoni’s face at this. She wasn’t being as commanding as before either, she almost seemed to genuinely care about my well-being.
“Would you walk with me, I’ll answer your questions on the way.”
Shaoni asked, standing and waiting for me to follow her. Not seeing any better options I stood up and left alongside her.
We walked around the perimeter of the camp, out of ear shot of anyone else. I’m sure she did that on purpose, though I wasn’t sure if it was so no-one could hear my screams if I asked a question she didn’t like or if she just wanted privacy.
“Why me Shaoni? Why chose me out of everyone, was it just a coincidence?”
“Straight to the point hmm. Think Keith, when I found you in the position you were in you needed my help. Sure, I planned to dispose of the cultists that were threatening you anyways but I stopped to help you. You saw me descend from the sky, swoop down, and bring them to their knees, I extended an offer to you and you just took it. You didn’t bargain or ask for anything more after I shattered your perception of what does and doesn’t exist, just accepted my offer. Most people would have bargained, tried to look for a better deal for themselves but you saw what the price of my help would be and paid it, no second thoughts. That interested me Keith, you recognized what had to be done and didn’t try to avoid the cost, that’s why I chose you.”
“So I appealed to whatever sense of justice you have? That’s it, that’s the only reason?”
She looked almost hurt as I asked this and she stopped walking. I definitely stepped on a nerve, I expected her to snap but she didn’t, She just asked very quietly,
“Do you think I’m a monster Keith?”
I was stunned by the question. Could I really say she was a monster? What had she done so far? Save me, that’s what, was that really so monstrous? Sure it may have come at a cost but nothing is ever free. Shaoni even came to warn me about the trials ahead of time, just barely ahead of time but it was something.
“No Shaoni, you’re not a monster just… someone with the powers you have… it’s terrifying for a normal person. Can you really say I’m in the wrong for being afraid of you?”
Even as I said it I knew it was a lie, at least partially. I wasn’t just afraid of her, I wanted her to be evil and she just wasn’t, not really. Maybe she was a bit intense but everything she had done to me so far couldn’t be called evil.
“Fear is only natural when you see something like me, but I’m not a monster. The thunderbird has always stood for justice. That’s what I represent, I can’t be everywhere but I make it a point to uphold justice where I am. Those who I’ve chosen to follow me hold my justice in their own town, in their own lives. I can be harsh but I am just.”
She said this with such intensity I had no choice but to believe her. Her conviction to justice was zealous but I still wanted to pry a little bit more.
“So what does justice mean to you then? I don’t mean to be disrespectful but I want to hear it from you,”
I asked, growing a little more confident in talking to Shaoni. For once I didn’t feel like she would kill me on a whim. Give her a reason, and Shaoni would do it without a second thought but I don’t think she cared that much about my questioning.
“Justice is black and white, right and wrong. Normally there’s a pretty good system in place to punish those that deserve it but sometimes things slip through the cracks, that’s where I come in. I take care of the heinous acts people get away with, people that think they’ve gotten away with murder, so to speak.”
“So your a vigilante then? That’s what I’m hearing here.”
“I wouldn’t be so crass but yes, I suppose you could call me a vigilante but I promise you that’s an oversimplification. Suffice it to say my opinion on matters of serving justice is respected.”
Shaoni seemed a little uncomfortable at the word “respect”, I think a better word would’ve been “feared”. I wasn’t going to say it to her but I knew she suspected it. I could see something about that really hurt her. I couldn’t put my finger on it, the reason Shaoni didn’t want to be feared. Despite being the scariest thing I’d seen so far she didn’t want to be known for that.
We talked for a while longer about a whole lot of nothing. Eventually we got back around to the camp and she bid me goodnight despite the fact it was 3 in the afternoon at the time. She was probably right though, I was going to need the rest if I wanted to be ready for the first trial tomorrow. I found my way to a tepee conveniently marked with my name. I didn’t remember it being marked before and I didn’t understand the point of giving us specific tepees, privacy I guess? The fur sleeping bag was a rustic but welcome touch and despite lacking the amenities of a usual home the tepee was quite comfortable. As I settled in for the night I heard a rustling on the far side of the tepee, then a voice, one whose heavy accent I recognized immediately.
“So, turns out they don’t check under the truck. Ya got me here with you now.”
Rocco said, emerging from a blanket in the corner. That revelation didn’t exactly set my mind at ease. Rocco must’ve sensed my apprehension to the fact that he was anywhere near me right now.
“What?! I’m here to help out! I heard you going on about a trial or somethin’ so I figured I’d tag along under that truck when they picked you up, can’t have enough back up ya know.”
He continued, pulling a belt with several tools out from under the blanket as he spoke. I wasn’t pleased to have him here but maybe I could make use of him.
“I was hoping you’d go with Bianca and the other two but honestly, it might be nice to have a friendly face around here. Just… try to stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble? When do I ever get into trouble?”
I hoped he was being sarcastic, you can never tell with him. I bit my tongue as Rocco walked out into the camp, silently praying no-one would see him. With that I settled into my sleeping bag and tried to think of what I could expect from the first trial tomorrow.

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.

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The grand cathedral of the Unclean One stood tall and bright amidst the dark depths of Fleapit's underbelly. Its clangorous chimes, otherworldly glow, and stained glass windows depicting ratman heroes throughout time stood as a testament to the empire of filth and decay that now sought to stretch across the entire North Warrens.
Two bodies wrapped in ceremonial threads belonging to their respective clans lay upon the main altar to He-Who-Festers, a great statue of their horned, many-eyed God staring down at them as like a giant guardian watching His children finally sleep.
Before the grand altar, the Clansmen of the dead rats knelt, heads bowed, and fists clenched in reverence. They listened with total respect to the words being sung from the new Archpriest of Fleapit – the one who it was rumored would now be taking over completely from the old Prime Putrefact.
"Be letting the gaze of He-Who-Festers linger on these brave souls!" Deekius roared – his voice traveling through the bowels of the great church and causing every ratman assembled beneath him to tremble with fear and bloodlust alike. "They, your Clansmen, are giving their lives for the Shai-Alud! For a rat of the Underkingdom, there is being no greater glory! They are dying in righteous battle, filled with pox and drenched in the vile blood of our enemies! They are dying as true warriors of ratman Kingdom should!"
The soldiers and civilians huddled beneath the rat gave their thunderous thunderous assent, mailed claws knocking against their ribs and clanging on the plate of their armor. The Marrow warriors' fists beat the hardest, and the Gloomraava-touched rats of Glumrot screeched the loudest. Together, they looked the very picture of a unified people. One collective whole banded together by a shared purpose – vengeance.
Marcus watched the proceedings from the side, behind Deekius, his eyes passing over the warriors that lay supplicant before him. Whenever his stare passed over one of them, the soldier in question immediately dipped his head.
If they didn't believe in me before, Marcus thought. They do now.
Skeever stood to attention beside him, rubbing the phantom pains running up his dead arm.
"It is being a grim day for ratman Kingdom," the old warrior said.
Marcus spared him a fleeting look. "Indeed," he replied. "But rest assured, Skeever. Your comrades will be avenged."
The ratman didn't seem altogether reassured. But he held his tongue.
"You were asking me for report, Sire," he said, cringing as Deekius' raised his voice again to let his exhortations travel through the length of the cathedral. It was said that many of the civilians and warriors were actually assembled outside, unable to fit into the church's rows. The blinking crimson embers of their eyes could be seen if one focused enough on the windows.
"It is being as you said," Skeever continued. "Skegga is making push. A great mass of Kobolds are storming through to attack as we are speaking. Two forces are moving – one to assault Razork, and one to destroy Gulchnavel village. Skegga is seeking to throw everything he is having at us, abandoning forts he has left. Ix and Kobold scouts are reporting Tarakht and Gromelin are having only token defense left."
Marcus gave a curt nod. It is just as the Yokun had said. The last few nights of torture had borne some fruit, it seemed. Even if she still hadn't given him the exact answers he'd personally wanted.
"There are being two other things," Skeever continued.
"Do tell."
The old rat gulped, trying to ignore Deekius' continued screeching and the cheers of the ratmen who were listening. "The dwarf army Brother Festicus spoke of is on the move. They are destroying Clan Marrow fort Rekalspit on Eastern Border. Soldiers of Fort Spearclaw are saying that they have seen smoke from Dwarven encampments in the East. They are suggesting that Dwarf splinter assault force may be coming for us, but I am not being sure if we can trust this report."
"The guards of Spearclaw are among some of our most devout," Marcus replied. "If they think there's an attack imminent on our Eastern border, then we have to take the threat seriously."
Skeever nodded gravely. Marcus could tell the little rat was agitated. But a couple of Dwarves looking to pick apart the beleaguered ratman of the North weren't a concern. In fact, this situation might even present them with an advantage.
"And the second thing?" Marcus asked. "Tell me it's some good news, Skeever."
"It is…surprising, Sire," the rat said, watching as Deekius began to finish up his speech to rapturous applause and howls of glory. "Boss Skegga is leading one of his armies."
Now, Marcus's ears perked up.
"He is being seen heading South towards Razork," Skeever continued. "He is passing Razor Ridge within the next day according to scouts. I am thinking, this time, he means to push until we are obliterated."
Marcus wavered. "Force composition?"
Skeever shook his head. "His own army is numbering at least three thousand Kobolds," the ratman said gravely. "His detachment sent towards Gulchnavel – at least two thousand strong. They are having Skogsriders, slingers, and crossbows, Sire. Their vanguard is wearing armor plundered from dwarf supplies. Skegga must be having dwarven prisoners fit armor for his army. I…we are thinking this is being his Great Kleansing."
Marcus scoffed, a thin smile playing across his lips. "That arrogant toad…he's somehow gotten the idea that we're crippled, what? Because we lost the main Glitterpak swarm? Does he think me so basic as to base my entire campaign on the use of a single weapon alone?"
Skeever screwed up his face and twitched his scarred nose, "Sire?"
"Head to the War-council chambers, Skeever," Marcus said. "I shall meet you and King Shrykul there soon, after I've explained the situation to our soldiers."
Skeever hesitated. "'Our soldiers', Sire? I am thinking that the Clans are surely more divided now than ever. With both Talon commanders gone, the Kings of Marrow and Glumrot will be requesting that their soldiers be returned to them. They will be assuming we shall fall. I am thinking the situation is more grave than it has ever been before."
But Marcus, the veteran rodent noticed, never once dropped his smile even as he heard such concerns.
"Skeever," he said. "Have you so little faith in your Shai-Alud?"
"Ratmen of Clans Marrow and Glumrot!" Deekius howled. "To be closing our ceremony, let me be presenting you your General. Your savior that is coming to lead us in this darkest hour. Let us be welcoming SHAI-ALUD MARCUS!"
Later, Skeever would reflect on what he was about to see as Marcus then stepped forward and allowed Deekius to take his hand in his paw, absorbing the chants of reverence that issued from the throat of each and every ratman in the cathedral that night and, probably, each and every ratman in Fleapit who heard the Shai-Alud's name. Lately, it was a name spoken with the same degree of respect afforded even to the Unclean One.
And Skeever watched as the man they revered gave a single wave of his hand.
The crowd instantly went silent.
"Ratmen of Fleapit!" he shouted. "Your Shai-Alud has come to address you on this most gravest of days. On this day two heroes to our glorious cause have fallen, cut down by the dark blades of our enemies sent by Boss Skegga. And that fat toad even now gloats in premature victory. He is coming for us, warriors of the Unclean. Make no mistake of that."
Murmurs of fury permeated the crowd. Skeever noted how their ears twitched to hear Marcus's every word, their eyes hanging on his every subtle movement. When he mentioned Skegga coming for them, the crowd grew vicious. Skeever could sense the building tension even from as far back as he stood.
"Yes," Marcus continued. "He believes he has already won. He believes that crippling our leadership has struck a blow against our nation that we cannot recover from. He believes you will each lay down and offer your putrid bellies to him as he climbs over these walls and takes everything you care about. I ask you, men of Marrow, men of Glumrot, are you going to submit to him thus?"
The answer was so obvious that Skeever didn't have to hear it. Yet, still, when it came, it came with a fury the Talon-Commander had not heard in an age, not since the last Skittering was called.
"NO!"
They took up Marcus's name in a battle chant again, most of them already gripping their weapons before he even made his next announcement.
"Then the time has come for you to show this fat toad and his underlings who exactly you are," he said, pointing a gloved finger at the crowd that seemed to be directed at every ratman down there. "A time comes in all our lives when we must stand up – we must stand together, shoulder to shoulder with our brothers, and take up arms against a common threat. That common threat is here, Brothers. It is moving, and soon it will be upon our doorstep. We need an army united in a singular purpose, with a leader that can direct us towards the target of our righteous vengeance. I ask you, now, who do you wish to lead you in this time?"
"THE SHAI-ALUD!" the ratlings screamed – till the scream became an echo that weaved like a ghost through the streets of Fleapit so even the youngest rat could hear. "THE SHAI-ALUD! THE SHAI-ALUD!"
"Then let your will be done!" Marcus then shouted into the crowd. "King Shrykul has bestowed upon me the rank of First Talon! I will stand with you in the midst of the battle to come, and we shall defeat this menace once and for all. We shall push him back until he falls off the edge of this world. And we shall do so not as one Clan or another, but as a single entity. Ratmen – look at the Brother beside you. He is not just your brother in arms, now. He is not just your cousin from another Warren. Now, he is an extension of your very self. He is a weapon that shall come down upon the head of Skegga just as you are. He – and all of us here – tonight bear witness to history being made. Your time is now, ratmen! The time of your Empire has come!"
Skeever staggered back, absorbing the words of his Sire even as his ears failed to truly understand them.
First-Talon…
A name that granted power second only to that of a King of the Clans…a name reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.
Skeever looked at the pair of dead commanders beneath him, and then caught Deekius's smiling snarl as he watched Marcus raise his fists high amidst the screaming chorus of the crowd.
"It is being glorious, Brother, is it not?" the rat-priest said. "Be marking this moment, Brother commander, for history is being made."
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Hi,
I am 31 y.o. and have had all sorts of G.I., skin and sleep issues for as long as I can remember. I take high quality probiotics daily (been a few years now). A couple months ago I started developing a thick white coating on my tongue, occasionally yellow or brown. This coincided with my gut, stomach, sleep and skin issue intensifying - I am better now but still the permanent white tongue and occasional dermatitis occur.
One thing to say is that it’s worse in the morning (waking up with super dry mouth and a horrible bitter taste in my mouth with dense saliva). I have tried to use a tongue scraper daily but doesn’t get rid of the coating at all, it stays on my tongue permanently. Been tested for candida (not found via swab), have tried all sorts of rinses and oil pulling, probiotics, scraping, nothing works. So I’m thinking the cause might be rooted somewhere else and It’s not a local issue.
Photos here (NSFW): https://imgur.com/a/gZuzUgH
Any pointers would be a HUGE help, thank you!! Been loosing my mind recently with this…

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

As the child of middle-American white people, the kind of family that forgot who they were and where they came from once they got here, almost my entire life has been a search for identity. Not in the angsty teenage sense that found so many of us stoned in suburban basements trading minor, unoriginal insights as glorious revelations from barely dipping our toes in the real world. I've never been able to find much out about my paternal lineage, but the past decade or so I'd thrown myself hard into the Irish identity of my mother's family. They aren't overtly or openly Irish, but at least the lineage is apparent and traceable. At times, that identity has given perspective, purpose, and meaning, like the uncomfortable "White Privilege" political discourses at Thanksgiving. Y'know, fun shit like that.
Like a lot of people, I grew up in some fucked up things. I don't think it's of any particular use to itemize or describe those circumstances but I've known much of violence, violation, and a variance of heartbreak. These things are not unique to me.
I've struggled relentlessly with self-worth for most of my life. Since my early childhood. I cannot say it's entirely bad, but I suppose the wonderful times (which have truly been wonderful; I've been afforded some experiences lots of people haven't in life) are still outweighed by the negative. The dark parts are markedly dark and abundant. In the midst of this self-discovery journey, I held out hope for a long time that I would make it back home. Back to see Ireland, the Small Sea...visit the East End of Glasgow to see where my family fled, before they made the trans-Atlantic journey to lose themselves in American identity. Venture to Northern Ireland to see the H-Block, where James Sands starved himself in protest against English occupation. Purpose and dignity in the harsh Atlantic seaboard, where it can be said that there's no sadness quite like a Celtic sadness.
I think of this often when I think about the English word 'home' and the layers of meaning it conjures. How we tie it not just to a building, but to family. Warmth, comfort, safety and security. Those sentiments can all come sprawling forth from those four letters. In Irish Gaelic, there are probably four or five different words for this based on context, and I remember how difficult I found Irish at first because there is no possessive verb meaning 'to have'; things are either at, on, or with you. In English, the word 'sorry' comes from 'sorrow', or more specifically being full of sorrow on account of oneself. Colloquialism and the evolution of language brought us a more direct way to apologize in both menial day-to-day interaction and times we genuinely must feel awful for what we've done. English is like that, full of matter-of-fact efficiency.
To say "I'm sorry" in Irish now, you would say "tá brón orm", which I guess most literally translates to say "sadness is on me". To say you were sad at the moment, you would say "tá mé brónach", more literally "I am sadness".
I think a lot about Ireland lately. You cannot run away from your problems entirely, no, but I do think you can change your environment. I think about history, of people repeatedly forced into economic exile for centuries, losing their language and constantly occupied by foreign rule. There's been a melancholy in how I exist that probably owes a great deal to this lineage but I've failed to see it, much less harness it. I wish I'd taken a more particular and driven interest in the language before it was too late, especially as I don't think there's a more accurate description of what I feel but for how the Irish say 'sorry'.
The sadness is on me.
In Scottish Gaelic, the word 'cianalas' is one of nostalgia, of profound longing and homesickness...in Welsh, 'hiraeth'. In English, the sappy and sentimental of whom I find myself amongst often liken the word 'home' to people. We find a home in someone, in a person who purposefully made a space for us in the last place we expect to find it. There was a time when I had found this. I was too cocky, too smart for my own good, too sure I'd outgrown the fucked up that I'd come from. I thought I fell too far from it to let the wood rot of my family tree creep in.
I didn't just lose my home. There were no tragic circumstances. I acted poorly, disgracefully, selfishly and in bathed in a darkness inside me I never knew I was capable of. I didn't just lose my home, I set it aflame and burned it to nothing, kicking about in the ashes after and I've still got the nerve to live each day tinged with a deeper grief and sadness than I never knew existed. In this life, I am both the Irish and the English.
The sadness is on me.
It's no longer a profound sadness that longs for the fogged beauty of inland bog or rocky sea shore, or the beautiful person who rivaled such wonder. It's a sadness that aches, that has outpaced time to settle deep in my bones before father time could take my joints. It taunts me to look at what I've done, what I've become, in a dark home with dusty mirrors. Stalks me while I walk my dog. It tells me that everything in the world is a loaded gun in my hands and to use it on myself before hurt someone else again. It tells me that I still have potential and that I will waste it all.
I have been a liar, a cheater, a disgrace. I have acted in direct defiance of everything I thought I believed and I never knew I was capable. I don't know of any other way to fix this.
The sadness is on me.

I'm using nasal pillows with the P10 I believe.
I'm 5-6 years in and it's been great. However the past 4-5 months, I notice as I am falling asleep I'll get a little air bubble in my mouth.
I can just push it out easily, but will get another.
I'd been really good about keeping my mouth closed and if it does open I hear and feel it. But that's when I've been awake. I think if it'd happen while sleeping I'd hear it because it's pretty loud.
Im at 0.3-0.5 most nights. High for me is 1.1.
In my early days I did have a cloth sort of hat with a chin strap. I'm going to start using that again and see if it remedies.
I did do tape for the second half of the night, and got the little bubble a few times falling asleep again.
[Some additional context: I'd had a tremendous amount of mouth dryness all day. I considered an open mouth at night caused it—but tried stopping Famotidine that helped with acid reflux and eczema, gargling with a non alcohol mouth rinse, as well as stopping singing (and not yelling or screaming to warm up.) And my mouth dryness is a lot less, and no soreness in my throat. I also laid off meat in general and found my acid reflux and my eczema are almost in remission.]
I don't plan on using a face mask, but just wondering how that bubble now is coming up in my mouth. I have significantly relaxed my jaw over time, so I assume something like my tongue position is now letting air in since I relaxed so much more.
Anyway, I'm wondering 'why' this happens, what from a simply physical pov (like something my tongue may be doing) and have remedies of tape and the hat/strap thing—but if others have more ideas.
Besides that, I'm really jamming on sleep this past year. I fall asleep within a minute or two, and usually just get up once per night, hitting 8 hours almost exactly.

So warm the clutches I foolishly escaped So cold the ocean I so eagerly plunged in
So cosy the heat that certainly won’t maim So pretty the water that cools the blood
Tender light streaks from your frame Delightful deal I will always take It sets ablaze the darkened sky Shining forth, guiding my eye
Charming pond of your current shape Lovable sound of dribbling waterscape It asks to be worshiped most doting request I took as a behest
Blazing and beaming the fire that rose It hurts and burns unbent will shows Melting my soul unknowingly so Brighter and brighter attractive nouveau
Moist is the sea I dove in headfirst Happy content with feeling so chill It drowns and cuts the breath that I need To say that I want both you and me
Unbearable fever that runs through my veins Unquenchable thirst that grips my throat Too late for me to use my brain Too late for you to keep me afloat
A match, a spark, a flame A drop, a stream, a flood It cleanses me I take the blame It envelops me new reality so crude
Is the shine I see above the water Still shining?

So warm the clutches I foolishly escaped So cold the ocean I so eagerly plunged in
So cosy the heat that certainly won’t maim So pretty the water that cools the blood
Tender light streaks from your frame Delightful deal I will always take It sets ablaze the darkened sky Shining forth, guiding my eye
Charming pond of your current shape Lovable sound of dribbling waterscape It asks to be worshiped most doting request I took as a behest
Blazing and beaming the fire that rose It hurts and burns unbent will shows Melting my soul unknowingly so Brighter and brighter attractive nouveau
Moist is the sea I dove in headfirst Happy content with feeling so chill It drowns and cuts the breath that I need To say that I want both you and me
Unbearable fever that runs through my veins Unquenchable thirst that grips my throat Too late for me to use my brain Too late for you to keep me afloat
A match, a spark, a flame A drop, a stream, a flood It cleanses me I take the blame It envelops me new reality so crude
Is the shine I see above the water Still shining?

https://facts.net/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/15-facts-about-fats-waller-1689249690.jpg
This is a subreddit primarily focused on modern pop music, but for his 120th birthday I want to take a moment to remember one of the most iconic pop acts in American history:

Thomas Wright "Fats" Waller

A jazz pianist, a singer, and a prolific songwriter famous for his ability to jump onstage and "lift up the band," Fats Waller was a regular fixture of the nightlife scene in New York (an important figure of the legendary Harlem Renaissance) and toured his act all around the country in addition to working as a recording artist in the budding record industry.
In a way, he was one of America's first pop stars- a musical prodigy who dropped out of high school, broke into the music industry when he was a teen, sold tons of records, and developed a huge onstage persona and lived a hard partying lifestyle. We've heard that story a million times, but Fats did it first.
An often repeated story about him recounts a shocking incident where gangster Al Capone kidnapped him off the street to force him to play at a birthday party, because everybody wanted to party with Fats Waller! A less repeated story is this one I found in an NPR article that describes him selling eight of his original songs in exchange for eight hamburgers, which he then consumed in a single sitting.
So certainly, a larger than life figure.

The Records

His legacy as a founding figure of America's pop scene extends to a place you might not expect: back in 1926, he signed a recording contract with the Victor Talking Machine Company, one of the earliest manufacturers and distributors of phonographs and records, which would be bought out by the Radio Corporation of America (RCA) in 1929. Then in 1968, the company would be renamed... RCA Records!
RCA is still a powerful record label today and it's partially thanks to Fats, who was a big moneymaker for them in the early days of the record industry when they were literally selling records.
Over the course of his twenty five year career, he copyrighted around five hundred recordings- supposedly, the label would send him into a recording booth with bunches of sheet music bought from Tin Pan Alley composers and he would rearrange them on the spot to give them that special Fats Waller touch!
But he's best remembered for his skills as a pianist and, most importantly, his songwriting skills. I want to take a moment to highlight that because I firmly believe he's one of the greatest songwriters in history- many of his hits have been accepted as standards and are still in rotation with jazz singers today.

The Music

You might have heard his song "Ain't Misbehavin'," which became something of his signature song after he performed it in the landmark film Stormy Weather (1943), and it's the perfect encapsulation of his style. A clever piano line, a catchy melody, a touch of humor, and a lot of heart. It's just timeless music.

I know for certain / The one I love
I'm through with flirtin' / It's just you I'm thinkin' of
Ain't misbehavin' / Saving my love for you (for you)
(And you) (And you)

There's a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor to the song that's signature Fats- in addition to the lyrics he wrote, he was known to improv and throw new jokes in on the fly during live performances.
We're lucky enough to have footage of him performing "Your Feets Too Big" (another one of his signature numbers where he chastises a woman for, you guessed it, her foot size) and you can just see the charisma oozing off of him as he banters with the band and makes eyes at the camera. All while playing the piano too!
And he was no innocent either, often lacing his songs with innuendo that will shatter any illusions you have about old music being overly conservative. Take, for example, Hattie Noel's recording of "Find Out What They Like," which begins with a disclaimer that the song is "strictly about home cooking" before she sings this:

Find out what he likes / And how he likes it
Go on and give it to him just that way
Give it to him when he wants it / And any time he wants it
And don't you have a single word to say!

He was often performing in nightclubs and bars, which meant he knew how to get the crowd going- "The Joint Is Jumpin'" is the quintessential 1920s party anthem, with the title referring to a secret code phrase that bootleggers would use during the prohibition era to let people know that a party had illegal alcohol. The jaunty music he wrote did a lot to get people on the dance floors as well!
But though he's associated with lively entertainment, there was some grit beneath all that as well. Despite his success, Waller was still a black man living in early 20th century America, and he channelled that into legendary "Black and Blue" (a hit for Louis Armstrong) which is considered by some to be one of the first jazz protest songs:

I'm white inside, but that don't help my case / 'Cause I can't hide what is in my face
How would it end? Ain't got a friend / My only sin is in my skin
What did I do to be so black and blue?

Whatever the occasion, Fats had a song for it.

The End

But like a lot of great artists, Fats had his troubles. He was known for his hard partying lifestyle and frequent money problems that pushed him to be constantly working, and he would tragically pass away in 1943 from pneumonia while on tour.
The man was only 39 years old at the time, but as of today his legacy officially stretches 120 years! So spin a record today for Fats Waller, and get the joint jumpin' in his memory.
If you'd like to hear more of his music, I'd strongly recommend setting aside ninety minutes to watch the Broadway musical Ain't Misbehavin' because it's an incredible piece of theatre that showcases his music spectacularly. Diana Ross & The Supremes did an adorable tribute to him on The Ed Sullivan Show that's worth a watch too.
Any other Fats Waller fans in the sub? What are some of your favorite recordings of his songs?

This is my first reddit post, although I have been a long time lurker of many subreddits. I am 23 years old and an only child. I am not a native english speaker, so please forgive any weird formatting or any spelling/grammar mistakes.
As the title states, my mom died ... and I am currently writing this to try and process this whole situation. I've tried to section all the paragraphs in chronological order, to make reading easier. Sorry for the extremely long post - I just needed to get it all out.
We only just celebrated her 60th birthday back in february. She did all the cooking, cleaning and planning without any trouble - even down to picking out the perfect napkins and flowers for her white and gold theme.
My mother was without a job. She had been jobless for almost 2 years now, after she was fired from her old cleaning job due to frequent sick days because of stomach cramps and pain. She was seen by a doctor back in 2022 for her stomach aches, and they found no physical cause - hence why we concluded it must've been due to stress. The stress and stomach pains subsided after she'd been fired. So we thought no more of it.
In march she was doing a 4-week internship in a local supermarket to see if she might've been a good fit for a permanent paid position. This is common practice for unemployeed people here in Denmark.
My mother started having stomach pains again during this internship, soon followed by back pains as well. She figured this was due to her spending most of the day sitting as a cashier in an uncomfortable position. My mother wasn't very tall, so she had trouble reaching the floor pedals that control the cashier conveyer belt.
In the beginning of april, she went to the doctor. Her stomach and back pains hadn't gone away although the internship was over. Her doctor also concluded it was most likely due to her uncomfortable working position, and that it would pass in a few weeks time. The doctor did some bloodwork, and found that she was severely lacking vitamin D, but nothing else seemed concerning at the time.
In the middle of april, her pains had only gotten worse, and she went to the doctor again. Her doctor did more bloodwork, and did a phisycal exam of my mothers stomach. Her doctor ordered a CT scan to check for anything serious.
19th of april. I accompany my mother to the hospital for her CT scan. We get told that we'll have the results in a week or so. My mother is not looking good when I pick her up at the bus station. She is more pale than usual, and has trouble walking at her usual pace.
23th of april. My mother received a referral to a meeting at the hospital with a doctor and nurse, to discuss the results of the CT scan. This referral is sent from the hospitals cancer department. My mother and I speak on the phone, she is concerned, but I tell her that this type of referral must just be standard pratice, and that she shouldn't worry untill we have spoken with the doctor. I cried that night.
25th of april. The day before her meeting with the doctor, I received a phone call from my mother. She tells me that she had fallen while at home, but that I shouldn't worry. I, of course, worry.
I pack my things and leave for my mothers house, I live an hour away by bus. When I finally arrive my mother seems okay-ish, but the house is another story. My mother is normally known for being a clean freak, and her house has always been clean and organized, But it wasn't anymore.
Her kitchen was a mess, and the dishwasher hadn't been empited or loaded for at least two weeks. Her bathroom is even worse, and I won't even begin to describe the state of the toilet it self. It is a sight that will horrify me for the rest of my life. I cleaned everything, while my mother rested.
My mother had also started sleeping on the guest bed, saying her own was too uncomfortable for her.
While cleaning the bathroom, my mother wakes up. Despite her state, she says she wants to help. But before I can even tell her no, my mother has another fall. Her legs essentially just crumble beneath her, and she falls backwards and lands head first on the floor. We argue back and forth about calling an ambulance, but she refuses to let me - so I don't, even though I should have. I guess I still respected my moms authority too much.
My mother lives alone, as my parents are divorced (they are very good friends though). My mother refuses to let me call my dad and tell him about this whole situation. She is stubborn and too proud to admit defeat.
26th of april. We take a taxi to the hospital. The taxi driver has a help my mother into the car. During the carride my mother says very little, but seems slightly delirious and very tired. When we arrive at the hospital, I quickly borrow a hospital wheelchair for my mother. She is almost unable to walk unassisted at this point.
After waiting for a while in the waiting area, a nurse comes and guides us to a meeting room. My mother is very tired at this point, and still delirious, and I have to handle most of the conversation with the doctor.
The CT scan results showed Pancreatic cancer. The cancer had already spread to her liver and abdomial cavity.
I had read about this cancer a few days prior, trying to figure out what was wrong with my mother. I knew what this meant, and I knew that it was effectively a death sentence. The doctor told us that an operation was out of the question, since the cancer had already spread. And due to the clearly weak state of my mothers health, chemo would also not be offered, as it would finish her.
I told the doctor of her two falls and the state of her home, and that she would not be safe on her own. The doctor had her admitted to a nearby bed department for stomach- and gastrointestinal surgery patients.
The hospital did a ton of bloodwork on my mother when she got admitted, and everything was off. All numbers were either too high or dangerously low. My mothers health was in fact so bad, that I was told she was a heart attack risk. I was also told that if a heart attack happened, she would not be brought back - as it would only prolong a very short and painful life.
I called my dad.
27th of april. My mother slept most of the day.
28th of april. My mother had another fall during the night, trying to get to the bathroom.
29th of april. My dad shows up to the hospital. He wasn't able to get off work until now, as he works in the other end of the country. He is shocked to see my mother in this state. We are told once again by a different doctor that nothing can be done. They are looking into getting her a spot at a nearby hospice.
The rest of the remaining week is spent in hospital. My dad and I are by my mothers side every day. She doesn't leave her hospital room, apart from a few times a day for a smoke break outside. My dad and I take her outside in a wheelchair, which she needs help to get in and out of.
Her bloodwork is showing some slight improvements, but she is still having trouble with infections and receives a lot of antibiotics. She eats like a mouse, but drinks a lot of fluids.
My mother is often very confused or tired most days. She gets referred for an MR scan, to see if the cancer has spread to her brain, or if one of her falls has caused permanent damage. Lucikly the MR scan shows that nothing is wrong with her brain.
She gets confused about her diagnosis a few times, thinking that she had brain cancer instead due to the MR scan. I have to remind her a couple times about what the doctor actually said.
6th of may. My mother seems to have stabilized somewhat so my dad has gone back to work.
7th of may. I get told by the hospital staff that my mother is to be transferred to a different hospital, which is one hour away. I become very upset by this news, and unfortunately yell at one of my mothers nurses in frustration. I yell at her that It'll be harder for me to get to my mother in time if something were to happen. I am ashamed of this childish behavior, as the transfer was the best desicion for my mother in hindsight.
I leave with my mother as we get transferred to the new hospital and their department of palliative care.
I am very ashamed by my behavior to my mothers old nurse, as this department for palliative care was truly the best place for my mother. She seemed very satisfied and happy to have been transferred. They have a large garden with wild flowers, and lovely staff. And my mother got a much bigger room all to herself. She also meets with their physical therapist, who helps my mother relieve some of her pain.
My mother and I have dinner together in the evening in her hospital room. My mom is her old self, although with some delayed speaking. I unfortunately have to rush a bit when leaving, as to not miss my bus home, so I quickly say goodbye to her and leave.
8th of may. In the morning on my way to the new hospital, I received a phone call from her new doctor. My mothers liver has suddenly started to fail due to the cancer. When I arrive, she is asleep. I am told she wont wake up again.
I called my dad, but he wont arrive until the evening, due to the distance from his workplace.
I spend most of the day in my mothers hospital room, listening to her sleep. She occasionally attempts to cough in her sleep, but it mainly just sounds like yells. It is terrifying. The nurses give her pain medication and some sleep medication to help her body relax.
My dad arrives in the late evening. We drive to my mothers house and stay the night there. We spend most of the late evening looking at pictures and scrapbooks of my mother, and packing a bag with clothes for her, for when she passes.
When prepareing the guest bed for my dad, we find a blanket that my mother slept on. It is stained, matching the previous state of the bathroom. We throw the blanket out.
9th of may. Mom is sleeping. Dad and I spend the day at the hospital, but we don't sit in her hospital room. It is too eerie and uncomfortable. We check on her occassionally. Towards the evening, her breathing becomes slightly more rapid and quick. But the nurses tell us to go home. There is no reason for us to sit by her side during the night - as it'll only make it worse for us.
10th of may. I wake at 6.12 am to my phone ringing. It is a nurse. My mother has passed away in her sleep at 6.05 that morning due to liver failure. My dad and I drive to the hospital. I am the first to see her body after the nurses prepared and dressed it in the clothing we picked.
(warning: the following paragraph may be slightly upsetting to some readers)
It it eerie and uncomfortable to see my mother like this. A symptom of pancreatic and liver cancers is that your skin will yellow. Something that I hadn't noticed in my mother till now. I cant help but think that she looks like a wax doll, although I feel horrible for thinking it. I finally touch her hand, after gathering the courage to, almost like I am afraid to distrub her. Her hands are cold, and only get colder as I sit by her side. I am supposed to say my goodbyes to her, and tell her how much she means to me, but in this moment I am speechless. I can't say anything, even on my mothers deathbed. I feels wrong to speak to a corpse. I should've said those things while she could hear them instead. I kiss her forehead before I leave the room.
17th of may. Funeral. The church and casket was beautifully decorated with colorful flowers, like my mother had requested. She didn't want anything white or depressing. I cried all the way through the funeral service, stopping only when it was time to carry the casket out. My dad on the left side, and me on the right, and some other family members behind us. Purple rain by Prince was played on the church piano as we carried the casket. I knew the casket would be heavy, but nothing prepared me for the sheer weight of that thing.
21th of may. Today. I don't really know what to think of my mothers death. Some days I almost forget that shes gone or that all this has been happening, until something reminds me of it.
In a way, I am thankful. Of course I didn't want my mother to die, but I'm glad that her suffering wasn't prolonged for months while she slowly withered away to cancer. And I'm thankful that my mother didn't live to suffer from alzheimers, like her own mother. And I am glad that if anything, my mothers death has brought my dad and I closer.
But at the same time, I am angry that she didn't get to live more of her life. She was only 60 years old, and should have had 20 more years at least. If she at least was 70, it might've been easier to lose her but I doubt it.
I think mostly of all the things she will miss out on, which saddens me the most. I am 23 and my mother wont get to see most of my life or my achivements. If I have kids, she'll never meet them, and she I get married, she'll never see it. My 24th birthday is coming up soon, and I don't know how I'll handle that day without my mother for the first time - or christmas for that matter.
I want my mom.