SOOOO this will be a long post, I will begin from the start so you understand the context.
I am a teen from an East European country where money is sparce
Around 3 years ago my mum left my dad to seek a better pay in another country and because of the worsening of her relationship with my dad (they weren't married), anyways a few months after that my dad quit his job, because he was "supposed" to work abroad, in reality it didn't happen so he was left without a job and for the next 3 years he worked odd jobs or if he found a stable job he wouldn't last long on it. Whenever he was unemployed after leaving his job, he was either excusing himself with "the job didn't pay enough" or "they were exploiting me to work long hours" or "they didn't need someone to work for that anymore, so they let me off", after getting unemployed he would use my mum for money for bills, food, himself etc... and whenever my mum refused to send him money he would say "look at what your mum is doing, she doesn't care about you or doesn't want you to be fed" and would deny any responsibility as to his situation. In all this time I refused to argue with my dad about insulting my mum for no reason, being lazy or irresponsible because I once had done so and he got extremely mad and traumatised me for a long time. I also need to add that last year in 2023 around April my dad almost sold his house, so he can pay back his debt and buy a house in a random village, when he realised he couldn't buy a house with the money he was selling his own house for, he quickly called my mum and begged her to bail him (as he owed 3k euros to the guy who wanted to buy the house), he offered my mum ownership over half the house in return, she accepted as it was a bargain. In September when my mum came back from abroad she gave my dad some money for the house and those 3k euros to pay back the guy, the thing that he didn't tell her was that they agreed with the guy not to give him that money back, so he scammed my mum 3k euros, he renovated a room for around 800 euros and the rest of the money was gone in 1-2 months (which is insane as this could last someone for at least 4 months). When I told my mum this she was furious and she said that he could've saved up the money for my future or in case he needs it desperately, instead he wasted it on food and alcohol and probably his lover.
At the end of 2023 he got a job as a maintenance worker at a central restaurant in a city as the previous worker had to return to Ukraine after a few years of working in here, so my dad was allowed to the job, he worked there for around 2 months when one day I came back from school and I saw him at home and he told me that he doesn't work there anymore as they didn't need a maintenance worker anymore, I did accept this as the truth with a bit of doubt so I didn't question him any further and since then until recently he hasn't had a job and relied mainly on my mum's money for everything, I was already getting pissed off at that point because of it and his laziness to find a job. Last month in April his friend came back from Germany and offered my dad to work together with him in Spain, my dad accepted so he got himself into fast credits, which if he stayed in here would never be able to pay back, he also asked my mum for money a few times because he had to pay 3 electricity bills and they even turned off our electricity for 2 days, but I didn't complain much as I knew my dad would go to Spain and he would return for money to fix the house and basically provide the basic needs of any decent living family. He was supposed to go work in there for 2 months and then return back for 20 days and repeat. I was left alone to live after he went to work in Spain, I managed to keep myself up while he was gone, so that was no problem. Two weeks after my dad went to Spain, me and my friend were at the store shopping for meat for that night's BBQ at my house when I got a call from my dad telling me that his manager had told him that him and 12 other new workers were getting released from the job as their shift was over apparently, he basically had to return back to the country and I didn't really believe his story, but I couldn't prove it wrong, though I read his work contract and found out that they couldn't "let him off" without notifying him 2 weeks prior, so he must've been kicked out. Then I talked with my mum and I told her the situation, she was clearly shocked as she gave him a lot of money to go there in the first place and was expectedly mad. She contacted his friend that he went together with and his friend told us a completely different story, the reason why he was "released" from the job was because he was lazy, pretended not to understand how things worked and was too laid back from the work itself by basically just sitting around, so the managers had enough of him and kicked him out. After I found that out, I realised that I could not live together with this man any longer, so the next day after the BBQ night (same day as he was supposed to be arriving in the house) I decided that I will move out of there and move to a family friend's house (he's abroad, so I am alone with his grandpa). I packed up everything from my room and everything that was my mum's and I moved to that house, my dad called me telling me he's coming back and I told him that I moved out because he was unserious and he hung up the phone. After that during the night he was threatening me that if I don't go back to the house there will be consequences, he threatened that he will call the police to search for me (even tho I told him where I am staying). After that he started begging me to come back, and I just decided to ignore him after his threatening messages as talking with him and trying to make him realise his mistake would only backfire at me. He recently had a call with my mum and she told him that she would not send him money for anything anymore even if I go back to live with him and he said, I repeat HE SAID that my mum never sent him any money, that it was all his, that she did nothing for me, and basically threatened her that he will hurt her (he's threatened her many times, insulted her etc without her doing anything to him and only trying to help).
To mention, my dad has never been physically abusive towards me and is rarely verbally abusive, unless you call him out on his lies, that he's lazy or that he's wrong, he always thinks he's right about everything, he's self righteous and never does any mistakes and everything that goes bad is someone else's fault. Also he's a big liar, he lies about everything, even the smallest things that don't need to be lied about.
So this was the story mainly, I am now in the new place for almost a week and I am getting used to this situation, my dad stopped texting me or calling me for 3 days now, he doesn't even answer my mum's phone anymore. I don't know how to handle the situation in the future, I don't have any idea how my dad will react in the next months, will I even speak to him and what should I do if I see him? I would love any advice or to hear your stories.

Safeway: 4x reward point items denoted with asterisk (*)
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Hass avocados or mangoes 10 for $10
Foster Farms 93/7 ground turkey buy 1 get 1
Pork sirloin chops $1.97/lb digital coupon no limit 6lb packs
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Lucerne Eggs AA Large 18ct $2.97/ea digital coupon limit 1
Yellow peaches or nectarines $2.47/lb digital coupon limit 4 lbs
Extra Jumbo raw shrimp 16-20ct $4.87/lb in a 2lb bag digital coupon limit 4
Signature select breakfast sausage 12oz $3.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Lucerne milk or open nature almond beverage 1/3 gallon $1.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Sargento shredded or sliced cheese 5-8oz $1.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Lay's potato chips or poppables 5-8oz, Miss Vickie's chips 8oz $1.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Ben & Jerry's buy 1 get 1
Gatorade 8pk 20oz $5.99
Cheerios or Cinnamon Toast Crunch 9-12oz $1.99/ea when you buy 4
*Fage Greek Yogurt 10 for $10
*Delimex frozen Taquitos 21-23oz $6.49
Mandarins 3lb bag $5 digital coupon
Signature select thick bacon $5.99/lb in a 3lb pkg digital coupon
Yoplait yogurt 4-6oz $0.49/ea digital coupon limit 12
Lucerne sour cream 16oz $1.99 digital coupon limit 4
Philadelphia cream cheese 8oz $2.49 digital coupon limit 4
Home Run Inn or Gino's East Deep Dish Pizzas $5.99/ea <-- I will vouch that I like both of these
Lucerne butter 16oz $3.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Dawn dish soap or EZ Squeeze $2.97/ea digital coupon limit 2
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Bounty Paper Towels 6pk or Charmin TP 9 mega rolls $11.97/ea digital coupon limit 1
Deli Chicken Tenders $5/lb Friday only
Deli Chicken nuggets 20ct $5 Friday only
Ground Beef 80/20 $2.50/lb Friday only
M&Ms party size 34-38oz $14.99 digital coupon limit 1
Lucky:
One time digital coupon $10 off $50+ order Fri Sat Sun
Butterball ground turkey 85/15 $2.99/lb Fri Sat Sun
Wild Snowcrab clusters $6.99/lb F S S
Fresh deli French bread loaf $0.99/ea F S S
Clementines 3lb bag $2.99 F S S
Eggo Waffles 8-14oz 2 for $5 F S S
Kraft Mac n Cheese $1/box F S S
Sunnyside farms sliced, shredded, or block cheese 8oz $1.99 F S S
Assorted meat sale. Beef London Broil, Ground 85/15, Boneless bottom round roast, or Pork Tenderloins buy 1 get 1 mix n match
White baby bella mushrooms 16oz or Naturesweet, Cherubs, Constellations, or Glorys 10oz buy 1 get 1
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Ruffles, Tostitos, Fritos, Cheetos buy 2 get 2 mix n match
7up products 12pk or 8pk buy 2 get 2 mix n match
Mix n Match buy 5 save $5 on assorted things like soda, frozen veggies, cookies, cereal, juice, etc.
General Mills family size cereals $3.99/ea digital coupon
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Takis and Soda 2 liter promo buy 2 get 2? mix n match
Monster energy 12pk $19.99
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Nob Hill:
Foster Farms whole chicken $0.97/lb digital member deal limit 4
Raley's canned vegetables or beans $0.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Pringles $1.47/ea digital coupon limit 4
Barilla pasta $1.27/lb digital coupon limit 4
Barilla pasta sauce 24oz $1.97 digital coupon limit 4
Pillsbury cookie dough, monkey bread, crescent or cinnamon roll ready bake stuff $2.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Honey Bunches of Oats or Fruity Pebbles cereal $3.47/ea digital coupon limit 4
Dave's Killer Bread $4.97/ea digital coupon limit 4
Personal sized watermelon $2.77/ea digital coupon limit 4
Raw shrimp 41/50ct $2.97/lb in a 2lb bag digital coupon limit 2
Chobani Flip, Creations or Fage Greek yogurt $0.97/ea digital coupon limit 10
Sunnyside farms 1.5qt or Baskin Robbins 14oz ice cream $2.77/ea digital coupon limit 4
Frito-Lay party size chips $3.47/ea digital coupon limit 4
Evergood sausages 12oz $3.47 digital coupon limit 4
Red Mangoes or Hass Avocados 5 for $5 Monday only
Raley's deli ham or American cheese $5/lb Monday only
Johnsonville Brats or Italian sausage 16oz $5 Monday only limit 4
Raley's Frozen Blueberries 32oz, Raley's honey 16oz, Eggo Waffles 25.8-29.6oz $5/ea Monday only limit 4
Fritos, Cheetos, La Fortaleza tortilla chips 2 for $5 Monday only limit 4
Raley's Minced Garlic 32oz, Kraft Mac n Cheese 5pk, Delgrosso pasta sauce 26oz $5 Monday only limit 4
Smart & Final:
Foster Farms whole chickens $1.49/lb
General Mills cereals $2.49/ea when you buy 4
Frito-Lay Party Size 12.5-17oz $3.99/ea when you buy 3
First Street Premium Ice Cream 48oz $3.99/ea when you buy 2
Artesano Bread 20oz $2.49/ea digital coupon limit 4
Best Foods Mayonnaise 20-30oz $3.99/ea digital coupon limit 1
Capri Sun 10ct $2.99/ea digital coupon limit 4
Marie Callender's Meals or Pot Pies $2.99/ea digital coupon limit 4
Barilla Pasta 16oz $1.49/ea digital coupon limit 4
Gatorade 8pk 20oz $6.99/ea digital coupon limit 4
Valbest Chicken leg quarters $0.89/lb in a 10lb bag
Evergood smoked sausage 24oz $8.99/ea
Dino nuggets 56oz $9.99/ea
Jennie-O Turkey Franks 3lb $6.49/ea
First Street Frozen vegetables 2.5lb assorted $3.79/ea
First Street bottled water 35ct 16.9oz $3.99/ea when you buy 3
Coca-Cola 24pk 12oz cans $13.88 when you buy 2
BULK M&Ms 62oz $14.99
El Super:
White Onions 3lbs for $0.99 Weds only
Seedless watermelons 3lbs for $0.99 Weds Sat Sun only
Green Cabbage 3lbs for $0.99 Weds only
Pineapples 2lbs for $0.99 Weds only
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Mexican squash 2lbs for $0.99 Weds only
Roma tomatoes $0.69/lb Weds only
Papayas $0.79/lb Weds only
White Potatoes $0.89/lb Weds only
Small Hass Avocados 3 for $).99
Cucumbers 3 for $0.99
Limes $0.89/lb
Gatorade 28oz 3 for $5
Cheetos or Fritos $2.99/ea when you buy 2
Honey bunches of Oats cereal $2.99/ea
Jans Jasmine Rice 4lbs $3.99/ea
Whole chicken breast $1.99/lb Sat Sun only
Chicken leg quarters $0.87/lb Thurs only
Pork neck or trotters $1.99/lb Thurs only
Mangoes 2 for $0.99
Oranges 2lbs for $0.99
Cantaloupes 2lbs for $0.99
Corn 2 for $0.99
Radishes 2 for $0.88
Carrots $0.69/lb
Tomatillos $0.89/lb
Strawberries 16oz 2 for $3

I have found a cabin in Pinnacle I'm looking to stay at at least one night of my trip. My fiancé and I are eloping at Sun Point (just us). I'm looking at Google Maps and it seems like I'll have to drive out of the park on the east side and go back in to reach Sun Point, but is that because Google Maps is directing me away from GTTS Road due to the winter closures?
We're okay with being kind of far from amenities - I can't really eat out due to allergies so we would be packing in food anyway. One of the options we're looking at has a full kitchen. Just trying to (if I can) find somewhere to stay at least the night before and night that we elope that is as close to sun point as we can! I have a vehicle reservation for both GTTSR and East Glacier, if that matters.

I have found a cabin in Pinnacle I'm looking to stay at at least one night of my trip. My fiancé and I are eloping at Sun Point. I'm looking at Google Maps and it seems like I'll have to drive out of the park on the east side and go back in to reach Sun Point, but is that because Google Maps is directing me away from GTTS Road due to the winter closures?
We're okay with being kind of far from amenities - I can't really eat out due to allergies so we would be packing in food anyway. One of the options we're looking at has a full kitchen. Just trying to (if I can) find somewhere to stay at least the night before and night that we elope that is as close to sun point as we can!

I was in South East Asian country outside a food kiosk where people were throwing stones at an anamatronic of Ghandi, Iwent to ask the shop keeper what was happening, but when I got to the counter I saw a loaf of bread in a plastic bag.
It was a "coconut loaf", it looked like a rustic bloomer, pre-sliced. I bought it for £10.09, and when I opened it I discovered it was a loaf of white bread with a vein of coconut flavoured frosting/cream running through it. I was overcharged because I was a gullible foreigner.
The crust was extremely tough, like a tiger bread, but the bread itself was delicious with the coconut cream.
I might make this one.

The golden rays of early morning shone into the shelter, landing on the boy’s eyes. This stirred him from sleep and through instinct, he immediately clutched at his chest, making sure it was still there. A small pouch tied to a cord draped around his neck, the reason he embarked on this journey. He crawled from the hovel of branches and dead leaves into the forest. The trees were beginning to shed, and the ground was damp. The dense woods turning light brown. The boy set out to look for food.
Silent and slow, the boy explored the forested basin, bow in hand. There were no signs of anything larger than himself there. No trails, no droppings, nothing that might provide the boy with a meal that would last longer than a few days. Birds would do. So, the boy continued, his gaze focused on the forest canopy. While terrain, weather and people might have changed throughout his journey, hunger was the only certainty.
Some time later, the boy managed to shoot down two scrawny cranes and had them tied around his waist. He spied a swan resting at the banks of the river. It was far, but his father taught him to shoot well. The boy focused, drew in a breath, and loosed the arrow. It grazed the swan’s neck, and struck a rock behind it, flint tip shattering. The swan began twitching on the gravel bank, the indirect strike broke its neck. Before the boy approached the dying bird, he noticed a rustling in the bushes next to it. He stopped and waited. A wild dog emerged, just as cautious as the boy, and slowly padded towards the swan. The boy could see its ribs clearly through the dogs matted fur, its shoulder blades threatening to break through its skin. He let the dog take his kill.
It was raining heavily. The boy decided to make camp inside a deadfall at the banks of the river. The boy sat soaked and shivering next to his fire. As he dried, he dreamt of warmer lands, and of the place he received his gift.
The sun steadily grew warmer. The lands changing from a lush green to dry grass and eventually to dust and cracked rock. The people also changed. They spoke in a language strange to the boy, guiding him with vague gestures and garbled tongues. He stumbled through the desert, trailing behind his guides, accumulating other ragged followers as they went. Then he saw it. Just along the shimmering horizon was a blot of green atop a hill. A beacon in the desert calling out to lost pilgrims seeking to gain its knowledge.
As the weary group approached the high perched temple, the dry winds carried the stench of rotting flesh. Bodies lay strewn on the sand, swarmed by countless vultures. Their decaying flesh being ripped from the bone by great hooked beaks, their bones to be returned in time to that sacred place atop the hill. Like the wilderness surrounding it, the temple’s rites embodied all aspects of life; With death being a necessity for birth and growth.
The boy plunged his face into the natural spring at the gates of the temple, wetting his parched throat and blistered face. A plant grew around the spring, and it grew like no other plant the boy had ever seen. Lines were dug into the earth, allowing water to flow through impossibly straight rows of tall grass. He knew that this was the reason he was sent here.
The days grew longer and longer, with more and more travellers arriving at the oasis. The boy was sitting in the large camp of strangers and the sun had reached its highest point of the year when they were summoned into the temple.
The boy surveyed the cavernous hall, perplexed. A juxtaposition of the natural and artificial. The large room was composed of straight lines and sharp angles, yet etched into the stone was lifelike depictions of the desert fauna; Foxes chasing rabbits, herds of wild horses running along the walls of the room, and in the centre a mighty pillar carrying the image of a large vulture, its magnificent wings spread, scythe beak turned to the side on full display.
The ceremony began with the beating of drums echoing off the high walls. A large stone basin was brought before the audience. With elegant movements, the temple’s residents poured soil into the basin. A human bone was ground up, the bleached white powder scattered onto the soil. They produced seeds from small pouches hung around their necks and buried it in the basin’s loose mixture. Next, they poured that life giving water from the spring onto the soil and began to dance around the room. The boy’s eyes traced their swirling and noticed the moon carvings on the walls. Waxing and waning stone circles. This dance was the passage of time. Each lap of the hall representing months. All while the seed waited in damp soil.
The boy and his fellow travellers were ushered out of the hall and were led to the spring with the strange grass. The grass was cut from the ground and beaten against a flat rock releasing its grain, the stalks being cast aside. The grain was ground down, mixed with water, and baked over a fire. The audience feasted on this new food, along with all manner of desert beasts and a thick liquid that made the boy feel dizzy. The boy hadn’t feasted so much in his entire life. But food wasn’t the gift he had come all this way to receive, at least not in this form. When it was time for them to leave the temple, each group of travellers were presented with a small pouch much like those the dancers wore. The families rejoiced at receiving this benevolent gift, the boy received his gift alone.
The land was dusted with frost, cold winds funnelled through the mountain pass biting at the boy’s skin. Occasionally he would glance behind him, spotting the same wild dog watching from behind a rock or quickly running out of sight. It had been trailing behind him ever since he had shot down that swan.
The boy paused for a moment, then quickly ducked down behind a mound of loose stone. There was a clearing in the woods below, and noises. Speech. A group began to enter the clearing. A band of young men, around the boys age, carrying spears and clubs, wearing the skins of great beasts. He had heard of such people from some of the pilgrims in the desert. Boys sent out into the wilderness, tasked with killing a creature stronger than them, wearing its skin, and returning as men. The boy could hear them from far up the mountain ridge. No doubt the animals in that forest did too. The rear of the line finally emerged into the clearing. They were dragging along women bound at the wrist. Stripped bare, some younger than the boy, some with hair beginning to grey. Most had distended bellies hanging from skeletal frames wholly unsuited for the burden of pregnancy. The boy waited; Still frozen in place long after the party had disappeared back into the treeline. When he could only hear the natural sounds of the forest once more, he rose to his feet and looked up at a path further up the mountain. The wide eyes of the dog stared back at him, waiting for the boy to move ahead so that it too could stand up and continue its journey.
As time passed, the land grew a thick coating of snow. Food was even harder to come by now, yet with each kill he would leave a small pile of refuse some way away from his camp. It would always be gone by the next morning. He didn’t see the dog much. It was a careful companion, and rightfully so. The boy had noticed the dog’s belly swelling over time; It would have pups any day now.
Amongst the snowcapped trees the boy found a glacial lake. Shimmering blue reflecting the cloudless winter sky above it. He would be able to fish here, possibly enough to last him the remainder of the journey. He didn’t know how close he was. He thought he recognised the land surrounding him, yet the drifting snow made him uncertain. He made camp in a small cove along the lakeshore, weaving basket shaped traps and leaving a pile of slightly damp wood for a fire later.
The boy paced along the water, dropping traps where forest streams fed the lake. While he waited, he chipped at the edges of his knife, dull stone flaking off to reveal a hidden sharp edge. The traps hadn’t caught as many as he’d hoped, but it’d keep him fed, and that was enough. After gutting the fish with his newly renovated knife and draping them over the smoky fire to dry, he walked a little bit further down the shore and left a pile of offal. He placed a whole fish at the top, for the pups.
Back at the camp he stripped down, leaving the small pouch tucked in a crevice for safekeeping. It was a while since he bathed, but it wasn’t raining now, and he had a fire to dry off next to. He made his way back to the edge of the water and looked down, gazing at his reflection in the water. It revealed someone unrecognisable to the boy, pale goose pimpled skin stretched over a wiry frame, more bone than muscle. Hair also began to sprout on his upper lip, this journey had changed him.
He tread the freezing water until his feet began to go numb and the sun began to set. As he emerged from the lake, he noticed that the pile of guts was left untouched. No matter, it would be gone by tomorrow. With shaky steps he went back to the camp, barricading the entrance with stones and fallen branches to keep the heat in. He sat next to the fire clutching the gift around his neck, hoping he would see his family again soon.
A sharp gust of wind entered the cove, waking the boy up. Through sleep blurred eyes he saw figures standing over him. He shot up, spun to the entrance, and saw them clearly. The pelt hunters. The eldest stood before him, a cloak of thick sandy coloured fur slung over his shoulder, grinning with teeth that were beginning to brown. An unseen blow struck the side of the boy's head, and he went back to sleep.

Hi, I'm 21 and due to a very abusive and neglectful family situation as a child I developed very unhealthy eating habits. I did, and still do for the most part sustain myself on a diet of sugacarb filled snacks, and dinners (mostly takeaways) of chips, burgers, pizzas and sausages. I'm obviously very aware of how horrible this is.
For the last few years I've been living in shared housing with strangers and have been too anxious to use the kitchen as it's shared with 6 other people. Next week I'm moving into my own flat and am ready to finally sort out my eating habits.
Problem is, I have no idea how. Has anybody got any sort of ideas or a guide for how I can introduce myself to new foods in a progressive way, or even just recommendations for starter dishes? I'm very open to anything but I feel I have mental blocks and it would be best to start slow. Cheers :)

So throughout my life I have talked to myself and I'm not talking about just saying things out loud but having full on conversations with myself doing both sides of the conversation, it started when I was very young maybe 6 I would play with my Legos and come up with elaborate stories about a group of spacemen that lived on a laser battleship and roamed the cosmos with their fantastic fade through technology that allowed their ship to pass through solid matter by phasing matter out of synch with the various subspace fields. They battled a race of machines that existed in another reality that wanted to gain access to the space men's reality through means of a trans dimensional gateway that would allow them to flow into the universe unchecked like a swarm of locusts. Thus the mission of the spacemen was to find these gates and destroy them or dismantle them and use the technology in other means. The spacemen had also reprogrammed some of the machines and had them on their pirate crew as servitors. These machines still retained their memories as part of the swarm they came from and understood what the goal of the machines was, some of them were very heroic and sacrificed themselves to save the crew. This crew was led by a brave commander named Mechanic and he was a just and noble person who valued the lives of his crew above all else. They went on many adventures and through it all I acted out their parts fulfilling whatever dialogue was needed. This behavior did not stop when I stopped playing with Legos but continued to evolve into an ever expanding elaborate mythos regarding gods and various beings that existed as either: finite, trans-finite, infinite, or trans-infinite. Each level was more fantastic than the other as far as its scope of influence across reality. I came to talk to myself and focused on various questions in particular one question manifested early in my life. If you could destroy the world, would you? I wrestled with this question for much of my adolescence while many ofy peers concerned themselves with various sports. I took took up sports, hockey and I wonder how many of those hits and impacts left their mark. As is in my childhood I had displayed many symptoms of autism that went along with that neurotypicality: I banged my head into walls repeatedly, I liked to turn around and around in circles, and I was very socially aloof.
As I grew older my relationship to myself changed and I became convinced of the idea that I had lived the life I was living now multiple times, and that this was merely the most recent iteration. When I tried explaining this to other people they didn't quite understand, that the events that were happening in my life while not necessarily unique only to this life were not something that I felt I was doing for the first time, not deja vu, but a feeling that I was playing out the same track on a record that had already been laid down once before. I continued to talk to myself and a new manifestation of this affect began to take shape. Now instead of talking to myself I began to believe that I was talking to an older version of myself one that had already experienced what I had experienced and tried to offer feedback on how to handle things in my life. This presence was not a tormentor, but a benefactor trying its best to guide and help me along my way and offering insights into my relationships and giving guidance when needed. I could always ask him questions but he was always guarded with his responses, sometimes answering with a question of his own. I came to depend on this presence in my life as someone I could talk to about anything, he knew all my secrets and he understood who I was, often better than I did myself. He encouraged me to write down my ideas and thoughts throughout my life. One of my oldest writings that still survives to this day is a poem that I wrote when I was 13. It is not all in English and at the time I had not studied German, but later in life I learned many of the words like Ahr and Vasharn were proto-germanic words. The meaning of the poem eluded me for years it was as if I had not been the one to write it at all and yet it stuck with me, I would often recite it to myself as if it were a form of meditation.
I did not stop my conversations with myself but in my 30's I began experimenting with recreational drugs and sought out psychedelics, particularly the high prize for me would be partaking of LSD, which I finally did at the age of 31. It was an eye-opening experience as I consumed a tab every 12 hours for 3 days until finally it reached a mad fever pitch that resulted in my first true psychotic break with reality. That experience landed me in the medical tent at the festival I was at with a trazodone flush. This would not be my last experience with acid and each one was steadily more derailing to my life. I did not go out of my way to make it a regular experience but rather was like a sacrament that I partook of to see more than I was seeing at the time. My final experience with it landed me in the psych ward for a week, this would also not be my last time in the psych ward, but it was the last time that I partook of LSD and have not used it since 2017.
My conversations with myself and occasionally even conversations with what I conceived of as gods each with their own name and symbol associated with them continued to occupy my mind. In my 20's I began making "anchors" points in time where I focused my thoughts on a particular moment, if I could tie it to a physical object like a tree or a building even better, the older the better. These anchors became sources of meditation for me when I wanted to contemplate something I would attempt to connect back to these moments in time to convoke whatever I was attempting at the time. In a way it became my form of prayer in my elaborate mythos with its dozens of gods and beings that I kept in my mind and wrote about. However my 40's were a radical departure from what had been up until that point a form of meditation.
In my 30's I had begun to transmute the question that had occupied my adolescence into one of watching for Armageddon, not necessarily the biblical one, but as I put it I kept one eye on apocalypse. This actually started when I learned of the Mayan calendar, its mythos was fascinating to me as was their prognostications regarding the end of the world in 2012. And so I became a watcher, not obsessed, but diligent in my search to understand the threats that might jeopardize my existence and things that one should be wary of. Viruses in particular caught my attention and each outbreak of any note was something I carefully watched and waited to see if pandemic would follow. In November of 2019 I began doing the calculations based on the daily numbers of the novel Corona virus that had begun spreading in East Asia, by December I was telling my coworkers to prepare for a pandemic. Only one person really believed me. Still I kept my eye on apocalypse and while viruses were worrisome a new anxiety began to plague me, climate change.
I found climate change to be fascinating and watched as ecosystems suffered and began telling people about as far back as my late 20's but it never really reached the fever pitch that it did until I was in my 40's and then my affect began to take on a whole new manifestation.
I began to have conversations with myself but now playtime was over, the experiment as I came to understand it had entered its next phase. You see reality is complicated and different worlds are trying to communicate to us because we are them, just a different reality or a different time as I would learn. The goal of this experiment is to send a singular message and in order for that message to be understood there needs to be a mind capable of understanding what that message is. Not everyone has the mental capacity to understand the science involved in the message so the realities have to take what they are given and use the experiences they can to insert parts of the message into the past so that it shapes the future all so that one person at the very least can understand the message in its entirety and progress the civilization to the next level of existence and avoid calamity due to reckless human behavior. This group of beings is not evil, they realize that the most valuable commodity in the universe is information next to time and as such do everything in their power to raise up a technology capable species to create more minds capable of solving problems that they themselves could not solve. To this end they pair minds using technology to send signals to those who can receive them, not everyone has the right neural architecture to allow for a signal lock and sometimes the signal fries the brain of the recipient due to a neural fault that results in the unit burning out and short-circuiting.
But the message is simple and easy to understand
Global loss of glaciation will result in mass volcanism.

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

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A quick thanks to u/aMANTEIGAdo for the Liiry fanart

Transcription Subject: Fink, Landlord/Veln supporter
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
I idly waited in the empty restaurant for this mister Gilt. His secretary had sent me a message saying that he was underway. It’s weird how his secretary has refused to make any phone or face calls, and has only contacted me through messages. It shouldn’t matter though, so long as this Mr. Gilt is a level-headed and reputable leaser.
My train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the jingling of the bell above the entrance. Walking through the doorway had to be the most veteran-looking exterminator I have ever seen. He wore 3 exterminator badges, but far more impressive than that was how he was covered in scars. They were concentrated especially heavily around his neck, most likely from predators attempting to bite through his throat, and somehow he’d survived so many attacks. What did puzzle me further though was how unevenly his fur was shaven and the strange look in his eyes, one that I could not place. “Hello. Mister Gilt, I presume?”
“The one and only. I’m here for the interview and to see the restaurant.” I now noticed that he was wearing a pawsfree headset. Its green light was blinking, like it was on.
“I’m sorry, but are you having a call right now?”
“No! No, I am a very busy venlil and always wear this in case I get an important call.” A bit strange, but I suppose not too out of the ordinary.
“Well, could you tell something about yourself?”
“As you can see, Gilt, er, I have spend decades removing the taint of Venlil Prime and keeping the population safe,” Gilt said in a rather strange way, like he was reading it off a paper; maybe he had memorized the line, expecting the question during the interview. “Now that I’m retired from that lifestyle, I have begun investing my well-earned money in small businesses.”
“That all sounds good. Your secretary already gave me most of the information I needed, like how you’re going to turn this place into a salad-based restaurant; he called it a ‘salad house.’ And I’m sure that I don’t have to ask you what your policy on humans is.” I gave a small chuckle, imagining a veteran exterminator like him welcoming humans warmly into his restaurant.
“You don’t have to worry about me or any employee of mine ever accepting those tainted scum into my establishment. I can’t wait for Veln to be voted in, he will surely make sure that those filthy humans will be cast off our magnificent Venlil Prime,” Gilt said, again quite stiff. He might just be nervous.
“Rightfully said, he sure has my vote.” Speaking of humans, is that one across the street? Over Gilt’s shoulder, I spotted a human making a phone call in an old, rusted-up van. He was looking straight at me, up until he noticed I was looking back and quickly looked away. With relief, I noticed that a pair of exterminators were walking straight towards the car. The human seemed to end his phone call and opened up a window to speak to the exterminators. With that small problem solved, I turned my attention back to Gilt, who seemed to be panicking a bit. I suppose even someone with nerves of steel as him can get nervous over simple things like an interview. He pressed a button on the pawsfree headset, and the blinking light turned off.
Transcription Subject: Vuccen, Krakotl Exterminator
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
Another day, another pointless patrol. I wish they would give us something real to do. But with all those ‘animal’ welfare laws and us no longer being allowed to lock up anyone with predator disease, we have nothing left to do but roam the streets in the hopes we find something that we are allowed to do. My prayers were answered, because not 10 meters ahead of us, I saw a human sitting in the passenger seat of a terribly beat-up van covered in rust and algae. Weirdly enough, it had a sideview mirror on the driver’s side. Finally, something to do. “Come on Cuko, I see a human let’s see if it’s hiding something,” I chirped to my venlil partner.
“Please be nice to them, they hardly ever do anything wrong.” She’s so kind, too bad that she sometimes focuses it on the wrong kind.
I tapped against the window with the talon of my right wing, and the human quickly ended a call and began to crank the window open by hand. “Hey, if it isn’t Burny-bird, how are you two doing?” he said, switching glances between me and my partner.
All of a sudden, I recognized the human’s face; it was the same one that purposely angered me last month [chapter 2]. “Get out of the car,” I demanded while I unholstered my flamethrower.
The human casually placed his arm in the window and calmly asked, “Why, what have I done?” Cuko behind me signed with her tail in agreement.
“Random search, now get out of the vehicle.”
“Sure, ‘random,’ totally not out of some bias to antagonize a specific species,” he said sarcastically as he got out of the car with one hand raised while the other opened the door.
Cuko guided him to the front of the car for a pat down. “Please place your claws on the hood and spread your hindlegs.” If evolving into predators wasn’t enough, they had to be completely bald too. With all those false pelts, humans can hide so many dangerous items without anyone being the wiser.
I wretched when I looked into the car; the floor was littered with mouldy cans of vegetables, nearly empty save for the rotting scraps and overgrown utensils. “W-why?”
The human spoke up while he was being patted down by my partner, “I know what you’re looking at —ough, careful with those nails— and those are not mine, all that junk is from the owner, my friend. I have been urging him to clean it up, and I’ve even thought about doing it for him, but he really should learn to take care of himself.”
I began to sift through the junk, relieved that I am covered from talon to neck in a rubber fireproof suit, not having to coat my feathers in this filth. Outside, I heard that Cuko hadn’t found anything dangerous or illegal on it, and that its name was ‘Maarten.’ I was about to give up on finding anything until I pulled a lever on a small rectangular object I found in the glovebox, and a small knife flipped out. “Aha, got you now filthy predator. Why do you have this?”
“That’s a pocketknife, that’s just a tool. I have it in the glovebox with the rest of my tools to keep this hunk of rust running.”
My partner spoke up with a concerned look on her face, “It’s not illegal to own a knife that small. You probably have bigger ones in your kitchen drawer, we can’t arrest him for that.”
It looked away from me and continued looking at Cuko, as it did before I spoke up. I shudder imagining what predatory thoughts lie behind those binocular-eyes.
Transcription Subject: Maarten de Groot, Human Refugee/Meat dealer
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
Don’t pet her, don’t pet her, she has a flamethrower.
Transcription Subject: Vuccen, Krakotl Exterminator
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
Giving up on finding anything in the front, I slid open the side door, revealing even more junk. At least these look more promising…and not covered in mould. Why is there a dishwasher and 5 blenders in here? “I noticed that the wool on the top of your head is a lot more puffy then on most venlil,” the human carelessly remarked. Of course, it’s going to point out her insecurities, typical predators.
“It is, you don’t have to mention it,” Cuko replied in an annoyed tone.
“It looks good on you, it’s cute.” What?!
“Oh, er, thank you…very much.” I can’t listen to this, she’s to naïve to understand that it’s just tricking her. I continued searching the back of the van for anything, traces of meat, weapons, dead venlil. I opened up one of the 3 large boxes that were hidden behind a piece of plywood that was haplessly placed there. There was a cool box inside. Jackpot! To my disappointment, it was empty, and so was the next one, and the one after that. Stil,l though, why would anyone have these hidden away like this?
“Why are there 3 cool boxes hidden away in the back in back?” I asked, demanding an answer from the human and interrupting it from its conversation with my partner.
“I don’t know, why is any of that stuff in there? On our way over here, we saw a dishwasher on the side of the road and he threw it- well he asked me to throw it in the back.” This is going nowhere.
Transcription Subject: Fink, Landlord/Veln supporter
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
“And that is why you should never combine drain cleaner and aluminium in a metal canister,” Gilt said, finishing his strange explanation.
“Huh, I never knew how to make an acid bomb. Shall we begin with the tour?,” I asked, finally cutting off Gilt’s rambling about chemistry. What a strange person.
The dining area wasn’t much to look at, it was completely empty save for a bar that was bolted to the floor, hence why the previous renters didn’t take it with them. Gilt walked around seemingly at random, looking at the outlets and taking a glance at the empty shelves behind the bar. “Are these taps pressured by gas?,” Gilt asked while he pulled on a lever and being briefly disappointed by the lack of alcohol.
“Yes, I think there was room for 2 canisters, but I have to look that up. May I ask you something? Why do you know so much about chemistry as an exterminator?” Gilt’s tail suddenly began flicking nervously left and right.
“Uhhh, uhhh, I uhh, studied it, yes, I studied it, but I was better cut as an exterminator.” I was unable to get a proper read on him; he sounds like he’s lying or at least nervous about something.
“Shall we take a look at the kitchen?”
“Yes!” Gilt nearly yelled, and he instantly got up and speed walked through the kitchen door. When I walked through the door, he was fawning over the industrial freezer lined against the wall. “This thing is big enough to fit a body inside…hypothetically.”
“…Yes, it would be very useful for you for keeping your vegetables preserved. There is also plenty of counter space, and even a strayu-oven,” I said, doing my best sales pitch.
Gilt immediately took a liking to the oven. “Can this thing make other stuff too?”
“Well, it’s a strayu-oven. I don’t know what else you want to make with it, especially in a salad-house.”
“I don’t know! Perhaps other food that needs to be warm?” Gilt said dismissively, his tail nervously flicking left and right. I think he’s just very nervous.
“I am quite glad you’re an exterminator,” I said, trying to relieve the awkwardness. “I really don’t want to have any humans in any of my buildings, especially not after what I heard on the news not a quarter claw ago.”
He gave a confused ear flick. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s all over the news. Some humans blew up the front of the exchange program headquarters. Those dangerous predators should have never been allowed to stay on our planet.”
Gilt his ears folded back and showed a snarl, something hardly any venlil did and combined with the fact that he looked so dangerous made me instinctively back up. “Those sons of farsuls, I will make them pay! Humanity First is making the humans’ reputation even worse!”
“Calm down sir, you’re no longer part of the force.” He really takes this personally. You can take the exterminator out of the guild, but you can’t take the guild out of the exterminator. “Hey, you seem like a good leaser for this place.” And the only participant. I quickly said, hoping to change the subject. He was a bit intense before, but now, he was starting to scare me. It’s not like I trust this man, but I need to lease this place out too not go under. To many leasers and renters pulled out after going bankrupt, after Venlil Prime left the Federation. All because Tarva wanted to sleep with a predator.
Miraculoisly this seemed to work miraculously, “Oh, great, where do I sign?” His ears lifted up again into a happy expression, though only for only a short moment until his pawsfree headset went off and he immediately answered it. The green light began blinking once again. “What?...No…No…Yes…I already did it, without your help…bye…bye!”
Transcription Subject: Vuccen, Krakotl Exterminator
Date [standardized human time]: February 24, 2137
I noticed Cuko was looking a bit confused at a piece of paper with some venlilian writing on it. “What do you have there?”
“That human from just then, gave me his phone number for some reason.” She’s too naïve for this line of work.
A/N:
As always I really appreciate comments, it gives a lot more satisfaction than a few up arrows.
A special thanks to u/InstantSquirrelSoup for proofreading. Check out his fic: Arxur Hospitality
[First] [Previous]

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

Hi, african-american here. Can we please stop it with the woke bs now. We ALL know why specifically Sasuke, the only black samurai ever, was chosen as the second protag. Why didn't they do what Ghost of Tsushima did? If it was an AC game about medieval West Africa and the the protagonists were a black woman and a japanese sailor who accidentely landed there , accusations of racism would instantly pop up. But apparently the hate towards white people has now spread the South-East Asia too smh.
The game isnt even out yet, yet I know that Jin Sakai will be a better writtten character than Sensei Token-san.

I am doing zero hour on normal and the maze puzzle where you have to step on the correct tiles has been changed from yesterday. Does anybody have any idea what the correct pattern is?
EDIT: I found it. Starting from far left: north 3, east 2, south 1, east 2, north 3, west 4, north 1
Using compass directions to avoid confusion about which ways to turn. Hopefully someone can come up with a better visual guide. Fuck this mission

Okay, sorry for what's going to be such a rant/depression post. I haven't graduated yet; I'm currently pursuing my MCA and working as an intern at a major banking company. They're paying me well, but that's not the issue. It all started when I was hired as an intern. Everything seemed fine at first; I got a QA Automation role, although I wanted to work as a developer. I thought, 'That's okay, automation isn't so bad.' It was a 6-month internship, and for the first month, I had no work. My knowledge transfers hadn't started yet, so I began begging my manager to initiate them. After that, I personally started learning the frameworks mentioned in the job description.
One month later, the knowledge transfers finally began. I got an overview of the whole application but still hadn't seen any code. Instead, I was given some manual testing work to do. In the second month, I started working with Selenium and REST ASSURED and got access to the codebase. However, the code was poorly documented, and we weren't even briefed on the models or anything used in the code. My mentor literally told me to search for Selenium on the Guru99 website and start reading.
In the third month, we were assigned some automation work, but it was basic - just clicking the run button and maintaining an Excel file for the output. We weren't given anything substantial to code. Then, there was a release going on, and they were short on manual testers, so they put us back into manual and regression testing. My fourth month was wasted on this. Platforms like YouTube and LeetCode were blocked, so I couldn't upskill during this period.
This was a full-time internship, a 9-6 job with over 2 hours of traveling, so I couldn't do any personal work. After work, I was usually so tired that I'd go straight to bed as soon as I reached home. I was sure I wouldn't be getting a full-time offer, so I started applying off-campus. However, my college is a tier 3 Private college, and it won't be providing more campus placements. I've applied to over 500+ jobs for freshers directly through career pages, but all I get are rejection emails or no replies.
I've tried platforms like Naukari, LinkedIn, InstaHyre, Cutshort, and every method I could think of. Still, no replies. I have 1.5 months of internship left, which is good because I can build my emergency fund during this time. However, I still don't know what I'll be doing after that. I need to pay rent, send a bit of money home, and pay for food and everything. I'm in such a bad situation right now, and I'm so depressed. My health is degrading; I'm eating packaged food to save money, and I can't sleep until 5 AM. I have to take melatonin to sleep. I'll be messaging on LinkedIn for referrals for now.
Is the job market really this bad right now? Please guide me on what I should be doing. If Anyone Can referral me that would be really appreciated or guidance on resume would be appreciated Too.

The upcoming game Assassin's Creed: Shadows will feature two playable main characters: Naoe, a female ninja and member of the Assassins, and Yasuke, a male samurai of African origins based on a real person. Many Gamers^tm take issue with a black man taking such a prominent role in a game set in Japan.
Games thread sorted by controversial
An absolute slap in the face to the Asian community
As an Asian guy who's been waiting for an (East) Asian Assassin's Creed for years, I can't wait to play the only non-Asian samurai around while killing droves of Asian guys, thanks Ubisoft!
Asian Women are not the same as Asian Men. Especially in Western Media where Asian Men are often erased from the roles of Protagonists or Main Characters.

Looking for best recommendations on how to spend 10 days in Italy in the fall (Sept/Oct). I've traveled all over europe and asia, but have yet to explore Italy and think it's time to do so!
Will just be my partner and I, and both of us love food, drink, culture (but not huge guided tour people - just like to explore and go where the wind blows us kind of thing). Thinking ~3 days in 3 different places to get a feel, and not spend too much time on intra-italy travel.
What's our best bet to be efficient with our time and money? Is it reasonable to expect to make $5K work (not including airfare)?
Thank you!

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/article/2024/may/14/wedding-planning-guide

Weddings can be overwhelming – here’s how to navigate the cost, clothing and carbon footprint
From plus-size gowns to debt, eloping and guest etiquette, these stories can be a guide for us – through good times and bad
Wedding season is about to enter full bloom.
To honor the season accordingly, the Guardian has put together a series unpacking what weddings look like in 2024.

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/article/2024/may/13/brides-tiktok-influencers-brands-free

The bride-to-be proving you don’t have to be an influencer to get free stuff
Kayla King figured it couldn’t hurt to ask brands for a little help. Now she’s saved a bundle, and she’s ‘sharing the wealth’

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/article/2024/may/03/weddings-eloping-marriage-money

There was no time for a wedding – so we eloped. Maybe you should too

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/article/2024/may/08/gen-z-weddings-costs-saving-money

Gen Z says weddings should be cheaper. Here’s how to make that happen

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/2024/may/01/wedding-costs-breakdown

'It blew our budget by a massive amount’: four couples break down their wedding costs

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/article/2024/may/02/sustainable-eco-friendly-wedding

How to have a sustainable wedding: six tips for a greener ‘I do’
From excessive travel to food waste, weddings can have a huge carbon footprint. Here’s how to plan an eco-friendly celebration

https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/2024/may/01/plus-size-wedding-dress-shopping

Finding a wedding dress is hard. It’s worse when you’re mid- or plus-size