I am from a small town and when it comes eating out there is minimal for a quick bite. Nowhere that i know of sells a grilled cheese without having to sit down for a meal. Sometimes we just dont have the time. There was nothing like rolling up to the counter of a once infamous canadian resturant, a staple of our idenity, to recieve a coffee, a grilled cheese, and a donut if i was feeling lucky. But now i am stuck with pizza instead, something i can get at any of the other pizza shops, granted theres not much, we happen to have a local shop that sells by the slice at a great price. So this is my rant, i am distraught, saddened by the idea of them taking my beloved grilled cheese. This doesnt seem to be the first time they have made a silly move to cater to a wider audience. I want breakfast. I want lunch. I want simplicity. Sure, i could make my own but everyone has those days where you jus want to eat out, whether it be laziness or a beautiful treat for a weekend morning. Grilled cheese had been my go too since i was probably 12 years old. I was happy, content to know when i wanted one i didnt have to order one at a sit down resturant where theres endless better options and almsot seems inexcusable to order something so simple at a real restaurant. But tims? It was okay, i felt heard, i felt reasonable in my choices.
My anger rides from within burning a deep flame of hatred in my heart that will no extinguish until i know i can throw their pizza off of the menu. It is dry, dry like my eyes void of tears. Im frustrated, enraged by my lost love being forver gone. My childhood memeories vanished in an instant it seems. Grilled cheese from dons? Gone. Whistle dog from anw? Gone. And now my most beloved, the one thing i could count on for i do not eat their wraps, i found there sandwhiches questionable, but there grilled cheese? It was there, it was solid, it was edible unlike most of there menu. I now sit and wallow in my grief. Their egg sammy was the only other thing but even then, tims is the last place i want that from. I am sad. Grilled cheese felt like home, no where else can i go and simply get a grilled cheese on a lunch break with a coffee and something sweet. It has all fallen apart. I, have fallen apart like a crushed donut on lunch rush
So timmies, tims, Mr. Horton, whatever it is you want to be called, why make villainous choices? Life is to short to make mistakes at this scale. We must cherish what we have. Its important to look to the future, but its just as important to live in today, be grateful of what we have. But now, it is only What we once had

Okay read online on their menu 17k which is 108 dollars. . .
It errored out, I couldn't actual pay. . I kept trying to do a reservation so now I have 3 -26k charges on my credit card. WTF happened? Did I misread the cost of this place?
26k for lunch seems I hope a mistake

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

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

Hi everyone,
Here's the summary for the second half of Day 3 of Safe House. There were also quite a few talking-based activities today, and I directly transcribed a bit more this time, especially during the cooking competition, because a lot was happening so I wanted all the funny exchanges to be translated. Hope you guys enjoy!
Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/live/cjn8w8j06ik?feature=shared

• They're having a jam session when we join
• 3:45 Neo and Luke are improvising a song about all the guys. I'll just translate the lyrics that Luke sings in Thai because he also sings in English a bit too. When you hear Neo talking/singing, he's trying to translate what Luke is singing, but sometimes he's a little off.
  • Mix: "can be good but also bad. Likes to eat a lot with Pond"
  • Phuwin: (sings in English)
  • Pond: (sings in English) "Everyone knows that he always wants to eat rice with Thai omelette (extra salty)"
  • Neo: "He's probably the most annoying in the house, but he's also cute. He loves annoying everyone a lot, especially Earth. That's the kind of person he is. He plays guitar really well."
  • Khaotung: "I like how he likes similar things as me. I like how he plays darts with me. I like how he also wins games like me."
  • (pause while they laugh)
  • 6:30 Earth: "Everyone who's watching this livestream knows that he likes to wear this red sweatshirt." (pause because Neo needs to think of what to play) "Red shirt, red shirt, has nice stuff in his hair" (then sings in English) (pause because of Neo's mistranslation) "Actually, he should be the best in the house, but right now he has the lowest score. But that's alright, because there's lots of time for him to win more games."
  • Gun: "Yellow shirt, like the Sang Sang that he's the presenter of. He's really tiny, but his smile is huge. He's also very good-looking and the nicest in the house" (then Luke says something a bit funny but rude, which makes Gun get up and try to push a pillow in Luke's face)
• 9:50 Mix and Gun go to the kitchen. The others realise that they can watch the footage of the kitchen from the TV.
• 10:45 Neo and Khaotung consider improvising a song for Luke since he didn't get to sing about himself, but Luke declines.
• 12:15 PD asks everyone to assemble in the kitchen. She makes a notification sound before speaking so that the guys don't get startled, which they appreciate
• 13:20 Medal competition sponsored by Sea Me Now. Gun reads the rules. They will divide themselves into two teams. Each team will send two members to prepare "yum" (a type of Thai salad served at room temperature, often involving some kind of noodles like glass noodles) within 15 minutes, using the seafood from Sea Me Now. Meanwhile, the remaining 4 guys will wait in another room until the dishes are ready, and they will come and blindly taste the dishes and vote on which dish is better. Winning team gets one medal each.
  • 16:00 PD asks the teams which member each thinks is the best cook in the team. Phuwin is the best of the left team, and the right-hand team are undecided between Gun and Khaotung. At 17:30 PD asks which member from each group is the worst at cooking. The guys start to figure out that PD is going to pair the best cook with the worst cook, so the right-hand team try to blag that Khaotung and Gun don't know how to cook that well after all. At 18:30, Neo is the only one who hasn't caught on to PD's plan, so he raises his hand to indicate that he's the worst cook on that team because he thinks it means he won't have to cook. Final cooking teams are Phuwin/Neo and Gun/Pond. The rest go to wait in the play zone.
  • 21:00 Phuwin has only just realised that they are required to make "yum," which he doesn't know how to make. He mistakenly thought they could make whatever they wanted. Gun is also not confident.
  • 23:00 Cooking timer begins. Both teams decide to use the salmon. Phuwin/Neo decide they're going to leave their salmon raw. Pond asks Gun if they're going to leave theirs raw too, and Phuwin accuses him of copying them. Gun decides they're going to lightly blanch their salmon.
  • 28:00 Neo goes to look for a food processor. Gun asks if he can process enough chilis for both teams, and Neo initially jokingly declines, but then agrees.
  • 30:15 Phuwin asks Neo to make the glass noodles. Neo isn't sure how to prepare them, and Phuwin guesses that they're supposed to just put them briefly in boiling water (which is correct)
  • 31:30 We cut to the play zone where the tasting teams do a light brand plug for Sea Me Now. They teach Luke a new word that basically means "great." (I guess it's kind of like "sick" in English how the actual definition of the word is different, but it's slang when used in context). Mix is confident that Gun/Pond are going to make the better dish.
  • 37:00 PD announces one minute remaining, and that "the customers are complaining." Gun/Pond finish with some time to spare and present their dish to the camera, but Phuwin/Neo finish a little late (but it's fine; there will be no penalty. PD just keeps rushing them to finish)
  • 40:30 PD asks the teams to write the names of their respective dishes on the mini boards provided. Pond originally writes a name that indirectly reveals that he and Gun made that dish, and PD says that the names can't have any hints of who made which dish.
  • 43:30 PD asks the teams to pose with their respective dishes, and invites the audience to screenshot and caption them. Gun/Pond's dish translates to, "Definitely delicious; try it and see," and Phuwin/Neo's dish (roughly) translates to, "Just making a 'yum,' but don't know how to make it" (It's a rhyme/pun in Thai)
  • 44:30 Cooking teams leave the kitchen and go sit in the living room so they can watch the tasting on the TV. PD warns them not to cheat while the teams are changing rooms.
  • 47:15, the tasting team goes to the kitchen. They each get 3 ping pong balls with which they can vote. Phuwin/Neo's dish is the white side, and Gun/Pond's is the blue side. The votes can be cast by dropping the balls into the coloured containers corresponding to the dishes.
  • 48:00 It is immediately obvious to all of them immediately which team made which dish. Transcription starting from 48:20:
    • Earth: "Why don't we start by judging the presentation before we taste?"
    • Mix: "Looking at these two dishes, this one (blue) is definitely wins."
    • Earth (trying to help his team): "I think I'm going to go with this one (white). Listen, none of us know which dish was made by which team..."
    • Luke: "But we have theories."
    • Mix: "I just want to know in what way this (white) dish could possibly be more beautiful than that (blue) dish."
    • (pause while they think of some nonsense) Luke: "The vegetables. They just look so nice. And there are so many of them."
    • Earth: "I'm giving it to this team (white)."
    • Luke: "Me too."
    • (audio cuts out for a few seconds)
    • Mix is saying "The truth?!" to implore Earth and Luke to admit the truth, but they stick to their decisions
    • Luke: "It's my personal opinion. I'm not changing."
    • 49:55 Mix comes up to the camera and mouths, "There are cheaters here."
    • Earth and Luke say, "Who knows? This plate could have been made by anyone."
    • 50:15 Mix: "Okay, let's move on to the flavour." They taste Phuwin/Neo's first.
    • Earth: "I hear laughing outside. Who's laughing?"
    • 51:00 Luke: "Very good."
    • Earth looks at Luke. Luke: "It's actually good. It suits my palate."
    • Mix: "I mean, it's alright. It's not bad. The salmon and imitation crab are good. They taste really fresh. But the noodles are awkwardly super cold. Like, is this bamee yen (a cold noodle dish)? Also, there's just something not right. It's sour, and it's like trying to be spicy but not spicy, trying to be salty but not salty. It's not balanced. What do you think, Earth?"
    • Earth: "I'll give it to you honestly."
    • Mix: (puts his hand on Earth's shoulder and looks into his eyes) "Yes, give it to us honestly."
    • Earth: "Okay, honestly, I like the raw ingredients. I like that the imitation crab meat is in large chunks. But..."
    • Mix: "Look, he's talking about the raw ingredients. He's not even talking about the flavour of the dish."
    • Earth: "The flavour is like how Mix described. And honestly, it's sour. It's so sour. Uncomfortably sour. Like, too sour. Can I have some water?"
    • 52:40 Luke: "I really like how there are lots of vegetables here. That means that dish is really healthy for you. If you ask me if I can eat the other dish, I can eat it, but it won't be as healthy as this dish."
    • Earth: "Oh, okay, so he's talking about the health value of the dish."
    • Mix: "But we're talking about the flavour of the dish, here, no?"
    • Luke: "I'm a person who doesn't like eating things too spicy. (uses the vocab word he learned earlier) So I like that this one is a good balance. It's not too spicy for me.
    • 53:35 Earth looks at Luke and says, "Is it not too sour? I think you've already helped our team a lot here."
    • Luke: "No, I don't think so. I honestly think it's good. But we haven't tried the other dish."
    • Earth: "That's true. Different people have different flavour preferences. Some like super sour, for example. And if those people also don't like spicy food, this dish is for them."
    • 54:05 They ask for Khaotung's review. He pauses and then quietly says, "Um... Sour. It's sour."
    • Mix: "How about between the words 'delicious' and 'not delicious'?"
    • Khaotung: "Well, I can definitely eat it. But it's super sour. It's not well-rounded."
    • 54:35 They move on to taste Gun/Pond's dish. Mix comes to the camera and enthusiastically whispers, "It's SO good!"
    • 55:15 Earth: "I like the creativity of this team. The salmon was raw, but this team lightly blanched the fish so that the inside is still raw, which adds a lot of layers to the flavours and textures of the dish. I like it."
    • Mix: "Can I speak extendedly? It's SO good. It's amazing. It's well-rounded, yummy, the textures are amazing, and it's easy to see that the person who made it really knows how to cook. I'm pretty sure I know who made it." Khaotung agrees.
    • 56:40 Luke decides to still vote for the white dish because the second dish is a bit too spicy for him. Earth sees that there's no way that the white dish can win anymore, so he puts his last ball into the white container anyway.
  • 58:00 More brand plugging for Sea Me Now
  • 59:45 PD calls the cooking teams back to the kitchen to announce the results.
  • 1:00:35 Luke says to Phuwin/Neo: "I tried, guys." Neo says, "I love this guy. He said the truth straight from his heart." Earth says that he tried to say the truth too. Neo complains that he was working with so many ingredients he had no idea how to use. I was just putting everything in randomly. Mix asks who did the seasoning/flavouring, and Neo said, "Me, but we didn't have time to taste it because we ran out of time."
  • 1:02:00 The cooking teams try each other's dishes (and Phuwin/Neo try their own dish for the first time too). Neo tries Gun/Pond's dish. Earth immediately feeds him a huge bite of his own dish. Neo pauses and says, "It seems like it's missing something." Mix and Earth say, "Not something. Many things. Like deliciousness." Earth feeds some to Phuwin, and he also doesn't like it.
    • 1:02:45 Neo looks at Earth and says, "You did the right thing." (in reference to criticising this dish and voting for the other one). Earth says, "So you understand me now?!"
    • Neo makes fun of how Gun was previously dramatic about not knowing how to make "yum." Gun says that he truly wasn't sure, and Neo feeds Gun some of Phuwin/Neo's dish saying, "See? This is what it means to truly not know what you're doing." Gun's eyes water while eating it, and he says, "It's so sour," and goes to hug Neo and Phuwin.
  • 1:04:00 More brand plugging for Sea Me Now
  • 1:05:00 Neo says that he's glad that there's at least someone (Luke) who enjoys eating his food. He then realises that Luke has only been eating the seafood and the vegetables, none of which have been flavoured/seasoned. Luke then takes a bite of the noodles to appease him.
• 1:06:00 Seafood lunch. Menu includes (professionally-made) "yum" with salmon and imitation crab topped with salmon roe; oysters with a seafood sauce; scallops fried with garlic, salt, and pepper; and grilled salmon steaks
  • 1:17:45 Khaotung and Mix go to the kitchen to make some more food with the fresh seafood they have
  • 1:19:15 Luke asks Earth why he's sitting so far away from him, and Neo turns it into a pun about Earth wanting scissors ("sitting far away" sounds a bit similar to "looking for scissors")
  • 1:21:10 This is Pond's first time trying mashed potatoes. Luke and Phuwin explain what they are to him and explain that in some Western countries, they eat less rice than they do in Asia, so sometimes they eat potatoes as the starch (a lot of the dishes for this meal were prepared in a Western way)
  • 1:22:30 Neo teaches them Isan slang that a more polite phrase to basically say, "BS-ing." They also mention the Central equivalent of the phrase. They ask Luke what an equivalent in English would be, but Luke can only think of "BS-ing," so he says that he can't say it out loud. He eventually goes with "spinning stuff." Neo says that he feels like English doesn't have as many rude/swearing words as Thai does, and Earth makes a joke that he wouldn't be surprised if Neo's name was rude in English.
  • 1:23:55 They like how Luke seems especially giggly today, so they try to keep him laughing. Neo says a Thai phrase/idiom that basically means that he's not even being funny to his full capacity right now, then Earth and Phuwin give some sarcastic remarks that are like playful insults to Neo, which Luke continues laughing at.
  • 1:26:00 Phuwin and Gun join Mix and Khaotung in the kitchen to cook some more seafood. They're prepping some salmon, scallops, and oysters. Gun wants to make lightly floured and pan-fried tofu.
  • 1:27:30 The guys at the table are joking to Luke that it's Thai culture to be polite to people, but then the closer you get to them, the more you insult them. You start the insults behind their back, but then you can eventually insult them to their face (it's not technically false, especially for some friend groups, but the way they were explaining it is a bit too much, hahaha). Then they demonstrate that, actually, the best thing to do is to be polite to someone's face, and then behind their back, you compliment them again.
  • 1:29:00 They exchange the English and Thai versions of the phrase "fishing for compliments"
  • 1:32:20 Luke is trying to tell the story of why he came to Thailand, but he's still in his giggly mood. He wanted to be an actor in the US, but he was scouted from IG to come and be a model in Thailand, so he arranged to come for 3 months, but he liked it, so he stayed.
  • 1:34:10 They mention that they're glad they have Neo in the house because otherwise it would be so much quieter and less entertaining.
  • 1:40:15 Gun brings the tofu for the guys at the table to try. They struggle a bit because it's still very hot, but they approve.
  • 1:43:45 The guys at the table talk about ventriloquists. Luke explains how in the US, ventriloquism can either be creepy or funny depending on the act, but in Thailand it tends to mostly be creepy. They start discussing some related film/series plots.
  • 1:59:30 Pond, Neo, and Luke dance a bit for the cameras
• 2:01:00 Relaxing time. Mix presents the dish he made to the camera: spaghetti pad kee mao (drunken noodles) with scallops, crab, and salmon roe. He brings it to the living room for everyone else to try.
  • 2:08:40 Some language lessons. Phuwin and Luke ask Neo some questions for him to answer in English. They also ask Luke some questions in Thai. They try to ask Neo and Luke to speak English and Thai (respectively) for two minutes each, language exam-style.
• 2:13:50 PD asks the losing team from the last game to go wash dishes. They say that the sink area is small, so two people will wash at a time.
  • 2:36:05 Earth drops and breaks a dish. Earth tells a story about how when he was very young, he hated washing dishes, so sometimes he would secretly break some dirty dishes behind his house so he wouldn't have to clean as many. Eventually his mother started wondering where all the dishes were disappearing to, but she just kept buying more
• 2:41:15 PD asks for someone to wake Gun (who's napping on the sofa) and assemble in the area in front of the medal board for the next medal game. She asks Mix "the one with many medals" and Earth "the one with hardly any medals" to take the lead in reading the rules. Earth is offended, but PD says, "Earth, you have to accept the truth."
  • 2:42:40 Game sponsored by Super Coffee. They will divide into two teams. King of the Day chooses the pairs that will compete together. Each person in the pair will wear a sumo costume with a bag of Super Coffee attached to their back. Whoever is the first to successfully remove the bag of coffee from their opponent's back wins that round, and their team is awarded one point in the game. Once all the pairs have competed, the winners will compete to determine the final winner. Winning team gets one medal each. The rules say nothing about singing or having dancing breaks during each match, but the guys do so anyway.
• 3:21:20 PD asks everyone to change into swimming clothes and meet at the pool. Phuwin has to study, so he won't join for the next activity.
• 3:39:00 Neo reads the directions. They're going to play the Werewolf (ma paa) game. Between the 7 of them, they will randomly get assigned roles: 2 werewolves (who can kill people), 1 bodyguard (who can choose someone to protect from death each round), 1 seer (who can privately uncover the identity of one other player each round), 1 hunter (who, if they are killed, can choose one other person they suspect of being a werewolf to die with them), and 2 villagers. PD will be the narratoreferee. The game is basically between the werewolves and everyone else. Each round, in order, the narrator will instruct the werewolves to choose someone to kill, then the bodyguard to choose someone to protect, then the seer to privately uncover the identity of one other player. Then everyone must talk and decide on one person to kill out of suspicion of being a werewolf. If both werewolves are killed, the common people win. If there's at least one werewolf left at the end of the game, the werewolves win.
  • [PD is a very dramatic and colourful narrator, which is why everyone is reacting to most of her lines throughout the game. Werewolf in Thai is "ma paa" and villagetownsperson is "chao baan," to help you guys understand what's going on. All the other roles are called in English, although sometimes they call the bodyguard "moh" which means doctor]
  • 3:45:30 First game: Werewolves=Gun/Earth, Bodyguard=Neo, Seer=Khaotung, Hunter=Mix
    • First round: No one dies
    • Second round: Pond dies. They vote to kill Khaotung
    • 4:04:45 Third round: No one dies. Neo says that Mix is a common person because he saved this round. They vote to kill Earth
    • 4:13:30 Fourth round: Neo dies. They vote to kill Gun. Common people win.
  • 4:19:00 Second game. They're no longer allowed to say whether they saved someone or not. Werewolves=Khaotung/Mix, Bodyguard=Gun, Seer=Luke, Hunter=Pond
    • First round: Earth dies. They know someone is lying because too many people are claiming to be villagers. They think they should believe Neo because he was so honest last round. They vote to kill Khaotung.
    • 4:34:10 Second round: Pond dies and choses to kill Mix with him. Common people win.
  • 4:37:50 PD asks them to vote on the best and worst liar. They aren't sure yet, but Khaotung is voted the worst liar. Punishment is cleaning one of the bathrooms tomorrow.
• 4:41:15 Relaxing time. Neo gets thrown in the pool.
• 5:08:00 Fan talk
  • Group 1: It's supposed to be the 4 top scorers on the medal board, but Khaotung is still showering, so Earth goes in his place because he's lowest. Neo did a bit more exercise with Luke this morning. They recap the walking doll game from the morning and how random and unpredictable it was. Mix was bitter that he felt like being King today was more of a burden than Luke's experience the previous day. Luke says it's probably because Mix's Thai is better, so they felt like using him for more jobs/tasks. They recap the cooking competition; Gun/Mix say they were lucky that they were on the team that had several options of people who knew how to cook. They talked about how the judging was biased, but Earth said that at the end, he had to admit the fact that Phuwin/Neo's dish was so sour that he could feel it in his brain. Gun/Mix were glad that they didn't have to wash dishes today because there were so many dishes to wash, and they made fun of Earth breaking the dish. They all enjoyed the sumo game. They started to regret that they started the singing/dancing gag, but they committed to it for entertainment purposes. They agreed that Khaotung is indeed the dark horse because no one expected him to be that quick in the sumo game. Everyone also had fun playing Werewolf.
    • 5:18:45 Fan comments: They like how Gun seems like the eldest brother in the house, taking care of everyone. People made fun of Earth's childhood dish-breaking story. (The guys eventually start talking amongst themselves, mainly about how Earth doesn't think he has a chance to win anymore, and they say that there are many more opportunities for medals in the coming days, so anything can happen)
  • 5:26:15 Group 2: They talk about how much Pond likes rice with Thai omelette [note: pretty much everyone in Thailand loves it, but Pond feels like eating it all the time], and he likes to make Phuwin make it for him in this house. They're all impressed with how good Khaotung was at the sumo game. Phuwin/Neo explain what happened during the cooking competition: Phuwin usually never eats "yum," but last week, his family made some but he didn't have any, so he regrets not having it so he would have a better idea of how to make it. Neo said he was just randomly putting things in without knowing for sure if they were supposed to go in. They made fun of Neo's dishwashing "technique." They recapped Werewolf, and everyone was unsure whether to trust/believe the things Neo says because he talks rubbish a lot.
    • 5:32:45 Fan comments: They mention that this has turned into a pure comedy show. They like how everyone works together and the vibe isn't overly competitive.
  • 5:37:00 Late-night meal. Menu includes fried chicken wings, spaghetti carbonara, spaghetti with bacon, sticky rice with pork, sandwich, pizza, more spaghetti, and minced pork wrapped with noodles.
    • They feel like today was very full/busy, and they're all feeling tired, but they've had fun.
    • 5:47:00 Earth and Neo say that they may not have many medals, but at least they're funny. They get up and try to entertain the rest of the guys.
• 5:52:45 Everyone bids farewell to Gun because it's his last night. Gun says to the audience, "Thank you so much for watching all of us these past three days. I hope you've enjoyed seeing our dynamics in this more relaxed environment. I hope you'll continue watching the rest of the guys for the rest of the days and see what fun is in store."

How does she know about all these new food releases? Off to find the new Greek range at Tescoum, are you fucking kidding? I look forward to an updated menu in my local pub, Bison gets giddy about the latest frozen and processed crap from the local supermarket or bargain freezer stores. Then you’ve got the BDL telling people that they are jealous of her. You couldn’t pay me to have Becki’s life.

For those who embrace a plant-based lifestyle, dining out can sometimes be a challenge. However, South Indian cuisine, with its rich array of naturally vegan-friendly dishes, offers a delightful solution. In Edmonton, the best Indian restaurants provide authentic South Indian lunch buffets that cater splendidly to vegan diners, offering a feast of flavors that are both satisfying and healthful.

The Vegan-Friendly Nature of South Indian Cuisine

South Indian cuisine is inherently plant-based, utilizing a plethora of vegetables, legumes, and grains, along with an exquisite array of spices and herbs. This culinary tradition lends itself perfectly to vegan diets, making South Indian lunch buffets a paradise for those seeking delicious vegan options. Let's explore some of the vegan delights you can expect at these buffets in Edmonton.
1. Starters to Awaken Your Palate
Kick off your meal with an assortment of vegan appetizers that are both crispy and flavorful. Medu Vada, deep-fried lentil doughnuts, are a popular choice, crispy on the outside and soft inside. Bhaji, vegetable fritters coated in chickpea flour batter, offer a crunchy, savory start. These starters are often served with coconut chutney and tomato chutney, both of which are vegan and packed with flavor.
2. Soups: Sambar and Rasam
Sambar and rasam are quintessential South Indian soups that are vegan by default. Sambar is a lentil-based stew with vegetables and tamarind, providing a tangy, hearty flavor. Rasam, a thinner, spicier soup made with tamarind juice, tomatoes, and a unique blend of spices, offers a refreshing, palate-cleansing experience.
3. Main Courses: Rice and Beyond
South Indian lunch buffets feature a variety of rice-based dishes that are vegan-friendly. Lemon Rice, a tangy rice dish seasoned with turmeric, lemon juice, and mustard seeds, is a refreshing option. Tamarind Rice, infused with the rich flavor of tamarind and a mix of spices, and Coconut Rice, with its delicate coconut aroma, are other delightful choices. Additionally, Pongal, a savory blend of rice and lentils with black pepper and cumin, is a must-try.
4. Curries and Sides: Flavorful and Nutritious
A plethora of vegetable curries and sides await vegan diners. Avial, a mixed vegetable curry cooked with coconut and seasoned with curry leaves, is both creamy and flavorful. Kootu, a stew made from vegetables and lentils, and Poriyal, a dry vegetable stir-fry with mustard seeds and grated coconut, are staples that highlight the best of South Indian vegan cuisine. These dishes are not only nutritious but also bursting with authentic flavors.
5. Dosas and Idlis: Vegan Classics
Dosas and idlis, two iconic South Indian dishes, are typically vegan. Dosas are thin, crispy crepes made from fermented rice and lentil batter, while idlis are steamed rice cakes. Both are usually served with sambar and a variety of chutneys, making for a satisfying and wholesome meal.
6. Desserts: Sweet Vegan Treats
Even South Indian desserts offer vegan-friendly options. Payasam, a sweet dish made from rice, coconut milk, and jaggery, is a delightful way to end your meal. Another option is Coconut Barfi, a rich sweet treat made with grated coconut and sugar, often garnished with cardamom.

Best Indian Restaurant Edmonton: Vegan Dining Destinations

For those seeking the best Indian restaurant in Edmonton to indulge in these vegan delights, several top-rated establishments stand out. Savoy’s South Indian Kitchen, Namaste India, and South India Delight are known for their authentic South Indian cuisine and extensive lunch buffets. These restaurants are dedicated to offering a variety of vegan options, ensuring that plant-based diners can enjoy a full, satisfying meal.

Conclusion

South Indian lunch buffets in Edmonton provide a perfect dining experience for vegan enthusiasts. With a wide range of naturally vegan dishes, from hearty soups and flavorful rice dishes to delicious curries and sweet treats, these buffets showcase the rich culinary traditions of South India. Whether you are a lifelong vegan or simply looking to explore plant-based options, the best Indian restaurants in Edmonton offer an authentic South Indian cuisine experience that is sure to delight your senses and satisfy your appetite.

M49 / 6'0 / SW143.87kg(317.17 lbs) / CW 130.4 kg (287.5 lbs) / GW77kg(170 lbs) / Class II Obesity
Total weigh lost - 13.5kg (29.7 lbs)
Just finished my seventh week on MJ, third full week on 5mg. No major side effects this past week. The only issue that remains is for 48 hours after injection, I am in no mood to eat anything and it is a struggle to get the minimum number of calories each day. Weight loss for the week was 3.6 lbs or 1.24% of my body weight.
Food – Stuck to my normal foods for most meals. Porridge, fruit, chicken, huel, veggies. I did have venison steak twice this week as it was on sale. My wife and son wanted to go out to dinner on Saturday, spent Friday evening looking a various restaurants and their menu's. Settled on one that we all like and was thrown a curveball as soon as we arrived. Upon arrival, the waitstaff informed me that the one item that they did not have available on the menu was the one item that I was going to order. Thankfully, they had other options that fit my MJ diet and I settled for the lamb shoulder and a side salad. Pre-MJ, I would have had a starter and dessert. With MJ, I could not finish my main and made a joke to my wife and son that I need to start ordering from the children's menu.
Exercise - Four days of strength training this past week, one day of cardio and a lot of walking as well. Starting to see a difference on my chest, shoulders, upper back and legs. Moobs have disappeared as well. My first HIIT small group training session scheduled for this Wednesday.
Zero food or alcohol noise. Happy to walk into a pub and order water, even the occasional blood orange San Pellegrino.
Taking my fourth 5mg dose this morning. Will be continuing with 5mg for another month as the effects have been very positive and not slowing down.

Requested an upgrade with PlusPoints and it went through for the only open seat 10 minutes before boarding. First ever Polaris upgrade 🥳
A bit overwhelmed by all the stuff in the seat. What are the key things I should be aware of? Flight is 7.5 hours on a 757-200.