Speech for retiring father

My significant other’s father recently retired and is taking us all on a trip to Alaska. He booked a trip for us all under the same itinerary through Alaska Airlines. However, my significant other and I live in the city(where we’ll be flying out from), while the rest of the family lives about 3-ish hours away and will be driving in the morning of the flight. We’re both the type of people that like to get to the airport several hours before our flight so we can get through security and such well in advanced to ensure we don’t miss our flight. My question is, if my significant other and I get there before them, can we check in and check our luggage without everyone being there at the same time? Or do we need to wait for everyone to show up before we can check in and check luggage, etc.?

Rosa Diaz leaving the force: So i understand it's for a noble cause but the squad just isn't the same without Rosa. I'm all for doing the right thing but ruining a great character that still had a lot to offer because the show decided to suddenly become political is a shame.
Captain Holt gradually becoming human: Holt is my favorite character by far, and we all know that what makes him funny is his robot personality, something he lost progressively with time. By the end of the show Holt was a normal person having normal interactions with the squad and that really bummed me out. His relationship with all the other characters completely changed, i mean opening up to Rosa in season 8 about his marital problems? Who are youuu
Charmes Boil becoming and extra: Much like Holt, Charles is loved mainly because of his personality traits that can only be described as... Awkward. When you think Charles you automatically think the weird Boil family, passion for weird food, innocent sexual comments, total devotion to Jake... Almost all of that disappeared later in the show. He barely had any screen time, and when he did it was all about his son, so disappointing.
Gina leaving the show so early: I understand why Rosa left, but what about Gina. Leaving the 99 just to become some kind of weird influencer... Was it worth it? Unless there is a reason why the actress wanted to leave the show that i'm not aware of, getting rid of her was a bad move. The show lost most of it's balance and the squad never interacted in the same way after that.
Hitchcock retiring on season 8: WHY DID THAT HAPPEN, Hitchcock and Scully are a package deal, everyone knows that. Getting rid of one of them makes the other completely useless. Plus why did they keep Hitchcock on a phone call, was it really necessary. Just keep him on the show.
Madeline Wunch's death: That part of the show was beyond disappointing to me. First she dies for no reason, like she just droppes dead one day. Second, I cringed at every bad joke Hold made that episode, say what you will but that's a dead woman, Holt shold have knows better. Finally, that episode where Holt, CJ, the vulcher, Jake and Wunch worked together made me feel like all those characters were finally good with each other, and then BOOM, Wunch dies and Holt disrespects her for a whole episode.
Too soon Amy (title of your sextape): Amy Santiago's character development was actually one of the best. She always wanted to become a leader and a mom and it seemed like she achieved all of that. The only problem is that she did it way too early. I loved the romance between her and Jake and i hoped it could have lasted a little longer. She got married and became a sergeant in season 5 and that was the day my interest is her vanished, she had no more reasons to exist in the show.
Jake quitting the force: What a sad sad ending for Jake Peralta. I simply always imagined him getting the recognition for all he'd done for the city, but he never did. I mean not even a medal of honor? He could have become a captain of the 99 after Holt, that would have been such an amazing ending. The son succeeding the father. Too bad we didn't get to see that.

My father has recently retired and wants to invest money(approx 20-30 lac) for better returns.. Plz advise us where should he invest?

My father has recently retired and wants to invest money(approx 20-30 lac) for better returns.. Plz advise us where should he invest?

Heartbroken today more than usual over my family situation. My father listens to fox news all day every day. To the point where he spouts things even my right wing gun loving self raises eyebrows at. But I always figured... hes my dad hes not too far gone of course I can always talk to him even if he has radical views. I found a Ted talk by Scott Galloway that perfectly explains my frustrations with the economy and current state in america. I sent it to him, as we had been talking somewhat recently and he hasnt seemed to understand why i cant visit him whenever he wants because despite working 2 jobs im struggling to pay my bills and support my girlfriend with cancer (who he and mom hate and say i should just "find someone healthy"). The next day he responds, basically refuting the video, spouting more "everyone with complaints are whiners I did just fine in the 80s being a military officer and retiring in the 2000s with a high ranking officers full retirement plus disability there cant be anything wrong with this country. I ask if he even listened to the ted talk? He said he didnt have time. He posted a picture yesterday that hes chilling in the pool at one of his properties that he flies to in his own plane. He told me i should be ashamed of myself for seeking feel good solutions like communism. The video doesnt mention communism, not once. I dont know what to do. Im freaking out that I cant even talk to my own family. I responded "heartbroken that you wouldnt even take the time to listen to the ted talk i sent you, that says what I cant put into words. And that instead you bring up communism and once again interrogate to determine if ive "turned lefty"... feel like im losing communication with you dad" Any advice?

Hello, I am very new to the world of having an autistic child. (She is 2y and is being evaluated in two weeks. We already know she will be diagnosed.) I was just wondering why so many stims have picked up within a short amount of time. She has the classic spinning in circles, pacing, head shaking, never being able to stay still, and bouncing/jumping in place (had been doing these every since she could walk) and has regressed with speech (she used to be able to say a ‘Mum’ or a ‘dadadada’ when she was younger but now only babbles. She is in EI for speech currently.) However, within the past few weeks or so? Her stims have picked up at a rapid pace. She is now having hand stimming, rocking back and forth on feet side to side, face scrunching, not having good eye contact (she used to have amazing eye contact), she recently lined toys up which she never has done before, and the list goes on. I am just wondering if that’s a ‘normal’ progression into autism or maybe something else is going on? Her father has ADHD, also said he used to do a lot of the same stuff she does now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had autism and ADHD, but does it get ‘worse’ before it gets better?

My retired parents are aging, they are in the late 60s, with no savings, and rely solely on their social security income to live.
They own their home (that was built by my dad in the 80s) and have very little left to pay it off, less than 100k (they had to do a reverse mortgage in the early 2000s, followed by bankruptcy due to the expense of my mother's cancer treatments at the time).
A few years ago, my oldest brother decided to build a home on my parents property (at his own expense) to move closer to them and help out with their expenses. My parents agreed thinking this was meant to help them. This has come back to bite them.
My brother's home addition caused a reassessment of their home value to double what it was before, effectively raising their annual property taxes. Since about 2018, my oldest brother has paid a bulk of their mortgage and property taxes.
This changed during last year. 2 things happened:

1. My other brother (younger) and his wife and 2 young children needed to suddenly move back in with my parents (due to financial hardship), with their approval. This other brother pays a set amount each month to go towards my parents mortgage and other expenses.
   
2. In November 2023, my oldest brother's wife lost her job, right before my parents taxes were due.
   

My oldest brother (seemingly threatened by my younger brother contributing to my parents household expenses and feeling the loss of his wife's job), immediately demanded that my parents grant him power of attorney, and sign away all of their assets to him otherwise, he would no longer pay a cent for anything (mortgage, taxes, utilities) that they all share. Based on what I am told, he got verbally aggressive towards them, and questioned their mental health during this ordeal. They refused to sign.
At this time my younger brother recieved his year end bonus, and contributed nearly his whole check to pay down their property taxes that were due, which still did not cover it in full, it is my understanding that my parents were unable to contribute. They are now on a paymemt plan, and their payments (now with impound), claim nearly 100% of their social security even with my younger brother's help.
Since then, my oldest brother has refused to pay for anything while he continues to live on my parents property, his wife has since found a new job after receiving unemployment.
My younger brother told me this week that my older brother was yelling at our father, due to our father painting my parents' house a color that my older brother did not like.
I want to help my parents get out of this situation, I cannot help financially or with housing (my husband and I live in a small home currently with 1 bd/1bath), and we're are currently in contract to purcahse our first home (a new construction home that will be completed in the fall, so all of our money is tied up there).
I feel the best course of action would be for my parents to sell their home and purcahse another one (cheaper and outright, to reduce their expenses). Currently, they are unable to afford their new assessed taxes on their own.
They have about $750k equity in their home, not including my brother's addition, roughtly another $400k-500k.
How do they go about this? They have very little credit, no savings, fixed income, and my brother's addition tied to their property.

Mom (early 70s) and I (F, early 40s) are super close, we’re the only family we have. She lives a couple states over and wants to come and visit for a week. The last time I saw her was for her birthday a little over a year ago and before that, it was well before the pandemic. We don’t see each other often but we call and text frequently.
Mom is a pack-a-day smoker. All growing up, my father, mom and grandma were all heavy smokers and they did it inside the house with no ventilation, even as I was a baby. Mom says she stopped smoking when she was pregnant with me but started right back up after I was born. As a result, I still have permanent breathing and lung issues. I know just how bad the smoke smell permeates into EVERYTHING. Even if someone doesn’t smoke inside, just the smell of their clothes is enough to leave an odor. I can’t tell you enough how disgusting I find cigarette smoke to be. I was bullied growing up because I stunk all the time.
I bought a little camper trailer a couple years ago. It’s tiny, about as small as you can get but still have all the amenities like a shower and a kitchen sink. It’s a comfortable studio apartment on wheels that stays at the house when it’s not in use. She wants to come and stay and use the camper. She says she’ll smoke “right out side so it doesn’t stink up the inside”. I tried to explain that smoke travels.
This also isn’t about money. When my grandma died (her mom), she was left with a large chunk of change. She still won’t tell me how much (which is weird, seeing as we’re so close) but I do know it was over $1.5M and that she’ll randomly drop $50k on things like a new car. There was also my grandma’s house that was paid off and sold, I do know she made $500k off that and that her current house is paid off. She was a lawyer, made a ton of money, and saved it all. I understand that money goes quick and she worked hard for it. She's quite comfortable in retirement.
Good for mom, be smart with your money. Don’t want to tell me how much you have, fine, none of my business. But mom, please get a hotel room while you’re here. There are quite reasonable priced rooms around where I live, it’s not like I’m in NY or anywhere crazy expensive. I’ll pick you up and drive you back every day, we’ll spend lots of time together. I just don’t want you stinking up my little camper. AITA?

Hey all, Im a 28 year old father. I have my son 4 days a week. Due to what it takes to keep life going in todays economy, I have no choice but to work fulltime, and pinch every penny i possibly can.
I despise the idea of working a meaningless job everyday until I retire and die. Ive done security work, factory work, IT work, landscaping, food service and a few others. None of them have held my attention for more than a year. At about the year mark, after ive learned the job, I start to realize how the job does not matter, that they dont contribute to the world in a meaningful way. That Im just doing it to maintain my own life.
That being said, I love talking with people. Strangers, friends, and family. I have helped quite a few through some serious struggles, and I feel I genuinely changed their their lives. I am not claiming to be a miracle worker or a therapist, as I have no education besides my life experience and a good sense of empathy, but I want to find a way to make this my work. I want to see my impact on others lives, and know that Im doing work that truly helps people.
Ive been through some really hard times in life, I have learned and grown. I struggled with subtances, with depression and anxiety. Ive ruined relationships, burned bridges and hurt people that I loved. I barely made it through, but now I have all this to draw on, to help others avoid the same blunders.
I have no way to fund an education, nor the time to throw at it. So Im here asking for paths that may help me find a fulfilling life of helping others with my words.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and thank you in advance for any help you might have to give. ❤️

Hello,
I am writing to ask for help/ tips how to deal with ongoing narcissistic stalking/ abuse/ public humiliation.
After years of abuse and violence, I went no contact with my N father, who happens to also work in law (he is a judge). I fled the country, and had 12 wonderful years of no contact. Recently, I decided to come back to my home country and start fresh in a different city.
Sadly, he somehow found out where I live (although I was very careful) and showed up at my door. I said I wanted no contact with him and ran away. Afterwards, I went to the police and filled for a restraining order. Unfortunately, and because he works as a judge, he wrote his colegue he was heartbroken and just wanted to "check on me", and absolutely nothing was done to protect me from him... He keeps sending me letters in bright colors (such as red) telling me BS about missing me and some other narcissistic exhibition of his talent has a poet.
The letters don't bother me as much as the fear of him coming back, which I am convinced will happen again. When I was younger he loved to make a scene at my school in front of all my teachers and other students. He would shout, humiliate and even hit me in front of everyone. The same happened at college, so much so, that many of my friends/ colleagues stopped talking to me out of fear of his craziness.
I don't know what to do. He is about to retire and have a lot of free time. Not to mention, he is very likely to decompensate once he stops working. I am afraid he will show up on my door again, or at my work. I am afraid he will try to hurt me or even m*rder me. He has nobody because he is so antisocial, everybody turned his back on him.
Any ideas of how can I protect myself from this monster? I don't want to run away again and put all my life and dreams at pause again.

Hello,
I am writing to ask for help/ tips how to deal with ongoing narcissistic stalking/ abuse/ public humiliation.
After years of abuse and violence, I went no contact with my N father, who happens to also work in law (he is a judge). I fled the country, and had 12 wonderful years of no contact. Recently, I decided to come back to my home country and start fresh in a different city.
Sadly, he somehow found out where I live (although I was very careful) and showed up at my door. I said I wanted no contact with him and ran away. Afterwards, I went to the police and filled for a restraining order. Unfortunately, and because he works as a judge, he wrote his colegue he was heartbroken and just wanted to "check on me", and absolutely nothing was done to protect me from him... He keeps sending me letters in bright colors (such as red) telling me BS about missing me and some other narcissistic exhibition of his talent has a poet.
The letters don't bother me as much as the fear of him coming back, which I am convinced will happen again. When I was younger he loved to make a scene at my school in front of all my teachers and other students. He would shout, humiliate and even hit me in front of everyone. The same happened at college, so much so, that many of my friends/ colleagues stopped talking to me out of fear of his craziness.
I don't know what to do. He is about to retire and have a lot of free time. Not to mention, he is very likely to decompensate once he stops working. I am afraid he will show up on my door again, or at my work. I am afraid he will try to hurt me or even m*rder me. He has nobody because he is so antisocial, everybody turned his back on him.
Any ideas of how can I protect myself from this monster? I don't want to run away again and put all my life and dreams at pause again.

Hello,
My 67 yo father had a very severe hemorrhagic stroke back in November 2023. He had a clipping surgery and is to this day, fully bedridden. Mobile arms (partial on the right), and immobile both legs with hyper contractures (does not fully extend). He has aphasia with stage 4 pressure injury still healing at the SNF. He had a VP shunt placed too.
I feel really hopeless with his current conditions but also from all the insurance issues trying to get him approved for long term care at SNF via Medicaid. I have a consultation coming up with an attorney to get him approved in TX. The PT believes that he will not be able to walk ever again, but she sys my dad's legs are hypertoned and we need to reverse this. He is currently on Baclofen 10mg once a day, but I'm really lost and all this is really getting overwhelming. All the bills, insurance, PT and OT, attorney, my own life.
I just need some guidance and help in life on where to go from here, and if reversing his hypertoned legs is even possible. PT says there has not been much of an improvement. He seems to become more mobile with his arms and he keeps pulling out the Peg tube and I'm in the process of speech thrapist to evaluate him for actual food.
Thank you..

It’s very clear them and their pr run that sub and has become a place for them to spread hate, create meme and narrative they then get to spread to other social media and media outlets. This has been happening for couple of years now against Deepika, Ranveer and any other actors they don’t like and feel insecure about. (Vicky, Kartik, Kriti etc)
Most Deepika fans are banned in that sub so they won’t counter their hatful posts and comments. When a post calling for a stop for the targeting harassment of Deepika gets a lot of comments and upvotes from general sub members the post gets taken down like it just happened few hours ago.
Obsessing and trashing Deepika as a woman, an actor and spreading negativity about her relationship been their go to methods but now they can’t even leave her alone during pregnancy.
After the mass love they got in their announcement of their pregnancy and the crowd that gathered when they went for ambani wedding has woken up the insecurities and jealousy of these nepo couples and it’s been a none stop attack on her pregnancy since then.
All slandering narrative from Ranveer isn’t the father to she’s not really pregnant and faking it for attention and everything in between and beyond been first posted on that sub then spread to other sm and mods allowed and nurtured that behavior when they didn’t allow it and were banning people when Alia was pregnant. No Deepika fan were fighting for free speech to trash a pregnant woman. If they said anything not positive they were banned let alone be entertained for free speech debate.
That sub is a dictatorship and not a democracy just like most subs. They have their orders to allow the harassment and slander of Deepika pregnancy and there is nothing you can do to stop it so pls just avoid it. This will continue after she gives birth as well comparing skin color and eye color just like they do with the adults.
Just report to reddit what you can and use other subs for bw related communities.
FYI again let me make this clear, majority of Deepika fans been banned from that sub since long time and the few that remain aren’t big enough to do and say anything that warrant “Deepika fans” kind of comeback. Every neutral that says nice things about Deepika or upvotes and downvotes aren’t Deepika loyalist they’re just bw fans.

I'm so sick of my brother's ex's anger that's affecting my nephew's time with his father and the time we get to see him.
Here's the thing, she has every right to hate my brother. He didn't treat her well in that relationship, cheated on her constantly and was an alcoholic. He never put his hands on her thankfully.
Throughout the entire relationship, we were on her side and was her main support when her family decided they were so embarrassed she had a child with a Black man that they moved across the country while she was pregnant. But this rant isn't about all of what we did for her. Nor the fact she still tried to make things work despite my brother's shitty behavior in the past and us saying she can dump him and we would still support her 100%
This rant is about years after them finally breaking up and her bitterness. Like I said, she has every right to be angry at my brother. But since he got into a relationship, she does everything she can to take my nephew from my brother. She went scorched earth when she found out my brother was dating again. When the courts sided with both, giving 50/50 custody, she still refused to let him see him. Then it became you get him on the weekends for a few hours, while I get him the rest of the time, the holidays, and so forth. And he's matured and feels bad for how he treated her and now wants to play the "good guy" and allow her to break custody agreements.
She throws away any toys, clothing, etc. that we, not my brother, but the rest of the family buys him. Especially things my mother buys because she's angry my mother, despite supporting her, didn't support her enough to allow her to run off to another state with my nephew. (Helping my brother with his parental rights because she was a lawyer before retiring.)
She chooses to let him wear clothing too small for him, holey and wornout, or barely anything at all, because she "doesn't want to owe us anything." But it's like, it's not about you owing us, it's about my nephew and his happiness. Mind you, we never told her she owes us for helping her. That was because we cared about her and my nephew.
If he takes anything from my brother's house to hers, it goes right into the trash or she'll nag my brother about not bringing it to her place and give him a time limit to retrieve it, if she's in a good mood. What my nephew tells us.
If my nephew wants to come over to our place, and my brother asks her if she's willing to go here, because it's close to their drop off, she'll become belligerent and refuse and will take him home.
She and I used to be friends, before she dated my brother, and even know it's hard to really speak badly about her. But it's just exhausting.
My nephew when he's playing online games with me or does come over, is constantly saying he wished he could live with us again. Not her or my brother. And I don't blame him. I don't know what's happening over there, but it's definitely making him depressed and there's nothing we can do about it. He says this every time he's with me or with my mom. It's just so freaking heartbreaking. I wish I could do something, but I can't. And I don't know what she situation is like. She refuses to let my brother or any of us know where she lives, we don't talk to her, so it's like what's happening to make him say this every, single, time?
TLDR: Brother's ex is angry over their relationship. Throws away anything we buy him no matter the cost or if he really needs it. She breaks custody agreements. My nephew whenever I speak to him, always brings us that he wished he could live with us again. And it's heartbreaking.

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

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.

My brain developed quite late, the youngest memories I have, i only might have two i can remember before 10 years old but i can only associate them with feeling, like for example i might have been about 6 and i told my speech therapist that my father yelled at me for writing the T wrong and lost his temper by making me feel he was threatening me because i had tears in my eyes. I can remember it to great detail if i look at a person and feel it, when i get high enough i can figure out everything, and there isn’t much but a blur to any side, its stopping us because it was meant to be made like that, we are discouraged of finding out whatever our future is as the past doesn’t exist, present is all we have and the moment we find it out we could be snapped off our world without milliseconds. We just make egotistical rules and create distractions as most of them know, all we have is now, and this will be their only chance in this lifetime, in a way consciousness isn’t real (quite literally) and we’re just imagining and experiencing random thoughts because it’s empty, it’s nothing that floats out its never that can react except for your body because it was simulated that way, nature was meant to melt with everything it is and ever will be and we can’t stop that. Who knows, we might have a parting the Red Sea and that god has always been leading someone that could bend the present universe to bury the highest aligations and protests. Long story short, this is what i wrote the last time i got high
I watch myself like a bystander, knowing what im doing and feeling guilty for it because I know I could’ve done better but im usually present in my character, that’s how my game goes in this installation of a universe
Feelings my feelings and figuring out what life was about. Since we were all once hunting and focusing on our feeling for instinct by listening to footsteps and trusting your gut and mind. We no longer have the instinct for these type things because we have been forced to shift our minds to experience the world like it should’ve began. Now, these feelings have shifted into these intensely small and fuzzy version of it by putting it into things we call society and politeness, we have turned unnatural and tamed into ourselves with the upsetting news that we will forever have trust issues, because that is our new instinct, messing with our brains by forming actual words and creating standards that have shaped us into what we call “phases” as we learned about the human body and its purposes, our curiousity has brought us here, but that doesn’t mean that the universe will give us a pass, we’re most definitely getting tickled with asteroids straight from Jupiter and even Neptune

While growing up, I saw examples after example of poor Male role models. They were always stupid and presented as lesser. Yes, there were fictional heroes but their feats didn't seem based in any reality so didn't exactly give a role model.
Often I even heard how "Men are idiots" so often in my teens I began to believe I was lesser and I'm not even peak for my sex. It was defeating but tried to work hard on myself and find ways to combat it.
During my career and life I've just seen more examples proving why Men are lesser. Even my own Father turned out horrible. Needless to say, this ideology has plagued my head forever.
Today I have finally succumbed to the reality. I've become and example I hoped to avoid and feel defeated. I'm not longer living for me. I'm just playing the role others want until I expire naturally or can come out of early retirement.
Don't want anything. I know the reality now. Just wanted to write something down in a place as a warning to other who were as foolish as I.

I posted here a week or so ago about all my issues with my uBPD mother coming to a head. I have a child and after a Mother's Day meltdown (because I didn't show her enough love) I realized I am officially done putting her emotions before mine. It's not fair to me or my family and I have reached my breaking point. I told her we could do family therapy, which she agreed to, as my last attempt to mend our relationship. In my last post, everyone called it - she's already waifing it up and I know therapy will not go well, but I am sticking to it and it is HARD. A little vent; she retired when she was 60 after being in the "workforce" for only 15ish years on and off. She was a stay-at-home mom and my father died when I was 3. She received money from a settlement that she lived off of until it was gone. Now, she's realizing she can't live just off social security and isn't as hirable as she thought. She didn't listen to anyone when she announced her retirement and is now crying that she can't find a job. Even though she did get a job at this place but quit after one day because it was too much physical labor. Basically I am struggling with all these feelings. Struggling that I finally put down my foot and struggling because I do feel bad about how her life is turning out, and struggling because I know I can't fix anything. I KNOW it's not my responsibility, but this whole process is just hard. I'm sticking to my boundaries because I have to for my wellbeing. It's just the first time in my life and it's difficult.

To note, this is a continuation of the sagas I wrote that took place after the Cell Saga. The two sagas were written with inspiration taken from MCU Peter Parker's arcs in Far from Home and No Way Home. The goal was to develop Son Gohan into a proper lead for the show. If you'd like to check them out, here are the links!
Bojack (Far From Home) Saga: https://www.reddit.com/fixingmovies/s/sK5zOnJ0oU
Broly (No Way Home) Saga: https://www.reddit.com/fixingmovies/s/R3sGOqdbIv
There are many things I find wrong in the Buu saga:

1. Goku coming back: This derails the narrative tremendously as he snatches back the torch from Gohan. He's going to play a role, but he will stay dead.
2. Gohan's writing: In canon, we ended up with a rusty, goofy, badly written character who lost all the development from the previous sagas. He became a useless disappointment and did not uphold his role as a protector of the earth. This won't go anywhere near that direction.
3. SSJ3 and fusions: These elements were unnecessary as they did nothing to solve the plot and only provided fluff. This can be introduced in Super, but that's another story.
4. Goten and Trunks SSJ: I wasn't a fan of how they easily transformed, treating it as an easy power-up. Here, it will be earned.

What I want to do here is combine the Buu saga with Fusion Reborn. For that movie, there are tons of elements at play that can be used to make the grand finale of Dragon Ball Z, more grand. The goal here is to increase the stakes, trim all the unnecessary fat, give everyone a chance to shine, and keep the main focus on Gohan. I also want to replace Buu with Janemba, as I find him much more threatening due to his unique abilities which would be perfect to challenge Gohan. It's also here that we avoid the rinse-and-repeat problem that came with Buu and his many forms.

Without further ado, here is the...... Janemba Saga!

Seven years have passed since the climactic battle against Broly. Gohan, now a young adult, has diligently pursued a delicate balance between his studies and training. During this time, he has honed his Super Saiyan 2 form and significantly elevated his combat skills. However, he deliberately restrains his power, refusing to succumb to the depths of his inner rage. Gohan believes that his technical prowess alone will suffice, opting to suppress the primal fury within him. Despite his reservations, Gohan attends a prestigious private school on an academic scholarship, alongside his steadfast companion Videl and their circle of friends. Gohan has embraced the responsibility of preserving peace on Earth as a valiant hero, adopting the mantle of Saiyaman. His suit has undergone a sleek redesign, shedding the theatrical poses in favor of a more streamlined appearance. Functioning as a dynamic duo reminiscent of Superman and Batman, Gohan and Videl tackle the city's crime wave together. Videl, having mastered her ki abilities under the tutelage of Piccolo, has grown stronger over the years. Glimpses of their everyday lives reveal the struggles of Gohan as he endeavors to balance the demands of school, training, and personal relationships. Amidst the challenges, he harbors a subtle resentment towards his duty, as it often encroaches upon his cherished personal time. Nevertheless, Gohan persists, fueled by his unwavering determination to live up to his father's legacy.
However, the tranquil facade is shattered when a harrowing turn of events unfolds. The narrative transitions to an otherworldly realm, distinctly separate from Earth. A mysterious figure cloaked in darkness materializes, none other than the malevolent wizard Babidi. Harnessing the unholy power of dark magic, Babidi establishes a sinister connection with his loyal minion Dabura, the King of the Demon Realm. United in their nefarious purpose, they orchestrate an audacious invasion of Otherworld, intent on freeing the formidable demon Janemba. Ages ago, Janemba had been sealed away in this celestial realm by the Supreme Kais. Babidi's malevolent ambition revolves around shrouding the universe in eternal darkness. To achieve this nightmarish vision, he plans to infect the denizens of Earth using the insidious Majin spell, thereby expanding his dominion across countless planets.
In the midst of this burgeoning chaos, Gohan, disguised as Saiyaman, finds himself investigating a peculiar incident involving the possession of one of his dearest friends. Videl, resolute and fearless, engages in a fierce battle against the malevolent puppeteer controlling Sharpner. With unwavering confidence, she urges Gohan to let her confront the threat alone. Sharpner, his strength unnaturally augmented, puts up a formidable resistance, but Videl's experience enables her to subdue him without resorting to fatal measures. As Sharpner awakens from his trance, Gohan seeks answers regarding the enigmatic force that had seized control of his friend. Sharpner reveals that a voice called Babidi had whispered malevolent commands into his mind. Armed with this critical information, Gohan summons Vegeta and Piccolo to join him in unraveling the unfolding crisis, embarking on a journey towards the epicenter of the ominous power emanating from a series of potent and wicked ki signatures, ultimately leading them to Babidi and Dabura.
Meanwhile, Earth becomes a battleground, besieged by an onslaught of resurrected zombies, soldiers, and former villains who once terrorized its populace. Though the trio finds themselves torn between aiding their beleaguered planet and confronting the imminent threat directly before them, they know their immediate priority lies in thwarting Babidi's scheme. Distracting them with his grandiose monologue, Babidi probes their minds, seeking susceptible individuals to manipulate. Initially targeting Vegeta, Babidi redirects his attention toward Piccolo, sensing his inherent duality as a being born of both good and evil. With a combination of Babidi's insidious spell and the lingering malevolence of Piccolo Daimao, the Namekian warrior struggles to resist the overwhelming influence. His powers surge exponentially beyond their previous limitations, clouding his judgment and driving him to confront his former student, Gohan. Amidst the shock of this unforeseen twist, Gohan assumes the responsibility of awakening Piccolo from his trance-like state, determined to restore his mentor's clarity. As the battle rages on, they sense a tremor that reverberates throughout the planet, an unmistakable ki signature brimming with icy coldness, signifying the presence of a singular entity—Janemba.
Bracing himself for the impending clash with this malevolent force, Gohan prepares to face Janemba head-on, while Piccolo embarks on a personal mission to neutralize Babidi. Meanwhile, Vegeta remains locked in a fierce struggle against Dabura, the Prince of Saiyans confronting the King of the Demon Realm. The confrontation unfolds with brutal intensity, and Vegeta finds himself teetering on the edge of defeat. Sensing his adversary's advantage, Dabura unleashes a legion of demons to tip the scales further in his favor. Pushed to his limits, Vegeta fights valiantly, but the odds appear insurmountable. Dabura, consumed by arrogance, revels in his imminent triumph, announcing his intention to unleash the full might of the demon horde upon Earth. Faced with the dire consequences of such a cataclysm, Vegeta musters every ounce of desperation within him. In a moment of self-sacrifice, he unleashes a devastating attack upon Dabura and his minions. The resulting explosion weakens Babidi's forces, repels the encroaching Demon Realm, and safeguards their dimension from untold chaos and devastation.
(Note: I wanted to keep Vegeta's sacrifice but make it matter and count. In canon, it didn't stop Buu, and he sent himself into cold oblivion on a lie. Here, he makes a difference in the long run and has a definitive redemptive moment. )
Startled by the sudden disappearance of Vegeta's powerful ki, Trunks defies the protests of his comrades on the Lookout and rushes towards the chaotic battleground. His heart pounds with trepidation as he races through the smoke-filled air, only to be confronted with the lifeless body of his father lying motionless on the ground. Overwhelmed by a torrent of despair and seething rage, Trunks' trembling hands reach out to shake his father awake, his desperate pleas echoing through the desolate landscape. But his efforts prove futile, and a profound sense of loss engulfs him.
In the midst of this heart-wrenching moment, a surge of raw energy courses through Trunks' veins, igniting a transformation that surpasses the boundaries of his mortal self. Radiating an aura of vibrant golden light, Trunks ascends to the legendary state of the Super Saiyan. His eyes ablaze with determination and fury, he is now ready to face the battle that lies ahead.The scene shifts, revealing the remaining Z-Fighters locked in a perilous struggle against hordes of relentless zombies. Fatigue weighs heavily upon their weary bodies as they fend off the relentless onslaught. Suddenly, a streak of intense power streaks across the sky, and Trunks descends before his comrades, newly transformed and brimming with indomitable strength. A burst of energy erupts from his fingertips, shattering a ki blast launched by one of the zombies, diverting it harmlessly away. In the eyes of his adversaries, astonishment mingles with mockery as they behold the sight of a mere child standing before them.Unfazed by their taunting laughter, Trunks addresses his comrades with unwavering resolve. He declares that he will shoulder the burden of the battle, vowing that not a single life will be lost on this day. With unparalleled speed and precision, he charges towards the encroaching horde, obliterating each zombie with astonishing ease. Their forces crumble beneath the might of his wrath, and the battlefield is transformed into a graveyard of defeated foes.As the last of the zombies falls, Trunks relinquishes his Super Saiyan form, his energy spent and body drained. Collapsing to the ground, he succumbs to exhaustion, his breathing ragged and labored. In this moment of vulnerability, Yamcha, recognizing the young warrior's valor, rushes to his side and gently lifts him from the battlefield, cradling his battered form with utmost care.
(Note: Kid Trunks' transformation is a direct reference to when Future Trunks found Gohan dead after the battle with the androids, and then he transformed. )
While this tumultuous event unfolded, the responsibility of safeguarding the Lookout fell upon the young shoulders of Goten. As time passed, a sudden intrusion disrupted the tranquility of the platform, as a malevolent henchman, infused with the dark power of King Cold, materialized before him. Though momentarily shaken, Goten summoned his courage and engaged in a valiant struggle against his formidable adversary.Initially, it appeared that Goten held his ground admirably, skillfully countering the attacks launched by the nefarious duo of Salza and Dore. However, their sinister coordination gradually began to overpower the young warrior. In a devastating display of force, Salza executed a malicious kick that sent Goten hurtling towards the precipice of the Lookout, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
Witnessing her son's battered and vulnerable state, Chi-Chi, consumed by a mixture of horror and fury, lunged at Salza in a desperate attempt to defend her child. Yet, her efforts proved futile as Salza callously seized her by the throat, mercilessly constricting the life from her. From his weakened position, Goten, wide-eyed and mouth agape, struggled to remain conscious, his mind besieged by the conflicting emotions of impending death and the weight of disappointment.
In that critical moment, he closed his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip until blood stained his mouth. His trembling hands clenched into tight fists. And then, something within him snapped, unleashing a primal force that lay dormant within.Goten vanished, replaced by an embodiment of unbridled rage. Transformed into a Super Saiyan, his furious aura radiated with an intensity that defied comprehension. With a surge of unrestrained power, he propelled himself towards Salza, obliterating his malevolent foe with a devastating blast that eradicated him from existence. Undeterred by the remaining henchmen who sought to avenge their fallen comrade, Goten engaged them with a newfound ferocity.In a breathtaking display of combat prowess, it took mere moments for Goten to dispatch his adversaries, consigning them to the depths of the afterlife. Unaware of his mother's watchful gaze, Chi-Chi bore witness to the astonishing transformation of her once-innocent son, her heart filled with awe at the unfathomable power he now wielded.
(Note: This is a reference to when Superman had attacked Zod for attacking Martha in Man of Steel. With this, Goten is able to break out of his shell and experience some development. I also did not want Chi-Chi to die, but to have it be close. This way, she can witness firsthand her son fighting to avenge her and realizing that his saiyan blood kicked in to save them all, which would lead to some development towards her accepting that they have the natural power to fight, but also protect. )
Simultaneously, amidst the chaos, Piccolo found himself embroiled in a fierce battle of magic. His objective was to shatter the impenetrable barrier erected by his adversary, Babidi, to halt the relentless proliferation of Majin-infused beings. The odds were stacked against him, but with unwavering determination, Piccolo summoned the strength to rupture the barrier, ultimately delivering a fatal blow to Babidi. In doing so, he succeeded in halting the insidious spread of the Majin curse.Meanwhile, Gohan, driven by an overwhelming surge of power in his Super Saiyan 2 form, charged headlong at the formidable Fat Janemba, intent on swiftly ending the confrontation. Displaying remarkable valor, Gohan engaged his adversary with all his might, momentarily gaining the upper hand in fleeting bursts of fury. However, Janemba's energy continued to surge unabated, gradually overpowering Gohan and relegating him to a defensive stance.With the battle reaching its climax, Janemba unleashed a devastating onslaught aimed at obliterating the planet. In a desperate bid to protect all that he held dear, Gohan fearlessly interposed himself between Janemba's lethal assault and the world, extending his arms wide as he summoned the last vestiges of his ki to create a resolute energy shield. The technique demanded one final act of defiance, compelling Gohan to redirect the unleashed energy back towards Janemba, propelling the malevolent entity backward and teetering on the precipice of annihilation. Yet, the maneuver exacted a heavy toll on Gohan, leaving him grievously injured and drained of consciousness, hurtling through the sky and crashing deep into the untamed wilderness.
(Note: This maneuver is a mix of what Gohan did against Broly in Movie 10, and what Future Gohan did in his last battle against the androids.)
Subsequently, Supreme Kai, recognizing the dire condition of the young warrior, transported Gohan to the realm of the Kais. As Gohan gradually regained consciousness, he found himself surrounded by the presence of Supreme Kai, Kibito, and his father, Son Goku. Unbeknownst to Gohan, while the realms beyond had been engulfed in pandemonium, Goku had valiantly sought to subdue numerous formidable adversaries, most notably Broly. Upon learning of Gohan's presence on that distant planet, Goku implored for the opportunity to visit his son, a request that was granted amidst the bittersweet reunion.During their heartfelt meeting, they shared the weight of overseeing the turmoil ravaging Earth, realizing that Janemba still lingered, amassing the remnants of malevolent ki left unvanquished. Panic washed over Gohan as he urgently expressed his need to return to Earth, but his pleas were met with cautionary words from his loved ones. They acknowledged his unpreparedness to face Janemba anew, warning of the potential consequences should he engage the foe prematurely. Supreme Kai disclosed his true intention in bringing Gohan to this realm—to unlock the dormant power lying dormant within him. However, the process demanded a profound reconciliation of Gohan's dual nature as both human and Saiyan. To initiate this transformative ritual, Gohan would be immersed in a meditative trance within the sacred confines of a cascading waterfall, which would serve as a mirror reflecting his true self. Only then would he embark upon the arduous journey of unlocking his latent potential, fully aware that failure could result in dire consequences, even death.
Nervously, Gohan steeled himself for the imminent trial, drawing strength from the unwavering support of his father. With resolute determination, he approached the cascading waterfall, where Supreme Kai initiated the trance, enveloping Gohan in an ethereal aura of introspection.As the ritual commenced, Gohan's gaze fixated grimly upon vivid recollections of his past battles, struggling to reconcile the moments when he had succumbed to his own wrath. Before long, a projection materialized, representing his suppressed Saiyan essence—a separate entity demanding to be acknowledged. A tumultuous clash ensued between the two facets of Gohan's being, with the young warrior faltering in his attempts to gain the upper hand, for each surge of anger only fueled his other self. Finally, a profound realization washed over Gohan, piercing through the haze of conflict. He ceased resisting and, instead, extended a hand of acceptance and understanding to his Saiyan counterpart, embracing the essence of his true nature. In that transformative instant, the boundaries dissolved, merging into a harmonious unity. Gohan's eyes fluttered open as he awakened from the trance, reborn in his newfound Ultimate Form, his essence finally whole and indomitable.
(Note: Yes, this is a direct reference to Naruto obtaining true mastery of his nine tails form in Shippuden. I did not like Gohan's canon mystic ritual because it did not feel earned. He just sat around for a long time doing nothing and gained nothing from it. I wanted to fix that. So here, he went through a more direct ritual at the risk of death to be able to unlock his true abilities. )
In the midst of these events, Trunks and Goten find themselves under the tutelage of Piccolo within the formidable Hyperbolic Time Chamber. News reaches Piccolo that Gohan is undergoing a transformative process to unlock his latent potential, but the looming return of Janemba threatens to disrupt their plans. Exiting the chamber, Trunks and Goten emerge stronger than ever, having mastered their Super Saiyan forms and honed their teamwork to near perfection, compensating for their inherent power limitations.As Janemba crosses paths with them, the clash erupts in a spectacular display of martial prowess. Individually, they stand little chance against the overwhelming might of Janemba, but when united, a different narrative unfolds. Their combined efforts aim to sustain the battle long enough, providing Gohan with the precious time he needs to complete his ritual. Piccolo assumes leadership, valiantly holding his ground, although it becomes increasingly evident that Janemba possesses a distinct advantage. Piccolo strategically diverts Janemba's attention, creating openings for Goten and Trunks to launch coordinated assaults that vex their adversary, even if their impact is minimal. Nonetheless, every second counts.
In a fateful turn of events, Janemba unleashes an assault that overwhelms Piccolo, incapacitating him and leaving only Goten and Trunks to face the malevolent entity. Swift as a phantom, Janemba materializes in front of Trunks, delivering a devastating blow to his abdomen, leaving Goten as the lone defender. Standing tall, Goten defiantly assumes a battle stance, mustering his courage. However, before Janemba can unleash a devastating attack upon him, an unknown figure delivers a powerful kick to Janemba's head, hurtling him towards the distant mountains.
The camera pans, revealing the figure to be none other than Gohan, resplendent in his newfound form.
(Note: This entrance directly mirrors that of Future Gohan when he was about to begin his final battle against the Androids!)
A wave of elation washes over Goten as he beholds the return of his beloved elder brother, while Trunks and Piccolo visibly exhale with relief. Gohan and Piccolo exchange a brief but meaningful exchange, Gohan acknowledging his newfound strength while Piccolo recognizes that Gohan has ascended to an entirely different echelon. Janemba regains his footing, reemerging before them, demanding their attention and focus. Gohan asserts that he will confront Janemba directly, urging the others to evacuate. Though reluctant, Piccolo and the young warriors comply, dispersing to various parts of the world to address the chaos that plagues their surroundings.
With an air of fury, Janemba charges at Gohan, his fist extended menacingly. Yet Gohan intercepts the attack, seizing Janemba's fist in a vice-like grip, and in a flash of teleportation, they are transported to the dreaded realm of H.F.I.L. (Home For Infinite Losers).
(Note: I have Gohan teleport Janemba because at least this way their battle will not damage Earth. Also we will assume Gohan has figured out some sort of Instant Transmission movement like Goku.)
The eyes of Earth's denizens, the Kais, and the denizens of the Otherworld are fixated on this pivotal moment, the culmination of a battle that will determine the fate of the universe. And so, the clash commences, a cataclysmic struggle that echoes through the very fabric of existence.
In a breathtaking display of power, Gohan initially dominates the battle, effortlessly overpowering Janemba with his newfound might. However, the tables turn when Janemba unveils unexpected abilities: space-time manipulation and a formidable sword. Gohan is caught off guard, unsure of how to counter such unorthodox tactics. Desperation and frustration consume him, causing his control over his own power to slip away.Amidst the chaos, Gohan experiences a moment of revelation, a surge of understanding regarding his opponent's abilities. He realizes that in order to anticipate Janemba's next move, he must heighten his senses by channeling his ki, allowing for precise timing and swift reactions. With this newfound clarity, Gohan regains his composure, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Seizing an opportunity, Janemba materializes before him, poised to strike with his sword. Yet, in a stunning display of strength, Gohan catches the blade with both hands, shattering it into pieces.
The tide of the battle begins to shift, albeit slightly, in Gohan's favor. Frustrated and bewildered, Janemba exclaims, "Just what...are you?!" Gohan responds with unwavering resolve, proclaiming, "I am the hope of the universe. I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace. I am the protector of the innocent. I am the light in the darkness. I am truth. Ally to good! Nightmare to you!"
(Note: I'm taking Goku's dubbed speech against Frieza and repurposing it for Gohan. As he's inherently more the justice-driven hero archetype rather than the fighting maniac that is Goku, it makes more sense. We'll just assume Goku gave Frieza the manga version of his speech. This is also the most pivotal moment of Gohan's journey as he comes to terms with being a protector. Throughout the show, he's been struggling between his desire to be a scholar and his responsibility to be a hero. That dubbed speech is exactly the moment that Gohan's arc comes full circle. Here, he finally embraces what he was always meant to be..... the hero.)
With renewed determination, Gohan launches various assaults in a bid to defeat his formidable adversary. However, his attacks fail to inflict lasting damage, and Gohan himself begins to exhaust his ki. It is then that he realizes the true nature of Janemba's existence—he is an embodiment of pure evil ki, unlike any opponent Gohan has faced before. A desperate plan takes shape in Gohan's mind. Mentally reaching out to his friends and even Videl, he calls upon them to gather their ki, reminiscent of the Spirit Bomb technique. Initially, only the Z-Fighters respond, but their combined energy proves insufficient.As Gohan valiantly defends against Janemba's onslaught, he mentally pleads with the people of Earth to lend their aid. Uncertainty and doubt cast a shadow over the crowd until Hercule steps forward, berating them for refusing to support the man who once saved them during the Cell Games. Revealing the truth of Gohan's identity as the Delivery Boy turned hero, the tide of public opinion shifts. People extend their hands, offering their energy to their savior. Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Gohan is relieved by the surge of ki coursing through him, providing a momentary opening to kick Janemba away. The collective assistance grants Gohan a substantial reservoir of energy, which he then summons forth, infusing it with the very essence of his soul—a daring and perilous maneuver.
Driven to his breaking point, a furious Janemba ascends into the sky, conjuring a colossal sphere of malevolent ki capable of obliterating the entire universe. Gohan remains calm, his gaze fixed upon the impending cataclysm. With unwavering resolve, he declares, "This is the end for you, Janemba." Closing his eyes, Gohan raises his left hand above his head, conjuring a radiant sphere of rainbow light. Seizing the opportunity, Janemba hurls his devastating attack towards Gohan. Sensing the imminent danger, Gohan's eyes snap open as he crushes the ball of energy in his palm. Swiftly pivoting, he hurls the fragmented energy towards the oncoming attack, effortlessly piercing through it, and hurtling towards Janemba, finally eradicating the universe's peril once and for all.
(Note: This is the same technique as Kid Buu's Planet Burst move, the one that destroyed Earth. I also repurposed Gogeta's stardust breaker technique for Gohan as I feel it makes sense for him to have it. It also makes him stand out from Goku even more in this case.)
As the dust settles, Gohan maintains his energy long enough to witness Janemba's demise. A triumphant smirk graces his face as he remarks, "Heh, looks like I finally did it." Exhausted, he collapses to the ground, almost completely drained. The onlookers erupt into joyous cheers, celebrating Gohan's hard-fought victory. Supreme Kai teleports Gohan from the depths of H.F.I.L back to Earth, specifically to the Lookout, where his family and friends eagerly await his return. In a heartwarming scene, Gohan is enveloped in embraces and expressions of relief. It is here, amidst the warmth of their loved ones, that Gohan and Videl share their first kiss—a tender moment of connection and celebration.Meanwhile, the Dragon Balls work their magic, rectifying the chaos caused by Babidi's dark influence. The majority of those who perished are revived, yet there are exceptions, including Vegeta. Accepting his fate and determined to atone for his past deeds, Vegeta expresses his desire to continue growing stronger in the afterlife, entrusting the protection of his family to his son. Tearfully, Trunks vows to make his father proud, with Goten stepping forward to support his friend in this emotional moment. Fond farewells are exchanged as everyone prepares to return to their respective homes.
Gohan and Goten engage in a heartfelt conversation, their bond as brothers strengthening. However, their exchange is interrupted by Chi-Chi, who unexpectedly interrupts their conversation. To their astonishment, she expresses pride in their valiant efforts to safeguard the world, finally relenting and granting them permission to train and protect. The three embrace, their family united and resolute.In a different realm, Vegeta stands before King Yemma, awaiting judgment. To his surprise, he is granted an Otherworldly body, a result of Goku's recommendation and Vegeta's ultimate sacrifice that tipped the scales of justice. With this second chance, Vegeta is granted the opportunity to train ceaselessly and, more importantly, to settle his unfinished business with Goku. The final scene between Goku and Vegeta unfolds, their fists colliding in a charged confrontation, their image freezing .( mirroring the intensity of Rocky and Apollo in Rocky III, leaving their ultimate showdown to the imagination.)
A decade passes, marked by a time skip. Tien and Krillin have established their own martial arts schools, dedicated to passing on their unique styles to the next generation. Goten and Trunks, under the tutelage of Piccolo, diligently train to harness their extraordinary powers. Gohan, now a respected scholar, has married Videl, and together they have a daughter. At home, Videl imparts the basics of combat to their daughter, Pan. Gohan, having just finished delivering a lecture on energy at the university, senses a disturbance reverberating across the planet. Instinctively, he rushes to the rooftop, pressing a button on his wrist. In an instant, he transforms into his iconic Saiyaman costume, soaring into the horizon with a mischievous grin. He breaks through the fourth wall, symbolizing his unwavering resolve to protect and inspire.
The screen fades to black.
The End.
There we have it! My final wrap-up of the MCU Peter ParkeGohan development journey! Honestly, I did have thoughts of just going straight into revising the Buu arc, but I felt there was more to be done before that. Gohan needed to go through the development I gave him in my two written arcs as there were lessons there that shaped him.
I also felt that a trained Gohan, who is naturally intellectual, would be a perfect antagonist in Janemba. He had to learn to outsmart him, and not just have it be a straight-up slugfest.
What do you guys think? Share your thoughts below!
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