Watch the hills have thighs

There is some potentially triggering content in this story
Did you know that memories aren’t real? No? Not really, you can misremember or change a memory without ever knowing you have. It’s a sinisterly important fact for me, some would be worried but I find it freeing, I can share this memory without fear or shame. I most likely haven’t remembered what happened as it happened, and considering what happened on the 9th of May all those years ago, I’d say it’s likely I don’t remember. It’s a relief really that memories aren’t real; I have always hated talking about my memories, about myself in general. In my experience, people are not interested in what I have to say, unless it relates to them or it makes me look less than them. Maybe it’s all in my head, everything is really. I’m not the most people friendly these days, I think you could call me a cynic, I call myself a cynic, but I’ll try and keep true to this memory, without the influence of hindsight and my cynicism.
It’s about that puddle and the 9th of May. Why the specifically the 9th of May? Well I don’t actually know why that day, it could have easily been the 8th, the difference is hours. I do wish I could change the setting; it’s almost poetic, I could always be misremembering, it was a long time ago, and I have been told many times since that I have a flair for the dramatic. A dark and rainy night, with the wind howling, well that’s a backdrop I can enjoy.
I’m sorry. Let me start at the beginning for the sake of clarity, otherwise I’ll never finish what I start to say, and I’ll never say what I need to say.
Once upon a time I went to a party. I enjoyed drinking back then, a healthy amount for most people, but for me, a dangerous amount, I had a tendency to get inside my head when I drink.
No again I’m sorry, that’s not the memory I want to share, I want to tell the 9th of May, I think this memory will be harder to tell than I first thought.
It was a birthday party for a friend, well a friend of a friend, I knew two people there, I was speaking my wisdom at the party, normally people would just nod and slide away from that kind of wisdom, but this was during the university days, everyone is intelligent, insightful and understanding at university. We few were the self-proclaimed leaders of the future, and so understood all, my green wisdom spewed with no start or finish was always well received. I remember some of what I said, you can walk into any pub or club and listen to the drunkest person in the room, they would have spewed the same wisdom, wisdom that I thought at the time was original and wise, but really was just old sentiment repeated with new words. Despite what I wanted at the time, wisdom comes with age, not self-assurance.
But this time was my spring years, that sweet age just before I faced reality, the real harsh reality of life, I had just begun to explore the world inside my bubble, and my exploration lead me onto the well-trodden path of clubbing and drinking, the respectable rebellion. I began as I always did, by talking, talking of going to some event, a lecture, a monument, an underground pub, of all the things I could do that evening, the places I could go, I and the other future leaders of the world, the potential was ours to squander. This ended as it always would, in that night club, the very same one I would always go to, my slice of reality.
Apologies my dear reader, I have a cynical mind, it’s hard to keep at bay, I’ll admit that I haven’t really tried to keep it from being an influence here, I can’t seem to help myself, but this next part of the memory is less clear, but I can relay it with a real, shame filled joy. This part of the memory feels more like a dream now, I don’t have the energy to do what I did that night, I don’t have the energy for much these days, I think that makes the memory more fond to me, drinking, dancing, worry free. Maybe fond was the wrong word to use here, jealous is more fitting, jealous of the innocence and time I wasted. The power of a drink back then was incredible; I miss the feeling, that burn in the mouth, the after taste, the saliva, the heat in your chest, and that feeling of being unstoppable. Of course drink has more than one effect, and while I’d like to believe my cloudy memory is caused by false and misremembered facts, or by the merging of a hundred single nights into one endless night, that’s too poetic. No, the memory is clouded by the amount I drunk that night, and many years after as I tried to forget this very memory.
Yet despite this, even now, the fragments still makes me smile, whether it’s because I enjoy the memories of the innocence I held then, or I’m jealous of them I cannot say, I’m a self-proclaimed cynic, not a philosopher or a psychologist, I’ll leave the analysis to better men than me. Instead I’ll try to give you an idea of what happened in the club without my opinions bleeding through. This night in the club was no different from all the others, they all start the same. Moving around the club in a daze, my head feeling big and unsteady, but also incredibly light and empty, my fingertips warm, my feet numb, I remember dancing to songs, dancing on tables, screaming out lyrics, smoking outside, stealing a bottle of champagne, fixing my hair in a mirror, buying a round of drinks, the lights flashing, the bass thumping, fog spewing, standing on my own staring at the old chandelier, crawling on the floor looking for money, I remember walking out the club and how quiet everything seemed in comparison while I tried to keep standing in the night air, looking at my hands, how bright the lights were, how blurry the world seemed and how beautiful the moon was that night.
Here, here the memory starts to come back into focus, the bright street lights and night air always helped me to sober up at night, plus I’ve always enjoyed being outside in the dark night or under the moonlight, I find it comforting to stand under the moon, it’s as if I’m suddenly alive.
As I came to my senses my memory sharpened, but that’s all, my drunkenness remained. I was with a couple of friends, some who I had been at the party with and some who I met in the club, we got food, and we spent such a long time talking, our conversations were mixed, some happy, some sad, all just more green wisdom. Much later on, me and my friend, maybe the one I went to the party with (it might have been someone else, who’s to say?), walked back towards our homes not because we wanted to walk as we said over and over to our screeching friends, but because the taxi was expensive and we couldn’t afford it, we lived in different places but close enough that we could walk together. Its funny to think of this moment, back then I had the money for a taxi, but I wouldn’t spend it on a taxi, now that I’m a poor man, I’ll spend money I don’t have on taxis I don’t need, apparently the youthful idiot I was, was wiser than I am now in some regards after all.
I don’t remember walking with my friend, or rather, I know where we went, how long it took and what we probably talked about, I had walked this walk so many times before this night, and so many after, they are all the same memory to me now, I enjoyed the walking in the night, the exhilaration of that has stayed with me more than the company on those walks. I always used to break it down into three segments, and so that’s how it comes back to me now. Leaving the club, past the library, past the race track, over the river across the bridge, up the steep hill, past the first university gates (which were actually the back gates), round the campus on the public roads, to the second gates (which are the main gates), a long walk with company, a painfully short one with alone. He was still living on the Campus my friend, I lived about ten minutes away from the campus, I said goodbye and goodnight, we agreed to speak in the morning if we survived. He went through the back gates and headed towards the halls, I continued on my way, onto the second segment of the walk past the gates. I was on my own for the rest of the walk; this happened a lot, both during my university days and many years after. I lived on the opposite side of the campus to most of my friends so this part of the walk was always mine alone, even when I started the night with the people I lived with. I didn’t mind, it was nice to enjoy the feeling of being drunk without having to show I was drunk, a few assured moments of peace under the moon light. I never deviated from my path, round the outside of the campus, opposite some housing estates, till I got next to a little shop that sold cheap, bottles of spirit. I would always stop for a moment to wish that shop was open.
Then it was down that straight road, the final part of my walk, big houses on either side, well-lit but not busy. It looked like it was a five minute walk but once you started it felt like it was never ending, and at the end of the night, in the night air, it was never ending. Sometimes I would run, sprint to see if I could make it to the end of that road without stopping, something to break the monotony of walking, other times to tire myself out so I could fall straight to sleep, and sometimes just because I wanted to run. Nearly every day for two years I walked down that road to go clubbing shopping or studying, to go for a meal, see a film, meet a friend, it was a constant part of my life, an unwanted companion and witness. Walking down that road, reader I don’t think I’m able to describe how I hated that road, but I always walked down that road, there were other ways I could walk, quicker ways, but I always took that road.
This particular night, actually at this point I suppose it was the morning. I was walking down that road in the rain and dark between the streetlights, bitterly cold staring straight into a street light walking on the right hand side. I’d always walk on the right hand side, I’m not sure why, whenever I walked on the left I had a bad day. Except for on the 9th, the 9th is the one exception.
I have no clue where the car came from; I didn’t see it until after the jump, just a blurred headlight, a door, a wing mirror. The driver, the make, the model, even the color is a mystery. It appeared and left like a phantom. There was no thought, I moved forward, but I don’t recognize that I was the one who leapt forward.
I remember the fall. I fell backwards. As if my strings had been cut and I fell limp into the puddle, there was no splash as I landed in that puddle.
The feeling I felt in that puddle, it was something I had never felt before or since, an overwhelming pull I was powerless against, I pray to never to feel it again.
Should I describe it? How to describe it? I have to describe it. I can describe the fear it inspired, but not yet, it’s easier to describe fear, but this isn’t meant to be easy, this memory never is. No the actual feeling, that’s harder, It wasn’t a happy emotion, not a powerful emotion, not a sad emotion. Hopelessness? Yes it was hopelessness. Nothing more, nothing less. No hope for the future, no point to anything, I think it is possibly the only time I felt hopelessness. You can’t live without hope.
I couldn’t stand could I? No, I wouldn’t have laid there if I could, to begin with I didn’t want to, didn’t care to, my legs wouldn’t move, arms were like stone, every muscle in my body cramped, I could feel everything. My eyes were open, rain hitting them, rain dripped from my lips to my chin, it tickled. The fingertips were warm, hair moved, stand by stand off my face. Puddle water lapped against my cheek, socks soaking up water, shirt getting tighter and heavier, jacket sleeves filling up with water, keys and wallet resting on my leg. I just lay there staring at nothing, seeing nothing.
I think to begin with I was gone; that everything I held myself up to and was trying to achieve, had suddenly left me, except my memories, memories that weren’t real. For the longest time that’s how I was, empty, even down to my emotions there was nothing I laid there empty. I could feel my body, but I couldn’t move it, I wasn’t welcome, I felt awkward, out of place. I’m not sure how long I lay there, dead (I had to be dead because I had no hope), it could have been a minute; it could have been hours, days or years.
The light was wrong. It was dark, only the light seemed to come from a streetlight, the sky was empty, the moon had left me.
Some portion of my mind came back, I started crying, I had failed, failed at even this simple task, I lay for a long time waiting, waiting for something else to come, I should have gotten up, but I just lay there waiting, I was muttering my secret . If that had been my mind for the rest of my days, I would have spent those days in that puddle unmoving; declared brain dead on the spot. The moment raises such disgust in me, I grieved my most important failure, hated my greatest success.
I’d like to lie here, to say anything other than the truth, to save myself the pain and the shame, but I said I would try to tell this memory as it was, not as I wish it, so while I’d like to say I had a vison, a burst of strength, that hope returned to me, I can’t, because in reality it was two words that saved me.
Two words. The Two words that cut through it all. I’m still not sure if I just heard them from somewhere else, said it myself or imagined it afterwards. “Get up” it was angry, disgusted, the words were almost spat out, “Get up”.
Those words have burned themselves into my mind, and affected me every day since. The fear and inspiration it awoke in my mind, throat pricked and butterflies in my stomach, anxiety. Next to the hopelessness it seemed like life had spoken, with a voice that wielded fear.
I took control of my body then……
No dear reader I didn’t…. I am almost finished, I have to be true to the memory, I can’t spare myself now, it’s too late for me to take it back.
I didn’t take control, I wasn’t there yet, it took me such a long time to regain control again, but it gave my eyes back to me for I had seen nothing long before the fall. I watched as fear drove me, took the strings of my life and moved them, dragging my shell in the dust, screaming.
I cursed everyone and everything, hated myself for what had happened, Oh and the fear, fear of the voice, fear of dying, the fear that someone would see me at this moment, see me and misunderstand me, I didn’t want to die,(I don’t want to die now) I was terrified that I had tried to die, terrified I didn’t know where that urge came from, that moment of energy and intention that was actioned without the consent of my mind, that I was powerless against.
Fear drove me, commanded me out of that puddle. I’d gone insane, truly, completely, utterly mad, I was dragging myself to the curb, screaming, crying, laughing, I ripped my finger nails out, shredded my palms and hands into bloody messes my knees into bruised pulp, my head and face cut by being dragged along.
I heaved up that curb fucking curb, shaking. I started to stand and scramble forward, to escape that spot, that puddle on that road. I stood up hunched and bent, buffet by the wind, laughing, crying, waving my hands in all directions spitting, shouting, wiping blood on my jeans, I was staggering side to side shaking, soaked to the bone, I was mad, insane, disgraced and humiliated.
Why say more? I won’t go further, there is so much more but to understand it…. This was not the place for such memories. That moment all those years ago, was not the eureka moment, the next day I turned this into a joke, a story to tell.
To this day, I cannot tell you what really happened that night all those years ago, as I sit here writing and rewriting the words over and over. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I wonder what would happened if I could relive that night again, doing everything again now. This was the time that my bubble began to burst and the real world hit me like a wave. Perhaps it was just a moment of growing pains. I’ve said it before, I’m only a cynic, all I have left is the memory of the 9th of May, a memory I visit daily.

This showed up in a comment in an rpghorrorstories thread about disability in games and I thought it was worth talking about.

...It's a unique idea, but if I were another player at the table I'd hate to get derailed because we have to figure out how to get Wheelchair Wizard up to the top of the cliff that the rest of us can just make some Climb checks for...

I am begging anyone who thinks like this to please watch this video of a normal guy in a wheelchair climbing a rock wall and reassess your assumptions about disability.
Wheelchair wizard being "helped" to the top of the cliff.
If we are willing to let a player shoot fire from their fingers, but won't let them climb a cliff in a wheelchair which is a totally normal thing we can watch people do with our own eyes then we need to sit down and contemplate how we've reached this position of ignorance.
We all start from a position of ignorance, that doesn't make us bad people, but refusing to replace ignorance with knowledge does make us bad people.
If a player wishes their character to have a combat wheelchair, take the few minutes required to google what athletic wheelchair users can do. I promise you, you will be surprised and amazed at how many of the limitations you assume are there, just.... aren't.
For example, watch this video, and keep in mind this is a normal human being, not a D&D level PC that can shoot fire or call on the power of the gods. Sure, there are disadvantages to being in a wheelchair, but there are advantages too!! Advantages that most of us just haven't noticed because we don't have much experience.
It's a failure of imagination if we cannot make the possibilities presented in these videos exciting and creative in a D&D kind of way, isn't it?
Sure there might occasionally be a need to help someone over difficult terrain (we do that for PCs not in wheelchairs too), but who else is custom built to roll down hill and use the surreptitiously built dirt ramp to launch themselves over the barricade and unlock the gate?
I love that combat wheelchairs have become a thing, and they present an opportunity to expand our imagination in exciting ways, expand our understanding of the lives of others, while also making our hobby more open to people who are often excluded.
That's a win, win right?
tentative Padmé face

January 2nd. 2024.
It's been about a year since the incident happened. I've been in therapy for as long as I can remember after that horrible night. I got a prosthetic for my left leg, and was able to walk somewhat normally again shortly after. I haven't told anyone about that horrible night, not even my family. My friends, who were there at the start of all of this visited me every day while I was in the hospital, begging me to tell them what happened, but I lied, and told them I didn't remember anything. Little did they know, I not only crystal clearly remember what happend, I also knew what I was going to do as soon as I could walk normally again.
February 27th. 2024.
I could finally walk on my own again, and when I got released from the hospital, I immediately knew what I had to do. I rushed home and started planning. This time, I would plan it out, not just run in there and take my chance. I began planning the following day.
March 9th. 2024.
I've collected all my ideas, and decided that the hunt would be on March 15th. However, I knew I couldn't do this alone, seeing as what happend last time, so I decided to call my uncle, who is an ex-marine, and knows all the camoflauge techniques that a civilian does not. Lucky for my, he belives in all kinds of folklore, mainly native american ones, so he was down to help me. Hes the only person I told this story to, since I know I could trust him with my life. In the following days, he tought me all differnet kinds of techniques like camouflage in "plain sight" and the hand signals used in the marine corps. Only one thing remained, the weapons. Since the police confiscated all of my weapons after the last incident, I had nothing, but my uncle told me not to worry about it.
March 15th. 2024.
The day was here. The meetup was schedueld to 11pm, but I was already at the place where we said we'd meet up, even though it was 10 minutes earlier. When all of a sudden I heard that scream... That same blood curdling scream I heard way back. But I wasn't scared anymore. Shortly after my uncle shows up with full marine corps camouflage uniforms and plate carriers, along with two M4 Carbines loaded up with holographic sights, lasers, flashlights and all the above. He also brought an old winchester Model 1873, which he told me only to use if I'm certain that I'm about to shoot at the entity in question. He said because it was loaded with white ash tree rubbed bullets. He started saying something else too, but was cut off by that same horrible scream, so we quickly dressed up, and made our way into the woods.
March 15th. 2024. 11:10pm
We entered the forest with adrenalyn pumping in our bodies and quickly took position in an abandoned cabin a few hundred feet into the woods. we quickly shut the door behind us and began discussing the next hours.
11:30pm.
We were still discussing when we heard a knocking sound coming from the door. I shouted out "Who the hell is it?! What do you want?!" But it just kept knocking. My uncle knows morse code, and he translated that it said, "Your Blood" over and over again. Then it just stopped. Like the source of the noise just simply dissapeared. And after a few moments of eerie silence, a window broke in the room next to the on we were in, and something was running towards the door. My uncle instantly yelled, "Take cover!", so that's what I did. I ducked and heard his M4 go off on fully automatic. He popped off 20 rounds at the door and very likely hit something, since the anomaly let out a huge scream. My uncle grabbed me by my arm and pulled me up. Then we jumped out the window and took off running.
11:35pm.
We ran for about a mile when we deemed it safe to stop for a drink. When I sudenly noticed that the old Winchester my uncle gave me was missing, so I informed him immediately. He turned to me with a huge smile on his face. Then it hit me... I didn't have an uncle... The damn thing implanted itself in my memory.. A moment of sheer panic later it pulled out the gun and shot my prosthetic and I fell to the ground. I quickly reached for my M4 and let out a burst of fire towards it. I scored a hit to its thigh, and so it ran away.
12:00am.
I collected my thoughts, and somehow managed to get up. I realized I needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Only one problem, I had no idea of where the way out was. So I just started walking in a random direction. I lost track of time after this, since my watch had been ruined. After what felt like forever, I saw a light in the distance. As I got closer to it, I realized it was a huge bonfire, surrounded by a ton of theese entities. They were just standing there, it was almost mesmerizing in a way, how they stood perfectly still around the fire, but I knew I had to focus. I realized that I had a flare gun in my pocket, so I pulled it out and shot it up. This caused all of them to look at me, then dissapear. The fire went out and the flare was the only source of light in the entire forest. Then I heard something running towards me from the back.
12:00am+
I turned and saw one of theese things in all it's "glory" sprinting towards me on all fours. I shot all my bullets at it, which somehow caused it to drop dead. As I went closer to examine it, I was disgusted by the smell of it, it was like rotten flesh. I looked at the carcass and saw a huge pentagram on its back. So I backed off and started praying. I may be crazy, but I heard a voice say to me, "Go 88 steps forward, then 6 left". So I did just that, and saw a white ash tree, and I instantly knew what to do. I grabbed 30 bullets and rubbed every single one of them on the tree. Then something snapped inside me, I yelled up "Come and get me!" at the top of my lungs. And right away, several creatures started rushing towards me. 5 shots, 5 dead entities. But then I saw IT... The thing that started all of this. It wanted me dead. Then suddenly the flare died out. I quickly turned on my laser and flashlight, and the final battle had begun.
About 12:30am.
The entity took the form of my so called "uncle", and quickly ran in a bush. But I wasn't ready to let it slip away again. So I shot about 10 rounds into the bush, and it ran out of it. I took my chance, and with my remaining bullets, I shot it. It dropped and screamed in agony. I went up to it, and realized it had dropped that old Winchester, so I picked it up, and put a bullet in it's skull. And with that it was all over. At least I thought.
March 16th. 2024.
After I got home, I dropped, and fell asleep. When I woke up I decided that the best thing to do was go to church, since those things were most likely demonic. As soon as I entered the church the priest saw me, and fainted. I had to call an abulance for him. I heard he died later that day. The same day, I found out my entire family was killed in a horrible car accident. And so I realzed I had been cursed for life. Anyone who was considered my loved one had died in the following weeks, only I had remained. So in the end, I got revenge for my friend, but was it worth it?

Race information

• What? 3 Days at the Fair 50K
• When? May 18, 2024 ‡
• How far? 31.1mi
• Where? Augusta, NJ
• Website: https://sites.google.com/site/njtrailseries/fair
• Strava activity: https://www.strava.com/activities/11441314526
• Finish time: 4:40:46

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	4:30:00	No
B	< 5 hours	Yes

Splits

Mile	Time
1	0:39 *
2	7:33
3	7:31
4	8:01
5	7:45
6	7:56
7	8:08
8	8:00
9	8:00
10	8:27
11	8:04
12	8:11
13	8:08
14	8:10
15	8:06
16	8:10
17	8:43
18	8:09
19	8:40
20	8:21
21	8:38
22	8:39
23	9:06
24	9:05
25	9:56
26	9:45
27	9:40
28	10:16
29	11:07
30	10:20
31	11:46
32	11:00
33	6:30 **

• "Lap 1" was from the 50K start to the timing mat. ** "Lap 33" was the remainder from my GPS watch auto-split to the end of the lap/race. ‡ "3 Days at the Fair" went from 13 May to 19 May 2024 (yep!). I was there 18 May.

Training

This was a spring full of sharp turns and hard knocks. The original training went towards the Cheap Marathon in Derry, NH. (That race was reported upon by flocculus here.) Training then consisted of maintaining 30-40 weekly miles, with a weekly long run adding two miles from the prior week, with some fluctuation. My hometown is quite hilly, so I foregone specific hill training as all of my runs were not near flat. My final long run was 21.5 miles March 6 before tapering down my weekly long runs.
A freak snowstorm delayed the Cheap Marathon from 4/6 to 4/20, however on 4/9 I fell in my gym shower. Either a rib contusion or hairline fracture paused any running or training for nearly two weeks. Scrambling for some sort of race to scratch the itch and not toss away months of prior training, I found 3 Days at the Fair online – a six day affair featuring ultramarathon categories from 50K to 144H races. They offered a marathon category, with an alluring 50K at similar start times. Naturally, I signed up for shy of 5 more miles than a marathon. One of my running mates gave me the best advice that "ultra running is more of an eating contest than anything else." Considering that during prior marathons I had salt tabs and 3 or 4 GU packets, I thought more about this statement. Hoping my ribs and legs would stand up, I went for the race.
Note: If registering for this race, you can choose the specific date and time you wish to start it. Just stick to that time. I would end up toeing the line with three other 50K runners who opted for the Saturday 9AM start. One could have theoretically started their run any day between Monday and Saturday, at 9AM or 6PM.

Pre-race

The Sussex County NJ fairgrounds were easy enough for me to get to. Those who were not running longer ultra races had plenty of parking mere steps from the registration/food/starting line. (Those running longer races have opportunities to park campers, tents, and so forth.) Weather was gray and cool, at 58˚F/14˚C -ish. I ended up playing with how I'd pack for the run, before noticing racks set up after the start line into which you could place your water bottle so as to not hold it the entire time.

Race

For check-in, I picked up my swag (a plush bathrobe) and timing ankle chip. No bibs here! At 8:50, marathoners and 50K'ers were brought to the respective start lines, 0.1 and 0.2 miles after the timing mat. At 9AM, we would run against the sea of all other runners back to the starting mat, turn around, and continue in the anti-clockwise 1 mile loop course. This is why marathons are 27 laps and 50K is 32 laps – that quarter lap registered as "lap 1 completed," so 31.1 miles registers as 32 at the end. I'm getting ahead of myself!
I found the course compelling enough to follow. After the timing mat, there is a short uphill that weaves past the toilet and shower area, and toward a hairpin. While the 'pin itself was set wide, most of the time I would walk it because of traffic or weakening knees. This continued straight past a Camper's Row of sorts with mild downhill. The second half runs a long arch around the grounds, with a gradual gentle uphill. The course is paved except for a 200m segment of packed gravel – if it had rained, this part could've been muddy. The course completed after a shot down a causeway, and left turning back to the mat. It's this area where registration, fuel/food/catering, and timing is displayed. Overall, no real potholes to be concerned about, just 31 total laps of this!
Hydration and food – tons of everything including Impossible Burgers, PB&J, cola, and sports vitamins – was supplied after the timing mat. I kept track of which lap I was on with a big-screen projection. My name, lap number, prior lap time, and total time appeared. Every 30 minutes or so I decided to take in calories. This included GU Rocktane, GU Vanilla (sooooo good), two stroopwaffels, two ice pops, and a few salt tabs. It was roughly 400 or so more calories than I would have consumed during a race. Hydration was also a factor, that the course was completely uncovered made me feel hotter and "drier" than normal. I might have taken on about 50 fl oz / 1.5 liters of water. My stomach tolerated this!
The main causeway/timing mat area is where I stopped for water and stowed my foods so I didn't have to carry it around. Early on, I didn't understand where the timing screen was, so took minor detours in the registration area. These factors are why my paces seem inconsistent by 30-odd seconds per mile at points.
The people here are amazing! Other runners were highly supportive, chatty, upbeat. One person was dressed up like a chicken (the race logo featured one), and another person blasted some pretty appropriate and popular tunes. It would be a game for me to guess the artist or song on every lap – we had a great banter going! Another group had a dry-erase board and changed it every few minutes or so with a new dad joke. Naturally, I had to stop to retort with another. For example, they wrote, "3.14% of sailors are pi-rates!" I replied, "if it's $4.50 in Jamaica for a beef patty, $3.50 in DR, and $2 in Trinidad, are those the pie rates of the Caribbean?" Sorry, not sorry.
The lack of proper training began to present itself around mile 22. Pacing was targeted at 8:00-8:15 per mile, with goal half-marathon splits at 1h45m or so. After mile 26, I was 3h40m44s, ten minutes off goal pace. Around that point I slowed, taking more walk breaks but promising myself to run at least half every lap. Landmarks were mentally set to designate where walking and running would occur. When I crossed the line I was done.

Post-race

From a mental standpoint, the concept of so many laps did not bother me. My daily runs more often than not are laps in my parking lot, and I've completed a few half marathons on traditional 400m tracks a few times prior – especially during the Global Pandemilovato of '20. Physically, my legs did not feel any worse than they would have after 26.2 miles. My stomach was actually doing quite alright – nausea and headache would set in within a few minutes of finishing other marathons, but not today. My buddy's advice is making me rethink my marathon strategy.
As the event is ultra-marathon focused, finishers of marathon and 50K received a coin. The longer the distance, the larger the coin, with special awards for those who have invested 100+ miles with the organization. (A paver brick [!] stamped with the runner's name is awarded after 1,500 miles with the organization.) Either way, I circled back to the registration area to press my luck at burger availability. Unfortunately they were out, yet making more. While at the beginning of the race the smell of bacon and pancakes wafted onto the line, the sweet smell of success – naturally, manifest as deliciously greasy burgers – greeted us at the end.
Post-race nutriton in my car included Gatorlyte electrolytes, SiS Rego Rapid recovery, and 1.5 liters of water. I opted against the on-site showers and made the long ride home for one which was far more satisfying.
EDIT: Added info about registration. EDIT 2: Grammar.

The Yaire exile to earth chapter-8 parts 1 and 2
What was I thinking after all those years without a drink? I didn’t even have so much as a drop when Monica passed and now, now I dropped myself into a bottle and I have to crawl back out.
Those were the thoughts running through my mind. I hated myself for it. I pissed away so many years, I couldn’t work cows unless I had a flask. I couldn’t make hay or hell coach Joshua’s baseball games if I didn’t have a half rack in the truck. I hid it from her and the kids. I was a useless drunk. Until one day Monica took the kids and left. That’s what it took to kick me in the ass. I started AA, started going to church with them, and tried my best to be a better man. All these years without the destruction that I caused. And this event, us finding these poor abandon people in the brush, trying to get them help in whatever way we could and I cracked.
I needed to leave. I needed to do something, even if it was wrong. If I didn’t try to abandon these demons, they would most definitely grab me again.
The light was just starting to grow in the distance; my head was splitting me in two. The very act of walking to the barn causes me to vomit twice.
It took a long minute for me to gather my strength as the waves of sick, washed over me. Leaning against the wooden gate that leads to the horse pen was all I could do to stand and be present. Wave after dizzy wave nearly takes my feet out from under me.
Kicking my tongue to the pair of horses in the round pen next to the barn, I hoped I could manage to saddle one and go find some of my still abandoned cows. “Ha girls, I know it was a rough night.” The gray mare snorted her offense at my still drunk odder. The scent of cheap whiskey was obviously drifting to the pair of horses and they didn’t appreciate it. After a lot of effort, I was able to call the gray horse over. Reaching up to scratch her cheek, I realized in my haze that all my tack was in the trailer. “Shit!” I muttered to myself in extreme irritation.
Hanging my throbbing head, I managed to make the short distance to the trailer that I had left half parked in the yard. As I reached the trailers tail gate and slowly opened it, a distant voice reaches me. “Rough night?” I gazed up to the porch to see Joshua with a thermos of coffee, standing outside the front door.
“It wasn’t a fun one,” I muttered, as I could see an out cold Mic propped up on the porch swing. “At least it was too cold out here last night.”
“It wasn’t cold because we brought you two a couple of blankets.” Josh stated as frankly as he could. “You want something to eat before you get knocked off a horse?”
“No, food will just make me sick. I just need to work the poison out of my system.” I said, trying to keep the spins down as a fresh round of dizziness begins.
“So you’re going up the hill. Do you want help?”
Josh asked, sounding concerned. “No, I need to help with..” my voice trailed as I couldn't think through the fog.
.“Yaire”, Joshua interrupted as I searched my hazy mind for the right words.
“Yep, you’re on top of it. Best of luck, boy.” I grunted as I bent to pick up the saddle and tack for my spare horse.
Straining to hold on to my leather implements, I turned to make the trudge back to the round pen. Joshua called over my shoulder. “Just like that?”
“Yes, son, just like that.” A muttered back as I made the short walk back to the horses.
Dropping my saddle so the saddle horn was helping to prop the assembly out of the dirt. I reached out for one of the mares to begin the procedure to saddle up, only to be jerked backwards.
“Wait one fucking minute!” Josh all but spit.
“You help save these people, but now that you’re drunk, you’re going off to ride to the sunset like it’s some shitty western?” He barked.
I reached up and hit him full in his face. “You think I know what to do?” I yelled back. “Some galactic despot has been dropping these people all over the hell and gone leaving them in the sage to die!”
I hated myself for what I was doing; my mind was screaming at my body and mouth to stop. I couldn’t. “I’ll fail these people, Iv already failed you and your sister. I’m a cosmic fuck up without your mother.” Now my tears started to well. I couldn’t stand there anymore. Reaching down, I scooped up my saddle and gear and walked into the corral.
Chapter 8 part 2
Joshua’s personal perspective
It’s been a few hours since dad left. I was sitting on the front porch steps, still stewing in my irritation.
“The eye, better?” A female voice asked from the front porch doorway.
“It’s a little black, but it’s….. ok,” I said, the last word stalling out as the voice came into view when I turned my head. There, standing in the doorway, was Lis, her straight grey hair cut short at an angle, letting the light from the house shine on her angler right cheek. She had on my old ac/dc shirt from high school and a pair of Becky’s “cowgirl jeans”.
Trying hard not to stare, I whipped my head back out to overlooking the farmyard. “You’re picking up English really fast. Another week or two and you’ll be better at it than me.” I stammer out.
The tired wooden floor boards begin to creak with her footsteps as she walks up and sets down next to me on the steps.
“Thank you,” she says with some effort. The words were still being practiced.
“For what?” I said, trying my best to sound cool.
She looked confused, then Mic’s voice interrupted with their native language. A flurry of sounds and vowels later. Lis stood up and turned to go back inside. Stopping long enough at the doorway to turn and look back, “you people saved us.” She said in near perfect English, and with that she turned and walked back into the house.
Still looking over the yard, it was hard to keep a small grin off my face. Flicking a small piece of gravel off the steps, I could hear a fresh set of footsteps walking up to me. With a plop mic flopped himself next to me.
Looking out at the yard with a thousand mile stare, he took a long breath in. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he began. “What happens now?” He managed, trying hard to wrap his mouth around the words.
“I don’t know, we’ll keep working on your English and you guys can decide. Maybe your people will come back for you.” I said.
“No one comes, Zeen prison word.” He said while pointing to the ground in front of us and shaking his head.
“That’s, that’s not good.” I replied, while not understanding what a Zeen is.
We sat there in silence for a moment longer. Until I finally got up to stretch my legs and headed back inside. About half of the Yaire were seated in the living room, watching the first Hangover and giving their constant commentary. I guess if you have to learn a language from a movie, it should at least be a good one.
Becky was standing in the kitchen, while on the phone, with a troubled look on her face.
“What’s going on?” I whispered. Her response was to hold a single finger up in a just a minute manner.
“Thanks for checking, ya they had it out this morning and dad left in a huff. Ok we’ll look for him tomorrow. Thanks Mary,” Becky set her cell phone down before she acknowledged me. Looking down as she let out a tired sigh.
“So that was Mary. She told me dad went to her and Dave’s after he left here. Dave will give him a hand getting the cows down to his winter feed lot so we can truck them back.” Becky said. “She also said dad was pretty hammered, she thinks he was drinking on the way. Apparently, he was stinking of buzz and babbling about aliens. They're letting him sober up in their spare room before they head up the hill.”
“That’s no good.” I said, still upset about this morning.
“No, it’s not. Do you want to tell me what happened, for dad to get drunk and kick your ass?” she asked, a slight chuckle in her voice at the last part.
“I guess it’s the stress from all of this. But he was going on about being a failure and that someone dumped here the Yaire, I don’t know.” I stated
She just frowned at my explanation. “Well, we’re just in, autopilot around here this afternoon. Can I get you to head to town for some groceries?”
“I guess, are you sure you’ll be ok alone?” I asked, not sure if that was the smartest things to do. Leaving my little sister with a house full of aliens.
“I’ll be fine. The guys are having a hangover marathon and some girls are in my bedroom using your laptop to practice English.” She said dismissively.
“Wait, my laptop?” Embarrassing concern running through my mind.
I all but ran to Becky’s room. The sound coming from there confirmed my worst fears. On the bed Sofia, Ava, and Mia, all I would guess in the early to mid twenties started giggling at my approach, which made this even more awkward. As I entered the doorway, they all reached for the screen and closed the laptop. Our collective embarrassment set the trio to giggling again as now both Lis and Becky walked up behind me. From the bed, Sofia started speaking to Lis in their own language and holding her hands apart giving a literal scale for their conversation.
I was red faced with shame and embarrassment as the giggling picked back up.
“You didn’t delete your search history, did you?” Becky chuckled as I passed her in the door way
“What do you want from the store?”
This story was brought to you in large part due to u/Fit-Capital1536. A big thank you for the collaboration and story ideas.

I also wanna share my story so it's going to be long. So we we were classmate from middle school until highschool. We got along well and really became bestie since highschool. We hung out in the same group of friend and I am the type if girl that get along well with both girls and boys. He was the closest opposite-sex friend I got tho. People always asked if we we're dating because of some acts wedl did together like sharing the same seat or sleeping on each other's lap. I also wondered what he thought about me. Every time people asked if we felt embarrassed doing those acts he just told them "I know it sounds weird but I don't see her as a girl". Well I mean my personality does like a boy since I'm athletic. We happened to go to the same college and I was happy like he was the only one I knew went to the same college as me. We hung out alot, the group of friends from before still sometimes go with us but usually just me and him. One more reason we were so close is because we are addictive to the same video game. We communicate almost everyday because I would grind my rank every day after school with him. One day we took a day off together to grind rank, after that, he invited me over his house watch movie and hang out together. I accepted the offer and didn't even think about the barrier of two sex as we were so close all those years. We really did watched movies and I drank a little too much mixed fruit alcohol so I was abit drunk. I remember he tried to touch my thighs and ass after I got drunk but I pushed him away. Didn't think much until he grabbed my breasts. I hitted him and jump on his bed. I start to feel something is off but I still ignore and tell him to switch the movie. To my surprise, he climbed on bed with me and played a porn video. I was shoked but stayed silent. But he stary hugging my waist so I pushed him away...after that I fell asleep and my memories faded abit. I only remember he said something about I was being crazy and he wanted to have sex with me. I don't remember resisted that strongly tho I think it was because of the alcohol... then he just assaulted me. After that he turn on the movies again like nothing happened until the next morning then he raped me again this time I resisted and shouted at him. Then I call my mother to pick my up. I didn't tell my mother tho just told her I got a party at his place. The strange thing is that even tho I was disgusted and feeling violated. I don't feel any hatres toward him. Not even mad. We just got another game today and he asked if I remember what he did and said he had a bad day and that he sorry. I just kind of accept it and we just chat and game like normal. Of course a bit awkward but... I mean should I forgive him? I feel like I want to forgive him but he might think I liked what he did and do it again.

So i've posted in this reddit before about this, but the game has come along much more now and I now have the first few cutscenes finalized and ready for voices.
I've been making a Silent Hill fan game for 4 years now ''Silent Hill: Second Sacrifice''
I'm looking for 3 characters right now (2 female, one male)
The first character is Rachel Evans, the main protagonist and whom the Player controls. This character will by far have the most voice lines in the game and will require the most work.
Rachel is 19, very head-strong, and will do whatever it takes to get the answers about her family and all the secrets her mother kept from her. Rachel takes no BS, and will often get frustrated when the other characters she meets are being unreasonably cryptic, instead of just blindly accepting it like other Silent hill protagonists do.
The 2nd Character is a strange elderly woman named Beatrice, who for some reason seems completely unaffected and even oblivious to the goings-on of Silent hill. Beatrice is... weird. She will act as an unreliable narrator or sorts, popping up in locations that don't really make sense and will give the player JUST enough information to push them in the right direction.
The 3rd Character is Cyrus, a strange 16 year-old boy who is first found hiding in the Sewers of Silent Hill. think Dobby from Harry potter, very twitchy, nervous, stutters when he speaks, but mostly harmless. Not much is known about Cyrus yet, except that he somehow knows who Rachel is even though he's never met her before.
It's not NECCESARY for you to know anything about Silent Hill but it would definitely help. In terms of the voice-style I want it to feel like a PS1-era game, so the jankier the voice acting the better.
You don't need to be a professional.
I'm not paying for this work simply because I myself am not making a penny off of this project - legally I can't anyway since I don't own Silent Hill as an IP lmao
This is a FAN PASSION PROJECT and that's that.
DM with, if you can, a sample of your voice, thankyou!
Link the gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpGkwKhA7AI&t=131s

Hey Roleplayers and Reddit users!
I've been wanting to do this for a while now and I am looking for people who want to play a character of the game (male only) to pair with me (female only character of the game) for some fun longterm RP. I have several plots prepared and ideas to share depending on what character you'd want to write/write with and I am happy to discuss more details and possible plots.
Heroes I am willing to write for this RP would be:
My preference is Gency, but I am terribly terribly picky about this and made a lot of horrible experiences. This is something I kind of want done right and if I don't see that happening, I am not willing to write this. If you are equally interested in building their relationship from the longterm point of view, I'd like to discuss.
Other than that I'll gladly play :

• young Ana
• Sombra
• D.va
• Ashe
• Kiriko
• Widow
• Mercy

If you have ideas for this, wishes you want to include I am happy to discuss! That being said though, I am a very detailed writer and like it if my partners are as well, two paragraphs should be the least you should be able to write and maybe even extend it a little further. Third person would also be perfect, I think writing in first person is kind of awkward and I am not comfortable doing that.
One of my ideas as example is as follows: Both our characters are on a mission. The two need to work together to gather information, perhaps rescue a fellow agent. It is tense. The alarm is going off, red lights are filling corridors and guards begin to flood the building. They will have to hurry to complete their goal without being caught.
Another idea could be more about the slice of life part, what is happening behind the scenes, maybe even the mental toll these missions and the huge pressure has on the involved people. They could build a proper relationship, work on conquering their fears as well as work on themselves to become better and greater heroes! Naturally, I am in for all the action as well. Let's go beat up some bad (or good) guys!
I am pretty active but I only RP on discord so please keep that in mind. Also, I want to speak out a content warning for mature content. Please send the word hero to me so I know you've read this all in your first message.
I usually write 3 paragraphs as the least amount and would like for my partner to match me.
The following will be a roleplay sample of mine which depicts a semblance of my literacy:
____________________________________________________________________________
Their escape through the ventilation system was not the greatest exit strategic, additionally, it was flawed and their position easily compromised. Amelie had already begun to lead the way towards what she figured was the very edge of the fortress where they'd be able to slither away into the night, but he was certainly not making this any more pleasant with his urgent request to hurry. "I am going as quick as I can, but as you are aware, wet clothes stick to these smooth surfaces perfectly well," and indeed it made it quite difficult to shift along the metal of the shafts. She felt the heat too, though for her the very start was certainly only comforting, drying both their bodies and clothes just a little before they'd soon face the consequences and most likely either burn to charcoal or get some lovely burn marks along their skin. That was what she expected, just until his larger frame pushed and squirmed past her before he could even see the glare she was shooting at him. "What do you think you are doing?" She asked lowly, and watched him repeatedly smack his arrow against the relatively thin wall of the ventilation shaft, that soon bulged and began to give in.
Her attention however was caught by his tattooed arm, which seemed to faintly illuminate the air in bright blue. It was just how the rumors proved. Something about him, about that tattoo he donned on his arm that gave him strength on an unimaginable scale. With great curiosity as she witnessed this did Amelie watch the wall next to them burst open, and him slip outside. No hesitation within her motions she followed, and the both stood shielded from the flames that followed. There was a certain thankfulness within her eyes as she looked upon him, knowing there was no reason for each other to linger. Nodding gently, she bid him a word-less farewell before Amelie too, disappeared into the night.
Months had passed after their run in and the mission report handed to Akande caused him to end up a little displeased over the next few days. He wanted the Shimada to be part of Talon, to have his power under their control and thus, increased the offered amount of money and goods should he ever end up appearing once more. Little did either of them know that the famed spider would soon once more come into the view of the archer.
Brazil, ten in the evening. Music played and echoed through the halls, setting the mood for such a high-class event where drinks were shared, dances were executed and most importantly, deals were made. Amelie attended on behalf of Talon, naturally so as she mostly would serve as informant that very night. As such, her gun was not a piece of her attire tonight.
Amelie stood tall and proud as she always did, and her dress once more proved that she was a confident woman. The black dress vacant of any prints upon it did her body justice. Cutting off high upon her thighs, a slit on the side revealing even more of those long, firm legs, the very front was just as revealing, the V shape cutting a rift between her plump breasts, fitting for a beautiful woman like her while the back was cut deep, revealing that signature spider tattoo on her pale skin that was caressed by the tip of her ponytail.
Her hand was firmly wrapped around a glass of red wine she sipped from while circling the area a little, searching for anyone worth being noted and not quite aware that a familiar archer was in the very same room. She stood with her back towards his direction at first, before she desired to move once more and caught the sight of the archer out of the corner of her eyes. He might have seen her smirk slyly, before she turned away again. Amelie knew when she was the huntress, but she did not approach her prey this time. No, he would need to hunger for a taste of her, and that'd let him approach her while she remained still.
Naturally, her thoughts had wandered to him before, thought back on his warmth he soared her in that locker, and at times she humored the thought of a misses romance, even if she was aware it was foolish and nothing alike her. No, she was the heartless woman that murdered her own husband years back, cold to the touch and emotionless. The perfect weapon that once had a loving heart.
____________________________________________________________________________
If you are interested please message me and let's work something out <3

Genre: Adventure
Est. Year of Release:
2009-2015
Graphics:
A cartoony artstyle with small blocksized characters.
I remember playing this in the early 2010's. It has been a pretty long time since then so I have forgotten most details and information about this game.
The only picture still intact in my monkey-sized brain is the main character and the princess sitting side by side watching the castle from a hill at night.
If I do see a screenshot of it, I may recognize the game.
[Andrioid][2010's] A game about a knight saving a princess.
Genre: Adventure
Est. Year of Release:
2009-2015
Graphics:
A cartoony artstyle with small blocksized characters.
I remember playing this in the early 2010's. It has been a pretty long time since then so I have forgotten most details and information about this game.
The only picture still intact in my monkey-sized brain is the main character and the princess sitting side by side watching the castle from a hill at night.
If I do see a screenshot of it, I may recognize the game.

Every review I read online said the game was awful. I had my doubts but hey it's free I figured why not.
And the game started off so good. From the story to the environments to the sound to the music, it nailed the feel of silent Hill. The dread that just seeps through you, it even brilliantly portrayed the concept of the town turning your guilt against you. I was glued to my TV the whole time. I loved every second of it, so why do I absolutely hate this game so much I'll probably never play another silent Hill game again?
Well it's very very simple those god-awful Chase scenes, especially the final one.
Run aimlessly around trying to find whatever is the correct way The game wants you to go with no real rhyme or reason. The first ones were simply trial and error, that last one when you have to find all those stupid pictures is just so damn. Infuriating I almost broke a controller.
no map, no rhyme or reason to the hallways. No way of even being able to tell where something you're supposed to pick up is, A one-hit kill enemy that can sneak up on you and back you into a corner.
It's the same problem I had with alien isolation, The monster went from being terrifying to annoying to just downright infuriating.
This is really sad because I absolutely loved the game up until this point. But considering how awful the silent Hill 2 remake looks combined with Konami whoring out the license to studios that make crap like this I'm just out.
It's easier for me to pretend like the series ended after 4 then to watch Konami butcher its legacy.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense English isn't my first language.
2 years ago I moved in with my cousin, her husband, and there 2 kids. All was going, I helped with chores, baby sat for them plenty of times, and even cooked dinner or lunch when they were too tired to cook, I tried my best to be helpful around the house since I didn't have a job, I tried getting a job but every where I went they turned me down. It all went down hill when my other cousin passed away, I was devastated when I got the call from my sister, when I got the call I cried for a while till I fell asleep, when I woke up I just cried more, after I went to bathroom to wash my face, not long after my cousin noticed I was crying and asked if I was okay, I told her that my other cousin passed away and I couldn't even finish my sentence cause of my crying, she comforted me for and told me she was there for me and would do anything I needed from her. I later went to go see how my uncle was doing, my cousin drove me to go see them. I visited my uncle for a bit and went home. My cousin's husband drove me home since she was at work. The next would be planning the funeral. And the day after that they would be moving the body to the church, I had to meet up with my uncle, dad and other family members, so I asked my cousin to drive me, she seemed a little annoyed when she drove me, I felt bad for asking. Next few days family was still planning the funeral. And the night before the funeral I had asked for ride to the funeral, they didn't really answer my question. I couldn't sleep that night, so when it came to the time I should be leaving for the funeral they weren't awake, I waited 20 more minutes for them, still asleep so I decided to walk, it was a 40 minute walk for me. I was hesitant to walk, but I also didn't want to wake them up just for a ride I didn't want to annoy them. I also couldn't ask my dad or uncle for ride as they were already at the church and they don't have service or wifi there. The funeral went by, and before I knew it was 5pm, I had asked my cousin for ride back but she didn't answer . Since she didn't answer me I wait a few hours at the church until one of my other family members was able to drive me home, I got home late and was exhausted so I went straight to bed, I woke up around midnight and just laid there for bit, I couldn't believe that my cousin had passed away, I again was crying, soon later I stopped crying and start scrolling on my phone since I wasn't on it as much that week, and then my cousin walked in my room and asked how the funeral went, I said went fine, and she started a small conversation, that lead her to saying that she wants to spend time with her husband that next morning, she basically hinted that she wanted me to babysit for them the next morning, I was shocked that she said that because I had just gotten home a few hrs before from my other cousin's funeral.But the next morning they didn't do as they planned. A few hours later my mom had texted me and asked if I wanted to go out to eat I said yes, as I thought it would be good for me to get out. I went out to eat with my mom, i went home with leftovers since I couldn't eat all of it. I fell asleep once again when I got home, and only got a few hours of sleep. I had woken up at midnight, I woke up to my cousin and her husband drinking, and there 2 kids watching tv in there room. Mind you this is the night after my cousins funeral, about an hour later my cousin came into my room and had asked me to babysit there kids and make sure they stay in the room, usually I would say yes but I was hesitant to since I was grieving. She said it's okay that I just could hear out the kids and check in on them every 15 minutes, she then left my room, not even 10 minutes later she came back into my room asked me to sit with the kids, again I was hesitant to say yes, but I just said fine since it was alr kate at night and thought the kids would go sleep soon, 1 hour later kids still awake...2 hours later kids still awake...3 hours later kids are still awake...4 hours later kids are still awake... 5 HOURS later kids are finally sleeping. The WHOLE TIME I was with the kids my cousin and her husband were drinking. Safe to say I was pissed, I finally went to sleep too, I woke up late in the afternoon since I was up late babysitting. I was hungry so I went to go heat up my food I had brought home the day before. My cousin walked pasted the kitchen and saw me and came to say hi to me, I said nothing as I was mad at her for basically pushing me to babysit for her while I was grieving, she tried starting a conversation but she noticed I wasn't saying anything to her, she asked if I was okay, I just said nothing and as soon as my food was done heating up I walked away back to my room. I know this may seem childish but I was mad at her for pushing me to babysit for her while she n her husband drink, she knows I can't say not to them. I gave her and her husband the cold shoulder the next few days, up until I went to go visit my uncle, I stayed with him for the night since I need some time away. I didn't plan on staying with him when I went to visit I just did. I usually babysit for them since there work schedules overlap. But I didn't know if I had to babysit that since they didn't tell me if I needed to, so I decided to stay with my uncle for the night. That may have upset my cousin a bit cause when I went back she kept asking what's wrong with me, I said nothing. The next day my sister in-law who is very pregnant started labour. I wanted to be with her since me and her are very close. So I went with my mom to go be there for her. She wasn't dilated enough to give birth yet so we tried walking stairs and walking around all day. That help a little bit, later we went back to my sister-in-laws place so she could rest. While we were at her place I got a text from my cousin, my cousin texted me basically saying that I don't help out, and she gave me a "choice" that I should move out or "help out" more, I was in disbelief I just brust into tears. A few minutes later I had gotten another text from my aunty she had said that my cousin was going around telling people lies about me, I won't say what my cousin was saying about me behind by back since it hurt me she would say that after all I've done for her. I sat there sobbing for what felt like hours, hurt that she would do that to me. I felt like burden sobbing since my sister in law was in the room in early labour. I couldn't help it tho I was just hurt. My sister in law and mom just stood there looking at me, since this was basically the first time in forever they seen me cry like that.I just sat there zoning out, my sister in law stood up for and told my mom what my cousin did to me. My mom didn't say anything. My sister in law went on to say that my cousin shouldn't have done that since I lost my cousin I grew up with. After that my sister in law said I could stay with her. I felt like burden since she was pregnant and could give birth any minute now. But I stayed with her since I didn't know what to do. The next day we went back to the stairs, I stayed on the car since it was close to wifi and I felt like I was gonna have a breakdown. My dad had called me while I was sitting on the car, I told him what happen I couldn't even get through half of it without crying. He told it's going to be okay and to just let it all out, we then talked for bit and I felt better after the call. I went to go see how my sister in law was doing she was tired so went back to her place. She gave birth the next day I was so excited for her , that I forgot what happened with my cousin. But later on my mom pulled me aside and asked what I was gunna do, I told her that I would just move in with my dad. So I did and ever since I did I felt like I have been getting better, but apart of me thinks I should have just talked to my cousin how I was feeling, and what she did upset me, it's just I feel awkward and feel like seeking attention when talking about my feelings. And I feel kind of childish for ignoring her... ever since I moved out I went low contact with her and her husband.
So AITA for not talking to my cousin?

I noticed that in gurugram wine and beer shops are decorated with lights as if they are highway dhabas/restaurants or hi-fi malls. Just real malls and thekas decorated as malls. That's the only thing that exists in gurgaon for fun. During my childhood we used to have games period only once or twice a week. Even during those periods all were busy preparing for jee. Indian kids are least interested in sports. I used to make bow and arrows out of broom sticks and try to imitate ramayan Mahabharat characters by holding the arrow in front of my forehead, murmur some gibberish and then letting go of the drawn arrow on some toy placed at a distance. My father snapped and broke my bow and arrows. He was like, "not sending you to such an expensive school just so that you could become a tribal hunter. Go study". One of my father's friends had once gifted me a mouser bb gun for fifth or sixth birthday. My father was furious and angry at him for gifting his son a gun. He was like guns are banned in USA. Guns as toys are for bad kids. I used to like watching martial arts based movies and imitate their actions alone. Father gaslit me by saying that I was trying to be a future criminal. As martial arts are only for goons, thugs, killer, police, army or ultra rich people who just want to show off medals as status symbol. He wanted me to focus only on studies.
Rich shitty kids in my school had Xbox, PlayStation and PC games. They discriminated against me because of obvious status difference. So I had no friends, no siblings or any good memories while growing up. Girls in my class only wanted to hang with those boys who used to play football or basketball for school team. I was good at goalkeeping because of my natural reflexes and height and was also good at taking penalty kicks because of brute strength. But I wasn't good at tackling or dribbling. I used to do a lot of fouls. That's not the reason for which I wasn't allowed to play by the way. The real reason was that they didn't want to get embarassed by me who was a "poor loser" according to them. They used to belittle me because of my looks, skin colour and lack of money. So getting humbled by me on playground obviously used to hurt their ego. Because of that they didn't use to let me play.
Every one in my office just smokes tobacco or drinks alcohol. That is the definition of having a good time or celebration according to them. I noticed that Indians just drink(alcohol), spit(paan gutka), smoke (tobacco) and do drugs. Like isn't there anything else for recreational activities? In urban areas there's malls and I think one can go for hiking or trekking too. But even there Indian gen z and millennials just want to do gaanja and charas at Manali or any other hill station. Why are Indians so much into drugs?
Most of the MMA coaching centres are frauds as per the reviews on Google pages. They charge a leg or an arm but whatever they teach isn't that good as per the reviews.
I want to go to uttrakhand for river rafting, bunjee jumping, sky diving or para gliding. But don't feel brave enough because of the fact that it's India after all. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the chord breaks, what if the bunjee cable breaks, what if I drown....and also the charges as per Indian economy is too high. As per Indian economy the charges should not be as high as they are. Maybe within a year or two I will finally got for it.

In my first AA meeting, when it was my turn to speak, I said that I felt my life was a lot like the curse of Sisyphus – forever pushing a boulder up a hill only to slip at the top and, along with the giant stone, roll back to the bottom to start all over again. In my version, each time I slipped and fell, once I got up to start over, the boulder had grown in size, intensifying my labour.
Once the meeting had ended, a person came over and talked to me. “It’s nice to see another lover of the classics here,” they said. I smiled and said, “Oh yeah, haha.” The truth is, I really only know this myth from a friend who is a lover of the classics, and although I relate to the story, I myself will only listen to the enchanting timbre of Stephen Fry’s voice on the topic.
He then went on to tell me that there is a more modern reinterpretation of the story where the curse wasn’t real, but Sisyphus had been tricked into thinking he was eternally damned but could walk away at any time. This really got me thinking about how I had viewed this big stone of mine, this metaphor for everything that fuels my feelings of resentment, stress, anxiety, and depression. Maybe I could just walk away? Now, obviously, I’m not saying people should just walk away from their problems, but it’s our often locked, self-imposed, resentment-fuelled perspective on these problems that causes them to fester and grow. AA is full of “God” and “higher power” talk. I’ve seen people come to a meeting for the first time, hear these words and sigh, deal with the next however long, and never be seen in a meeting again. I don’t blame them. When someone would say to me, “Just put it in the Lord’s hands,” I would always feel disappointed, like it’s just a thing to say to get you to shut up already. What does that mean? Some imaginary force is going to fix my problems? Well, it didn’t take too many meetings to figure out that, no, it doesn’t. What I have come to believe this means is that you’re giving your problems to a higher mode of thinking, the lower mode being this default negative, the world-is-against-me way of looking at things. This lower mode is what brings us to feel the need to numb ourselves because it’s just so overwhelming and hurts emotionally, mentally, and physically – and in come the substances.
I’m going to now share my own reinterpretation of the Myth of Sisyphus, leaving out the whole story about why he was cursed because it doesn’t really apply.
In a timeless realm where punishment and perseverance intertwine, Sisyphus eternally pushes his boulder up a steep hill, only to watch it roll back down each time he nears the summit. This cycle, which he believes to be a divine curse, becomes his singular reality.
As he strains against the weight of his burden, a demon appears on one side, its voice smooth and tempting. It offers Sisyphus a potion, claiming it will ease his pain and make him forget his struggles. Desperate for relief, Sisyphus drinks the potion, and indeed, his pain subsides, his mind grows numb. But each time the boulder rolls back, it returns larger and heavier than before, intensifying his labour.
On the other side of the path, an angel stands silently, offering its hand. Its serene presence contrasts sharply with the demon's boisterous allure. The angel says nothing, its expression calm and patient, a silent invitation to abandon the fruitless task and find peace.
Yet Sisyphus, ensnared by the demon’s persuasive voice, ignores the angel. The demon’s seductive words drown out the silence of the angel, and the potion’s false relief becomes an irresistible escape from his perceived torment.
Unbeknownst to Sisyphus, he is not truly cursed. The gods had tricked him, implanting the belief of a never-ending punishment. The boulder is but an illusion of his own making, a symbol of his acceptance of a lie. The angel’s hand, extended in eternal patience, is the path to his freedom, offering a silent truth: he can walk away at any moment.
But silence is easily overlooked amidst the clamour of temptation. Thus, Sisyphus remains trapped in his self-imposed struggle, pushing the ever-growing boulder, unable to hear the unspoken truth that could set him free.
(Thanks for the re-write, AI)
For most of us, drinking or drugs aren’t really a problem, and that’s great. But unfortunately for some, what started as a fun social partaking from time to time turned into a form of self-medication. It’s a reaction to “I don’t like how I feel.” It’s a very self-involved, short-sighted solution. It’s a selfish act and feeds selfish thinking. Even the aftermath – the hangover – is a continuation of this. It’s so hard to focus or deal with anyone else other than yourself when you’re feeling the withdrawal. Thoughts dwell on fixing the way you feel, and when this is a regular occurrence, even if you no longer suffer as intensely as you once did, those thoughts become one: “When can I have my next drink?” The ultimate cure.
This supposed “cure” is a lie. I call it ‘The Sweet Spot Fallacy’. If I have a few drinks – for me, it was 2-3 generous glasses of whiskey – I’ll reach that sweet spot, and I can finally be at peace. Well, this “sweet spot” only lasts for a moment, and as it starts to fade, the body groans, “I’m losing it, I need more.” So you top up, then whoops, you've had too much, and here comes the slurry mess of “deep, meaningful, and/or epiphonic” (but really just resentment-fuelled dopamine drops of shallow validation) thoughts and conversation. Or what if you can’t top up? Well then, the body and mind continue to groan ever more intensely, and this displays itself in a shit-coloured variety of behaviours in the search for peace and comfort.
I drank because I was filled with resentment. I hated the fact that the world didn’t align for me, and thoughts and memories relating to this made me feel awful, and they wouldn’t stop dropping in to remind me. The irony is that the more these thoughts grew, the more unhinged I became, and the world more unaligned. And the reason those thoughts grew as intense as they did? Alcohol. Alcohol and fatigue.
I’m going to end this with another metaphor that I feel relates to what I have said here, and I’ll leave it to you to figure out why.
“Knowledge is knowing it’s a one-way street. Wisdom is looking both ways regardless.”
Peace and Love.

Fucking tgirls
DL M 150 6'0 7" bbc with girth 24 years old long story I usually use this page to jerk so I might aswell help out 100% real life
I fucked my first tranny at 18 I used to jerk off to a lot of porn from a young age and even got to shemale porn. I lost my virginity to a girl but I was just very horny at that age one day downloaded Grindr scrolled for a while but got distracted went and got high at a friends house and took a few shots aswell hanging out with buddies. I went to the bathroom opened my phone opened Grindr and saw a pretty Latina tgirl and I messaged her. Not a long convo she gave me an address and I left my friends telling them I'm done for the night. I pick up the tranny and she has a tight skirt on smooth thighs and nice ass I was already getting hard leaving her apartment. I park up in the next apartment and we hop in the back seat I already have a completely hard dick cause to me I basically had Jane Marie in the back of my car with me. She is playing with my dick sucking it getting her lipstick everywhere but she keeps answering her phone I think it was her boyfriend calling her. I see her ass and decided to fuck but between the condom and it being my first time I keep getting soft and she is too tight for my soft dick. I stop focusing on her asshole and just feel her body her soft ass and her nice hair with blonde streaks. I get hard and inside and her moans got me so hard I fuck the shit outta her she moans load as hell.(she keeps stopping to text this man in all caps and in Spanish ). After wards I take her to McDonald's and I wasn't even shy at the window cause she looked like a girl so much She gave me her number but I lost it never went back at that time I didn't know how much of a gem she was lol
My second time was off of Grindr again this time a older tranny she was also Latina but heavier then me big ass and tits and she was older 40+ hopefully not 60 lol. I fucked her the first time for free but after I got her number she kept making me pay but I liked her so used to never mind. One time she didn't answer her number and I was so horny I knocked on her door she opened it and said No! I pointed at my pocket I got money and she was mad but let me in. I followed her into the kitchen she was cooking and I put 60$ on her table and started grabbing her ass pulling out my dick and kissing her neck like usual. She said no fuck. I kept kissing her neck and then her mouth she kept saying no fuck I was very hard and she felt it on her ass . I start sucking her big tits doing anything to get her horny and she pushes my head down to her ass I never ate ass before. I had no choice started kissing it and got my tounge in there eventually got really into it and started jerking until I came on her kitchen floor she played in my cum with her feet and then rubbed it all over my clothes I licked her feet she was so experienced she knew exactly what she was doing I stood up kissed her so hard and really just hugged her I still miss that one
Over the years I used some escort websites to find some but I never paid over 100$ I make sure when I'm talking on the phone I flirt with them calling them baby so they get interested and in person I give them a little cash and start the process quick and most of them fold cause I'm in pretty good shape or they wanna smoke some weed with me if I offer them. I've done it probably like 5 times.
Last story I was in Chicago for work not my home state . I found a black tranny online and went to her hotel. I was very high smoked right before I went to her so I was on edge very paranoid of any funny business and Chicago is a rough city.I found her in the lobby and I was surprised she kinda looked like a girl. We get to her room and I give her 40$ and try to grab her ass make her horny she denies me and tells me 200$. No way was I paying that so I just keep flirting trying to make her horny and she is hard to beat keeps touching my pockets. She had a school girl skirt on while sitting on the wall of the bed she lifts her skirt up. I see a floppy 7 inch black cock with shaved pubeses and a belly ring on a flat stomach. I slowly dive across the bed and for the first time suck a dick she knew exactly what she was doing after only 30 seconds she pushed me off and says she wants her money. I hop off the bed and my dick somehow was already out. I start jerking watching her and when she sees my big dick she starts stroking herself. Seeing her finally get horny I automatically cum. I zip up and leave cause I didn't trust this bitch and I heard something in the bathroom of the room I forgot to check. I literally came so hard across the room though she was like omg .

I was watching Jonas Hill’s mid90s, and one of the parts of the movie that i really enjoyed was in the beginning. It feels real. Stevie punches himself, kinda beats himself up, he snoops around, just feels very alone. There’s another moment in the movie where he grabs a controller and uses its cord to try and strangle himself. Or when he used a brush to irritate his thigh. It reminds me of when i was a kid. I was curious if there’s more movies that deal with those kind of topics. It feels like being seen. Some other stuff i liked that’s pretty similar was Opal and Moral Orel, although I’ve never related more to mid90s, specially that beginning. Thanks for reading, and i will look into all suggestions and recommendations.

Rather you're on a tent or in a sleeping bag you should always try to sleep on clear flat ground. Or flat enough ground to where you're not sliding down in the tent all night rather you have a mattress or not. I was on a hill for only a few months and got arthritis which really didn't set in till some months in of sleeping on the hill. I know have back pain often and a swollen lower back at times.
So yeah watch what you do. It's easier to find flat ground if you're in a sleeping bag but that would mean you'd be taking the risk of sleeping in empty parking lots or ok sidewalk outside stores. If you're camping correctly you'd be in the woods or some similar isolated place full of grass but it's hard to find flat ground there at times.
Then you have to move the tent every so often because ants take over for what ever reason. But yeah watch how you sleep and if needed have a good pillow. Being homeless can mess up your back and stuff and I guess that's why they call it "sleeping rough". It doesn't matter how young you are you can get pinched nerves, slipped disk, athirits, etc etc.

1330 Terran Front Fleet Time
On the Turinika homeworld, the first signs of unrest began to manifest like a wave, The broadcast of the most esteemed Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata, Taratanti of the roost Kazatalak, openly performing the act of Kavsa had been met with shock. The last Taratanti who had voluntarily performed Kavsa had done so in protest of the treatment of the Kulorn caste, nearly two thousand years prior. It was an ancient rite, one that signified rejection of the greatest shame. Even more shocking than the act itself was the evidence that had followed it. Visuals of species, brought into the Conclave, not as migrant workers as had been believed, but as slaves, was met with an almost immediate attempt at censorship. This attempt failed spectacularly, mostly due to those who had been tasked to censor the information not only refusing to follow the command, but openly declaring that they had been ordered to do so. A situation that was already, as the humans would say, out of hand, spiraled completely out of control. Within only twenty minutes of the ending of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s broadcast entire cities entered a state of absolute anarchy. Two planetary capitals were stormed and taken by the furious civilian population, demanding the location of those who had been enslaved. The Turinika Armada, which even then was in the middle of a training session meant to prepare the fleet to withstand the Terran Front’s assault, began to cease operations. Within the hour, the entire armada would be recalled to the turnika homeworld. Those who did not take to the streets simply stopped whatever work they were doing and went to their homes to be around their brood. Images of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata with his stripped wings spread wide in front of the human fleet commander were on every news fed of the Conclave, as was the sound of his thunderous voice, and the wails of despair from a turinika female that couldn’t be seen. Close ups of the human fleet commander’s face were shown, with analysts remarking on the shock, horror, and sympathy. Since the outbreak of the Seventh Orion War, the female human known as Simmons had been reported to have made several threats towards the turinika, she had quickly become seen as a warmonger, ready to take revenge against the turinika for refusing to go to war and violate their principles of pacifism. Now the images of her lunging forward to stop the violation of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s plumage, the agonized expression of her face, and the true reason for her threats against the turinika were rapidly reversing her image. On far flung deep core mining stations and agricultural stations, on deep space stations dedicated to material processing, and in other areas hidden from the sight of the normal turinikan population, overseers and taskmasters felt their hearts run cold at the knowledge that very soon, their part to play in the willful enslavement of another species would be known to the wider Conclave. As the data package transmitted alongside the broadcast were fully decompressed and the scale of the Conclave’s government’s involvement was revealed, the entirety of the Conclave itself was teetering on the verge of absolute pandemonium. The image of a member of the kolra species, from the look of it barely a hatchling, quickly was becoming the face of the entire incident. The picture was absolutely damning, and the sight of the image had sent any who saw it instantly into contorting and painful displays of shame. The young kolra was sprawled on it’s stomach, looking to the one taking it’s picture with eyes that had no life in them. It’s shell covered it’s back, and despite the age of the kolra it was already dulled and scuffed. The foot pressing down on the shell was unmistakably familiar to those who saw it, the clawed feet of a turinika. Within the hour, billions of winged figures stood in streets, the normally soft spoken and passive species demanding action, demanding justice, on the hundred worlds of the Turinika Conclave. The bulk of the Taratanti caste, most of whom had been left in the dark of the truth of the situation, quickly went public with their own declaration of outrage, and the eyes of the entire species turned inwards to the mountainous homeworld of their species.
Hakuri Watanabe looked down at his helmet before putting it on his bed, the stylized SEVEN seeming to stare at him. He sat down in his chair and picked up a small cloth from his buffing kit. No one knocked on his door, in fact, mostly he and the rest of his squad were left alone before a major operation. They were just given their time, time to mentally prepare. Some of his squad would go over their mission briefing, some, like him, would spend their time doing something to relax themselves. Hakuri always found that taking care of his suit calmed him considerably. Granted he could simply turn it over to the squads armorers to be tended to and they would do as good of a job as he could, but he preferred it to be done by his own hand. The symbol of a triangle was on his form fitting shirt, the symbol of his special operations command unit. He was known as a Myrmidon, but the official title of his unit was Section Three. He knew this, his superiors knew this, and as far as Hakuri knew, most of the Terran Front was aware of his unit’s existence, but past that, they knew very little about what he actually did. As far as his mother knew, Hakuri was a pencil pusher onboard the TFS Berlin, the troop mothership that all of his letters were sent from. He thought about writing her, but then again, he only liked to do that when he returned from a mission, not when he was expecting to go to one. If he tried to write her when he was waiting, he would just get anxious, and homesick. That wouldn’t do when he was dropping into a combat zone. That wouldn’t do at all. Hakuri instead started to buff his helmet, waiting for the word to come down which meant they were prepared to jump. A glance at the clock made him pause in his circular rotations. The clock said 1330. Operation Naked Sun was about to begin.
Tika was on his side, Kzia standing at the end of the medical bed that had been adjusted for his turinikan physiology. He felt cold in more ways than one. For his people, clothing was more of a decoration than a necessity, but without his protective plumage he felt the cold stabbing him through to his hollow bones. His diplomatic access was already gone, his privilege access revoked. He heard the broadcast for a preparation to jump, but he wasn’t truly listening. There was no question in his mind he had made the right decision. There was no question at all. One of the humans, a nurse, came to his side and gently laid a heavy blanket over him. The human’s hand lingered on his trembling body for a few moments before it was removed, and Tika glanced in their direction. The female was one of the ones who had responded first to the call for medical service for him, had heard what had happened and why. Tika had gotten very used to being glared at on this ship. He was hated, and he knew it. He knew he had deserved it. He was a party to the vral’s enslavement of the humans, the chua, and far too many others. When he had come to Thermopylae station, he had not even given that fact a single thought. He was born into power, being of the Taratanti. He belonged to the most powerful species and government in the entire quadrant of the galaxy. His people, while mighty, did not seek to use it. To him, they had simply been above it all. When the vral had approached him with the offer to sell captured species at first TIka had wanted to reject it out of hand, but a few had told him to go through with the sale. Such was the nature of this galaxy, or so he had believed. The weak were at the whims of the strong, and one’s place in the galaxy was determined only by the power they could wield. The turinika were not nearly the first to have taken a species and used it for slave labor, and while Tika did not approve of the deal, he had not fought it either. As he looked back to the wall, he remembered what the humans had taught him these last days. When he had arrived in Thermopylae he had assumed he would find the chua species to have been at the very least regulated to a subservient role, if not outright enslaved. Finding them sharing power was a curiosity. He had expected to be treated with all the honor and dignity that his station demanded, that the power of his government demanded. Fleet Marshal Simmons had disabused him of that, and had left him humiliated and shamed. As he had laid in the dark as Simmons had declared the Seventh Orion War, covered in his own filth, feeling as if at any moment he was going to be killed he knew true fear and horrific uncertainty for the first time in his life. He had never faced these emotions, these sensations before. He had always been in power. He had stood with the full might of the Turinika Conclave behind him. He had never known anything other than the superior position. Now, as he lay in the hospital bed, staring at the wall, he was ashamed of how arrogant, how blind, and how short sighted he had been. After he had risen from his own filth, he had desperately tried to convince his leadership of the strength of the Terran Front, how it matched or eclipsed their own. The Conclave was not the unchallenged power in the quadrant anymore. The terrans, the human and chua, had somehow defied fate. They had not fallen to the vral after ninety years of near constant conflict, and now if Tika was right they had come out of it nightmarishly stronger than before. Tika had actually begged to be heard by his superiors, and he had never come close to that once in his life. The chua homeworld however, had fully broken him. If he had not been on the Antares, had not been humbled beforehand, he knew that he would have just clapped his hands together and said that it was delightful. As the transmission from the chua homeworld had come in, and the rescue effort had begun, he could only wallow in his own shame. He had profited directly from the chua’s suffering, the human’s suffering. Again he had tried, and failed, to convince his people, and again he had failed. Being on the Antares, for him, was torture. The lights were too dim, every human and chua looked at him with nothing more than loathing and contempt, his entire worldview had been shattered from the way he viewed the galaxy to his own place in it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shadow of Simmons standing over him, her voice cold with a lethal rage, hearing her voice echo in his mind, seeing the glint from flashes of light shining in her eyes. ‘We Know.’ echoed in his mind in his sleep, the voice of the terrifying Fleet Marshal transforming into the sound of a vengeful god demanding compliance and promising retribution. Then he had watched the humans and chua, who he knew were preparing to go to war with his people, celebrating the return of the shesvie. Once more he had expected them to be integrated into the Terran Front, but as soon as he learned Simmons offer to them, and what it had entailed, he had been called to his room to answer the latest message from his people. Once again, his people had doubled down, the knowledge of the enslavement of the humans had been suppressed, and once more Tika found himself, and his people, standing against a Terran Front that had every justification to declare war, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. All the while, he knew something else. He knew that, after everything he had seen, that his people would lose. The turinika had not been to war for nearly two thousand years. His people were not ready for what the Terran Front could do, and after seeing what they had done to the vral so far, he knew his people were not ready for what the Terran Front would do. He was afraid of the dark. Tika was absolutely terrified of it now, because now he knew the monsters were real. Simmons had shown him that, but the humans, the chua, they were not the monsters. He was. He had refused to be one any more. He had announced his intentions to his staff, who had squalled in rejection, all but three. Kzia was the first to step to his side, Kikumot and Tziki had stepped forward as well. Never, in his most nightmarish dreams, did he ever think that he would stand in front of Simmons and voluntarily have his plumage stripped from him, performing the act of Kasva. He never thought that his staff would have ever compiled and transmitted the data package they had sent. He had never thought that he would betray his people, if only to save them. Simmons had changed that, the humans had changed that. He knew the terror of the dark, he knew fear for his people’s safety, he understood the horror of war, and for the first time in his long life he could truly look back at every interaction he had had, with every species, that had asked for help in their struggle for survival against the vral and truly understand their fear and desperation. Now he lay, his plumage stripped from him, his station revoked, his status removed, surrounded by a people who despised him. He wouldn’t have it any other way now. He knew that they would listen now, if not to him, then to the civilian masses of the Conclave that would not stand for what they had done. He prayed to the Great Mother often now, shivering in the dim light, hoping that it would be enough. He had been wrong, and in his error he had sullied his own people. He had made them complicit. Even now, he did not know how they would ever be forgiven, because right now he wasn’t quite sure he could ever forgive himself. As he heard the broadcast calling out on the ship, announcing one minute to jump, he felt a hand on his side, and looked up to the human nurse. She was smiling at him. Not a smile born of malice, or anger, but a genuine smile. She patted his side lightly, then turned to walk out of the room. For not even the twentieth time since he had come onboard Thermopylae, he was mystified by these people.
The bridge of the Dhampir was thrumming with music and the vibrations of the reactor and Conrad leaned forward in his chair mount, his eyes almost feral as he looked at the empty space that was the mandeville point. He was positively chomping at the bit. Batz was positively roaring the lyrics to the song that was blaring over the ships speakers. Rev and Dev sat side by side in their mounts, throwing their hands up in time with the pounding bass beat of the sound. Towns was the only one besides Conrad that was quiet, both of them looking towards the mandeville point with complete impatience. Conrad felt like jumping from his skin. Fidget, well, fidgetted, holding his hands over his headset and listening as if he were trying to hear secret messages in the music. They were ready, their pulses were racing. The crew of the Dhampir was positively vibrating. Conrad looked to the shipboard clock, seeing 1330 displayed, and his head snapped to Fidget, waiting for the word. They were going to run, they were going to chase, they were going to hunt.
Vicky sat back, looking towards Jess and Kukat as they slept. Jess was in her chair, Kukat in her medical bed. Vicky glanced back at the block print on the paper and read it for the fifth time. She read the individual lines, one at a time, cursing their existence. After reading through the message printed she let her hand hang again. Kukat would be released from medical tomorrow, and both her and Jess still thought they would be boarding the Thumper to join the Vellacore once more. Jess had talked non-stop about her quarters on the Vellacore the past few days, how she just wanted to be back in her room. Kukat was equally excited. Only Vicky didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know yet. They didn’t know about their battlefield promotions, they didn’t know about their reassignments, they didn’t know the days of them working together were functionally over. Vicky looked down at her hand holding the paper again, and felt like crumpling it. She had lost her crew. She had lost them not due to negligence, or time, she had lost them to fame. Kukat was to be promoted to ensign, and was to be the sensor officer on the destroyer Hadrian, Jess was getting the same promotion, her station on the cruiser Victorious. Vicky? She was the sparkling new commanding officer of a destroyer that was arriving at Thermopylae in two days, the Quarrel. She never wanted this. She had turned down promotion after promotion that would take her from the cockpit of the Thumper, away from Kukat, away from Jess. She wanted to serve in this war in her own way, as a pilot, with the two who had made her life so enjoyable. Now though, they were to be split up, and there was nothing she could do about it. These promotions hadn’t come from simple seniority, they had come from High Command, as had the orders. Tomorrow, when Kukat was released, they would be ushered into the hanger bay of the Barrowmore. They would all three be awarded the Star of Terra, then they would be reassigned. Tonight was the last night they would all be together. Vicky wanted to wake them up, she wanted to tell them, to give them a chance to process it. As she looked to Kukat and Jess she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She held up the letter again, reading the first few lines, then she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, her heart panging with sadness, and stared at the wall. The clock read 1330.
Corporal Brandy was sitting on the small rack, with Janet Shippen sitting between his legs using his thighs as armrests. They were both dressed for the first time in the last few hours, both of them staring at the clock. This close to the reactors they could feel them beginning to spool up for the trip through hyperspace. When the news of the operation had come down they had elected to spend as much time together as possible, which Brandy had enjoyed to no end, and he had made sure Janet had as well. Brandy had even taken some time to reach out to his sister Victoria, a rarity for them both, as since they were children they were often barely able to speak to each other simply due to schedules. He had even told her about Janet, and although he hadn’t gotten a response from his sister yet he already knew what she would say. Janet nestled back against him, but he could feel her body was stiff. Neither of them knew what the next few months were going to hold. Their time together might be constricted, in fact, this might be the last few moments they were together for quite awhile. Brandy’s Ghouls were specialists, ship boarders. Chances are he was going to be extremely busy, as was she. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Janet, but he did know that beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be away from her. Judging from how she was acting, she felt the same as him, conflicted about her relationship with him, but not wanting to be apart. He knew what he needed to tell her, that he had to get up, that he had to leave. The Ghouls were going to be assembled at 1345, ready to board. Her unit was going to be prepared at the same time, to begin taking on salvage. Her hands were like clamps on his legs, and from how tense she was, he wasn’t going to get up until she was good and ready. The clock on the wall switched to 1330. He stared at the clock, feeling like the clock was mocking him, when suddenly Janet leaned up and turned. Her hands took hold of his shoulders and she threw her body against his, her lips finding his own. Her arms wrapped around her frame and he tightened his grasp on her.
Simmons spread her hands over the panel in front of her, looking at the table. Seven points connected the recently reclaimed chua space to what was former Shesvie territory, and beyond that, the heart of the Vral Empire. Her lip curled in a wicked smile, On the digital display of the table the hyperspace lanes, and more importantly, the avenues of attack her fleet was preparing to take. She held out her hand, all five fingers splayed over the lanes, envisioning the war as it stood now. The war to come. Seven hyperspace lanes, seven systems, branching out into sixteen, branching out again to another twenty. The Antares herself was going to link up with the Barraki, and was set to simply plough through the next five systems to do so. Slowly she tightened her hand into a fist as she looked along the hyperspace lanes, seeing task forces lined up and ready to jump. Drones had already been sent through. The vral had forces along the border, but nothing that could withstand what was to come. Her fleet was ready. She was ready. The Seventh Orion War was at the end of it’s first month, and had taken back six systems. The first moves of Operation Naked Sun would double that and exceed it, then double it again. She had already given her speech, her task force commanders were ready. High Command had taken it’s time making this decision, and while she had railed against the delay that didn’t matter now. All along the front, individual task forces were joined into larger fleets, ready to jump into the next system and eliminate any vral defenses, but unlike now, they simply would not wait. Naked Sun was to be a lightning strike to cut off as much of the Vral Empire as possible, to deny them their own space, to imprison them on their own worlds. Task Forces were designed around three types of vessels combinations, Lighthammer Task Forces were comprised of corvettes and fast destroyers, the fastest vessels in the fleet, meant to take systems quickly, to devastate unprotected infrastructure, and to eliminate light resistance. Simply put, they were going to swarm into vral space, determine pockets of resistance, and move on. They were going to rip entire sections of vral space from them, calling in other task groups if needed. Thunder task groups were the primary capital fleets, meant to be sent into those pockets of resistance, and neutralizing them, joining with the Lighthammer groups if needed. The cruisers, carriers, battleships, they all belonged to these task forces. Her own task force was called the Nova task force, and it comprised only the Antares and it’s sizable fleet escort. Simmons glanced up at the clock, the time was 1329. She breathed in slowly, then unbidden the thought came to her head and she looked to the report from the two habitable planets that had been scanned by the drone cutters, the information having been relayed to her almost twenty minutes prior. She was not worried about the ground campaign, in fact a reserve fleet from Thermopylae would be the ones to escort the landing ships from planet to planet that her fleet left behind in it’s wake, isolated and defenseless from the wider Vral Empire. Fleet escorting was no longer her job, protecting ground invasions were no longer her job. Simmons was positively growling now, as her only job was to take her fleet and use it to rip the vral out of the stars. Still, the thought nagged at her. On both of the planets that her fleet was set to overrun, there were Vral ships in orbit. On the first, there was evidence that the Vral had been bombarding a small area of the surface, extremely similar in size to the hole that now existed on Zvitia, the planet that even now was being integrated into the Terran Front. In the second system it showed Vral ships in orbit, but whatever they were doing during the time they had taken the scans, whatever they were covering up, they didn’t seem to have gotten to it yet. On the radiological scan of the planet a massive bloom of electromagnetic energy painted a broad region of the planet blistering white. She had sent the images back to Earth, back to High Command, but no one seemed to know what was happening. The one thing that every analyst agreed on so far that was that whatever the blooms represented, it meant nothing good. She took another long look at the radiological scan, seeing the intensity of the radiation, and her lip curled in a snarl. She couldn’t think about that right now, but orders had already been given to notify her the moment that they had taken a planet that still bore the radiation signal. The vral were being damned fastidious about it though. She pulled her thoughts away from it, looking back to the hyperspace lanes. The slow grin entered her features again. She glanced at the clock. 1330. Her hand took hold of the receiver next to her station and she pressed the transmission stud, knowing that Hazard had already opened a channel to the wider fleet.
“Commence.”

Ey, dudes. Hope you’re having a good one! Don’t have anywhere else to celebrate, but I want to share the awesome time I’ve been having, so here I am. :)

• Just got my associate degree. Took me several years, mostly because of mental health struggles, but I didn’t even think I’d go to college. I’m transferring to an acclaimed, trans-inclusive university in the fall. So, that’s cool.
  
• Next week, I’m meeting will with my endocrinologist to discuss T options. This lady’s great. She asked me if I was comfortable outing myself to another doctor, because she was worried about a condition that he specialized in, but she didn’t push me. She knew about broken arm syndrome. When I asked her to use my dead name around my father (long story), who had driven me, she did. No bigoted interrogation or doubts, just warmth and respect for where I’m at. I’ve heard some horror stories about cis doctors, so this was a welcome experience.
  
• Got these shoes from the men’s section that not only fit with heel grips, but also support my tiny flat feet. These shoes look great. On top of that, my parents got me this watch that complements the shoes. It’s amazing what two accessories can do for a guy’s confidence.
  
• My mom, who’s conservative and openly hated my being trans for years, is defaulting to the men’s section when we go shopping. She respects me starting T, even if she’s anxious about it. She uses male pronouns for me, here and there, despite me not explicitly asking her to. She’s come a long way.
  
• I pass more often now, to the point that most strangers—including the barber—gender me correctly. My voice, thighs, baby hands, and height (5’2”) are the only major giveaways, and even then, they don’t always mess things up for me.
  
• I’ve been getting extremely masculine haircuts. I’m pre-T and was anxious about not passing, so I’m stoked about the implication. Used to hate my hair and throw it back into a ponytail, too, so it feels great to like my hair for a change.
  
• I’ve got a teen-boy, dollar-store ripoff of the Gomez Addams stache. I’m also as hairy as my dad and brother. Apparently, this is because my DHEA level is 487 ug/dL (PCOS) on its own, so I’m stoked.
  
• My friends have been great with my name and pronouns. They use them perfectly, quickly adjusted their language to address the change, and affirm often in casual ways. One friend even joked that I was a “classic guy” because I said I preferred what’s convenient to what looks good.
  

Hope this doesn’t come off as bragging. Don’t have much of a community who gets what it’s like to be trans—most of my friends and family are cis—and I’m about to burst with the good news lmao.

[<< First] [< Previous] [Next >] [Patreon] [Discord]
Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 241: Until Now
The doors to the Hartzwiese Adventurer’s Guild opened.
Before, the sound of raucous laughter could be heard flooding the street outside, filling the quiet of a spring night with all the debauchery the local drunkards had to offer.
Despite the halls of adventurers not being formal drinking establishments, those within were ready to compete in boisterousness with all the taverns, inns and pubs of the town combined. And also win. Handily.
And yet–
The moment the doors parted and I stepped within, a hush as quiet as any grave fell over its inhabitants.
A woman balancing with her derrière upon the head of another became still, the alcohol in her cup the only movement as it dribbled onto a stunned face below her.
A man slurping from the communal cauldron stared wordlessly, the stew pouring in, and then out of his mouth as the muscles of his throat forgot the means to swallow.
A bartender asleep upon a row of kegs quietly rose, the sudden din of silence waking him where the sound of debauchery and those drinking from the taps beside him had failed.
Here, there, and everywhere, eyes widened as the sudden silence was filled with the sounds of my footsteps as I strolled past, my loyal handmaiden and my brother’s attendant in my wake.
And also–
Mreow.
Mrewowow.
Meww.
Cats.
Tabby cats.
Calico cats.
Ragdoll cats.
Cats with twirly whiskers. Cats with puffy faces. Cats with slightly rounded ears.
Behind me, skipping around my legs while taking turns to sit upon my shoulders and very occasionally my head, were a legion of cats of various shapes, sizes and colours.
But no matter the springiness of their whiskers, the shine of their coat or the liveliness of their tails, one thing to bring them all together was the anarchy they caused.
This was no neat line of ducklings following after their mother.
This was a barbarian horde.
With no sense of organisation other than a shared drive to claim everything as their own, they immediately skipped amidst the stunned adventurers, scavenging for all the copious scraps while still turning their noses away from the alcohol forming sticky traps upon the floor.
Saying nothing, I allowed their demanding cries to fill up the hall as I swept forwards, pausing before a wall plastered from end to end with faded notices and requests long gone unanswered.
One by one, I systemically tore every request featuring a crudely drawn image of a cat, gathering into my arms a pile of parchment large enough to reach my chin.
Then, I made my way to the wooden desk.
A receptionist waited with a smile at the ready.
“Greetings! Welcome to the Hartzwiese branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. I see you’ve removed several notices from the–”
Poomph.
Silenced but unperturbed, this latest clone watched as I dropped the stack of requests onto her desk, before promptly topping off the stack with a copper ring.
“Do what must be done,” I said, my voice defiant. “I am ready.”
The receptionist answered me with a smile more permanent than the wall the notices were torn from.
A moment later–
“[Identify].”
A green hue appeared in her clasped palms as she assessed the ring.
“Juliette. B-rank. Your registered branch is Reitzlake.”
The sound of several cups clattered against the floor.
“Welcome again to Hartzwiese. I see from your commission history that you have an extraordinary amount of completions for recovering lost cats. May I assume the significant number of cats now roaming the branch hall relate to the notices removed from the wall?”
I pursed my quivering lips.
“Maybe.”
“Wonderful. And how many cats is it that you’ve rescued?”
“... Lots.”
“I see. Please give me a moment while I confirm the requirements of our commissions.”
The receptionist swiftly retrieved a stack of parchment from a drawer.
As she flicked through, her eyes simultaneously went to every cat roaming, napping and clawing in the hall. A skill not even monstrous overseers from the abyss with their dozens of eyestalks could match. But that’s only to be expected.
Wherever these receptionists were found, it was from a level deeper than any monster dared roam.
Eventually, she gave a nod.
“Thank you for waiting. There appears to be an excess of cats in relation to the number of commissions we have available. We’ll endeavour to ensure that every cat is rehomed at the earliest opportunity through our partner agencies and charities. But unfortunately, I can only provide official acknowledgement for cats rescued through a formal commission.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that patience was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.
“Fine. And how many commissions does that end up being, then? … 10? 15?”
The receptionist flicked through her bundle of parchments once more.
“94.”
“... Excuse me?”
“I can confirm the successful completion of 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions. Congratulations. This is a new record, breaking what appears to be one earlier set by yourself. A remarkable achievement befitting a B-rank member of the guild.”
The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered.
I thought that would be the worst of it.
But then–
She slowly brought her hands together … and started applauding.
It was the leak which broke the dam.
At once, she was joined by all who were present to witness this crowning moment of regret.
I turned around in time to see a riot in motion.
“W-Wooooooooooo!!!!”
“In … Incredible …”
“A new record … I … I heard it was broken in Trierport … to think I’d witness it broken again!”
“A B-rank adventurer … ?! Where … Where did she come from … ?!”
There was no polite, respectful applause here.
It was the wild cheering of a crowd at a tournament. The whooping cries of theatregoers calling for an encore. The acclaim of my father as he elbowed others to delight in the poetry I’d written when I was 6 and thus now regularly attempted to burn.
Everywhere I turned, I saw and heard the acclaim mixed with shouts of horror as mugs of alcohol were spilled on purpose and by accident. The layabouts stomped on the floor, doing their best to murder decorum under the strain of unbridled emotion.
Only a few falling teardrops formed any hint of more dignified revelry, the glimmer of admiration running down cheeks as sniffles were hidden amidst the raucous cheering.
And then I bore witness to the most morbid sight.
Like a tidal wave of soiled clothes and snotty faces, they suddenly came as one, hands reaching out for me with dripping mugs still in their grips. Horror struck at my soul. And unlike a farmer who’d scarpered into the night, I had nobody who could heal a wound caused by hooligans accepting me as their own.
“A-Amazing!! Take my drink! Take anyone’s drink!!”
“So many cats rescued … even my allergies can’t believe it!”
“My gods, it’s a legend! An adventurer among adventurers!”
This.
This right here.
This was the lowest point of my life … were I not an unparalleled genius.
“Oho … ohoho …”
At once, the wave halted.
Faces which were lit up in unabashed delight turned to looks of mild confusion against the tinkling music of my laughter.
They needed to cycle through the expressions until they reached horror and shame.
“Ohhohohohohohoho!!”
… For I was no drunkard seeking to join their ranks!
No … I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!
And that meant every action I took, every word I spoke, and every cat I saved was for a reason beyond the hopes and dreams these hoodlums had of wanton debauchery and rusting swords!
Indeed!
A lesser princess than I may slink away into the night, cowed by the utter shame, humiliation and disgrace of completing so many F-ranked requests that I somehow broke a record I’d only just set!
But I was made of greater things!
Of schemes and subterfuges so deep that it would take too long to explain! The plots I weaved were a silken web more intricate than any cogs which made up Coppelia as she doubled up, desperately trying to stop herself from succumbing to more pain from laughter!
And that meant with every cat request now denied to these louts … they would finally do some work!
“Ohoho … ohohohohoho!! Behold and be afraid! Witness before you the coming of a new dawn, here to lift you from your days of boundless reverie! Unfurl the shutters and gaze upon a radiance so pure it brands your dallying minds! The scorching sun has come to test the snail’s back, and all that your bleary eyes see is a great salt lake to devour you whole! Shrivel as you cling upon the sweat which drips upon your brow, for that is the proof you’re yet alive!”
A sudden silence met my proclamation of their coming ordeal.
And then–
“Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“I don’t understand! But what a speech!”
“If she can do it, so can we!”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.
“Ohhhohohohohohohoho … !”
Here it was!
Operation: Gainful Employment!
An entirely new strategy, as bold as it was uncharted!
By removing what was surely the vast majority of missing cat quests available to the adventurers of this town, they would have no choice, utterly none whatsoever, but to engage in actual work! The type of work adventurers openly advertised themselves as doing!
Monster subjugation! Crime prevention! Fetching artifacts from hidden dungeons and then succumbing to their wounds at the entrance while the Royal Treasury pocketed the treasure!
Yes, this was clearly a highly experimental tactic.
But what was I, if not a bastion of creativity?
At the very least, I utterly refused to accept the status quo! An organisation dedicated exclusively to rescuing lost cats or elbowing into my kingdom’s sovereign affairs was no good to me!
Thus … I could not cower like some towngirl nauseous from the smell of their revelry.
Instead, I would squeeze the Adventurer’s Guild dry until the day I replaced them with an army of trained poodles. Until that joyous day, I could never tear my eyes away when they waited to be robbed.
To do so was more than a dereliction of duty …
Why, I’d be an accomplice to their drunken escapades!
My vow remained unchanged. For my goal, I would brave any indignity. The ring I was hoping the receptionist would forget to return was proof of that.
And thus–
I stood tall as a summer reed, proud in the knowledge that I had no need to feel even an inkling of embarrassment over completing 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions! …
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”
“S-Stop at once! You are not to laugh!”
“Pffffttt~”
“C-Coppelia!!”
Clearly not seeing the angel of self-sacrifice who I was, Coppelia held one hand tightly around her mouth. Even so, she failed to stop either the sound of her amusement or the tears falling from her eyes.
My only salvation was that it came at significant cost to her. Even now, she careened between laughter and painful regret.
I decided to offer both her and myself mercy.
Turning to the receptionist, I found a modest pouch already waiting upon the wooden desk. As well as a copper ring waiting beside it.
“Thank you for your service to the Adventurer’s Guild,” said the receptionist, her professional smile undaunted by the commotion. “Your total remuneration is 102 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns and 9 copper crowns. I’ve taken the liberty to compile all your separate payments together.”
I took the pouch and ignored the ring.
The receptionist pushed the ring forwards.
A long moment later, I collected it, uncertain what a receptionist would do if I tossed it into the communal cauldron, but knowing it would somehow still end up on my finger regardless.
With my head held high, I bravely ignored the chorus of voices unknowingly cheering for their own hardship as I swept past. Renewed tears and applause filled the hall. A few cats attempted to follow me. I stopped to shoo them away.
And then I was outside, the door closing behind me.
“... Goodness, that was quite the sight,” said Renise with a bemused smile. “It reminded me somewhat of the inns of Reitzlake’s docks. I wonder if all the halls of adventurers are like that, or merely those which you frequent?”
“Please don’t insinuate I’m responsible for the debauchery which occurs wherever the Adventurer’s Guild is concerned. That’s something I can claim no credit for.”
“You say that … but to me, it seems that you caused quite a stir. That really is a remarkable number of cats you rescued, after all. Even I can tell that 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions–”
“Miss Renise.”
The maid’s smile wavered against whatever fatigued expression I was making.
A moment later, it fell away entirely as she switched to her role as my brother’s attendant and the leader of whatever scoundrels he’d charged her with herding.
“... Yes, I suppose there’s time for idle conversation later. There’s a guardhouse nearby. We should report on all that’s happened tonight.”
I gave a nod of agreement.
Hopefully, the baroness hadn’t woken from her stupor yet. But if she had, I was certain the single portrait of myself I’d returned to the wall of her gallery to smile down at her gagged and bound state would calm her nerves.
Renise hummed towards the direction of Hartzwiese’s centre, before returning her attention to me.
“If you wish to keep your identity incognito, I can see guards sent to where they’re needed using my own authority, and arrange for the appropriate seizure of the goods and crowns we’ve discovered.”
I beamed at once.
My, so prudent! It’s little wonder she was chosen by Roland!
“A judicious offer. And one I’ll accept gladly, providing the burden isn’t too severe.”
“This is merely an administrative task, and little burden compared to what both yourself and Miss Coppelia regularly perform. In any event, it is only efficient. I expect I’ll be spending a significant amount of time at the baroness’s farmstead. It is quite extensive. If possible, I would like to make use of it for Rose House. I imagine having such a facility close to the Granholtz border would have its uses.”
I nodded, already forgetting the barn’s existence.
“I encourage you to use your discretion as required. My brother has put his trust in you, and so I both expect and know that you shall not disappoint in furthering the kingdom’s prosperity.”
The young woman smiled. One filled with appreciation, but also lacking ambition.
Good.
An excellent combination as far as retainers were concerned.
“Thank you. Although I worry you place too much trust in my abilities. In truth, those like Baroness Arisa would have made for a greater asset to the kingdom. Her resourcefulness must be acknowledged.”
“It is not resourcefulness my kingdom requires. It is loyalty. And hers is a pit so empty it drains others.”
“That’s true. But at least we were able to acquire some useful things from her nonetheless.”
Renise pulled out a tiny vial from the belt around her thigh.
A golden liquid was stored within, glimmering with an unnatural light.
“These were in her chamber,” she said, her eyes lacking emotion as she surveyed the bright liquid. “When we met, she actually attempted to purchase my loyalty with this.”
“A suspect vial. How quaint. And what miracle did she promise?”
“One that would wake my parents from their curse of eternal slumber.”
“... And is it?”
“I don’t believe so, no. This is one of many identical vials I found in her chamber’s desk drawer. All prominently labelled with instructions to only drink as required to stave off the effects of bloating.”
Renise returned the vial to her belt with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“It’s still useful,” she admitted. “But just not for what I require.”
I gave a simple nod as my reply.
Nothing else needed to be said.
She hoped to see her parents wake from their prison of dormancy. An understandable wish. And one I wasn’t required to supplement with the comment that no pair named the Smuggler King and the Smuggler Queen were likely to receive as light a sentence as their daughter.
I could not speak on behalf of Roland. Although I imagined that as a kind man, he would prefer not to pass judgements which were total. But as the Crown Prince, he did not have the luxury of kindness.
It would take much to change their fate.
But perhaps that’s why Renise was here, still proving true, and not accepting stomach ailment potions from a baroness.
A moment of silence followed.
Renise gave a short sigh. And that was that.
She set her eyes on the task ahead–at least until whatever words she’d parted her mouth to say were interrupted by Coppelia’s humming instead.
“Sooooooooooooooo … you just want to wake up two people eternally sleeping, right?”
A small smile met her optimistic voice.
“If a cure were readily available, I’m certain I would have found it by now. I believe one might be possible, but it would take skill and ingredients beyond any apothecary I know of.”
“Well, sure, you could go that way. But what about going straight to the source instead?”
“The source?”
“Sure. They’re asleep, right? So just ask the one in charge of where they are now.”
“I’m … not quite sure I follow?”
Coppelia clapped her hands together and beamed.
“The Spring Court is the realm of dreams. Chances are, they must have shown their faces around a few times by now. If you ask the Spring Queen nicely, she might do you a favour.”
“The Spring Queen? … The fae?”
“Mmh~ luckily, we have someone with connections here!”
Renise was startled out of her reply.
It was nothing compared to me. The one being pointed at.
“Coppelia!” I said, truly aghast at the suggestion. “The fae are not to be taken lightly. Why, I still have nightmares about my conversation with the Winter Queen! I learned a side to royalty that day which I shall never forget … and I’m quite poorer for it!”
“You met … the Winter Queen?” asked Renise, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Unfortunately, yes, but I had zero intention of meeting her, and I’ve just as little intention of meeting any other fae as well. Including the Spring Queen.”
I waved away the coming query to declare what was just as important as my lack of enthusiasm.
“Besides, I’ve not the foggiest idea how I would even hope to use these supposed connections I have.”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Coppelia, her casual disregard for what counted as ‘easy’ more terrifying than any lout I’d met today. “The hard part is getting them to do what you want. But meeting them? The fae are creatures of stories. If the time is right, they’ll speak to you–one way or another.”
“Then they must book an appointment. One which I can formally reject.”
“I mean, I don’t think you have much choice. You didn’t last time, right?”
“The last time, I was sat beside the Winter Queen’s crown. I see no fae artifacts to hook me away. And that means utterly no scenario in which I could be abducted without my express–”
I suddenly stopped, clasping my hands around my mouth.
A moment later, I raised my arms in a martial art I’d just invented, turning repeatedly on the spot.
Renise blinked at me.
“Excuse me, but what are–”
“Shhshhshh!!”
I paused, gazing intently around at the quiet, dark streets of Hartzwiese, all the while ignoring Coppelia’s giggling at my near miss.
That … That was close!
“O-Oho … oho … I almost invited something terrible. Truly, it’s perhaps best not to needlessly voice things which Fae Queens and their deviant brand of magic could use …”
Coppelia nodded at me, as proud as she was clearly disappointed.
“You’re lucky. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d have snagged you right there and then.”
“No. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d wait until–”
Click.
[<< First] [< Previous] [Next >] [Patreon] [Discord]