Just wondering my chances for ivy admission - my top schools are Yale, brown, Dartmouth, and Barnard. For background, I'm upper middle class, white, a girl, and have legacy at UPenn. Medium size public high school (1300 ppl). Applying for government/poli sci and Spanish literature
Academics: 1) 35 ACT (35 English, 36 science and reading, 34 math) 2) 3.97/4 UW (2 A- in math... noticing a pattern?) 3) Full IB diploma program with 4 HLs (economics, English, math, and history) then AP gov and AP stat (4 and 5, predicting 7 on IB SL chem which I took this year)
Honors: 1) 3 dedicated to debate tournament wins, national rankings (top 20), and speaking at an event ab social Justice and debate 2) Mock trial states qualifier semifinalist 3) award for fluency in Spanish (non native language, considered international award)
ECs) 1) big leadership position in nat'l level debate/community service org 2) debate captain (2 yrs) and good at it (went tiostates and nats (x2) for debate, states for speech) 3) state director of nat'l nonprofit dedicated to increasing youth civic participation and education (interview politicians, publish voter reg and specific issue info, etc) 4) write questions for and moderate my school board candidate debates 5) mock trial captain (2 yrs) and treasurer who ran first ever fundraiser (3) and otherwise v involved 6) merit scholarship to move to Spain to study Spanish 7) pilot! and I've run multi-year inclusivity and community-building initiatives at my flying club + mentored newer students 8) minor stuco leadership position 9) babysitter for 4 years, lots of time 10) I have a an online business for 4 years (100+ sales in 8 countries!)
Be viciously honest pls! I'm just curious lol I won't take it personally

Back in the early 1970s (during the UFO Wave of 74), two of my brothers were living at home while in college. Where heavy into UFO investigation with MUFON and legendary NICAP UFO investigation organizations. My brothers got tired of being there after the fact and taking down pages of interviews and scientific dates on any trace evidence. So they got it into their heads to put their extensive knowledge of amateur radio, electronics, astronomy, and UFOs to good use. They mapped out “sighting hotspots” and then went out to those locations to camp out. When they spotted anything interesting, they attempted to make contact. It ultimately worked, and their new ‘little friends in those saucers’ tracked them back to our typical family home in the suburbs. The airspace above our home became a weekly UFO-sighting hot spot. So much so that it caught the interest of unmarked military surveillance and later the authentic men in black. Meanwhile, in the wee hours of the night or morning, we would have ‘Visitors’
I was involved in two of those visits as a six- and later eight-year-old. I woke up in the 2 a.m. to 3 a.m. hour twice. To find an intense blue light shining in from all windows of the house and in the shadows, it is within the house. The shadows moved with small figures not of this earth. I ran into my parents bedroom in panic and grabbed my father’s foot to shake him awake. Only to find his entire body move or slide across the surface of the mattress, as weightless as a balloon. I tried again! Again, the same response. I ran around the bed to my mother to shake her awake. She was lying on her side, her face facing me. Her eyes were completely open, and tears were streaming down her cheek. And she was just as weightless and frozen stiff as my father! I ran out of the room now, in panic, into my brother's bedroom. Both of them are the same, this time facing up stiff as boards in their twin beds. And finally, into my sister's room (she was four years older than me). My sister's eyes were open, and she was frozen stiff in bed, face up and in a screeching.
Panic and now in hysterics I backed out into the hallway. Weeping and hyperventilating. Because over my shoulder down the hall and into the living room, some twenty feet away. The shadows were coming at me from every corner. I ran back into my parents bedroom, grabbing their feet at the foot of the bed, screaming, Momma! Poppa!! Momma!! Poppa!!! In the panic, I made a last attempt to get some help. In my mind, screaming, my conscience told me over and over again, “They are all dead!”
That is when I felt two small hands come across the top of my shoulders from behind. Four fingers each dug into my shoulders. By the grip, they had a delicate female feel to them. But extremely elongated. And I heard a female voice, gentle as an angel, say. “They are alright, Little One.” The instant I heard that voice, I went limp; the hysterics, the panic, and the shear horror of the moment vanquished and disappeared as if they never existed. Even though facing forward, I watched as my parents weightless bodies float back and forth on top of their sheet-less bed, subsiding from my shaking them moments before. I was now just a silent observer, as if I were watching the scene unfold from above. My body is limp in the grip of this unseen being. Limp without any free will or even the ability to move.
She continued, “They are only sleeping. All is fine. You shouldn’t be up to see this.” I was escorted across the room. (We had a 3-bedroom, 1-story typical suburbian ranch.) Being the youngest, I was forced to have a corner of my parents bedroom. The room was divided by a fold-out wooden partition, though this night it was down. It escorted me across the room from behind, guiding me and pushing me forward towards my bed. Repeating the above line. Finally escorted to my bed, I was turned around and sat down on the edge of my bed. Until I faced it face-to-face.
As to what I saw before me, It’s on the cover of Whitney Stribers ‘Communion.’
She reiterated the above a third time, adding. “Now back to sleep with you,” I smiled at her and obeyed completely under her’s control. I swung my feet up into bed. Still sitting up, I turned to her one last time. Smiled again. And when I turned around in bed, Looking down. I saw something I cannot explain. which will sound unbelievable to any reader reading this. Including you.
I saw my body still in bed! And I laid down back into it!
And I went back to sleep. The next morning, I woke up at noon. My mother is shaking me awake. Since I had never slept so long before and had missed my Saturday morning ritual of cartoon watching, I woke up before everyone else, and my snackes set out for the whole Saturday morning cartoon watching ritual. It was noon. And my mom was a bit panicked at my not waking up. But finally, she releaved.
I did try to tell my parents what had happened. But parents, being parents, are confronted with such a story. “It was just a dream.”
My brothers, though, turned pale as sheets. They have had similar events, which I learned about much later.
Again, this was 1974. Before the UFO phenomenon became a subject of popular media and public consciousness, The UFO subject was still rather underground.
I did have a second encounter with “The Night Visitors,” as we call them. I again awoke in the middle of a possible abduction of my entire family. She was again there! But this time, it was rather peaceful. It was playful and surprising in that I was surprised here again. And I got a very distinct sense of amusement from her. And she kindly ordered me to go back to bed on my own this time. And I did it without question or putting up a fight.
Of course, my mother was across the room, her eyes open, her face frozen in panic, and a silent, frozen scream was across her face.
Those are but two of the dozens of UFO-related encounters my family had throughout the 1970s. Two of four things that personally happened to me! The two others did not involve a face-to-face encounter.
Those two events. Those two fully conscious memories and body-feel memories altered my entire life. In the late 1980s, I entered college myself. Cultural Anthropology Degree: I also joined MUFON as an investigator and several other formal academic-based organizations into the Paranormal, which I will not name here, and for the sake of their tenure and academic reputations, I wouldn’t like to be named. All in the hopes of finding answers. Personal answers and truths as to what my entire family and I experienced. In the decades since the on-and-off investigation, I have come in contact with and interviewed true ex-military intelligence operators, people in the know, and even former Apollo astronauts. Which btw will talk. Only if their stories will never come to light to the larger public. People will be people, even if NDAs are involved. Humans are, after all, notorious gossips. Over a backyard BBQ or sharing a few beers over a mutually enjoyed big game. They will tell you everything when they absolutely trust you as a friend.
I can tell you this. David Jacobs is not entirely alarmist in his hypothesis!
Nor is Richard Dolan’s and Dr.Steve Greers argument for purely benevolent visitors entirely true!
As benevolent as that female voice and being were to me,.
I will forever see the silent, tearful, frozen scream of my mother and my sister’s faces over that visitor's shoulder!
We must keep an open mind when it comes to this phenomenon and examine all possibilities!
After all, we are dealing with something totally alien and totally foreign!
And the likes of the late Stephen Hawking are entirely correct. “As we know from history, when the Spanish landed in the New World (North America), it did not go well for the native population.”
56, Anthropology Degree Holder, Male

Optimized Quality Settings

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Display

Contrast: Dramatic (Subjective. Dramatic looks good on LCD screens in SDR which is most uses, but I have not tested OLED or HDR)
Upscale Method: Off > DLSS > FSR3 > XeSS (Only use upscaling if more performance is needed. XeSS is recommended for Intel users over FSR3)
Anti-Aliasing: SMAA T2x (Best Clear AA) - DLAA > FSR3 Native AA (Best Stable AA) (Anti-aliasing is a balance between clarity and effective anti-aliasing. Temporal based AA's combat pixel crawl the best but blur in motion, smear vegetation, particles and ghost. Therefore I have two recommendations depending on what you prefer)
Frame Generation: Subjective (FSR3 has slightly less latency while DLSS has better image quality)

Graphics

Motion Blur Strength: 70, 40, or 0 (40 is the minimum blur needed for frame smoothing, beyond 70 just blurs the image extra without making it smoother, 0 is disabled)
Texture Quality: Highest VRAM Can Handle
Texture Filtering: 16x Anisotropic
Shadow Quality: Ultra (Severe Perf Impact)
Level of Detail: Very High
Terrain Detail: High
Volumetric Fog: High
Depth of Field: Off or Very High (Subjective. DoF may cause flickering)
Screen Space Reflections: Off or Very High (Off is higher resolution but less accurate, Very High is the opposite therefore which one you prefer may be subjective but personally in most scenes Very High looks better despite its lower resolution)
Screen Space Shadows: Very High
Ambient Occlusion: XeGTAO
Bloom: On (Subjective)
Vignette: Subjective
Water Caustics: On
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Optimized Balanced Settings

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Optimized Quality Settings As Base
Texture Filtering: 8x Anisotropic
Shadow Quality: High
Level of Detail: High
Volumetric Fog: Medium
Screen Space Shadows: High
Ambient Occlusion: SSAO Quality
Water Caustics: Off
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Optimized Low Settings

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Optimized Balanced Settings As Base
Texture Filtering: 4x Anisotropic
Shadow Quality: Medium
Level of Detail: Medium
Terrain Detail: High
Volumetric Fog: Low
Screen Space Reflections: Off
Screen Space Shadows: Low
–––––––––––––––––––––
77% Performance Uplift (Depending on preset)
Made by Hybred
^{Updated 5/19/24 tags: got, directors cut}

At this point many are claiming Dune Part Two is already a classic, possibly one of the all time greats.
I sincerely wish I could agree. It was certainly pretty, and the lighting alone was so great you want to swim in it. Of course, this was also true of the first movie. Part One was an at times slow, but it also felt deliberate. A very interesting, stunning, and fresh few hours of world building, ending with our 'hero' out amongst the natives. Now Part 2 subjects us to several more repetitive, dragging hours that culminates in a battle that is as unmemorable as it is predictable.
The intention is to focus on our heroes journey, but the story going on around him is so boring it had me focusing on holding my piss. The Bad Guys are not just Bad as in Evil (which is fine) but catastrophically they are so Bad at Everything there is absolutely no tension by the end of the movie. If they're not literally killing the messenger (a recurring theme), they're mostly standing around ready to be killed without much of a fight. At all.
Dune 2 feels as if we're watching hours of box checking. At no point, from riding the worm to deciding to go to war to drinking the elixir to the final battle, is there any real worry that our lad is going to fail. There is also very little that feels at stake. The final fight between our Hero and Antagonist is well done, although Paul dumping his girlfriend immediately after is probably the only moment the emotional needle moves for the several hours.
Inevitably I ended up thinking of Lawrence of Arabia, a far superior "desert guerrilla" movie. The themes of political subterfuge, unleashing a movement you can't control, and generally struggling with keeping ones humanity in the face of brutal war are all there. As are class conflict, betrayal, predestination, sexuality, and the racism of both those who see themselves as being from a superior civilization as well as those who exoticize foreign cultures are explored deftly throughout a story that is gripping in its own right. Specifically, that is first explored in the shooting at the well-- A scene that did more to imprint in the mind the importance of both water and tribe in the desert than anything Dune mustered despite many more (dragging) minutes focused on the topic. And despite the portrayed general incompetence of the Turks, the sense of adventure never leaves. Until it does.
I fully concede that it is damn near unfair to compare any movie to the AFI's #5 all-time ranked film of the 20th century. Lawrence was 227 minutes long (including intermission) but felt half as long as Dune 2's slog to the finish line.
And I don't mean to suggest Dune 2 was bad compared to Lawrence, I am saying Dune 2 was just a bad movie. A complete an utter waste of the hours spent building in Part 1.

My question is about why the Sardaukar seem to be portrayed so differently between part 1 and 2.
I always have captions on when watching movies. In part one, in the opening pre-scene where we hear “dreams are messages from the deep,” spoken in that epic deep alien voice the captions list the translation as “Sardaukar,” meaning the voice we hear is spoken in the Sardaukar language. We also only hear the Sardaukar speak in their native language when we see them prepping for battle on their home planet, in a distinct odd raspy alien tone (aka does not sound “human”).
In part 2, the opening pre-scene only lists the narrative as “Alien language” before hearing the deep alien voice about controlling spice. We also only see the Sardaukar speaking in normal-sounding English, never their native language (referencing them at the end when they suggest to the emperor that they leave). They also seem much, much more “ordinary” and “human” in terms of being such ruthless and epic battle warriors (like how Duncan referred to them) compared to how they were shown in part 1.
Am I missing something? The language inconsistency really bugs me, and overall they just seem really different between the two movies, but I don’t know if I’m just being pedantic.

Grass, belonging to the Poaceae family (also known as Gramineae), is one of the most widespread and ecologically significant plant families on Earth. This family includes a vast array of species, ranging from those that make up our lawns and pastures to the staple food crops that sustain much of the world's population, such as wheat, rice, and corn. Grasses are crucial for various reasons, encompassing their unique botanical characteristics, their ecological roles, their evolutionary history, their cultivation and uses, and the challenges they face. This comprehensive overview aims to provide an in-depth understanding of these aspects.
Grasses exhibit a distinct growth habit and structural anatomy that set them apart from other plant families. The root systems of grasses are typically fibrous, forming a dense network of roots that are excellent at stabilizing soil and accessing water and nutrients from the upper soil layers. This characteristic is especially vital in preventing soil erosion and promoting soil health.
The stems of grasses, known as culms, are generally hollow and segmented by nodes. The internodes, or the spaces between these nodes, can vary in length and are crucial for species identification. The leaves of grasses are usually slender and elongated with parallel veins. They emerge from the nodes and are sheathed around the stem. At the base of the leaf, there is often a ligule, a small membranous or hairy appendage that helps in differentiating between various grass species.
The reproductive structures of grasses are also unique. Grass flowers, or florets, are typically small and inconspicuous, grouped into spikelets. These spikelets are arranged in different types of inflorescences such as spikes, racemes, or panicles. The flowers of grasses are generally adapted for wind pollination, a characteristic that is reflected in their structure, which lacks large, colorful petals. Instead, they have specialized structures that facilitate the dispersal of pollen by the wind.
Most grasses reproduce sexually through seeds. The flowers produce pollen that is carried by the wind to fertilize other plants, resulting in seed formation. Many grasses can also reproduce vegetatively through rhizomes (underground stems) or stolons (above-ground runners). This method of asexual reproduction allows grasses to spread and colonize large areas efficiently, contributing to their dominance in many ecosystems.
Grasses play an indispensable role in soil conservation. Their dense root systems are incredibly effective at binding the soil, reducing the risk of erosion caused by wind and water. This is particularly important in regions prone to desertification or where the soil has been exposed due to deforestation or agricultural activities. By stabilizing the soil, grasses help maintain soil health and prevent the loss of fertile topsoil.
In terms of climate regulation, grasslands serve as significant carbon sinks. Through the process of photosynthesis, grasses absorb carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and store it in their biomass and soil. This carbon sequestration process helps mitigate the effects of climate change by reducing the concentration of CO2 in the atmosphere. Additionally, grasslands influence local and regional climates by affecting evapotranspiration rates, which is the combined process of evaporation from the soil and transpiration from plants.
Grasslands support a remarkable diversity of life, providing habitat and food for numerous animal species, including insects, birds, and mammals. The structure of grassland ecosystems supports a variety of plant species, creating a complex web of interactions and dependencies. This biodiversity is crucial for the resilience of these ecosystems, enabling them to withstand and recover from environmental changes and disturbances.
Grasses also play a vital role in the water cycle. They help in the infiltration of rainwater into the soil, reducing runoff and promoting groundwater recharge. By slowing down water movement, grasses help prevent flooding and maintain the moisture levels in the soil, which is essential for the health of the ecosystem and for agricultural productivity.
The evolutionary history of grasses is relatively recent compared to other plant families. Grasses evolved around 66 million years ago during the late Cretaceous period. Their rise to dominance is closely linked to the cooling and drying of the Earth's climate, which favored the spread of grasslands over forests. The diversification of grasses has been driven by their ability to adapt to a wide range of environments, from tropical savannas and temperate prairies to arid steppes and alpine meadows.
In agriculture, grasses are indispensable. They include some of the world's most important food crops, such as wheat, rice, maize (corn), barley, and oats. These cereal grains provide a significant portion of the global caloric intake and are fundamental to the diets of billions of people. The cultivation of these crops has shaped human civilization and continues to be a cornerstone of global food security.
Many grass species are also cultivated as forage for livestock. Species like alfalfa, ryegrass, and clover are commonly grown for grazing, hay, and silage. These forage grasses are essential for the livestock industry, providing the necessary nutrition for animals and supporting dairy and meat production.
Beyond food and forage, grasses are being explored as sources of bioenergy. Species like switchgrass and miscanthus are considered promising candidates for biofuel production due to their high biomass yield. These grasses can be converted into biofuels, providing a renewable energy source that can help reduce our reliance on fossil fuels.
In landscaping, grasses are widely used for creating lawns, parks, golf courses, and sports fields. Turf grasses such as Kentucky bluegrass, Bermuda grass, and fescue are selected for their durability, aesthetic appeal, and ability to withstand foot traffic and mowing. These grasses play a significant role in urban and suburban environments, contributing to the aesthetic and recreational value of these areas.
Grasses are also used in erosion control and land rehabilitation. They are often planted to stabilize soil and restore degraded lands. For example, vetiver grass is used for its deep root system, which can prevent landslides and rehabilitate mining sites and other disturbed areas. By stabilizing the soil and improving its structure, grasses help restore the ecological balance and promote the recovery of degraded landscapes.
Despite their many benefits, grasses face several challenges. Some grass species can become invasive, outcompeting native species and disrupting local ecosystems. For instance, kudzu and cogongrass have spread aggressively in some regions, requiring significant management efforts to control their growth and prevent ecological damage.
Grasses are also susceptible to pests and diseases. Fungal diseases like rusts and smuts, as well as pests such as armyworms and grasshoppers, can cause significant damage to grass crops and turf. Effective pest and disease management strategies are essential to protect these valuable resources.
Climate change poses additional challenges for grassland ecosystems and agricultural practices. Shifts in temperature and precipitation patterns can affect the growth and distribution of grass species, impacting food security and ecosystem stability. Droughts, floods, and other extreme weather events can stress grasslands, reducing their productivity and resilience.
Adopting sustainable management practices is crucial for maintaining healthy grasslands and ensuring the long-term viability of grass-based agriculture. Practices such as rotational grazing, integrated pest management, conservation tillage, and the use of drought-resistant grass varieties can help mitigate the impacts of environmental stressors and promote the sustainability of grasslands.
Grasses are an indispensable component of Earth's ecosystems and human agriculture. Their diverse roles range from stabilizing soils and sequestering carbon to providing food and forage. Understanding the complexities of grass biology, ecology, and management is essential for harnessing their benefits while addressing the challenges they face in a changing world. By promoting sustainable practices and responsible stewardship, we can ensure that grasslands continue to thrive and support both natural ecosystems and human livelihoods.

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/Iivi8Mu
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Platform(s): Old Windows (XP/Vista...)
Genre: 2D Point and click, educational history game
Estimated year of release: Between 1990 - 2010,
Graphics/art style: Pixel Art or illustration, 2D, artstyle in the spirit of educational games like Adibou.
Notable characters: I think you follow a inca boy with brown skin.
Notable gameplay mechanics: Point and click
The game was a succession of different screens demonstrating how the Incas lived. Unfortunately, I don't remember other parts of the gameplay. There is a scene with Lake Titicaca where you can click on different objects on the screen. There is also a tapestry where you can weave with different colors. You could follow a pattern or create your own tapestry. There are several colors of wool you can click to create a line of wool. A tapestry was composed of multiple lines of wool.
Other details:
It was a game I played between 2005-2010 in Reunion Island (in France), so I had a french version of the game. It was on a CD.

Sonny is clearly a narcissist who always sees himself above all others. He makes himself believe he cares about the family and that's why he runs to Carlo and beat him in the street and tell Clemenza to send guards with Michael. "Would the incredible me let my siblings go throught struggles?" That's his mindset and it's crystal clear. Not to mention he doesn't accept anyone disagreeing with him, and ends up offending Tom for it.
Clearly very insecure since he is always trying to prove his value, and not by being impulsive, but by being a dick, because he wants everything in his own way. If not under influence of Don Corleone, he instantly put himself as a leader and won't let anybody disagree with his decisions. He was just thirsty to kill, not considering the danger he'd put his family on.
I can see in every speech he is wearing a mask, not that he knowsthat, but I do believe -- since this movie is so well done(perfect in my opinion) --, the producers saw that and thought about that when building this character. What what mask is that!? He is playing the cool, charming, leader, you can see it in his forced posture, and I've seen people like that in real life. "Dad never talk business on the table" scene really shows how he puts himself so above everyone else. He takes the whole table to himself, speaking loud, and telling people off, but this is not his true self.
This movie is so perfect that they build a character that acts artificial but is realistic as hell, I get baffled by it. His mask falls when Don Corleone tells him off for telling what he thinks to someone outside of the family. You can see a teenager in his face in that shot.
For whoever believes he cares for the family consider the following:
So deliberately cheating on his wife on his sister wedding party. Family values? Who cares? He just needs to act like a teenager.
If you love your younger brother, would you send him to deal with a dangerous guy like Solozo, and worse than that, send him to commit murder? Really, if you love somebody, put yourself in that place, into making that decision. Would you send your loved one to risk their life in that way?
I could go further on this but I'm not very good with the technical explanation. I just wanna let my point of view. I dealt with this kind of people my whole life. Not gangsters(also some), but people who live claiming to love and by the end being a prick with everybody around them. And what makes me impressed is how Coppola and the whole cast managed to replicate that into a movie so perfectly. The characters follow the pattern from the beginning to the end, very consistantly in details I can't explain.
Seems like Vito was a loving father, but not a good one though. Like he said himself, he spoiled his kids.

It seems like I [28M] have a weird pattern in the dating scene.
I get to know a girl, either through friends' circle or dating apps. We start dating, it's okay but not the great chemistry or attraction, I'm sure that sometimes it needs time to build up
However, I always reach a plateau when I am "supposed" to make the move and ask the girl out (to be exclusive) and I don't do it because I'm not 100% sure of my choice and because I keep telling to myself there might be other girls out there with whom I can have a higher overall compatibility.
And the weired thing about is that if the girl gets with someone then I become interested again, as if the fact that she is taken in a relationship make her more interesting.
Is this a weird behavior ?

It seems like I [28M] have a weird pattern in the dating scene.
I get to know a girl, either through friends' circle or dating apps. We start dating, it's okay but not the great chemistry or attraction, I'm sure that sometimes it needs time to build up
However, I always reach a plateau when I am "supposed" to make the move and ask the girl out (to be exclusive) and I don't do it because I'm not 100% sure of my choice and because I keep telling to myself there might be other girls out there with whom I can have a higher overall compatibility.
And the weired thing about is that if the girl gets with someone then I become interested again, as if the fact that she is taken in a relationship make her more interesting.
Is this a weird behavior ?

I'm a black girl in a relationship with a Saudi guy and I'm feeling pretty skeptical about where things are heading. The thing is, he's never introduced me to his parents yet I've brought him home to meet my family multiple times and they seemed to get along okay. It was a bit uncomfortable for them at first considering I'm dating someone who's not black but they really did try to make him feel welcome.
When he's at my place, he bonds with my brothers over video games and my sisters have braided his hair in cornrow box braids because he likes them and wanted to see how they would look on him. He's really tried to understand and embrace black culture and I've been learning about Saudi/Middle Eastern culture in return. I believe that loving someone means understanding their background so I'm always asking him about Saudi Arabia and he loves sharing things with me. I sometimes check out YouTube videos for extra info too and I’ve even started learning Arabic for him. It's a challenging language so I'm taking one-on-one classes with a native speaker since we're both busy college students and he doesn’t have the time to consistently teach me. But my Arabic has been improving which I’m very happy about.
The issue is that I don’t think he has any plans to introduce me to his family. I've been patient, thinking he might not be ready but lately, I’m worried that his family might be racist. I mean, it's not like I'm jumping to conclusions or anything but I've heard stories and seen stuff on social media about racism among Arabs. Some of my black friends have experienced racism from Arab kids at the park where they were called the N-word with both soft and hard "r." So, it's hard not to let those thoughts creep in. But to be fair, my boyfriend himself has never shown any signs of racism. He's always treated me with kindness, respect, compliments me, and has been nothing but loyal. We also attempted to be intimate once but it didn’t go well. I was nervous and uncomfortable and he noticed so we stopped after just making out. But despite all of this, I still can't shake off this feeling that he should have introduced me to his family by now.
Our summer break is approaching and he has plans to go to Saudi Arabia for the summer. I thought he might ask me to join him but he didn’t. When I suggested it, he said his entire family would be there which just gave me the impression that he was hinting that he didn’t want them to see me. I was really upset but chose not to make a scene. I told him I understood but I cried about it later that night. I also feel uneasy about him going to Saudi Arabia because I've heard stories of Arab men dating foreigners temporarily and then returning home to marry someone from their own culture or having arranged marriages by their parents. It honestly feels like there’s a cloud hanging over my head and it’s making me wonder if I'm just a temporary fling. I really hope that's not the case but these thoughts are just eating away at me and I'm not sure what to do.
What do you all think? Should I bring it up with him or is it best to end relationship? Any advice would be great. This is my first time dating an Arab so I’m feeling a bit lost.

Alright Apes,
I was out walking my dog, ready to get back home to go to sleep, and then it happened. I did one last check of superstonk to get my dopamine hit that is our community and well, I got more than I asked for. Now I have too much energy to sleep because I am so fucking hyped for what I found. So here I am.
This beautiful post popped up at nearly midnight my time.
When it said watch in reverse, I had mixed emotions because one of my favorite post was the one with the opening to the White Stripes glitch mob remix. Go watch the video if you haven’t already. That’s one of my favorite songs for very personal reasons and the idea that GME was about to unleash something that caused a glitch was very exciting to me. I wanted that to be the foreshadowing that RK left us with.
But I like every other GME theory I read, it consumes me. I’m obsessed. So what the heck, let’s go watch everything in reverse.
Lucky for me I realized very quickly that when you go to the X iphone app and watch the latest video in full screen, you can just swipe up to see the next video. So, the next hour of my night was planned out.
That was an hour ago. I am so hyped about what I saw that I’ve decided to sit down and write out the my whole interpretation of what I saw. I don’t have answers for every single post but there does seem to be a theme that matches the theory that these are meant to watch in reverse.
Buckle up.
One last things before I get started. I think DFV has been here all along. I think he has read all of the DD and I think he made his memes with all of that in mind. I highly doubt he knows anything for sure but is just a fan of the DD. Just like I am. And there is one DD I fell in love with from the first moment I read it. I think he did too and this is his thesis. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Ok. Here we go.
Oh, and this is not financial advice.
Ok. Here we go for real.
ET: This might actually be him saying goodbye for now. Hopefully not forever (still kinda sad we never got a ET 2).
Horse Gift: Not sure how to interpret this one. Maybe foreshadowing that he found (or was gifted) the GME bull thesis and at that point, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for a bad things. “We’ll see”
Coldplay Backwards: GME had to pull back for him to find the right time to get in.
Forest Running: And then it started running.
Original Sheet Music: Then he started meme. The memes were “MIRACULOUS”.
My favorite post – The White Stripes Glitch Mob video intro: Seriously, if you haven’t watched the video, go now. It’s hype af. This is the video that marks the Jan 2021 glitch. The sneeze.
MIB Kitty: And then GME became RK’s galaxy.
That’s not a Knife: He was the memelord at this point but shorties wanted his gains.
Westworld’s Bernard: Then the bear thesis’ started coming out but we can’t see what we are programed not to see. We were already programed at this point thanks to the bulleproof bull thesis.
Ocean’s Gang in Prison: And then we got thrown in a prison together when so many people bought at high prices.
Beavis and Butthead: We were obsessed with Cohen at this point. We hung on to every tweet. Sex for Dummies was a very popular one. Lot’s of theories popped up with this tweet.
A Few Good Men: DFV visits Congress!
Elaine Dancing: Is this him celebrating his gains and/or not getting thrown in prison?
Aladdin: They tried to take his gains away?
Truman > Mourinho’s In Big Trouble: He was gagged.
ASIP In Therapy: RK went to therapy and found he loved making memes and GME?
Newman: Talking about his experience as his new life as the United States GameStop memer and all the requests he was getting for memes.
Eddie Murphy: Chronicling his time as a memer
SNL The Shooting AKA Dear Sister: Not sure on this one.
Steve Wilkos: RK is ours and we are going to stick beside him
Succession: RK was reading so much about how he was the villain
Borne: More struggles with his identity as the GameStop memer and deciding what to do next.
CNBC > .50: Why does everyone hate RK?
The Dude: Not sure on this one.
Garden State: foreshadowing the jam that he’s about to get into this his next (older) posts
Every Everywhere All at Once: more foreshadowing.
Stand by Me: There’s a game of chicken going on. Shorts vs HODLers?
School of Rock: Reminding us what where here for. This journey isn’t going to be perfect but it’s Rock and Roll.
TeddyBears – Punk Rocker: He has both hands off the wheel now but he’s still along for the ride.
You Can’t Stop What’s Coming: Self-explanatory with likely last-minute cameo of the Chicago (where was Citadel founded?) BEARS thanks to the world’s most famous coke rat market manipulator.
Sicario 2: He’s asking us if we are ready to be the “villain” with him.
Flip Mode: If you really want to party with the Kitty, show him what you got (make some more memes people!!!)
The Shining: Our view of RK at work making his memes for the past 3 years.
500 days of Summer: Talking about why he does what he does. Because it’s going to last forever (more foreshadowing).
Luca: Him laughing at us not knowing everything. Just forget about it if you don’t understand, he has more for you.
Signs 1: This is where things get interesting. This is where we start seeing the signs. Connecting dots. We found something legit in all the DD.
Signs 2: The signs all pointed to GameStop. It’s all about GameStop and what they are going. Nothing else matters.
Signs 3: Are we the aliens? All of our best DD writers talking to each other were some of my favorite moments over the past 3 years. [There are theories about what these signs said and I will go back and fill that in later, I’m getting sleepy]
Signs 4: He is asking us if we believe the DD.
Signs 5: RK is one of us. Assuming we are the Aliens in these signs videos, he is telling us he is one of us.
The Modern Animal: We need to get a little crazy if we are going to take on the big city (NYC? Wall Street?)
Broad City: We made our own language. Memes. SuperStonk is a place for best friend with time to shoot.
GooseBumps: I THINK THIS IS WHERE WE ARE TODAY. RK is letting his briefcase of memes open and warning bears.
Everyone’s favorite Boss: Here some the SIGNS (memes for those who are not keeping up). He is going to his us ONE MORE TIME.
Pay Attention: NOW FUCKING PAY ATTENTION because he isn’t going to do this again.
Kill Bill: It’s time to fight and we are bad asses.
JigSaw + Kansas City Shuffle: Are you ready for the game? Because GameStop has you covered. Everything up to this point has been the inciting incident and catalyst of the Kansas City Shuffle. There is a very short scene where he says, “are you watching closely”? I saw a comments days ago that I can’t find and the very high level paraphrased version is that scene is from the Prestige and all of those hats were a result of him cloning himself. I think that represents the synthetics that plague our market. (I will find that comment that explains it better and go back to watch the movie myself and update this).
Shawshank: RK is telling us all it really takes is pressure and time to break out of their prison. While he was in prison, he went back to get his financial education. We also need an activist (investor, RC). There is a lot more nuance we can try to extrapolate form this one. I’ll save that for later.
Radiohead Karma Police: They have run the price down far enough. They have been leaking gas this whole time. It’s time for the match to be lit.
Neo: This is where Neo figures out how to work the matrix. The market is fake and everyone is mad. We all know it. When it comes to the market, we all took the red pill, and we see it for what it is.
Bullet Scene: Might need some help deciphering this one. I think it’s about how we (maybe not us but the general public) perceive the market. We see cause and effect but that’s now how it works. I think he is telling us that we don’t fully understand the market but our instincts are right and we just feel it. I think we as a community have that instinct.
Fury: Every boss is going to feel like the last one. They are going to pound us with misinformation, price manipulation, and anything else they can come up. But they are just taunting us to whoop some ass.
Trueman Show: They are going to hit us with everything they have but HOLD ON!
Me, Myself, & Irene: Them tanking the price is going to change how we feel and who we are.
Red Right Hand: Might need some help with this one too. The red hand man is stalking someone and the other person can’t do anything about it? Not sure who is who here.
Beat Saber: Might need some help with this too. Is he calling all freaks to show up because we are about to go to war?
Keith and Jake SNL: Everyone thinks Keith is crazy lol
Seinfeld: Calling out the memestock docs for being stupid. He had to some back and tell everyone to “Shut Up Bitch”
Shut Up Bitch: He delivers his best line to the people making him out to be a Vilian.
Coffee Mug Breaks: He is asking us to convince him to do it again.
Bane: RK is saying everything is going as planned.
Oceans (again): RK has been waiting for this time and it was all part of the plan.
Snoop: There was so much drama at GME. People had to be fired because they were someone dressed up as something else. Moles?
Spiderman: It’s time for Keith Gill to become Roaring Kitty again.
Pizza Slices: Guy on the left is a shorty. He is getting mad with how popular things got with the thesis and how many people bought.
Missy Elliot ft Luda: Giving us confidence that he has a worldwide audience and he is about to kill all the rumors.
In Love with RC: He is telling us that RC is the right guy. Don’t doubt him.
Guardians: Everyone already knows who is in charge. Stop fighting to be in charge.
CNBC again: Some of the misinformation actually said RK is in charge. He is not. He is busy drawing dicks (memes).
Oceans (again): I think he is saying that no one person is in charge. It took everyone to give GME all that money. Or maybe it AVOCADO-IN-MY-ANUS all along?
Breaking Bad: His side still hasn’t been told?
Fight Club: RK finally accepting he is DFV
Nice Guy: He is still a nice guy despite what people are saying.
Day and Night: I think he is talking about his struggles day and night over the last 3 years.
Dave: He could’ve ignored it all but he couldn’t stand it. He’s about to keep it real with us.
Star Wars: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Ozarks: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Grim Reaper: The hedgies are trying to figure out what is going on with GameStop. They are I a holding pattern and will be coming with more hitman when what happens in the rest of the tweets goes down.
*******This is where shit gets real********
The Prestige: Alright. Put your tinfoil hat on tight. Here is my interpretation of this one. The magician makes something disappear, but the audience wants to be fooled so we are not actually looking for the secret. So, when something disappears we don’t clap because it’s not as impressive. But as soon as it comes back, the fights is on**~. I think the NFT marketplace is going to come back~**. But I think it’s going to come back as something else. I think they built the blockchain infrastructure for something other than the NFT marketplace. That is when shit is going to go crazy. Don’t believe me, keep reading.
Brand New GME: They finally embrace what everyone has been calling them. They show up one day looking sexy as fuck and blow everyone’s minds.
Prisoner: And now the prisoner (GME’s true price) has true FFFRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM.
The fallout: The hedgies are going to beg us to sell our shares at 14 grand but the nature of us is pure CRAZY. We all knew who was calling on the phone.
Parking Lot Killer: That is who was calling. They are coming for the bears.
Requel: And just like that the requel begins production.
Old Computer Game: Now the question is, with this brand new, sexy af version of GME are we selling or are we staying? I think it’s going to be so fucking amazing we “>Stay”
Kittyman: When this all goes down, RK will return again.
How did they do it?: GME (or we?) seems stupid but apparently whoever it is really good at paperwork and the RK is so happy he’s doing backflips.
What do they need to do it?: They are going to need all of us and the target is up. HODL.
Kingsman: Shorties will then be locked in the room with us and they are going to come in fierce numbers.
The Town: They need our help we can’t ask questions but we have some sick ass rides to get there with.
Morning Affirmation Cat: Help me with this one. I’m tired.
Troy: Sick ass scene. GME just needs to land the killshot.
Pikey Reaction: They pulled the price back so far that it’s a loaded spring and when the shots are fired, it’s going to be raining money. Now “come hang so we go out with a bang”. Does he have your attention now?
Stop Fighting: NOW we can stop fighting.
Pirates of the Carrabin: The Pirate comes back from the dead (NFT Market Place?) and GME presses the red button to go into hyperdrive. This solidified my theory.
Tombstone: It’s not for revenge. It’s for something bigger. It’s a reckoning. Maybe a Glass Castle?
Standoff: Now that the red button was pressed, we have all the shorties in a stand off. But it doesn’t matter because the result of the red button is going to destroy it all? DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION NOW?
Avenger Initiative: We have to do it together. It’s not just one person.
Sherlok Holmes: When GME says run, RUN! And remember what it’s running for. You monther, father, children, sisters, and brothers. The DOG DAYS are over.
Drive: We think were all good here right? It’s all over. Guess again. We are going to have every governmental agency coming after us and our gains. We are going to be on the run.
Bloody Blade: Help me with this one.
But First: The overture. This will be how it starts. We must go backward to unlock the secret. Once we do, the dragon wakes up and it’s game on for the game of thrones. We are going to break the wheel.
Still Here: It’s done when we say it’s done. This tweet closes with the song from the whole days evil cept being blown up with green fire. Sick.
Thanos: This was the actual first tweet just like the ET was the actual last tweet. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Hope you were sitting up in your red chair and paying attention.
Apologies for any typos and poor formatting. I've never made a post like this and I'm too tired to figure all of that out. I'll come back tomorrow and clean it all up with that and fill any gaps you guys help me out with.

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.

I have had periodic depression since my early twenties, I’m 39 now. It usually starts in the autumn and lasts until late spring. But sometimes longer. I used to not notice it when I was younger I just connected it to external factors of life. But now I’m much more self aware of the problem and try not to blame outside factors like work, relationships etc because I know it’s a false path. I tried that before. Changing jobs, changing relationships, moving cities, it does not make a difference - this dark cloud follows me everywhere.
My symptoms are: * negative thinking - and over focus on negatives around me. Like noisy neighbors, politics, increasing prices of things, my job etc etc - I become like a grumpy grandfather.

• stress and laziness at the same time - I feel like there’s too much pressure on me to do “stuff” that I don’t even know what it is, and at the same time I’m too lazy to do anything and have to force my self to do things around the house for example.
  
• feeling of hopelessness and wanting to quit everything. My ambitions fade. Stop caring about my career, my fitness, my visual appearance, my hobbies, friends and events - and just generally become a slob.
  
• escapist thinking - I start to dream about moving to a different country, selling the house, going on a long trip, changing jobs, etc And I motivate that by explaining to my self and others how awful it is where I’m at right now.
  

My coping patterns have been the following:

• withdrawing to get time alone as much as possible
  
• trying not to verbalize my negative thoughts because I have learned that it’s not socially acceptable to be native so much. I have often got the comment “ don’t be so negative “ and it’s a big trigger for me that makes me angry and withdrawn.
  
• trying to focus on my self like going to gym, watching movies I love, playing video games.
  
• temporarily down prioritize stuff that is “hard” - like chores around the house, working less hard at work, skipping some social events when I don’t feel like it etc.
  

Now to my problem: I can’t use those coping mechanisms any more. I now have a wife and child and a house. They need me. My son needs me. I can’t just escape in to my computer for hours of the day or go to gym. He’s just below 1 year old and he needs somebody to watch him all the time. I love the little guy. But in combination with my depression I find my self in a negative spiral.
I feel like I’m doing everything against the stream - I have to force everything I do through out the day. Playing, cleaning , cooking. Doing projects around the house that need doing. I find my self complaining a lot, and my wife is fed up with it already. And I can understand her. Im constant grumpy and tired. By the end of the day I have used up all my willpower to do anything to the point where I don’t even want to brush my teeth before going to bed. I have 0 action energy left. I have not even changed my clothes in like 4 days.
On top of that there are social events that were not there before. Meeting with daycare parents, my wife’s friends that also just got kids etc. I really dread those but I force my self to pull through. And some times my grumpy mood shines through and I make everybody feel bad.
I guess I’m kind of involuntary project my mood on others and make them feel the same way. But I feel bad about it at the same time.
I don’t know what to do now. There’s no where for me to escape and hide with my dark cloud now and recharge my energy. I have to be there everyday. I’m worried that this new life that is more demanding than before will ruin my marriage and break apart my family.
My wife has been very understanding and suggested I should take a day here and there for my self. And I have. But it seems to not be enough. I feel guilt for taking that day off and leaving everything at home to my wife. And then when I come back the energy I have regained is gone very fast. It’s not sustainable.
In a few months I have to go back to work and I’m not sure I will be able to. I’m worried about getting fired or burned out. I have nightmares about my marriage ending and can’t sleep properly because the little guy wakes up multiple times at night. I feel like they would be happier without me to be honest, at least this version of me that I hate my self. I don’t want to be like this, but I am anyway.
I don’t know where I should start now. I thought I had it figured out living with my depression but now I feel hopeless and I have not answers for my self.

The cases of Natália and Isadora

Natália Sampaio had a troubling raising, her parents were never married, and her family struggled financially. She initially lived with her grandmother from her mother side. But after reaching thirteen she went to live with her two brothers, who were farmworkers. When she was fifteen years old, she dropped from school. A move that both her brothers and her grandmother disapproved. She then started basically to spend more time out of home in Cumuruxatiba, which is a neighborhood in the small beachside municipality of Prado - Bahia, Brazil.
She then started to get involved with drugs and sadly, to sustain her addiction, relied in prostitution, a move that her family didn't know about. At the age of 16 she became acquaintance with Isabel Fernandes, who was 15 years old at that time. Isabel was also addicted and misguided by Sampaio, they started to do small thefts and also prostituted herself.
In April, 2021, Sampaio wanted to change her life and come clean, so she told her grandmother that she wanted to go back to school, also telling her, her wrongdoings. Her grandmother did something that she regrets until this very day, she didn't trust in her and told her granddaughter to seek her mother or her brothers for housing and support.
Late in April, both Fernandes and Sampaio went missing. They went to a Luau that oftens take place in the town, on the beaches. Some days later, Sampaio's remains were found on a river, strangled with a rope tied to a heavy stone. Fernandes remains and whereabouts are still unknown until this day, she is presumably deceased.

The cases of Erika and the Prado's Jane Doe

In June, 2021. Another female body was found in Jucuruçu River, the initial investigation believed it would be Fernandes remains, but after the autopsy, the woman could not be identified, it was in an advanced stage of decay, and from bones and teeth, they could only identify that the woman was in her early 30s, late 20s.
The woman was body's was found strangled in the neck with a rope, the rope was tied to a heavy stone. The woman identity's remains a unsolved mystery until this very day.
Erika Batista lived in Teixeira de Freitas a satellite town in the southern region of Bahia, she was eighteen years old, a Baptist and a student, in her High School sophomore year. In August, 2021. Batista asked her mother if she could go to a camping trip with a group of friends from her Church. Her mother, Leidiane Batista, initially declined, but moved by her daughter's plea, let her go. "Don't drink alcohol, don't have sex, don't go to parties", she told her daughter.
Her boyfriend at that time, Jhonatas Rocha, and an unnamed minor close friend also went with her. August 21th, they went to a boat trip in Jucuruçu River and then in the night they went to the beach and started a firecamp along with their group of friends. Walking at night on the beaches of Prado is something really common that both tourists and citizens regularly do. So the group often split, so duos or trios could roam through the beautiful scenario, featuring a full moon.
This would be the last time they would see Batista alive, as she and a her close friend went roaming through the beach. That friend of her was smitten by Batista and they both had a fling, but Batista was dismayed of betraying her boyfriend, so she and her friend had a little misunderstading. Batista was furious and told her that she wanted to go alone, a mistake that probably cost her life.
Three hours later, her boyfriend realized that her friend returned, but Batista didn't, so he went to look after her, only to find her 3 miles away, in the river's mouth, naked, strangled with a rope and the rope was tied to a stone. He could barely see someone fleeing the scene and he ran back to the group after, unsuccessfully trying to revive Batista.
The investigation never led to a suspect. All the cases remain unsolved.

Patterns and Concerns

• Modus Operandi: All victims were strangled with a rope, and their bodies were tied to heavy stones, suggesting a deliberate attempt to conceal the bodies in water.
• Victim Profile: The victims vary in age and background but share a common fate of being assaulted and disposed of in a similar manner.
• Geographical Consistency: All incidents occurred within the southern region of Bahia, particularly around Teixeira de Freitas and Prado.

My final thoughts

Three women killed in the same way, one missing. In the region of Teixeira de Freitas (which encompasses Prado), there is also an unsettling number of women disappearances (three in 2021, four in 2022, and five last year), and if their remains are ever found, they are always sexually assaulted, strangled to death. Then their bodies are tied to a rope and the rope is tied to heavy stone.
The consistent method of killing and disposing of bodies strongly suggests the work of a serial killer rather than a series of unrelated incidents. The increasing number of disappearances and the specific method of disposal point to a pattern that law enforcement should investigate thoroughly, which unfortunately, does not happen.
If by coincidence there is a copycat, which I don't think it is, I believe that there is a serial killer in the region and I have been documenting these cases and there are many similarities between the cases. I'll link some material, but they are in Brazilian Portuguese, just for reference.
Polícia investiga se jovem estrangulada e morta em praia do Prado foi estuprada
Morte misteriosa de adolescente comove e mobiliza vilarejo no sul da Bahia...
Adolescente que estava sumida desde domingo é encontrada morta com pedra amarrada em pescoço e perfurações no corpo
Prado: Pescador encontra um corpo no Rio Jucuruçu que pode ser da adolescente que estava desaparecida
Continua desaparecida na cidade de Prado, Cristina de Jesus Lima, 22 anos
Mãe procura filha de 14 anos desaparecida há 3 dias em Teixeira

**Prompt 11:
Déjà-rêvé (French) - Dreams Intertwined with Reality**

1. Describe a moment when your character experienced déjà-rêvé, where dreams intertwined with reality, and explore the emotions and sensations that accompanied this surreal blending of realms.
   
2. Delve into the specifics of your character's dreams that often overlap with reality, considering whether certain themes, people, or scenarios consistently resurface.
   
3. How does the recurring déjà-rêvé experience impact your character's perception of both their dreams and waking life, blurring the boundaries between the two?
   
4. Explore whether your character actively seeks out or avoids situations that may trigger déjà-rêvé, and how these choices shape their relationship with the intertwined realms.
   
5. Reflect on the emotional resonance of déjà-rêvé, considering whether it adds an element of wonder and magic to your character's life or if it introduces a layer of complexity and uncertainty.
   
6. Can your character distinguish between a genuine memory and a dream that has come to life through déjà-rêvé, and how does this ambiguity influence their understanding of their own experiences?
   
7. How do others in your character's life react to or perceive these moments of déjà-rêvé, and does it impact their relationships or interactions with your character?
   
8. Explore whether there are specific triggers or patterns that precede déjà-rêvé experiences, and whether your character attempts to control or understand these occurrences.
   
9. Consider how cultural or societal beliefs influence your character's interpretation of déjà-rêvé, and whether they attribute spiritual or symbolic meanings to these intertwined dreams and reality.
   
10. Envision a key scene where déjà-rêvé becomes a central element, shaping your character's decisions, relationships, or contributing to a significant turning point in their narrative.
    

**Prompt 12
: Ephemeralité (French) - Embracing the Transient Beauty of Life**

1. Describe a moment in your character's life when they embraced ephemeralité, appreciating the transient beauty of life, and explore the emotions that accompanied this awareness of impermanence.
   
2. Delve into the specific experiences or phenomena that evoke ephemeralité for your character, considering whether it's tied to nature, relationships, or personal achievements.
   
3. How does the recognition of life's transient nature influence your character's mindset and decision-making, especially in moments of joy, sadness, or uncertainty?
   
4. Explore your character's relationship with time, considering whether they savor the present moment or if there's a constant awareness of the fleeting nature of life.
   
5. Reflect on how ephemeralité impacts your character's relationships, both in terms of appreciating the time spent with loved ones and navigating the complexities of impermanence.
   
6. Can your character find solace or inspiration in the fleeting beauty of life, turning ephemeralité into a source of resilience or motivation for living authentically?
   
7. Consider whether your character actively seeks out or avoids situations that intensify the awareness of life's impermanence, and how these choices shape their experiences.
   
8. Explore the contrast between ephemeralité and more enduring aspects of your character's life, such as long-term goals, aspirations, or their legacy.
   
9. Reflect on cultural or philosophical perspectives that may shape your character's understanding of ephemeralité, and whether they find comfort or conflict in these influences.
   
10. Envision a pivotal scene where ephemeralité becomes a central theme, influencing your character's decisions, relationships, or contributing to a significant turning point in their narrative.